MONSIEUR GEORGE DE SCUDERY Governor of NOTRE DAME de la GARDINER    

CLELIA, AN EXCELLENT NEW ROMANCE: THE WHOLE WORK IN Five Parts, DEDICATED TO MADEMOISELLE de LONGUEVILLE.  
The FIRST PART.  
Written in French by the Exquisite Pen of Monsieur de Scudery, Governor of Notre dame de la Garde.  
LONDON, Printed and are to be sold by H. Herringman, D. Newman T. Cockerel, S. Heyrick, W. Cadman, S. Loundes, G. Marriot, W. Crook, and C. Smith. 1678.   

CLELIA, AN EXCELLENT NEW ROMANCE: DEDICATED TO MADEMOISELLE de LONGUEVILLE.  
The FIRST PART.  
Written in French by the Exquisite Pen of Monsieur de Scudery, Governor of Notre dame de la Gard.  
LONDON, Printed and are to be sold by H. Herringman, D. Newman, T. Cockerel, S. Heyrick, W. Cadman, S. Loundes, G. Marriot, W. Crook, and C. Smith. 1678.   

TO THE LADIES.  
'TIs to the Altar of your perfections (fairest Ladies) That the Incomparable Courage of the noble Clelia flies for Protection; nor doth she fear you will prove less kind to her then the Rapid streams of a deep River, or the devouring flames of those fiery mountains wherewith Italy abounds: But 'tis not so much the Remembrance of her dangers past, as the Consideration of her pains willingly taken for your beautiful Sex in passing the Seas, and changing not only her Language but her Country, that invites her thus cheerfully to cast herself on your Mercies, and earnestly desire your kind acceptation, however that you may not think she comes empty handed and expects entertainment merely upon charity; Survey her with an indifferent eye, and you shall find her abounding with such Uariety of Delights, as will easily defray her charges: For my part (Ladies) the Grand Inducement I had to bestow those few vacant hours (I sometimes enjoy) on this work was chiefly to pleasure you, and withal to endeavour to render the admirable Clelia as neatly dressed in English, as her Famous Author Monsieur de Scudery hath set her forth in French. Compare Mandana with Clelia, the Princess of the Medes and Persians with an Illustrious Roman Lady, and you will perceive in both so many, but withal such different Adventures, as shall by the Truth of History and Illustration of Fiction satisfy both your curiosity and delight.   

THE AUTHOR'S DEDICATION TO MADEMOISELLE DE LONGUEVILLE.  
MADAM,  
'TIs a Maid that Rome adored, which now spying a nearer approach to Divinity in You, transmits' all her Honours, and submissively bows to a brighter Beauty. She comes to tell you, that if this age paid a just respect to Virtue, we had long since Dedicated an Altar to your Highness, where every Generous Heart would have ambitioned to be a sacrifice. And though there are few Princesses, whose veins wear so rich a purple as yours, yet you derive greater Ennoblements from your Merit, than extraction. Many Pillars of State have been carved from your Illustrious Stock; but those Excellencies which singly adorned your Ancestors, are all Centred, and comprehended in you, not abridged, but bound up in one Fair Volume: Persons of your Quality are often dazzled with their own Splendour, and abused with the false Eulogies of others; but nature hath given you the best antidote against Flattery, I mean to transcend it: for that which applied to others would be compliment and Hyperbole, when addressed to you, is frigid and poor, and falls beneath the sublime truth. Your Glorious example has made goodness the Fashion at Court; and 'tis yet a Problem, whether that profound Veneration which all render you, be more attracted by that Royal blood which you possess, or allured by your Exalted Virtue; Permit me Madam peculiarly to admire your clemency and condescension, when you teach your Eyes so low a flight, as with humble Rays to warm and cherish your inferiors: In this you resemble the Monarch of Celestial Bodies who ingrosses not his Treasury of Light, but communicates his Beams, and illustrates the World. All that have beheld you will attest, that a more accurate Idea of Beauty never sprung from a raptured fancy, than you really enjoy: Never was any informed with a clearer and more vigorous Spirit: never were these perfections crowned with a sincerer Goodness: 'Tis here, Madam, that Clelia takes sanctuary, and that fair Roman, whose courage scorned the swelling pride of Tiber, (when she submitted her delicate limbs to the waves, and road upon that Trydent, which sways the liquid Empire) now crosses the Ocean, to tender you a Legitimate duty: I shall oblige her to blend my interest with hers; Since I have had the Glory to be esteemed by Madam your Mother, and the Count of Soissons your Uncle; And your Highness knows best my eminent engagements to Madam de Longveville and her Family: I value it as no small honour, that some of my alliance have been numbered in your Retinue; In fine, I myself have entirely completed seven years under the command of my Lord the Prince of Carignan your Uncle, in the Arms of the Great Charles Emanuel his Father, whose affection I must ever esteem as the choicest largess of my Fortune. These encouragements (Madam) have made Clelia presume your shelter: she promises herself a lustre from your shadow; which though you vouchsafe; my felicity will not be complete, except you add the permission of being all my Life,  
Madam Your Highness' Most Humble and Most Obedient Servant. De SCUDERY.   


The LAKE of INDIFFERENCE    

CLELIA. The First Part.  

BOOK I.  
NEver was there a fairer day, then that which should have preceded the Nuptials of the Illustrious Aronces, and the Admirable Clelia; and since the Sun first did crown the Spring with Roses and Lilies, it never cast more pure beams upon the fertile Fields of the delicious Capua, nor displayed more Luminous Radiations o'er the Waves of the famous Vulturnus, which so pleasantly watered one of the fairest Countries in the World: The Heaven was Serene, the River calm, all the Winds were laid asleep in those dark Caverns, whose Intricate Meanders they only were acquainted with, and the gentle Zephyrus could do no more than fan the fair hairs of the Incomparable Clelia, who being now on the point to complete the felicity of the most perfect of Lovers, made it appear by her Eyes that the Elements enjoyed no more tranquillity than she had in her Soul. As for Aronces, though he was more joyful than Clelia, love being more predominant in him, yet was he not without many Inquietudes, which produced a certain agitation of Spirit, thinking with himself he should not sufficiently testify the greatness of his passion, if the only hope of being absolutely happy the next day had entirely satisfied him; he murmured much against the length of the days, though it was one of the first in the Spring, and he now numbered the hours as Ages; This pleasing anxiety proceeding from an amorous Impatience, did nothing discompose his usual temper sometimes clouded by most strange Distractions of his Spirit, which persuaded him some doleful accident might intervene whereby his happiness might be retarded as formerly it had been; for e'er this he had Espoused his Mistress had not the River on whose Banks was situated a stately House wherein Clelius resolved to consummate his Daughter's Nuptials, with such a sudden violence exceeded its prefixed limits that 'twas impossible to solemnize any Feast there during this terrible Inundation, the Waters continually increased for the space of twelve hours, the Wind, Lightning, Thunder, and a dreadful Shower of Rain so multiplying the horror of this fatal Deluge, that there was generally feared a total ruin and desolation: the water of the River seemed to reach the Skies, and conjoined, with that the Heavens poured down, agitated by those impetuous Tempests, roared as the swelling Billows of an angry Sea, or the falling of the most rapid Torrents: this violent eruption of the River, much disordered this Region of delight; for it demolished Buildings both public and private, rooted up Trees, covered the Fields with Sand and Stones, levelled Hills, furrowed the Plains, and changed the whole face of this little Country, but when it had wholly spent its fury, 'twas evidently seen that this inundation had in some places, unburied the ruins of divers Tombs, whose Inscriptions were half effaced, and in others it had discovered great Columns of Marble, with many other precious Materials; so that this place in stead of being deprived of its former beauty, received a more additional lustre from those new acquired Ornaments. 'Twas nigh those inestimable ruins that Aronces and Clelia (conducted by Clelius and Sulpicia his Wife attended by a small select train, which should be the next day at the Nuptial Ceremonies of these two Illustrious Lovers) walked with much pleasure and delight. Aronces not now remembering the former Impediments of his Rivals, all things as it were smiling at his approaching happiness, and Clelia so complying with his desires, that it was impossible the remaining rigour of his destiny should wholly silence his excessive joy, though 'twas sometimes intermixed, as I have formerly told you with some Inquietudes; therefore to acquaint her with the sweet transportments of his Soul, he led her ten or twelve paces from the agreeable company which followed him, imagining what he said to her when she was alone, would make a deep impression in her mind, but after a general, when he would have proceeded to a particular Conversation, and turned his head to see whether he could be heard by any but Clelia; he saw appear at the entrance of a little Wood the gallantest of his Rivals called Horatius, accompanied by some of his Friends; this sight without doubt much surprised Aronces, but much more Clelia, who fearing there might happen some sad accident, left Aronces to go to her Father, to oblige him to intercede between Horatius and her Lover, that there might arise no contention between them: scarce had she gone five or six paces, but a terrible Earthquake, which is usual in this Country, began so suddenly with such impetuosity, that the Earth opened between Aronces and Clelia, roaring like the mutinous Waves of the disturbed Ocean; there issued from it such an horrible flame, that it deprived them from entertaining their eyes with their beloved Object, Aronces only seeing himself surrounded with waving flames, which assuming as many various forms, as are sometimes seen in the Clouds presented to his view the most terrible Object any Imagination can fancy, their blue colour interweaved with red, yellow, and green, winding themselves in many different manners, rendered the sight of those flames so dreadful, that any but Aronces had certainly fainted in such an occasion; for this Abyss which was opened between Aronces and Clelia, and which had so violently separated them, represented such an horrid spectacle, that it cannot be limned by the most exactest Pencil, and a black smoke having darkened the Sun and obscured the Air as if it had been night; there sometimes issued from this Infernal Gulf a great quantity of tumultuous flames, which afterwards dilating themselves in the Air, were carried as Whirl winds of fire by the winds which now rose from all places; but he was more surprised when he heard all places resound both with Celestial and Subterranean Thunders, which by terrible Convulsions of the Earth seemed to shake the Centre of the World, and to remit nature to its first Chaos, a thousand burning stones slung from this flaming Gulf were shot into the Air with fearful hissings, and fell again into the Fields, either nigher or further, according to the impetuosity which carried them, or their own weight made them fall, in some places of the Plain flames boiled as springs of fire, and there exhaled from these fires such a sulphureous Odour, that it almost suffocated all which were nigh them, and in the midst of all these fires from many parts their slowed divers Torrents which in some places extinguished the flame, and many others were themselves consumed by the fires which opposed them: And to finish this desolation there issued from that Abyss such a prodigious quantity of burning asnes, that the Earth, Air, and River were either entirely filled or covered with them. In the mean time as the Earth shook more and more, the house where the Solemnities of Clelia's Nuptials were to be kept, was wholly everted, the Hamlet where it was situated, buried in its own ruins, many Flocks were destroyed, and many men perished, and there was never heard of such a dreadful disorder, for those which were on the Land sought little Boats to put themselves on the River, thinking to be safer there, and those which were on the River speedily landed, imagining there was less peril on the shore; those in the Plains fled to the Mountains, and those in the Mountains descended into the Plains, those which were in the Woods endeavoured to gain the Fields, and those in the Fields to shelter themselves in the Woods, every one imagining that the place where he was not, was safer than that where he was.  
In the midst of this horrible Earthquake, of these terrible flames, of these dreadful Thunders both Celestial and Subterranean, of those terrible flames, of those Impetuous Torrents, of this sulphurous Odour, of those burning Stones, of that Cloud of flaming ashes which destroyed so many men, and so many Flocks where the Earthquake did not Extend; in the midst, I say, of such an eminent Peril, Aronces who saw nothing living but himself, entertained his thoughts on nothing but his amiable Clelia, and fearing more her destruction than his own, he endeavoured by all means possible to overtake her: but he was not Master of his own Actions, for when he would have gone on one side, the Earthquake cast him on the other, so that he was forced to leave himself to the conduct of his fortune, which had freed him from such an Imminent Peril; but when this great storm was o'r-blown, those burning flames extinct, the Earth re-stated, the noise silenced, the darkness dissipated after it had lasted the remainder of that day, and all the night, Aronces found himself when Phoebus rose from his watery Couch on a Mount of Coals and Ashes, from whence he might take an exact survey of this sad Country: but he was much astonished when he saw neither the house where he lay, nor the Hamlet where it was, to see a Isle of the Wood quite overturned, and all the field spread with men or dead flocks; so that fear now possessing his Soul more than hope, he descended from that Hill of ashes, but as soon as he was descended he saw come forth of one of those Tombs that the overflowing of the River had discovered, Clelius and Saryna which were retired thither, for by a furtunate Casualty the Earthquake had not destroyed them, at first Aronces much rejoiced to see them, hoping Clelia would have followed them from this Tomb, but when he had seen five of their friends, two men and three Women come out of it, he speedily advanced towards Sulpicia to whom he was nighest; I pray, said he, tell me what is become of Clelia; alas, answered this afflicted Mother, I came to demand the same of you, for I knew nothing but that at the same time as she left them to come to her father, I saw Horatius followed by those which accompanied her Majesty towards her, and I saw nothing afterwards but Whirlwinds of flames which forced Clelius and I to shelter ourselves in those Tombs with those which were the nighest to us, Sulpicia had hardly pronounced those words, when Aronces without looking upon either Clelius, Sulpitia, or those which were with them, sought amongst those great Mountains of ashes without precise knowing what he sought for, Clelius and the rest did the like, to see whether they could find any sign of the life or death of Clelia; but the more they sought the more they increased their grief, for they found one of Clelia's Maids stiffed under those burning coals which fell upon her, and nigh her Body they saw one of her Lovers which partaked of the same Destiny: This lamentable, though sad Object obliged Aronces to wish the fate of that unhappy Lover, since he had the advantage to finish his days by his Mistress. But as these two persons needed not any one's assistance, they did not stay there, after Clelius had ordered two of his Domestics he accidentally found, to take those bodies from under the the ashes, and to remain there till they heard further from him; whilst they were thus seeking what they could not find, there came many persons from all places, both from the neighbouring woods, from the ruinated houses, and from those new Concaves of the earth, to seek for their friends or kindred, for this Accident had dispersed all Families, some wept for their Fathers, others for their Children, some for their ruinated houses, others for their Flocks, and most for the fear only to have lost what they sought for; for though Earthquakes have been very frequent in this delightful Country, their grief was not the less abated, but amongst so many misfortunes which o'rspread this unhappy Country, none equalled that of the unfortunate Aronces, his affliction was the more powerful because it tied up the Organs of his Speech, and 'twas easy at this time to discern the difference between the grief of a Father, Mother, and a Lover, for though Clelius and Sulpicia were much afflicted for their Daughter, yet Aronces his grief incomparably exceeded theirs; but in fine, seeing their hopes frustrated in not finding what they sought for; they believed Clelia might be escaped by a fortunate Accident as well as they; feeding themselves therefore with this fancy a year, they thought nothing more requisite than to return to Capua, to see whether some one had not brought her thither, and fortune propitious to their designs presented them the means to perform their intended Journey, by supplying them with an empty Chariot, which the Earthquake having only overturned, they easily disengaged from the ashes, and finding a man who knew how to guide it, they mounted into it, after the least afflicted of the company had given order to carry the bodies of those two Lovers to Capua, and obliged the rest to take a short repast at the first convenient Habitation; for 'twas remarkable in this Earthquake, that it extended but from the Town where the Nuptials of Aronces were to be kept to Nola, and from thence to Capua; it had only endamaged some places by the fall of the burning Cinders: the grief of Aronces much increased when he arrived there, and heard no news neither of his dear Clelia nor his Rival, but a little after he knew Horatius was not dead, being advertised by one of his acquaintance, that an intimate friend of Horatius called Stenius, had read a Letter that morning from him; so that incited both by a curiosity and Eyes of passion, he went to his house, where not finding him, but being told he was gone to breath himself in a spacious Field behind Diana's Temple at Capua, he went thither, Stenius as soon as he saw him received him with much civility, though he was his friend's Rival, so that Aronces hoping he would not refuse to satisfy his demands, thus civilly saluted him: I am not ignorant Stenius said he to him, that you are more Horatius his friend than mine, neither would I propose you to betray the secret he hath confided to you, but being certainly informed you have received a Letter from him this day: I come to pray, and earnestly beseech you to tell me whether he doth intimate unto you that Clelia is living. I demand not, said he, whither he goes, or where he is now, for I know honour forbids you to tell it me, so it doth not permit me to demand it of you, and I have such a good opinion of you, that I am persuaded if I should request such a Courtesy of you, you would easily grant it me; but I would not have the grandeur of my affection force me to propound any unjust proposition; but Stenius all that I desire is, that favouring an afflicted Lover, you only tell me whether Clelia is living, without informing wherein Horatius intends to carry her, and to oblige you thereto: pursued he, if you do not satisfy my desires, I shall rest in the opinion that Clelia is not dead, but retained in my Rival's power; therefore I believe without infringing your fidelity to Horatius you may consent to my propositions: I do not deny, replied Stenius, but I have this day received a Letter from Horatius, and I confess I have it now about me, but I am much surprised at your strange demands, which I ought not to satisfy, and that I believe you would not yourself do, if you were in my place; if I demanded any thing which might prejudice your friend, replied Aronces, you would have reason to use the said expressions; but that which I desire of you is to consolate an unhappy Lover, without any way prejudicing his Rival, and if you have ever loved, you would have never refused it me: I know not what I should do as a Lover, replied Stenius arrogantly, but I know as Horatius his friend, I ought not to acquaint you with any thing wherein he is interressed, and I account it an unworthy action of you to ask a thing which I cannot perform without violating the Laws of friendship, because you shall do it honourably, replied Aronces, putting his hand to his Sword, you must as well sustain your fidelity by your valour, as your wilful obstinacy, and you must defend the Letter of Horatius, since he will not tell me whether Clelia is living; at those words Stenius retiring some paces drew his Sword, and before any would separate them, Aronces had not only disarmed and vanquished Stenius, but had taken from him Horatius his Letter, after which he speedily retired to Clelius house, where he viewed his Rival's Letter, which contained these words.  
Horatius to Stenius.  
AN Earthquake having put the Rigorous Clelia in my power, I intent to reside at Perusia, where send me all things which he that gives you the Letter requires of you, and to augment my satisfaction, write me what despair possesses my Rival.  
The reading of this Letter was so satisfactory to Aronces, as it cannot be expressed: for he not only learned that Clelia was living, but he likewise knew that his Rival carried her to a place where both honour and nature obliged him to go, and where he had not, it may be, so soon gone, if he had not been drawn thither by the attractive Loadstone of Love, so that acquainting Clelius and Sulpitia with his intention, he resolved to depart the next day, which he did, with an equipage only proportionable to Clelius Son-in-Law attended but by three or four Slaves, and obliged an intimate friend, whose amity he had contracted at Capua; to perform this Voyage in whose bosom he emptied his most secret thoughts, that if this Journey should happily succeed he might share his fortune; This affectionate friend, called Celeres; being then the sole consolation of Aronces, they departed from Capua, after they had left order with Clelius and Sulpitia, to send them by a safe conduct all things which were necessary to accomplish the Voyage and wished success of Aronces; these two friends began and pursued their intended Journey without any Obstacle, though 'twas a tedious way, till arriving one night at the Banks of the Lake of Thrasimene, they stayed to consider its Beauty, and truly it merited the curious observation of such gallant Spirits as Aronces and Celeres, for as there are three fair and pleasant isles, every one fortified by a strong yet stately Castle, and round about the Lake many Villages and Hamlets which rendered these Islands the fairest in the world; but Aronces and Celeres had searce the time to consider the grandeur and beauty of this Lake, when they saw come from the Point of this Isle two little Barks, in one of which Aronces saw his dear Clelia, and Horatius with six men with swords in their hands, which defended themselves against ten which were in the other; this Object so surprised him that he could not at first believe his eyes, but Celeres having confirmed him, 'twas no deception of his sight, he really believed he saw both his Mistress and his Rival, and it seemed to him that he which was at the prow of the other Bark was the Prince of Numidia whom he dearly loved, Aronces was at this time much perplexed, because there was no Boat nigher than the space of two miles, as the Guide of the Country told him, which should conduct him to Perusia, so that he must resolve to go thither, for as these two Barks fight with one another went still further from him, as if they would have gone to the second Isle of the Lake, he imagined if he should have enterprised to swim, 'twas impossible his horse to overtake them, Horatius causing his men so diligently to ply their Oars; so that seeing no likelihood to assist his Mistress, unless he went speedily to the place where he was informed he might find many Boats, therefore he spurred his horse towards part of the Lake which runs into a great Wood, which he must of necessity pass to go to an Habitation where his Guide assured him he might be supplied with Boats, but as he went thither he looked towards the two Boats which fought, and saw to his great grief that they still went further from him, and that he must lose sight of them before he could come to approach them: as he was now buried in a deep Sea of distracted thoughts, and road with a swift pace towards that part of the Coast, where he was informed he might procure Boats, his Friend whose spirit was not so possessed as his, heard a noise of Arms and Horses, which made him turn his head to see whether their men followed them, but he saw neither their men nor their Guide; for as Aronces and he had rode very fast, the Wood deprived them of their sight, so that calling to Aronces that he should take care of himself, and not lightly engage himself, he told him what he heard, his melancholy not permitting him to hear it; but he had scarce acquainted him with it, when a Slave covered with blood came from amongst the Trees running towards them, and addressing his Speech to them; I beseech you, said he, whosoever you are, assist the Prince of Perusia which Traitors would assassinate; at these words, Aronces lifted his eyes to Heaven, to demand as it were, what he should do in such an occasion, when so many puissant reasons made him unresolved; but he was not long considering of it, for he saw an ancient man of a gallant presence, whom the Slave told him was Mezentius Prince of Perusia, who retired back, defending himself from six men which pursued him, one of which, which seemed to be the Captain so vigorously assailed him, that he was ready to thrust his Sword through his Body; for though Mezentius was valiant, he was not in a posture to resist these Assailants, being hurt in two places, and having but a Truncheon of his Sword to put by their thrusts, the other part being broken by the weightiness of their blows; such a compassionate Object dispelled the irresolution of Aronces, so that he cast himself with an incredible valour before the Prince of Perusia and his Enemy, who was ready to fix his heart, and Celeres so powerfully seconded Aronces, that at the second blow he gave the Captain of the Assassinats, he died his Sword with his blood; Mezentius looking upon these Strangers as Protectors the Gods had sent him, and not knowing they knew who he was, told them for their encouragemen that they served a Prince who knew how to recompense them, but they had not need to be prompted to perform Heroic Actions, their valour making it sufficiently evident when they had their Swords in their hands.  
In the mean time, as those six men which assaulted Mezentius were very resolute, and the principal of them, one of the valiantest in the World; Aronces and Celeres were at first involved in much danger, but after Aronces had killed one and hurt two, he set so vigorously upon him, which appeared to be Master of the rest, warding all his blows, and not letting slip any advantage, whilst Celeres and their men which were now arrived, fought with the others that he forced him to ●lie, and so strictly pursued him, that he pushed him against some great Trees the wind had overthrown, so that not having any power to retreat further, he thrust his Sword through his body, and saw him fall dead at his feet: But as he was in this Estate, one of those which fled before Celeres who pursued them, wounded Aronces in the thigh, thinking to pierce his body, but he was chastised for his presumption by him who received it, who discharged such a weighty blow on his head, that he o'rthrew him dead at his feet.  
In the mean time Mezentius who was very old, was so weakened by the effusion of his blood from those wounds he had received, that he was constrained to alight from his Horse, and to lean against a Tree, supported by that faithful Slave, who had spoken to Aronces and Celeres, on the other side the Protector of that Prince not being able longer to endure the agitation of his Horse, because of the hurt in his thigh, was much afflicted, seeing he could not further prosecute his intended Journey, but hoping the service he had rendered this Prince, might claim an acknowledgement and protection from him, he went, though with much difficulty, towards this Prince, who was then accompanied by many men of Quality which were come from divers places of the Wood, when he would have entreated him to send some of his men to help a distressed Virgin of a noble Extraction which was forcibly carried away; this Prince was so suddenly bereft both of his Sight and Speech, that Aronces not being harkened to by any, they being all employed to recover the sainting speech of this Prince, was reduced to a most deplorable condition; so that without considering either his hurt, or the pain thereof, he went on foot followed by his Friend to the Lake, to see whether he could yet see those Barks he had seen, but Night now began to Curtain the whole Hemisphere, and so many thick Mists o'r-spead the Lake, that they could hardly see the Islands which were there, and further from seeing the two little Barks, so that the unhappy Lover wholly immerged in grief, and not regarding his hurt, a man of Quality conducted by Mezentius, his Slave came to him, who told him, that the Prince a little after he had left him, coming to himself, had commanded that they should take as much care of him to whom he owed his life, as of his own person, and 'twas for that reason he sought for him, and Sycanus, for so was this man named; further entreated him that he would be pleased to go into a Boat which was about fifty paces from them to be transported to the next Island, where he should be accommodated with all necessaries whatsoever, for in sine said Sycanus, as there is but one Chariot to carry the Prince to Perusia, and that 'tis too late for you to ride thither in the condition you are in, you had better to go to the Castle in the Island, where I offer you on the Prince's part all that depends on me, it being under my command. Aronces hearing Sycanus his proposition, joyfully accepted of it, but withal desired him that instead of going directly to the Isle, he would permit him to seek upon the Lake for two Barks which he had seen a little before he had the happiness to lend his assistance to Mezentius, telling him more easily to induce him thereto, that he was obliged to succour a Noble Virgin which was in one of those Barks, but Sycanus answered him, that he being not in a condition to go himself, whilst he went to the Island, he would go with his Friend in another Boat to endeavour to satisfy his desires, though with little hope of success, because of the greatness of the Lake, the time that was clapsed, since he saw the two Barks, the thickness of the mists and the approaching night; Aronces answered that he had been told by Mariners, that they could see more clear in the night upon the water when there were mists, then when there was none, and that he would go himself, so that not being able to be diverted from his Intentions, he caused the Boat wherein he was to be rowed more than three hours upon the Lake before he would consent to be landed at the Island, to have his hurts dressed; but in the end knowing that which his love prompted him to was irrational, and Celeres having whispered to him, that if he would think to live, to deliver Clelia, and to revenge himself of his Rival, he should permit Sycanus to command his men to land them at the Willow Island; for by that name 'twas called to distinguish it from two others which are in the Lake of Thrasimene. As Sycanus was accomplished with all Noble Qualities, and was linked in marriage with a Lady whose virtue and merit far surpassed those of her Sex, Aronces and Celeres were received into this Castle with as much Civility as Magnificence, Aronces being as well attended there as if he had been at Perusia, for as this Isle had many Inhabitants, and Sycanus usually resided there, it was furnished with very expert Surgeons, and all things else both necessary and delicious; the apartment of Aronces was most magnificent; for as Perusia was then one of the richest Cities in Italy, except those on the Sea Coast, and Sycanus being descended from one of the greatest and most Opulent houses of Perusia: this Castle was not only pleasantly situated, but richly adorned: the Chamber where Aronces was lodged, was in that Isle which nigh superviewed all the Lake, and from whence he might see the place where he had seen Clelia, though he could not bless his eyes with a sight of her, but he was not the only person which found assistance in this Island, for his wound was hardly dressed when one advertised Sycanus that there was a Bark landed, in which there was a man of a gallant Deportment, who was much hurt, and who demanded the favour of him to pass the Night in one of the Fisher's Cabins, that his hurts might be looked too: but as Sycanus was too generous not to assist those which were unhappy when it lay in his power, he went himself to offer to this unknown all the assistance he required, and he so freely offered it him that he accepted of it, and was conducted to the Castle, and lodged in the Apartment far enough from Aronces; so that Celeres being with him to endeavour to consolate him, he did not know till the next morning; about three hours after the Sun was risen, that there was arrived an hurt Stranger at the Castle, he heard it from Sycanus his Wife which was called Aurelia, and who demanded of him when she gave him a Visit, if he was accommodated in the Apartment they had given him, because it looked over a little Port where there was always some noise, for in fine, said she obligingly to him, as the Protector of the Prince; Mezentius may command some privilege, if you are disturbed in that place where you are, we will give you another Lodging when we dislodge the other Stranger the gods have sent hither to be succoured as well as you: what, Madam, replied Aronces, is there arrived any more unhappy than I; yes Generous unknown, replied Aurelia, and he is more unhappy than you, because his hurts are more dangerous; O, Madam, replied Aronces, he may be more hurt than I, but he cannot be more unhappy: as Aronces had thus said, Celeres came into his Chamber to tell him that the Prince of Numidia was in the Castle, and that he had heard by one of his men that he was wounded fight against Horatius, who had stolen away Clelia: I beseech you (Madam) said Aronces addressing his Speech to Aurelia, permit me, I pray, you to deprive myself of the honour of your presence, that I may go to the Prince of Numidia's Chamber, to whom I am very much obliged, and from whom I may happily learn something which imports me more than you can imagine, you are in such a bad condition to go, replied Aurelia, that I believe you ought not to enterprise it, without the permission of your Surgeons; O, Madam, replied Aronces, if you knew the Interest I have to see the Prince of Numidia, you would then be assured that I ought to consult none but my heart in this encounter, after that Aurelia affectively hearing that Aronces would go to the Prince of Numidia's Lodging, went to that of the Princess of the Leontines, whom divers Interests did at this time retain in that Castle, but she went not thither before she had told Celeres that it was for him to persuade Aronces not to destroy the cure she had resolved to have for the welfare of a man which had saved the life of the Prince Mezentius, and who merited if no reason had invited us thereto, that we should interess ourselves both in his safety and recovery.  
Celeres according to her directions would have induced Aronces to have sent him to the Numidian Prince who was named Adherball, to demand of him what he knew of Clelia, but 'twas impossible for him to divert his intended resolution, for after he was dressed, and had advertised the Prince of his coming, he went thither leaning on two Slaves, he was scarce come into the Prince his Chamber, when he said to him pardon me, Sir, if the ardent desire I have to be satisfied by you what is become of Clelia, and her Ravisher against whom I saw you yesterday fight on the Lake, hinders me from giving you new demonstrations of that friendship we contracted at Carthage? Alas, my dear Aronces, replied Adherball, sighing, the Ravisher of Clelia after he had reduced me to the estate in which you now see me, caused his men to row so diligently that I soon lost sight of him, for my men seeing me hurt would not obey me, when I commanded them to follow Horatius with all the speed they could possible, and they took more care for the preservation of my life, than the performance of my commands, though they have exposed my life it may be to more danger by not obeying them; for in fine, my dear Aronces, now that I am in a place where no reasons oblige me to disguise my thoughts; I have loved Clelia since I first saw her at Carthage, and the commencement of our friendship proceeded from my love to her, imagining that if I should acquire your esteem, it might much conduce to the furtherance of my affection: Aronces was surprised at Adherbal's expressions, and finding him to be his Rival whom he only supposed his friend, he changed colour on a sudden, which Adherball who did not know that Aronces loved Clelia, attributed to his friendship, not any way suspecting his love, so that obligingly resuming his discourse, I must ingenuously confess, said he, that after I had the happiness to be acquainted with you, if I had not loved Clelia, I should have esteemed Aronces, whose great merits command respect from all those which know him; it appears by your words, replied Aronces, that you do not well know me, and I am persuaded if you knew me better you would be of a contrary opinion; but as we are both in a condition not to give any great testimonies either of love or hatred, what thoughts soever sways our Soul, I think I had best leave you in repose and retire myself, and after Aronces had saluted Adherball with a more reserved Civility than before; he returned to his Chamber, in such a despair as evidenced the greatness of his affliction; he was no sooner in his bed but Sycanus brought him a Noble man called Cilicies, whom Mezentius had sent to him with Compliments both from himself and the Princess Aretale his Wife, so that Aronces being necessarily obliged to conceal his grief both from Sycanus and Cilicies, desired them to inform him who were those which would have assassinated Mezentius; though you are a Stranger, replied he which was sent from the Perusian Prince, it is not possible but you have heard ere you arrived at the Thrasymenean Lake, that Porsenna King of Chusuim, and the Queen his Wife, have been retained Prisoners there these three and twenty years, by the Prince Mezentius his Father-in-Law: therefore without particularising the cause of their long Imprisonment, I shall tell you in few words, that a Noble man called Thrachon, Native Subject of that unhappy King, being persuaded that it was lawful to act all manner of Crimes to deliver an Innocent Prince, had laid an Ambuscado in the Wood, where he obliged Mezentius to hunt, leading him from his men till he was to come to the place where he had set those which should assail Mezentius, who was strangely surprised when he saw him which he thought would defend him, put himself at the head of those Assassinats and assault him; and Mezentius now believes contrary to the opinion of all, that Porsenna was acquainted with this Conspiracy which plotted against him, so that all those which interess themselves in the life of this great Prince, fear some violence will be acted against his Person; is it possible he should so ill requite the care the gods have had for the conservation of his life, replied Aronces, as to put to death an innocent man, and if I was in estate to go to demand of him any recompense for the service I have done him, I should entreat him to limit his resentments, and to do me likewise the favour, as to command some of his men to inform him of one called Horatius, who hath stolen a Noble Virgin called Clelia, is now within his Dominions, and to oblige him so set free that admirable Person: Attending the time till you are able do it yourself, replied Sycanus, Cilicies shall tell him all you desire, and I am persuaded you can demand nothing of a Prince whose life you have so generously saved, but will be easily granted you; for my part, replied Cilicies, if the generous Aronces did not order me to do it, I should acquaint the Prince with his desires, for I am confident he ardently wishes the power to recompense the services he hath performed to him, and that he will be very glad to know the means whereby he might make any retaliation. In fine, after those obliging words of Cilicies, Aronces told him all the divers Interests he had prompted him to demand both for Porsenna's safety and Clelia's liberty, and not willing afterwards to suffer any constraint, he appeared so distempered both to Sycanus and Cilicies, that believing their presence did add some grief to his wound, they immediately departed: they were no sooner out of his Chamber, but looking upon Celeres with eyes which would inspire pity and compassion in the most obdurate hearts; and now my dear Celeres, said he unto him, what think you of the cruelty of my destiny, you, who know all my disgraces and all my adventures, and who have been accustomed to see me unhappy? Is it not true pursued he, that you did not foresee that which is now arrived to me? For not mentioning many misfortunes which have happened to me even from my birth to the time when I esteemed myself to be ascended to the supreme top of all felicity, by espousing the Incomparable Clelia; and when all my Rivals were not in a capacity to resist my divine fortune, a dreadful Earthquake o'rthrew all my happiness, and snatched Clelia from my hands to put her in my Rivals, and to finish my Capricious Destiny: I saved a Prince's life who will destroy Porsenna, whose life is dearer to me than my own, I killed him who had conspired his liberty; I saw Clelia with my own eyes in Horatius his power, and I find a Prince to be my Rival, whom I believed my Friend, and that I should have never suspected to have loved Clelia; I can do nothing now but patiently endure my affliction, since I am not in a condition, neither to pursue Clelia's Ravisher to protect Porsenna, or to discover my true quality to Adherball; for there is no reason I should tell him whom I am, as long as we are not capable to prejudice one another, in case we should be enemies, as there is great likelihood we shall be: his Complaints had lasted longer, had not Sycanus entered into his Chamber, with Nicius and Martia, from whom he expected the greatest assistance in his Affairs; he received them with all imaginable joy, and Sycanus demanded his pardon, because he had not treated him according to his quality; what Nicius (said Aronces, fixing his eyes upon him) do you believe it requisite to oblige the generous Sycanus to conceal a Secret of such importance, as my Birth? Yes Sir, replied Nicius, and I am so satisfied of his fidelity, that is in this Castle, that all the King Porsenna's Friends assemble to consult together, what is best to be done for his liberty and your discovery; I pray Sir, (said Sycanus to Aronces) do not so much injure one, who passionately desires to serve you, as to suspect his fidelity; for I am persuaded without the least scruple, that by serving King Porsenna, I importantly serve the Prince of Perusia, judge then what I ought to do for him, who hath saved his life; for my particular, said Martia to Aronces, I can assure you, Sycanus hath much interest in your happiness, and I may very well say, the fortune of two Kingdoms, is so inseparably tied to yours, that they would be both destroyed, if you do not save them, by saving yourself; after this, Aronces having said many obliging things to those who spoke to him, they began to consult on the liberty of Porsenna, and the Queen his Wife, and the discovery of Aronces; but they could not conclude any decisive resolution, till three Noble men of great account in this Realm, (and which were much addicted to Persenna's interest) arrived at this Castle.  
In the mean time Sycanus told Aronces, that there was a Princess in his House, whom it would be convenient to make use of, because she had great power with a man which was in much favour with the Prince Mezentius; but replied Aronces, may we confide in this Princess, since she is so well acquainted with one of Mezentius his Favourites, we may Sir, replied Sycanus; for the Princess of the Leontines is so averse to him, that if she should be less generous than she is, she would be faithful to those, which entreat her not to discover, that they trust to her secrecy, and this Princess having as much virtue as beauty, will never think of obstructing your designs, for not knowing your Birth, but hearing the generous action you performed in saving the Prince Mezentius his life, she was so much disposed to serve you, that she made Aurelia promise her, (whom she entirely affecteth, and who will engage for her fidelity) to obtain your permission, that she might give you a Visit. If I was in a capacity to anticipate it, replied Aronces, I would now entreat you to bring me to her Apartment; but since I am not, I must commit the conduct of this Affair, both to yours and Aurelia's discretion: after that Sycanus, Martia and Nicius left Aronces in the hands of his Surgeons, which then came to dress his wound; on the other side, the Numidian Prince, who really loved Aronces for his great deserts, and whom he looked upon as Clelia's adopted Brother, of whom he was amorous, continually sent to know the state of his health, and made a proposion to him through excess of friendship, to permit him to lie in his Chamber, that he might have the consolation to entertain him without disturbing his repose; but Aronces refused it,, not willing, as he pretended to be troublesome to him, though he was swayed to this denial by a jealous resentment, he could not conceal. In the mean time, Sycanus having told the Princess, that Aronces would receive her visit with much satisfaction, she resolved to go thither when night began to blind the World, in the company of Martia and Aurelia; but to wing the hours till the long expected time, she discoursed with Nicius, Martia and Celeres, whom Sycanus had brought thither, even in those things which have the most equality; for in fine, said she to Aurelia, I have lately had an experience which strongly fortifies the reasons may be alleged to prove the powerfulness of it, and I doubt not, but the desire I have to see Aronces, proceeds from that forcible inclination of which we are as ignorant, as of the true causes of the winds, and which blows as strong a gale in many occasions, and to prove the verity of my expressions; consider the Prince of Numidia and Aronces, both arrived here at the same time, of whom I have received almost an equal description; for Sycanus hath informed me, that the Prince of Numidia is tall, of a fair proportion, and though of a brown complexion, of a very pleasing aspect, interwoven with the rays of an haughty Spirit, and a maid who attends me, whose genius is excellent at copying shapes and faces, when she hath seen them hath told me, she thought Aronces was the exactest piece ever nature drew, that the air of his looks expressed both grandeur and nobleness, his hair light, his eyes blue, every feature agreeable, and his whole composure heroic, and if I have known Aronces hath performed a glorious action, by saving the Perusian Prince's life, I know likewise, that the Numidian Prince hath equalised it by endeavouring to rescue a noble Virgin, who had been forcibly taken away, they are both hurt, both of incredible valour, both strangers, and both unknown, and I believe both unhappy, because a deep melancholy sits enthroned in their faces; but there is some difference between them in my spirit; for though I know Adherbal is a Prince, and do not know the extraction of Aronces, yet I have no intention to go to see the Numidian Prince, but an impatient desire to visit Aronces, and I am so addicted to serve him, that I do not doubt, but that he is the Prince Adherbals superior in all noble qualities, as I am not sufficiently acquainted with the Numidian Prince, to judge equitably of his merits, replied Celeres, I dare not presume to give any character of him, but Madam, I can assure you, you will never have reason to change that favourable opinion you have conceived of Aronces. In effect Madam, he hath all the natural endowments that can be desired in an accomplished man, and I desire those who know him better than I do, to find any defect in him, or to make the least wish to his advantage, for first Aronces is of a most pleasant disposition, and his knowledge far exceeds that profession he hath practised all his life, his soul towering above all common motions, his heart seated beyond the reach of fear, yet hath he a tender and compassionate spirit, he entirely loves and respects his friends, and believes humanity ought to reside in all men, and that Princes should not dispense with themselves, from having particular virtues, though they are obliged to have others, which are peculiar to them, he hath affability mixed with courtesy, and an inexplicable charm in his discourse, flowing from him with such eloquence, and pronounced with such grace and Majesty, that it charms the attention of all his auditors, and to define him in few words, he is one whom detraction itself cannot mention without Epithets of applause and merit, and a subject fit for nothing but admiration.  
I may very well say, said the Princess of the Leontines, that the inclination I have for Aronces whom I do not know, is not ill grounded, though it appears blind to me, but the mischief is, it sometimes doth not accord with reason, for my part, said Aurelia, that which we often call inclination is not: and that the reason for which it inclines more to one side than another, is, that it can never find such an equality betwixt persons, as not to put some distinction between them, so that as it is the property of the spirit to discern and choose, it always electeth that the heart is most affected to, and that as we commonly attribute to the caecity of our inclinations, is indeed an effect of a more perspicuous illumination. There is doubtless much ingenuity in what you say, replied Celeres; but it shall never persuade me, that the inclination is an effective thing, where reason hath no operation, for it is sometimes found that our reason prompts us to one thing, and our inclination to another, and though we know that which we love, merits less than that we hate, it doth not at all alter our affections; as I have more experience in the world added Martia; being elder than all those before whom I speak, I have noted an hundred times such prodigious effects of this blind Inclination that I cannot doubt the power of it; for I have sometimes seen men of transcendent parts love women which have neither Beauty to attract their eyes, nor Virtue to allure their hearts; and women of great esteem to favour men which are by all rejected, and to despise others who merit much estimation: I, and I have myself sometimes been swayed to the friendship of some persons more than others, not being able to give any reason for it, and I very well discerned that if they had been deficient in Noble Qualities, 'twould not have changed my contracted Amity, therefore I have always put a distinction between those I have loved by Election, and those I have affected by Inclination. I believe sometimes it doth not chose replied Sycanus, for those which are of a lively Imagination and a penetrating spirit, so speedily determine of that they would esteem, that they do not perceive the proper operations of their Spirit, and ascribe that to Inclination which doth not appertain thereto, and that which most authorise those who attribute all to the Inclination, is, that some men indiscreetly choose those which are not amiable, and every one who cannot comprehend how reason should be capable of such grand mistakes, had rather submit to a blind Inclination than to confess it is sometimes blind itself, so that by this way we may cloak one bad Election with a seeming excuse, for the greatest part of men believe they are but half-justified, if they say they could not resist their Inclination, for my part, replied Aurelia, though I am persuaded of the grand Potency of the Inclination, I should not believe I were justified if it made me commit an Error, but I should believe myself to be more excusable, if I should commit a fault by the force of my Inclination than by defect of knowledge: After that the Princess of the Leontines went to Aronces his Apartment, conducted thither by Celeres, and followed by Sicanus, Martia, and Aurelia; this Interview was received on both parts in a manner beyond expression, for although persons which are endowed with all the advantages of a gallant Spirit, are commonly mute at the first sight, their tongues not performing their usual Functions, it happened not so with the Princess of the Leontines and Aronces, for their conversation was as free as if their knowledge had been of a long continuance, and they were as well acquainted at this first reception with one another's deserts; as if they had been already united in a strict Bond of Amity; the Princess of the Leontines applauded his Heroic Action in saving the Prince's life, and he highly commended the honour she vouchsafed to visit him; but these praises were without affectation, and which savouring not of flattery, did not perplex those which received them, and they both found, though they much endeavoured to restrain themselves, that they had both some great subject of Inquietude, so that imagining their grief might proceed from one cause, they had many inducements to desire one another's friendship, and if the Princess of the Leontines departed from Aronces much admiring him, he remained with the same admiration for her; 'tis true, that as his Spirit was pre-occupied with many things which strangely distracted him, she was no sooner gone, but his grief resuming its former place (which her presence had a little dispersed) he thought on nothing now but how he might compass a remedy to put a period to his afflictions: The Princess whose disturbed thoughts admitted more relaxation than those of Aronces, was no sooner returned to her Chamber, but an urgent curiosity incited her to desire Aurelia to impart unto her both the birth and adventures of Aronces: That which you demand of me, said Aurelia, is of so great a consequence, that I dare not presume to tell you what I know of them without the permission of Aronces, though they much require your knowledge; and likewise knowing but part of his Adventures, I cannot entirely satisfy your desires, but I will promise you to entreat Sycanus, to oblige Aronces to permit them to be imparted to you; and Aurelia inviolably keeping the promise she had made the Princess, did so much urge her Husband to desire this favour of Aronces, that he at last easily consented thereto, and very well knowing how important it might be to acquaint her with Aronces his Adventures, he communicated his Sentiments to Nicius, Martia, and Celeres, who giving them a favourable approbation, they went together to Aronces his Chamber, to persuade him to licence their discovery to her, at first he could not resolve to give his consent (his nature contradicting him) but after Sycanus had alleged many persuasive Arguments and Allegations to prove the necessity of it, he at last willingly without the least opposition granted their desires; 'tis true, the mind of this Princess could not be herein so soon satisfied as she desired, for the Perusian Prince the more to honour him who had saved his life, sent the Princess his wife to visit him, with Tiberinus the only Favourite of the Court, amorous of the Princess of the Leontines, who arrived at this time at the Willow Island, after Sycanus had concealed Nicius and Martia, in an Apartment, having given strict order no person should enter there, and an express command to all his Domestics, not to declare that there was any Stranger in the Castle besides Aronces and the Numidian Prince (their discovery so much importing Aronces) he brought to the Castle, the Perusian Princess followed by five or six women, and conducted by Tiberinus (not any of their Attendants knowing Nicius and Martia were there) and Sycanus having before advertised the Princess that the Numidian Prince was in the Castle, she believed his quality required the first visit, but 'twas most remarkable, that Adherbal who did not know Aronces was his Rival, mentioned none but him so long as their conversation lasted, exaggerating those Noble Actions he had performed at Carthage, where he was first acquainted with him.  
But after many Encomiums of the generous Aronces, tell me his birth said the Perusian Princess to him, to the end that the Prince whose life he hath saved may esteem him according to his quality, Aronces of himself is so illustrious, replied the Numidian Prince, that if his condition should not be meritorious, he would deserve the treatment of a King's Son; 'tis true, his birth was so variously reported at Carthage, that I cannot give you any assurance of it, but what I certainly know is this, that he was educated by a Noble Roman, who being exiled by Targuin, came to seek an Asylum at Carthage, where I first had the honour of his acquaintance, and I cannot be persuaded but he is of noble blood, for his thoughts do so transcend the Capacity of the Vulgar Intellects, that it would be a mere Soloecism to imagine he can be less than of a Royal Extraction. I believe, said the Princess of Perusia to him, that I shall hear your Eulogy from the mouth of Aronces, as I have heard his from yours, in expectation whereof I shall now take my leave, after I have offered unto you, all those things which are necessary for you: The Prince of Numidia answered to this Compliment with much Civility, entreating her not to believe the Character Aronces gave him, for as his thoughts were unknown to him, he presupposed that according to his obliging disposition, he would have given an higher Encomium of him than he deserved, so that the Princess having stayed a quarter of an hour with the Numidian Prince, whom Tiberinus freely offered to assist to the utmost extent of his power, she went towards the Apartment of the Princess of the Leontines, but having met her by the way, some reciprocal Compliments having passed on both sides, she brought her to Aronces his Chamber, who received the visit of this Princess with as much civility, as if he had not known she would be a grand Obstacle to all his Designs; at first her grateful language expressed how much she was obliged to him for saving the Prince her Husband's life, assuring him of the grandeur of his acknowledgement for such a signal Service, and that he had given express order to make an exact enquiry throughout all his Dominions; for the person he so much desired. Aronces returned thanks to this Princess with a joyful Emotion which sufficiently demonstrated, that the liberty of this person did much tend to his entire satisfaction: the Princess of Perusia likewise told him, that the Numidian Prince had related many things to his advantage, and that necessarily he was the most affectionate of all his friends; for in fine said she to him, though you deservedly merit all those Praises he hath attributed to you; I am of opinion that I may very well draw from them the consequence I have drawn, seeing that there are few persons who praise with excess, if friendship doth not thereto oblige them. I have without doubt, replied he, received many Demonstrations of the Amity of the Numidian Prince whilst I resided at Carthage; but I am really persuaded he will one day repent of them when he is better acquainted with me, neither do I flatter myself with the vanity of those applausive expressions he hath bestowed on me, and I am strongly persuaded that he is a Prince whose deserts are incomparable, and who is endued with those qualities, which as much distinguish him from common men, as his birth is superior to them: After these words Aronces held his peace, for in those Sentiments which lay concealed in the inmocence of his heart if he had been less generous, he had not given such an advantageous Character of this new Rival which much augmented his Inquietude, seeming to him he might justly complain of Clelia, for detaining such a Jewel from him: But whilst the Princess of Perusia entertained Aronces, Tiberinus spoke to the Princess of the Leontines, who being opposite to his affection, could hardly contain herself from showing that mortal Enmity her Soul had contracted against him; for Aurelia, she conversed with those Ladies which accompanied the Perusian Princess, and Sycanus entertained Celeres: but in fine, the Princess having performed her visit, after she had received a magnificent Collation at the Apartment of Aurelia, she returned to the Boat which had wafted her over the Lake, conducted by Aurelia to her Chariots, which attended her on the other side of the Lake; but she was no sooner gone when Nicius and Martia came from those places where they were concealed and the Princess of the Leontines spoke to Aurelia, to solicit her to remember her promise, so that Aurelia having spoke to Sycanus of it, and Sycanus to Aronces, he was resolved for many important reasons, that the next day after Dinner Celeres should go to the Chamber of the Princess of the Leontines, to recount unto her all that she desired of the fortune of Aronces, whose adventures he knew almost to the least circumstances, but to the end he might make a better recital of them, he went this Night to the Prince of Numidia's Lodging, from whose mouth he learned the love he had for Clelia, and all the Occurrences thereupon, this Prince telling it to him, to the end he should tell it to Aronces, he being denied the liberty to speak to him: so that Celeres being fully instructed either by Aronces, the Prince of Numidia, or his own observations, in all that which might content the curiosity of this Princess, he went the next day to her Chamber, where she with much impatience expected his coming, there being only with her Sycanus and Aurelia, he had scarce entered her Lodging, where she importunately solicited him to begin his discourse, which after a little consideration he performed in this manner.  

The History of Aronces and Clelia.  
I Cannot tell, Madam, whether my words may seem impertinent when I tell you that 'tis not possible for you to comprehend the present fortune of this Prince, if I do not intermix in my relation some particularity reflecting on the King his Father's life. What, said the Princess of the Leontines interrupting him, is Aronces a King's Son? Yes Madam, replied Celeres, Aronces is Son of the most Illustrious King of all Etruria, and the unhappiest King of the Earth, for the King Porsenna is his Father: I pray you, replied the Princess of the Leontines, if it lies in the sphere of your knowledge, to acquaint me with the adventures of Porsenna as well as those of Aronces, not concealing any thing from me, if it please you, for though I reside sometime in this Country, I have heard them but very confusedly, because I have had so many unquiet thoughts which have disturbed my Spirit, that I had not any curiosity to inform myself of the misery of others, when I had no power constantly to support my own: Since you command it, Madam, and that you desire of me is necessary to instance you of the deplorable estate of the Prince Aronces, I must deduce my discourse further than I at first intended, and tell you that the precedent King of Clusium, Porsenna's Father, waging War against the Prince of Perusia now regnant, gained a famous Battle but the sequel proved unfortunate: for the Prince his Son under whose Command his Troops were Victorious too far, pursuing those he had vanquished, was taken prisoner, so that Mezentius believing to have had as much advantage in this occasion as his Enemy, the Victory produced no peace between these two Princes, but the War continued as before.  
In the mean time, Porsenna who was one of the fairest Princes in the World, and who is now one of the ancientest Illustrious Kings in the Earth, was used with as much Civility as one in his condition could expect, though he was kept with as much exactness, as if instead of being a Prisoner of War he had been a Prisoner of State; he was therefore put in a Castle about six miles from Perusia, and which is so advantageously situated, that one hundred men may defend it against one thousand; but for his good or ill fortune, I know not which to term it, the Princess Nicetale the first Wife of the Prince of Perusia being very sick, was ordered to go for the recovery of her health to an Air less subtle than that of Perusia, and her Physicians finding none more commodious for her than the Castle in which the Prince Porsenna was kept, advised her to go thither, for as it's very great, and that it hath one Tower, which is so far divided from it, she might reside in the Castle without the knowledge of any of his Guard; but going thither she carried along with her the Princess Galerita her only Daughter, who was then about fifteen years old, and who was of such a piercing and prodigious beauty, that she could not be seen without admiration; the Prince Porsenna whom Nicetale visited many times in the Tower where he was kept, would not see her without being sensibly told, that he became more captive of the Daughter, through the love she gave him, than the Father by the Laws of War: Nicetale being a Princess of great Spirit, no sooner perceived the passion that the young Galerita had produced in Porsenna, she joyfully countenanced it, for she being naturally inclined to Peace, pitched upon this productive love, as the only means which might establish it between the King of Clusium and the Prince of Perusia her Husband, and far from opposing its continuation contributed much to the progression thereof, by the frequent visits she vouchsafed this Illustrious Captain, who seeing the bloing youth of the Person whom he loved, and not seeing her without the Princess Nicetale, judged that to acquire the love of Galerita, he might first gain the friendship of Nicetale, and indeed he had such an ascendant over her, that she loved him as if he had been her Son.  
In the mean time he managed his love so discreetly, that the young Princess of Perusia knew that he had for her, that as she had heard termed love, and she likewise felt, that she had for him I know not what tenderness that she never yet had for any Person; but in the end without expatiating myself to tell you with what Gallantry and address this loving Prisoner persuaded his love to her which had produced it; I shall only tell you that he acquainted her with it by writing, and obtained Nicitales permission to speak to her of it, which in the high esteem she had for him, received this confession of his love for her Daughter in a most obliging manner, for she then unlocked to him the secret of her heart, telling him that she knew that the touching of the Estate of the King of Clusium, and that of the Prince of Perusia was without doubt the way to put him in a capacity to give law to all Etruria, and to dispute the power with the famous Vulturnum, and with proud Rome itself, but knowing the resentments the King of Perusia had against the King of Clusium his Father, she was strongly persuaded that he would never consent to hearken to any terms whilst he was in prison, or that if he did hearken to it, he would never give his Daughter to his Prisoner; 'tis therefore, said she to him, we must contrive a way to render you happy, and to give the Peace to two Estates, which cannot subsist in War: Alas Madam, what expedient, may a Prince find overwhelmed with so many different chances, as I highly esteem your virtue, I will propose to you a proposition, which according to all appearances may effect happily your design, if you follow my advice.  
But generous Porsenna, pursued she, before I tell it you, you must solemnly swear to me, and do not promise me that which you will not inviolably keep, I promise you Madam, said he to her, that I will never violate my word I give you, and that I will not make use of the privilege that may be granted to Prisoners not to perform their promise, but likewise promise me, that you will not command me to disrespect you, or not to affect Galerita: on the contrary replied Nicetale, I intent to put you in a possibility always to love her, and to permit her to love you innocently, till the expiration of her life; but to make this design succeed happily, I must steer my course so, that you may depart from prison without any suspicion, that I was privy to it: you must therefore said she, not go to Clusium, for fear you should not be there Master of yourself, but you must go to the King of Cera, who remaining neuter during this War, is very fit to be a Mediator between the King of Clusium, and the Prince my Husband; but before it's put in execution, you must promise me, that in case by your solicitations and address, you can neither conclude a Peace between these two Princes, nor to oblige them to consent, that you may espouse Galerita, you will come back to reassume your chains; for it is not just, knowing your valour and good fortune in the War, I should put such a valiant man as you in the head of an Army, which must fight against Mezentius, for though he is sometimes violent and unjust, I am his Wife, and aught to espouse his interest against all the World, think therefore if you are capable to accomplish my desires, as Porsenna was amorous, and Nicetales proposition was equitable, he promised her with joy to perform all the desired, on condition, she would likewise promise him to use all her power, that he might espouse Galerita; so the agreement being fully concluded, they resolved that this Princess should return to Perusia, and he that commanded the Castle, absolutely depending on Nicetale, should give him leave to escape, and Porsenna through an interest of love was obliged to wish the absence of his beloved object, as Nicetale desired passionately Peace should be concluded before the beginning of the Spring, she hastened her return to accelerate the execution of her design, but as she now looked upon Porsenna, as a Prince which should espouse her Daughter, she permitted them to have some particular conference the day which preceded her departure, whilst she entertained below a Lady of Quality which had arrived there that Morning; so that Porsenna in this manner bid adieu to that young and fair Person, the Grandeur of whose Spirit, equalling her great Beauty, made her to tell things most judicious to the Prince whom she was about to leave: for after he had made to her a thousand Protestations of fidelity, she told him she would not oblige him to so many things, as the Princess her Mother had, in case that he could not make a pacification between the King of Clusium and the Prince of Perusia, she would only desire him not to bear Arms against the Prince her Father; but Porsenna having answered her, that if he was free, honour would force him to fight for his Father; and both love and honour equally engaging him to her, if he could not conclude a Peace, he would come back to reassume his Irons, which seemed to him much lighter than those with which love had chained him; in fine Madam, this separation was so tender and sensible, and those which have related this Adventure, say, that it was scarce credible, that so young a Person, as Galerita should have power to draw herself from his conversation with so much judgement and address, and assuredly this particular entertainment much increased the Prince's affection. In the mean time, Nicetale, after she had reconfirmed her promises to him, and he had renewed his to her, returned to Perusia, leaving a secret order with him which commanded the Castle, who was the Son of the Princess Galerita's Governess, to favour Porsenna's escape in four or five days, but so privately to act it, that he might not in the least appear culpable of it; this man over whom his Mother had as much power by her address, as by that which nature gave her, disposed himself to hazard his Fortune in hopes to advance it, and executed it so happily, a few days after, the Princess Nicetale was returned to Perusia, that Porsenna saved himself, as if he had suborned some of his Guards who went with him, neither did Mezentius know any thing of Porsenna's love to Galerita, nor the Intelligence of Nicetale with Porsenna. In the mean time, this Prince according to his word went to Cera, from whence he sent to the King of Clusium to entreat him to endeavour to conclude a Peace with the Prince of Perusia by proposing his Marriage with the Princess his Daughter, and he to whom this employment was committed, being a man of Quality very fit to perform this Commission Porsenna fully instructed him of all the reasons which might oblige the King his Father to consent to his Propositions, charging him that if he would not effect it, to tell him that he was not free, but in appearance, and that he would return to the Prison of the Prince of Perusia, when his hopes were frustrated of espousing the Princess Galerita, and to give Peace to two of the most considerable Estates of all Etruria; at first the King of Clusium was strangely irritated against the Prince his Son; because he went to Cera, and not to him, and vented his anger against his Proposition, but Porsenna having secretly wrote to those which had some credit over this his Father's Spirit, that they might induce him to make Peace, they knew so well how to represent to him, that his people were weary of War, and the advantage that the Marriage of his Son with the blooming youth of the Perusian Princess would bring him, that in the end he resolved to send to offer Peace to Mezentius, whose courage was much abated at Porsenna's flight, for he knew not the conditions, on which he departed from his Irons, but having a fiery heart, and a vindicative spirit, he would not resolve with himself to hearken to any Proposition of Peace, nor Alliance with a Prince whom he hated, and that which fed this humour, was, that the Princess Galerita was much affected by a Prince of this Court, named Bianor, who forgot nothing that might hinder that the Peace should deprive him of his Mistress; that which rendered his credit so great: was that Mezentius was amorous of his Sister, who is now that Prince's Wife, and who was then very beautiful and ambitions, so it was not without great difficulty, that Nicetale made him consent to her desires, but she could not have done it, unless having divulged the advantageous Proposals of Peace by the King of Clusium: the people were no sooner advised of it, but they murmured at him, and so highly began to testify their aversion to War, that Mezentius knowing very well, he could not without danger excite a revolt in his Estates, (having given a great charge to Bianor to appease the Person whom he loved) he consented in the end to treat with the King of Clusium.  
In the interim there passed few days, but Porsenna wrote to Nicetale and Galerita, to pray the first to remember her promise, and to give a thousand testimonies of love to the latter: but in the end, after a long Negotiation, the Peace was concluded, and the Marriage of Porsenna and Galerita resolved on, on condition Porsenna should remain at Perusia, as long as his Father lived: Mezentius imagining that the King would renew the War, in despite of the Alliance, if he retained not the Prince as Hostage, it is true, this Article was easily accorded to, for though the King of Clusium very much loved his Son, he was not sorry for this advantageous absence, which reunited in his Person all the obedience of his Subjects, so that the Marriage was happily concluded in despite of the Clandestine Machinations of Bianor, and the natural aversion of Mezentius; but hardly had Porsenna and Galerita the leisure to contemplate the happy Sunshine of their good fortune, when it was eclipsed with grief; for the sage and prudent Nicetale died a little after the Celebration of the Nuptials, and she died with much regret, because she knew the secret aversion Bianor's Sister entertained in her heart against Porsenna, and it was principally because she saw him adored by all the Court, and very much loved by the People. In the mean time the death of Nicetale put such a great consternation in all her House, and in the Princess her Daughters, that there were few in the one and the other which were not entirely swayed by grief, so that in this great disorder, it unhappily fell out, that one of the Women of this Queen, which had been always favourable to Porsenna's Rival, found all the Letters the Prince had written to Nicetale, during his residence at Cera, by which he entreated her exactly to keep her word, and to oblige the Princess her Daughter to keep the promise she made him to espouse none but him; so that this Person being seized of these Letters, to evidence to Bianor, that if she had not had the power heretofore to serve him nigh Galerita, it was not for want of address, but because an invincible obstacle opposed her intentions, but showing all those Letters to Bianor, she excited a great confusion in his Spirit, which made him resolve to revenge himself both of Porsenna and Galerita, for as he knew Mezentius was jealous of his Authority, that he was violent and vindicative, and that he noted, he did not very much affect Porsenna, he believed that when he knew the commerce which had been between him and the Princess his Daughter, he would be much exasperated against him, & having consulted with his Sister thereupon, she confirmed him in his design, for not seeing now that it was impossible Mezentius should espouse her, being a Widower, and that he was very amorous of her, she imagined it would be most advantageous to effect her Marriage with that Prince, and the only way to excite his anger, both against Porsenna; and the Princess Galerita: So that this Maid reasoning as an Ambitious Person, and 〈◊〉 as a Vindicative Lover and an Ambitious Rival, they absolutely resolved to show the Prince of Perusia all Porsenna's Letters, but as they were not absolutely assured what impression they would make in Mezentius Spirit when he saw them, they would not give them to him with their own hands, but laid them on the Table of his Cabinet, where he found them without knowing who put them there; he was strangely astonished to see them; for as he well knew the writing of Porsenna, and easily comprehended their Contents, he would not make appear his astonishment nor anger, because he would be better satisfied of them, though those Letters almost learned to him all that which was passed, the Article only excepted which might justify Nicetale, for it was not positively written in the Letter that he should return to Prison if the Peace was not concluded, because he judged Nicetale would understand it, if he did but express in general terms that he would not violate his promise: Mezentius then being willing to be better instructed in that which was but dubiously mentioned in the Letters, sent to find out the Lady who had been the Princess his Daughter's Governess before her Marriage, judging that this secret might be known to her, she being very much beloved by Nicetale, but the better to palliate his Design, he showed to her all Porsenna's Letters to Nicetale, without expressing the least resentment of anger, to have learned the Intelligence which had been between the Princess his Daughter, and Porsenna during his Imprisonment; but on the contrary he said to her the more to deceive her, that he had not the curiosity to know particularly all the passages between them, and who were those which had contributed to unite their affection, but to the end, to know to whom he owed that obligation of Peace which his People enjoyed by the Marriage of those two Persons; Mezentius thus speaking with a feigned dissimulation, and the Lady believing in the estate things were, his designs were consonant to his words, disguised nothing from him, and recounted to him all that was passed; but though she told him that Porsenna was set free on a limited condition to come back thither if he espoused not Galerita by concluding Peace, but he believed it not, but believed 'twas this Lady's invention, and judged 'twas her Son which had facilitated the flight of that Prince, though she did not acquaint him with it, but told him that Nicetale had suborned some of his Guards, but she principally aggravated the Grandeur of Porsenna's love to Galerita, and that powerful inclination of Galerita for Porsenna, seeming to her that nothing was more proper to mollify the heat of a Prince which was himself susceptible of Love's slames; but scarce had this Lady finished her Speech, but Mezentius unmasking his anger, what, said he to her, beholding her with a terrible aspect, which would make the constantest Person tremble? Have I then put my Daughter to you, to teach her to love my Enemy and those that my Valour had subdued? Was it to inspire her with such degenerate thoughts that I preferred the care of her Education to you before many others? Sir, said she unto him, I have but obeyed the Princess Nicetale, and I do not see that this obedience hath had a preposterous Event, since you have for your Son in Law, the Son of a great King, and which merits to be greater as much by the qualities he possesses, as by his highness of his birth, If I could resuscitate Nicetale to punish her for her treachery and perfidiousness, pursued he, I would do it with all my heart: but since 'tis not possible, you shall answer for the fault she hath committed, and I will so severely punish you for your Treason, that you shall wish your death all the rest of your life; this Lady would have then allayed the fury of this violent Prince, but the more she spoke the more it excited his anger, and at this instant they came to advertise him that Bianor had something of consequence to impart to him, so that he having commanded some of his Attendants to carry that Lady to her Chamber, and not to let her speak to any person, he harkened to Bianor, who assured him that he had news that the King of Clusium was upon the point of expiration: Porsenna not knowing of it, from whom he would conceal it, to the end he should not depart from his Court; for fear he should be retained there by his people, who would never consent that their Prince should reside at Perusia, hardly had Bianor learned unto him the Estate of the King of Clusium, but he took a resolution to satisfy three passions instead of one, for he pretended to satisfy his vengeance in arresting Porsenna, and declaring his marriage void, he easily pretended to satisfy his Ambition in usurping his Estates after the death of the King his Father, and he pretended to satisfy his love by espousing Bianors Sister, on pretext to revenge himself of Galerita and to disinherit her, because she had had a secret love with the Prince she had married, when there was war with the King his Father, so that confusedly reasoning with all the preoccupation of a person which had love, ambition and anger, he considered neither justice nor resentments of nature, nor the sequel of his resolution, hinting on nothing but to execute his unjust designs, he therefore acquainted Bianor with all his intentions, communicating to him all that he would act against Porsenna, and for Sextilia his Sister, and as Bianor had an artificial spirit, he more stirred up Mezentius anger, and offered himself to execute his commands whatsoever they were, so that the Prince of Perusia without deferring a moment, gave all the orders necessary, to arrest at the same time Porsenna and Galerita, and it was so speedily resolved on, and so diligently executed, that Porsenna was already returned to the prison where he had been, and Galerita and her ancient Governess, were already in the greatest Isle of the Lake, that you may see from your windows. And they did not yet know in the City whether they were arrested or no, and Mezentius was at first so happy in his unjust actions, that all succeeded according to his desire; for he had cruelly revenged himself both of Porsenna and Galerita, and saw himself in an estate to possess the person whom he loved, and he hoped Clusium would soon obey him, for he knew the next day that Porsenna's Father was dead, and that the Grandees of the Realm were divided, and he had the good fortune, that though the people of Perusia very much loved Galerita and Porsenna, they revolted not because Bianor published many things disadvantageous to these two illustrious persons, so that they at first, not being able to discern truth from falsehood, they opposed not the injustice of Mezentius, who a few days after espoused Sextilia, in hopes to have a successor, which would deprive Galerita from having the power one day to possess his Kingdom, but to satisfy either his ambition or revenge, he promised protection to one of those parties in Clusium, to endeavour to oppress the other, and sent into that Realm a manifesto filled with impostures and false reasons, to palliate Porsenna's imprisonment.  
In the interim, Bianor being amorous of Galerita, powerfully solicited his sister to persuade the King to nullify the marriage of Porsenna, that he might espouse her, for he imagined (induced thereto by love) that Nicetale had a greater hand in this match than Galerita; so that conceiving some hope, he gave no repose to Sextilia, who to satisfy her brother, forgot nothing that was possible to endeavour to make void the marriage of Porsenna, and so far persuaded Mezentius, that he went in person to induce her to desert that Prince, and to tell her that she was forced to marry him, more by her Mother's command than her own inclinations, and that he would not only put to death Porsenna, but herself also if she repugned his will, making likewise to Porsenna the most unjust propositions that could be imagined; for he offered him his liberty, if he would yield to him the half of his estate, and consent to the nullifying of his marriage, telling him he was in a place where he could not be too prudent to refuse any thing: but whatsoever he could say to that Prince, or the Princess his daughter, he could not shake their constancies, and they both told him, they would never forsake one another, so that Mezentius now remained satisfied, in hope that time would alter their opinions, and thought on nothing but how he might entirely usurp the estate of that unhappy King, who though unhappy as he was, was not so much as the Queen his wife; for Madam, I must tell you, that two Months after her Imprisonment, she began to fear herself to be with child, at first she imagined it proceeded from a simple effect of her Melancholy, but as she had her ancient Governess with her, this Lady to whom age had given much experience, told her that without doubt her fear was really grounded, so that she finding herself in the saddest condition can be imagined, seeing the horrible threatenings of Mezentius, believed that there could be no assurance for the life of Porsenna's child; and her Governess was of advice at first, that if Mezentius knew her estate, he would not insist on the rupture of the marriage, but considering he had told her, he would put to death both her and Porsenna, she could not hope that a Prince which had the cruelty to threaten his own daughter's death, would spare the life of a child that he looked upon as the child of a Prince whom he esteemed his enemy: this Lady likewise who was her only consolation, told her that after Mezentius had reduced things to the estate where they were, he would not be capable to be mollified by the consideration of a child, which was but in conception, and who had nothing but tears to bow his obdurateness, when he should come into the world, so that they thought it was expedient to conceal that indisposition, which produced their fear, but the thing at first appeared so difficult to them, that their consolation ended in tears.  
But after a little mature deliberation, they believed that if they could gain his wife, who commanded the Castle, it would not be impossible to conceal so great a secret; for as she was the only person which had the liberty to see this young Queen (except two slaves which served her) they should fear nothing, if they could procure her to be of their intelligence, so that all the care Galerita used was to entirely to acquire that Lady who was called Flavia, and who is sister to Nicius, here present; but to speak truly, it was not difficult for the Princess to oblige her to serve her, and to be faithful to her, for she being naturally tender and compassionate, had a particular inclination to love Galerita, who knew so admirably how to acquire their spirits of those from whom she would obtain any thing, that it had been very difficult for Flavia to resist her entreaties, who much deplored the misery of so fair and virtuous a Queen, but Galerita deferred the discovery of it, as long as she could possible, to see if the Prince of Perusia could desist from his injustice, but hearing by some of her Guards, that he always appeared more inveterate against Porsenna, and that he used all the means possible to usurp his estate, and that when Clusium was submitted, he would assuredly put to death this Prince, she determined to confide on Flavia, to whom she learned her present Estate, and the fear Mezentius should know it, but she told it her with such melting language, and tender considerations to procure her fidelity to assist her in saving the life of of an innocent Babe, which did not yet enjoy the light, that this virtuous woman, which had no obdurate heart mingled her tears with Galeritas, and would not promise her (without evaporating many sighs) the accomplishment of all her desires, so that the true cause of her indisposition might be concealed. But without troubling myself to recite impertinent particularities, I shall tell you in few words, that Galerita having feigned to be seized with a greater malady than really she was, to obtain that her Guards should come no more into her Chamber, and Flavia (who was very much beloved by her Husband) being wholly gained by her, and they having gained the Physician which should see Galerita: the design was in the end conducted with so much precaution, judgement, and sense, that the true cause of Galeritas indisposition was not in the least suspected, and she had the advantage to salute the times with a Successor to Porsenna, it being not then known, and the generous Flavia acted her part so handsomely, that the Son of the Queen of Clusium came into the world, without being publicly known, and was taken out of her Chamber without being discovered, for having foreseen what she would act, she had so ordered it that the Queen of Clusium having seen from her Chamber a little child, she had which was very fair, and that one of her slaves held in his arms desired to see it, so that insensibly she had used the Guards of this Princess to enter daily, and go out with that person which carried Flavia's young Son into Galeritas Chamber, and which carried it sometimes divested and sometimes wrapped up in sumptuous swath bands, as if it were asleep in her arms, to the end to use this artifice, when it should be necessary, and as Flavia was his wife who commanded the Castle, none which depended on her were suspected by Galeritas Guards, so that when this Queen was in estate to have need of the address of Flavia, she caused her which had accustomed to bring the Son of this Lady to the Chamber of the Princess to come thither with the same swaddling clouts wherewith she used to envelope it, when she carried it asleep thither, having taken a great bundle of flowers in going through a Garden, which she carried as if it had been really the child she used to carry in her arms, so that being entered in this manner into Galeritas Chamber with Flavia who followed her, and having stayed there till the Queen had given Porsenna a Son, she departed afterwards from thence with the child of this Queen, whose face was covered lest the fallacy should be discerned, and this young Prince was carried to the Apartment of Flavia; from whence she caused it to depart the same night, to commit it to the care of Martia her Sister in Law, to whom without any fear she confided this secret, because she had always had so great a dependence on the service of the precedent Princess of Perusia, that there was nothing to be feared, but as of necessity, that this child should be carried in a Bark to the other side of the Lake, to transport it to the house of Martia, which was ten miles from thence.  
There was a few days after some noise dispersed of that which Galerita feared should be known, and it so suddenly received an augmentation, that Bianor hearing of it made it known to Mezentius, and this Prince caused to be arrested the Physician, which had assisted the Queen of Clusium, and by most cruel threatenings, he obliged him to confess the truth, but hardly did he know it, but fury wholly possessing him, he commanded an exact search should be made for Galeritas Child, he caused Flavia and her husband to be arrested, and changed all the Guards of the Queen his daughter, and so rigorously treated this Princess, that she now feared Mezentius would kill her Son if he came into his hands, 'tis true, she long time feared this mishap would arrive, for knowing the humour of Mezentius, and having understood from Flavia, that some noise was dispersed of the birth of this young Prince, she obliged her to command Nicius and Martia on her part, to seek speedily a pretext to perform a voyage to carry this young child from the estate of a Prince, whose violence and injustice she equally feared; she gave Flavia precious stones of a very considerable value to give to Martia, that she might make use of as occasion served during the exile of her Son, and Flavia having instructed Nicius and Martia of Galeritas intentions, returned not to the Isle where she was kept, till she had seen Nicius and Martia depart to seek an Asylum for Porsenna's successor, at first they had a design to put themselves under the protection of those which held the part of that unhappy King in his estate, but Nicius who is very prudent, learning how that estate was divided, and that the faction Mezentius protected was the most powerful, it would be dangerous to trust this young Prince to men, which in the low estate to which they were reduced, would make use it may be of that occasion to make an accommodation with Mezentius, instead of defending him against him, as the Son of their King, so that to put him in more safety, Nicius and his wife, leaving Clusium on the right hand, they embarked at a Port, which was not above six miles from the famous City of Cera, with intention to pass to Syracuse, where Nicius had heretofore resided a long time, seeming to them that the Isle of Sicily was a safer retreat for the young Prince, which they conducted, than any other place they could choose; for as Rome was at this time under the dominion of a violent Prince, that they spoke of nothing but exile, Volternum was not far enough, Tarentum was then divided, Capua was too delicious to sojourn for the afflicted, and Syracuse seemed a City where they might remain, without informing who they were, because of the great resort of strangers thither from all parts, this City having the commerce of Africa and Italy, as well as Greece, Tarentum, and a great part of Etruria, but to conceal better so great a secret, Nicius and Martia resolved to say that this young Prince was their Son, and without having any other company with them, save his Nurse, and two most faithful slaves, they embarked as I have told you, with intention to go to Syracuse, but Madam, before I relate the issues of their voyage, I shall briefly tell you, that Mezentius not only acted all I have told you, after he had known that Galerita had a Son, but he swore he would declare war to all Princes, and all Republics, which gave him a retreat, and that Porsenna's party in Clusium being suppressed by the others, Mezentius had the power to persecute impunely that unhappy King, and men of the greatest knowledge are persuaded, that if he had not had a Son, his life had been in great danger, but as Mezentius saw, that if he put him to death, it would give a pretext for a new war, which he would not undertake, since those which had the Prince in their power would use his name to revenge the death of the King, he spared his life, and seeing himself so absolutely master of Clusium, as he hoped, for those that he had protected against the faithful Subjects of Porsenna, had ever been there of the greatest Authority.  
In the Interim Bianor endeavoured to consolate himself by the great credit he had with Mezentius, and by the hope that Galeritas child would perish, and Porsenna die in Prison, and that he should one day enjoy his Mistress.  
But to return to Nicius and Martia, they were no sooner embarked, but the wind which was at first favourable, suddenly changed, and became so outrageous that for fear of shipwreck, they must leave their intended course, and abandon themselves to the wind, which was stronger than the Pilots art, who conducted them: and the Sea was so tumultuous, that the waves often passed from one side of the ship to the other, with such impetuosity, that they nigh overwhelmed all that were there, and these waves meeting sometimes together in such a manner that they formed within themselves great foamy mountains, that the other waves bore away in wheeling about, and they saw a kind of fight between them, which threatened shipwreck to all the vessels which were then on the Sea: This Tempest became most dangerous to that Ship in which Nicius and Martia was, for the wind after it had tossed it in divers manners, pushed it towards the Cape of Lylibeum, so that as there is no greater danger for vessels when the Sea is angry, than to be nigh the Land, Nicius and Martia had much reason to fear the loss of their Vessel, but that which more confirmed it, was, that they saw the Pilot, who was very skilful, after to have unprofitably used his art to resist the impetuofity of the winds, and the tempestuousness of the Sea, had left the helm and fell on his knees to make vows to Neptune, declaring by this action, that he no more hoped there, but in the assistance of the Gods, yet they appeared in his face, that he did not hope to obtain that he demanded, for he had all the marks of despair in his eyes.  
In the mean time, in the middle of this tempest, this young Prince which was Nicius and Martias principal peaceably slept in his cradle, without knowing his life was in peril, but though he feared not, Martia and Nicius feared for him, and there was other vessels in this place, which were exposed to perish, as that of Nicius: and by fortune's capriciousnesse, the tempest had brought together in a little space many ships, which held divers ways, when it began, for there was one of Carthage which being parted from Syracuse to return to its Country had been constrained to leave its course, there was another from Tarentum, two from Ostria, and one from Corinth, so that the wind seemed not to have form this little Fleet but to destroy it, these Vessels then fearing to be rocks to one another, and to beat by clashing together, performed all which they could to separate them, but as usually the sea being angry disperseth the Fleets, it seemed to have brought these ships together, and would not separate them, till they should be broken by one another, and had covered the shore with their ruins: but Madam, the better to comprehend the marvellousnesse of this adventure, you must know that there was in this vessel that went to Carthage, an illustrious Roman family, who to fly the persecution of Tarquin the proud, which now reigns in that famous City, had taken a resolution to seek an asylum in Africa, because there is no great commerce between Italy and it, except it be casual by the way of Sicily; and Clelius who was chief of it saw himself unfortunate, and more unfortunate than Nicius, for he had an only son in the Cradle, that was exposed to perish as well as he, it is not that Clelius feared death, through a resentment of weakness, but that having all the generosity which true Romans make profession of, he looked upon his loss, and his sons as a gain to Tarquin whereof he was enemy and he did not consider the loss of all his family and his own. His wife, who was named Sulpicia, was not so troubled by the apprehension of death, as by a resentment of glory, who desired, that if they perished, the enemy should not hear of their shipwreck, so that Clelius and Sulpitia, without concealing themselves during the tempest, as usually all passengers do, which are in vessels, came on the poop, to look upon this terrible agitation of the waves, which momentarily exposed them to perish, at least just gods (said then this generous Roman, lifting up his eyes to heaven) if ye have resolved my destruction, save my Country, and to die like a true Roman, let me rather make vows for it, than for myself, do then, you just gods I entreat you oppress Tarquin the proud by his own tyranny, let him be trampled under the Throne to which his crimes have carried him, and let the cruel Tullia, which passed over her father's body to mount the same Throne die cruelly, let all his family be exterminated, let the name of the Tarquins be an horror, and since Rome hath no more legitimate Kings, let it I say be free, and let it never have tyrants, Clelius having thus spoken, and Sulpitia by her suppliant action seemed to join her prayers with her husbands, a gust of this enraged wind bearing Nicius his vessel on theirs, split them both in an instant, and covered all the sea with their ruins; the Carthaginians were seen mingled with the Romans and the Romans with the Sicilians, who in particular used all the means they were able to save their lives, but amongst others Clelius who could swim admirably, and who had a strong heart, incapable of disturbance by the sight of any certain death, endeavoured to swim to discover his wife or his son, amongst that mass of planks, which there floated, and men clinged unto them to save their lives, but as the violence of the waves, soon dispersed the splinters of the ships, Clelius without finding his son or his wife, was constrained to think on his own safety; and having discovered the point of a rock which overlookt the sea, where he might retreat in such a pressing necessity: he that endeavoured to gain it in despite of the impetuosity of the waves, in hope all the vessels which he had seen in the beginning of the tempest were not perished, and that some of them would take him from the rock when the sea was a little calm; but as Clelius vigorously did swim to attain that rock, he saw on his right hand, a cradle which floated, and a young child, which without appearing affrighted at the horrible peril where he was, smiled assoon as he perceived him, this pitiful object sensibly touching the heart of this generous Roman, and at that instant not thinking there was any other Child but his in any of the vessels which were shipwrackt, believed it was his son and did swim with more swiftness to go to succour that Cradle, which the waves so rudely tossed, but approaching it, he knew distinctly, that it was not his child; for he had different swaddling clouts and very remarkable which gave him no doubt of it; nevertheless, Clelius incited by a compassionate feeling, and wishing his child were in the same estate, who might find one which would succour him, continued swimming towards the cradle of the young Prince of Clusium; for it was Madam the son of him whom Clelius saw in imminent danger, and which would have infallibly perished without his assistance: this illustrious Clelius did swim with so much force and address, for to take hold of a corner of the Cradle of that young Prince whom he knew not; but that which was most cruel, was, that the waves which pushed it, carried it from the point of the rock, that he looked upon as an Asylum; nevertheless having found this Cradle, he sustained it with one hand, and swimming with the other, he turned his head to the rock, where afterwards arrived with much difficulty, and assoon as he was there, he put the Cradle of this young Prince, on the highest part of that rock, and seated him by it, to behold the place where he was shipwrackt, but looking on it, he saw his own sons cradle which floated, and which being entangled among the planks, that the Sea tossed in a strange manner, appeared to him ready to be drowned, so that not having the power to resist his paternal pity, weary as he was, he left the young child which he had found, and cast himself again into the sea, to endeavour to save his, but going thither had the misfortune to see that a gust of wind having pushed the prow of one of those broken ships, between him and his son, just as the cradle had been disintangled from the planks which supported it, hindered him from seeing any more the cradle or the planks; for at that time there fell a shower of rain so abundant, that Clelius could hardly perceive the rock, where he had left Porsenna's son, when he believed to have seen his own son perish, he would return to him which heaven had given him, and having nothing else to do, he regained that Refuge, but when he was there, he sometimes believed, that he and this child would likewise die there; for after the cessation of this terrible shower, he saw two vessels which had not been shipwrackt, instead to approach the place where he was, did all that they might to estrange themselves from it, for as the Pilots knew that rock, they would not by any means possible approach it; so that Clelius finding his deplored estate, judged that it may be, if he enterprised to swim to gain those vessels, it would not be impossible for him to do it, if he went alone without enterprising to sustain the Cradle; but as he would not forsake the child which heaven had put into his protection, he could not resolve to do it; for he was no sooner on the rock, but the wind changed, and pushed thither such an abundance of foam, that if Clelius had not held the Cradle of this young Prince in his arms, he had been drowned in the sea. Clelius being in this deplorable estate, believed when he see his son perish, he did not doubt of his wife's death, his generosity hindered from thinking of preserving his own life, and he saw little appearance to preserve that unhappy infant; but in the end, one of these Carthaginian vessels which had not perished, being pushed in despite of him towards that rock and Clelius having made divers signs, was in the end perceived by him which commanded it, which being capable of humanity, had taken a particular care to save the most of those men he could, which were shipwrackt, and in the end, the wind having ceased on a sudden, it was easy for him without danger to approach the rock: and Clelius put himself again in the water, charged with the Cradle of the son of Porsenna to gain the vessel, where he had the joy to find again his dear Sulpitia, that a faithful slave had saved her by bearing her upon the water, and making her to board the ship where he sound her. This interview had something very delightful: for Clelius was much comforted by finding his wife, and Sulpicia was very joyful to see again her husband, she believed at first she had recovered her son, when she saw Clelius with a child in his arms, but she was soon disabused, and in the end they both comforted themselves for the loss of their child by him fortune had given them, and by the consolation they had to see one another, after they had believed never to have seen one another again, and it seemed, that in the shipwreck, where they had believed to have lost all, they saved that which was of most value; for they found a part of their vessel run on ground on a heap of sand, where the richest things which they had were, and Sulpicia struggling in the water had seized on a plank of another broken vessel, upon which was a casket fastened by divers cords wound round about it in that turning which was made at the time of the shipwreck; so that this faithful slave of Clelius, who had saved Sulpicia, having found her sustaining herself by this plank, which was ready to sink by the weight of this casket, supported her, and brought her to the vessel where Clelius found her (for it was very nigh) bringing likewise in his hands the casket which was fastened to the plank, imagining without examination, that it was hers, so that after Clelius and Sulpicia had had the leisure to meditate on the accident which was arrived, they found that their loss was less than they thought of in this occasion; for they had found a child instead of theirs, and stones of an inestimable value in that Casket-  
In the mean time, Clelius believing that he could not better acknowledge the favour that the gods had afforded him by saving his life, than in having a particular care of that child he had found, prayed Sulpicia to nourish it instead of hers, and to love it as her own, and as they both felt the grief they had for the loss of theirs, they would have restored this child to those which had lost it, if they were not perished themselves, but they could not hear of them, for the misfortune was, that those of the Carthaginian Vessels saved none but those which were with Clelius and the other vessels, which were nigh that in which Porsenna's son was shipwrackt, succoured those which escaped there, but as the tempest separated them, and their ways being different, Clelius could learn nothing of the birth of this child, neither of what country he was, nevertheless his hope was, that the vessel which had saved him, went thither where he had a design to go: he obliged the Captain, to whom he owed his life, to bring him to Carthage, where he had a design to pass the time of his exile, to the end said he, that I may not have my spirit troubled by the recital of Tarquin's tyranny. But to make Sulpicia love the child better, the gods had given them, he desired he should have the name of Aronces, which was the name of the child he had lost; but he would not say, when he came to Carthage that Aronces was his son, though he had for him a paternal affection, for fear that should obscure his knowledge, and not knowing whether he should have other children, he would not disguise the truth, but he would carefully keep the Cradle, and the swading bands in which this child had been found, and likewise imagined that the stones he had found in that Casket might conduce to his knowledge: And he had for this child which was unknown to him, all the cares which his high birth rendered him worthy of, but whilst Clelius rendered to him all the offices of a true father, Nicius and Martia which had been saved by a Syracusian vessel, were in so strange a despair for the loss of this young Prince, which was trusted to their care, that they durst never declare his death to the particular friends of Galerita, though they were strongly persuaded he had perished; for as things were then, if this young Prince had been in their power, they durst not in any wise have revealed his birth, and they remained at Syracuse, where they learned that Porsenna was more strictly kept, that Bianor persecuted Golerita, and that Sextilia had no children. But to return to Clelius and Sulpicia, you shall know Madam, that they lived at Carthage, where their virtue soon gained them many friends, and the young Aronces comforted them so well for the loss of their son, that if they had had a desire to destroy him to resuscitate the other, they could not resolve to do it, and indeed I have heard them say, he was amiable even from his Cradle, and that he ever appeared to have something so great in him, little as he was, that it was easy even then to imagine that he should be of illustrious extraction, he was likewise more dear to Clelius and Sulpitia, because they were four years without any children, but in the end Sulpitia had a daughter, which was called Clelia, but a daughter so fair, that they spoke of her beauty even at her birth, I shall not trouble myself Madam to exaggerate to you all her first attraction, though I have heard Aronces say, she testified so much spirit, even before she could speak, for as I have things of more importance to tell you, I shall not weary your patience by a recital of that nature, and I shall content myself to assure you, that if Clelius forgot nothing to bring up the young Aronces, Sulpicia likewise forgot nothing to bring up the young Clelia; neither shall trouble myself Madam, to tell you many particularitis of the Grandeur and Magnificence of Carthage, to make you comprehend that these two Persons could not be better in any place of the Earth; since it is true, they found in it all they might find in the most political Republics, and in the most flourishing Monarchies; but as it is not that of which I must treat, but it is the life of Aronces you must know: I shall tell you in two words, that Carthage is one of the richest and fairest Cities in the World, and that as all the Africans have a natural inclination to delight, though they are a warlike People, all pleasures were found in this Magnificent City, as much as in any place of the Earth.  
Moreover, as Carthage is dreadful to her Neighbours, it is never without the residence of men of Quality from all bordering Estates, and it hath in its Neighbourhood a Prince which is called the Prince of Carthage, because he derives his descent from an Aunt of Dido, which did likewise reside there, before he embroiled himself with this Republic: the Prince of Numidia here present, was at this time there, and there was no Prince in Africa, which desired not to send his Children to Carthage, so that Aronces saw even from his Birth, Persons whose conditions were proportionable to his, for as Clelius was much esteemed in this City, and Aronces was of a pleasant disposition, and a dexterous wit, he easily familiarised himself with the Carthaginian and Numidian Princes, they being all of one Age; the Prince of Carthage so entirely affecting his Conversation, (that when he went to a City under his power called Utica, not far distant from Carthage, he always accompanied him) Aronces by this means being very little in Clelia's company, whom he then considered, but as Clelius his Daughter to whom he was obliged both for his life and education; and it is as natural for those of fifteen or sixteen years, to seek those which are elder, he having nigh completed a lustre more than Clelia, did not at this time much esteem her, the pleasures he found with the Carthaginian and Numidian Princes diverting his eyes from that amiable Object, whose Beauty (as he hath since confessed to me) began then to emit those rays, which have since wounded his heart, but he so well behaved himself towards Clelius and Sulpitia, that they loved him as if he had been their Son, and expended for him, as if he had been their Child; but Madam, that you may the better understand my Narration, you must know that the Prince of Carthage hath a man of Quality depending on him, named Amilcar, whom he much loved, and which is the most agreeable and accomplished man in the World, who contracted so great a friendship with Aronces, that it is reported Amilcar was no more loved by the Carthaginian Prince, than Aronces was of Amilcar.  
And this young Prince having taken a resolution to travel unknown, Amilcar desired that Aronces should accompany him, (and Clelia having consented thereto) Aronces being then sixteen years old, and the young Clelia twelve, departed with the Prince of Carthage and Amilcar to see Greece; but that which was most remarkable, was, that at their return, the Tempest having cast them in Sicyly, instead of returning to Carthage, as they intended, they resolved to see Rome, and the greatest part of the principal Cities of Tuscany, and these two opposite Voyages requiring some time to perform them, they were four years before they returned to Carthage. Aronces being twenty, and Clelia sixteen when they finished their peregrination; but before I tell you what passed between Clelia and him at their first interview, it will be requisite to acquaint you, that at their departure from Rome, where the violences of Tarquin continued, the Prince of Carthage who traveled unknown, encountered an Illustrious Roman, named Horatius, whom the unjust Tarquin had banished, who without knowing where to pass the time of his exile, acquainted himself with Aronces, who very well understood the Latin Tongue, because Clelius who loved his Country, even to sacrifice his life for it, would not have Aronces ignorant of that Language: Horatius having a desire therefore to leave it some time to go into a strange Country, was very glad to find one endowed with so many rare qualities, which spoke his Language, and who having learned his design, proposed to him to go to Carthage, where he assured him he should find Clelius, whose name and virtue Horatius very well knew; for his Father and his, had been always friends, though they had been Rivals, and Aronces having an Inclination to serve Horatius: not only because he appeared to have much Spirit, but because he was a Roman, and Son to one of Clelius' his Friends, entreated Amilcar, to pray the Prince of Carthage that this illustrious exile might accompany him, and find an asylum with him, and Amilcar following his natural generosity, and willing to satisfy Aronces whom he loved, easily obtained of the Prince of Carthage that which he demanded, who became from this time Aronces' particular Friend, he not foreseeing that which should one day divide them: but Madam, before I declare the Arrival of this Illustrious Troop at Carthage, you must know, that leaving them at Capua; I shall somewhat enlarge my Discourse, and tell you, that during the four years of Aronces' absence, Clelia was mounted to such a transcendent height of perfection, that there was nothing spoke of at his Return, but her Beauty at Carthage, and she had had so many attractive Graces, that she took all hearts captive, and made them do vassalage and homage to her. He who had the greatest Authority in Carthage, and who was named Maharball, was become so amorous of her, that he was not in estate to observe the Laws of the Country, acknowledging no other than those love had imposed upon him; but as he is a violent man and very rich, he imagined that if he did but demand Clelia of her Father, he should without doubt obtain her, and if Clelius had been a Carthaginian, he had easily given him his Daughter, but as he had a Roman heart, and had not renouneed his Country, he could not resolve to give Clelia to a man which was not of his Country, and without disguising his thoughts, he would have at first explicated himself, when this Marriage was proposed to him, though it appeared to be very advantageous for him, for without doubt Marharballs Authority was greater there than any others; for the Prince of Numidia who was captivated by this fair Person, durst not openly testify his love, for as he was than an Hostage with the Carthaginians, by reason of a Treaty his Father had made with this Republic, he had been very, imprudent, if he had declared himself his Rival, who held him in his power, and which it may be upon sleight pretexts, would have arrested him, or at least made him depart from Carthage, and estrange himself from his beloved Object, to whom he only endeavoured to make his love appear, though he knew very well, that Clelius had said, he would not marry his Daughter, but to a Roman, yet he doubted not, but if he could touch Clelius heart, to make him alter his resolution, and to prefer him before that Puissant Rival, who so highly declared himself, for he believed that a Numidian Prince ought to be more considered by Clelius, than a man which had but a limited Authority, and which had it not for ever.  
Thus you see Madam, in what estate things were, when the Prince of Carthage, Aronces, Amilcar and Horatius arrived there, but as Fortune from very inconsiderable beginnings discloseth those Events which oftentimes prove remarkable: Aronces revisited the Fair Clelia in such a gallant manner, that it much contributed to that passion, which since hath tormented his life, for be pleased to know Madam, that as Carthage hath been heretofore begun to be builded by the Illustrious Dido, in a place which was bought of the Phoenicians which then inhabited there, and since finished by them, it hath ever remained as a mark of dependence of that proud City to that of Tyre, for there is built there every Year a Magnificent Vessel, in which they send to the Phoenicians the tenth part of the Republic Revenue, with the tenth part of the Booty and Prisoners that are taken in War, they likewise exchange every Year two Virgins chosen by lot, and those which come to demand this tribute bring two Phoenicians, and receive two Carthaginians, which are always most advantageously married in both Countries, as this Ceremony is famous, there is in one day destined to the renewing the Alliance of these two People, which is spent in nothing but public rejoicing, for there hath ever been two men of Quality sent from Phenicia, which come to receive this Tribute, and which usually make a Magnificent Feast to the principal Magistrate of the City, in that proud Vessel, and assoon as they are returned to Shore, they ply their Oars, and hoist their Sails. And as Maharball ought to perform this Ceremony, and to renew the Alliance with the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, he to content his passion, obliged the Tyrians which were to make this sumptuous Feast, to invite thither the principal Ladies of the City, so that at the going out of that famous Temple of Dido, where this Alliance was to be renewed, all the Ladies conducted by Maharballs Sister, which is a virtuous Person, were brought the two Carthaginians which were to go into Phenicia, and received the two Phoenicians, which were to remain at Carthage; but as this Feast was indeed made for Clelia, she was there with her Mother, Clelius not daring to oppose her going where so many other Ladies were, though Marharballs passion displeased him, she being induced thither more by reason than inclination, for Clelia's heart was not yet submitted to love's flame, neither had any of her Adorers made any impression in it, and it might very well be discerned, that she did affect nothing but glory, it giving an augmentation to her Beauty; but to relate the real truth of things, I believe she loved it not too much, at least, I have not seen a fairer in my life, in whom there appeared less affectation.  
In the mean time, we arrived at Carthage the day of this Feast advantageously for the Phoenicians, and very gloriously for ourselves; for Madam, two days before the Vessel in which we were, had taken two of the Isle of Cyrene, with whom the Carthaginians had some contest, there being War between Sicyly their Confederate, and this Isle: but without reciting all the particulars of this action; I shall tell you in few words, that the Prince of Carthage, Aronce, Amilcar, and Horatius did highly signalise themselves in this occasion, and that we took in the end these two Vessels, in which we found a very rich Booty, though those of the Isle Cyrene were not rich, they having before taken it in a Sicilian Vessel which came from Corinth: So that we took in this occasion a considerable Prize, whether by the richness of the Merchandise, or the number of the Slaves: but not to obscure the glory of Aronces, it is certain, that all those which were in our Ship, agreed that he had more contributed to this Great Action, than any other, and as I have told you, we arrived very opportunely for the Phoenicians, to whom the tenth part of our Booty belonged, and very agreeable for ourselves, for when our Vessel entered into the Port Clelia and three or four other Ladies were on the Poop of that Magnificent Ship that the Carthaginians sent to Phenicia, and she was there entertained by Maharbal, and by the Numidian Prince; when we approached it the Prince of Carthage, Aronces, and Amilcar knew what was the Feast they made, and told it us, but when they were nigher and might discern the Beauty of Clelia, they were extremely surprised at it, and Aronces was sometime without knowing her, but as he was at first known by Clelia, she so obligingly saluted him, that he knew very well, that this fair Person was that dear adopted Sister, with whom he had passed his minority; so that he took much part in all the praises that the Prince of Carthage, Amilcar, Horatius and I attributed to her Beauty; but if Aronces was sensible of her Glory, Clelia was likewise of his, when that the Prince of Carthage followed by Aronces, Amilcar, Horatius and I were in the tributary Vessel where all the Ladies were, to render account to Maharbal of the Prize he had taken, for as the Vessel was not his, but belonged to the Republic; the glory only of this action appertained to him, which he would have given entirely to Aronces, to whom he gave all the praises, speaking to Maharbal in presence of Clelia, that he made him be looked on with admiration by all those which understood him; but as Aronces hath without doubt all the modesty of a truly brave man, he departed from the place where they spoke so advantageously of him, and approaching Sulpicia, he demanded of her news of Clelius, he not being there, and a little after, not being able to hinder himself from speaking of the Beauty of her admirable Daughter, he rejoiced with her to see her so fair, and afterwards seeking occasion to speak to her in particular, whilst Maharbal, the Prince of Numidia entertained the Prince of Carthage and Amilcar, he testified to her his joy to see her endowed with such excelling Features, Clelia on her part, who knew how her Father loved Aronces, received him with as many testimonies of friendship, as if he had been her Brother, as Clelius had desired her to style him, and that Aronces should call her his Sister, so that when he was nigh her, this charming Virgin thus said to him, before he could frame himself to speak to her, the admiration of her beauty having for some time suspended his speech: Tell me my Brother, said she to him, hath not absence made you forget Carthage and Greece, and Italy, have not they made you hate Africa? but before you answer me, added she smiling, remember I pray you, that though I was born at Carthage, I boast myself to be a Roman, for fear that without thinking of it, you put it before Rome, and prefer some other Country to my true Country. I now remember said Aronces so little of all I have seen during my voyage, that I cannot tell how to render you an account of it, for in the end my dear sister (if it is permitted an adopted brother to tell you my thoughts) you are the fairest creature I ever saw, and if Rome knew your beauty, I am persuaded it would wage a bloodier war to draw you from it, than that as Greece heretofore made against Troy, for to reconquer that fair Princess, whose name shall last as long as the world; at least, I know well, added he, that the most famous beauty of Rome, which is that of a person of great quality called Lucrece, is not comparable to yours; for all I see replied Clelia, smiling, you are become such a flatterer, that I dare no more name you my brother, but for to tell me something, that I may hear without blushing, pursued she, tell me, I conjure you, if you are satisfied concerning Rome, and if Tarquin ever merits by his violences the attribute of proud Rome is assuredly replied Aronces, the first City of all Italy, and it deserves to be the world's Metropolis, since it may boast to be your true Country, but for Tarquin, he is so absolute there, that though all people murmur secretly against him, there is no appearance that his tyranny should soon finish, for hardly doth he know that any one is against his Interests, but he exiles him, or puts him to death: As Aronces had thus said, they saw enter in the vessel where he was, the tenth part of the slaves that the Prince of Carthage had taken, and that he had sent as an homage to the Phoenicians, which gave a thousand praises to him in receiving them; but Clelia hearing the Prince of Carthage say, that those slaves belonged to Aronces, she put an obliging war to him in demanding an exact account of his conquests; it is rather for me replied he gallantly to demand of you an account of yours, which are assuredly more illustrious than mine; for I do not doubt, but if I saw all those which have been enslaved by the attractive lustre of your eyes, since my departure, I should see them in a far greater number, than those the Prince of Carthage attributeth to me, at least I know you may vanquish the vanquisher of others, If you enterprise it: After that Amilcar approaching, Aronces demanded of him, showing Clelia to him, if he did not fear to be shipwrackt at the Port? and the conversation being become general, I gave my verdict as well as Amilcar.  
But Madam, I must ingeniously confess unto you, she is the fairest nature ever made for wonder, and in her alone are concentred all those graces (may be imagined) to complete a perfect beauty, the brightness of her hair adding a lustre to her sparkling eyes, and the circumference of her face framed after such exact rules of proportion, that no pencil is able to delineate her mouth for shape, shaming the imitation of the best artists, and the liveliest colours, (though tempered with the hands of the most exquisite Painters) are but dull shadows, and imperfect Representations in comparison of that perfect mixture of red and white, which tinctures her complexion; but she is furthermore embellished with all the Charms of a tempting beauty, for she hath a gallant and modest air, a lofty yet lovely Countenance, not any imperious deportment, but such an affable behaviour, that she commands both Love and Respect from all those who behold her, and though she hath a firm and bold spirit above those of her sex, she hath such an engaging sweetness that none can resist, and that grandeur of spirit which makes her despise the greatest perils if she be threatened with them, hath imprinted a certain timorous modesty on her visage, which heightens her unparallelled Features.  
Clelia being adorned with all these superexcellent embellishments of Nature, gave so much admiration to Aronces, Horatius, and to me, when we saw her in that vessel which was going to Phenicia, that she was the sole subject of our discourse the Remainder of that day, for Horatius he spoke of it less than me, for besides that naturally he doth not love to declare his thoughts, I have known, that he felt himself so wounded with Clelias' beauty at this first fight, that he would not hinder his spirit from being wholly possessed with that fair person whom he alone contemplated, without communicating his Resentments to any persons, as for Aronces, he was more happy than Horatius, for as he resided in Clelius his house, he passed there the rest of that day and all the night, but he lodged no more there, because the Prince of Carthage would absolutely that he should lodge in his Palace, and that he should be depending on him, and that Aronces having nothing but what Clelius had given him, was not sorry to find such an illustrious way to subsist by his own virtue receiving the benefits of so great a Prince.  
In the mean time, after Clelius had embraced Aronces with a Paternal affection, he had likewise much joy to see Horatius which was son to one of his dearest friends, and prayed Aronces to love him as if he had been his Brother, and commanded Sulpicia and his amiable Daughter, to take a particular care of him, for when Clelius entertained Horatius of the present Estate of Rome, he found such a Sympathy in his thoughts, and that he so much hated Tarquin, and the fiery and cruel Tullia his wife, that he loved him much more for it, so that Aronces who very much esteemed Horatius, and which was very much beloved by him, performed all that he could imagine to render his Exile less rigorous; but as friendship is not always dispensed by exact Justice, though I had less merit than Horatius, I had a greater part in the affection of Aronces, being his entire Confident so soon as we arrived at Carthage, we knew the next day Maharballs love for Clelia without knowing the Prince of Numidia's, which as I have already told you, made it appear but to her which caused it, but as he soon noted the credit that Aronces had with Clelius, Sulpicia, and their admirable Daughter, he endeavoured by all means to gain his friendship, in which without doubt he had much part, and since that time, as Liberty is much greater at Carthage, than Rome; the Prince of Numidia, Aronces, Horatius and I were almost always with Sulpicia, and we had the Advantages, not to be often importuned by Marharballs presence, because as he nigh sustained the weight of the Republic, it was impossible for him absolutely to renounce his duty, to satisfy his Love; and relying on his Authority, he easily dispensed with all those petty cares, he thought unnecessary. And since none embarked from Carthage, without his provision, he did not fear Clelius would go from thence, nor that any man of quality in the City durst be his Rival, as for the Prince of Carthage, he turned eyes another way, Amilcar seemed to have two or three designs instead of one, and the Prince of Numidia was not in estate to dare to oppose him openly, he looked upon Aronces as one unknown, which durst not turn his eyes towards the Daughter of a man, to whom he owed his life, and he considered Horatius and I as two strangers which would not stay at Carthage, and which would not make an enemy of him which should protect us. Clelia being by these considerations importuned by him, and we were more happy, for though Maharball hath Spirit, it is an incommodious spirit, he having a form eloquence with an insupportable slowness, and which would enforce attention from his auditors, as if his discourse contained much ingenuity, who believes himself to be above all, he knows who boasteth himself to be of a great house, great spirit, and great heart, and who is the violentest man in the world; but in despite of all his violence, the Prince of Numidia was his Rival, 'tis true, he was in so discreet a manner, that no person perceived it but Clelia only, and he had persuaded Maharball that the reason which so often induced him to Sulpicias' house; was, that he was charmed with her Language, and indeed the Prince with so much assiduity studied the Roman language to have only the power to speak of his Love to Clelia, (as I have known this morning by himself) and to vent his passion the first time to that fair person, for as he had lately left a man which depended on Clelius, who taught it him, he feigned to entertain himself alone with her, whilst Sulpicia spoke to other Ladies to have forgotten some instructions he had given him, so that he made divers questions to her saying, he should be very much obliged to her if she would be his mistress, as the language you learned said she to him, is nigh as strange to me as you; (though I have learned it from my Cradle) since I do not ordinarily speak it, I should teach you my errors instead of correcting yours. As I principally learned that Language, said he to her, because I know you love it; and that for to speak it with you, I ought chiefly to speak as you, since I would be understood but by you alone, refuse not me therefore the favour to clear my doubts, and to assist me to express myself when I entertain you, for it is certain, that how fair and copious the Language of your Country is, I find it poor and sterile, every time I would tell you I love you, and I believe, 'tis rather because I have not found terms enough to declare it to you, than any defect of boldness: But in fine cruel Clelia, since you will not teach me to tell it you better I now tell it you, and tell it you with a resolution, to tell it you when any occasion presents, and with a resolution carefully to seek it, I will take such a particular care to shun you, replied Clelia, that if it is true you love me, you will more than once repent what you have said, it hath been so long that I have repent for not discovering my Love to you sooner, replied the Prince of Numidia, that I can hardly believe I shall ever repent to have told you that I love you, for in fine you cannot inflict any punishment upon me, for which I am not prepared, I demand of you therefore the favour, added he, to tell me only if you have as much aversion for me as Maharball, that which you have told me, replied she, hath so much exasperated me, that I cannot now tell whether there is any other person in the world than you which displeaseth me, ah rigorous Clelia! cried he, you carry too far your hatred by not being willing to tell me that you hate me less than a man that I know is very odious to you, and to make me believe that I am the only person to whom you are averse, see then Madam what was the declaration of the Prince of Numidia's Love, and in what manner the admirable Clelia received the discovery of his affection, she kept her word as she said, to avoid his particular conversation; but she had the generosity to do it so carefully, that none should perceive it for fear they might divine the cause, and that Maharball should not have occasion to treat this Prince with any severity, as she told it to one of his friends, to the end to make him comprehend, that if she did not openly testify her hatred against him, 'twas not that he ought to conceive more hope; since, 'twas but by a bountry which was entirely dissentaneous from all his pretensions.  
In the mean time Aronces seeing the admirable Clelia every day, and seeing her with much familiarity, was taken in the snares of her beauty, and not being one moment ignorant of the nature of that affection which began to cloud his Liberty, as usually those are which have had no passion, he really imagined in what fears and disquietudes this Love would involve his Soul, for though he was much esteemed by Clelia, and tenderly affected by her Parents, he little expected ever to attain that happiness he so much desired, and his birth being unknown, it would be esteemed an high presumption if he should level his thoughts at Clelia, but what considerations soever he used to oppose this new born passion, proved too weak to resist those Charms shot from such a tempting beauty. On the other side, Horatius was at first so powerfully touched with Clelia's perfections, that I am assured, he loved as soon as his eyes surveyed those inimitable Grace's Nature had bestowed upon her, he not then imagining Love had stole his Heart, but contrary to Aronces, called that Esteem and admiration which might have admitted the term of Love, and these two Rivals not being acquainted with one another's affections; spent their time in an amicable familiarity, the Prince of Numidia much esteeming them, and Clelia had three Lovers which knew not themselves to be Rivals, and of whom but one had disclosed his amorous intentions; I put not Maharball in this number, for his passion was so generally known, that no person could be ignorant of it.  
In the mean time, The Nuptials (of the two Phoenicians, exchanged for the two Carthaginians the day we arrived there) were solemnised, and as these marriages were performed at the Republics expenses, there was a great Feast made, and nothing but public acclamations of joy during the space of eight days; but I confess Madam, Clelias' Conversations was to be preferred before those Festival delights, she having a spirit suiting the pleasantness of her disposition. I remember one day amongst the rest, Aronces, Horatius, and I were with her, with two Ladies of the City, the one named Sozonisba, and the other Barce, for it is certain we could not better spend our time then with Sulpicia, the ground of this discourse proceeded from two men which had married the two Phoenicians, one being amorous of her whom he had espoused at first sight, and disaffected her soon after the Nuptials, the other which had espoused her, which was destined to him not being amorous, was become amorous since his marriage, so that this event being singular and agreeable, they at first examined this fantastical adventure; for myself said, Clelia I cannot conceive that it is possible to one to love, that he hath not the leisure to know, I easily imagine that a great beauty pleaseth at first sight, but cannot conceive how Love should be produced in a moment, and I am strongly persuaded that one cannot at the first time that they see a person, as amiable as can be imagined, feel any thing in his heart but some disposition to love, as you have never been in Love, replied Horatius, 'tis not very strange that you do not know how this passion possesses hearts, and it is certainly true, that one may love at the first sight if they see a person that is capable to be beloved, and I confess that if they should love her at first sight the love would not be, it may be, strong enough to give a long inquietude, and that it would finish as speedily as it begun; as at first a spark cannot make a great fire if care be taken to extinguish it, so Love hath need of entertainment to increase it; but as this spark is fire, though it casteth no great heat nor light, so Love at first is Love, though it is but newly begun. It is certain replied Aronces, that Love as friendship may be born in an instant which usually is preceded by many good Offices, but I am persuaded that that Love which hath no sudden beginning, and which is advanced by great esteem and very much admiration, is more strong and solid then that which is tumultuously born without knowing whether the person beloved hath either virtue or spirit, for I have heard say, that there are men which become amorous of women, with whom they had never changed aword; and there are some said Sozonisba which have loved women having never seen them, and which have even loved a picture; for those added Barce, I think they may be rather ranked with those which have no reason, then in the rank of those which have Love. Indeed replied Clelia, 'tis not so strange to see a man very amorous of a fair picture, as of a woman which hath neither Beauty spirit or virtue, as there are some which are; For my particular, replied I, I find the fair Clelia hath reason, and that it is the greatest folly imaginable to love that which is not amiable. I am of your opinion, replied Horatius, but be likewise of mine, and confess that all great passions have a violent beginning, and that there is nothing which more demonstrates an ardent and durable Love, then when it is born in an instant without consulting our reason, I easily am of your opinion, replied Aronces, that one may begin to have love at the first sight of an amiable person; but I will not confess that those which have this first thought of passion more violent than others, love more or longer, for 'tis rather an effect of their temperament, than the grandeur of their passion, so that ordinarily those which are of a hot nature love not so constantly as others, because not having power over their own dispositions, they must necessarily change Love as other things, and it consequently follows, that those which love the speediest are not the most constant: But in fine, said Clelia, it matters not whether they change or not, 'tis not of that I intent to speak, for that I maintain is, that one cannot have Love at the first sight they see a woman: I assure you Madam, replied Horatius, I know a man which from the first day he saw one of the most admirable persons in the world, had I know not what in his heart which entirely possessed it, which gave him joy and inquietude, desires, hope and fear, and which in fine, rendered him so different from himself, that if it was not love he had in his heart, it was something which very much resembled it. I know another, replied Aronces, without suspecting Horatius his Passion for Clelia, which hath long time had esteem and admiration without loving a marvellous person; 'tis true, I am persuaded, that the reason which then hindered him from it was, that he believed himself not permitted to love that which he should adore: but beginning to love, replied Clelia, hath he left adoration, for if so, I find that which he adored aught to wish he should not love it, these two Resentments are not incompatible.  
Madam, replied Aronces, and though we might adore things we love not, because they surpass our knowledge, we do nevertheless love that which we adore; for myself, replied Barce, between those two thoughts, I should love him better which belongs to a mistress than him which appertains not but to a Goddess, and the tenderness of the heart is so to be preferred before the admiration of the spirit, that I put no comparison between those two things, indeed added Sozonisbe, tenderness is a quality so necessary to all manner of affections, that they cannot be agreeable or perfect if it is not there, I comprehend well said Clelia, that we may say a tender amity, and there is a notable difference between an ordinary and a tender amity, but said Sozonizbe, I have never heard of a tender amity, and I ever sigured it to myself, that this affected and significative term was consecrated to perfect amity, and that it was only speaking of it, we might fitly imply the word tender, so many men use it now replied, I that we know not a truer signification of it. I would therefore hinder, said Clelia, that that word which signifies a thing so sweet, rare, and agreeable, should be profaned though Celeres hath said every one useth it. For my particular, replied Sozonizbe, I promise you always to make use of it, if you can make me understand its true signification: I promise the same thing added Barce, for I ingenuously confess unto you, that though there passes never a day but I tell some of my friends that I love them tenderly, and some friends accost me in the same Language, I confess it may be that it appertains not to me to use it: As I am persuaded, added Aronces, that there is a species of an amorous tenderness which puts as much difference between the Loves of those which have it or have it not, as ordinary tenderness puts to amity, I shall be infinitely obliged to the fair Clelia, if she will define tenderness, and decipher how I may know it, and what value it sets on friendship, to the end I may prove in the sequel of it, that tenderness joined to Love, much augmenteth its estimation; as I have naturally a tender Spirit, replied Clelia, I think it appertains to me more than any other, to speak of tenderness and that Barce with all her Spirit, cannot do it so well as I.  
I have already confessed, replied that fair person, that I do not well know how to make use of this word, neither do I precisely know, whether I have any tenderness or not, therefore I shall be infinitely obliged if you please to tell me the difference between an ordinary and a tender amity; it is so considerable, replied Clelia, that I may very well say, there is less between the indifferent amity, than between these two. For in fine, that which hath no tenderness, is a kind of a tranquillous friendship, which gives neither great contentments, nor great inquietudes to those which are capable of them, they have even friendship in their hearts, without expressing any sensibility; depart from them without being melancholy, they think not of them if they see them not, they render them courtesies without great joy, and they receive them without much acknowledgement, they neglect all petty cares, the evils of those they love touch them not, generosity and ostentation hath as much part in all they act as friendship, they have a certain Lethargy of heart, which makes them not feel the joy to be beloved of those they love, they put little difference between the conversation of other persons, and those to whom they have promised amity: In fine, they love with so much lukewarmness, that the least contestation there is between them and their friends, they are ready to infringe their promised friendship: Furthermore they are not enough sensible, neither of the good or evil of those to whom they have promised friendship, for usually they coldly oppose those who defame them, and praise them themselves without order or aggravation, and we may say they love as if they loved not, so lukewarm is this sort of friendship, and usually their affection is very much interessed, and if any one seek the cause of it they would be found but in themselves. And indeed we see every day that those friends without tenderness abandon those to whom they have promised affection, as soon as fortune frowns on them, there is likewise some of them which cannot suffer the long sickness of those they love, and which desire to see them with assiduity, when they are not in estate to divertise them. That which you now say, happened once to me replied Sozonisbe, for I had a languishing malady, which made me know there are few tender friends, in the beginning when I fell sick, pursued this fair person, they had very great care of me, but when the length of my sickness had made me become melancholy, and that I demanded no remedies, but of those which came to see me, instead of then demanding news of me, or to tell them of it, I was soon in a very great solitude, and I knew that those whom I esteemed my best friends derided at me in effect, a man one day of my acquaintance was asked how long it was since he saw me, he answered, that till he was become so experienced to find some remedies to cure my melancholy, he would not see me, and the same question being demanded a Lady, she said cruelly that unless she knew the virtue of all vegetables, she could not make me a visit which would be pleasing to me, and that it was better to leave me at quiet, than to weary themselves by importuning me. 'Tis true, said Aronces, what this fair Sozonisba hath said, and it is true, added Horatius, because we usually content ourselves to deplore their mishaps without comforting them, judge than I pray, added Clelia, if friendship without tenderness is a sweet thing, and if I have not reason not to account them friends which have not a tender heart, as I have expressed to you, for in fine it is not that only which makes the sweetness of amity, and which makes it constant and violent together, tenderness hath yet that of more particular, that even ascribeth to it, I know not what character of gallantry which rendering it more divertising, it inspireth civility in those which are capable of it, and there is as great difference between a tender friend and an ordinary friend, as between a tender friend and a lover, but better to define tenderness. I think I may call it a certain sensibility of heart, which never sovereignly operates, but in those which have noble souls, virtuous Inclinations, and well weighed spirits, and which makes them when they have friendship, to have it sincerely and ardently, and to feel lively the griefs and joys of those they love as their own, 'tis this tenderness which obliges them to love better to be with their unhappy friends, than to be in a place of divertisement: it is this which makes them excuse their faults and defects, and to praise with exaggeration their least virtues, 'tis this which makes them do great services with joy, which makes them not neglect the least cares, which renders particular conversations more sweet than general; which entertaineth Confidence, which easily appeaseth any disorder, which happeneth amongst friends, which uniteth all their desires, which makes complacency, equality as agreeable to those which have it, as to those for whom they have have it, and in a word comprehends all sweetness and affection of friendship, and in effect it's this alone which puts joy there, and which by a particular privilege savours nothing of the irregularity of Love; but resembles it in many things else, those which have but a stupid and common friendship, take only the care to keep the fairest Letters of their friends; but those which have a tender friendship, keep with pleasure even their least notes, they harken to an obliging word with a joy, which obliges those which told it them, they take pleasure in the least things, and by an inexplicable charm those which have a true tenderness in their hearts, are never troubled to assist those for whom they have friendship, if they should be sick or melancholy, judge then what difference there is between friends without tenderness and tender friends. Ah Madam, replied Aronces, if I would as well define the tenderness of Love as you have deciphered that of friendship, I should assuredly make this company confess, that there is Love without tenderness as well as friends: 'Tis true added Horatius and the fair Clelia hath admirably represented that precious and delicate part of friendship few are acquainted with. For my pariicular said Barce smiling, I confess in my life I never fitly used the word tenderness, if it be true that it must have positively seat in the heart as Clelia hath said, to have it right, that is to say, to love tenderly. It is not so with me, added Sozonisbe, for it seems that I have an heart made in the manner as it ought to be, to beast of tenderness. For my part, replied I, which have had more Love than friendship in my life, it more imports me to know what that amorous tenderness which puts a difference between Lovers, than that which is between friends, I would therefore desire the fair Clelia to permit Aronces to give his judgement of it: though I have less Interest in that kind of tenderness, replied she, than you have in that I have spoken of: I voluntarily consent that Aronces tell it you: If 'tis true you do not know it. Since you then permit me Madam said Aronces; I will boldly say, that tenderness is a quality more necessary for Love then friendship, for it is certain that that affection which is produced by the help of reason, and which is conducted and governed by it, may sometimes act in the hearts of those in which it is as if they had tenderness (though naturally they had it not) but for Love which is ever incompatible with reason, and which at least can never be subject to it, it hath absolutely need of tenderness to correct its brutality stupidity and inconsideration. In effect, a Love without Tenderness hath nothing but impetuous desires which can be confined to no bounds nor limits, and a Lover which hath a like passion in his Soul, considers nothing but his own satisfaction without considering the honour of the person beloved, for one of the principal Offices of true tenderness is, that it takes much more care for the person it loves then its own, and a Lover which hath it not would do all that which might please him without any Reservation, and he would demand in a rude and uncivil way the greatest favours, as if they were due to him as a Tribute in effect, those freer Lovers, which are enemies of tenderness, and who defame it, are ordinarily insolent, uncivil, full of vanity, easy to anger, difficult to appease, indiscreet when they are favoured, insupportable when they are misused; They believe the greatest work of Love they can give; is always to wish to be made happy; for without that they know not neither favours nor graces: They are not contented with favourable regards, sweet speeches, and all those petty things which so elevate the beatitude of those which have tender souls, they are Lovers I say which read but once the Letters of their Mistress, whose hearts have not joyful emotion when they receive them, who neither know how to rave, speak idly, nor sigh agreeably, and are utterly ignorant of a certain pleasing melancholy which proceeds from the tenderness of an amorous heart, and which is sometimes more pleasing then delight. These are Lovers I say of great noise, which makes all the proves of their Love consist in excessive expenses, and which feel nothing of all those delicacies, this passion inspires their jealousy, even as more brutal than that of the Lovers which have a tender heart, for they often pass from hating their Rivals to hate their Mistresses, when on the contrary, those Lovers whose loves are mingled with tenderness, sometimes so respect their mistresses, that they restrain their anger against their Rivals in some occasions, because they cannot do it without exasperating them. For myself said Horatius, I cannot discern Tenderness from Love in an amorous heart, for that passion when it is violent, so strongly operates in those hearts it possesses, that all the quality of their souls become as it is, or at least assume some amorous impression. 'tis true replied Aronces, that love entirely possesseth the heart of a Lover, and it is likewise true, that he which hath an heart naturally tender, shall love more tenderly, than he which shall be of a temper more fierce and rude, and I maintain, to love well, a Lover must have a natural tenderness, before he hath Love, and this precious and rare quality which is so necessary, to love well, can be hardly acquired, and it is truly a gift of the Gods, of which they are never prodigal, we may gain more spirit, we may correct our vices; and acquire all virtues; but we can never acquire tenderness, we may without doubt sometimes disguise ourselves; but it cannot be long, and those which have tenderness, know not how to deceive; In effect, all the words, all the regards, all the cares, all the actions of a Lover, who hath not a tender heart, are entirely different from those of a Lover, which hath tenderness, for he hath sometimes respect without having a kind of sweet submission, which pleaseth much more, of civility without agreement, of obeisance without sweetness; and even Love without a certain delicate sensibility, which alone causeth all the punishments and all the felicities of Lovers, and which is in fine the truest mark of a perfect Lover, I likewise put for a foundation, that a tender Lover knows not how neither to be unfaithful, cozening, vain, insolent, nor indiscreet, and not to be deceived neither in Love not friendship, we must as well examine if a Lover or a Friend have tenderness, as if they have Love or Friendship.  
As Aronces had thus spoke, the Prince of Numydia entered, and a little after Maharball, so that the subject being changed by their coming, all the company after a little discourse went away with that violent Lover of Clelia. At our departure from thence, I went with Aronces to the Prince of Carthage, but though the incomparable Amilcar had this night there all the merriness of his pleasant disposition, and that all those which were with the Prince of Carthage confessed they never had heard from him more agreeable things. Aronces appeared to be very melancholy, and his melancholy was so generally noted, that Amilcar demanded of me if I knew not the cause of it, so that having observed him more carefully, I noted that Aronces was not where he would be, so that when we were retired, for we then lay together, I pressed him to tell me the cause of his melancholy, at first he would disguise the truth from me, but in the end when I did not think to ask him any more about it, because I believed he would not tell me, he stayed himself after he had walked sometime, and looking steadfastly upon me, thus said, You are not very inquisitive, said he to me, to demand that which you would know and you have sure little desire to redress my melancholy; since you press me no more to tell you the cause of it, no Aronces, cried I to him, fixing my eyes on him, nothing but to demand of you, to tell me whether you are amorous, your expressions almost betraying it; for in fine, I prayed you with tenderness to tell me that which caused your grief and you refused it me: Nevertheless, a little after that you were angry, I demanded no more of you that you refused me, and I find you are even now disposed, to pray me to hearken to that you would never tell me, but in an instant, it is therefore I conclude with reason, and it seemeth to me that you are amorous, since 'tis true that there is nothing but Love only which can frame such a fantastical thing as this: 'tis true Celeres, said he to me, I am amorous, and though you tax me with Injuries, you must be the only confident of my Passion, and I tell you that which it may be shall never be known to the admirable person whom I adore, though I see her daily, you love Clelia then said I to him; for it seemeth to me that 'tis but she alone you daily frequent, yes Celeres, I love Clelia, replied he, and I love her ardently and so tenderly, that according to all appearances, I shall become the unhappiest man in the World; but it seems to me said I to him, that if I was in your place I should account myself very happy, for in fine, as you have been brought up in Clelius his house, you live with Clelia with the same Liberty as if she was your sister, and her Father and Mother look upon you in effect as if you were her Brother; 'tis true Celeres replied he, but they look not upon me as her Lover, and I am strongly persuaded, that if they looked upon me as such, they would hate me as much as they love me. And they would think to have right to accuse me of an horrible Ingratitude and terrible presumption. In effect I owe my life to the generous Clelius, and I know not to whom I owe my birth, he found me in the sea, he saved me from an eminent peril, he hath carefully educated me, and I owe to him all my virtue, and I should be without doubt the basest of all men if I should voluntarily do any thing which might displease him; but though I am assured he will take it ill, that one unknown dares lift his eyes towards his admirable daughter; I cannot hinder myself from doing it, and I feel I can never desert her love seeing myself likewise destined to live without hope I must prepare myself for imaginable torments, and I know nothing more cruel, then to have power to love without having Ingratitude. You have a soul so great, and an heart so well made, replied I, that Clelius cannot doubt but your birth is illustrious, and if it was so replied he, I should not be in hopes to possess Clelia, though she affected me, for since Clelius refused her to Maharball, who is of an high birth, rich in possessions, and who hath the chiefest authority in one of the first Cities in the world, he would refuse an unhappy man, that he always looked upon as an ungrateful, and who it may be would be looked upon by Clelia, as a man who thinks to enrich himself by marrying her, and not to render himself happy by the only possession of her person; likewise my dear Celeres, my hopes are destitute of all relief, for if Clelius remains in his wont opinion he will never give his daughter but to a Roman, and if he changes it, he will give her apparently to Maharball, but to tell you truth, I do not much fear, it, and I have likewise cause to complain that I am not a Roman, and if perhaps I should be of a birth proportionable to my thoughts, Clelius would refuse me Clelia, as he hath refused her to my Rival; but alas! I am far from that Estate since I know my extraction, and the according to all appearances, I shall never know it, nevertheless I love Clelia, I love her without hope; and I love with a resolution not to tell her of it; and not to murmur if she is angry to be beloved of me, in case she denies my passion, judge then my dear friend, if I have no cause of melancholy. For myself replied I, am persuaded; that too great prudence is often needless in Love, without considering those things you have done, I would act divers ways, for I would strive against my passion as much as I could, and if I could not vanquish it, I would seek to persuade myself by all that which might flatter it, and I would forget nothing of all that which might agreeably deceive me. For the first, replied Aronces, I am resolved to do it, though I am persuaded I shall do it unprofitably; but in fine, I owe that to the generosity of Clelius, and it behoves me if he hath something one day to reproach me of, that I have at lest nothing to reproach myself, but for the last, I shall never be in a capacity to follow your counsel for fear from seeking agreeably to deceive myself, I seek in despite to render myself most unhappy in effect, there are many instances which makes me believe that Clelius shall never know my birth more than I, and there are others where I believe that I and he shall learn that I am Son of some Enemy to Rome, or some friend to Tarquin, I strangely deplore the misfortunes which happens to my friends, replied I to him, but I can never take pity of those they make themselves, therefore you may not expect any compassion from me, when you wove the web of your own miseries, after that as 'twas late we lay together, but I should falsify the truth, if I say we slept, for Aronces did not sleep at all, and he waked me divers times to speak to me of his passion, but in fine Madam, as he hath a marvellous generosity, he effectually fancied with himself, to oppose his Love with all the power he could possible: and he forgot nothing to do it, for he went as little as he could to the places where Clelia was, he sought Clelius in particular, without seeking his admirable daughter, and he so strongly attached himself to the Prince of Carthage and Amilcar, that there was no person but believed he had more Ambition than Love. Horatius though he was both his Friend and his Rival perceived not his Love for Clelia, the Prince of Numidia likewise suspected it not, and Clelia did not imagine it, and because she would avoid to give any occasion to the Prince of Numidia to mention his Love, she had given such a general order not to leave her alone, that if Aronces had been bold enough to declare his affection to her, he would not have found an opportunity to have done it, so that as nothing more augments a breeding Love than the difficulty to tell it, Horatius on this side soon became as amorous as Aronces; but as he naturally loved to conceal all things; he declared nothing of his passion either to Aronces or to me, these two friends were likewise Rivals without having cause to complain of one another, they being both ignorant of their Loves, for the Prince of Numidia as he looked upon Aronces as if he had been Clelius his brother, he gave to him many testimonies of friendship, without discovering his passion to him, to the end that being his friend he might favour him when occasion should present. For Maharbal the less correspondency he found in Clelias' heart, the more his passion augmented, and the more reasons Clelius obliged him to prove that he ●ught not to think of marrying his daughter at Carthage since he had an intention to go speedily to Rome, the more obstinate he was to compass his design, so that Clelius and Sulpitia were extremely afflicted to see themselves in the power of an amorous person to whom they would refuse all that which might give any satisfaction to his Love. On the other side, though Sulpitia testified to have much friendship for Horatius because Clelius would have it so, 'twas true, that in the bottom of her heart she had a secret disposition not to render Justice to his merit, because he was son to a person of whom Clelius had been very amorous, and whom he thought heretofore to have married, so that Sulpitia yet retaining some resentments of jealousy which persuaded her that her Husband did not love Horatius, but because he had yet some agreeable remembrance of the love he had for his Mother, had without doubt less disposition to love him than Clelius, and she loved more tenderly Aronces than Horatius, for Clelia she esteemed them both; but as she was equitable, she saw that if there was any equality between these two men as reflecting on the qualities essentially necessary for virtuous persons, there was not so much for the agreement of the humour as that of their person, being certain that Aronces as much excels his Rival, as his Rival exceeds all others, so Clelia leaned, by choice, on the side of Aronces, and having lived with him from her infancy, as if he had been her brother, there was between her and him a greater familiarity then between Horatius and her, though Clelius commanded her to live with him, as if she had been his sister, things being then on these terms there was some factions at Carthage which are unnecessary to mention wherein the illustrious Prince that Amilcar followed, had some part, so that the interest of his affairs obliging him to retire to Utica which depends on him, he went thither followed by his creatures, so that Aronces finding this occasion to separate himself from Clelia for to endeavour to heal himself by his absence, followed him likewise, for Clelius voluntarily consented that Aronces to whom fortune seemed to have not left any establishment should seek one nigh a great Prince, so Aronces departed from Carthage with his consent, he not imagining he went from thence to endeavour not to have more Love for his admirable daughter, but that which is most remarkable, was, that the Prince of Numidia and Horatius who knew not that Aronces was their Rival, did all what they could to hinder him from following the Prince of Carthage; for as they both knew he was much their friend, and that they noted he was very well beloved by Clelia they imagined they should lose much in losing him, and that when the time should come when they might discover the passion they had in their souls, they should be much assisted by him; but in fine, the Prince of Numidia and Horatius without telling the true reason which obliged them to counsel Aronces, not to go with the Prince of Carthage, and Aronces without telling them why he did not follow their counsels, we departed as I have before told you: Aronces not having entertained Clelia in particular, for he bid her adien in the presence of Sulpicia and Horatius, and I who knew only the secret of his heart alone, perceived the reluctancy which he had to depart from Clelius his house, for we entered in again three times upon such pretences, that at last he was constrained to say he had forgotten that which obliged him to reenter, so little true resemblance he found in the pretences he invented to see Clelia once more, but in the end, Madam, we went to Utica, where Aronces became more amorous, and by consequence more miserable then at Carthage, where there arrived many things since our departure. For you shall know Madam, that Maharball who had a passion in his soul the most violent in the world, not suspecting that the Prince of Numidia who was his Hostage had any design, for Clelia spoke to him of nothing but his Love, of the Injustice of Clelius, and the cruelty of his Daughter, conjuring him to counsel them both to change their thoughts. For in the end, said he, to the Prince Adherball, if it be not a terrible thing to hear Clelius say he would not marry his Daughter till he return to Rome, he which hath been exiled so long from it, he which is Tarquin's mortal enemy, who reigneth with so absolute an authority, that 'tis not credible any power can pull him from the Throne on which his cruelty hath so firmly seated him, yet Clelius pretends not to marry his Daughter but when he shall return to Rome, or at least not to marry her to any but a Roman, it must then of necessity be, that he will give the fairest and properest person on the earth to a banished Criminal, or at the most to an unhappy Exiled: Judge then if I have no reason to complain of Clelius, and if I may not believe, that either he or Clelia have a secret aversion against me, which they dare not testify to me because they are under my power, but to hinder these things, pursued he, I pray you when you find a fit occasion to endeavour to make them take better thoughts for fear they force me to act those things which will not be pleasing to them, the Prince of Numidia hearing Maharbal speak in this manner, was so surprised and astonished at it, that the agitation of his heart appeared in despite of him in his eyes, and it being discerned by Maharball, he endeavoured to recall himself; but he wholly discovered it by his words, for as he would not tell Maharball that Clelius was to blame, and that he durst not tell him that he had reason, he took a mean; which persuaded him to whom he spoke, that he was his Rival; in effect, he so aggravated the Love the Romans have for their Country, the Injustice they had to put a vast difference between strangers and them, and to persuade him, that as Clelius had sought an Asylum in the City where he had the greatest authority, he was obliged not to violence him in a thing which ought to be done freely with many other reasons which served not; but to evidence to Maharball that this Prince was amorous of Clelia; and that he had chosen an ill Confident, so that this thought exciting a grand disturbance in his spirit, he left the Prince of Numidia, and without any delay went to Sulpicias' house, where after some general conversations, he found occasion to speak particularly to Clelia, and he endeavoured to persuade her that it should be very strange to her that Clelius should pretend to marry her, but when he returned to Rome, or at least not to marry her but to an unhappy exile, when he might give her the first rank in one of the chiefest Cities in the world, Sir said Clelia to him, it is not for me to examine my Father the reason why he refused the honour you do him; and it implies I know that I should commit a great offence by not obeying him, for to oblige me with blindness to follow his desires, but to the end, that all your hatred should not fall on him, I ingeniously confess that I should obey him with an extreme grief if he should command me to espouse an African, and so destroy my hope of seeing Rome. For it is true that there is in my heart so strong a Love for my Father's Country, that would render me very unhappy to take from me the hope of dying there. If I die not soon at Carthage, replied Maharball, there is no appearance you will ever live at Rome, alas sir, replied Clelia, as long as it is under the power of Tarquin, I shall not go thither, but I should be very sorry to lose the hope of it, therefore I entreat you not to persist to oblige my Father to consent to your desires, and to have the generosity to enter in his thoughts, and to believe that if he were a Roman, he would prefer you before all other Romans, and since, added this discrect maid, he refuses you a thing which is so little advantageous for you, that you ought rather to thank him then to complain, for in the end, if he accords to that which you seem to desire, every one will reproach you, for your preferring the daughter of an unhappy Exile before so many fair persons which are at Carthage, and whose alliance may be more suitable and agreeable for you. No, no, unjust Clelia, said he to her, do not seek to persuade me that there can be any thing more agreeable or glorious than the conquest of your heart, for it cannot be, and permit me to tell you, that if you were as prudent as fair, you might tell the unjust Clelius, that Tarquin is more powerful at Rome than ever, and that according to all appearances, he will not permit him to return thither, that it is very dubious whether fortune hath sent more Romans to choose exile than he hath put to death, and if it was not so, it would be easy to consummate your Nuptials at Carthage, if it were for any other then Maharbal, and tell to him I pray you that he may be happy if he will, and that he may render himself miserable if he renders me so. Ah Sir, replied Clelia generously, I know not how to threaten my Father, but I can tell him that if my life is an obstacle to the tranquillity of his, I am ready to sacrifice it for his content so that taking form you the cause of your Love, I might take away your hatred against him. As Clelia had thus spoken, the Prince of Numidia entered, and seeing Maharball with her, he blushed for anger, and he seeing the change of his countenance was confirmed in those thoughts he already had, and the better for to clear his suspicion, he continued to speak low to Clelia, whilst Aderbal spoke to Sulpicia, and to the other Ladies which were with her; but as he is naturally violent, he could not suffer this long particular entertainment without testifying much anger, so that Maharball not doubting but that he was his Rival, took a resolution to distrust him instead of confiding in him, as he had designed, and as the general affairs of the Republic gave him not so much leisure as his passions required, he must of necessity go from thence and leave his Rival with his Mistress, and in effect, though Clelia sought carefully to avoid speaking particularly to the Prince of Numidia, since he had discovered his Love to her, she did not do it this day with the same care, for she had her spirit so distracted with Maharballs expressions, that she thought of nothing else, so that she not taking notice of it, the Prince of Numidia came to her, and began to speak to her as a man which had some particular thing to tell her, Clelia coming to herself, turned towards him and prayed him not to oblige her to fly him, as she would ever do, if he continued to speak of his Passion, for in the end, said she to him, if you persevere in it, you will force me to take a resolution not to consider you as you are a great Prince; but to look on you as a man which esteems me not, since he takes no care but to displease me. Would to the God's Madam, said the Prince of Numidia to her, that I had never told you I loved you, this wish without doubt is a wish very extraordinary from a passionate Lover as I am, but 'tis true that I now do nothing but strive to repel the passion I have in my soul that you might be ignorant of it, though I know't will continue till Death. But Madam, that which makes me speak as I do, is, that I must advertise you that if you do not soon depart from Carthage you expose yourself to be the unhappiest person in the world, and that offering you an Asylum in the Court of the King my Father, I fear you will not go thither, because I have discovered to you my Love. Nevertheless I swear and protest unto you, that though I am more amorous than Maharball, I will never be so unjust as he.  
Clelia hearing the Prince speak in this manner, was extremely surprised at it, for she knew well that he knew something where she had an Interest, and spoke to him with more affability then usual, to the end to oblige him to tell her, that which made him use this Language, and in effect the Prince recounted to her the conversation which he had with Maharbal, continuing in pursuit to offer her an Asylum in Numidia, and protested to her with as much Generosity as Love, that if he should be constrained to make war to defend her, he would do it with much joy; Clelia thanked him very civilly for the offer he made her, assuring him nevertheless that she believed that her Father would not nor ought not to accept it, adding further, that for all that she should remain much obliged to him for it; but Aderball not holding himself refused for what Clelia said to him, spoke the next day to Clelius, and so lively represented to him the grandeur of Maharballs Love, his authority, and the violence of his Nature, that he made him easily comprehend that his sojourn at Carthage was very dangerous, but after that he offered him that which he had already offered to Clelia, so that Clelius who knew not that this Prince was amorous of his Daughter, admired his generosity, and gave him innumerable praises, but after all Sir, said he to him, when he had left praising him, it would not be just it may be to begin again the war between Numidia and Carthage, for a thing where my unhappy family have only interest, you are in a hostage for a treaty of peace which is not yet entirely executed. Likewise Sir, I should expose you to be evil treated by Maharball, and if I should involve the King your Father in new wars with this Republic; and therefore since Carthage is no more an Asylum for me, I must endeavour to depart from it, and to go seek one farther of, where Maharball hath no power to hurt me, for I have long had a great desire to approach Rome: the Prince of Numidia was not fully satisfied with these reasons, but told Clelius that it would he difficult for him to go by sea, and that it would be easier for him to go by Land into Numidia, but whatsoever he could tell him, the generous Clelius believed not, that seeing the terms in which were the things between these two States, he ought to accept the offer of Aderball, and having an effectual desire to approach Rome, it was more easy for him to be generous, and to refuse the Prince of Numidia, who found himself in a strange perplexity, so that he saw himself necessitated to desire her absence, whose person he loved, and to be separated for ever from her, but be found himself yet in a greater inquietude, for as he observed Maharball more narrowly, he discovered that he had a design to arrest Clelius, making him to be accused for machinating something against the Republic, and to have secret Intelligences with the Prince of Carthage with whom Aronces was then, for things were very much embroiled since the departure of this Prince. That which obliged Maharball to contrive this design, was, that he hoped that being Master of the life of Clelius, he should soon gain Clelia, whom he thought would not refuse to marry him to give life and liberty to her Father; so that the Prince of Numidia believing that the design of Maharball might succeed, and that he should see him possessed of Clelia, if he should not advise Clelius speedily of it, he balanced it not long, and went to see Clelia at the same time, though he believed this advice would accelerate his departure, 'tis true, that in the force of his passion he had a design to follow her without telling her any thing of it; but in fine Madam, to hast myself to tell you that which passed, you shall know that the Prince of Numidia after he had told Clelia the most passionate things that can be imagined, spoke to Clelius, to whom he had made known so precisely the unjust design of Maharball, that after he had consulted with Horatius and Sulpicia about it, he was resolved that they should think no more of any thing but to depart speedily from Carthage, the occasion presented itself very favourable, for there was a Syracusian vessel ready to set sail, so that Clelius secretly treating with him who commanded it, he promised to receive him and all his family into his ship, the next night which preceded his departure, and in effect without troubling myself to tell you the unprofitable particulars, it suffices that you know that in despite of all the foresight of Maharball, the care of the Prince of Numidia, Clelia and Horatius came to so good a conclusion, that this illustrious Roman family embarked one night without being perceived, so that this vessel of Syracuse departed from the port at the break of day. Maharball not knowing any thing of it till night, for as he believed Aderball was amorous of Clelia, he suspected not he would have assisted her flight, so that having seen him all the day, this Prince had dextrously hindered him from going to Clelius his house, to the end he should not follow Clelia, with hope to find her. For the time had been so favourable, that there was no appearance that any other vessel could join that which carried this fair and admirable Virgin, but though the Prince of Numidia constrained himself as much as be could that he might not appear too melancholy, he was so pensive that when Maharball came to know the departure of Clelius and his family, he doubted not but Aderball was acquainted with it, he learned likewise his departure in such a manner, which much excited his anger; since he knew not that Clelius was departed; but when he sent at night to his house to arrest him as a Criminal, he used the slight of Clelius to authorize this violence, for he assembled all the Suffects, (for so they call those who share the Government of the Republic) and told them it did evidently appear he was a Criminal, because he was fled.  
In the mean while, as he was most violent, he heard something from Aderball, which made him believe he was acquainted with Clelius his flight, so that he secured his person, publishing that he had a hand in all that Clelius had plotted with Aronces and Amilcar, Maharbal seeking by this means to revenge on his Rival the insensibility of his Mistress, and it may be, he believed likewise to find Clelia, because he imagined that the vessel of Syracuse, in which she was embarked should not be used, but to depart from Carthage, and should land her, to go to seek an Asylum where Aderball would meet her as soon as he should be free, so that in this opinion the Prince was kept very exactly, and treated with much rigour. Maharball likewise sent divers vessels after that, which had conveyed away his Mistress, though with little hope; for besides that he believed not, she took the way of Syracuse, it had been so long since her departure, that there was no hope to find her again. Nevertheless as 'tis the property of Love not to neglect anything; Maharball had rather do an hundred unprofitable things then to miss one which might serve him.  
But whilst this irritated Lover knew not on whom to revenge the unhappy success of his Love, and that he revenged himself on another Lover which was no better used than he, during I say that, that the unhappy Aderball suffered an unjust Imprisonment, and that he endured incredible evils.  
Aronces who knew nothing of that which passed at Carthage, knew that absence could not heal him; and repented himself for leaving Clelia, for in the Estate in which things then were, there was no means to think of returning to Carthage, so that Aronces was so sad and melancholy, that his grief could hardly receive any increase; but melancholy much more invaded his cogitations, when a slave brought him a Letter that Clelius had written him upon his departure, and that he had trusted to that slave which gave it him, at first he had much joy because he hoped to have news of Clelia, but he had in pursuit an unequalled desperation when he saw that, that Letter which was given him contained these words, if my memory deceive me not.  
Clelius to Aronces.  
DIvers important reasons make me depart from Carthage, to come nigher Rome, I know not whether I shall choose Syracuse or Capua for my Asylum, but in what place of the world soever I am, I shall be always ready to receive you as if you were my son, in case the changes of the Court wherein you are, oblige you to leave it, and if the Gods hinder me from making a second shipwreck on the same sea, where they put you into my arms, you may assure yourself of a house in all places where I shall have one for myself. I mention nothing of Sulpicia, Horatius and Clelia, for they know not of my writing to you.  
After that Aronces had read this Letter, he gave it me to read, and told me many touching things which would excite compassion in your heart, if I should relate them to you, Amilcar a little after, coming into his Chamber, learned us the Imprisonment of the Numidian Prince, the fury of Maharball, and confirmed the flight of Clelius, Sulpicia, Horatius, and Clelia, and likewise told us Maharballs design to arrest Clelius, and that they had carried their most precious things along with them, and this design had been so discreetly carried that not any one suspected it, but as Maharball, added he, used the Prince of Carthage his name to prosecute Clelius, though there is great likelihood he acted rather the part of an incensed Lover, then of a good Citizen I come to assure you on the Prince's part, that he will recompense you for all the misfortunes Clelius hath suffered, and that there is nothing in fine, but you may expect from him. For my particular pursued he, I offer you all that which is in my power, and I think you may assure yourself to be happy, Amilcar added in pursuit many obliging things where I might take part, and where Aronces and I answered with all the civility and acknowledgement that we ought to have for such generous offers, but though Aronces strangely constrained himself, it was impossible for him to conceal his extreme melancholy; Nevertheless at first he was not astonished at it, for as he knew that Aronces loved Clelius, as if he had been his Father, he imagined 'twas a grief which proceeded from his tenderness for him. But as he saw him daily become more melancholy, he suspected something of the true cause of his sadness, and drawing me apart he prayed me to tell him, if Aronces was not amorous of Clelia, so that not judging that it was disadvantageous to my friend to confess the truth to Amilcar; I told him that I believed he was not deceived, and that I extremely feared that his grief for her absence would bring him to the margin of his grave. As Amilcar dearly loved Aronces, he did all that which he could to divertise him, he which is the most divertising of all men, by his grief was too strong to be over powered: and I can assure you that since he knew the departure of Clelia, there passed not a minute but his grief augmented: that which rendered it more powerful was, that he knew that reason would have him oppose his passion, and remain with the Carthaginian Prince, where he found all that he could wish for in his present estate of fortune, for as this Prince very much esteemed him, he might hope a considerable establishment with him; Amilcar dearly loved him, this Court was most splendent and delectable, and considering the state of things, the Prince of Carthage would soon set on foot a great design, the happy success whereof would put him in a capacity to accumu late honour and riches on all those which should be followers of his fortune, as Aronces one day told me (aggravating his misfortune) that he was the most unfortunate of all men, for in fine my dear Celeres, said he to me, after he had confessed to me, he was resolved to leave Africa, and to go to find Clelia. I I do not believe there is a more miserable man than I, and whosoever considers the deplorable condition in which I now am, shall without doubt find that since Love makes men unhappy, there never hath been no Lover which had so little reason to hope to be beloved or to continue to love. First Clelia, pursued he, knows not that I love her, and I ought not to make it known to her, whilst I know not who I am.  
Moreover, Clelius seeming to be resolved not to give his daughter but to a Roman, 'tis assured that I ought never to pretend thereto, since according to all appearances I am not a Roman born, if it should be so, it should be then of some unhappy Roman, without virtue or quality, for if there had been any man of quality exiled which had been shipwrecked, and who had lost a Son in the Sea, Horatius would have told it Clelius, having told him all the sad accidents which happened at Rome since his departure, be it those which he hath seen with his own eyes, or that which he heard from others; but though I know not whence I am, yet it seems I certainly conjecture that I am not a Roman, and that consequently I can never pretend to Clelia, you are so ingenious to persecute yourself, I told him that if you would as much seek to assuage the evil which torments you, you would quickly come to the end of it. Ah Celeres, cried he, if you knew the nature of the evil of which I speak, you would soon see it is immedicable, for if I remain here I shall die the most despairing of all men, and if I go to find Clelia, as I will infallibly, I shall without doubt act the most irrationalst thing that can be, since I ought not to tell her I love her: If I would not reward Clelius with Ingratitude to whom I owe all things, and so I shall leave a great hope of fortune to undertake a voyage to go see a person whom I adore, with intention never to tell it her, and with a strange desire to tell it her a thousand times a day if I could; Judge then Celeres if I am in a happy condition: Nevertheless I must and will part, for my Love persuades there is no misery which equals absence, when absence is not strong enough to destroy Love. I therefore find myself so perplexed, when I think Clelius will demand of me that which so soon obliges me to return to him, for shall I tell him a lie if I tell him that I am exiled? and that I am unworthy the care he hath taken of me? and likewise if I should tell him that my friendship towards him could not permit me to stay longer, and ought I not to fear, that when he demands the cause of my return that he would hate me, and that he will force me to depart for ever from the person whom I love? But after all, let happen what pleases the Gods, for I declare to you I cannot do otherwise. In Effect, Madam, Aronces relying on Amilcar's friendship, told him all that which I could not deny him, and caused so great compassion in him, that he commanded him in the name of the Prince of Carthage to go to Clelius; but for to dissemble his return, Amilcar obliged the Prince to charge Aronces to negotiate something at Syracuse, for to endeavour to disunite Sicyly from the interest of Carthage, and Amilcar to finish his generosity, made him such Magnificent presents, that he put him in a conditlon not to want the assistance of Clelius when he should return to him. So Madam there being a ship of War prepared for us, we parted from Utica, and took the way of Syracuse, with intention if we did not find Clelius there, to land nigh the mouth of the River Vulturnus, to go by land to Capua, which is but twelve miles from the sea. I shall not tell you Madam, what was Aronces affliction when he went to take his leave of the Prince of Carthage, and separated himself from Amilcar, for I cannot express unto you, all that the tenderness of friendship and the violence of Love made him feel in this encounter, but 'tis true that when he was ready to depart, he began to fear he should be more unhappy, when he should be with Clelia, than when he was from her: but he changed his thoughts when we were embarked, for as the wind was favourable he had a joy that I cannot express in the thought, that every moment he approached nigh Clelia: 'Tis true that this favourable wind lasted not long, for the next evening we saw a far off a light cloud rise out of the sea, which without terrifying us we fixed our eyes on it, but we were suddenly astonished when we saw the Pilot who guided us, affrighted at it, and begun to give orders to all the Mariners of our Vessel to the end they should prepare themselves for a great tempest, at first we believed he abused us, and we could not comprehend that a thing which had nothing terrible to look upon, should be the forerunner of a dreadful tempest, but hardly had we the leisure to think the Pilots supposition was but ill grounded, when we saw insensibly the sea covered with great billows of foam which did the same effect over this immense sea, as flocks dispersed over great vast plains, a little after we heard a roaring which was something terrible, though it seemed to come afar off, and a little after we heard a clash of Thunder on our left hand, which by a sudden flash of Lightning, gave us a happy presage, for you know Madam, the Etrurians which are the most skilfullest people in the world in matter of Divinations, have learned us, that when the Thunder goes from the left to the right 'tis a happy presage, but when it goes from the right to the left 'tis an inauspicious Omen. Nevertheless though Aronces and I knew this sign was not unhappy, we saw a little appearance of good luck, for it seemed this Clap of Thunder bade been a signal to unchain the winds, and the sea roared horribly, and all the waves clashed so rudely against each other, that they utterly destroyed our hopes, and truly Madam, I cannot tell you in what extremes we then were, when the night stealing on us on a sudden, exposed us to the fury of the waves and winds as long as it lasted, sometimes our ship climbed the Clouds, and in a moment seemed to descend into a profound Abyss, and the tempest turned it in despite of the Pilots art, and put us every moment in estate of shipwreck, likewise all the Mariners left their Offices, and the Pilot supplicated himself on his helm, and invoked Neptune with a high voice, expecting succour but from him alone, for Aronces I confess his constancy gave me it, for after he had remitted himself to the conduct of the Gods, he had as much tranquillity in his soul, as if he had not been in danger, and for to give you a sensible mark of his constancy, I shall tell you that in the middle of this terrible tempest, he spoke to me of Clelia, and told me that if he died, as there was great appearance, he should die with grief not to have made known to that fair person the love he had for her. But in fine Madam, as the tempest began at the setting of the Sun, it diminished at break of day, and that glorious celestial Luminary bringing back the calm with the Light, we saw a little after the waves by little and little to abate, but we perceived at the same time, that we were so nigh a great vessel, that we might discern it was a vessel of War, our Pilot who seemed not to be destined this voyage, but to anounce us evil news, told us that the tempest was past, but that we were no less in danger, because the Ship we saw was a cruel Pirates which did nothing else but interrupt the commerce of Sicily and Carthage by the continual prizes he took. At these words, Aronces taking the word to answer him, as 'twas your part to command during the tempest, said he to him, it is for you to obey during a combat, therefore make us board this vessel, for as it hath been beaten by the tempest as well as ours, we fight with equal advantages; and we shall fight it may be better than Pirates, at first the Pilot made a difficulty to obey, and would at least reason on the thing, but Aronces having absolutely commanded him to follow his Orders, and to endeavour to gain the wind that we might be the assailants, he obeyed with fear and so well played his part, that we got the wind of the Pirate: 'Tis true that as he was accustomed to vanquish, and that our vessel was less than his, he persisted not in endeavouring to gain from us this advantage, and seeking to board us as we did him we joined together, and we saw on an instant the enemies deck filled with armed Soldiers, which by their countenance only might intimidate those which saw them, for as they were men which a long time had been continually inur'd to War and the Sea, they were more swarthy and blacker than Africans though they belonged to the Isle of Cyrne, and they had such a savage and sierce ferocity on their faces, that 'twas easy to judge they passed all their life in slaughter and blood, they had likewise the rusticity of Seamen, the cruelty of Soldiers determined in their eyes, their hair long black hanging negligently, their habits were not uniform but different, because they were such as they had took from those they vanquished, but for their arms they were magnificent, and it appeared so well by their countenance that they were accustomed to sight and overcome, that I believed we should be vanquished; for we had not so many men as we saw in their vessel, and they were not without doubt so warlike.  
Aronces thought to die with honour, rather than to have the victory; when he saw that multitude of Enemies which so resolutely expected him: The Captain of those Pirates put himself at the head of the others when our vessel joined, he was well advanced in age, he had many hurts on his face which dissigured him, but he was so magnificently armed, and he had so fierce a countenance, as disfigured as he was, he was easily known to be the Master of those which environed him. As we were in this posture Madam, and ready to grapple, we heard that cruel Pirate insolently command some of his men, that they should prepare chains ready to chain us, adding, that it would not be difficult for him to vanquish us; but as soon as he had pronounced these words, Aronces who felt himself outraged, cast at him a Javelin he had in his hand, and leaping into the Enemy's vessel followed by me and ten or twelve others, we began the terriblest sight which was ever seen, I shall not exactly particularise it, because I have many other things to tell you, but you must know that Aronces gave such testimonies of such a prodigious valour, that I may say, he only merited all the glory of this great action: At first he assailed the Captain of the Pirates, being closed together they were both ready to fall in the sea, when they heard a great noise at the other end of the vessel, which suspending the fury of these two fierce Enemies, made them retain and leave one another, and they turned their heads towards the place where the noise was, but Aronces was astonished when he saw Clelius and Horatius with some others loaded with chains, who did all they could to take Arms from the Soldiers which would reinchain them, this surprising object making Aronces believe that Clelia was this Pirates captive, heightened his courage; but that which augmented it was that this fierce Pirate against whom he fought, no sooner saw some of his men endeavouring to re-inchain Horatius and Clelius, but he commanded them to kill them instead of troubling themselves to remit them to their Irons, and in effect the cruel ministers of such a bloody man put themselves in duty to obey him, and would effectually have done it, if Aronces after he had given him a reverse blow on the head which stun'd him, had not gone directly to those which would have killed Clelius and Horatius, if he had not relieved them at that instant; but as he at first killed the one and hurt two other, he had the advantage to render to Clelius that which he owed to him by saving his life, and he likewise saved his Rivals, thinking he had only saved it to his friend. Nevertheless, this cruel Pirate being come from his stupification, came again to the charge, followed by his men; but as Clelius and Horatius had taken swords from those Aronces had hurt, they seconded him, and I likewise whilst the rest of our men fought at the other end of the vessel: The Pirate then seeing that which he little expected, gave command to rally all his men; and to cast all the prisoners and the captives into the sea, to the end that those which kept them might come to fight, so that Aronces hearing this terrible command, and Clelius crying to him, that it was not sufficient to have saved his life, if he did not likewise save Sulpitias and Clelias. Aronces performed actions I cannot represent to you, for he killed or hurt all those he met, and that which wound up his courage to such a prodigious height was, that he heard Clelia's voice which endeavoured by her complaints, to attenerate the hearts of those merciless Pirates, which would have cast her into the sea, so that precipitating himself in the middle of those which environed the Captain of those Pirates, he thrust his sword through his body, and after he had seen him fall down dead, he went to the place where he heard the voice of Clelia, and he arrived so happily that he hindered her from being cast into the sea, by killing him that would have committed that barbarous action. 'Tis true Horatius followed him very nigh, hut 'twas Aronces that saved the life of that admirable Virgin and her virtuous Mother; but in exchange Horatius saved Aronces by killing a man which would have wounded him behind, and as the death of the Pirates Captain had abated the hearts of the others, and that the most part of our men followed us and fought very valiantly, the Pirates saw themselves constrained to render their Arms, and to receive chains from them to whom they would have given them, so that by this means Aronces saved Clelius his life, his wives, and the admirable Clelias, Horatius and many others, and saw himself Master of the richest booty that was ever taken in one vessel, without having received one hurt, though he had been in great danger, but that which was the sweetest victory was, that he received a thousand praises from Clelius, and as many thanks from Clelia, and after he had caused the dead to be thrown into the sea, chained all the vanquished, and commanded to have a care of the wounded, and established Orders in these two vessels. Aronces made Clelius, Sulpitia, and his admirable Daughter come into ours, and lest me with some soldiers in that we had taken, for my part I would have had Horatius have stayed there likewise, but he so resisted it, that he followed the object of his passion, we suspecting nothing of his Love: But in fine, Madam, we knew afterwards that this cruel Pirate that we had met, had taken the vessel in which Clelius and his family were embarked at Carthage, and that when we had found him, he had resolved to take the way of Cumes, for to go to sell Clelia to the Tyrant Alexidesme who now reigneth there, and whom you know Madam, to lead the most irregular life of any man in the World. We knew likewise, that this Pirate after he had carried into his vessel all that which was in that of Clelius, had treated with those he had commerce for all the prizes that he had taken, and that which was admirable was, that he found there all that which belonged to Clelius, even to the Cradle in which Aronces was found on the Sea by that illustrious Roman.  
In the mean time we consulted on the way we should take, and for to hold this council, our vessels were joined together.  
I persuaded this illustrious company to seek a Retreat at Capua, where I promised Clelius and the others to give them for their Friends all those I had there, and to render them all the Services I might, nevertheless as Aronces told Clelius that his return was caused by some Orders that the Prince of Carthage had given him to go to negotiate something for him at Syracuse, he was resolved that it should be there that we should go to land, and that we should pass afterwards from thence to a port nigh the place where the River Vulturnus casts itself into the Sea, for as you know Madam, Capua is but twelve miles distant from that place, and in effect the thing was so executed: we were some days at Syracuse, from whence we sent back the Vessels the Prince of Carthage had lent us, Aronces feigning to tender him an account of his Negotiation though he writ to him but to thank him, as likewise to Amilcar, but that, Madam, which was most fair to Aronces, was, that he would not attribute to himself that rich booty he had taken, and that he would content himself with the benefits of the Carthaginian Prince. Clelius said he had not any part therein, Horatius said the same, and I maintained as the others that Aronces alone had right to dispose of that prodigious riches, so that after a long contestation where we all declared it to him; Since 'tis so, said he to us, I give all the right I have to— he would say Clelia, but fearing to discover his love, after he had a little recollected himself, instead of saying Clelia he said Clelius, and in effect he would in despite of him that he should dispose of this precious Prize; 'tis true he disposed of it in a manner worthy of his generosity, for he gave a great part of it to Horatius, to have means to subsist during his Exile; he constrained me likewise to accept of a great part of this Booty: He gave one part to the poor Romans exiled by Tarquin which were retired to Syracuse, and made an offering of the rest to that famous Temple builded on the top of the renowned Mountain Erice: but in fine, Madam, without staying myself to tell you a hundred unnecessary things; I shall tell you in two words, that we passed from Sicily into Campania, and from thence to Capua where we had a favourable reception, for the chief Magistrate of the City that we call Mediadusticks was my Uncle, so that by this means I was happy enough to find occasion to render some services to the persons of the world I wished most to serve, so that in a few days Clelius, Aronces and Horatius were not treated as strangers in our City: Sulpicia and her admirable daughter likewise found amongst our Ladies so much sweetness and Civility that the first was constrained to remit something of her Roman severity, and to suffer Clelia to accommodate herself to the custom of the place where she was and to the honest liberty of our manner of life, 'tis true, Madam, that 'twas not very difficult for her to do it for 'tis certain that 'tis not without reason that our City is called the delicious Capua, in effect one may say that as nature hath placed in our Country all that which might render a life delectable, it hath likewise inspired into the Inhabitants Inclinations which carry them to pleasure and joy to the end to make them enjoy all the benefits she hath afforded them, for one may say there is nothing in this place but delight, and that the care which it had to entertain the public tranquillity, hath no other motive than to hinder the disturbance of the public and particular pleasures, so all the World thinking to divertise themselves one may say all the World divertiseth itself, the Ladies are there fair gallant and magnificent, the men are ingenious for pleasure, festival days and extremely liberal, and there is there led a life so sweet, calm, and delectable, that there are no men such enemies to society which have no grief to depart from thence, and not any strangers which may not facilly accustom themselves thereto, but how agreeable soever our City was, and though this fair Troop received all manner of civility, there was none but Clelia there which found any sweetness or delectation; for Clelius hearing that Tarquins authority was greater, and that although he was generally hated by all, that did not hinder him from reigning peaceably, had a most sensible grief: Sulpitia who had the same zeal for her Country, had likewise the same affliction, and Horatius joining the resentments of an exiled Roman, with those of a Lover who durst not say he loved, found himself very unhappy, but Aronces believed that he was much more, and knew not sometimes if he ought to esteem himself more miserable for not knowing his birth, or that Clelia was Ignorant of his passion, but he found some sweetness as well as Horatius, to think that Clelia was in a place where the violence of Maharbal need not be feared, and those two Rival friends left not to have some pleasing hours in the conversation of Clelia, they lived with more friendship at Capua than at Carthage, because Horatius owing his life to Aronces, and Aronces his to Horatius, the acknowledgement bound with a more stricter knot their affections, they told not one another of the passions they had in their souls, for as I already was the confident of Aronces, and that Horatius was not of the humour to have any, they discovered not to one another their Love, and they told it not even to her which caused it; so that though they had most agreeable hours with her, they had some also very troublesome, for Horatius thought not that an Exile could handsomely make a declaration of Love. Aronces could not imagine that one unknown might be favourably treated, for Clelia though by a natural and generous inclination she interest herself in her Country, nevertheless as she had never seen Rome, that she was fair and young, and that all pleasures courted her, she found herself sufficiently happy, but that which principally made her felicity was, that looking upon Aronces as her Brother, and believing that he had nothing but friendship for her, she accustomed herself to live with him, with a confidence infinitely sweet, and which left not to afflict Aronces as obliging as she was, because that the more he knew the sweetness of Clelia, the more he believed it was dangerous to tell her that he loved her; so that excepting me, he took an extreme care to conceal his passion: Nevertheless these two secret Lovers daily frequented Clelias' company, to whose house all the virtuous men and fairest Ladies every day resorted, 'tis not but that the beauty of Clelia gave resentments of jealousy and emulation; but she was so a la mode and there was so many in Sulpitias house, that those which would see and be seen, could not otherwise satisfy their curiosity; for there were few persons in any other houses, or if there was any other company it was ordinarily neither great nor delectable: Aronces one day took pleasant notice of it, for knowing Madam, that being in a fancy to endeavour to heal himself, we went many days from quarter to quarter, from street to street, from door to door, from visit to visit, to the end to divert his spirit from the object which so entirely possessed it, but in what place soever we went we heard nothing spoken of but Clelia, for in one house we were demanded if we had been at her house, and in another if we were going thither, one of my kinsfolks told us she came from it, and one of my friends told Aronces that he came from thence: In another place there was a man who said she should no more he called Clelia but the Fair Roman, and in the house of a Lady who was of a brown complexion, there was one of her Gallants who highly praised the beauty of Clelia, though she was yellow haired, in another place we found a Lady which needs would find some fault, saying she was too fair, and I can assure you that for four or five days we went into no place where we heard not Clelia spoken of, and we went every where, where persons of quality might go, but at the last house where we went the last day that Aronces had destined to these visits, where we knew not what we sought, there was a Lady who finished to make known to that Lover, that it was in vain to seek any place where he should not hear Clelia spoken of, for he heard her more spoken of in this place than in any other: But Madam, before I recount to you this conversation, you must know to understand it with pleasure, who this person is which we meet with, and I believe you will not be angry if I describe her to you, since 'tis certain that she whereof I speak who is called Aricidia is an inimitable person. In effect, all that which is particular to her, cannot be seen in any other: For in fine: I must tell you for her honour, that without being of illustrious extraction, without having any beauty, and without youth she is considerable above all those which are great in Capua, and that she is at all Feasts public and private, but that which is most strange is, that she is continually in conversation with all the young persons of quality, and with all the fairest Ladies: In effect, Those men which make such a tumultuous garboyl, when they find that a fair woman hath her Nose a little too big, too little Eyes, the Chin too short, or Lips too pale, and can hardly suffer those which have passed four Lustres, have not their eyes troubled to see always Aricidia, though she never had any beauty, and though she hath fifteen Lustres to count as the Romans, or that she can recount near twenty Olympiads according to the calculation of the Greeks, you will demand of me Madam, without doubt by what charms a person to whom Nature hath refused all the Grace's ordinary to her sex, whom time hath deprived of youth and whom fortune hath not endowed with great favours; for to render her so considerable and so much desired, and I shall answer you 'tis by a great goodness, and by a natural grandeur of Spirit which being joined to a long experience of the world, and to an agreeable humour that without taking care of herself, she divertiseth all those which frequent her, for as she is without ambition, as she hath a great and noble heart, that she knows not how to slatter, that she is not interested in any manner, that she clearly sees things, that she recounts them pleasantly, and that she knows all that which passes in Capua, there is no person which doth nor desire her, and when there happens any remarkable occurrence, there is no body which wishes not to see her, to know that which she thinks, says, or knows of it; so that if she could be in twenty places at one time, she might be there, she goes likewise every where without being troublesome, because she is never in any place but where she is desired.  
Moreover, though she hath something in particular in her Physiognomy, and very pleasant in her manner of speaking, she hath not any pleasantness of profession: In fine, she hath a certain jovial sincerity, which makes her say things which surprise and which please, and the truth is that she hath a solid virtue, though it is not savage. In effect, she says things that she thinks not of, she sees the weakness of others without contributing thereto, and without being ever the confident of any Love, she knows all the Loves of the City, she blameth the tattling Gossips, she flatters not the Gallants, she gives pleasantly her opinion of those that pretend to be fair when they are not, she endeavoureth to reconcile the differences of families, she is in friendship with all the husbands and wives, and without doing that but which she thinks she ought to do, she pleaseth men which are opposite in all things, she is a good friend and is both officious and free, all the greatness of the earth cannot make her change her opinion, when she thinks she hath reason; and to define her in few words, I may say Aricidia is a living mortality, but a Moralist without sadness: and who believes that the pleasantness of innocent Raillery is not useless to virtue; but the most incredible thing is, that though she knows all the maliciousness the world is capable of, she is nevertheless incapable of it, and though she hath an infinite spirit, she cannot find any invention to prejudice any, though she finds a thousand when she would serve her friends. In sine, Aricidia hath found the art to please and give divertisements to all the youths without incurring any blame, for though she is not young she is sometimes at Balls, she sees all the great feasts, she is in the most gallant walks and the merriest company, and Aricidia is composed of so much delight, that I may boldly say she cannot be paralleled, and I even maintain that it would not be advantageous for her to be fair, for if she were she goes to an hundred places where she would not go, she says things that she would not say, and her physiognomy which retains more the andacity of my sex than the timidity of hers, addeth a far more force to her words, and gives a liking to her discourses, as I have said already she is so desired in all places, that the days should be longer for her than others, if she would content all those that desire her: Aricidia being then such as I have represented to you, came into a house where Aronces and I entered just as she spoke of Clelia to five or six persons which were there, and that she spoke of her with earnestness, so that when we entered she changed not her discourse; on the contrary she no sooner saw us, but knowing we were Clelia's friends, she addressed herself to us with that familiarity which is natural to her.  
You come very fitly, said she to us, to maintain my argument against a man you see with me, who says that Clelia would be fairer than she is, if she was a little more coy: Ah Aricidia cried that man, which is named Genutius, tell at least to Aronces and Celeres, that which I at first said of the great beauty of Clelia, before you tell them what I have wished thereto: I shall tell it replied she, after I have delivered my advice thereupon, for I find it so unreasonable that I cannot endure it: The beauty of Clelia is so resplendent and perfect, replied Aronces, that I cannot well comprehend of what addition it is capable, I think, added I, that without seeking to deny it, you had best demand if of Aricidia: I voluntarily consent to it, replied Genutius, so that she will not conceal the prailes I have given Clelia: For to content you, replied she, I shall then say, that you are of my opinion: that all the lineaments of Clelia's face are admirable; that she is of a most rare complexion, hairs very fair, of a courteous behaviour, and that she is in sine one of the greatest beauties in the world, but after that pursued she, raising her voice, I shall say I do not believe she can ever cause any love in you, because she doth not imitate all fashions, or to say better all the ill favoured countenances of these which think themselves fair, and which do not one action where there is not an affectation which strangely displeaseth, but to the end you many excuse him, added she, turning herself towards Aronces and me; I must tell you that I have seen him heretofore amorous of one of those Ladies who frame all their looks, who place their hands with art, who turn negligently their heads, who have an artificial languor or a borrowed joy, who fit their lips to the mirrors when they dress themselves, and which laugh in such a manner, that they show all their teeth when they be white. Ah Aricidia, cried Genutius, you treat me cruelly, I treat you yet too well answered she, since there are such men as you are, which detract from those which are fair; for if all these forgeresses of affected simpering should not be praised by their Gallants, they would soon leave them, since it is certain they make none, but to attract Lovers, and we should see no more that which is so unpleasing to the sight; in effect I see nothing which so much undervalueth beauty, as affectation and the so great care in desiring to appear fair; for in the end added she, there is nothing more base, than to see a woman which hath naturally great eyes and open, which always closes them half to have them more tempting, and there is nothing more insupportable than to see the care that certain women have continually to make their lips of a roseate colour, and to see the fantastical and extravagant remedy that they use thereto, is there any thing more insupportable, than to see women who rise twenty times out of their places, without having any thing else to do but to consult their glasses, if they have forgot nothing of their tricks they have accustomed to do, and which have such a fancy to look on themselves, that they not only look on themselves with earnestness in all the glasses they find, but in the Rivers and Fountains, and even in the eyes of those which speak to them, but that which is yet true is, that when they cannot see themselves, they seek an hundred affected inventions, to make themselves to be said such as they believe themselves, and that which oftentimes they are not, for sometimes they say they have not slept, to the end it should be maintained that it appears not in them, another time that they have an ill countenance, to the end it should be said they have a fair teint in another occasion, that they are ill favouredly dressed, to the end it should be said well, and they bear an affection even to the smallest things. In fine, those persons which make so many fooleries, and so many fashions, are ordinarily of those that hasten to take the new modes, and which take them with excess, for if there be two or three Ribbons worn, they take an hundred, and if the dressing is a little long, they wear their hair down to their girdle, if a little short they show their ears, and they perform in fine, so many disagreeable things, to those which have not a depraved taste that they cannot be endured, and that which is most rare is, that those women which spend their days, to compose all their actions to please, horribly displease all honest men except certain persons which have particular fancies, as Genutius, yet I know not added she smiling, if he is of the same humour he says, and if he will not find as I, that Clelia is admirable, principally because she hath no affectation.  
It is certain, added the Lady in whose house we were, that though Clelia doth not any action but what pleaseth, 'tis clearly seen that she doth not think upon any thing she doth, and that she hath form herself so great an habitude to have a good presence, that it is not possible for her to have an ill one. That which seemeth to me worthy to be noted in Clelia, said Aronces, is, that though she hath no affectation, she does nothing of all that which other women do; who make profession to be fair. She hath I know not what noble audacity which sets off her beauty, which hindereth not any one from doubting but that she knows what is hers; but she hath it in such a manner, that 'tis apparent she believeth to have something more considerable, and that it is not by that alone by which she merits esteem, so that I know not how Genutius can find that this admirable person is defective in any thing.  
It is sometimes pleasant to dispute with Aricidia, replied he, that you ought not to think it strange, if I have contradicted her in something, 'tis not, added he, that I am constrained to confess that I am not altogether any enemy to certain little affections which give a gallant air to some women, and I know some that if we should take away those particular additions they have to heighten their beauty, and should hinder them from doing all those little things which I know not how to name (but which may admit the terms of mines and fooleries) we should leave them nothing to entertain our sight: And on the contrary, there are certain beauties so plain that they cannot please me: For to speak sincerely, I would have a woman conceit herself fair before I tell her of it, because I am persuaded that she will not believe me, if she says not it herself; and to say in a word what I think, a woman in my opinion is not perfectly lovely if she loves not herself, and if she desires not to be beloved.  
In fine, said Aricidia, half angry to speak, truly you love wanton Gossips more than others, because it is more easy to be favoured by them, and that in the humour you are in, you are not fit to make difficult conquests. But to return to Clelia, I maintain that she is more amiable than fair, though she is the fairest maid I ever saw.  
As long as Aricidia spoke, Aronces set his eyes as fixtly on her, as if she had all the youth and beauty of Clelia, for he took so much pleasure in hearing what he loved, commended; that even his very eyes participated with the joy of his spirit. There were nevertheless some moments in which he had some secret spite, in that he could not find any subject whereby he might withdraw part of his heart from that beautiful person, for in the design which he had to draw it wholly if he could from her; there were also some moments in which the praises were given to Clelia, offended him: But these instances were not of long durance, and in despite of himself he was glad to hear her commended, and he praised her himself more than he intended to do.  
In the mean while, having endeavoured five or six days to go into some place where he should not hear Clelia spoken of, which he could not find; Aronces propounded to me at our going out of the Lady's house where we had seen Aricidia, to go and take a walk in a place which was very pleasant; for Madam, you must know that there is near Capua a great Meadow which is one of the delightfullest walks in the world: That which principally beautifies it is, that there are many small Rivulets which water it, and that it is bordered on both sides, with four rows of Trees, which compose the pleasantest Umbrage that I ever saw, and this place not being far from Capua, we might with convenience after our visit go thither, and in effect we went thither, with an intention to hear no more speech of Clelia. But Madam, admire the chances of Fortune in certain occasions, and to be surprised by that which surprised Aronces and I, suffer me to tell you that as soon as we were come near this Meadow, Aronces rebeginning this discourse fetching a deep sigh turned himself towards me, and looking steadfastly on me; in fine he told me, I am now in a place where I shall not have Clelias' name mentioned, except it be by you or I. You speak of that, I told him, as if you were displeased to hear that incomparable Maid named, or to have any remembrance of her. Nevertheless I know it is not so. Alas said he, would you not have me forget Clelia, since I am bound to banish her from my heart? But in fine Celeres, said he to me again, let us speak no more of it, and contribute what you can to my recovery, and to unslave my Spirit from so lovely an object, speak to me of quite contrary things, and let us entertain each other as if we were strangers. Since you will have it so, said I, must entertain you with the pleasantness of this meadow, which is altogether fit for pensive thoughts. It is very true, replied he, that there was never a more pleasant nor convenient place to entertain one's self, but because I will not think of Clelia, I must not be my own company keeper, for all my cogitations would be but of her.  
After that Madam, Aronces held his peace, and I did so likewise, so as it were forgetting that we were together, we fell both into a profound pensiveness, we even separated ourselves by some steps, and if I durst speak of a love which I had in my soul, in discoursing to you of that of Aronces, I must confess that that which agitated his thoughts did also mine, and as he had his Spirit possessed but by Clelia only, mine was also, but by the beautifullest person of Capua, which is called Fenice.  
But after we had gone two or three hundred paces without looking or speaking to each other, we heard at our right hand some body singing near the Ruins of a Castle, which are a little beyond the meadow, where there is an admirable Echo, insomuch that we coming again together, we resolved to go see who were at the Echo.  
In the mean while, after he who sung had made an end he held his peace, that thereby he might be answered by the Echo: After which we heard divers voices of men and women which were speaking, and because we were far from them, we heard but a confused noise, which would not permit us to discern, neither what was sung, nor consequently what was answered: But Madam, that which was rare, was, that as soon as we were within a distance that we might distinctly hear, we understood that it was Horatius which sung, and that having made there some verses in commendation of Clelia, which was amongst those Ladies which harkened the last when we would understand him, insomuch that Aronces and I heard distinctly these six verses which I shall now rehearse unto you, which extolled Clelia above all the fairest of Capua, in setting forth her praises by the fairest of all, and which was less accustomed to praise the beauty of others. They were these.  

The Carthaginian Beauties led the way,  
And ours like they, to her do homage pay  
Tothth' Splendour of her eyes all beauties rear,  
Which makes her reign securely every where;  
Yea even Fenice publicly doth say,  
That nothing is so fair as Clelia.   
So that Aronces who withdrew himself from Capua, not to hear the fair Clelia named, was strangely surprised, for after Horatius had said,  

Yea even Fenice publicly doth say,  
That nothing is so fair as Clelia.   
The Echo repeated the name of this fair Virgin six times, so that looking upon me in a manner where there was some astonishment and grief mixed together: For any thing I see, said he to me, I must depart the world if I will no more hear Clelia named, for seeing the Echoes speak to the trees and fields of her; I believe I shall find no place which speaks not to me of her. Since 'tis so, said I smiling to him, I think you may better speak to her yourself, than only to hear her spoken of by others; as I had said these words, we were so nigh that fair Troop, that Aronces had no time to deliberate with himself whether he should go to them or no, for the amiable Clelia, having turned her head on one side knew us and called us, 'tis true, I am persuaded that Aronces who saw that Clelia was in this Troop, would nevertheless have approached her, though she should not have called him, though he intended to estrange himself from her, so that advancing towards this gallant troop; the first thing that Aronces did after he had saluted her; was to praise him which had praised Clelia, for myself, I confess I avoided with address to praise those verses though I knew the ingenious malice of it, as much as any person in the company, for Madam, though by these six verses Horatius intimated that Fenice was the fairest person in Capua, and that it was advantageous for her, 'tis nevertheless true that there was malice in this praise, and that he reproached the defect, she hath not to find any thing fair, and 'twas easy to judge that he preferred the beauty of Clelia before Fenices, so that I being amorous of her, shunned as I have told you, to praise those verses of Horatius, and I spoke of the Echo to a man in the company, for fear some one should tell Fenice that I had praised a man which had praised one other more than her, and which blamed her in such an ingenious manner, but my foresight was unprofitable: as I shall soon tell you, for this adventure made a quarrel between Fenice and me, but to return to Aronces, he not only praised Horatius, in a manner whereof he praised Clelia, but he even praised her in so gallant a manner, that his prose was far better than his Rival's verse, and this same man which some days before had resolved to do all things possible not to love, changed his opinion on a sudden, and resolved in an instant with himself always to love her, and no more to oppose his passion, and to forget nothing that might make him love her, so that being delivered from the care of striving against himself, he had his spirit more free, his humour more joyful, and he was so pleasant that night, that he infinitely pleased all the company, which insensibly engaged themselves to examine the reason, wherefore the most part of fair women are covetous of praise and often very unjust, for said Aronces after many other things, they think some women are deformed when they are beautiful.  
For my part, said Clelia, my curiosity should be to know if effectually those which have the humour as you say are truly propossessed, or if they say things otherwise than they think them. There are divers sorts of them, replied Horatius, for I am persuaded that there are Ladies which know others to be fair though by an emulative resentment they say they are not, but I am likewise of opinion that there are some which so love themselves that they hate all others, and in whom effectually they find nothing that is fair.  
For my particular, said a Lady in the company, who hath much spirit but is not fair, I think it not strange if envy make them speak which pretend to be fair against those which are, but I cannot wonder enough to see them which have no interest in beauty, which because they are not fair, would not have others so, and which are likewise as difficult to please as if they had the fairest attractions in the world, the fairest complexions, and all the charms which may be desired in an amiable person. As this Lady had thus spoken, Aricidia whom we had seen that day, came where we were with three women of quality, and three men, so that as Aronces and I had sought this place for its solitariness, we had the pleasantest company I ever saw, for except Fenice the most amiable of our Ladies were there, but as the subject of our conversation was then very curious when these two companies joined, this Lady who spoke last, said they should oblige Aricidia to give her advice upon the subject they had before spoken of, so that after we had learned her what it was, she began to blame the fair ones which would only arrogate to themselves that title, but she blamed them in a very pleasant manner, for it wanted but little that she related not all the histories of the City to those which have already some knowledge of them.  
For my part, said she, I have been heretofore astonished to see a fair woman and of as much spirit, which for to dispraise another said the most ridiculous things that may be, for she found her too white and too brown: She likewise said she had eyes too sweet, mouth too little, and if my memory deceive me not, I think I heard her one day say she had lips too incarnate; what is this? thought I when I heard her speak so, am I a fool or wise, have I good eyes or hath she bad who speaks thus? but after a little consideration I found the cause of her injustice, for I knew there was a Lady which was fair flaxen-haired, who had eyes sweet, mouth little, and lips of a blushing red, who had taken a Lover from her, so that after that I sought no more the cause of her prejudicated opinion, likewise when I find some of those scrupulous beauties who think none fair but themselves, I examined what interests they may have to the fair and brown in general, I and what they might have in particular of those of which they spoke, and after that I did not want much to find the reason which made them unjust. In effect, I lastly saw one who because she had great eyes, maintained that little eyes could not be agreeable, and I saw another which on the contrary, said that it appertained only to little eyes to make great conquests, and they only had I know not what of gallant and agreeable, which was fit to wound hearts, and that ordinarily great eyes open, were stupid and without agreement.  
In another occasion, pursued Aricidia, I found a woman which contrary to them I have told you of, blamed in others that which she had, and praised that she had not, but she so faintly praised and blamed it, that after I had well examined her, I found that she blamed and did not praise it, but to the end to be contradicted, and that they might praise that she had, and blame that she had not: but usually I have already said we must know all the life of a fair woman, for to have power to divine what sort of beauty she may praise, 'tis not but jealousy may hinder her from finding any thing fair; but it more often happens, that there are more remote causes which procure this injustice: For in fine, all the company know a woman which would be very fair if she was fat, to whom I have heard say that a Rival she hath would be fairer than she is now, if she had ten or twelve fits of a Fever which might penance her body, and I know likewise one which because that a Lady is another's Confident, whom she believes to have a design on the heart of a man, that she would have for her gallant found strange defects in her, though she had not any, so that when I met with these critical choosers of beauty, I enquired who loved such an one? whether her Husband or her Lover betray her not, whether she is jealous, whether she is envious, whether she is wicked, whether she is frantic? I should never Madam, bring my discourse to a period if I should relate to you all those pleasing things Aricidia said on this subject, but not being to trespass upon your patience, I shall desist from mentioning them, but shall only tell you that night beginning to clothe the earth with her sable mantle, the company returned to Capua, and Aronces and I returned thither with Clelia and her company, but to tell you the truth, I was not a little surprised when that being returned to my Lodging, where I desired Aronces to lodge, I found that instead of not being willing to hear Clelia spoken of, he would not speak to me of any other thing.  
In effect, if I thought to tell him four words on any other subject, he would not answer me but began to speak to me of Clelia: so that not being willing to contend with him; As far as I see, replied I smiling, you have changed your thoughts since our last Visit, for you desired to depart from the City not to hear Clelia spoken of, and you now speak nothing but of her. No, no, Celeres, said he to me, I have not changed my thoughts, but the truth on't is, I was not the same I thought myself to be, and that though I said I would not love Clelia, I was resolved always to love her, and to speak of her all my life: but if it is so, replied I more smiling, you must seek another Confident than me, and I likewise must seek another than you, for if you have resolved always to speak to me of Clelia; at what hours and time may I speak to you of Fenice? 'Tis true he that's one; Lover is not fit to be another's Confident; but cruel Friend, you are not amorous in such manner as I am, you love Fenice when you see her, pursued he, and you do no more love when you see her not, and your passion for her is rather a voluntary amazement than a true passion: 'tis therefore not very difficult for you not to speak so often of Fenice, and to let me speak of Clelia.  
Have you then absolutely resolved, said I to him, not to think more of banishing her from your heart? On the contrary, I have taken a resolution, replied he, to conquer hers if it be possible, and to acquaint her that she is the only Saint, at whose Shrine I offer up my Devotion. In high thoughts, Madam, was Aronces at this time, and Horatius as I have since known, seeing Clelia give a favourable censure of those Verses; the Maid on a sudden when she obliged him to sing to the Echo, where we found him resolved to discover his Love to Clelia on the first occasion which presented, and these two Corrivals though friends, not in the least imagining one another's love, jumped on one design when Clelia without thinking of it gave them the means to execute it: For know, Madam, she being desirous to have those Verses Horatius had made, and which she could not retain in her memory, Horatius having but twice sung them, demanded them of him the next day; but as he would make use of this occasion, instead of giving them to her at that time, he could tell her he would send them. On the other side you must know Madam, that as things change very much, by passing from one mouth to another, principally if it is to recount little news of Cabala, where one word altered changeth all: It happened that Aricidia having told some company where she was, and that which passed at the Echo, those which heard it mis-related it to others, and those others worse to others, who told Fenice it was I which had made those Verses at the Echo, but instead of telling her this Song was for Clelia, they only told her 'twas against her; so that being much incensed against me, she complains of me with much inveterateness, in a place where Clelia arrived a little after she departed from it: So that Clelia who is wholly composed of goodness, was very sorry that the praises Horatius had attributed to her, had been the occasion of a quarrel between me and so fair a person; therefore willing to acquaint me with the complaints of Fenice, that I might justify myself, and foreseeing she should not see neither Aronces or I all that day, because she knew Sulpicia spent the remaining part of the afternoon in a place where we did not go. She wrote a Letter to Aronces to oblige him to advertise me of the anger of Fenice, for as she had been educated with him, and that Clelius would have her live with him with the same familiarity of a Sister, she made no difficulty to write to him, which she had done before in divers occasions, so that following those motions of goodness she had for me, she wrote a Letter to Aronces as I have already told you, which was somewhat nigh these terms.  
Clelia to Aronces.  
AS I know you love Celeres as much as I esteem him, and that I dare not write to him, I believed I ought to acquaint you that Fenice accuses him wrongfully of an Injury he hath offered her in praising me, to the end he may appease that fair person to whom I willingly yield the Priority of Beauty; and I consent that Celeres should make some Verses, in which he should as much prefer Fenice before me, as Horatius by his Flatteries hath placed me above her, for I declare, it's not by the small beauty I have I would be esteemed, but there is something in my heart that merits praise more than my eyes, and in fine there remains no more but to call you my Brother, that delightful name my Father hath commanded me to give you, may hide those blushes which slain my Cheeks when I write unto you. Adieu, let not Celeres hate me for a quarrel I have innocently caused him and use all the power you have over him to hinder him from complaining of me.  
See then Madam, the Scheme and nigh the words of Clelia's Letter that Aronces received as he was ready to depart, but as he received it in a time when his passion violently transported him, and in a time when he had resolved to discover it to her which caused it, he believed he ought not to let slip this occasion which presented itself, and that without staying to see Clelia, he ought in answering her to tell her clearly that he was amorous of her, and in effect without any hesitation, and without one race in all his Letter he wrote with a strange precipitation, all the inspirations of his passion, for 'tis certain, this Letter was rather a production of his heart than spirit, but after he had wrote it, he gave it to a discreet and faithful Slave, with order to attend Clelia's return, and to give it her without Sulpicia's seeing it, so that this Slave being very exact, executed it without much difficulty, for those which were with Aronces were in Clelius his house, as if they depended on him; so that 'twas very easy for this Lover's Slave to perform the command of his Master, and Clelia believing he wrote to her to inform her of Celeres quarrel, took the Letter without difficulty, but as she thought 'twas a simple answer to hers, she read it not at that time, because she was called at that instant to go to her Father, and their conversation being somewhat long, she forgot Aronces his Letter in her pocket, and did not remember it until she was retired into her Chamber, and when one of her Maids had given her another which she said one of Horatius his Slaves had brought, so Clelia believing that he had sent her those Verses she demanded of him, and that Letter putting her in mind that she had one from Aronces which she had not read, she put herself in estate to read them both, but as she had without doubt much more inclination towards Aronces than Horatius, she opened his Letter first where she was astonished to find these words.  
Aronces to Clelia.  
YOu have given Celeres such singular demonstrations of your Nobleness, that if I did not hope you had the same for me, I would not speak to you of him, and had rather give new matter to that high Virtue which gives so many Charms to your Beauty: but charming Clelia, as there cannot be testified more Nobleness than in pardoning a Crime in which ones self is solely interested: I must acquaint you that I have committed one which reflects on none but you, to the end that taking the generous resolution to pardon it, I may afterwards innocently commit it all my life. For not to draw a Veil over my thoughts, the Crime I have committed is, that I love you more than you would be beloved, and the glorious name of Brother you bestow on me, is so little agreeing with my thoughts, that I can no longer accept of it, permit me then to bear the title of your slave, if you will accumulate glory on me, but to the end my passion offend you not, know you have such an absolute power over me, that I shall not desire any thing but what you will not refuse me: In fine I love you, but in so pure a manner, that if you could see my heart, you would never have the injustice to deface your Image from it; I know amiable Clelia that I am unfortunate, an unknown One, but if you knew my flame and the purity of my thoughts, you would not be offended to be beloved in the manner I love you; take then the pains to know them, and condemn me not without it I pray you. But to the end I may know if you consent to my demand, I declare to you that if you answer me not, I shall believe that you favourably entertain my love, and that I shall have nothing but to render you thanks for it: but on the contrary if you take a resolution to treat me rigorously, I had rather receive a cruel Letter than receive none. I pray you make me not despair, for in the passion I have for you, I cannot lose hope without losing my life.  
The reading of this Letter so much surprised Clelia, that she could not tell what she felt in reading it; for as she much esteemed Aronces, and had much inclination towards him, she could not entertain a disobliging anger against him: Nevertheless, her natural modesty checked her to do it. 'Tis true, as she knew her Father's thoughts it was followed with some momentary grief, to see it was not permitted her to give any reasonable hope to the person in the world she believed most worthy of her if she had known his birth, and if her Father had not had an intention never to marry her but to a Roman; so that this astonishment, anger, and grief so much possessed her Spirit, that she thought not to read Horatius his Letter, and if her distraction had not made her open it without thinking on it, she would have slept without seeing it, but having opened it without any design to do it; and seeing the Song she demanded if Horatius was not there, and that it was only a Letter, she read it, but not without less astonishment than she had done Aronces: For in fine Madam, I can show you a Copy of it that I will read to you, seeing you will not be ignorant of any thing in which Aronces is interested.  
Horatius to Clelia.  
I Send you not those Verses you demanded of me, because having perused them I found they did not merit your sight, and (if I dare say so) they were even unworthy of me: but there is another reason which hinders me from obeying you; for in fine, amiable Clelia, I foresee I go to be so cruelly used by you, that you would not sing a Song which I made. 'tis not but that I use all means possible not to be rigorously treated, but I sensibly feel that when I tell you now I love you, you will soon divine it, 'tis therefore I had rather declare it to you myself, to the end you may have some obligation to me to have concealed it so long from you: Know then, divine Clelia, that the first minute I saw you was the first of my passion, and that the last of my love will be the last of my life; I know I have not great quality enough to merit you, but I know I have divers things which may hinder me from being ill used: For in fine, I am a Roman, I am beloved by Clelius; my love and hate runs in the same current as his, I am an Exile as he is, I am unfortunate, and I love you more than can be imagined; dispose therefore absolutely of my destiny, but if it is possible banish me not from your heart as I am from Rome, if you will not be more unjust than the Tyrant which banished me thence, and render me infinitely more unhappy by this second and more rigorous Exile, than I am by the first.  
Clelia having finished the reading of this Letter, was much perplexed to resolve what she should do, for she found something so various in this mishap which had made her receive two declarations of love in one moment, that she knew not what to imagine of it. That which most troubled her was, that Aronces and Horatius were friends, and that they might both say they had obligations to her, so that having thought a little thereupon, it came into her mind that that which gave her so much inquietude was not it may be but a simple gallantry agreed on between them to perplex her, for in our Caballa we make an hundred malicious intents one to another in divers occasions: Clelia therefore finding some sweetness in believing it, to draw herself from that perplexity where she was, made as if she really believed it, and hath since ingenuously confessed to me, that though the Letter of Aronces much vexed and afflicted her, yet she felt in her heart that she sustained it more agreeably than that of Horatius; but after she had confirmed herself in this belief more by her will than reason, she took a resolution to answer those two Letters as if she had certainly known that these two friends desired to deceive her; but as she was not assured of it, she determined to write to both of them obscurely, to the end not to breed any contention between them if her thoughts deceived her, and not to discover to them that they had both discovered their Loves to her, if it was true they loved her. For in fine, (said this admirable Maid to herself) if Aronces and Horatius have plotted this invention, they will understand what I shall tell them, and know that they have not deceived me, and if it is not a deceit, and that they have written to me without one another's knowledge, I shall not embroil them, and I shall not find myself in the necessity to answer seriously to two Letters, wherein I shall find myself perplexed to do it, for I should answer it may be too roughly to Horatius and too mildly to Aronces: After this Clelia taking a resolution to draw herself speedily from this perplexity, answered to those two Letters by two Notes that I shall tell you, for I think I never saw any of Clelia's writing that I have not retained, I so much esteem her: This Madam, was her answer to Aronces.  
Clelia to Aronces.  
YOur deceit hath not succeeded, and he with whom you have contrived it, shall have no more joy than you to believe it would deceive me, believe me Aronces it suffices not to have spirit to be a deceiver, but a certain maliciousness of which I believe you incapable, therefore enterprise no more to deceive me, and to prove that your design both effectually ill succeeded, I protest unto you, your Letter hath not angered me one moment, after this I think I need no more explicate to you my thoughts, and that you believe that I believe you are not amorous of me.  
You see Madam, what was Clelia's Note to Aronces, and so what was that she wrote to his Rival.  
Clelia to Horatius.  
When two have joined to contrive a Cheat it is easier to be found out; pretend not then I conjure you, that yours hath happily succeeded, and to testify unto you, that I believe not to be so well with you as you may be evil with me, I pray send me the Verses I have demanded of you, but I likewise pray you to be strongly persuaded that you can never enterprise any thing that less resembles truth than what you have undertaken: for in fine, to speak sincerely I live after such a manner in the world, that one must have lost ones sense and reason, if he think to procure my friendship and not my hatred, by disclosing his affection to me in an amorous Letter.  
I am assured Madam, you know that though these two Notes were written on one subject and by one person, and that this person had an equal design in writing them, that that which addressed to Horatius was clothed with more rigorous and severe language than the other, but I must tell you the effect they produced in the minds of those which received them the next day: imagine then Madam, that when Aronces received that which appertained to him, there was a strange emotion in his heart, for as he writ to Clelia that if she answered him not, he would believe she was favourable to him, he thought seeing she wrote to him, he was going to receive his arrest of death, and that which made him think so was, that Clelia's Slave by the orders of her Mistress, had given him this Note without staying for an answer, so that he opened it with an extreme Inquietude, but when he had read it his spirit was a little more settled, but he was much perplexed to divine what Clelia would say, when she told him that he had contrived with another this deceit: Nevertheless after he had well considered on it, he believed that Clelia had purposely premeditated it, not to be obliged to evil treat him, and that it was I that she made him seemingly think which had part in this pretended deceit of which she spoke in her Note; so that looking upon this Artifice of Clelia as an obliging procedure for him, he found himself more happy than he hoped. He likewise received me with much joy when I entered into his Chamber a quarter of an hour after he had received this Note, but as I was sufficiently troubled at the anger of Fenice, I harkened not to him so attentively as he would have me, so that being angry at me; Ah cruel friend said he to me, you interest not yourself in my fortune: You take so little part in mine, said I to him, that I have more cause to complain of you than you have of me, for after you have told me you are not so miserable as you thought yourself, you demand not of me how I stand with Fenice, but for to make you see you are happier than I to read the Letter I leave you, that this fair person hath wrote on the adventure of the Echo, for I am pressed to go to a friend of hers to adventure to oblige her to justify me to her. After I had left Fenice's Letter in his hands I left him, but departing from his Chamber, I met Horatius who entered there, and who appeared to have something in his spirit which made him melancholy, for he took no notice of me: In effect Madam, you must know that Clelia's answer had highly perplexed him, for he knew he had not mentioned his love to any one, nor the Letter he had wrote to her, so that he knew not what to think of that she wrote to him, seeing that on whatsoever side he looked on the thing, he found nothing of true semblance.  
In the mean time, he felt I know not what in Clelias' words, which made him believe that he had not any part in her heart, he was notwithstanding persuaded that he might have right to pretend thereto, if it was not engaged; so that now thinking on what he never before thought of, he sought to find, if it was possible, whether Clelia loved any one, but after he had examined it, he found that if this fair person had some particular affection in her heart, it must necessarily be for Aronces, and that it must consequently follow Aronces loved her; for he suspected her not to love without being beloved. This thought was no sooner form in his imagination, but it excited in him a great disturbance: In effect, as Horatius is generous, and that he had many Obligations to Aronces, he had a strange agitation of heart, when he thought he might be his Rival, it likewise raised a War in his Spirit, and he effectualy took a resolution to resist his passion, if he learned Aronces loved Clelia. So that endeavouring handsomely to clear himself, he went to Aronces his house, and he arrived there as I told you when I departed from thence, so that he had the Letter of Fenice in his hands I had given him and Clelias' answer, but as soon as Aronces saw Horatius enter he concealed Clelias' Letter, and still kept Fenices in his hands, for in this inopinate occasion he thought on nothing but his own interest and not mine. 'Tis true, that this Letter was writ in such a manner, that the Author of it could not be known if one did not know the writing, neither for whom it was, it having no superscription, and the reproaches of Fenice were in such a nature, that one would not divine the cause of them: Horatius then entered into Aronces his Chamber, with an intention to discover by a familiar discourse if he loved Clelia, and endeavour to divert his love if it was so, he saw some emotion in his countenance, because his mind was then disquieted, and according to the nature of love which make Lovers fear the slightest things in certain occasions, he feared that Horatius should see Clelias' Letter, and know it, so that this disquised Lover seeing some agitation on Aronces face, and seeing a Letter in his hands which was written in Tablets, he held open without thinking on it, he so little dreamt of me, and seeing they were made in a manner as Ladies ordinarily use to write to men, he demanded of him after some compliments if those Tablets came from Clelia, Horatius having not any other design than to speak to him of that fair Maid on all sorts of subjects, to note either by his actions or words, if there was any suspicion that he was amorous of that fair person. But Horatius had hardly demanded this of Aronces, but this Lover which was unprepared was much surprised at it, because it was true as you know that he had one of Clelias' Letters about him, and would not hinder himself from telling him this Letter was not from her, so as Horatius noting it, and not doubting but those Tablets were Clelia's, he spoke to Aronces believing it so; by your favour, said he to him, do not conceal the truth from me, and tell me if the Letter you have in your hand is not from the admirable daughter of Sulpicia, as I do not doubt of it, show it me I pray you, for as I am persuaded she writes as well as she speaks, I have a great desire to see one of her Letters, at least I very well know her Character is the fairest in the world, for I have seen verses of her writing: at first Aronces believed, that telling a second time to Horatius that this Letter was not from Clelia, and telling it him very seriously he would believe it, and would press him no more to show it him, but it happened otherwise, for Horatius reiterating his intr eaties with much earnestness, persuaded him he suspected something of his passion, so that fearing extremely he should know it, and for fear he should acquaint Clelius with it, with whom he had a most inviolable amity, resolved to show him Fenice his Letter, to make him a false confidence by showing it him, to the end to frustrate his conceived opinion that he was amorous of Clelia, if it was true he thought so that the better to conceal his passion. I know not Horatius, said he to him, giving him the Tablets he held, from whence it comes you will not believe me, but to evidence to you, you have wronged me by suspecting the verity of my words, see if this writing is Clelia's, but after you have seen this Letter do not speak of it I pray you, though I am resolved not to have any commerce with the person who writ it, therefore Horatius tell none, yet nevertheless I will not be indiscreet without any exception, that you have seen a Letter of this nature in my hands. As you tell me not her name who wrote it (replied Horatius, after he had read it) I can hardly be unfaithful to you if I would. For what can I say to those to whom I would tell it, but that you have showed me a Letter: Since I know nothing else but that it is from an incensed Lady, who wrote to you with such an high indignation, that I believe she will easily be appeased when you will, and that she hath more disposition to love than hate you, whatsoever it be speak not of it, I pray you, said Aronces, for in the thoughts in which I now am, I am assured I shall never mention love to that person: Whilst Aronces thus spoke, Horatius had an extreme joy to believe that he was not an amorous of Clelia, for though his friend told him he would never have any commerce with the person, whose Letter he had seen, he hearkened to that as the discourse of an angered Lover, who believed sometimes to hate when he loved most, he doubted not but Aronces had a great engagement to this Lady, whose Letter he had seen, so that believing he was not exposed but to be a man's Rival to whom he owed his Life, and whom he very much loved, he expressed a great resentment of joy by the only imagination of it, and lest that mishap he greatly feared might happen to him, he resolved whilst Aronces loved another to tell him that he had the same for Clelia, though he loved not to declare his secrets, for as he knew him to be very generous, he thought that after he had once made him his confident, he would not become his Rival, so that casting an obliging look on Aronces, For to demonstrate to you how dear your friendship is to me, said he to him, I have almost stolen from you your secret, but I will voluntarily declare mine to you: know then, continued he, that time hath worn out many months since love seized my heart, and I every day feel my hatred against Tarquin increases, because I look on him as the cruel cause of those punishments which are prepared for me. Aronces hearing Horatius speak in this manner, imagined he had some Amoretta's at Rome, and did not fully comprehend that he hated Tarquin more than ordinarily, because it was his exile which had caused his passion for Clelia, so that willing to testify to Horatius, that he would obligingly espouse his Interests, he commiserated his cruel passion, prying to tell him his adventure: Alas my dear friend, said he to him, my adventure is declared in few words; for as soon I shall tell you that I love without being beloved, I shall tell you all which hath happened to me, since I was amorous. But hath not absence, replied Aronces, healed you of a love which hath been so ill rewarded: as he thus spoke, and that Horatius, was about to tell him that he was not absent from the person whom he loved, and that he would have named Clelia to him; Clelius entered into Aronces his Chamber, and broke off the conversation of these two Rivals, which knew not themselves to be so, and they could not renew it this day nor a long time after, for as Aronces would not render secret for secret to Horatius, he rather avoided than sought him: Horatius on his side had his spirit so clouded with grief, that though he had a design to confide in Aronces, he could not do it, no occasion presenting itself. In the mean time, as he believed Aronces to be engaged in another love, he clearly submitted his heart to Clelia.  
But to return to the two Letters these Rivals had writ her, and the answers she returned to them; you must know, that three days were fully completed before Aronces had the happiness to see Clelia, though he sought for her in the resolution he had taken not to oppose his love, and had resolved to tell her that that which he writ was positively true, for Horatius though he resolved to love Clelia, he feared to see her lest she should be displeased when he should tell her the contents of his Letter were true: but at last by a fortunate occasion these two Rivals met together after Dinner at Clelius his Gate with one design, to see Clelia; Horatius said nothing particularly to Aronces, because he had with him a friend which he had found at Capua called Stenius, whom he had brought to entertain Sulpitia, that he might discourse with her daughter, so that being entered without discovering their hearts to one another, they seemed as two men which had great friendship together, but they were very much troubled when they approached Clelia, and this fair person seeing them both at once, and seeing in their countenances an equal agitation, confirmed herself in her conceived opinion, that they both had contrived together those Letters they had writ to her, it happened that Horatius nothing Aronces his change of Countenance looked on him, and Aronces doing the same thing looked on Horatius, so that Clelia believing they made some intelligent sign to deceive her, determined with herself to tell them they were not come to their end: and thus smiling said, you see well said she to them, in the manner with which I receive you both that you have not deceived me, and that your fallacy hath not succeeded: therefore do not enterprise it once more, if you will not have the shame to be discovered, for if you could not deceive when I did not distrust, judge then if you can do it now you have rendered yourselves suspected.  
Aronces and Horatius hearing Clelia speak in this manner were strangely surprised, for her words agreeing with her writing, they knew by this both had written, and that both their Themes were love, since she used the same terms to them both, and not having power to hinder their surprisals, and their astonishments, they changed colour, looked on one another, and afterwards looked on Clelia, as if they had desired to see her thoughts in her eyes, or what they should answer her: On the other side, Clelia seeing the agitation of their spirits, knew she was deceived, and blushed by a modest thought mingled with confusion; but she did not judge it fit to retract what she had said, and she continued to make war to them, as she had begun, for after Aronces was come from his astonishment; For my particular Madam said he to her, I protest unto you I had no desire to deceive you, and Horatius very well knows I never proposed any deceit to him. I confess what you say, replied he, but confess likewise I never proposed to you in my life to deceive the fair Clelia, to the end that as I shall make yours, you may make my justification, the path which you tread to justify yourselves will render you more culpable than you imagine, replied she, therefore if you will believe me, divide the controversy between you, concerning the crime I accuse you. At least amiable Clelia, replied Aronces, with precipitation tell me, if Horatius his crime is in the nature of mine?  
I pray you Madam, added Horatius, yield not to Aronces that he demands of you without doing the like to me, and without telling me if the fallacy of which you accuse him, is like that you accuse me of.  
If I should consent to your demands, replied Clelia prudently, I should give you honour to have deceived me, since I should take the pains to tell you a thing I suppose you know; but in fine, whether your terms be equal or no speak no more of it, for in the humour in which I am, I cannot tolerate such abuses; take then some care to make me forget those you have done me, and never propound it more to me, if you will not have me fear or flee you, as if I had contracted much hatred against you.  
I know not, replied Aronces, what Horatius hath done or said which hath angered you, but for my part Madam I protest unto you, that if I have incurred your displeasure, I am disposed to displease you all my life. Those which have begun a thing, added Horatius, do not so easily leave it off, therefore Madam, you ought not to think it strange if I make use of Aronces his expressions, and assure you if I am criminal I shall be so till death. I shall suffer the rest of the day, replied Clelia, seeming to believe that in effect you have deceived me, but I declare to you my patience extends no further, and that if to morrow you thus speak to me, I shall effectually act as if the deceit had succeeded.  
As Clelia had finished these words, one of Horatius' friends entered, and I entered a little after with Fenice, with whom I had made my peace since I left Aronces; 'tis true the better to confirm her I was not very sorry to accompany her to Clelias' house, to the end she might hear from her mouth, that 'twas Horatius had made the Song which was the occasion of our quarrel, she accusing me to have done it, and I turned their discourse in such a manner, that I finished to Fenice my justification, but I was much surprised to see Aronces and Horatius both melancholy that they which used to be very civil, had some disposition to contradict one another: I assure you Madam, this I tell you surprises you, for after I had told you that Horatius had a design to discover if Aronces was his Rival, to the end to endeavour to vanquish his passion, I am assured I say Madam, that you are astonished to see this exasperation at first principally in Horatius his Spirit, but I may say he is not culpable, because it is so natural not to love a Rival, that what obligation soever he had to Aronces, he would not look upon him as his Rival, without feeling in his heart an extreme agitation. Aronces on his part, not doubting but that Horatius loved Clelia, had a most sensible grief, and as reasonable as he was, he would not hinder himself from telling me afterwards, that he was as much incensed against Horatius, as if after he had made him the confident of his passion, he was become his Rival, he therefore endeavoured to overcome the tumultuous resentments of his heart, and in effect those two Rivals departed from Sulpitia's house, as if they had nothing in their souls, which had begun to change their thoughts; but the most remarkable thing in this adventure was, that Aronces and Horatius both took an equal design, for Horatius resolved to acquaint Aronces with his affection, and Aronces to precede Horatius, resolved to discover first his passion for Clelia to him, so that those two Rivals instead of flying one another, departed together from Clelia's house as I have told you; and having proposed to one another to walk, they went into a public Garden where every one had the liberty to go, but they were no sooner there but both being desirous to use one another's confidence, they hindered themselves sometimes by their own impatience, and as soon as they were in the Garden, Aronces thus said to Horatius, As I infinitely esteem you, I shall be very glad to acquaint you with the most important affairs which have happened to me in the whole course of my life: I pray, said Horatius, let me first finish my discourse, for there is no reason you should deprive me of that advantage since I first begun to unlock to you the greatest secret in my heart. When I have told you I am amorous of Clelia, interrupted Aronces, then tell me what you please. Ah Aronces cried Horatius, you have prevented me, and I have nothing now to tell you, but that I fear I shall be conscious of ingratitude towards you, and shall not have enough power over myself as not to be your Rival. What Horatius, said Aronces, is it true that you love Clelia? Yes, said he, I love her, and it was to endeavour to discover if you loved her, that I came to your house that day Clelius interrupted us, and when I entered into your Chamber, I had taken a resolution if I could discover you to be my Rival, to vanquish my passion by all means I could possibly use; but truly I cannot tell whether my inclination induced me to do it, for since I have known you love Clelia, I have so terrible an agitation in my heart, that I do not know whether I should love Clelia, hate you or hate myself, neither would I infringe our friendship or desert her: Ah Horatius cried Aronces, that which you would do is not possible; for if we both love Clelia, we must necessarily hate one another: I am so much obliged to you, replied Horatius, that I think not that the Love I have for her, and the friendship I have for you should be incompatible: If that which you say is true, replied Aronces, it is for you to yield Clelia to me, for it must consequently follow you love her less than I, since it is true that I believe it not possible to look upon you three days as my Rival without hating you. 'Tis not, said he, that I am less generous than you. but 'tis assuredly that my love is powerful: Ah Aronces, replied Horatius, I oppose myself to that which you say, for you cannot have more Love than I, but it is that owing to me not so much as I owe to you, you are not so obliged to love me. No no, answered Aronces, it is not by that reason, for if I have defended your life you have likewise defended mine. I declare likewise to you that you owe no more to me than I to you, and if you renounce the pretensions you have for Clelia, I would count it as a thing you are not obliged to do. Would to the Gods, replied Horatius, I was in estate to do all which you say, for I should do it by another motive, but it is impossible for me to change my affection, and permit you to love her. It is true I am no great obstacle to you, seeing that if I am not deceived, I have not much room in Clelia's spirit: Ah Horatius cried Aronces, you are not only the most accomplished man in the world, but you are a Roman, and I am an unhappy unknown which cannot hinder you. Notwithstanding I hope, though I have no subject of hope, expect not likewise I can ever suffer you to love Clelia, though many reasons oppose my Love. If you will (replied Horatius after a little consideration) strive to divert the current of your affection, I will do the same things. If I should consent to your demands, replied Aronces, we should find ourselves in some days in the same estate we are now, since I am assured that I cannot cease to love Clelia, so that all I can do is to recall my generosity to hinder me from hating you, or to hate you less than one ordinarily hates his Rival, for as I am sincere my thoughts must fall in the compass of my words, let us then love Clelia, pursued he, since our destiny will have it so, and be persuaded that there is nothing but my love to her can make me hate Horatius. I am of opinion, added this illustrious Lover, that if you be not more happy than I, I shall not hate you, and I am likewise persuaded that if I am not more happy than you, you will not hate me, and I may likewise say that Clelia in disposing her heart, shall put in yours and mine, either hatred or friendship according as we shall be either happy or unhappy, and we may draw from hence this advantage, that if Clelia loves you, her affection will consolate you for my hatred, and if I am preferred before you, I shall likewise comfort myself for yours. As these two Rivals were thus arguing, fortune conducted me where they were, and having noted some alteration in their countenances, I pressed them so much to tell me what had distracted them, that I became the depository of the promises they had made not to oppose one another with Clelia, by any other way than endeavouring to make themselves beloved: they likewise promised one another not to discover it to Clelius, and to expect to heal themselves when Clelia had chosen one of them, and in effect they lived a little while with the same civility as they had formerly done, but I am assured their thoughts differed in their hearts, and if their generosity had not restrained them, they would have quarrelled more than once on very slight pretexts, they overswayed their thoughts as I have told you, and lived so well together, that if Clelia had not already known their loves, it had been difficult for her to know they were Rivals, but they both took a different resolution to act with Clelius; for after Horatius had discovered his love he continually pressed her to be favourable to him: and Aronces on the contrary resolved with himself to tell Clelia, that he would not desire hope, nor demand any thing but the only favour to be believed her Lover; though he pretended not to be beloved, but to be put in the number of those whom Clelia called her tender friends, to distinguish them from many others, which had not so advantageous a place in her heart; so that Clelia finding Aronces less importunate than Horatius, avoided him less than his Rival, but she particularly forbade them both never to speak of love to her, and though Aronces better obeyed her than Horatius, he more persuaded her, and the importunity of the first did so evidence the discretion of the second, that he was less unhappy.  
As things were in this estate, there arrived at Capua a Roman called Herminius, who merits much estimation, and is endowed with all those qualities which complete a perfect man; but Madam, as I have not the leisure to play the Painter in describing him to you, having many things to acquaint you with, by which you may draw his Character: it shall suffice to tell you that as he was a Roman, and exiled by Tarquin, and one of Horatius his acquaintance, Clelius no sooner knew that he was at Capua, but he presently offered him all that which depended on him, and prayed Aronces to contract a friendship with this illustrious Roman; he brought him likewise to Sulpicia and his daughter; which had no great difficulty to resolve with themselves to use him civilly: But Madam, you must know, that Herminius was so touched with Clelia's merit, that though his affection was confined in Rome, and that it was not ordinary for them which have a violent love, to have at the same time a violent friendship: 'tis true he had an earnest desire to acquire some place in the admirable Clelia's heart, and if Horatius had not told us he knew his adventures, and that he had performed heroic actions for his Mistress, we had nigh believed he was amorous of Clelia, for he praised her with a certain exaggeration which seemed to be peculiar to love, he sought her with an extreme care; he was ravished with joy when he was nigh her, and was much afflicted when he saw her not, and so ardently testified to desire her friendship that Aronces and Horatius did not more passionately desire her love.  
In the mean time, though he endeavoured to divertise her in an hundred several manners, he essayed to divine that which might please her; Horatius nor Aronces had no inquietude, because they knew he was amorous at Rome: Clelia likewise and all those who saw him in Clelias' house infinitely esteemed him. In the mean time, this admirable virgin lived in such a manner, that she had no lover but he was obliged to conceal himself under the name of a friend, and to call his love friendship, for otherwise they had been banished from her house, and Aronces and Horatius enrolled themselves under that title, if it was not in certain inevitable occasions, where this last strangely importuned Clelia by his continual complaints; for myself which was amorous of Fenice, I was likewise Clelia's friend, and I remember one day among the rest, that Aronces, Herminius, Horatius, Fenice and I were with Clelia, where there was many other persons in conference with Sulpicia, for you must know this day was one of the most agreeable in the world, seeing the manner to which tended our discourse, in effect, as Herminius was a gallant of Friendship and commonly entertained Clelia, with some expressions reflecting on tenderness: Aronces told him he could not choose a person which knew the nature of true tenderness better than Clelia; adding that if he could so far prevail with Clelia as to define it, he should be the happiest friend in the world, her definition of it much exceeding all others; If it is true, replied she, that I can so perfectly decipher it it is because my heart dictates it to me, and it is not therefore difficult to tell the Notions of it; but from thence I must not draw this conclusion, added this fair person, that all those I entitle my friends are my tender friends, for I have them in several degrees. In Effect, I have half friends if I may so speak, that I call by another name, agreeable acquaintance, and I have some which have made a farther progress, and which I number in the Catalogue of new friends. I have others which I simply call my friends, and I have some that I call my customary friends, I have others which I name solid friends, and others which I name particular friends: but for those I beautify with the title of tender friends, they are but few in number, and they are before so firmly seated in my heart, that they can hardly make any farther progress, and I so distinguish all sorts of friendship that I do not confound them. By your favour amiable Clelia, cried Herminius, tell me where I am I conjure you: You are yet in new friendship, replied she smiling, and it will be long before you go farther, at least, replied he smiling as well as she, I should not be very sorry to know how I might go from New amity to Tender.  
I am of opinion, replied Aronces, that few men have ever seen a description of that Country, it is a voyage many men would undertake, replied Herminius, and who may deserve to have the way, by which they may be conducted to that amiable place, and if the fair Clelia would do me the favour to teach me it, she would bind me in an indissoluble obligation to her: May be you imagine, replied Clelia, that there is but a short walk between new amity and Tender, 'tis therefore, before I engage you there I will promise you to give you the Map of that Country, that Aronces believeth hath none. I pray you Madam, said Aronces then to her, if there is one that gives it me as well as Herminius, Horatius and I entreated the same favour. Fenice likewise pressed her to give her the Map of that Country which no person had yet described, we then imagined Clelia would have wrote some agreeable Letter, which would lay open her thoughts, but when we pressed her she told us she had promised it to Herminius, and that she would send it him the next day: and as we knew Clelia writ very gallantly, we had much impatience to see the Letter, we presupposed she would write to Herminius, and Herminius himself expected it with such an ardent desire, that he writ a Note next morning to Clelia, to summon her of her word, and as it was very short, I believe it contained nigh these words.  
Herminius to the fair Clelia.  
AS I cannot go from new amity to tender, if you do not perform your word I demand the Map you promised me, but demanding it of you, I engage myself to depart as soon as I have received it to take a voyage, I imagine so agreeable, and that I prefer you before the sight of all the earth, though I should be to receive a Tribute from all Nations in the world.  
When Clelia read this note, I have since known she had forgot the promise she made to Herminius, and that having harkened to all those entreaties we made her, but as a thing which then brought us some delight, she had thought we would not remember it the next day, so that at first the Note of Herminius surprised her, but as at this time a pleasing fancy entertained her thoughts, she imagined it would be delightful to others, and without any further consultation, she took the Tablets and wrote that she had agreeably designed, and she so speedily executed it, that in half an hour she had completely begun, and finished her designment, after which having wrote a Note she sent it to Herminius, with whom Aronces and I then were; but we were astonished when that Herminius after he had seen that Clelia had sent to him, showed us a Map effectually designed with her hand, which taught us how we might go from new amity to Tender, and which so resembled a true Map, that there was Seas, Rivers, Mountains, a Lake, Cities and Villages, and for to make you see it more clearly, behold a Copy of that ingenious Map, that I carefully kept from that time.  
At these words, Celeres gave a Map which follows in the next page, to the Princess of the Leontines, who was agreeably surprised at it: But to the end she might know better all the devices of it, he explicated to her Clelia's intention, which she had done to Herminius in the Note, which accompanied that Map, so that after the Princess of the Leontines had it in her hands, Celeres thus resumed his discourse.  
You doubtless Madam, very well remember that Herminius prayed Clelia to instruct him how he might go from new amity to Tender, so that he must first begin by the first City, which is situated at the bottom of the Map, to go to the others, for to the end Madam, you may be fully acquainted with Clelia's design, you see she hath imagined tenderness may proceed from three different causes, either from a great Esteem, Recognizance or Inclination, which hath obliged her to establish these three Cities of Tender upon three Rivers, which derive their names from them, and to make three different ways to go thither, so as we say, Cumes on the Ionian, and Cumes on the Tyrrhene Sea, she makes us say, Tender on Inclination, Tender on Esteem, and Tender on Recognizance.  
In the mean time, as she hath presupposed that that Tenderness which is produced by Inclination, hath not need of any conformation. Clelia as you see Madam, hath not placed any Village along the banks of this River, which runs with such a rapid course, that there can be no lodging along the shore for to go to new Amity to Tender, but for to go to Tender on Esteem it is not so, for Clelia hath ingeniously put as many Villages, as there are small and great things which contribute to the protection of it by esteem of this Tenderness, of which she intends to speak: In effect you see that from new Amity we pass to a place called great spirit, because it is that which ordinarily begins esteem.  
In pursuit, you see those agrecable Villages of pleasing verses, amorous and gallant Letters, which are the ordinary productions of the greatest spirits in the beginning of Friendship, and for to make a greater progress in that way, you see Sincerity, Great Heart, Honesty, Generosity, Respect, Exactness, and Goodness, which are all against Tender. To make it evident that there cannot be true Esteem without Goodness, and that we cannot arrive to Tender on that side if we are not endowed with that precious quality. After all that Madam, be pleased to direct your eyes to new Amity, to see by what way we may go from thence to Tender on Recognizance, see then I pray you, how we must go from new amity to complaisance, and from thence to that Village named Submission, and which is almost joined to another called small cares, see I say, that from thence we must pass by Assiduity to make us understand, that it is not sufficient to have that small obliging care which give so much Recognizance, if we have them not assiduously. From thence you see we must pass to another Village called Empressment, and not to do as those slow people which will not hasten a moment what entreaty soever is made them, and which are incapable to have this impressment which sometimes so strongly obligeth, from thence you see we must pass to great services, and for to note there are few men which render such; This Village is less than the others, from thence we must pass to Sensibility, to make us know that we must be lively touched with the least afflictions of those we love, afterwards to arrive to Tender, we must pass by Tenderness, for friendship attracts friendship. In pursuit, we must go to obey Divine, there being nothing which more engageth the heart of those whom it obeys, then to do it blindly, and for to attain in the end to our desired Port, we must pass to constant friendship, which is without doubt the surest way to arrive to Tender on Recognizance: But Madam, as there are no ways which we may not stray from, Clelia hath made as you may see that if those which are at new Amity go a little more on the right or left hand; they will likewise deviate, for if we part from great spirit, we go to neglect and we see opposite to that Map, that if we continue this deviation, we go to inequality, from thence to lukewarmness, lightness, oblivion, and instead to find ourselves at Tender on esteem; we are at the lake of indifferency which you see marked on the way, and which by its calm streams without doubt lively presents the thing of which it bears the name in this place: On the other side, if we go from new amity to take a little more on the left hand, we go to indiscretion, persidiousness, pride, mischief, or obloquy, and instead of finding ourselves at Tender on esteem, we are at the Sea of enmity, where all the vessels are shipwrackt, and which by the agitation of its waves, fitly agrees with that impetuous passion Clelia would represent: she likewise makes us see by these different ways, that we must have many noble qualities to oblige her to have a tender friendship; and that those which have bad ones can only acquire her hatred and indifferency, and she willing to describe to us in this Map that she never had love, nor would ever have any thing but tenderness in her heart, makes the River of Inclination cast itself into the Sea which is called the dangerous Sea, because it is dangerous for a woman to exceed the limits of friendship, and she makes in pursuit that beyond this Sea is that we call unknown Lands, because in effect we know not what they are, and that we believe no person can go further than Hercules his pillars, so that in this manner she hath moralised friendship by a pastime of her fancy, to make us understand in a peculiar manner, that she never yet loved, nor could ever receive any.  
Aronces, Herminius, and I found this Map so exquisite, that we perfectly understood it before we departed; Clelia instantly prayed him for whom she had made it not to to show it but to five or six persons whom she desired should see it, but as it was not but a simple delight of her spirit, she would not have it fall under the censure of those stupid persons, which neither know the beginning of it, nor are capable to understand the new gallantry, but she could not be obeyed, because there was a certain constellation which so reigned, that though we inttnded to show this Map but to few persons, it made such a noise in the world, that there was nothing spoke of but this Map of Tender; all the ingenious wits of Capua writ something in praise of this Map either in Verse or Prose, for it was an excellent Subject for an ingenious Poem, gallant Verses, very agreeable Letters, and very pleasant Discourses; but Clelia, said they, set too high an esteem on it, and there was no person who was not demanded whether he would go to Tender? It furnished some such an agreeable subject of entertainment, that there was nothing more fit to exhilerate our spirits; at first Clelia was angry that there was so much spoken of it, for in fine (said she one day to Herminius) do you think I imagined, this spective fancy had any thing pleasant, but for our Cabala in particular to become public, and that I made to be seen but by five or six persons which have noble spirits, should be seen by two thousand who scarce have any, and who hardly understand the best things? I know well pursued she, that those which know it began a conversation, which gain me only time to imagine this Map will not find this Gallantry Chimerical nor extravagant, but as there are strange men in the world, I extremely fear that they will imagine I seriously considered of it, that I have trifled away many days to find it, and that I believe to have designed an admirable thing, but it is a momentary folly, that I look upon as a toy, which hath it may be either some gallantry or novelty for those whose Spirits are well tuned to understand it, Clelia had therefore no reason to disquiet herself, Madam, for 'tis certain that all in general commended this new invention, which displayed the way how one might acquire tenderness from honest persons, except from some dull, stupid, malicious, wicked, whose approbations were indifferent to Clelia, whether they praised it or no, yet it commonly drew some delight from the most stupid of those men: for there was a man among the rest who demanded to see this Card with a strange obstinacy, and after he had heard many praise it, he dully demanded for what use it served, and for what profit was this Map? I know not (replied he to whom he spoke, after he had diligently folded it up) if it will serve to every one but I know it will never conduct you to Tender.  
The Destiny of this Map, Madam, was likewise so happy, that those which were too stupid to understand it, used to divertise us in giving us subject to deride their follies, but it seemed particularly to Aronces, because it prejudiced Horatius; for Madam, you must know that this Lover which as I have told you, troubled Clelia with his continual complaints, speaking to her one day of this Map, and willing to make use of it to speak of his passion, Alas Madam, said he to her, I am more unhappy than all those which approach you, since 'tis true that I do not see the way which may conduct me where I may go in that ingenious Map you have made: for I cannot touch your Inclination, I have not sufficient Merit to acquire your Esteem, I can never oblige you to any Recognizance, and in fine I know not what way to take, and to say things as I think them, I know not if I may go where some other more happy than I is already arrived, and if that Country where you say no person hath yet been; is not known to some of my Rivals; for Madam, from whence proceeds this durity of heart towards me, if you have it not Tender towards some others, you have naturally a gentle spirit, a sensible heart, I very well know you esteem me, you are not ignorant of my passion, you likewise know Clelius honours me with his friendship there is no disproportion of quality between us, and if fortune changes at Rome, I shall have riches enough to make a Roman happy: But after all Madam, added he, I am persuaded that far from having the power to pass to Tender, I shall never arrive there. Ah would to the Gods some unknown be not already arrived near those unknown Lands to hinder me from going thither, and that your heart is not already too much engaged to love him, of whom— You have done well Horatius, said Clelia interrupting him (her anger planting blushes on her cheeks) to remember me that my Father loves you, for if it was not by that consideration, I would treat you in such a manner that it would be in effect easy to know, that you will never arrive to Tender, but the respect I bear him somewhat retaining me, I content myself to tell you two things, the first is, I absolutely forbid you ever to speak to me in particular, and the second is, that that unknown of whom you speak, is not in these unknown Lands, because no person is yet there; nor can never be there, but to the end you do not imagine I conceal the truth from you, I declare to you he is at Tender, and that he shall always be there both by esteem and recognizance, for he hath all the merit one can have, he hath saved my life as well as yours, but the difference that is between you and me is this, that I am very acknowledging and you very ungrateful. In the interim, it seems to me not very judicious to appear ungrateful, when one desires to obtain favours from any one.  
Horatius would have answered something, but Clelia would not hearken to him, and Aronces being arrived he was constrained to depart from her, and to leave his Rival with her, but hardly was he departed but Aronces gave her account of divers small Commissions she had given him the day before, for she had prayed him to oblige Aricidia to recount to him that which passed in a great Assembly where she was, he was likewise charged to procure flowers to make Garlands for a great Feast, which hath some resemblance with the Feast of the Terminales, so solemnly celebrated at Rome, and he had promised to give her some of Sappho's verses he had translated, for he very well understood the Greek, and she knew it not; so that willing to quit himself of all those things she ordained, he made at first a pleasant Narration of that Assembly where Aricidia had been; for in fine Madam said he to Clelia, I will declare to you the very words of Aricidia, tell Clelia said she to me, after I had acquainted her with your desires, that the Assembly was not fair because she was not there, and that there never had been one where there was so much melancholy: For all those Ladies which profess Gallantry, were unhappily this day there for all the jealous Husbands were there, and above half of their Gallants were wanting, in pursuit Aronces promised Clelia that she should have the next day four bushels of Flowers to make Garlands, and began his Version of Sappho's Verses, whose memory is very famous through all Greece, which were very amorous as ye may judge by four Verses which I shall tell you, which remains in my memory.  

Love is a pleasing Malady,  
For which my heart no cure can find:  
Yet if I could get Remedy,  
I'll rather die than cure my mind.   
But after Aronces had given her account of the Commissions she gave him, and that Clelia smiled at all that Aricidia told him, that she had thanked Aronces for his flowers and that she had praised the Verses he had given her, he said to her half smiling, at least Madam, permit me to hope that if I continue I shall soon pass from that agreeable Village which is called Little Cares, and that if I cannot go to Tender on esteem, I may one day arrive to Tender on Recognizance, not daring to pretend to go to the third, nor to think there is something above Tender; for those happy unknown Lands I can descry but at a distance, I find myself so comforted by being strongly persuaded that others cannot go thither no more than I, that I shall think myself happy when I shall arrive to Tender.  
Clelia remembering the expressions of Horatius, could not conceal her blushes, and Aronces fearing to have incurred her indignation demanded pardon of her, not knowing wherefore he demanded it: are my wishes too much to desire Madam, said he to her? if they are so, divine Clelia, I crave your pardon, but I demand it not having power to do penance for such a crime; no, no, Aronces, said she obligingly to him, I do not condemn you for desiring my friendship, but on the contrary, am very well pleased you esteem me worthy of it; but to descend a little nigher, I assure you you have as much part as your merit or obligations may claim: for in fine, I owe myself to Clelius and Sulpicia; and likewise to you, and I assure you whilst you do not force me to change my thoughts, and conceal my friendship and my recognizance, I shall be very glad to evidence to you in any occasion that I am not ungrateful.  
But Madam, replied Aronces, what may I do to preserve myself in that glorious estate where you make me believe I am? you must live with me as you did formerly replied she; But Madam, replied he, you desire an impossibility, for the means to live long without entertaining you of that I dare not tell you but by my sighs and regards? I am resolved, pursued he, to endeavour to obey you to oblige you if I can to desist from such an unjust command, for to testify unto you Aronces, said she to him, that I have a tender friendship for you, and that I will preserve it if I can by all means possible, I will unlock my heart to you, and rely on your discretion: Ah Madam, said Aronces to her, but I fear this confidence will afflict me and not at all oblige me, I know not if you are equitable, replied she, but I am assured I shall not be unjust: If you do me justice, answered he, permit my love; and that I tell it you and you will be satisfied that I love without hope: if the Gods had disposed your fortune and mine otherwise than they are, replied she, I ingeniously confess to you, you are the only person on which I could wish my Father had fixed his eyes; but Aronces, things are not on those terms, for not to flatter you, if you are not a Roman you must not pretend to Clelia, and there is great likelihood you are not a Roman, neither that you shall ever know your extraction, content yourself then to have acquired my friendship without pretending further; for if my Father should discover that you had other thoughts than those of a Brother, he would complain of you, he would forbid me your sight, and I should without doubt obey him, though I should do it not without some difficulty: But Madam, replied Aronces, I will only tell you I love you, and Clelius shall not know it, but better to keep this secret, replied she, you must not tell it neither to me nor my Father; but Aronces pursued she, this secret is no secret as you imagine, for Horatius who knows it may tell it to others, if he hath not already done it, and it may be for some reason he may acquaint Clelius with it: Horatius without doubt hath cause to desire my unhappiness, replied Aronces, but I have so good an opinion of his Virtue, that I do not suspect he will perform any dishonourable Action, and I believe he will only employ his merit to eclipse my love: Though it should be so, said Clelia, seeing he knows you love me, I must give him no occasion to believe I suffer your love, and I conjure you to confirm your Resentments; if I could do it Madam, replied he, I would, but it is not possible, I and all that I can do is to leave you to take a free election, love me then or love me not, suffer my love or reject it, nothing shall oblige me to murmur against you, but nothing shall oblige me to alter my ardent affection, if you will not permit me to entertain you with it, added he, I will do it, but I am assured my vital faculties will fail when speech is forbidden me, and you may, it may be, repent rather to have desired my death, than to hearken to my Love, Aronces propounded these words with such a passionate and respectful air, that Clelia remembering that hazardous attempt he performed to save her life, had not the power rigorously to treat that man she had seen so valiantly kill those which would have cast her into the Sea, and she took a mean and told him without doubt all that decency and modesty dictated to her, in such expressions which favoured not of any severity, which evidenced to Aronces that only Clelia's Virtue retrieved her, and that he had no subject to complain of her, though he had not obtained the liberty to sigh, but after he had left her, Clelia had some discourse with her Mother, which gave her more boldness to abandon her heart, to the inclination she had for Aronces, for as Sulpicia tenderly loved him, that she had a secret aversion, for Horatius, and that she feared that Clelius had a design to give his Daughter to the last, she confided to Clelia all the secret of her Soul, and made her understand that she passionately desired she should espouse Aronces, and that she strangely feared Clelius would make her marry Horatius; 'tis not, said she, but that he is an honest man, but in fine, I have some secret reasons which would afflict me if you should espouse him, and I should be very glad if Clelius would turn his eyes to Aronces; I know very well added she, that we know not his birth, but I know we are not strangers to his Virtue, and that if he was not born at Rome, he hath at least the heart of a Roman, yea, of a generous Roman: Moreover, Clelius owes his life to him and we likewise; I have likewise discovered without testifying any thing more of it, that he hath more affection for you than he shows, and I believe I ought to tell you my true thoughts for fear if he had been ignorant of them, you would have blindly conformed yours to those of Clelius; I pretend not pursued Sulpicia, to make you disobey him, but I would have you empty your address to disengage Horatius from the design I perceive he hath for you, that you make no rudeness to Aronces, and that you endeavour handsomely to make known to Clelius that you have some aversion towards Horatius, and that you have none for Aronces, for as I know he loves you, if you do as I direct you he will not constrain you, but above all my Daughter, added this prudent Mother, had your spirit always no estate to obey him without any reluctancy, if he would have you recede from my directions, for I intent not to employ but address only, to make him consent to my desires: You may judge Madam, that Clelia easily promised to her Mother to perform all her desires, and to give her one secret for another; she acknowledged to her that Aronces and Horatius loved her, but by a sentiment of modesty she could not resolve to tell her the sequel of the discourse which passed between these two Lovers and her. In the mean time being become more bold after that Sulpicia had told her she was more severe to Horatius and more affable to Aronces, to whom in the end she accorded the permission to tell her sometimes the thoughts he had for her, but she always forbade him the hope to be happy, without the consent of Clelius; but Madam, though Aronces lived with Clelia with much reservedness, Horatius nevertheless noted there was a greater familiarity between them than was usual heretofore; so that as Clelius more severely entreated him, since he mentioned that ingenious Man, it was not for that alone, but that his Rival had made a great progress in her heart, so that consideration much exasperating him, he felt a strange disposition in his Soul, to forget what he owed Aronces and to hate him, his natural generosity opposed the injustice of his love, but it was in the end constrained to yield to it; 'tis true that this particular friend he had which was named Stenius, contributed to incense him, for as he was a man which naturally loved these things which were more troublesome than agreeable, he had no sooner perceived that Horatius delighted not to hear that Aronces was favoured by Clelia, but that he did nothing but tell him whatsoever his imagination fancied, for sometimes he said she cast a favourable eye on him at the Temple, another time that she praised him with exaggeration, or that she had whispered to him, and there was never a day but that he made some new observation of this nature, and that he told not his thoughts to Horatius; so that this Lover remembering that Aronces and he had mentioned that they should not hate one another, and break their friendship till Clelia had chosen one of them, I now believed it was time to desert his friendship: Nevertheless to be fully satisfied therein, he sought the occasion to find Aronces without going to his house, for in despite of the tumultuous resentments of his soul, he conceived he should act a strange part if he should go to quarrel in his own house with a man who had saved his life; but knowing that Aronces every morning recreated himself in the public prementioned Garden, he went thither and there found him alone: As they yet retained some civility, Aronces instead of shunning him stayed for him at the end of an Ally, for by a resentment of goodness and generosity, since he received some innocent testimonies of Clelia's affection, he commiserated his Rival's condition, and he would have alleged many reasons to him to cure his passion, only to mitigate the grief he foresaw he would have, when he should know Clelia had preferred his affection before his, but whilst he had this generous thought: Horatius whose heart was touched with jealousy, saluted him with a constrained civility, and taking the word, No, Aronces, said he to him, is it not time to cease to be your friend, and is not Clelia so favourable to you, as to put a difference between us? You demand it of me in such a fierce love, replied Aronces, that I am persuaded if Clelia should much hate me, I should be obliged in honour not to tell it you; but lest you should think that the fear to make you my enemy makes me thus speak, I therefore tell you because I am sincere that I am not happy, but after that I leave it to your choice to be my friend or my enemy: As it is not there to be modest, replied Horatius, I know not whether I should be your friend or your enemy, because I do not positively know how you stand with Clelia; 'tis for you precisely to tell it me, for as I am a Roman I place sincerity above all other Virtues: though I know not my birth, replied Aronces, I know how to seat all Virtues in their right place, therefore as I am persuaded that after that you have told me, it is more just to be fierce than sincere, I say to you that I ever promised to tell you in what terms I should be with Clelia, and that I have not never pretended to know the like from you, you may therefore learn it from her mouth or divine it if you can, and it is for me to tell you once more that I give you your choice either of my hatred or friendship: If I may choose, replied Horatius, I would choose the last, because I owe my life to you, but it not being in my power, I gladly accept the other, and not to be altogether ingrateful (said he with a piquing raillery, putting his hand to his Sword) I must put myself in estate to give you that you preserved me, Aronces seeing him in this posture put himself in the like, and these two fierce Rivals began a Combat which had ended but with their lives, if Clelius and I had not casually arrived at this Garden as they had their Swords in their hands, you may judge Madam what was Clelius' surprise, when he saw two men whom he dearly loved, and whom he thought loved one another, to be in estate to kill one another, and he was so troubled at it that he ran as swift as I to separate them, for we both arrived together, fury having so transported them that they knew us not, but when we were two paces from them, Horatius seeing his blood run down from an hurt he had received on his left side became more furious: and casting himself on Aronces, Oh! too happy Rival, said he to him, since thou hast vanquished Clelia it will not be difficult to vanquish Horatius, Clelius hearing these words stayed himself one moment to look upon me, so he was so much surprised, but without staying myself or him, I put myself in estate to separate these two valiant enemies, and I did it more voluntatily because the advantage was on Aronces his side, and in effect Clelius being joined to me, in despite of his astonishment we separated them without much difficulty; for as soon as Aronces saw Clelius, he retired some paces and put himself out of a fight posture, so that having seized them both, and there being arrived other men which came to us and assisted us, we took from them the power to continue their Combat.  
In the mean time, as Horatius was hurt and Aronces was not, Clelius accompanied the first even to his house, and I followed Aronces as my particular friend, but before they departed, Clelius looking upon them both thus said. What fury possessed you? and whom ought I to quarrel with? for myself I have nothing to say, replied Aronces, but that Horatius put his hand first to his Sword, and that I am not the assailer: yes, yes, Aronces, (replied Horatius in estranging himself from him) I am at once both culpable and unhappy, I am it may be more unhappy than you, replied Aronces, but I am doubtless more innocent.  
After that, Clelius not daring to examine the ground of their quarrel before so many Men, because of those words he heard at his first arrival to them: those two Enemies went with Horatius, as I have told you, and I went with Aronces, who was as much afflicted, as if his enemy had vanquished him, for he imagined what the event of this combat would prove, in effect, though Horatius was hurt and vanquished, he would tell nothing to Clelius of the subject of his quarrel with Aronces, because he had heretofore promised him never to tell him he loved Clelia; but he imagined a part of the truth, and was strongly persuaded in the opinion that Aronces and Horatius were amorous of his Daughter, but the better to know it, he returned to his house, and taking Clelia aside, without telling Sulpicia of it, because he noted she did not love Horatius, I never believed (said he to her to affright her) that you had been capable to breed a quarrel between my two Friends, and I should never have thought the Daughter of a Roman so little esteemed glory as you do.  
By your favour Father (said she to him) tell me what baseness I have committed? and what quarrel I have caused? You are the cause (replied he) that Horatius and Aronces have fought, and that one of them it may be, is in danger of death: What (replied hastily Clelia, who would not retain this first motion) have Aronces and Horatius fought? and is one of their lives in danger? Yes Daughter (said he to her) and you are doubtless the cause of this disaster.  
Clelia would then have demanded of her Father, which of the two were hurt? but seeing her Father much disturbed, and that he attentively looked upon her, she durst not ask that question; but Clelius knew that she interested herself in the conversation of one of those two enemies, for a crimson tincture shadowed her cheeks, which sufficiently confirmed him, that she was not altogether insensible either for Aronces or Horatius: In the mean time, as he did not certainly know for which of them two she had a tender heart, because he had not named him which was hurt, he resolved subtly to discover it, and concealing the truth, he told her that it was Aronces which was wounded, and that she had merited blame for what she had done.  
Clelia hearing Clelius his words, was so much afflicted, that 'twas easy for her Father to know, that she had rather it had been Horatius, but though she said nothing whereon he might ground this conjectural opinion, her eyes betrayed the secret of her heart, and though she had power enough to hinder her from weeping, Clelius saw that it was only her prudence retained her tears; so that seeking no further confirmation, 'tis sufficient Clelia, said he to her, I know all the secret of your heart, and you will be glad when you know 'tis Horatius which is hurt, and not Aronces; for I am very certain you prefer Aronces before Horatius, and that you affect rather an unknown person than a Roman, yet I know not whether you suffer them both, though you love one better than the other: Ah Clelia cried he to her, Maids of your quality do not thus live at Rome; but to the end you may elevate your heart, and to add more confusion to your weakness, remember that your blood is of the most illustrious in the World, that the Nobility of your Race is ancienter than Rome, and if the famous City of Alba yet subsisted, that Crown should be your Hereditary right.  
But without seeking these marks of greatness from the Tombs of those Kings from whom I am descended, and in the ruins of a State of which I might have been the Master; to the end to screw up your thoughts to a sublimer pitch of greatness, it suffices you are my Daughter, to find very strange that you should be capable of that weakness I reproach you: I know Sir, replied she, that I ought to take all things at your hands, therefore have I suffered you to accuse me without cause, but after all, as I am obliged to justify myself, permit me to tell you that I am not culpable.  
What? (replied Clelius) do you say that Aronces and Horatius are not amorous of you? and do you think to persuade me that you do not love Aronces better than Horatius? I do not positively know (replied Clelia) if those you say are effectually amorous of me; but if 'twere so I should not be culpable, since I never had any design to countenance their affections, and for the difference you say I put between Aronces and Horatius, I am not in that very criminal; for in fine, I saw Aronces as soon as I enjoyed the light: you have commanded me from my infancy to love him as a Brother, and to give him that Title, you have always loved him with a Paternal affection, I have seen him esteemed by all those who knew him before I knew Horatius, 'tis not therefore strange that I have more disposition to have friendship for him then the other, though I have lived with an equal civility towards both of them.  
If you have always lived so (replied Clelius) wherefore should they quarrel? wherefore should they sight? wherefore should Horatius be hurt? and wherefore should he say to Aronces in my presence, that he was more unhappy than he? I know not (replied she) the cause of their quarrel, but I very well know I contributed nothing to it, that I have no subject to complain of Aronces, and that if I had not feared your displeasure, I should have long since acquainted you that I had reason to accuse Horatius, because he persisted to give me marks of his pretended passion, though I had forbid it him; if you had defended it as severely to Aronces as Horatius, replied Clelius, things would have never come to these terms, and if you had not made a secret of that Gallantry, order should have been taken to prevent these things.  
In the mean time I have to tell you, that though Aronces hath merit, I forbid you to look on him but as one ungrateful, that hath forgot all that he owes me, and I command you to dispose yourself to live better with Horatius, if he escapes; for to tell you clearly my intentions, if he doth not esteem you unworthy of him, after that which hath happened, he is the only Man in the World that I can consent you espouse: He is an accomplished Man, a Roman, and Son to a Friend I very much loved; and in fine, he is Tarquin's Enemy, which is the greatest inducement for me to desire his Alliance; for Aronces I know he is endowed with transcendent qualities, but since he is both unknown and ungrateful, I will not only forbid him to look upon you, but command you never to speak to him till you are Horatius his Wife.  
After these words Clelius jest Clelia, grief seizing all the faculties of her Soul, after he departed from her Chamber, he went to find Sulpicia, to whom he made strange reproaches, accusing her not to have taken sufficient care in the tuition of her Daughter, since she suffered her to put some distinction between Aronces and Horatius; for after all, said he to her, if she must put any between them, it must be for the disadvantage of Aronces, and not Horatius: Sulpicia harkened to her Husband's words with an extreme despite, because they confirmed her in the belief that his friendship towards him principally proceeded from his former affection to his Mother, so boldly taking his Daughter's part, whose innocency she knew, she took Aronces; in effect said she to Clelius, if Aronces is not a Roman born he hath a Roman heart, and if Clelia had not lived well with him, she should have disobeyed the command that you and I enjoined her; if she had suffered him as her Brother, replied Clelius, I should have had nothing to reproach her, but she hath endured him as a Lover, and hath without doubt treated Horatius as an enemy; by your favour (sharply replied Sulpicia) blame not me indirectly by blaming Clelia, and be persuaded that she is altogether innocent, that she loves glory and virtue, that she hath not derogated from her birth, but you are so opposite to the pretensions of Aronces, because you do not know his Father, and favour those of Horatius, because his Mother hath been of your acquaintance.  
At these words Clelius feeling himself touched to the quick at this reproach of Sulpicia (because in effect there was some truth in it) felt in his heart such a disposition to anger, that for fear he should not overpower himself, he departed not only from her chamber, but out of the house, and went to Aronces for whom he had yet a tender affection, but against whom likewise he was much angered, though he was resolved to speak to him rather like an angered Father than an enemy, for Aronces received him with his usual respect, but with such a profound sadness imprinted on his Face, that it easily appeared that his Soul was much disquieted; as soon as he was entered, Aronces thus says to him with as much submission as if he had been his Father, I doubt not but you believe you have cause to complain of me, for that which hath passed between Horatius and I, but I protest unto you, he hath been the Assailer, if he had not forced me to act what I have done, the respect I bear you would have obliged me to suffer any affronts from him.  
I am willing to believe, Aronces (replied Clelius) that Horatius hath committed most wrong in that which reflecteth on your quarrel, and I am very much deceived if I do not make you confess, that you have been more culpable towards me, than he can be towards you; for in sine, you know Aronces what I have done for you, you know I found you in the Sea, that I exposed my life to save yours, and afterwards far from treating you as a slave the gods had given me, I educated you as my Son, and that there might be nothing deficient on my part to your advantage, I desired my Wife to love you as if she had been your Mother, and commanded my Daughter to love you as if she had been your Sister; but O horrible and unparallelled ingratitude! you use the familiarity I have given you in my house to cloak your affection to Clelia, and you pretend to enforce her from me, that she might not obey my commands, I therefore declare to you by a tender resentment which yet resides in my heart, and to teach you to acknowledge those obligations you have to me by a grateful recognition to you for saving my life, I say, that if you will ingeniously confess all that which is passed between Horatius and you, and swear to me never to pretend any thing to Clelia, nor once to speak to her till she shall be espoused to Horatius, I will preserve my friendship toward you, and I will bury in oblivions grave the cause you have given me to complain of you.  
Would I had the power (said Aronces to him) to show you all that which hath passed in my heart, for if it were possible for me to do it, you would easily seal my justification, and my infelicity would (it may be) receive a great diminution, but seeing you cannot divine my thoughts, permit me to tell them you, and do me the favour to believe that I will conceal nothing from you, I will then ingeniously confess to you, that I have received continually from you all things I could desire, and more than I could ever expect, and I have been, and I am yet linked to you in such a chain of gratitude, that nothing but death shall be able to untie, and if I could but once reproach myself to have committed any thing voluntarily which might merit your indignation, I should esteem myself the most ingrateful and perfidious of all Men; but generous Clelius, that love which hath made a deep impression in my Soul, and which irritates you against me is not of this Nature: What have I not done to resist and banish this passion from my heart, and for being just to you, Clelia hath reason to tax me with injustice, for I have been sometimes so transported beyond myself, that I have wished with a strange desire, neither to admire love or esteem her; but my wishes were still in vain, for I observe, love, and admire her, more than my tongue (too weak an instrument to blazon forth her perfections) is able to express; but as I live without any hope to be happy, demanding no reciprocal affection, I cannot see how I should be conscious of any injustice towards you, and though my person should be your captive, yet I must tell you that the respect I bear you, only hinders me from desiring to cease to be miserable, and I must therefore ingeniously confess to you, that I am not capable to see Clelia in Horatius his power without contributing to my own Tragedy: neither give her to me pursued this afflicted Lover, and I consent thereto; neither give her to Horatius if you will not give death to a Man whose Life you have saved.  
I very well know my words do not fall in the compass of Reason, and that you have some subject to impute injustice to me, because I seem to impose Laws on him from whom I ought to receive them, I would not have unripped my thoughts to you in this occasion, if I had not imagined to oblige you to compassionate my feebleness, I might have told you if I would, that as unknown as I am, there is something enshrined in my heart, which may merit the particular esteem of Clelius; but I declare to you without murmuring against you, that if you never give her me, I shall without doubt complain of fortune, but never of Clelius: and if Horatius shall not be more happy than I, I shall not believe myself to be the most unfortunate of all Men.  
That which you say (replied Clelius) is so dissonant from Reason, that I cannot give you any positive Answer, and all that which I may or aught to tell you is, that my Daughter is under my power; that the Romans are not only Masters of their children's fortunes, but of their lives; and as Clelia's Father I shall bestow her on whom I please, and I shall never give her you, but according to all likelihood shall bestow her on Horatius, and I expressly forbid you either to see her or speak to her.  
After that Clelius departed from Aronces, and left him in such a grand despair, that I think there was never any Lover whose afflictions equalled his; at least, I know that when he told me his discourse with Clelius, so many marks of despair were seated in his eyes, that I feared he was not able to support such a cruel adventure, and that his grief would act his lives Epilogue: who ever saw (said he to me) any misfortune equal to mine? for in fine, I have not the consolation to accuse any one of those miseries which have drowned me in a Sea of desperation; for I know Horatius ought not to yield Clelia to me, and that Clelius aught not to prejudice Horatius by giving her to me, whose birth he knows, and I suffer an affliction so much the greater, because I do not find it altogether unjust; and I am so miserable, that even the affability of Clelia towards me gives a continual augmentation to my despair, for if I was not beloved of Clelia, and had no hopes of gaining her affection, it seems to me, I should not so much hate my Rival, nor so much murmur against Clelius, and despair it may be would then somewhat mitigate my passion; but alas Celeres, I am not in this estate, for on Clelius and Horatius his parts I see an absolute impossibility to accomplish my designs, and on Clelia's I see such a seeming correspondency of affection which renders me more miserable, but not enough to make me happy; in effect, she would it may be without any repugnance obey Clelius, if he should command her to love me, but she doth not so much affect me as to disobey him, if he commands her to espouse Horatius; and the sweetness she expresses to me, doth increase my misfortunes; I should not therefore be the less unhappy by the cruelty of Clelia (added he) and all that I can desire for my consolation is, that my Rival should always be hated by her, and that she will always affect me with a correspondent affection: thus you see, Madam, the affliction of Aronces in this troublesome conjuncture; nevertheless as he durst not go to Clelius his house, after that he had told him, and that he desired to know Clelius his thoughts in this occasion, he prayed me to go to Sulpicia's house, but as I was known for Aronces peculiar Friend, I found that Clelius had given order to all his Servants to tell me that Sulpicia and Clelia were not there, so that the unhappy Aronces found himself in an unequalled despair; Clelia on her side was not happy, for she sufficiently loved Aronces, sensibly to fee● the privation of his sight, and she had a great aversion towards Horatius, to imagine she could never espouse him without an extreme displeasure: on the other side Sulpicia who had a jealous thought in her Soul; who hated Horatius, and tenderly loved Aronces, was not without Inquietude: for she would not directly oppose her Husband, neither would she suffer that he should pretend to give his Daughter to the Son of a Woman, which had heretofore given her such a cruel jealousy; for Horatius, he was more unhappy, for besides as he was hurt, he knew that he was not affected by Clelia; 'tis true, he had the consolation to know he was by Clelius, and to think this Father would employ all his Authority in his favour, if he escaped the hurt he had received, which was less dangerous than Clelius had told his Daughter.  
In the mean time, as Love is ingenious, it made Aronces find the invention to write to Clelia, but he was astonished when she defended him by a Letter to continue his writing to her, this rigorous command was without doubt conceived in the most sweet expressions imaginable, but for all that 'twas a rigorous command, and rude, and it was done in such a manner, that Aronces very well knew Clelia would have him obey it, and he was during sometime deprived of all consolation, till that Herminius who more loved Aronces than Horatius though he was a Roman, somewhat assuaged his grief, for as the true ground of the quarrel between Aronces and Horatius was now divulged, and the prohibition he had made his Daughter never to see him. Herminius made a Compliment to that unhappy Lover, and pitied his condition as a Man which had a tender Soul, who knew the most sensibility of Love, who deplored all those which were miserable, and who used all means he could possible to comfort them, and he so much endeavoured to comfort Aronces, that his endeavours proved effectual; for as he said he had been at Sulpicia's, and that he had entertained a long time her admirable Daughter, he extremely pressed him to tell him if she did not mention him in her discourse; if I should tell you she spoke to me of you, replied Herminius, I should tell you a lie, but if I tell she carefully avoided to speak of you, I shall tell you a thing which is more advantageous for you then you imagine: For in fine, I so clearly know that, that hindered her from speaking of you, was, that she felt she could not do it without expressing more inclination towards you then Horatius, that I cannot doubt of it: for I have seen her blush at her own thoughts, I have seen her seem not to take notice what was spoken of you, yet I have seen her attentively hearken to it, and I have seen some marks of despite, when Stenius, who as you know is Horatius his Friend, hath said something to her to his advantage. Ah, ah Herminius, cried Aronces, you would alleviate my miseries, and seek to diminish that malady which cannot be healed, I protest unto you, replied Herminius, that I speak to you with all the sincerity of a Roman: after that Aronces relying on the probity of Herminius, prayed him to repair oftener to Sulpicia's house, and faithfully to relate to him all that he heard Clelia say, reflecting on Horatius or himself, but he durst not entreat him to say any thing to her on his part; for knowing the modesty of her humour and prudence, he judged that she would never discover the secret of her heart to a third person, and in effect, Herminius did all that Aronces desired, and for some days he was the most agreeable Spy in the World for his Friend, for he always reported to him some favourable observation he had made to his advantage; for my part I had likewise prayed Fenice to report to me all that she heard Clelia speak of concerning Aronces and Horatius, that she then more frequently visited; so that either by Herminius or me, Aronces heard every day something which pleased him; he was therefore much troubled to know that Stenius saw her more often then ordinary: but after all he had some consolation in that he learned by us that his Rival was not in estate to entertain her when he was forbid her presence.  
In the mean time Clelius daily visited Horatius, and Aronces doubtless had no consolation, but that Herminius and I gave him: But Madam, we were not always in power to give it him as accustomed, for neither Herminius nor I had any thing one day favourably to tell him, so that there are none more suspicious than a Lover, and an unhappy Lover, he no sooner saw us but he knew we had doleful things to tell him. In effect, as he demanded of me if Fenice had not seen Clelia, I told him coldly no; and as he demanded of Herminius if he knew nothing of Clelia, he answered the same thing, so that this equality of Answer being suspected by him, he looked upon us with eyes, which demanded us so many things, that once without having a design, told him more than he would know, for he saw grief in mine, and he noted that Herminius turned his head aside not to encounter his, and not having power to remain long in this incertainty; I pray said he to us, tell me speedily that you will not tell me, for if you do it not, I shall go to Clelia's house in despite of the defence of Clelius, and I will perform so many things contrary to reason, that you will repent not to have made known to me my misfortune: at first we would have concealed the truth, but there was not the means, and we were constrained to tell him that which we knew; for my particular I told him that Fenice having been at Clelia's house, was very much surprised to see her so reserved to her, and to hear her speak of him in a manner which made her judge that she thought to have cause to complain of him: for Herminius, he told him something which was more displeasing; for he not only informed him that Clelia had spoken in such a manner, that it evidently appeared her spirit was irritated; and moreover, that she had in an obliging manner enquired of Horatius' health, at the same time that Stenius came to her: So that Aronces having these two things, had almost sensible Dolour, and therefore not being able to live in such a cruel uncertainty, he was absolutely resolved to speak to Clelia, to know from herself what obliged her to vary in her thoughts concerning him. That which puzzled me in this business was, that I did not know why Clelia gave such cold entertainment to Fenice, for to think it was because I loved Aronces, and that I likewise was loved by him, it were equally to wrong both the wit and generosity of Clelia, so that I knew not what to think of it. But in fine, Madam, after Aronces had conjectured an hundred ways to speak to this admirable person, he did so well that he met with one, it is true that he had it by the contribution of fortune, for there being a Person of Quality dead at Capua, and the custom requiring that his Wife should be visited, Aronces had the time so exactly watched when Sulpicia should make her visit, thereby to order his own, and that he might do what he had before intended; and he so well fitted all things that he came to the door of this mourning house, at the same time that Sulpicia and her Daughter arrived there: so that I being with him, and that I knowing his design, I led Sulpicia, which received us very civilly, and Aronces presented his hand to Clelia, who as soon as she saw him blushed, and received him not with such a sweetness as her Mother, or if she had any it was very cold, and which had nothing of that obliging disposition she was wont to have for him; In the mean while there arrived to facilitate to Aronces design, that as we traversed a Court which belongeth to the house where we were, and that we were under a magnificent Portal which is at the lower end of the stairs, there happened I say, that Sulpicia met with a Kinswoman of the deceased, which was going out when we entered in, and who following the custom of some Women, which always tells more than they are asked, related unto her not only the sickness of her Kinsman, but besides all the distempers which had heated his blood, and had caused the disease which ended his life: In fine, continuing her discourse, and relating what remedies had been given him, how he had disposed of his means, and generally what had befallen this Man, since ten or twelve years to his last breath: so that our design not permitting us to leave these Ladies with whom we were, I gave attention to this long Narration, during which time, Aronces entertained Clelia: At first she would have approached Sulpicia, but as she endeavoured to do it, Aronces opposed himself with such a comely and civil manner, that she could not manifest all the rigour she intended for him; I am nevertheless persuaded, she was not angry to be constrained to speak to Aronces, who no sooner saw Sulpicia engaged to hear the Lady's discourse, which she had met, said by your favour charming Clelia, I pray tell me from whence does it proceed, that you not only forbid me to write to you, but you speak of me as if I had offended you, and that I were not as innocent as miserable, though I am the unhappiest of all Men: I thought (replied she blushing) that you were in so good a correspondency with Fenice, that you did not care if you had none with Clelia.  
What Madam, (replied he greatly astonished) do you believe that Fenice hath a part in my affections, Fenice whom I scarcely ever see, Fenice which is fervently loved by the dearest of my Friends, and Fenice in fine, which is not considerable to me, but because I know by her partly what you do or say, since I have no more the liberty to be myself a witness of your actions, and the admirer of all your words. Can you believe, Madam, that a heart which adores you can be able to adore another; and is it not sufficient that Clelius is offended with me, that it hath debarred me to see you, and that you have forbid me to write to you, and that I fear my Rival shall be happier than I, without your accusing me with an injustice which never had its equal: I know not, Aronces (said she) whether you love Fenice or not, but I know you have received Letters from her, and that you have been enough conversant to have some familiarity with her, yet said she (not giving him leisure to interrupt her) that brings no alteration to your fortune, for since my Father hath forbidden me to let you love me, and that he hath commanded me to receive the affection of Horatius, there will be no other change in the thing, but that I shall obey him with less repugnance than I should have done.  
What Madam, (said Aronces, with a mortal anguish in his eyes) will you obey Clelius? will you no more suffer my affection? and will you entertain my Rival? Ah! if that be so, you have nothing to do, but to prepare yourself to rejoice for my death: for in the thoughts in which you are, it will without doubt cause you joy; but because I may at least have the comfort to die justified, accuse me exactly of my supposed crime, tell me when Fenice was loved by me, when we were familiar together, and if I destroy not all these impostures, esteem me as the basest of all Men, take from me wholly all hopes, that is to say, take away my life; speak then Divine Clelia, continued he, but speak without turning away your fair eyes, that they may see in mine all the innocence of my heart, and the fervour of my Love.  
Clelia hearing Aronces speak in this manner, began to doubt of what had been told her concerning him, so that looking upon him with a more gracious eye then before, by your favour Aronces, said she to him, justify not yourself, for I had rather be in wrath then in sorrow, wherefore because 'tis upon necessity that I must lose you, leave me in the belief that 'tis I which have lost you: No, no, Madam, replied he, I will not endure this injustice, and I must be absolutely justified.  
As Aronces ended these words, and that he was in hope to appease Clelia, Fenice followed by two of her Friends, came down stairs at the foot of which we were, insomuch that Aronces, who did not think that she had been there, and who knew that Clelia had newly accused him to have born her some affection, was so surprised by the sight of her, that it was not in his power to conceal those marks which demonstrated the agitation of his spirit.  
Nevertheless, as he intended to clear Clelia of her doubt, he saluted Fenice with more reservedness then ordinarily, insomuch that this person not knowing what was the reason of the diminution of his wont civility, and calling to mind the cold entertainment that Clelia gave her the last time she saw her, she could not hinder herself from making some reproaches for it: Ah Aronces! (said she to him) 'tis too much to be at odds both with you and Clelia; 'tis not added Fenice, but that her beauty deserves your regards, but she ought not to be possessor of all your civilities, Aronces and Clelia were so surprised by what Fenice had said, and she passed by so suddenly, that they had not the leisure to answer her, yet they both began to give her a reply, but as I have said already, Fenice gave them not the leisure to end it; nay, they were not able to say any thing to each other, and I could not go after Fenice, who had not seen me, because Sulpicia ended her discourse which she had with that Lady, which had stayed her, by this means, Aronces thinking to clear himself, found himself in a new labyrinth, for the alteration of his countenance, and what Fenice had told him, renewed the suspicions in Clelia's heart, insomuch that although he spoke to her as he went up the stairs, she gave him no Answer, and she hath even acknowledged that she hardly understood him, you may then judge Madam, that when they were in this mourning Chamber, it was not easy for him to entertain her, and when Sulpicia departed, Clelia carried herself so dexterously, that she engaged me whether I would or not to lead her; it is true that Aronces was not prejudiced by it, for he found in Sulpicia whom he accompanied, so much kindness, that it did in some measure comfort him, yet she nevertheless told him but very displeasing things, for she confirmed him in the belief which he had, that Clelius was very angry with him, and that he would not be easily reconciled: it is true, that she testified to him a great deal of sorrow for it, which did infinitely oblige him.  
But as she went about to join Clelia's thoughts with hers, and to make him know, that she also was very sorry for it: Ah Madam, said he to her, the equity of Clelia is far inferior to yours, and I am far from having any subject by which I might equalise her goodness with yours.  
Certainly you take the modesty of my Daughter (replied Sulpicia) as a Token of indifferency: but I assure you, she gives your virtue its deserved praise, and that if my persuasions could be ever able to cause an alteration in Clelius his thoughts, you should see what testimonies she would give of the esteem she hath of you: Aronces durst not tell her what Clelia had told him, for fear of angering that fair person to whom I spoke, but as soon as I desired to know of her for what reason she would put Aronces to despair, by treating him so cruelly: Aronces (replied she) it may be, is not so innocent as you think him to be, and you may chance to be a better Friend than you think for, in speaking to his advantage; Clelia told me that, in such obscure terms, that as I knew not, that she thought Aronces loved Fenice, I was far from understanding what she meant, and I likewise answered so ambiguously, and our conversation was so mysterious, that we parted without understanding one another; so that when Aronces and I were alone together, we knew not what to imagine, for he was so astonished that Clelia should accuse him of loving Fenice; and I was so affrighted at it when he told it me, that I knew not what to think of it, and the grief which Aronces had for it was so great that it could not be exceeded: for my part I knew well after that which he had told me, that it may be I was a better Friend than I thought, for believing that Aronces was amorous of Fenice, whom I loved, she was persuaded that I did more than I ought in speaking in his behalf.  
In the mean time, we in vain searched from whence should proceed Clelia's jealousy, the cause of which was very far off, for you must remember, that when I told you, that when Horatius endeavoured the first time to know whether Aronces was in love with Clelia or no, he found him with a Letter in his hand, which Fenice had wrote me, of which Horatius knew not the writing.  
Now Madam, it happened that during the time that he had kept his Chamber for the hurt which he had received— Stenius fortunately showed him a Song which was written by Fenice, which he saw sometimes, so that Horatius remembering it to be the same hand as that which he had seen in his Rivals hands, he began to imagine that Aronces loved in two places, and that I was his Confident only but by Fenice, so that relating this whole Adventure to Stenius, he began to exaggerate the unjustice of Clelia, to prefer a Man to him which only gave her a divided heart.  
So that Stenius effectively believing that Aronces had some intelligence with Fenice, and thinking to tender Horatius a good office, he went without informing him of it to Clelia's house, and he so contrived his discourse, that he gave this fair person to understand, that I was Aronces confident near Fenice, though I went for her Lover, or if that was not that Aronces betrayed me, he even assured her, that he had seen a Letter from Fenice to Aronces, and he did it without making any scruple of the likelihood of this lie, because Horatius had effectually told him that he had seen one in Aronces hands, it was not a considerable falsehood to change one circumstance of this thing, so Stenius did what he intended, since he had put jealousy in Clelia's heart, which procured Aronces' miseries, for it was not possible to imagine what was the cause of Clelia's illegal proceeding, so that he found himself most wretched, principally because Clelius had forbid him his house, that Horatius did mend daily, that Clelius saw him assiduously, and that it was divulged through the whole Town, that he had promised him Clelia; Aronces knew well in himself, that being as he was so much obliged to Clelius, he ought not to contradict his design in disposing of his Daughter, and that equity permitted him not to seek means to destroy Horatius, since he looked on him as a Man which he would have espoused to Clelia, so that love and equity counselling different things, he found himself greatly perplexed, but in the midst of so many misfortunes, he resented Clelia's jealousy more than all things, so that the excess of his passion framed in his Cogitations the most elegant propositions in the World, though he was so equitable; for although he knew that I was sufficiently in love with Fenice, he would show her some public incivility, because Clelia knowing of it, should no more believe he loved her, he even would have me not see her during some days, and he would in fine, satisfy Clelia, not considering whether the remedies which he would employ were lawful or not: But at last, after we had well considered what might be done for him; we resolved that he should desire Herminius to speak to Clelia, and to desire her from him, to tell him what caused his anger, and I persuaded him also to employ Aricidia, to persuade Clelius that he should not be so obstinate as to give his Daughter but to a Roman, for I was strongly persuaded, that if Clelius gave her not to Horatius, he would willingly bestow her on Aronces, though he was unknown; and in effect Madam, we went to Herminius, and Aricidia who promised us to perform our desires. But as diligence in this occasion was requisite, because Horatius was to go abroad (as it was reported within two or three days) Aricidia went the very next morning to see Clelius, and Herminius promised to go to see Clelia in the Afternoon. But to begin by the conversion of Aricidia, who had so much affection for Aronces, I shall tell you that this officious Woman was no sooner with Clelius, but entering in discourse, I know not said she to him, whether you will take in good part what I shall tell you, but I am sure I have no interest in it, but that of your Families repose, Aricidia is so accustomed, replied Clelius, to be a Promoter of the contentment of her Friends, that I am persuaded she can never have but good intentions: Since it is so, replied she, do me the favour to answer me, and that sincerely; I promise it you, answered Clelius, and I promise it fairly, for I can never do no otherwise: Tell me then I conjure you, replied she, is it not true, that Aronces is one of the most accomplished Men in the World, that he is most courageous, most witty, most virtuous, and the most agreeable, and that he is, in fine, a Man whom you esteem above all the rest in the World, and which hath been most beloved of you, I acknowledge it, answered Clelius, but since it is so, replied she, why have you relinquished your love, and what hath he done to merit your hatred: He hath had the impudence to love my Daughter, replied Clelius, he hath been so ingrateful as to forget he owes me his life, and that 'tis I which have made him what he is, but I shall make him know, that the Romans know well how to punish the ungratefuls. Go not so fast Clelius, said she to him, and take heed that the Romans in thinking to punish the ungratefuls, expose not themselves to ingratitude: 'tis true, you have saved Aronces' life, but he was but a Child, so that it may be said, that he did not see what you did for him, but you beheld with your own eyes what he did for you, when he sought to save your life, as you have yourself told me, so you must not count what he owes you, without counting also what you owe him, and you must precisely tell me, why you will match Clelia with Horatius, who never saved your life, who though he hath a great deal of worth, yet is far short of Aronces, and wherefore you refuse her to the latter; I could tell you, replied Clelius in two words, that 'tis sufficient that Aronces not knowing his birth, to make me take it very ill, that he durst have an intention to my Daughter, but as without doubt you will tell me that he hath so noble a mind, that 'tis not possible to doubt of his quality; I have another reason to tell you, which admits of no answer; for, in fine, Horatius is a Roman, and by all likelihood Aronces is not; Ah Clelius, replied she smiling, this is not so strong a reason as that which you allege not, and for my part I cannot endure the humour of the Romans which set themselves so boldly above all the rest of the World, for when all is done, Virtue belongs to all Countries, and of what place of the World soever Aronces is of, I esteem him as much as a Roman; believe me Clelius, added she smiling again, be not more curious than your Fathers were, who for to get Wives, ravished those of their Neighbours; and be not more than one of your Kings who married a Corinthian Slave, though he was so great a Prince, not considering she was not of Rome, and for to show that 'tis not sufficient to be a Roman, to have all things to discover to be loved by you, is not Tarquin a Roman, and the Son of Roman Parents, yet I have heard you say, he hath not the heart of a true Roman, that he is the Tyrant, and not the King of Rome, that he is an ambitions, a cruel, and a Parricide, that his Wife is an inhuman Woman, which hath passed over her Father's body, and that she is the wickedest person of her Sex; after which, durst you maintain that 'tis good reason to allege unto me that Aronces is not a Roman, and that Horatius is of Rome, for as there are Romans without Virtue; I maintain there may be virtuous persons, which are not Romans, therefore you must not say, you ought to prefer Horatius to the prejudice of Aronces, since the latter hath more worth than the other, and that you are more obliged to him, and that he is more esteemed by Clelia: if you had received your birth at Rome (replied Clelius) you should see what 'tis to be born a Roman, and you should know what is that invincible band, and that love to our Country which bindeth all its Citizens to each other, as for Tarquin I look upon him as a Monster which hath usurped the Sovereign Authority, which belonged not to him, and I neither consider him as a lawful King, nor as a Roman.  
But since Tarquin's Vices (replied Arcidia) make him not to be considered by you as a Roman, let the same reason induce you to esteem Aronces by reason of his Virtues, as if he were one: No, no, Aricidia (replied Clelius) you shall not persuade me, since I am resolved Horatius shall be the possessor of my Daughter, and that Aronces never shall, and in effect since he is not a Roman, and that he is ungrateful, I must not look upon him as a man capable to wed all my interests, for in fine Aricidia, I will have a Son-in Law, whose love for his Country and hatred against the Tyrant of Rome, shall be in the same degree as mine, it is therefore that I find in Horatius the accomplishment of all my desires.  
In the mean time, as I foresee it will be difficult for Aronces to see Horatius crowned with the title of happiness, whilst this passion predominates in him, I shall therefore oblige him before I resolve on this marriage to return to the Carthaginian Prince, and command him not to return hither till he hath eradicated this passion from his heart.  
Have you then positively promised Clelia to Horatius (replied Aricidia?) No, said Clelius, because I would have him desire her, but have only fed him with hopes, and I am resolved so soon as he hath left his Chamber, to salute him with this agreeable news: but do you know, (answered Aricidia) that it will be as pleasing to Clelia as Horatius? I believe it, replied he, and presuppose that her will is regulated by mine. In truth (replied Aricidia) I did not believe you so disesteemed him, and that no Chimaera of a Roman could come in competition with the transcendent qualities of Aronces: for in fine, if Rome only were illuminated by the Sun, it might plead by that privilege to have more virtuous persons than any other City: but as you know the Sun spreads his beams through the whole Universe, and there are virtuous men in all parts of the world, I have heard say, continued she, that in all Greece there were but seven men which above all the rest were called wise, yet the Greeks think they are well furnished with wisdom, and you pretend that all Romans are wise; believe me Clelius, if you would diligently peruse the ancient Records of Rome, you should find it ever since its being infected, with vices, and if there be any difference between Romans and others, it is that their Virtue is more rude and savage, and I am fully persuaded that since you will not be persuaded by me, that the overruling quality of the Romans is obstinacy, for if that were not, you would yield to my reasons, to your prayers and to yourself, for I am assured that during what I have said of Aronces, your heart hath confirmed that I had reason, and that you were to blame.  
Clelius hearing Aricidia speak, and knowing her franchise, would no longer dispute against her, and being resolved to refuse her, he would do it with civility, wherefore he gave her thanks for the interest she took in his Family, but he still spoke to her so fiercely of Aronces, that she knew there was nothing to hope for, and knowing it would be to no purpose to delude him, she gave him no hopes; on the other side, Herminius found Clelius' spirit so exasperated, that she would not so much as let him speak to her of Aronces, and she took it so ill that she should employ others to speak to her still of one thing, for though he had been well with her, this very occasion had been sufficient to cause a disgrace from her, for the more she esteemed Herminius, she so much the more took it ill that he should justify Aronces, so that this miserable Lover was in unspeakable despair, I had for my part some vexation, for as Ferice hath humours and is a little unjust, she taxed me of Clelia's coldness, and of Aronces want of civility which they had showed her when she saw them together, and she pretended that in consideration of her I should fall out with them, so that we had a great contestation, which did almost cure me of my amorous disposition: But to return to Aronces who was far more miserable than before, because Clelius who being desirous that he should retire himself from Capua before Horatius should marry Clelia, went to tell it him, and in effect told him so roughly, that he could not give him an answer, for as he was redevable to him for all things, and that he still considered him as his Father, he durst not be violent against him, and withal knowing very well that it would have been to no purpose, he therefore endeavoured by all the tenderest words he could express, to compassionate his heart, and when he saw that he could not work upon him, he conjured him to permit him to have the liberty to dwell with him, and if he would not, at least to suffer him to take his leave of Clelia: but whatsoever he could say he could not obtain any thing of what he demanded, so that Aronces being transported with anguish, and not able to contain it in his soul; Ah pitiless Clelius, cried he, wherefore did you save me my life, or why at present do you kill me; 'Tis no matter, said Clelius, you must depart, and it must be without a second quarrel with Horatius, as also in not seeing my Daughter; Ah Clelius, replied Aronces hastily, I shall not satisfy you in any thing, except I have a command from Clelia to depart without assaulting Horatius, 'tis not but that I know the respect which I owe you, but my reason is weaker than my love, and if she which causes it does not command me to let my Rival be happy, I know not whether I shall not disobey you, since you must be commanded by Clelia to depart, replied Clelius fiercely, going away she shall command it you, but it shall only be but by a Letter, for I declare unto you that that she shall not go out of her Chamber till you have left Capua: You may judge Madam, in what condition Aronces wns, who a while after repent, for what he had hastily said to Clelius, yet notwithstanding his love, he knew well that this illustrious Roman was not much to blame in giving his daughter rather to Horatius of whom he knew the birth, than to one whose true quality was unknown to him, and he saw also that he had no occasion to complain of his Rival, and it is that which hath made him the more miserable: But that which was to him most insupportable, was Clelia's anger, for he feared that the hatred which he thought Clelia bore him, should induce her to love Horatius, which above all things in the world he feared, and indeed he could not in the condition he was then in, harbour sweeter thoughts in his fortune, than to think that Clelia should hate his Rival in marrying of him: In the mean while, Clelius according to what he had said to Aronces, made Clelia write a Note in which were only these words.  
IF within three days Aronces leaves Capua, and that without seeing Horatius, I shall pity his misfortune, and if he obeys not the Command which I make him to depart, none ever hated so much as I shall hate him.  
You may easily think Madam, in what a despair Aronces was then, after he had read these cruel words, it was so great that I thought his anguish would have deprived him of his life: But in fine forcing himself with an extreme violence, he answered Clelia in this manner.  
Aronces to Clelia.  
I Will, Madam, depart within three days if my grief will spin my life so long as to obey you, but I will not go but for to die of love and despair, and I assure you that the end of my life shall antedate your Nuptials, and I shall never have the grief to hear that my Rival hath possessed you, but you shall it may be, soon know the death of the most faithful of Lovers.  
This was Madam, the answer of Aronces to Clelia, who saw it not so soon; for as it had been her Father which was the cause of her writing, he hindered Aronces Letter from being delivered unto her, for fear it should mollify her heart; for although Clelia was angry with him, Clelius nevertheless perceived that she hated him not, and that she had not any affection for Horatius. Things being in this manner, I saw Aronces an hundred times almost resolved either to kill Horatius, or to die himself, and if I had not in part retained his violences, I know not what he would have done; there happened a thing which did much embroil these two Rivals, for as Aronces was going pensively along through a street which is near Horatius' Lodging, this Lover was going forth as being the first time, and expressly to see Clelius, to whom he was going to make his first visit, for to thank him for the good will he bore him, though he had not yet promised him any thing, so that these two Rivals encountering, they approached together with different thoughts, for Horatius who thought he should be soon happy, had less anger in his spirit and he still acknowledged his Liberator in the person of his Rival: for Aronces as he was miserable although he was generous, he only saw his Rival in the person of his friend, they both nevertheless saluted each other, for I had forgot to tell you that their friends during the time that Horatius kept his Chamber, had made a kind of agreement between them, without disclosing of their quarrel. But in fine, to begin where I left off, they saluted one another, and Aronces speaking to his Rival the first, For aught that I can see, said he to his Rival, by I know not what Sentiment which he could not retain: It is sufficient to be born a Roman, to become happy, and the greatness of my passion availeth me nothing, you should have done better to have said your merit, replied Horatius, thereby to exaggerate your misery, for as I think myself to be as amorous as you, it is not in that that we differ, nevertheless I can assure you, that my reason is not at present troubled with fear that I shall be perfectly happy, since I cannot be without rendering you altogether miserable.  
Ah Horatius! (replied Aronces) it is not of these things you must speak to comfort a generous Rival: on the contrary, you remember we made a bargain one day that we would not hate one another, till Clelia (to the prejudice of one of us) had made her choice: therefore as you are going to be he, I think I am fully dispensed of all the friendship I had promised you, and I am verily persuaded that I may without breaking the laws of generosity hate you. Hate me then unjust friend (replied Horatius) for as it is not easy to love who hates us, think it not strange if I have no affection for him that loves me not; far from taking it ill (replied Aronces) you cannot do any thing which may seem to me more just, then to hate me, for I declare unto you, that if the respect which I bear unto Clelius did not retain me, Clelia should never be yours as long as my heart should beat within me, and I know not added he, if Cielius should be sufficient, if Clelia did not meddle in it: Although you have vanquished me, replied Horatius fiercely, if things were in that condition, I should know how to defend Clelia with the same valour that one of my Predecessors defended Rome. That Horatius of whom you speak (answered roughly Aronces) overcame three men it is true, but it was more by policy than valour, and though you shall have his valour, I should not be the sooner overcome.  
As they were in these terms, and Horatius who prepared himself to give him a sharp answer, Herminius and two more came to them, who knowing what passed between them, and seeing some alteration in their eyes, did not leave them till they were parted, in the mean while as this intervene was known by Clelius, he sent again to Aronces to tell him he would have him be gone, so that in effect he was fain to resolve himself to depart, at least he did as one who intends to depart, for his followers were ordered to have all things in readiness, there were for all that moments in which he thought more in killing of Horatius than in departing; but when he considered that the death of his Rival would not procure him his Mistress, he a little refrained his violence, which he knew was not grounded on a lawful soundation, for Horatius had been in love with Clelia before him, Clelius intended her for him, and would not have Aronces have any thoughts that way, and in fine, Horatius was not very Criminal towards Aronces.  
In the mean while, Clelia on her part was not without grief, for she doubtless had an inclination in her heart powerful enough to cause in her a great difficulty to overcome it, principally since she knew that Aronces prepared himself to be gone, and to obey her, for she then knew well that if he had loved Fenice he would not have left Capua, so that her jealousy suddenly ending, her affection for Aronces gathered new strength, and her aversion for Horatius increased so much, that she knew not how to obey Clelius, and if a resentment of glory had not resisted her designs, she would have done things that she had never yet done: on the other side, Sulpicia who was horribly perplexed to think her Daughter should espouse Horatius, sought all means to hinder these Nuptials, but after she had well considered on it, she believed that as he was generous, it might happen that if Clelia should tell him freely that she could not affect him, and that she should entreat him not to think on her, he might resolve himself thereto; so that telling her thoughts to Clelia, and Clelia thinking nothing difficult to do, so that it might conduce to the rupture of her marriage, told her Mother that she would fulfil her desires, and Sulpicia by a resentment of her former jealousy, assuming more boldness at this time than she should have done at another, told her Daughter that she should the better to accomplish her design, write a Note to Horatius, to be at a certain hour which she should appoint him, in that Garden which as I have told you is common for all, there to acquaint him of an important business: Sulpicia adding that she should tell him, that it was without the knowledge of any that she writ to him, because Horatius should not imagine that it was by her instigation that she did this, at first Clelia told her Mother that she thought it would be as well to speak to him in her Chamber when he should come to see her, but Sulpicia told her it would be more easy to discourse with him privately in a Walk, then in her house; adding withal, that Horatius would be better persuaded she had no inclination to love him, by this extraordinary action, as was this of giving him an assignation.  
So that Clelia obeying her willingly, writ a Note to Horatius, and gave it unto a slave, to deliver it him, and as she concealed it as a great secret, told him softly, that he should carry it to Horatius: but as this slave had formerly carried divers to Aronces, and never but one to Horatius, he thought she had said Aronces, and withal not knowing how to read, he knew not that it was directed to Horatius, and trusting to what he thought to have understood, he delivered it to Aronces, who had at first (seeing this slave with a Letter) an extreme joy, but when he read it, and that he knew it was directed to Horatius, and not to him, it caused in him an extreme dolour, nevertheless, as he knew the slave was mistaken, he made no sign to perceive it, and only told him he should not fail to do what Clelia ordained him, but this slave was no sooner gone, but Aronces came to my Chamber, to show me this Note, in which were only contained these words.  
Clelia to Horatius.  
PRay do me the Favour to meet me precisely about the Evening, in the great Walk of the Myrtles, for I have something of great concernment to communicate to you, and withal a great favour to demand of you.  
Well Celeres said Aronces to me (after I had read this Billet) what say you of my fortune? and what counsel you me to do?  
I counsel you to go to the assigned place as if you were Horatius, and with an intention to make Clelia a thousand reproaches, and if you can to make her change her thoughts, or else to change your own, if she altars not hers: this counsel is easier to give then to follow (replied he) at least as not to love Clelia; as for going to the place she has appointed to speak with Horatius, I am already resolved, but that which terrifies me is, that I know not what she would have with my Rival, I likewise fear, added he, that the slave which brought me the Note, will acquaint her with his mistake, when he shall tell her that I will not fail to meet her at the appointed place.  
But said I to him you have not writ to her: no, replied he, and that which hindered me from it was, not impossible but that this slave in telling her that I should do what she desired, might tell it her so, that she should find out the mistake.  
And (Madam) it happened according to their expectation, for it sell out so, that when this slave was returned home, there was a great deal of company in her Chamber, so that she would not let him give her an account of his errand, for fear he should be understood, but asked him aloud whether he had done what she had ordained him? and he answering, yes, she made him sign to be gone, Clelia not doubting but that Horatius would come at the assigned place, thought on nothing else but to meet him.  
Nevertheless, there happened a thing which had almost obstructed her going, for Clelius would have had Sulpicia gone to a place where she should have been the whole afternoon, but Sulpicia who servently desired that the marriage between Horatius, and her Daughter should be broken; did so well, that she caused her Daughter to be with one of her Friends, whom she knew did commonly walk in the place where Horatius was expected, and when she left her, she persuaded her as much as possible she could, to put Horatius into such a despair, that he should never hope to have her.  
But whilst things were thus favourable for Aronces, and so contrary for his Rival, this Lover who was ignorant of the agitations of Clelia's heart, was in a strange perplexity, and in such an inquietude as I cannot represent unto you, for his impatiency would not permit him to stay till the appointed hour, but he repaired thither long before Clelia came; for my part, as I had a great desire to know what this interview would produce; I went also in the Garden, and walked in an Alley from whence I might see those which went into that place where Aronces was, where in fine, Clelia came with one of her Mother's Friends, with whom there was three other Ladies.  
As soon as Clelia saw Aronces, her blood leapt into her face, 'tis not but that she thought 'twas Fortune only which guided him thither, but that she was persuaded Horatius would come also, and that she feared she should meet them together.  
On the other side, Aronces who seeing the alteration of Clelia's countenance, and imagining that she stayed there for his Rival, and that the commotion which he saw in her eyes proceeded from her despite to see him there, raised his grief to so high a pitch, that he resolved to go either into another Alley, or else to make Clelia a thousand reproaches: but in fine, his reason overpowering his passion, he became Master of himself, and he so dexterously disguised his sentiments, that the Ladies with whom Clelia was, could not perceive he had any particular design, for he saluted them very civilly, and without addressing himself to Clelia, he discoursed with the Conductress of the little Troop; so that according to the freeness which we enjoy at Capua, he fell in conversation with these Ladies, and sometimes entertaining one, and then another, he at last spoke to Clelia, who was much surprised not to see Horatius, and that in all likelihood Aronces was not to leave them very quickly, and there happened an occasion which gave Aronces as much leisure as he could desire to entertain Clelia; for as this company came to a great rotundo of Trees, which divides this great Walk of the Myrtles, and the Ladies having seated themselves, it happened that the places casually were before almost all taken, so that there was no place left for Clelia, who seeing only a little Bench which was on the other side, where there could sit but two, she went thither, and Aronces took his place by her.  
But when she saw him approach, the fear which she had that Horatius should come, that he should find her in a particular conversation with his Rival, and that it should hinder her from persuading him what she desired, caused her to speak softly to him; by your favour Aronces (said she to him) if it be true, that you have formerly had some friendship for me, I conjure you not to desire any private discourse with me to day, for since I durst not recount unto you my life, it is not needful you should think of speaking with me in secret.  
No, no, Madam, (said he to her, looking attentively on her) it concerns you not so much as you think, for I assure you Horatius shall not come hither by your orders, and if fortune guide him not hither, I shall have leisure humbly to entreat you to tell me, what I have done to merit your hatred, and what he hath done to gain your love, and from whence proceeds; that when you deny me the comfort of a last farewel, you writ him Notes, & gave him assignations in a place from whence you would have me be gone, because you stay for him: but Madam, to deliver you from the unquietude which I cause in you; I must tell you that the slave which you ordered to deliver your Note to Horatius, did mistake, for 'tis I which have received it; and I am come hither to conjure you to tell me, if I am worthy to know, that you had resolved to tell Horatius: you may judge Madam, how Clelia was surprised when she heard Aronces use these expressions; nevertheless, as her spirit was free from jealousy, and that the love which she had for Aronces was stronger than ever, and he looked on her in such a manner, which mollified her heart, that she endeavoured not to disguise the truth of that which she perceived he knew, and she was not very sorry to make him understand that this assignation was not to be advantageous for Horatius. Also when Aronces had desired her to tell him what she intended to tell Horatius whom she had stayed for: Aronces, said she, then to him, if you know what you demand, you would soon gainsay yourself, and you would desire me not to tell you that which you seem to desire of me.  
Tell me at least then answered he, what you would have me do; if it be true, answered she, that you love me yet, I will have you resolve yourself to love me no more but as a Sister, and that you will be so equitable as not to accuse me of your misfortune, since I am enough myself, not to accuse you of mine: But Madam, replied he, things are not alike between us, for I may justly accuse you of all my misfortunes, but for my part, what is it that I do which may contribute to your unhappiness? You are the cause, answered she blushing, that I have a horrible repugnancy to obey my Father, you are he, which makes Horatius, who is a very deserving person, altogether insupportable to me, as soon as I consider him as to be my Husband; and in fine, by all appearances, you are the cause that the rest of my life will be miserable: Ah Madam, by your favour, replied Aronces, permit me to give so advantageous a sense to your words, that they may, if not make me happy, they may at least render me less miserable: I consent thereunto Aronces, replied she, but I also conjure you to tell me no more anything: for as things stand now, I can no more innocently receive any particular mark of your affection, nor give you any of mine; you might nevertheless, Madam, if you please, acquaint me with that which you would have told Horatius; I would have told him, replied she, so many things advantageous for you, that I ought not to tell it you, if I could effectually desire you should love me no more: for in fine, Aronces I would have seen Horatius, by the command of my Mother, to tell him freely I can never love him, and to endeavour by a resentment of generosity to induce him not to obstinate himself to render me miserable, since I can never render him perfectly happy: but to tell you the truth, I think I shall never persuade him; you now see Aronces, added she, the subject of this Assignation, for which you have reproached me. If it were permitted me; replied he, to give you thanks, and to require your pardon, I should prostrate myself divine Clelia, at your Feet to testify unto you my acknowledgement, and for to conjure you to tell me if you would hate me in case I should disobey Clelius, who will have me depart, and seek all means possible to forget you: I know not, replied Clelia, whether I should hate you, but I know I should live with you as if I loved you not. In effect, added this prudent Virgin, I shall do what I can, not to espouse Horatius, but when neither by my prayers nor inventions I shall not prevail, there must be no more of anything done, but to prepare never to see each other, for without any equivocation, I must tell you that though my Father should not oblige you to be gone, I should; 'tis therefore, that if the design which I have does not succeed, as I believe it will not, you must conform your will to my Fathers, because you should not necessitate me voluntarily to impose upon you a rigorous command.  
As Clelia had ended these words, Horatius who heard by chance that she was in that Garden, came thither, so that this fair Maid spying him afar off in an Alley which came into that where she was, advertized Aronces thereof, and desired him to leave her alone, to the end she might perform that which Sulpicia had enjoined her to do: But Madam, replied he, who shall assure me that this conversation shall be such as I desire it to be; that which I have had with you, replied she, going away; promise me at least, replied he, that whatsoever happens you will still have a little love for the miserable Aronces; I promise it you not, replied she, with an alteration in her colour, in casting a favourable aspect upon him; but I know not whether I shall not do it without promising you of it.  
After that Clelia rejoined the Ladies, with whom she was, and after Aronces had saluted them, he went into another walk, without being perceived by Horatius, and came to me in that where I was walking: But it was with an extreme difficulty that he left his place to his Rival; but after all when he considered that she spoke to him, only but to tell him that she could not love him, and to pray him to think no more on her, he had an unspeakable joy, though it was not accompanied with tranquillity, and having an extreme desire to know the success of this conversation, he desired we should walk in the Garden, till it was ended; because if Horatius should leave Clelia, he might know of her how his Rival had received what she had told him: but Madam, it was easy to foresee what would be the event of this business; for Horatius was very amorous, and he was persuaded that notwithstanding what Clelia had said to him, she would obey Clelius, who thought though he had not promised her would give her to him, and in effect though this amiable person employed all her subtleties and eloquence to persuade Horatius, to banish her his thoughts, 'twas altogether impossible for her to do it, neither was it in Aronces his power to come any more to Clelia, for Horatius left her not, but went away with her.  
In the mean time, as he could not resolve himself to depart till he knew the success of this discourse, he engaged me to go and speak to Clelia, who then knew that all Aronces secrets were known by me; so that leaving him behind, I went and mingled myself with the Troop, where this fair Maid was, who was then going away; so that there being no other Men besides Horatius with these Ladies, when they were to pass a difficult place, by reason of a great heap of stones, which were laid to support a Terrase which was to be built there, he was obliged to present his hand to one of them which passed the first, hoping after he had done so to all, to lead Clelia: But making use of this occasion to speak to her, I led her over, and left her not till we were out of the Garden, and not for to lose any of those precious moments, I whispered to her, and told her, Madam, the miserable Aronces sends me to you to know whether he must live or die, you shall tell him (replied she, with a most obliging sadness) that I will not have him die, but that if he loves me, he shall ever be miserable, and that he has nothing to do, but to depart from Capua as soon as he can; I was going to tell her that she was too blame for not opposing herself more strongly to Clelius, but she answered me with so much wisdom, and in so tender a manner for my friend, that all I could do was but to admire her; it is true, that when we came to the Garden door, I was constrained to leave her, and Horatius likewise, so that we were alone together, and as he knew me to be Aronces particular Friend, his hatred did extend itself almost as much to me as it did to him, and having exasperated his spirit with that which Clelia had told him, we parted with small demonstrations of friendship; but as I was returning I found Clelius, who was entered in this Garden by another door, who had newly joined himself with Aronces, whose departure he urged so strongly, that he gave him but one day more to be in Capua, as I knew that Clelius could not tell him any agreeable thing, I made no great difficulty to interrupt them, but as I came near them, Aronces who had an extreme desire to know what Clelia had told me, demanded it of me by my eyes.  
So, that not having any favourable answer for him I made a sign to him, whereby he might perceive his hopes were utterly destroyed, to the end he should suddenly resolve to be unhappy, and should not feed himself with an uncertain and vain hope, which brought much confusion in his spirit, for it seemed to him he had fallen to a less miserable estate, if Clelia told him nothing advantageous this day; and I had no sooner joined myself to them, but Clelius left Aronces, and went to find Stenius, Horatius his Friend, who expected him in another Alley. I will not tell you Madam, what Aronces said to me after Clelius had left him, and that I had recounted to him the discourse I had with Clelia, for it would give you much compassion, but that which made him quite despair was, that he must now resolve to depart, if he had followed the tumultuous resentments of his heart, he would not have left Capua till he had killed Horatius, but as he could not do it without offending both Clelius and Clelia, and without putting himself in a condition never to see his beloved Object, this consideration more than justice bridled his fury, and though night began to veil the sky with a sable Mantle, Aronces could not resolve to depart from this Garden, but engaged me insensibly in such tedious exaggerations of his mishap, that it was more than half an hour since Cynthia guilded this Garden with her resplendent Rays, which gave birth as it were to a new day; so that we hardly knew 'twas night, his displeasure so much possessed him; but in fine, the excess of his own grief imposing silence on him and me, because I could tell him nothing which might comfort him.  
We walked sometime without speaking one word in a little Alley, along the side of an indifferent thick Wood, which is enclosed in that Garden, and it happened that Aronces going faster than I, was ten or twelve paces distant from me, but as he went alone he heard on the other side of a Pallissade, which was between him and that little wood, two Men who thinking themselves to be alone in that place, spoke somewhat low, one of which raising his voice, addressing his speech to the other; I know well (said he to him in the Roman Language) what we have promised to Tarquin is unjust, but since 'tis promised we must obey, for in what place can we remain, if after we have assured him to bring the head of Clelius, we violate our words?  
You may judge, Madam, what was the surprisal of Aronces, when he heard these expressions from an unknown Man, and though Clelius had pronounced him the most rigorous sentence imaginable, he did not look upon him in this occasion as a Man which banished him, which esloyned him from Clelia, and which rendered him most unhappy, but he considered him as the Father of his Mistress, to whom he owed his Life, and attentively listening to hear the discourses of these unknown Men, he heard, that he which had harkened to him who had first spoke, answered him in these terms: I very well know (said he to him) that Tarquin is the violentest Man in the World, that hating Clelius so much as to desire his head, he would very much hate those, who instead of bringing it to him, should advertise him of the desire he hath to destroy him; but it seems to me, not returning to Rome, 'tis easy to fly his fury, and the difficulty will be to know if Clelius is in estate to enrich us, if we prove what we may tell him; Ah too scrupulous friend! (hastily replied he to whom he spoke) why do we thus trifle time? doth it not suffice that the Prince to whom we belong hath commanded us to kill one of his enemies, and that he hath promised us a great recompense, without exposing our lives and fortunes to danger; by discovering it to Clelius, he will make, it may be, as though he believed it not, because he would not recompense us, but will keep himself on his guard, and prevent us from executing our design? therefore without stumbling at these unprofitable intentions, let us only see if our Poniards are sharp enough to act to morrow the command of Tarquin.  
Ah Villainous Wretch! (cried Aronces, going on that side where the Assassinate was by an overture he accidentally found in the Pallissade) I will frustrate your barbarous design, and you shall never Poniard Clelius before you deprive me of my Life: Aronces pronounced these words so high, that it roused me from that Lethargic slumber in which my melancholy had buried me, and I went directly to him, whom I saw hold a Man which was struggling to get from him; and that there was another who holding a Poniard, told him that if he would not leave his companion, he would kill him; but that he had hardly the time to do it, for having suddenly seized his arm, and stayed his hand in which he held his Poniard, with which he menaced Aronces, I prevented him from acting his intention.  
In the mean time Aronces having taken from the hands of him he held, the Poniard he drew, when he cast himself upon him, saw himself in estate to be Master of his Life; but as he thought 'twas important to discover to Clelius all he knew, he did not kill him, principally seeing that I held the others Arm, and knowing by that he had overheard, that him I held was the least impious, he believed 'twas easy to know by him all that which was requisite for Clelius to know; and Aronces seeing that I was without doubt strong enough to hinder this Man from using his Poniard, but that I was not able to take it from him, he threatened to kill him, and cried to him, if he would render it, he would recompense him magnificently for the good design he had to tell Clelius, but whilst he thus said, the other whom Aronces had disarmed, watching his opportunity, drew a second Poniard he had, thinking to sheathe it in his heart, but as Aronces saw it glister, by the reflection of one of Cynthia's beams on it, he guarded himself and warded the blow with the other he held, and no longer sparing the life of that Traitor, he seized his right arm with his left hand, and gave him two blows with the Poniard, which made him fall half dead at his feet.  
In the mean time, him which I held, endeavoured to disengage himself, but I held him so strongly that he could not finish his intent, but as soon as he saw his companion fall, he let go his Poniard that I took, and emplored the clemency of Aronces, whom he saw to interest himself so much in the life of Clelius, and the better to obtain it, he drew the other Poniard he had, and casting it at the feet of Aronces, I pray Sir, said he to him, since you heard what I said to my companion do not treat me as him; I promise it you replied Aronces, but you must discover to me all you know, and all which may assure the life of Clelius which I will defend as my own: As Aronces had thus spoke, Clelius and that Friend of Horatius, with whom he walked, as I have told you, arrived in this place; so that they were very much surprised to find us in that estate, and to see a Man half dead at our feet, and another which seemed to demand pardon, and to see Aronces and I with each of us a Poniard in our hands, but the Father of Clelia was much more astonished, when I first speaking, see Clelius said I to him, see what Aronces hath done to save your life: and if he merits death at your hands; for I had perfectly understood that it was for the interest of Clelius that he assaulted these two Men; Clelius being amazed at my words, could not tell what to answer, but Aronces drawing him from this astonishment, told him in two words, without any exaggeration what was newly happened, so that Clelius was so sensibly touched, to see in a moment after he had pronounced the sentence of his banishment, he had hazarded his life to assure his, that he could not hinder himself from testifying to him the admiration he had for his virtue, and without demanding any thing of that which concerned him: Ah Aronces cried he, your generosity charms me, and Aricidia had reason to say, that if you were not a Roman, you had a Roman heart; therefore seeing I have not promised any thing to Horatius, I must leave Clelia to dispose of herself, without intermeddling with it; Aronces ravished with joy to hear Clelius speak in this manner, rendered thanks to him in few words, whilst Stenius privately murmured at it, but after that Aronces telling him, that this place was not fit to entertain those Assassinates, and some Slaves of Clelius who sought their Master, being arrived, they gave order to carry this person to a Man's house which depended on me, to have his wounds dressed, and we brought the other to Clelius his house, who would have Aronces and I go thither, for Stenius he left us at the Gate, and went to advertise Horatius that his affairs were not so prosperous as he imagined; but arriving at Clelius his house, we met Sulpicia and her Daughter, who were much surprised to see us, and to hear Clelius say, he owed his life a second time to Aronces, and that he was the most generous of all Men, and these two persons easily giving credit to the words of Clelius, received Aronces with an extreme joy.  
In the mean time, as he was impatient to know the contrivancy of that plot, the execution of which Aronces had hindered, they enclosed the Conspirator in a Chamber where we were going to interrogate him, when Herminius arrived, who told Clelius he had a business of great Importance to acquaint him with: But as Clelius told him, that he might now tell all he knew before Aronces and me, he showed him a Letter he had received from Rome, where amongst many other things there were these words.  
THe proud Tarquin is more diffident, cruel, and vindicative then ever, for he had no sooner known that Clelius was returned from Africa, and that he was at Capua, but he believed he approached Rome, to plot some conspiracy against him, and one of my intimate friends hath told, that he believes the Tyrant hath a design on his Life, at least I assure you, that few days have been added to the age of time, since two of those he uses to employ in such horrid executions, departed from Rome and having taken way of the company, if you think fit advertise Clelius to take care of himself.  
After Clelius had read aloud this fragment of a Letter, and that Herminius had named him who wrote it, and told him that he was a Man well informed in all things, and that he had counselled him not to go forth but well accompanied: I am much obliged to you, said he to Herminius, for the advice you have given me, but I shall be infinitely more if you help me to set forth the praises of Aronces; for in fine, he hath nigh killed one of those of whom your friend speaks, and if you please, you may hear from the other the confession of his crime, and after we had recounted to Herminius in two words, that which was passed, we entered together into the Chamber where this Man was, from whose mouth we would know the cruel intentions of Tarquin, but to the end he should more ingenuously declare all he knew, Aronces confirmed to him the promise he had made him magnificently to reward the repentance he had had, and he effectively spoke with very much ingenuity; 'tis true, that which the more obliged him was, that Herminius knew he was heretofore one of his Father's slaves, and making himself known to him, what miserable wretch (said he to him) hast thou learned this Trade thou practices in the house where thou wast brought up? No Sir (said he to him, but changing my Master I have changed my conditions, since 'tis true, that as long as I lived with a virtuous Master, no crime could be imputed to me, but as soon as your Illustrious Father had given me to a Man who is become Tarquin's Favourite, I degenerated to what you see: 'tis true said he, the remembrance of the beginning of my life hath stirred up much compunction in me, and him who promises to recompense me for my repentance, heard, I would persuade my complice of my crime not to commit it I remembered you, and imagined those reproaches you would make me, if you should know the life I led.  
Sure it is so, (said Herminius) make an ingenious confession, and in effect this man told Clelius, that Tarquin had commanded him and his Companion not to return to Rome without bringing his head, and he assured him they had resolved to kill him the next day in that Garden, where Aronces had o'erheard their contestation, for they had known 'twas the custom of Clelius to go thither every night, and oftentimes alone.  
This man likewise said that when Aronces heard them, some remorse invaded his Conscience for that barbarous action he was going to commit, but as his companion was the most resolute of all men, he was assured he would not have admitted of any persuasion but executed Tarquin's command the subsequent day, though he should have done it alone: and he appeared so repentant for his crime, and demanded so many pardons for his fault, that Clelius effectually knowing by Aronces that he opposed his companions intententions, generously pardoned him and gave him a recompense sufficient to carry him to the wars without Tarquin's power, but for the complice of his crime he used him in another manner, for he would not have his wounds dressed, and when by force there was plasters put upon them he would tear them off, neither would he take any nourishment, and whatsoever could be said to him he would not answer neither Aronces nor Herminius, who interrogated him to see if he did not know more than the other: on the contrary, he used all the means he could possible to dash out his brains against a wall, and in the end died as an enraged man, to whom the regret not to have executed the crime he promised to commit, and the sight of an approaching death hurried on to such a furious action.  
In the mean time Sulpicia not losing such a favourable occasion, told Clelius so many things to oblige him to acknowledge the virtue of Aronces, that in the end he was resolved to leave Clelia to a free election, since he had not yet promised her to Horatius, and that he had only given him hopes to obtain her, whilst these things were acting, that Lover which had believed to be happy, no sooner knew by Stenius the adventure of the Garden, but fearing it might make Clelius change his thoughts, he went at the same time to find him, but as Clelius would have some time to settle his resolution and thought, he had some tenderness and recognizance for Aronces, he had some difficulty to give his Daughter to an unknown, he carefully shunned Heratius this day, which happened to be the Eve of that day Clelia celebrated for her birth, for though she was not born at Rome, Clelius nevertheless made her observe all the Roman Ceremonies, therefore as her birth was the next day, he would have the Feast be more magnificent than usual, because it had been preceded by one in which he had shunned death, and he found that this day was not numbered amongst those dismal ones, carefully observed by the Romans, and not finding any unhappiness in this favourable day, Clelius would have it solemnly celebrated; Clelia on her part who knew the alteration of her Father's mind, and who had a little before thanked Aronces for saving his life, had an extreme joy to hope she should not espouse Horatius, Sulpicia was so glad that she thought of nothing, but magnificently to solemnize the Feast of her Daughter's Nativity.  
For this effect as it was a custom in such like occasions to offer an innocent Oblation to those Divinities the Romans call Genij, every person as they believe having a particular one: Clelius made an Altar to be adorned with Vervine and Flowers, in a Temple where the Romans residing at Capua perform their Ceremonies, and all the principal Ladies of the City being invited to accompany Clelia when she went to the Temple, where they came in their most Gorgeous Attire; for Clelia as it is the custom at Rome, as well for men as women, to be invested in white on their birthday, she had a white Robe, but for to beautify the simplicity of that Vestment, Sulpicia adorned her with those stones she had heretofore casually found, when that after she was shipwrackt she had been saved by a faithful Slave, and had again found Clelius, to whom the Gods had given a Son for him whom they had lost, and though the Habit of Clelius was not at all magnificent, it received a great embellishment from them: for as in these occasions Ladies are not covered as usually they are, and that they are dressed like those which are married, she had part of her fair hairs hanging on her shoulders negligently curled, for the others they were pleated in many rings along her cheeks, and tied on the hinder part of her head by a rose of precious stones the fairest were ever seen: Moreover, as her Neck was shadowed but with a thin Veil of Tiffany, it transmitted the lustre of her beauty through it, it was likewise enclosed with a Collar of Diamonds, her waist being surrounded with precious stones of an inestimable value, her sleeves of her Robe which were great and hanging down, were fastened on her shoulders by two knots of Diamonds.  
In fine, her Habit was so gallant and rich, that Clelia in this posture could do no less than attract all eyes, she had such a pure tincture, such sparkling eyes, and such a charming and agreeable air in her looks, that I can assure you my eyes never met with a fairer Object.  
Clelia being such as I have represented her to you, went a foot from her house to the Temple without any discommodity, for the streets by which she was to pass were large and very dry, and the Sun had stole behind a Cloud lest he should be outvi'd by the splendour of her eyes.  
Moreover as it is the custom that those persons which celebrate their birthday, should offer an innocent Offering to the Gods, Clelia carried in her fair hands a sumptuous Basket in which was her oblation, but this Sacrifice was so covered with Orange and Jasume Flowers, that it dispersed o'er all places where she passed an odoriferous Odour; she went alone, her Father and her Mother followed her, all the Ladies of the City preceded her, going two by two, and all the friends of Clelius following him in in the first rank, whereof were Aronces and Horatius: but Madam, as Clelia's beauty was divulged through Capua, and this Ceremony being different from ours, and that novelty excited the curiosity of the people, the streets were thronged where Clelia should pass, as if there was to be seen enter one of our Captains Crowned with a Triumphant Laurel, but Clelia seeing this concourse of people of all conditions, which looked from their windows, doors, and streets, only to behold her, and hearing all the acclamations they gave her, was surprised with such a modesty, that it much heightened her beauty, for blushing at her own praises, her tincture appeared more resplendent, her eyes more lively and tempting, Aronces and Horatius this day so contemplated her beauty, that their love augmenting, their hatred increased towards one another, they spoke nothing together whilst this Ceremony lasted: for as Horatius his hope was not quite extinct, because Clelius had not spoke to him in particular, and that Aronces would not destroy his, they both thought not to irritate Clelius by a new Combat, and though they were Rivals they assisted at this Ceremony as though they had been friends; it is true that it was not very strange they should master their thoughts in this occasion, for the admiration they had for Clelia, without doubt suspended a part of the hatred that was between them.  
But in fine, Clelia went to the Temple to offer to the Gods the Offering she carried, and she put it with so good a grace on the Altar adorned with Garlands of Vervine and Flowers, that she seemed rather to be the Goddess to whom the Sacrifice was offered, than her which offered this oblation: I shall not, Madam, weary your patience by telling you all those Ceremonies which were performed in this occasion, for it is not for that intent I mention this Feast, but I shall acquaint you that amongst this great multitude of persons who looked upon and admired Clelia, I take notice that a man and woman who bore the characters of persons of quality, casually saw her as she came from her house, and I likewise noted when I was nigh them, that they beheld her with an extraordinary attention, that they whispered together, and when they saw Aronces they testified so much admiration, that they followed them as if they had been invited to the Feast; and fortune was so propitious to me, that I saw them once more in the Temple very attentive, sometimes looking on Clelia sometimes on Aronces, I likewise noted that this Lady whom I did not know, and who had a very good presence for a person of her age, passed by many others to come nigh Clelia when she was at her devotion, but I was astonished to see her more attentively to look upon the precious stones than Clelia, and it seemed to me she looked with a more curious eye on that which was on the hinder part of her head where was the rose of Diamonds, and not to admire the beauty of her face; nevertheless thinking it was a curiosity usual with Ladies to look more upon that which adorns, than those which are adorned; I diverted my eyes otherways, and I looked upon Fenice, which except Clelia, was without doubt the fairest in that company.  
But in fine, when Clelia had finished her prayers, and was going to place herself in that order in which she came, this man and Lady whom I did not know, and who had looked so much on Aronces and Clelia, approached to me, and demanded civilly who that beautiful Virgin was? and who was Aronces? whom they showed me with their hands not knowing his name: For that admirable person, said I to them, she is called Clelia, and Daughter to an illustrious exiled Roman, but for him you show me, all that I can say is, he is the most virtuous in the world, and he is called Aronces, for he doth not himself know his birth: what (cried this Lady changing colour) doth not he know his Parents? He is far from knowing it, answered I, since the Father of Clelia found him floating in a Cradle after he had been shipwrackt himself, and whose life he saved without knowing to whom this Child belonged, which he hath carefully nourished as his own.  
By your favour (added this Stranger which was with this Lady) tell us on what Sea, and in what place this Child was found in a Cradle? It was nigh Syracuse, (repled I) if my memory deceive me not: At these words these two persons looked one upon another, showing many marks of astonishment and joy on their countenances, and demanded of me if I did not know from whence Clelia had those stones which adorned her? so that telling them the same shipwreck which had taken a Son from Clelius, and which had given him Aronces, had likewise given him these stones.  
We need not doubt (said this Lady somewhat low to him which was with her) but Aronces is the same we imagine him to be: What! (said I to her transported with joy,) do you know the birth of Aronces I pray (added I looking upon them both) if it is so, tell it the dearest of his friends: for as I cannot doubt that he should not be worthy of his great heart, I make no difficulty to demand it of you: That which you demand (replied this Stranger) is of so great consequence, that Aronces ought first to be acquainted with it, but lest we should commit an indiscreet action, I entreat you to tell us all you know how he was saved?  
And as I had often heard Clelius tell it, I told him the day of this shipwreck, the place where it happened, and I described to him the Cradle in which Aronces was found, for Clelius had showed it me, when we found him in the Pirates Vessel, I told him likewise that a Casket full of stones than came into his power, and in fine, all I knew of this adventure, giving many praises to Aronces, which evidencing to him that I effectually was his particular friend, obliged him to speak more freely before me, ah Martia! (said he to this Lady, who as you know is his Wife) I do not doubt but Aronces is the child we lost, for the day of his shipwreck agrees with that when we thought we should perish, the place where it happened is the same, the Cradle in which Aronces was found is like it, the stones we see Clelia have are those we had in our power, but that which clears all suspicion is, that Aronces is the very Picture of the Father of that Child we lost, so that we must necessarily conclude he must be his Son.  
I confess Madam, the discourse of that man (who is the same Nicius now in this Castle) much perplexed me: for in the beginning when he spoke to Martia, and told her that Aronces was assuredly the Child they had lost, I believed he was their Son, but when he said he was his Father's Image, that belief soon vanished, when I perceived he did not resemble him which spoke; so that dying with desire to be satisfied in that I would know, I pressed Nicius and Martia to tell me who Aronces was? but they answered 'twas first to him they must disclose this secret, and they earnestly prayed me to bring him to the sight of them, and without deferring the time any longer, I knew the place where they lodged, and I promised them to bring Aronces thither before the day was passed.  
And I presently went to Clelius his house to rejoin myself with that fair company I had left; for 'tis the custom at Rome that the day that one celebrates for their birth, there is prepared a feast to entertain those friends which are invited to accompany them at this Ceremony, so that finding the Tables covered and the company ready to sit down, I at first believed that I ought to attend the end of this repast, before I told to Aronces that I knew, but this great secret seems to me so difficult to keep, that I could not resolve myself thereto, and drawing Aronces handsomely apart, Can you believe, (said I to him) that Clelia's Birthday is that which is destined for the discovery of yours, and before night you shall know who you are? No Celeres, said he to me, I do not believe it, for by what strange adventure can I know it? As I saw he gave no credit to my words, I spoke to him more seriously, and in few words recounted to him that which had happened to me, so that dispelling that doubt, I saw in his face different motions, at first I saw joy, a little after I noted inquietude and fear, and a moment after impatience to know that he feared to learn, nevertheless the greatness of his Spirit reassuring him, and that which I told him of those stones, giving him some certainty that he must be of illustrious birth, he remitted himself so well, that as he would not now depart without causing some disorder, he resolved to expect the end of this repast to content his curiosity, and in effect it was executed as he had resolved, for as soon as the Tables were uncovered we stole from the company, and went to find Nicius and Martia, who expected us with an impatience, which could not be equalled but by that of Aronces, he stayed two or three times going to find them, for though he believed he should not fear any thing which might trouble him, the love for Clelia made him fear, that his Parentage would not be worthy of her: but in the end, being arrived to the Lodging where Nicius and Martia were, they met us with the greatest demonstration of joy in the world, for the more they looked upon Aronces the more they saw him resemble the King Porsenna, but that which redoubled their satisfaction was, that when he began to speak they found he had the sound of his voice so like to the Queen Galerita his Mother, that they could not doubt but he was the same Child: which was committed to their charge, whom they had lost by a shipwreck. In the mean time, Aronces no sooner saw them, but he thus said to them, after what my dear friend hath told, I know not what I ought to say to you, knowing not who I am, neither do I know whether I ought to wish to know it; Nevertheless as the incertainty in which I have lived is the cruelest torment imaginable, tell me I entreat you who I am, though you tell me my heart soars higher than my birth, and do not fear if it please you to reveal this secret in the presence of him to whom you have spoken of me, for all my secrets are his, and you cannot tell me any thing in particular which reflects on me, but I shall tell it him a little after: Since 'tis so, said Nicius, I have two favours to demand of you before I tell you any thing, the first that you permit me to look upon your left hand, the second that I will show those two knots of Diamonds to Martia, we have seen that beautiful Virgin wear, which is the cause of your discovery, since if she had not been adorned with those Jewels, to give us the curiosity to look more attentively on this Ceremony, we had not, it may be, seen you: for in fine, if you are he I wish you are, you have on your left hand a little black mole, like to one we believe to be on your Mother's face, and which becomes her admirable well: and if those stones we saw are those we imagine, there is two Portraits in the two knots of Diamonds, that I pray you to show my wife. For the mole whereof you speak, (replied Aronces showing him his hand) you may see it's such as you tell me it should be, but for the two knots of Diamonds you would have me show you, I have sometimes handled them, and I did not perceive they opened, neither that they had Portraits enclosed in them: If they are those we think, replied Martia, you may handle them an hundred times before you can perceive they open. But in fine, added she, that which I say is not so necessary to know, and after I have precisely known the day of your shipwreck, and what manner of Cradle in which you were found, and after I had seen you and heard you speak, and have found in your hand the mole which ought to be there, and seen the Jewels of Clelia, there is no question to be made but you are the Son of the King Porsenna, and the Queen Galerita, and him which hath put Nicius and I to the expense of so many tears: Yes Sir, added Nicius, you are assuredly the Son of a great Prince and Princess, and would to the Gods you were more happy than they.  
Aronces hearing Nicius and Martia speak in this manner, was so surprised at it that his astonishment appeared in his eyes, but it appeared there without causing any transportment of excessive joy in his heart and I may very well say that never any person gave such an illustrious mark of moderation. In effect, the first motion which came into his spirit, was, to give me a new demonstration of his friendship: For 'tis true, as soon as Nicius and Martia had related to him his birth, he beheld me with an obliging eye, in which there appeared without the confirmation of any words, that he was glad to see himself in estate to requite my affection by effectual courtesies. In the mean time, he learned to Nicius and Martia all that I had already told them, and they learned to him all that I have recounted to you in the beginning of this History; that is to say, the War of the precedent King of Clusium with Mezentius Prince of Perusia, the imprisonment of Porsenna, his love for Galerita, by what means he had been delivered, his marriage, the death of Nicetale, the second imprisonment of Porsenna and Galerita, his birth, the manner how he had been conveyed from the Willow Island to put him in their hands, their flight, their embarquement, their Shipwreck, and the resolution they had taken to go to Syracuse, and not to declare to Porsenna's friends, that the child was trusted to them, had perished, not because they did not positively know he was dead, but because they durst not tell it, for fear it should abate the hearts of the friends of Porsenna and Galerita, but though, is it possible, said I then to Nicius and Martia, that the child of Porsenna and Galerita hath not appeared so long; and how could it be concealed so many years, that they did not know where he was? The thing hath been very easy, replied Nicius, for you must know that having a year very carefully concealed the loss of this young Prince, the friends of Porsenna making a secret League, resolved that they must have this Child in their hands to endeavour to excite an insurrection among the people, so that one amongst them knowing where we were, came thither, and as we must necessarily confess our shipwreck to him, end as 'tis natural to flatter ourselves with hope, and to diminish as much as we could the misfortunes of others, we told to this friend of Porsenna, that this Child would be one day, it may be found, and that there had so many escaped shipwreck, that it may be this child should be escaped as well as the others; whether it should be so or no, replied he, to whom we spoke, we must not publish his death, if it were not for no other reason, than not to give joy to the enemies of Porsenna, and grief to his friends, and conforming ourselves to his will, published it not, and since that, have always said that Porsenna's Son was not dead, and to endeavour to excite the people to Rebellion, we spread a bruit that Mezentius had taken him from us by force, and that he kept him prisoner as well as his Father.  
In the mean time, as we durst not return into our Country, because of the Perusian Prince, we always remained at Syracuse; but as Martia had a long and grievous sickness, from which she hardly recovered, we agreed to leave Sicily for some time, and to choose a more healthful Air, and finding no place more agreeable than Capua, we came hither, and we came hither without doubt conducted by the gods, for to find you here, since that in the state in which things are, your presence is wholly necessary to save the life of the King your Father, for Mezentius is more incensed then ever; Bianor hath always love and ambition, the Princess of Perusia his Sister, doth all she can that he may obtain his ends, and Mezentius despairing to have other Children than Galerita, seems resolved to put to death Porsenna; to the end to enforce this Princess to remarry with Bianor, for though she is your Mother, she hath not completed above thirty six years, and is yet as I have heard, one of the fairest persons in the World; You may judge Madam, with what attention Aronces harkened to the discourse of Nicius, and how many different thoughts possessed his heart, for he was glad to know he was a King's Son, he was afflicted to learn in what a deplorable estate the Prince was to whom he owed his Life, the certainty of not being a Roman gave him some inquietude, because of Clelius, the thought that he could not espouse Clelia without doing something contrary to exact prudence, gave him displeasure, and his soul was strangely agitated, but at last got the Victory. In the mean time, as there lacked the showing of the two knots of Diamonds, to finish the discovery of Porsenna's Son, though it was not necessary; Aronces after he had said a thousand obliging things to Nicius and Martia, and after he had recounted to them the obligations he had to Clelius, and a part of that which was happened to him, except his love for Clelia, he left them to return to Clelius his house; but returning thither we met Herminius, who came from thence, and who told us that it was accounted a very strange thing we should so suddenly leave them, adding that a part of the company was already gone: In effect, when we entered Clelia's house, there was but four or five of her friends with her, who walked together in her Father's Garden, for we went so timely to the lodging of Nicius, that it was not so late when we came from thence, but we might walk without any incommodity, so that Clelia no sooner saw Aronces, but she made war to him for leaving her when she celebrated her Birthday. If you knew what obliged me to do it, (replied he to her) I am assured you will not murmur against me; it may be (replied she to him) and shall not accuse you of it, but you cannot hinder me from complaining of you: that which you say is so glorious for me (replied he) that if I should have gained nothing by leaving you, I ought to be consolated for leaving you: But in fine, Madam, (said he to her, separating her five or six paces from the company) I must tell you that which hath obliged me to leave you, and that you know I have not done it, but to cease to be that unknown Aronces, without Name and Country, who hath sometimes been so cruelly treated by Clelius for that reason. What Aronces! (replied she blushing) do you know your Birth? Yes Madam, (said he to her) I know it with some joy; though I am not a Roman, because that as Son to the greatest King of all Etruria, I can pretend with more boldness to the possession of the perfectest person in the World: permit me then I conjure you, that now I know myself to be the Son of the King of Clusium, whom Mezentius detains Prisoner, I offer a second time to you my heart, and that I assure you when I shall be peaceable possessor of an Estate, that my Grandfather hath nigh entirely usurped, I'll lay my Crown at your feet, and without leaving those chains you have given me, I will boldly publish, it would be more glorious to be your Slave then to be King o'er many Realms, and because I see, added he, that which I tell you aught to surprise you, and that I perceive you are surprised: I shall not tell the whole narration of my story, but leave it to Celeres to acquaint you with it, whilst I shall go to seek Clelius, to the end, to learn him my adventure, and to conjure him to suffer those knots of Diamonds you wear to be seen by those who have learned me my birth, and likewise to entreat him to prefer me before Horatius.  
Clelia was so surprised to hear that which Aronces said, that she knew not what to answer him, 'tis not that she suspected the truth of it; but the thing was so surprising, that she could not imagine it to be possible, though she did not doubt of it: she therefore answered him as a person infinitely prudent, for without affording him so much time as to think she doubted of what he said, she gave him cause to make known all the particulars of his adventure; and Aronces going to seek Clelius, who was in his house; I remained in this Garden, and whilst the friends of Clelia, either entertained themselves together, or with Sulpicia who then came thither, I told her in few words all that Nicius and Martia had told Aronces, and I gave her a most sensible joy, to know that her Lover was of such an Illustrious birth, I saw in her eyes that she feared this greatness would be an obstacle to her felicity, but she did not tell it me. In the mean time Aronces went where Clelius was, and telling him he had an important business to communicate to him, he entered into his Cabinet, where he told him all he knew, but he told it him with the same respect, he accustomed to have when he knew not his birth, and Clelius having consented to his desire, I returned to find Nicius and Martia, from whose mouths the Father of Clelia learned all they had told us; and to confirm that which they said, those two knots of Diamonds being showed him, they demanded to see, they opened them, and in one there was a Portrait of a very beautiful person; and in the other a Portrait of a very handsome Man, who so much resembled Aronces, that one could hardly think but this Picture was made for him, and Nicius seeing our astonishment, told us that the Portrait which resembled Aronces, was the King his Father's, and that the Picture of that fair Woman was the Queen his Mothers, and that those Portraicts were made a little after Porsenna's first Imprisonment, and since his marriage they remained in the hands of Galerita, and that this Princess having desired to gain all her Jewels to her Son, and thought not in the trouble where she was then, to take those two Portraicts from those two knots of Diamonds, which were made with such Artifice, that one would not perceive they opened, at least not to know the secret to open them: and Clelius seeing all these circumstances concur together, could not harbour any sinister thoughts of the truth of what Nicius and Martia had declared unto him, it appearing by so many indubitable conjectures, so that Clelius now looking on Aronces as the Son of a great King, would have used more civility towards him then ordinary, but Aronces opposed it, and told him with much generosity, that his birth should not change those obligations he had to him, neither should it change his heart, nor any thing between them; In pursuit of which Nicius and Martia said, that 'twas not yet time to publish the birth of Aronces, and that this great secret must be concealed some time, but the principal business was to think of saving the King his Father's life, and to hinder Mezentius, as I have told you, from forcing his Daughter to marry Bianor, adding that it was necessary they should speedily go to advertise the friends of Porsenna and Galerita, that the Prince their Son was living, and that he should a little after follow them, to the end, to advertise with you what is best to be done. Nicius exaggerated with so much eloquence, the danger in which the King of Clusium was, that Clelius joined himself to him, to persuade Aronces to come speedily to Perusia. In the mean time, as he had a passion in his Soul, which would not agree with this Voyage, though he had resolved to take it, and said he would, it was easy to see that he had something in his heart which contradicted his words: But in fine, Madam, without tiring your attention with any trivial relations; I shall tell you Sulpicia was admitted to this secret, and Clelius and she forced Nicius and Martia to leave their lodging, and to lodge in their house, where they stayed but two days, for they had so much impatience to carry this agreeable news they knew to the friends of Porsenna and Galerita, that they would not defer it longer; but before they went they told Aronces the place where he might hear of them when he came to Perusia, I shall not tell you, Madam, what were the discourses of Aronces and Clelia those two days, for it's easy to imagine they contained much delight; but when Nicius and Martia were departed, and that Aronces saw both Honour and Nature would have him go: he felt in his heart an inexpressible emotion, and he told me in fine, after a long agitation of spirit, that if Clelius would not give him Clelia, he would not go till he had forced Horatius from Capua, as well as he, 'tis not, said he to me, but I know that I do not follow the direct course of reason, by thinking to espouse Clelia now I know I am Son to a Prince, to whom I owe so much respect as not to marry without his permission; but Celeres, it is Aronces which is amorous of Clelia, it is Aronces which ardently wishes her possession, it is Aronces which cannot suffer his Rival to enjoy her, and it is not the Son of the King of Clusium who hath this diversity of thoughts. In effect, I shall not pass for such, but when I shall have saved his life, and if this beatitude happens to me, it will be easy for him to seal my pardon, for having a passion in my Soul which is unknown to him, and to have loved more than all the rest of the World, the most amiable person of the earth.  
I must likewise see if Clelius is in the resolution to leave Clelia the liberty to dispose of herself; for if he is so, I dare hope she will prefer me before Horatius, and that I shall not go to Perusia, till after I have rendered my Rival unhappy; but Madam, whilst Aronces thus reasoned, Horatius who saw a great change in his fortune, since Clelius owed his Life to Aronces, went to find that Illustrious Roman, for to demand of him if he would change the hope he had given him, to give him Clelia for an effective fruition; but as Horatius hath a heart sensible and fierce, and that he was nigh assured he demanded a thing he should not obtain; spoke to Clelius in a manner which incensed him, and seeing the difference there was between the proceedings of Aronces and Horatius, it was the cause that he answered less favourably to the last.  
I know well, said Clelius to him, after this Lover had alleged all the reasons he could imagine, that I have given you hope to obtain my Daughter, but I likewise know, ●●ever promised you her, and that the least I can do after the last obligation, I have to your Rival, is no more to force Clelia to espouse you, and to leave her the liberty to choose between Aronces and you, and not to be unjust towards her by being favourable to you: I thought, fiercely replied Horatius, that though 'tis long since you resided at Rome, that you had not forgot that the Romans never used to give their Daughters to their slaves, and that Aronces might never pretend to Clelia with your consent. Ah Horatius interrupted Clelius, Aronces is not a slave, and you and I should have yet been the Pirates slaves, if he had not delivered us by his valour. You are now more acknowledging, replied he coldly; you are now more ingrateful, replied Clelius, and I cannot comprehend what obliges you so ill to requite the obligations you have to me, for so ill treating Aronces for the love of you; you treat him so well now, replied he, that I should think my thanks ill bestowed, if I should thank you in a time when you think to render him happy, and me miserable, but Clelius, fortune, it may be, will revenge me on your Injustice, and you will one of these days know that you have given Clelia to the Son of some Roman Enemy, and it may be likewise to some miserable stranger, without Birth and Virtue: yet once more Horatius, replied Clelius, speak not of Aronces as you do, if you will not have me tell you, you degenerate from a Roman.  
I should too much, Madam, trespass on your patience, if I should relate to you all the discourse of these two Men, and it suffices that you know they separated ill satisfied one with another: and this conversation made Clelius resolve not to give his Daughter to Horatius, though he should not give her to Aronces, as in effect, he did not believe Aronces ought now to espouse her, though he spoke to Horatius as if he believed it; but he soon changed those thoughts: for after that Aronces had had conference with Sulpicia, and that some passionate expressions had passed between him and Clelia, he went to find Clelius, to conjure him to give him his Daughter, and to let him espouse her before his departure, but he spoke to him in the presence of his Wife; at first Clelius told him that he had too far extended his generosity, and though he had resolved to give him Clelia when he last saved his life, he believed to be obliged, now he knew him to be a King's Son, not to give her to him; 'tis not, said he, but Clelia is of an Illustrious blood, sufficient to enter in alliance with all the Princes in the World, but since you have a Father, I ought not to give you my Daughter without his consent; you must then let me kill Horatius, replied Aronces with precipitation, for I declare to you I cannot depart without doing that, if you give her not to me, therefore if you will not let me die my hands in the blood of a Man which hath been my friend before he was my Rival, and let me renounce all sentences of Nature and Honour, give me Clelia I earnestly entreat you, for if you do it not, I shall be criminal towards all the World. I shall be unworthy of my birth, and that goodness you have had, and have yet for me, Horatius shall have reason to hate me, and Clelia even shall have, it may be, cause to despise me; commiserate therefore an unhappy Lover, who feels Virtue will forsake him if you do not satisfy his love, and think after that as Nicius hath recounted to you of the life of the King my Father, and since he believed not to have done an unworthy action by engaging himself to espouse Galerita, when he was the Prince of Perusia's Prisoner, who was the King of Clusium's Enemy: think I say, that if I am so happy as to deliver him, he will not easily pardon me, for having espoused a Virgin which possessed my heart before I knew I was his Son.  
In fine, without deferring any longer, to tell you the good hap of Aronces, Clelius who had his spirit irritated against Horatius, resolved to render him happy: 'tis true, that Sulpicia who had an extreme joy to see things in this estate, was she which finished them, for she handsomely told Clelius, that if Aronces espoused their Daughter, it would be the means to see himself one day in power to give a redoubtable injury to Tarquin, so that this puissant reason for the interest of revenge, having fortified all those of Aronces, he consented he should espouse Clelia before his departure: but to the end it should be privately done, he was resolved that the Nuptials should be kept at an house of pleasure I had nigh the River Vulturnus, about half a days journey from Capua, and as 'twas necessary for Aronces speedily to depart, and that Clelius was glad that this Marriage should be made before Horatius knew of it, he was resolved it should be solemnised but with a small number of persons, and this Voyage should be pretexted with a simple design to enjoy the pleasures of the Country; and in effect, there was at this little feast but three or four of Clelia's friends, and Herminius and two others who knew of it, and who were invited to the Nuptials.  
I shall not stay myself, Madam, to tell you the satisfaction of Aronces, nor to recount unto you in what terms he expressed it, for it would be needless, but I shall only tell you, that this little Troop whom joy conducted, went where these Nuptials were to be kept, they were no sooner there, but the River Vulturnus over-flowed its banks, as you have known without doubt, and made such a strange disorder, that they must necessarily stay till this inundation was passed before they could make a Feast. After this, Madam, I shall not exaggerate to you the terriblest adventure in the World, by recounting exactly how the morning after this inundation was passed (which was the day which should have preceded the Nuptials of Aronces and Clelia) there was a terrible Earthquake, for you are not ignorant of the effects of it, since 'twas known further than Sicily, and by consequence further than Perusia, but shall only acquaint you, that this terrible day where the winds, flames, and burning stones, made such an horrible disorder; during this Earthquake, was an unhappy day for Aronces, since he was separated from Clelia by a whirlwind of scorching flames, just as he perceived his Rival, that a little before he believed to have been at Capua.  
But in fine, Madam, to conclude his mishap, Fortune cast Clelia in the Arms of his Rival, he not knowing who had brought Horatius in that place, or how Clelia came into his power, and all that which I know is, that Aronces saw her no more, but when this great disorder was passed, he believed that she was dead, that he returned to Capua with those which escaped so great a danger, and I did not so much afflict myself for the loss of my house, as for the grief of my friend whom I followed to Capua, where he soon knew that Horatius was not there, and that Stenius had received a Letter from him, and in pursuit he went to find him to endeavour to discover if he knew nothing of Clelia, that he refused to tell him, that Aronces forced him to fight, that he vanquished him, that he took from him the Letter he had received from Horatius, by which he knew he had Clelia in his hands, and that he carried her to Perusia; so that seeing his Love, his Honour, and Nature commanded him to go thither, he resolved with Clelius that he would depart, which he did, for Herminius as he had some affairs which induced him to leave Italy; Aronces and I gave him Letters for Amilcar, and I would not desert my friend, but leave Fenice, of whom I was not too much satisfied, and of whom I was but a little amorous.  
But after that, Madam, imagine what was the grief of Aronces, when he saw upon the Lake Clelia in a Bark which Horatius defended, and what was his astonishment to see in the other the Prince of Numidia, whom he did not believe to be his Rival; imagine, I say, his grief to see he could not go to assault Clelia's Ravisher, and succour him which assailed him; imagine the deplorable Estate wherein he was, when he knew by a Slave, that they would assassinate the Prince of Perusia, whose death would have delivered the King his Father, and the Queen his Mother: and in fine, imagine the miserable condition in which he now is; for Madam, Aronces knows not where Clelia is, he knows she is in the power of his Rival, and he hath found one in the person of his dearest friends.  
The life of Porsenna is in danger; Galerita is still a Prisoner; Mezentius saith, she shall never depart from Prison if she will not remarry: there is danger to hazard to make Aronces known to the Prince of Perusia for Porsenna's Son, he is at present incapable to act because of his wounds; Sextilia always favours her Brother Bianor: Tiberinus who is now Mezentius his Favourite, hath more than one Interest to induce him to desire the loss of Porsenna, and to oppose the discovery of Aronces, and though he hath saved the Perusian Prince's life, his without doubt would be in great danger, if he was known to be Porsenna's Son, and what ought he to hope if he is not so? Madam, Aronces is every way unhappy for Honour, Nature, and Love assault him with most rigorous thoughts, when that fortune mingles itself to make continual combats in the heart of a Lover; therefore I dare hope, Madam, that being sensible of the mishaps of so generous a Prince, you'll render to him all the Offices which are in your power.  
Doubt not of it (replied the Princes of the Leontines seeing Celeres had finished his Narration) for I am so touched with his misfortunes that I shall forget nothing that lies in my power, to testify to him that I have a true compassion, therefore I conjure you to pray him to inform what I shall do or say, for though I have an inveterate hatred against Tiberinus, I will constrain my thoughts in this occasion, and endeavour to put him in his interest, though as things are it will be a difficult enterprise; you have so much address and so many charms, replied Aurelia, that we must despair of nothing; you are so generous, added Sycanius, that we ought to expect from you all things in such an encounter.  
In truth, replied she, I merit no great praise to be capable to have compassion for another's misfortunes: for you so sympathise in mine, and have thereby brought me so much consolation, that I should be armed with cruelty, if I should but seem to refuse mine to an Illustrious unhappy person.  
After that, Celeres seeing it was late, rose up and went to Aronces, with whom he found Nicius and Martia, who assured him the next day, the principal friends of Porsenna would come to the Castle where he was, to the end to consult what was expedient to be done in such an important conjecture.   
The End of the First Book of the First Part.   

CLELIA. The First Part. BOOK. II.  
LOve being the most predominant Passion in the heart of Aronces, it prompted him to be a most assiduous visitor of Clelia, and finding her interest to be the only square of all his actions, it may very well be said, That she was the only object of his mind, and that his thoughts ran wholly upon her, and nothing else besides. The Prince of Numidia as well as he, was wholly taken up with thinking upon the most admired Clelia, and he did most passionately wish for a sight of Aronces, that he might cheer up himself a little with some amorous discourses. As for the Princess of the Leontines, she had so many various discourses with herself, that had she not been of an infinite generosity, she would not have spared so much time as she did to think upon the miseries of Aronces, Celeres for his particular, his heart being not then infested with any violent passion, and being composed more of friendship than Love, his whole thoughts were how to cheer up the wretched Aronces, so as complying with Silanus, Aurelia, Nicius and Martia, whose minds ran all upon the same business, all of them were wholly busied in discanting upon the present condition and state of the matter.  
But at last the expected friends of Porsenna being arrived, Sicanus presented them unto Aronces, as soon as Nicius and Martia had informed themselves in all such circumstances as made it evident that he was really the Son of Porsenna; so as then seriously considering the State of the business and falling into council about it, there grew a very great contest amongst them; some thought that the sooner the better, if Aronces were made known unto Mezentius, considering the services which he had done him: But Sycanus was of a contrary judgement, and said, that if they did so, they should too much put Aronces in danger: and that to go prudently to work they ought to tarry until the Prince of Perusia had some affection to him, grounded upon his merit; and also that it was requisite to keep close, they not being in a capacity to oppose Mezentius, in case he should prove unjust.  
Others of the Company, arguing after another method, advised that Aronces should go into Clusium, there make himself known; add after he had there secured himself, then to send unto Mezentius, and let him know he was there, and demand of him the life and liberty of the King his Father. Aronces no sooner heard this advice, but he did utterly disgust it, because he conceived that by this way he should stand too much upon his own safety, and too much hazard the safety of Porsenna. Also being persuaded that Clelia was within the Dominions of the Perusian Prince, he had no genius to be far from thence: So as after a very serious consultation upon the matter, the result of their arguing was, that as soon as Aronces was recovered, he should go unto Perusia; that he should Court all occasions to win upon the affections of Mezentius and all his Court; that in the interim, he should make sure of all Porsenna's friends, and prepare them to unite themselves and take up Arms if need were: that they should hold intelligence with some in Clusium. That the Princess of the Leontines should use all her endeavours to engage Tiberinus in the service of Aronces upon all occasions that should present themselves: And in order thereunto she should be entreated to quit her melancholy way of life, and go into Perusia as soon as Aronces was in a capacity of going thither.  
After the Session of this private consultation, all these friends unto Porsenna separated themselves, and each one in particular went about the execution of these resolutions, excpet Nicius and Martia, who skulked in the house of Sicanus until a fit time of showing themselves useful in the service of Aronces. In the interim, this Prince was strangely perplexed that no tidings could be heard of Clelia; and the more, because the Prince of Numidia was also concerned in it: But in spite of all these fretting inquietudes, which in probability might have retarded his recovery, yet recover he did, and that sooner than could be hoped. The Prince of Numidia also began to mend upon his first dressing, so as Celeres now seeing nothing which could hinder these two Rivals from seeing her, he began to be exceedingly perplexed; for he knew that the Prince of Numidia was ignorant that Aronces loved Clelia; and his heart longed to impart himself unto his friend: On the other side, he was sure that Aronces knowing how Adherbal and he adored one and the same Saint, Aronces would no longer continue a lover of Adherbal: He did apprehend some danger in acquainting the Prince of Numida with the truth of this matter, and in trusting the secrets of one Rival unto another: Also he conceived that this confidence would be to no purpose, and that when Adherbal should know both the quality and affection of Aronces, it would not at all alter the thoughts of Clelia: therefore the advice which he gave unto Aronces was, to dissemble his thoughts from that Prince: For truly (said Celeres to him) what will it concern you, though Adherbal do love Clelia, as long as he cannot come to the sight of her, nor so much as know where she is? Let him therefore be puling and telling you of his love to her: And to set him packing further off from you, give me leave to infuse some false intelligence unto him concerning Clelia, to the end he may be wand'ring in quest of her; and you be thereby rid of that vexation which his presence causeth you. How's this Celeres (said he to me) can you think I am able to endure Adherbal should ever come and tell me that he loves Clelia? That he will do so for ever; and that he intends to seek her all the world over; that he will pull her out of the Arms of Horatius, and never yield her unto any? Would you have me Celeres, suffer you to part from me with false intelligence, and perhaps send him nearer unto Clelia; for since you know not where she is, how can you tell but that you may direct him the way to find her. No, no, Celeres, (added he) I have other thoughts than these; and though sometimes I would be contented withal my heart, never again to see the Prince of Numidia's face since he is my Rival; yet I would never have him out of my sight, until I know where Clelia is. In the mean time, it goes against my soul to dissemble with him, I neither know how I should speak to him, nor whether it be expedient to let him know my thoughts; therefore if you will, let us leave the matter at hazard; for when I do see him perhaps I shall not then be able to speak what I now think I am able to do.  
Truth is Madam, some two days after this discourse, though the Prince of Numidia was much weaker and unable than Aronces, yet he gave him a visit at his Chamber; and he came in such a nick of time that he found Aronces alone, for I was then gone with the Princess of the Leontines and Aurelia. You may easily imagine how Aronces was surprised; yet for all that he received him very civilly, but did not answer the caresses of the Numidian Prince with his usual freeness; he began to thank him for the pains he had taken in coming to see him, but Adherbal obligingly interrupting him: No, no, (said he unto him) my dear Aronces, you need not thank me for what I have done: but if you saw into my heart perhaps you would complain against me, for this visit is not a visit of bare friendship, since my love unto Clelia hath a share in my affection to you, and I come as well to make you the confident of my Passion, as of my sorrow for so much sadness in your looks, both the last time you came to visit me and now. Sir, (replied Aronces faintly) I am so far unfit to be the confident of your Love, that if you will be ruled by me, you shall never make choice of me for it. And yet replied Adherbal, you are furnished with all the qualities requisite in a most agreeable and faithful friend, for you slow in wit, ingenuity, and spirit, you have a most tender soul, you know Clelia as well as I do, you are her friend, and doubtless yet you love me, for since absence hath not diminished the least spark of my affection to you, I will judge of you by myself, and believe that your affection answers mine: That I may trust you with the whole secrets of my soul, and discover all my infirmities unto you. 'Tis true Sir, (replied Aronces) that indeed I have a tender heart, and do know Clelia; but alas, (added he, out of his excess of love, sincerity and jealousy) it is not so true that I am her friend.  
How, replied Adherbal, what alteration is this? How is it possible you should ever hate that most transcendent person? Nay, nay, mistake me not, (replied he) for I do love her in the same degree you do: Now judge whether or no I am fit to be your confident, and whether I could possibly give you a more heroic testimony of my friendship than this, in acquainting you with my love of Clelia. Oh Aronces, (cried out the Prince of Numidia) it is a most cruel testimony, for truly since I see that you do love Clelia, I need not ask any further why I am not loved myself. Upon this Adherbal was silent, and so a while continued; in the mean while Aronces was something pleased in thinking that his Rival did not now look upon him as the confident of his love; so as growing a little bolder, I know not Sir (said he unto him) whether you may accuse me for being the cause why Clelia doth not answer your affection, but I am very certain that I myself am not in the Catalogue of the happy, nor in all likelihood shall be a long time. Yet I conceived that being acquainted with your generosity, it was a piece of my duty to tell you ingeniously, that I have loved Clelia, ever since I was at Carthage. That I did love her at Capua, and that having hah the happiness to do Clelius some considerable services, he freely bestowed Clelia upon me, and I was upon the very point of marriage, when a most horrid Earthquake did make a separation between us. Thus, and with reason looking upon her as my own, since Clelius and Sulpicia gave her unto me, and since never contradicted their wills, I conceived it fit to acquaint you with the state of the business, and that to dissemble with you, did derogate from the maxims of true generosity.  
How Aronces! (said Adherbal then unto him) hath Clelius and Sulpicia both made a promise of Clelia unto you? and hath Clelia given herself unto you? Yes Sir (replied he) and that is it which renders me the more miserable. But Sir you know that you are no Roman, replied Adherbal, and when she was at Carthage, Clelius then would not bestow her upon any but a Roman, but talked as if he would give her unto an ordinary Citizen of Rome, before the greatest King upon Earth. 'Twas so indeed, replied Aronces, when we were at Carthage, but it is as true, that though I am no Roman, yet I had been a most happy man had fortune been pleased. Since you have thus far informed me Sir, replied Adherbal, I know very well how I ought to answer, but to tell you truly Aronces, I doubt I cannot; I am so grieved to meet with a Rival in the person of my friend, and to hear I ought not in reason pretend any more unto Clelia, that I dare not answer for my own thoughts. And I am so little master of myself, (added he in rising up) that lest I should vent something in my transport of grief, that might make me repent it all my days, I will take my leave of you not knowing what I shall think when we meet next. Sir, replied Aronces, your virtue makes me ashamed, and I will use all the virtue that I have, to be both your Rival and your Friend: My design is the same, replied the Prince of Numidia, but I cannot say that I am able to execute it, nor do know whether I am able to be both at once, the most miserable and the most generous man. Upon this Adherbal retired, he himself not knowing his own thoughts of Aronces, for his soul was so sadded to hear that he could not pretend any more unto Clelia, as he was not the master of his own mind. Aronces himself could not choose but grieve that he had such a brave man to his Rival: But Horatius being then the most legitimate object of his hatred, and finding no likelihood that the Prince of Numidia could ever prejudice him, his virtue surmounted all motions of any aversion towards that Prince, and overcoming himself, he went to visit him the next morning betimes. The Prince of Numidia emulating the generosity of his Rival, and unwilling to yield unto him in point of generosity, he gave him a most civil reception, and such high discourses passed between them, as made them admire each other, though their hearts did beat such a pulse as secretly moved rather to hatred than love of each other. After this, these two Rivals did meet at the Princess of the Leontines Chamber and at Aurelia's, but they met not without many standers by.  
The truth is, they continued not long in a power of seeing each other, for both being perfectly recovered together, they were forced to sever; for Aronces was constrained to go unto Perusia, and transact about the preservation of the King his Father's life: And the Prince of Numidia seeing no rational hope for himself, resolved to wander up and down the world, and not to be any longer in quest of Clelia, since now he had no pretence unto her: and the principal reason of this his resolve was, because he would try whether change of place would work a change of mind, and whether he could recover that tranquillity which he had lost. But finding it a piece of difficulty to take a handsome farewell of his Rival, he opened his heart unto Celeres, who being very desirous that two such great Princes should part fair without a quarrel, he did approve of his intention in departing without visiting Aronces, who being ready to go unto Perusia was mightily perplexed: For not knowing where Clelia was, he could have willingly wished, that though the sight of a Rival was a mote in his eye, yet he would have had the Prince of Numidia there as well as himself. But that wish was in vain: For Adherbal went that same night to take his leave of Sicanus and Aurelia, and giving them thanks for all favours received from them, he gave order that all his equipage should be ready by break of day; but before he went he left two Letters with order to be delivered unto Celeres, one for Clelia the other for himself, which contained these lines.  
Adherbal unto Celeres.  
FOr all you are an intimate friend unto my Rival, yet I have seen you so passionately grieved at my misery, that I will desire a favour from you. 'Tis true, it is a favour of a strange nature, since I heartily wish that you may not be able to do it; for I conjure you to keep this enclosed Letter, for the most admirable Clelia, but that it may not be a breach of that fidelity which you owe unto my Rival, I do not desire you to deliver it unto her, until she hath made my Rival most happy. This being all I ask of you, I dare hope that you will not deny me this office, since I do not desire it may be done me until fortune hath put me into a capacity of meriting the compassion of my Rival. I hint not a syllable to you of him; for what can that man say of him, who hath found in the person of Aronces, all that can possibly move the highest friendship, and the highest hatred? Adien. Pity me, since you may safely do it without offence note my Rival and your Friend; and believe that you could never pity a person who doth more merit it than myself.  
When Celeres had received and read this Letter, he was much surprised, and the more because that directed unto Clelia was sealed; however since he was not desired to deliver it until Aronces, was first happy, he did not scruple at the doing of this Office for the Rival of his Friend. But as he was ruminating upon this adventure, Aronces comes suddenly into the Chamber, and sees Adherbals Letter unto Clelia, upon the Table; this sight much amazing him, he asked Celeres in all haste whether he knew where she was, and how it came about that the Prince of Numidia directed this Letter unto him, for he kn●w his hand. Celeres perceiving the agitation of his Spirits, and Adherbal not having obliged him to conceal it from Aronces, he showed him the Letter of his unfortunate Lover, and acquainted him with his departure, for till then he knew not of it. Aronces recollecting himself by degrees as he read this Letter; Alas, alas, Celeres, (said he unto him after he had read it) I am afraid that you must never deliver my Rival's Letter unto Clelia, since you must not deliver it until she hath made me happy: No sooner had he said so, but a fresh gust of apprehension rousing his thoughts, he lamented the absence of Adherbal, in a thought that perhaps he might come to find out Clelia. Yet notwithstanding Celeres so convinced him, that he was persuaded the absence of Adherbal would be advantageous unto him. For truly Sir, (said he unto him amongst many other reasons) there is not a more intolerable torment under the Sun, than to have a Rival whom virtue compels one to love, and whom love compels one to hate, to be perpetually in ones eye. 'Tis right Celeres (said he unto him) but this is not the first time that such a passion as mine, hath hurried a man into unreasonable thoughts.  
Whilst this Prince was thus talking, he held in his hand his Rival's Letter unto his Mistress, and looked upon it as if his looks would have broke open the Seal: after restoring it hastily unto Celeres, take it Celeres (said he) and keep it, lest a spark of jealousy should force me to open it: And that my fidelity may be the more manifest, I will be faithful unto an unfortunate Lover and Rival, let my desire of seeing what he hath written unto Clelia be never so great: So Celeres took the Letter and told his friend, that had he offered to have opened it, he would have given a stop to his curiosity. After which Sicanus being come, and telling them that the Princess of the Leontines prepared herself to go next morning unto Perusia, and transact in the service of Aronces, they went both together unto her Chamber, where Celeres related all passages; showing them the Prince of Numidia's Letter, and applauded the power which Aronces had over himself, in not opening that Letter which his Rival writ unto Clelia, though he had a most strong desire unto it. Were it possible to esteem Aronces more than I do (replied the Princess of the Leontines) doubtless I should, for I do think no quality under Heaven more laudable than fidelity is; especially when it is preserved in such cases, wherein it is easy to be otherwise, or where good excuses may be had, or examples to authorise infidelity. How many men are there in the World, who never use to make the least scruple of opening all the Letters which come unto their hands? who invent devices how to open and then shut them again unperceivedly? and who have such a general curiosity to be prying into all manner of Letters, that no Seal escapes them: As the Princess of the Leontines was saying so, Aurelia entered, and no sooner entered but Sicanus addressed himself unto the Princess of the Leontines; Madam (said he unto her) if you desire to be informed further of their curiosity who love to be opening Letters, I beseech you entreat Aurelia to tell you; for she is acquainted with a fair Lady, whom you Madam also know, that put such tricks upon her; and therefore since she is better able to inform you then I am, I will leave it unto her to tell you all the passages of it.  
So Sicanus having Letters to write unto Perusia, he went out, and left Aurelia to supply his place who did become it excellently well; for she apprehending at first the business, did smilingly ask the Princess of the Leontines, whether it was concerning the opening of any Letters; for if it be (added she) none in the World can give a better account of such a matter then myself, unless I have forgotten; though for my part I have renounced ever making use of any such ways, as heretofore have brought upon me abundance of delight, and as much sorrow.  
The Question (replied the Princess of the Leontines) is not concerning the opening of any Letter, but whether we ought absolutely to condemn or excuse such Men as are so inquisitive as to open them; such as make a mock at those who are so scrupulously faithful, as not to open the Letters of their very enemies, although they were persuaded they contained some concernments of themselves. Madam, replied Aurelia, I am able to give you all those fond and false reasons, which are alleged by those who are inquisitive, for a friend of mine hath instructed me in the Art: Aurelia had no sooner said so, but the Lady of whom she spoke entered; for she living within three miles of the Thrasimenian Lake, towards the Isle of Saules, she used often to visit Aurelia; also she had seen the Princess of the Leontines two or three times. Yet this Princess never before knew of her humour in opening Letters; because no occasion concerning it did present itself; but as soon as she was entered, Aurelia knowing her humour, and also knowing that she affected raillery, and that she did not think she did ill in opening all the Letters which came under her hands, she told her that she came in a very good time to help her out in the maintenance of a good cause: For truly (said she unto her) as I was boasting of my skill in opening and shutting of Letters, they would needs persuade me that I put myself unto a great deal of trouble▪ which could hardly ever procure me any great delight; and besides, they would make me believe, that such an act was neither just nor generous.  
For matter of justice and generosity (replied this Lady whose name was Statilia) perhaps it will prove a little difficult to prove that it is; but for matter of pleasure (added she) I will maintain that there is nothing fuller of delight then to make one's self Mistress of another's secrets unperceivedly, and never be beholding to them for it: and I am persuaded, that there is always some kind of pleasure in knowing that which others know not, and which they do not know, that others know it, be the thing of what nature it will.  
For my particular (said the Princess of the Leontines) I am not of your opinion, for there are a thousand sorts of secrets, which never move the least curiosity in me. For my part, added Aronces, my mind is not at all inquisitive after such things, as in which I have no interest, and as I should not think well any should dive too far into my heart, so I will never offer to dive into the hearts of others; and I am so far from opening their Letters (said he and smiled) that I think if their hearts were in my hands, I should not screw any thing out of them; always excepting the heart of my Mistress, and the hearts of my Rivals. For my part (replied Statilia) I should not use the matter so: and since it is more easy to open Letters then hearts, and since sometimes opening the one, the other is discovered, I will never omit any opportunity of satisfying my curiosity; but that I may never be taxed with any malicious curiosity, I assure you, that though I have opened almost all the Letters which ever came unto my hands, yet I never raised any mischief between the parties, or set them at variance. But I beseech you tell me (said then the Princess of the Leontines) to what purpose is it that you are so desirous to open Letters, since you make no use of the contents? To do so once out of an humour of gallantry, I confess some small delight may be taken in it; but to make a matter of care and continual practice for nothing, I must confess, that I cannot understand it: First, this must be an infallible position, that of a hundred Letters which you open, there is not one wherein you have any concernment nor wherein you can take any pleasure in seeing, for those who have a mind to speak of you, will not trust the mention of you in their Letters; such as hold any intrignes of gallantry will not commit them to such hands as come within your walk; Domestic business never diverts; general news can be no subject for your curiosity, since that is known to you as well as them that write; common compliments cannot be any pleasure to you, and for Letters of wit, they will be showed unto you without your opening them; so as I must conclude, that you commit a very unjust Act for a very poor pittance of pleasure. And I am persuaded, that nothing in the world ought to be more inviolable than the fidelity of Letters; so as though I had in my hands a Letter which came from one of my professed enemies, directed unto a person whom I neither loved, nor he loved me, yet I would let it pass without an opening. Indeed the facility in committing this kind of crime, is an argument to me, that it ought never to be committed, and that nothing ought to be more inviolable than Letters.  
For my part (said Statilia) I may conceive it may be with this, as with Theft in Sparta, where they punish only those who steal illfavouredly, and are taken in the Act. So as I must conclude, that when one hath the art of handsome opening them, so as it shall never be perceived; and that when one knows how to conceal the contents of the Letter opened, it can be no great crime to open them. This were reason enough to keep you from it, replied Aronces, that oftentimes you put yourself to abundance of trouble about the opening of a Letter, wherein you find nothing, when as you might employ your time and pain much better. If that consideration would have corrected her (replied Aurelia) she had been long since corrected: For such an Adventure happened unto her one day, which I shall relate unto you, if she will give me leave. I consent (said Statilia) provided you will give me leave to relate some Adventures which have passed, and which have accustomed me to open Letters. This condition is so just (said Celeres) as I believe Aurelia will not be against it. I shall not be against any thing, answered Aurelia, which may excuse Statilia. But since it is my turn to speak first, (pursued she, and addressed herself to the Princess of the Leontines) be pleased to know Madam, that there was in Perusia some four or five years, a Lady and a Widow, whose beauty was in competition with Statilia's, this is sufficient to make you think there was no great love between them. I must tell you in general terms, that both of them had beauty enough to divide between themselves, all the hearts that were in a most gallant Court. They were perpetually making usurpations upon one another, and could never keep within the limits of their own Empires. I beseech you (said Statilia and interrupted her) come to the business of Letters, if you will have me let you go on with your story. I shall come to it presently (replied Aurelia, and turned towards the Princess of the Leontines) that Statilia passionately desiring to know the secret thoughts of her pretended Rivalless, received a Letter which was not directed unto her, but was amongst many others which were directed unto her. As soon as she saw the Superscription, she knew it to be the hand of that Lady whom she loved not; and she saw written upon it, the name of a Man who was deeply in love with Statilia, and whose fidelity she suspected; for of late he was less assiduous in his visits to her then ordinary, but more unto the other Lady. So that musing upon the matter, and considering all circumstances, she believed him to be in love with this Lady; she concluded it upon a hundred consequences, which she believed to be infallible, as upon conjectures which she thought to be unquestionable. I coming into the Chamber, she acquainted me with the Adventure, and with her resolution of opening the Letter; but, said she, I must use all my art in the opening of it, for I would by no means have the two interested persons to know that I have seen it; but on the contrary, it being delivered without any suspicion of me, I may carry it so as she who did write it shall think her new Lover hath revealed all unto me, and as for him to whom it is directed, I will endeavour to make him believe, that I know of it by some other of this Lady's Lovers. Therefore it is requisite, I use extraordinary care in the opening of it, that it may be done and not perceived.  
At the last Statilia after two hours muse upon it, and after two hours more spent in experiments upon other Letters, to try which way was the best, she opened this Letter which procured her so much anger and curiosity. And that you may the better apprehend her awonishment, I must acquaint you, that this Lady who writ this Letter had a very pleasant house in the Country: In this house, there was a Man who had an excellent faculty in certain curious works. This Man by an odd piece of Fortune was called by the very same name of him that was in love with Statilia, though their qualities were much different: So as in lieu of finding matters of Courtship and gallantry, as she expected in this Letter, she found several orders relating unto the Gardens and works of this Lady; in some places she desired he would have a special care to plant rows of Orange-Trees, in another place she desired might be a Fountain circled about with a Palizado of Myrtles, and many other things which were absolutely impertinent unto the imagination of Statilia. However, she never went about to undeceive herself, but still would needs have it, that this was a Letter of some private correspondency, which had in it some amphibious sense; for as you know, since the famous Sibyl who came unto Tarquin at Rome, and writ a book of Verses called Acrostics, which by taking the first letter of every Line makes up perfect sense on the side, many after her made use of this invention. Statilia was above an hour in turning and winding the words and lines of this Letter every way, in hopes to find some sense fitting to her fancy; but as she was thus busying ourselves, the Slave who brought it unto her amongst many others, came to ask for it, and to tell her that it was directed unto a certain Man who had the oversight of such a Lady's works. Upon a more strict examination and consideration of the business, Statilia perceived that all her discants and conceits upon this Letter were upon false surmises; that she had taken a great deal of pains to no purpose, and that she was not a jot the wiser in that thing which she most desired to know. Yes, replied Statilia, I drew thus much advantage out of my curiosity, that I knew there was nothing in the Letter worth the knowing, for had I let it pass without a sight, I should have believed all my life long, that this Lady had written a Letter of gallantry, and that this pretended gallant was perfidious. But Madam, added she, the better to acquaint you, how I came unto this humour of opening of Letters, be pleased to know, that the first person I ever loved, was the most cunning wench that ever was, and after a hundred testimonies of my affection to her, I took a journey into the Country for eight days, where we were almost continually together at an Aunt's house of hers, who was my Cousin. In this solitude we were never asunder, and as in friendship nothing is so sweet, as to be talking unto each other upon what we think of all our acquaintance, so did we, she being naturally ingenious, and loving me very tenderly. I did truly tell her my opinion of every one she named me, not withholding my most secret thoughts from her. At last, I was to return unto Perusia, and leave her in the Country; she sent above twenty several Letters by me, she showed me many of them before the sealing, and I did not suspect that there was any of the rest which she showed not unto me that any ways concerned me, for she carried it so cunningly, that I believed she would have showed me all if I desired. So as taking into my charge these Letters, as soon as I came into Perusia, I thought of delivering them according to directions: But as chance would have it, one of them was unsealed, and I must confess I could not seal it before I read it; it chanced to be one of those which she had not showed unto me, and it was directed unto a Man, who at that time did not hate me, and was her Cousin. I having spoke much good of him unto her, I found that she acquainted him in her Letter with all I had spoke in his advantage, and gave him the greatest hopes in the World: I blushing for anger, and finding what I expected not, I resolved to open all the rest which I had not seen; and truly I did not repent it, though she moved me to be extremely angry. For I found in one of them (which was directed unto a Woman who was owner of as many bad, as good qualities) that she had imparted unto her, a great part of what I had said of her: I found in another of them a notable piece of Raillery, which she had put upon me. And to be short, I discovered, that she was the most crafty Wench upon earth, and the least worthy of my friendship. In the heat of my anger, I sent her back all her Letters open; and I made a solemn vow most religiously to be observed, that I would open every Letter which came under my hands, which I did not see before sealing, because I would never expose myself unto any such disasters, as then by good fortune I prevented: Ever since my curiosity hath been so well satisfied, that I knew not how to repent of it.  
I perceive, replied the Princess, you have found out an invention not to be deceived yourself, but is it not worse to be upbraided with deceiving of others, than it is to upbraid others with deceiving you? Having had experience of both (replied Statilia and laughed) I can assure you, Madam, that in these matters it is much better to deceive others, then to be deceived by them. Truth is (added she) that if I could charge myself with any wicked action, I should be ashamed; but I cannot think the opening of a Letter to be a crime so heinous. For if there be no matter of consequence in it, than I do no harm unto any: If there be any matter of mirth in it which relates not to myself: I can laugh at it in a corner; and if there be any injurious matter which reflects upon myself, I have injured them only, who would have injured me: So as I must conclude, that of all the sins which one can commit, this I speak of is the least, the most easy to be acted, and the most pleasant. You cannot persuade me with all the wit you have (replied the Princess of the Leontines) but that the opening of Letters is a most dangerous habit; it is so much against the maxims of justice and generosity, that I dare maintain it is a violation of all manner of rights, and that it is a less folly to rob another, to usurp Kingdoms, and to be revenged upon one's enemies by sword, or poison, then to blemish one's fidelity by such things as those. For by robbing one may enrich himself; by usurping a Kingdom, one may satisfy his ambition, and by revenge upon enemies one may gust the sweets of it; but there is neither pleasure nor profit gotten by opening of Letters, at the least not by one in a hundred. Yet experience makes it manifest that it is the crime of many, and the custom of it so easily gotten, as I cannot tell how Aurelia could break herself of it. Alas Madam, replied Aurelia, I was easily broken of it, for I think never was any one more severely punished than I was for my curiosity: But I am very much obliged unto that charitable Friend who was my punisher and correcter. Oh I beseech you (replied the Princess of the Leontines) tell us how you came to leave off that trick which Statilia taught you. Since you command it Madam (replied Aurelia) you must know, that after I had learned of Statilia all her inventions of opening Letters, and had practised them five or six days together, and did nothing else: After I say, that I was grown very cunning, I made use of my skill upon several occasions; but having another friend besides Statilia, whom I loved very well, and was also loved again, I would have made her my Confident in a business of a Letter which I opened, and would have told her all. She being a person more scrupulous in such matters than Statilia, she resolved to put a trick upon me which might correct me, for a thing which she thought not just. For a whole month together I received abundance of Letters, several ways, upon several subjects, all directed unto Men of my acquaintance, wherein I still found something which vexed me; for she who caused them to be written, knowing all the secrets of my whole life, she had contrived them so cunningly, that I burned above a dozen Letters after I had opened them, not suspecting that she had any hand in them. At last I was so pitifully perplexed that not being able to continue any longer, I went to empty myself unto this charitable friend; for though I loved Statilia very well, yet at that time there were some things which I could not impart unto her. As soon as I began to complain, she unto whom I made my moan, began to mock me, and said I deserved no pity, and that those who were miserable by their own folly, deserved no compassion. Alas (replied I) my misery proceeds from what others have written; but if you would not have seen their Letters replied she) this had not been written of you. After this, she would have persuaded me, that this was a punishment for my curiosity: But I was deaf in the ear, insomuch, as she did not question, but that I would open the next Letter I met withal: And indeed, in order to her design of converting me, she did write one Letter directed unto herself, though it was really intended for me, as being to pass through my hands, thinking that I would open that Letter as soon as any's else: This Letter I received, simply believing it intended for my friend, and according to her hopes I did open it. But Madam, I was most strangely ashamed when after the opening of it, I found that in lieu of being to her, it was from her, and intended for me, and more damped when I read it: For, Madam, it contained all the arguments that could be devised against that ill quality of opening of Letters, and to make me ashamed of it: The Letter was long, and full of wit, and concluded that it was a thing never to be excused, unless it were done out of a resentment of jealousy. Therefore (said she in the end of her Letter) if you will ever go about to justify this ill quality unto me, you must accuse yourself of two things more, you must confess that you are both in love and also jealous, and the suspicion which you have of every one, makes you look for that which you would never find. Thus, Madam, was the cure of my curiosity, for from that time I made a promise unto myself, never to open any more Letters; and I was so convinced with the arguments of my generous friend, that I went and acquainted her with my resolution, she in recompense confessed, that all those Letters which had so perplexed me, were writ only to correct me: but they had not the same influence upon Statilia; for she hath opened several Letters which were directed unto me, and put herself to much trouble in making them up again: After all this, Statilia being excellent at Raillery, did very ingeniously defend herself against all the solid reasons which the Princess of the Leontines, Aronces, Aurelia, and Celeres brought against her, yet she was forced to confess, that they were in the right, and she in the wrong; but withal she protested, that she should for ever continue in the wrong, and as long as she live never be broken of it; after this, she concluded her visit and went away. And the Princess of the Leontines continuing her applauds of Aronces for his fidelity even unto his Rival, they began a most solid league of friendship. Indeed this Princess according to her promise went into Perusia, Aurelia went also: But as for Sicanus, he stayed with Nicius and Martia to give all directions concerning Aronces, when the time did require. In the mean time Aronces finding himself in a fit condition to go, and seeing the interest of the King his Father, his own, and of his love, required that he should go as soon as possible he could to Mezentius, he went two days after the Princess of the Leontines departed from the Isle of Saul's, and he was entertained with so much honour, that Mezentius lodged him in his own Palace, and would have every one look upon him as a Man unto whom he owed his life: So that as it is the custom of all Courts, Aronces had not only the favourable aspect of the Prince, but of every one besides. Bianor and Tiberinus also did him all imaginable honours: And as Aronces was infinitely amiable, so it was an easy matter for him to get love. The heart of Mezentius was so much moved, as he spoke it openly, a few days after he came to Perusia, that though he had not been a Debtor to him for his Life, yet he should have most tenderly loved him, and think him worthy of his highest favour. These advantageous words being reported unto Tiberinus, he began to be jealous of this growing Favourite, so as to give him a handsome remove, he told Mezentius that it was a shame for him to keep a stranger so long in his Court, and that it were good to pack him away with some magnificent Present, to the end he might go about his business. But Mezentius being of an apprehensive wit, knew well enough the jealous thoughts of Tiberinus, and without giving any direct answer, told him that e'er long he would do what did become him. Mean time, the Princess of the Leontines, out of her zealous and generous devotion to serve Aronces, did force herself to look upon Tiborinus a little better than ordinary, and endeavoured to make him love Aronces, she did still preserve very carefully that amity which she had gotten amongst all the Grandees of that Court: And scarce a day passed without some secret conference with her, from the friends of Porsenna and Galerita, Sicanus and others who negotiated for Aronces, did continually communicate unto him what each of them in particular had done. But the greatest affliction upon Aronces was, that he could not hear a word of Clelia, though by order from Mezentius a strict Inquisition was made for her throughout all his Dominions. So as since he could not then depart from Perusia, considering the condition where in the King his Father was, nor knowing where to seek her, he resolved to stay until he could better dispose of himself, and in the interim to send secretly unto the Towns which were then Enemies unto Rome; for he conceived that Horatius who was upon ill terms with Tarquin, could not seek a safer retreat than amongst his enemies. So as in order to this design, he sent unto all such places where there was any hopes to hear something of her. After which, he did wholly devote himself to save the life of Porsenna. For Mezentius desiring a Successor, and to marry his Daughter, he having no Children, did accuse Porsenna that he went about to murder him, and did charge him indeed with some shows of probability. Indeed the Man who would have killed him, and whom Aronces killed, was a Friend of the Prisoner King, and if his virtues had not been apparent unto all the World, it might have been thought, that desire of liberty might have prompted him to consent unto such an unworthy action. So as Mezentius having some colour to accuse him of such a crime, he made it be prosecuted, and they proceeded against him as a Delinquent. Aronces then being in great favour and familiarity with Mezentius, he talked one day with him concerning this accusation, and told him that he believed it had no good foundation, and beseeched him to take a business of that great importance into his serious consideration. How Aronces said Mezentius unto him, did you give death to him, who would by order from Porsenna have taken away my life, and would you now save his life, and who would have been my death? Sir, replied Aronces, I desire to keep you from doing a thing which afterward you may repent of, when it is too late: And if an unfortunate Stranger, to whom you have given leave to utter his mind, may be still permitted to speak, I would ingeniously confess that I think there is nothing of greater consideration, then for a Sovereign Prince to be very cautious how he meddles with those of his own quality; for if he put them into the Rank of other men, then doth he lose his own privileges, and makes himself capable to suffer that which he inflicts upon others. Therefore Sir, I beseech you be not too hasty in proceeding against Porsenna, but make a difference betwixt a great King and a common Subject. Your language, replied Mezentius, is indeed both prudent and generous, but the life of Porsenna is so great an obstacle unto all my designs, that since fortune hath given me a just cause to ruin him, I ought to do it, unless I be the most imprudent man upon earth. I do know very well, Sir, replied Aronces, that Porsenna is accused; but I cannot tell whether there be any proofs against him: 'Tis true you were assaulted by a man who was tied unto his interest; but Sir, you have kept him under such strict guards, as it is not credible he should ever have a hand in such a horrid act: And therefore Sir be careful, least in seeking for a pretence to ruin the innocent, you become guilty yourself, and lest you should provoke the just gods to revenge his death: Sir I beseech you pardon the boldness of my language, for I take so great an interest in all that concerns you, as I hope that my zeal will plead my excuse: I thank you, replied Mezentius, and my love is so tender towards you, that you may speak any thing; but for this love to you, you are more obliged unto me than you imagine; for you have so great a resemblance of a Man, whom of all the World I most hate, as I wonder you can be deep in my affection. However, I must tell you, that I do not wonder you should speak as you do, for you are young, you know not the several interests of my state, nor the secret reasons which I have to ruin Porsenna: Therefore being neither angry, nor persuaded by any thing you have said, let me tell you, that if I do not ruin Porsenna, he will ruin me; and in the choice of these two, I had better ruin than be ruined. Aronces had further replied, if Tiberinus had not come in; who seeing them in such private conference, grew extremely jealous; for he knew by the countenance of Mezentius, that the discourse was very serious, and concerned something of great importance. So as discontent appearing in his eyes, Mezentius perceived it and was angry; and to punish Tiberinus for taking it ill he should talk with Aronces, he spoke not a word unto him, but continued talking with that Prince; insomuch as Tiberinus being extremely nettled, he went out abruptly, & went unto the Princess of the Leontines. Mean time, Mezentius talked no more of Porsenna unto Aronces; but pressed him to tell who and from whence he was. You know (said he unto him) that I have often asked you, and could never get a direct answer from you. 'Tis very true Sir, replied Aronces, and I beseech you let me be silent still; for truly Sir, I have several reasons to conceal myself; and all I can say at this time is, that as soon as I can I will let you know it. Your answer doth a little stagger me, replied Mezentius, for it makes me think you were one of those Children who were left in the Street, exposed to the Will of Fate, and ignorant of your extraction. No, Sir, replied Aronces, I am none of those, I know my Progenitors are noble; but I know withal that I ought not to discover it, until some matters be over, which perpaps will be very shortly. As Aronces was saying so Bianor entered, who came to tell Mezentius, that he had met with many circumstances which made it conjecturable, that Porsenna was knowing to the design of him who would have assassinated him. But whilst these passages were at the Palace of Mezentius, Tiberinus was with the Princess of the Leontines, inveighing against the new favourite Aronces: It is desired Madam (said he unto her after many other matters) I shall ere long be as much out of my Master's favour as out of my Mistresses, and considering the fresh favours of Aronces, I shall be as unfortunate in my ambition as in my Love. That I may remove half of your misfortunes (replied the Princess very wisely) I pray follow my counsel. Your language Madam, had been more obliging, replied Tiberinus, if you had said, I command you. Which you will (said she) if your case were mine in lieu of crossing the growing favours upon Aronces, I would comply with him and his interests, and persuade him that he was a debtor unto me for the good fortune he enjoys; and in order hereunto I will take upon me to make this union betwixt you; for I cannot conceive that you can continue long in favour, unless there be some who is in favour with Mezentius about his pleasures, whilst you are about his great affairs: You know this Prince as old as he is, hath all the inclinations of a young man: So as whilst you are transacting in State affairs, the other may be the companion of his diversions: make choice of Aronces for it, he is young, he is a stranger, he is not in a capacity to move factions in the Court, nor any way hurt you; and in all likelihood will be contented with a pleasant life, and enjoy the sweets of his favours in that kind. But I beseech you Madam, replied Tiberinus, how can you tell whether Aronces will not supplant me in the place which I enjoy, if once he enter into the heart of Mezentius: If you be in power to supplant him (replied the Princess) then do it; but take heed lest in going about to ruin him you ruin yourself. But on the other side by taking that course which I propose, you run no hazard, for by not crossing the favours of Aronces, but complying with his interest, Mezentius finding no stop to his inclinations, will of himself leave off those things which now divert him; but say he should not, however you have thereby obliged Aronces; and it is not probable that he who seems to be of a most notable generosity, will ever dishonour himself by any public ingratitude, and therefore the best expedient is as I advise principally, because he may not be looked upon as a new Favourite, but rather his favours may be looked upon as an effect of yours. The Princess of the Leontines also used many other arguments unto Tiberinus; so as none being fitter to persuade than a Mistress, Tiberinus thought all her reasons to be very good, and he thought himself so happy that she would interest herself in his fortune, as he told her that he did absolutely put himself into her hands, and that she might tell Aronces what she pleased; So as Aronces coming in, to lose no time, she resolved to unite them before they parted; but to do it the more handsomely, and the better to deceive Tiberinus, she no sooner saw Aronces; but she began discourse: You come very happily Sir, said she unto him, to thank Tiberinus for those favours for which you are obliged unto him: For truly Aronces to be plain with you, you are a debtor unto him for all those favours which you receive from Mezentius: Truth is, that Prince intended to have packed you away with a Princely Present, the next morning you came hither, for those who have seen Porsenna at your age, do say that you do extremely resemble him: And Mezentius could hardly have endured the sight of you, if Tiberinus had not stopped his aversion, which he carefully hides from you, by reason of his obligations to you; which aversion he had never overcome without Tiberinus: I thought it to be expedient that you were acquainted with the state of things, to the end you might apply yourself unto the fortunes of him unto whom you are obliged, and so make your own the more secure. Aronces knowing the meaning of the Princess, did answer her as handsomely as she spoke. Insomuch as Tiberinus suiting with the intentions of that Princess, did contract a league so great, as he discovered unto Aronces all the ways that would most work upon the spirit of Mezentins. But that which was most remarkable in this business was, that to testify the confidence in Aronces, and the more to engage him in his interests, he told him that above all it was most expedient to hasten the ruin of Porsenna. For truly (said he) as long as that Prince is living, the life of Mezentius is not secure: Aronces durst not at the first openly contradict Tiberinus, lest he should render himself suspected: So as this conference ended with reciprocal protestations, never to prejudice each other unto Mezentius: And indeed, they did negotiate together as men who stood in need of each other. Tiberinus confessed unto Aronces, his love unto the Princess of the Leontines, and he perceived, that if he would be in the favour of Mezentius, he must comply with Aronces, so as he neglected nothing in order thereunto.  
This being the state of things, the people of Arezzes and Crotones made such an unexpected eruption and entered so far into the Country of him whom they took for their enemy, that Perusia was hotly alarmed: and Mezentius as stout as he was, did think of leaving the Metropolis of his Dominions, and retire himself unto an Isle of the Thrasimenian Lake, until he had mustered his forces. But Aronces, who had great favour and familiarity with him, was against it; and persuaded him that upon such occasions, it was very dangerous to fly or show any signs of Fear, so as he resolved to stay and make head against his enemies as well as he could.  
There being some Forces still on foot, by reason that he was never a quiet possessor of Clusium, he gave orders that they should be drawn into a body. The People of Perusia offered of themselves to Arm; and Aronces beseeched Mezentius for leave to go and view the enemy. And accordingly he went in the Head of Two Hundred Horse only, to see what he could discover of their true force; he behaved himself so bravely in this employment, that he defeated one party which he met, and took many Prisoners, from whom he knew the true state of things. So as returning to Mezentius after this glorious attempt, he exhorted him to meet the enemy. And accordingly, as soon as their Troops were mustered, and some Discipline used amongst the fresh Soldiers, who were listed to defend their Houses and their Wives, he went out of Perusia, followed by Tiberinus, Bianor, all the Grandees of the State, Aronces and Celeres. But what necessity soever there was of Soldiers, the Guards upon Porsenna were not lessened, such fears there was of his escape; nor were the Guards upon Galerita diminished. But to be short, Mezentius marched towards those, who struck a terror all before them; and who were Masters of the Field, and who carried themselves as in a Country which they intended to ruin, the better to subject it. Aronces, knowing that it concerned him to signalise himself upon this occasion, and that Tiberinus was not sorry in his heart that he would expose himself, it was an easy request to obtain the most dangerous command. And indeed, it was he who commanded a small Party of choice men, designed for the Forlorn Hope, unto all the dangers and perils of the Army: Celeres was the faithful Companion of his Adventures in War, as well as in his Adventures of Love. Aronces did acquit himself so heroickly in this desperate employment, that as it may be said he saved the life of Mezentius many a time; for by his diligence he came to understand the state of his Enemies, and he hindered the Enemy from having any knowledge of that Prince's Condition; for as soon as any party appeared, he assaulted and repulsed them, and he was the Actor of so many glorious exploits in this rencontre, that if they were all related severally, they would seem incredible.  
At last, after several days of only facing each other, and both sides declining Fight, they were both equally forced to give Battle; which though it was not fought by such formidable Armies, as the very sight of them strikes terror, yet it was more terrible than if these two Armies had been more numerous: For when a Battle is fought betwixt four or five hundred thousand men, commonly a great part of them are only Spectators of the Fight, and the Victory is oftentimes gotten more by a panic fear or a tumultuous rout, which huge multitudes are subject unto, where order is hard to be kept; than by any true actions of valour, or conduct of the Captains. On the other side, when two small bodies fight there are none idle, all are in equal danger, death is in every Rank; all bestir themselves, all sight, and every particular Soldier is the Carver out of his own glory, since chance of War here is not to be expected, nor is the victory to be gotten by the capricious humour of Fortune, but by true valour and prudent Conduct. But if ever great actions were done in a short time, and between a few Troops it was at this time; when Mezentius was ready to perish, if the valour and good Fortune of Aronces had not rescued him. These two little Armies were no sooner in sight of each other, but without so much delay as to seek advantages, the Fight began, and that with such animosity and fury, as useth to be amongst such as are desperate. At the first, the right wing of Mezentius was broken, and Bianor who commanded it was killed: But Aronces whose Body upon that occasion, was joined unto that which Bianor commanded, he having taken his place, he made Fortune wheel about, and rallying the broken Troops, he routed them who broke them. On the other side, Mezentius being astonished to see that Bianor had made so poor resistance, he cooled the courage of his men, by his wonder at it: So as the enemy making use of this favourable opportunity, they charged through the Battle where he was: Insomuch that things were in a very bad condition, when Aronces observing what passed, left Celeres to keep things in the condition he had brought them: He went then to help Mezentius, carrying only two hundred Horses with him, and infusing fresh spirits into the Soldiers, by a thousand actions of Valour which they had seen him perform, he came to the place where Mezentius was, but he came just as that Prince, whom he found forsaken of his men, and environed with enemies, was ready to render himself and be their Prisoner. But Aronces assaulted his Enemies with such vigour, as the vanquishers became vanquished, and were forced to let go their Prisoner of that great importance. And as if Fortune was resolved that Aronces should have all the glory of the day. As soon as he had settled the Battle, he perceived that the Wing which Tiburinus commanded had need of help: So as without more delay, he hasted to the place where necessity invited him, he altered the face of things, and got a most perfect victory. For indeed the enemy losing their hearts, after they had lost their advantages, he broke them all; and did so absolutely defeat them, that those who died not at this bloody skirmish, threw down their Arms, and implored the mercy of the Conquerors. It was most observable, that though Aronces commanded only a little Body, yet he commanded the whole Army, as soon as Bianor was dead: For his admirable Valour got him such credit in the minds of all the Soldiers and Officers, that they did both acknowledge and obey him. Mezentius, Tiberinus, and the whole Army did publish, that it was he only who won the day: Celeres did highly signalise himself that day; and by high acts rendered himself worthy of that esteem which Aronces had of him. In the mean time, the Enemy's General being dead, and no Enemy appearing, Mezentius after he had left the command of the Army, unto the Conduct of an old Commander, and taken order for the Funeral of Bianor, he conceived it best to return unto Perusia, to assure the people of Victory. And Aronces having no mind to leave him, lest he should attempt something against the life of Porsenna, he returned thither also: And he returned with such Trophies of Honour, as he was received with such acclamations, that they raised a most timely jealousy in Tiberinus, and did not over-well please Mezentius, as much as he was obliged unto Aronces, and as well as he loved him. For indeed the fright being very great in Perusia, every one looked upon him as the deliverer of the Town: Insomuch without a word of Mezentius or Tiberinus, nothing could be heard but the name of Aronces; every street was filled with multitudes of men, who pressed to behold him as if they had never seen him. Those who had seen him in one street, ran a back way to see him in another; Women with Children in their arms, did show him unto them as the man who had saved the lives of their Fathers, and preserved their Liberties; and such glorious applauds were given Aronces at his entry into Perusia, that his modesty made him blush.  
Tiberinus yet dissembled the secret sorrows; and he went unto the Princess of the Leontines, as soon as he had lodged Mezentius in his Palace, but he went with a most dejected look; thinking it a shame for him to appear before a Princess with whom he was in Love, since he could not bring with him the chief glory of the Victory. And he was no sooner there, but Aronces and Celeres came in also; so as Tiberinus striving to constrain himself, he began to commend Aronces, (who modestly interrupting him) began to commend him again, and presently after to talk of something else, ask the Princess how Sextilia received the news of Bianor's death; she received it, answered she, with much sorrow: Yet it is believed that it is not so much out of tenderness, as some resentments of ambition; for she is so confident that Mezentius will put Porsenna to death, and that Galerita will be married unto his Brother, that she may be comforted after his death. For Mezentius being old, she fears her Fortunes would not change if he should die before he put the King of Clusium to death, and before he had married the Princess his Daughter unto some of her Relations. At the last, there is one that pretends to know her thoughts, did assure Aurelia that these were hers. After this they talked of many other things; and much other Company coming in, Tiberinus could not speak a word of his Passion unto the Princess of the Leontines. But the day following, he found an opportunity whether she would or no: Yet being of an infinite ingenuity, and knowing it was not a time to treat him ill, if she intended to serve Aronces, she carried herself with such a civility towards him, as did put him into some hopes, though her words did not signify so much. In the mean time, as soon as the Victory of Aronces had put Perusia into a Calm, Mezentius began to think upon Porsenna's death, and at the same time to marry the Princess his Daughter. But since there was no thinking upon the last of these, until he had executed the first, he began to renew the execution of the business, and to draw up a charge against Porsenna, for complying with that Assassinate who would have murdered him. On the other side, all the friends unto that Prince, being advertised by Sicanus and Nicius, they began to negotiate secretly for the prevention of so great a misfortune, and to acquaint Aronces, who was then in a most miserable condition; for he could not hear any news of Clelia; and both honour and nature would not permit him to depart from Perusia, or if he should he knew not whither to go, nor where the person whom he loved was. Moreover, though he was much in the esteem of Mezentius, yet he knew that his hatred unto Porsenna was above it: And he conceived, that if ever he should acquaint him that he was his son, he would then change his mind, and hate him as much as ever he loved him. All he could do was to try if he could prolong the matter, until the friends of the King his Father, had some power to help him, when he should speak unto Mezentius, as the Son of Porsenna. In order to that, as he was one day talking unto that Prince, concerning the weighty matter he asked him, whether it were not convenient to endeavour the discovery of the truth from the mouth of the Prisoner King? For indeed Sir, (said Aronces to him) if you should upon bare conjectures put a great Prince to death, you would eternally slain your glory by it: I would advise you to send some faithful and unbiased person unto him, who in a discourse which may appear to be without design, may endeavour to find out something, which may clear him or justify him: and if you would be pleased to permit me the liberty of seeing him, I am confident to make him speak more freely than otherwise he would: For seeming to enter into his interests, and willing to serve him, he may chance trust me so far as to impart something, which will either keep you from destroying him unjustly, or make it appear you may do it justly. At the first, Mezentius did reject this proposition; and told Aronces, that Porsenna had long since deserved death: That it was sufficient he was able to Ruin him, and that he was to blame for letting him live so long.  
Do you not see that this Prince is an eternal colour for Civil War, in all the mutinies in my Dominions? Sometimes reports are spread abroad, that Porsenna hath a son living, and wand'ring up and down the World, and that he will ere long appear, sometimes again, that he was in my power, and that I kept him Prisoner, and there is nothing uninvented to draw upon me the hatred of my Subjects: And therefore to be rid of such a perpetual persecution, it were fit and expedient to destroy him, though he have no hand in the business of the Assassinate: and if he have a Son living, I wish to the Heavens, I could at one blow ruin both the Father and the Son: But to tell you truly, I am confident he hath no Son, but that he is perished, and all reports of his life are nothing, but only the fictions and devices of my enemies.  
Truth is, if this Son be dead, he is more happy than if he were living, and if he believing he shall live no longer than he is out of my power. Aronces hearing Mezentius say so, was out of his excess of generosity and boldness, in a hundred minds to tell him that he was the Son of Porsenna; for sometimes he had a fancy that Mezentius owing him for his life twice, and for a victory would not hurt him. But at last, reason telling him that he ought not to hazard a business of this importance, wherein more than he had concernment, he recalled himself and dissembled his thoughts: Also thinking, that if he should hastily discover himself, the least punishment would be imprisonment, than the interest of Clelia more than his own, restrained him from telling truth unto Mezentius: But according to his first design, which was to protract the matter, he did negotiate so well, as that Mezentius gave him leave to see Porsenna: And accordingly some two days after, Aronces went unto the place where he was guarded, with orders unto him who commanded the Castle, to let him have the liberty of discourse without any witnesses: So this Prince not known to be son unto the King of Clusium, went unto the place where this miserable King was, who knew nothing of all the Passages against him; nor what Galerita did, nor whether he had a Son or no: A place wherein he lived a most melancholy life, that his Constancy was high, and though he had a soul, that could look grim death in the face, without alteration of countenance; yet when Aronces entered into the Chamber, he was surprised; for besides his being unaccustomed to the sight of any but his guards, he found in the face of Aronces so great a resemblance of himself in his younger days, as he could not choose but be moved at it; but much more was his wonder, when Aronces telling him that he had obtained liberty from the Prince of Perusia to see him, and confer with him about some matter which concerned him, he knew the tone of his voice; for being very like that of his dear Galerita whom he did most tenderly love, in spite of so long an absence, he changed colour, and was so moved, that Aronces perceived the turbulence of his spirit.  
Porsenna could not withhold some expressions of joy to see him, though he knew him not. So as when the Man who conducted Aronces unto the Chamber, retired, he began to speak, and looking most fixedly upon him, who ever you are honest stranger (said he unto him) I am obliged to thank you; for I profess, the very sight of you hath been the first pleasure I have had since I came into this Prison, though for aught I can judge by your face, I have been longer in it than you have lived. Sir (replied Aronces) you are much in the right, in comparing the time of your imprisonment with my age and life, for having the honour to be your son, you may conceive there aught to be no difference between the length of the one and the length of the other. I see Sir, added he, that my discourse does amaze you; but if you will do me the honour to hear me out, I shall make that apparent to you, which at the first seemed incredible. Your face, your voice, and my own heart are so suitable to your words, replied Porsenna, that I am apt to believe it: Therefore speak on I beseech you, and omit not the least circumstance, which may persuade unto a belief of that which does infinitely please me, but which seems to be impossible; for if you be my son, how comes it to pass Mezentius should give you leave to see me? hath he repent of his injustice? is his reason returned? how came you to move his heart? Aronces seeing Porsenna in such a good disposition to hear him, he began to relate his birth; the manner how Flavia got him out of the Isle of Saules, where Galerita was guarded; his Ship wrack, how he was saved by Clelius; his sojourning at Carthage, and again at Capua, the rencontre of Nicius and Martia; her acknowledgements, and every circumstance concerning them two; and in general, all that was needful to make him see that certainly he was his Son, and that he was worthy to be so: For he related unto him the design which he had to come unto Mezentius to deliver him; how he had saved the life of that Prince in a Wood, near the Lake of Thrasimene, and what happened unto him since; but he told him not of his love unto Clelia: On the contrary, though he was not able to relate what had happened unto him, without naming her, yet he was as careful as he could to avoid it, thinking that if he did pronounce the name of that admirable Lady, he should discover some of his souls resentments. But after he had told Porsenna of a thousand convincing circumstances, he showed unto him a private mark which he had in one of his hands, and was so like that which Galerita had upon her face, that Porsenna seeing her in seeing Aronces, hearing the voice of his dear Galerita in hearing him, and understanding a hundred passages which were impossible to be forged, he embraced his Son with abundance of tender joy; but Aronces in lieu of joy; was extremely sad. Porsenna observing it, asked the cause? Alas, alas, Sir (said he unto him) how is it possible but I should grieve, to see that at the very same time in which I bring you joy, I must also bring you sorrow? For, Sir, Mezentius believes, that the Man whom I killed, and who would have killed him, would never have attempted it without your contrivance, and he is so extremely incensed, as he is ready to take any violent course. I myself come now unto you under the notion of your enemy; and I took upon me to visit you, under a pretence of pumping you, whether what Mezentius believes, be true or false. Since you are my Son, replied Porsenna, I will think that you believe you cannot have a Father who would wash his hands in the blood of your Grandfather; and I am so far from desiring the preservation of my life by a crime, as I charge you to attempt nothing upon the life of Mezentius, though there should be no other way to prevent my death: For after the endurement of a prison three and twenty years, with glory I am able to endure death, which is only a moment of pain. Therefore, dearest Son, I charge you not to hinder Mezentius from putting me to death, so it be by just ways; and be sure never to commit any crime to prevent him. After this Aronces gave him an account how all things stood, and of the design which Mezentius had to marry Galerita: For perceiving the great constancy of the King his Father, he did think it not fit to disguise any thing, to the end he might have his advice. So as after a full consideration of every thing, they resolved, that to gain time, Aronces should tell Mezentius, that without all question Porsenna was innocent in the business of Assassination; but withal, he was persuaded, that it was not impossible but that he might be induced unto a consent that his Marriage might be broken off, provided things were not done with too much precipitation. Aronces did not yet leave the King his Father, until he had assured him that he would sooner die, than consent he should; and until he had yielded him all possible testimonies and expressions of virtue and generosity. At his return he gave an account unto Mezentius according as it was resolved upon. But though the Prince of Perusia wished to have found Porsenna rather guilty of the Assassination than innocent, yet he durst not show as much, but only told Aronces, that though Porsenna should consent unto the breaking off the Marriage, yet he would not set him at liberty in a long time: For, said he, Prisoners of his Quality must not be dealt withal like others; they must never be set at liberty until they be brought into such a condition, as they shall not be able to take revenge. Aronces replied unto all this, according as his great soul did suggest unto him; and he did so well know how to manage the mind of Mezentius, as he promised not to be too hasty upon the death of Porsenna. But as to the Marriage of my Daughter (added he, after many other things) I will do as if Porsenna were already dead; for if he will not consent his Marriage shall be broken, he dies; and if he do consent, it is time that I think upon whom to bestow my Daughter. Indeed Mezentius was so wholly intent upon this, that he resolved to put it in execution, and to be think himself upon whom to bestow Galerita. Sextilia having a great power with him, he never used to do any thing of consequence without imparting it unto her, and therefore he asked her advice in this business. But she made ado, and did not like it; for her interest was to marry her unto one, who depended upon her, but not being beloved by the Grandees of the State, she knew not whom to prefer, and therefore desired some days of consideration upon a choice of that importance. As for Mezentius, he did cast his eye upon Tiberinus, not dreaming upon the violent love that he bore unto the Princess of the Leontines; for besides the ignorance of it, he supposed that the ambitious consideration of Reigning would be so prevalent in him, as to make him quit all other pretensions whatsoever. So as whilst Sextilia was considering, he employed a friend unto Tiberinus with orders to know his mind. Tiberinus was put to a terrible perplexity, for his heart was divided between a violent love and ambition: So as not knowing which way to take, he gave an ambiguous answer which signified nothing: But presently after his love did check him into repentance; yet for all that he was not fully reconciled in himself; for presently after he thought himself too hasty in returning an answer, that he did not consent unto the proposition; at least he thought it good to be sure of satisfaction in his love before he refused the satisfaction of his ambition. Mean time, as chance was, Aronces came to know of this proposition made unto Tiberinus, and he went unto the Princess of the Leontines, beseeching her to be so generous, as to flatter up the passion of this Lover, purposely to keep him from consenting unto this Marriage; since the Princess was very tender of Aronces, and since it concerned her to promote his happiness, and since she thought the desire of Mezentius to be very unjust, she promised Aronces all he desired: So as when Tiberinus came to tell her what Mezentius had offered him, and to beseech her she would set a value upon this sacrifice which he made unto her, he did not at all surprise her, but found her prepared the most in the World; for without any engagement of herself unto him, she gave him some ground to think, she desired that he should not marry Galerita. So as expounding what she said unto his own advantage, he thought himself to be better in the opinion of the Princess than ever he believed. At first, she told him, that she would not give him any counsel in the matter, but bade him consult with his own heart: Yet after he had vowed never to think upon this Marriage, and that he demanded nothing from her, but that she would set a value upon this refusal, as done for the love of her; then this wise Princess told him, that she esteeming him so much as she did, thought herself obliged to tell him, that this proposition which was made unto him was more dangerous than he imagined. Then she told him that it was not handsome to marry the Wife of a great and unfortunate King, who was to be forced to yield her, or die the day before the Marriage. She told him further, that the common opinion being, there was a Son of Porsenna in some part of the World, it was not likely that ever he would let him reign in quiet; but upon the first occasion the subjects of Porsenna would revolt, and perhaps deliver him up unto the Son of that King as the Murderer of his Father; and therefore she conceived it to be much better to refuse a thing which had in it nothing but a bare show of grandeur. Adding, that it would be a thing absolutely impossible ever to esteem a Man who can find a heart to marry Galerita. Tiberinus hearing the Princess of the Leontines speak thus, did believe she could not give him any greater hopes, than by counselling him to reject this proposition: So as his love flaming more violently, being blown up by these fresh hopes, he never stuck upon the matter, but vowed a thousand times that he would never reign unless he could reign and not lose her favour. The Princess of the Leontines wished to have him still keep in that mind, and therefore she seemed as if she were obliged unto him, and without any further engagements, Tiberinus took his leave of her fully resolved to refuse Galerita. He went unto the Man who was employed by Mezentius, and told him he could not accept of that honour which was offered him; telling him after all that the Princess of the Leontines had said, purposely to prevent his further thoughts of it.  
Mean while, Aronces thinking that Mezentius out of his obstinacy of will, would offer Galerita unto all the Men of Quality in the Court, he employed Aurelia and Sicanus (who were newly come to Perusia) to dissuade them all from a thing which would be extremely prejudicial to them, thought it seemed advantageous. In order thereunto, Sicanus and Aurelia told them confidently, that they were certain the Son of Porsenna was not a Prisoner unto Mezentius, as reports went, but that assuredly he would e'er long appear; adding what a shame it would be to consent unto such an unjust motion. And the business was transacted so handsomely, and with so much good fortune, that after Tiberinus had returned his refusal, Mezentius made the motion unto all that were in any capacity of marrying his Daughter but found in none of them that disposition which he desired; so as his mind being exceedingly incensed at it, he fully resolved to put Porsenna to death, and to marry his Daughter as he fancied, not doubting but then any one would with joy accept of the offer. So as consulting with Sextilia thereupon, she approved of the design, and both of them contrived how to put it in execution; and afterwards to serve their own interest: To that end, Mezentius gave order that the Princess Galerita should be brought from the Isle where she was kept, and lodged in his own Palace, yet not suffering any whosoever to see, or speak with her.  
This Order being executed, that fair and virtuous Princess, who knew nothing either of her Husband, or her Son, or the cause of her being brought out of Prison, could not imagine whether she had reason to hope, or to fear; but the wonder was, she was never fairer in all her life then now, and none would have thought she had been above five and twenty, had they not known her to be much more. When she came unto Perusia, there was such an universal murmur amongst the people, against the injustice of Mezentius, for keeping so fair and good a Princess Prisoner; That this Prince resolved to make all hast possible in the execution of his designs, for fear of some commotions. To that end, he sent secretly his orders unto the place where Porsenna was kept, and he sent for Aronces, with such express command to come presently, that he imagined some matter of importance was on foot, he was told by some of his intelligence about Mezentius, that this Prince had sent unto the place where Porsenna was guarded: So as all the friends of the Prisoner King was in a Condition to attempt something for him; and Nicius and Martia being come to Perusia, Aronces sent unto them by Celeres, all that he knew, and appointed them to assemble themselves at the Princess of the Leontines house, there to act further as occasion should require. Celeres would have dissuaded him from going unto Mezentius but he could not, for he went, and was received with demonstrations of extraordinary joy. Sextilia was then with him, who treated him with more testimonies of amity then ever before. Then Mezentius began to speak, Aronces said he, I have hitherto been loadned with obligations to you, and obligations of that high nature, as can never be sufficiently acknowledged; you have saved my life twice, you have made me victorious over my enemies, and have thereby preserved my State: For all these, I have not done any thing for you; but now, you shall receive a recompense so great, as all Italy shall talk of it. Sir (answered Aronces in a surprise) I have a Soul so little interested, as that it values not the greatest gifts which fortune can give; I set a far greater value upon some demonstrations of your esteem, than I should upon all your treasures should you bestow them upon me.  
Your expressions (replied Mezentius) do speak you so worthy of what Ssxtilia and myself intent for you, as it were unjust any longer to detain you from the sight of it. After this, Mezentius called for the Captain of his Guard, and whispering with him, he went out, and presently returning again, he brought Galerita into the Closet where they were. Galerita was no sooner there, but casting her eye upon Aronces, she changed colour, for he had such a resemblance of the King her Husband, as he was the last time she saw him, as that she thought it was Porsenna whom she saw. Yet this pleasing error lasted not long, nor hindered her from saluting the Prince her Father, with as much reverence, as if he had not been the cause of all her misfortunes. But as for Sextilia, the salutes between them were very hollow and cold. As for Aronces, as great as his wonder was at the expressions of Mezentius, yet he was most sensibly joyed to see the Queen his Mother, for he knew by the bahaviour of the Captain that brought her in, that it was she, and he knew it better by the mark which she had upon her Cheek, resembling that upon his hand. So as looking as earnestly upon her, as she upon him, one would have thought they had known one another, though it may (in a manner) be said, that they never saw each other.  
At last Mezentius began to speak, and looking upon Aronces, here generous defender of my life (said he unto him) here is the recompense which I have designed for you, in testimony of my gratitude for all the services you have done me; This Princess whom you see here is my Daughter, she shall possess my estate, and you shall possess it with her as long as the gods shall let you live; you have assured me, that your Birth is very Noble; your actions confirm me in the belief of it: I do owe you my life and estate, and I do give you no more than you have given me, in giving you my Estate, and my Daughter: And all, upon no other condition, but a promise to protect Sextilia when I am dead: For Porsenna hath consented unto a Divorce from Marriage, and there is nothing which can hinder yours now with Galerita.  
This discourse of Mezentius did so timely surprise the Queen of Clusium, and Aronces, that it was a long time before they could recover themselves out of their wonder. Aronces was so affrighted, to hear they should motion him to marry his Mother, that he could not well tell whether what he heard was real or a Dream: And Galerita did so wonder that Porsenna should consent unto a Divorce, that she knew not what to think. So as not being able to endure long in such a cruel incertainty: How Sir (said she unto Mezentius, before Aronces could answer) Doth Porsenna give his consent that I shall be no longer his Wife? Oh good Sir, if it be so, let me hear it from his own mouth; but if it should be so Sir, never expect I will ever consent unto a second Marriage: I have a Son in some part of the World who must one day be your Successor, and who perhaps will by his obedience, repair the infidelity of his Father, if it be so that he is culpable. For my particular, Sir, (said Aronces then unto Mezentius) I have such prevalent and powerful reasons not to accept of this honour which you are pleased to do me, as when you shall know them, you will say that you desire impossibilities. I perceive very well Aronces (said Mezentius unto him) that it is only out of respect and generosity you speak as you do; and that because Porsenna is yet living, therefore you will not marry Galerita. But to remove that obstacle, know that Porsenna hath already either consented unto my desires or else he is dead. Oh Sir (replied Aronces) what do I hear? are you not afraid lest the Son of this unfortunate King, should come and revenge the cruelties used upon his Father? Let him come (answered he in a rage) let him come, if he have a mind to be a sharer in the punishments, and die by the same hand that his Father did, unless he have obeyed my last orders.  
Oh Sir, (replied Aronces then) I should too long conceal the truth from you, if I did not tell you that the King of Clusium is the most innocent and the most generous Prince in the World: And to manifest it unto you, know that I have the honour to be his Son: That when I saw him by orders from you, I discovered unto him who I was, and he did more commend me for saving your life, than he should if I had saved his: Send back Sir, send and recall your Orders, unless you will be branded with the Title of unjust. Mezentius and Sextilia, hearing Aronces speak so, were strangely surprised, Galerita was astonished, and so glad both, as that she was not able to testify her wonder and satisfaction. Yet her heart told her that Aronces spoke truth, and both Mezentius and Sextilia sought the same: For the resemblance betwixt Aronces and Porsenna, and the boldness of his language did convince all doubts of it: Also it chanced that as he spoke with much action, he showed the hand which had the mark, so resemblant unto that of Galerita's Cheek, so as it was apparent Aronces told the truth. However, this acquaintance in lieu of producing a favourable effect, it did the more incense Mezentius, who not knowing what to do, nor whether the Orders to put Porsenna to death in case he refused the Divorce were already executed; he vented the most sharp and bitter expressions in the World against Galerita, and against Aronces, for all his tenderness over that Prince. Again, what satisfaction soever Galerita had in the finding of her Son, yet she durst not show any signs of joy, until she were a little better assured, and until she knew in what condition Porsenna was. Mean while, there being some of Aronces' particular friends, in the Chamber of Mezentius they heard how that Prince spoke in choler; and he who kept the door (who was also obliged unto Aronces) hearing the menaces and sharp language of Mezentius, went and acquainted the friends of Aronces with it, who went in all haste to impart it unto those who were at the house of the Princess of the Leontines; all who began to stir themselves in the behalf of that Prince, who for his part was in a most inconceivable perplexity; yet maugre all the confusion of his thoughts, he could not choose but think upon Clelia, and to fear that if Mezentius did arrest him, he should not be able to rescue her out of the hands of Horatius; moreover, he knew not whether his Father were dead or living, he saw the Queen his Mother in a pitiful condition, and he saw himself in a likelihood of perishing by the orders of his Grandfather, whose life he had twice saved.  
Mezentius for his part was not at rest, for the sight of Galerita gaulled his heart, and the remembrance of what he had made her suffer, made him ashamed, but this shame was so far from moving him to repentance, that it did the more incense him. As for Aronces he had so obliged him, and he had such inclination to him, as he would not acknowledge him for the Son of Porsenna, though his heart told him it was true. However amidst all these tumultuous thoughts, he moved Sextilia to ask Aronces, what proofs he could make of what he said? but he would not ask that question himself, lest he should seem inclinable to believe it; for whether Porsenna were alive or dead, he was resolved not to acknowledge Aronces; for said he if Porsenna be dead, I must not acknowledge such a Prince for my Successor, whose Father I have put to death; and if he be living, to acknowledge a Son of so much merit, would too much fortify his party. But whilst he was thus contemplating with himself, Sextilia coming towards Aronces and Galerita who were talking together, she asked that Prince the question which Mezentius desired her, so as Aronces whose great Soul could never be shaken by any bitter blast of Fortune, unless by the gusts of Love; did make her a concise relation of his birth; of his exile, of his shipwreck, and all the passages of his life: So as Galerita not doubting but that he was her Son, after so many particulars told unto Sextilia, she broke out into the most tender and passionate expressions in the world, mixed with much sadness, for she could not speak of him, but she must needs speak of Porsenna also. Mezentius being more and more incensed, called for the Captain of his Guards, and commanded him to carry back Galerita unto the Castle from whence he brought her, and afterwards to secure Aronces in such a place as he might be very safe: As things stood upon these terms, a great hurley burley was heard in in the Palace Court: Presently after, the noise was heard on the Stairs, and in the Antichamber; in an instant after this, the Captain of the Guard whom Mezentius had called, came into his Closet, and seeming much amazed, Sir (said he unto him) behold the King of Clusium in the Head of all the Grandees in your Estate, and followed by a huge multitude of people coming all hither. Oh ye just Gods (cried out Galerita then) must I see that illustrate and unfortunate Prince once again? She had no sooner ended her exclamation which she could not restrain, but Mezentius almost mad cried out, is Porsenna living? Oh is Porsenna escaped? Then all my Subjects have betrayed me, and my enemies come to murder me in my own house. I beseech you Sir, replied Aronces, think better upon the King my Father, I think of him by myself, (replied the Prince of Perusia most fiercely) for as I would ruin him were he in my place and I in his, so I cannot look for any thing but death, and therefore I will prepare myself for it with courage, and will go and meet him.  
Then he asked for a Sword but none would obey. Porsenna followed by a crowd of strange men of all conditions, entered: and no sooner entered, but Aronces going towards him; I hope Sir, (said he unto him) you have no intention to be revenged upon the person of Mezentius, for what Fortune hath made you suffer by him: Nay, nay, replied the Prince of Perusia, never offer to flatter me in my misery, and since my subjects have betrayed me, and since I have not a sword to die by, I am ready Sir, (said he to Porsenna) to take upon me those Fetters which I have caused you to wear, and to take my death from you as I did intend to bestow it upon you. Since I never used to sin by example, (replied the King of Clusium) I shall not do as you say: But though I am Master of your life, yet I will content myself with giving liberty unto the Queen your Daughter, which taking my son and myself out of your power; and with entering into my own Dominions, without any desire of usurping yours; I will promise you an everlasting peace betwixt us, unless you will force me unto a war. And to make it manifest that my words and my actions do agree, I do declare unto you that though all your forces be at my command, yet I will continue in the head of them only, until such time as you have restored unto me those places of mine which you hold from me; until I have carried away my Wife and my Son, and until you have given orders for all these: Then will I leave you to be Master in your own Dominions, and restore back all your Troops, without any other condition than not to punish any of those who have helped me to my liberty.  
Mezentius hearing Porsenna speak with so much Heroic generosity, was in a confusion far different from that wherein he was before, and looking upon Sextilia (who ever did feed the fuel of his hatred unto that Prince) Oh you unjust person, (said he unto her in a low voice) why did I ever follow your opinions? But afterwards perhaps higher, what is passed cannot be recalled (said he) but at the least I must admire that Generosity which I want, since the condition wherein I am is so miserable, as I am not able either to do or say any thing which can merit any glory. The truth is, (added he, and addressed his speech unto Porsenna) should I tell you my heart begins to change, out of consideration of what you have done, and out of my affection to Aronces, you would think I spoke it out of weakness; but I am naturally so resolute and firm, that I can never undo a thing of which I do not really repent. But since you are not bound to believe me; I will only tell you that I will perform more than I will promise; and that I cannot think any thing unjust which you shall do against me. At these words Galerita began to speak, and expressed herself so passionately and tenderly unto the Prince her Father, unto the King her Husband, and unto her Son, as she did almost establish a confidence between these three persous. Afterwards they caused that crowd of people who followed Porsenna to go out of the Chamber of Mezentius: Sextilia also went out into her own Chamber: Aronces he stayed, and assuming the Office of a Mediator between his Grandfather and his Father, talking one while unto one, another while unto the other, to regulate their conditions, with the sweet ingredient of Galerita's prayers, he completed the pacification between them. But whilst this Princess was talking, Celeres, who stayed in the Chamber, acquainted Aronces with the manner how Porsenna got out of prison. He told him how Nicius had quitted the Isle of Saules, and was gone disguised to acquaint all the Commanders in his name, that the Son of Porsenna would shortly appear, and that they should all prepare themselves to save the life of that King, in case Mezentius should attempt any thing against it; and that since the Troops were quartered very near the Castle where the Prince was guarded, so it happened that those who Mezentius had sent that morning to make Porsenna either consent unto the Divorce, or die if he would not, did meet with Nicius whom they knew very well, and their minds being troubled with the Order which they had received, they had some conference with him about it. Nicius aiming at nothing more than to procure Friends for Porsenna, he told them as much as he told all the rest whom he desired to gain; and he was more zealous with them, because he understood they were to go unto the Castle where Porsenna was kept. So as they, imagining what would be their destiny in ●ase they should put to death a King, whose son should one day be their Master, fears did so seize upon them that they believed Nicius; so as having made them change their minds, they made use of a Letter of Credence which they carried unto him who commanded the Castle, moving him thereby to let Porsenna come out; These two Men telling him, that Mezentius intended to have him carried unto another place. The matter seemed the more likely, because Nicius having all the Commanders of the Troop for him, there was four hundred horse at the foot of the Castle, the Commanders saying, that they had orders to conduct and guard this Prince. To be short, the things was done, and Porsenna at his coming out, the same time that Galerita was carried unto Perusia, showed himself unto the Army. And after a speech to the Commanders and Soldiers, desiring their assistance for the liberty of a Princess who one day would be their Sovereign; they all did promise him fidelity. He went first with four hundred Horse only unto the Gates of Perusia, appointing all the Army to follow, and his intention was to demand the Queen his Wife, and Aronces of Mezentius. But as he was ready to execute this intention, Sicanus met him, and telling him that all the people at the sight of Galerita were in a great disposition to rise, he changed his mind, and resolved to enter invo Perusia; and after he had sent forth fresh Orders unto the Army to make haste up, Porsenna in the head of these four hundred horse entered the Town, after that Sicanus had acquainted all the friends of Aronces, who were at the house of the Princess of the Leontines; but as he related the business unto them, they received intelligence of all the passages at the Palace against Aronces, Galerita, and him, so as changing the design, they went to meet Porsenna, whom they advised to go straight unto the Palace.  
This King from whom his Prison had not taken away his brave mind and Majesty, marching through the streets of Perusia, followed with those four hundred Horse, and all the friends of Aronces and his own, which amounted to no small number, did infinitely win upon the minds of the people; for he saluted them with all civility, and told them that he looked for nothing but the liberty of Galerita. Adding that Aronces was his Son, and that Mezentius knowing it, would have put him to death. The people were charmed with him, followed him to the Palace of Mezentius, as I told you, and would have helped him in the execution of his design. But to make it most manifest concerning the knowledge of Aronces, Flaura and her Husband desired to enter, and did so, for than it was not a time to insist upon Ceremonies. Nicius and Martia arrived also, and brought with them a Man whom Clelius scent unto Aronces, by whom he sent the same Cradle in which he was found floating upon the Sea, after Nicius had suffered shipwreck. So as there wanted nothing concerning the knowledge of Aronces, and Porsenna doing all things with unparalelled generosity. Mezentius was so moved unto repentance, that he would needs resign the government of his Dominions unto him that gave him his life: But Porsenna being both generous and prudent, he would not let Mezentius cease Reigning: But what repentance soever appeared, he would not for all that remain under the power of a Prince who had used him with such rigour: nor would he let Galerita, Aronces, nor any that had a deep hand in his liberty remain there. So that after Mezentius had sent Orders unto all those who commanded in the Towns which he had usurped, Porsenna left him, and carried with him the Queen his Wife, and the Prince his Son. 'Tis true, he did not go out of the Town as soon as ever he was out of the Palace; for such multitudes did choke up the streets, by their eager desires of seeing their Princess and Aronces, that they could not pass. Aronces told Porsenna, that he owed his liberty chiefly unto the Princess of the Leontines, and that he would never go out of Perusia before he knew whether it was her pleasure or no to go out with them: So as for all the press he got into her house, and thanked her for all her favours. Mean while Galerita, who was in the Coach, willed the people to obey Mezentius; that they should forget the rigour which had been used unto her, and keep within the compass of their duties. Whilst she was thus talking with much prudence and generosity, the Princess of the Leontines was entreating Porsenna to let her be protected in his Court, she conceiving herself not safe with Mezentius, considering how she had transacted. Also considering the love of Tiberinus to her, she could not counterfeit with him any longer, since Aronces had no need of her, and therefore she was very desirous to go out of Perusia; so as without more delay, Aronces went to acquaint the Queen of Clusium, and presently after did fetch this Princess, whom the Queen received into her Coach: Aurelia, Martia, Flavia, and the Women of the Princess of the Leontines did follow in other Coaches. All being ready, this Illustrious company went out of Perusia; Tiberinus being gone into the Country for three days, was astonished when he returned at night, and heard all this news, especially that his adored Princess was not in Town; yet she was not very far off; for Porsenna and all his Train passed away that night to a Village, where they took thought for nothing but how the Princess might pass it away with the least inconveniency that was possible; and in the morning they took the way towards Clusium, where the news of Porsenna's liberty and life of the Prince his Son was no sooner heard, but all those who opposed the party of that Legitimate King went out of it, so as the joy was universal; and when Porsenna came thither, he was received with extraordinary acclamations. Thus it may be said, that this Prince did upon a sudden pass from the lower degree of adversity unto the highest top of felicity; for he saw himself seated upon a glorious Throne, his Dominions were entirely restored unto him, he enjoyed his dearest Galerita, he found her still most rarely fair, and to sum up his felicities, he saw such a successor of his own as his own heart could wish. He offered public Sacrifices in thanks to the Gods for his good fortune: The ancient magnificence of the Clusian Kings might be seen in the Palace of Porsenna: Feasts, Revels, and Pleasures arrived, and the public tranquillity was so settled, that the Court had nothing to do but divert or be idle. The young Gallants of quality talked of nothing but delights, whilst the grave sort discoursed upon the designs of the Roman King, who was upon sitting down at the siege of Ardea, of which various reports went throughout all Italy. But whilst every one according to his genius was talking of War or Love, Aronces, the unfortunate Aronces, amidst so many apparent felicities, esteemed himself the most miserable of men; for he was never so much in love with Clelia as now, and had never less hopes. All the consolation he had was in talking of his misery unto the Princess of the Leontines and Celeres, who only knew of his affection unto this admirable Roman. He fancied, that if he could but only know where Clelia was, it would be a high comfort unto him, but he was not far from so much happiness: For one of those whom he had sent unto all the Towns of Italy, which were then Enemies to Rome, to inquire whether Horatius as the enemy of Tarquin was not retired thither, came and told him that he was at Ardea; that Clelia was there also, and that she was sick of a languishing disease. So as still he found himself in great perplexity, for all reports being that Tarquin was going to besiege Ardea, he knew not what course to take. He did not upon any terms think it convenient to acquaint the King his Father with his affection to Clelia, because as soon as ever he was set in the Throne, the King of Rome desiring to make sure of such a potent neighbour, had sent his Ambassadors unto him, to renew that ancient alliance which formerly had been between those two States: And indeed, the King of Clusium seeing that Rome was the most considerable Town of all Italy, and that there was none able to dispute against her, he was glad to accept of such an Ally, lest Mezentius should close in to his disadvantage. Thus there was a renewing of the Alliance between Porsenna and Tarquin, which made Aronces nor dare to tell the King his Father that he loved the daughter of one that was greatest enemy to the King of Rome, or that he was resolved never to marry any other; however he would not entertain the least thought of striving against his passion, but courted all possible opportunities to cherish it. If Ardea had not been besieged before he could get thither, there had been some hopes of a possibility to get Clelia out of his Rivals hands: But the Siege being begun already, he could not contrive his satisfaction any manner of way. All being secure in the Bed of Peace within the Dominions of the King his Father, the violence of his love prompted him to go out of Clusium without ever telling him, and try what he could do to procure the liberty of Clelia, and make himself happy: but the great difficulty was what he should do then; For truly (said he unto Celeres) what in any reason can I do in this unlucky conjuncture? Shall I get into Ardea, and defend my Rival by defending her? Dare I attempt to kill him in a beleaguered Town, where when I have done it I cannot get Clelia out? For it is not credible that they who have given Horatius a retreat, will ever let me be master of myself if I should kill him. Or shall I go and fight under Tarquin who would have murdered Clelius? And shall I go and help him to take a Town, which when it is taken will expose Clelia unto servitude? What, what shall I do unfortunate man that I am? And yet something I must do, and I must do it presently if I mean to have it in my choice, whether I will go into Ardea, or into the Camp of Tarquin. Celeres knowing how he loved, be had no mind of sighting, but would have persuaded him to see the success of the siege before he fixed upon any resolution. Oh sie Celeres (replied he, after he had heard all that his friend had to say) do you think I am able to be so tamely idle, as to stay in expectation of what will be the success of the siege; especially since I know that Clelia is there, and that she is sick? If you think so, you think me to be a very calm Lover; but to remove any such thoughts be assured, that though I know not whether I shall go into Ardea, or whether into the Army of Tarquin; though I know not whether I shall be Besieger or Besieged, yet one of them I will be, and therefore I will depart and that to morrow. Though it be not above two hours since I heard where Clelia and my Rival is, yet I think it to be an age; and that I should be the most unworthy of men, if I do not go immediately where my love invites me. But to let you see, my dear Celeres, how violent my passion is, let me tell you that I am a little joyed to hear that Clelia is sick of a languishing disease; for slattering myself I believe that her disease is not dangerous, and that I may look up. on it as an effect of her hatred unto Horatius, and of her affection unto Aronces. I believe I say that only melancholy is the cause, that my Rival is as ill as she; and such is the fantastical humour of my passion, I should be extremely grieved if when I see Clelia next, I should not find her somewhat less fair than the last time I had the happiness to see her. Do you think after all this, my dear Celeres, that a man whose love prompts unto such fantastical conceits, is able to stay out the success of a Siege? No, no, Celeres, my passion is not of so cold temper, and if you will continue the faithful Companion of my Fortunes, prepare yourself to depart in the Morning. Aronces then embracing him by way of thanks, consulted with him whether he should acquaint the Princess of the Leontines with his design, but fearing lest her friendship unto him should induce her to reveal this secret unto the Queen of Clusium, who loved her very well, it was resolved he should only write unto her at parting, as well as unto Porsenna and Galerita. So as busying themselves only in taking Orders for his voyage, he dispatched a messenger into Capua to be informed of all passages from Clelius and Sulpicia, and to know what was become of Clelia and Horatius; and for this he made choice of the same man whom Clelius had entrusted with such things, as might make him be known who he was. But to the end his Journey might be the more private, he took with him only two trusty slaves which he brought from Capua. Then after they had provided themselves of all necessaries for such a design, Aronces, Celeres, those two slaves and Guide, went out of Clusium just at midnight; for the King's Palace being at the Towns end, there was a Gate there; so as the two slaves being gone out in the Evening before, with such Horses as Aronces should need for the journey, he and Celeres went out at this private Gate, by suborning the Man who kept the key, and unto whom he gave such recompense as might be a sufficient reward against the anger of Porsenna.  
Thus after he had left Letters for the King his Father, for Galerita, and for the Princess of the Leontines, he went out of Clusium, in such a night as when the glittering Stars use to dissipate the horror of obscurity, so as by that gloomy light coming neither from Sun nor Moon, they might very well travel, and know the way: But Aronces had not rid above three or four Miles, before he found a great cordial in his sorrows: and how extraordinary soever the thing was which he did, yet he did it without any pain, because he did it for Clelia. And when he imagined, that perhaps the day would come when she should know what he did, and would thank him for it; he was ready to sacrifice himself and all the World unto his Love: He thought also, (so much did his passion flatter him) that Clelia did divine what he did for her; so as riding on with extraordinary speed for fear of being followed, and meeting with none upon the way, Aronces for all his fast riding, had leisure enough to contemplate upon his passion; but the end of the night drawing on, and as it is usual, growing darker than before, he was forced to ride a slower pace, until such time as the Clouds began to be guilded from the East; and bestow upon all the fields such a pleasing light, as imperceivably dissipating all obscurity, it seems to restore life unto all the beauties of Nature; since there was that morning no mists, and Aronces being upon the top of a little Mountain, when day was light enough to discern all the varieties of the Earth which offer themselves to the eye, he discovered a vast extent of Hills and Valleys, he espied a little Village, which Celeres seeing as well as he, the motion was made to rest their Horses so me few hours, that afterwards they might make the more haste from Clusium. And indeed the guide told them that if they rested not there, they could not rest in any other within twenty miles: So as Aronces as forward as his love did prick him; consented unto the proposition, and leaving the road wherein they were, he road to the left hand, to make towards this Village, which seemed as they did ride to steal out of the Passengers eye, for the further they rid the less they perceived it, by reason of several Hills which were about it. But he had not gone five or six hundred paces, before they discovered coming out of the most delectable Valley in the World, four Horsemen, and some slaves coming towards them: So as none being more cautious than a Lover who would conceal himself, Aronces asked Celeres, whether it were not better to take another way more on the right hand, and so shun those whom they saw, who had taken up their Inn at that Town where he intended to stay, and who had begun their Journey as he had ended his. For Celeres (said he) it would be very disastrous, if these Men should meet us, and go afterwards unto Clusium; there divulge which way we take, and you may well imagine that my departure makes a great noise in the Town, and when these Men hear of it, they will inform how they met two Men with two slaves and a guide. 'Tis true, said Celeres, all this may chance; but if we should turn out of the way, we shall make ourselves more suspicious unto these Men, then if we follow on our way; for since you see it is so little beaten, as if we take it, they must needs imagine that we took it only to avoid meeting with them; so as Aronces seeing some danger in his over prudence, he went on the way he took; but he had not gone a hundred paces, before he heard one of these Men sing, and sing very well. Ah Celeres (said Aronces) certainly the Man whom we shall meet is not in love; or if he be, he is much more happier than I am. But coming nearer, he saw him less, though he heard him better; for the Road turning in that place, the corner of a Hill did hide him though he was nearer; so as distinctly understanding what he did sing, he heard that the burden, or Chorus of every Verse ended thus:  

And if Delisa unfaithful be,  
Barce is so, as well as she.   
Aronces no sooner heard this Verse, but the name of Barce, and the voice of him who sung it, being not unknown to him: Oh Celeres (said he) I am extremely mistaken, if he who sings be not Amilcar; at least, I am sure he made the Song which I hear. Celeres not hearing it so well as Aronces, because he was talking to the guide, he did not believe it, and said there was no likelihood of being him. He had no sooner said so, but the way turning again, he did not only see Amilcar, but Herminius also: So both being equally surprised, and equally glad to meet, they both alighted from their Horses together; for Aronces would not then pass for the Son of a King, nor be known for any such by those strangers.  
And he was always wont to say that friendship equals all Men, be of what quality they will. So as being alighted sooner than they, and he went more of the way to meet Amilcar and Herminius, than they did in meeting him. But in requital, Amilcar spoke the first; for as Aronces did very tenderly embrace him, I am extremely glad (said he unto him with a low voice and smiled) to find still the generous Aronces in the person of a great Prince; for after I had seen Clelius at Capua, I was afraid, that I should only find you to be the Son of a great King unto whom I could only be a servant, and not find you any longer my friend. Oh my dear Amilcar (replied Aronces) you had no reason to fear that; but you speak it in such a pleasant manner, as I am very ready to pardon you, upon condition, that you always believe, I will always be Aronces unto my Friends, and will never be the Son of a King, unless to recompense them, when any occasion shall present itself. After this, he embraced Herminius with abundance of joy; and he embraced him as a Man whom he esteemed most of any Man in the World. But in embracing, is it your pleasure, Sir (said Herminius to him in a low voice) that Men shall not reverence you so much, but that they may also show their amity and friendship? I wish it, generous Herminius (replied Aronces) and shall do as long as I live; for should I not be the same unto you, that I was at the beginning, I should be unworthy to be what I am.  
After this, Amilcar and Herminius, presented unto Aronces two Illustrious Grecians who were with them, and assured him, that they were Men worthy of his esteem and friendship. These Strangers being of a haughty mind, Aronces did easily believe what his Friend did tell him: One of these Illustrious Grecians, whose name was Zenocrates, was very tall, the features of his face pleasing, and his Physiognomy so noble, as it did invite all eyes at the first sight, to judge more favourably of him than of the other Greek, whose name was Artemidorus, though though the last of these was a Prince, and very handsome. But the greatest advantage of Zenocrates was, that he had more in him than he promised, though he promised very much: And Amilcar also spoke more advantageously of him unto Aronces, than he did of Artemidorus, whilst Herminius was embracing Celeres. After all which, Aronces began to speak; by what happy adventure (said he) hath fortune brought together an Illustrious African, a generous Roman, and two worthy Grecians? And what good Fate made us meet them? For when I parted from Carthage, Amilcar was in a mind never to see Italy a second time: When I parted from Capua, Herminius was gone into Africa; and yet I meet them in a place, where I never could imagine to see them: But the worst is (said he unto them) that you go towards the place from whence I came, and that I cannot return with you, and that my Destiny doth call me on.  
Since our business to Clusium was only to see you, Sir (replied Amilcar) we will go whither you will. As for Herminius so he be not in Rome, where he dares not appear, he is willing to be where either you or I am. And as for Zenocrates, he is a Freeman of all the World except one place only, and he hath this advantage that he loves to be any where, where there is good company. 'Tis true, added he, that for Artemidorus, he cannot meet with any happiness in any place, but only one, where he cannot be: And there is some kind of magnetic thing at Rome, which makes Herminius think himself not very well any where else: But for all that, since they cannot be where they would, they had better be with you, than in any other place of the World: And therefore it is you, Sir, that must show us our way; for, as for me I am ready to face about, and for three months you may dispose of me as you please. You may do the same, Sir (added Herminius and smiled) without any great obligation unto the incomparaple Amilcar; for his humour is such, that he is well any where, and it may well be said, that he can make his own felicity. After this, Aronces asked some news of the Prince of Carthage; and then all taking Horse, they went unto that Village where Amilcar, Herminius, and those worthy Grecians did lie the night before. And though the soul of Aronces could not be at rest until he was further from Clusium, yet he was very desirous to talk with Amilcar and Herminius in private, whilst their Horses rested. During which time, Celeres whom Amilcar had embraced, did entertain those illustrious Greeks; for he spoke their language.  
As for Aronces, he being the most obliging person upon earth, and knowing that every one had rather relate their own adventures, than hear others, he did very obligingly desire to know the fortunes of two friends; but they had no mind to satisfy his curiosity; until he had satisfied them why he left Clusium, and traveled in this private condition. For they understood by Clelius, that he was the Son of Porsenna, and they heard by the way that he was owned to be so. So as he acquainted them in as short a manner as he could, with all passages since his departure from Capua, for Amilcar saved him the labour of relating what happened since he came from Carthage, by telling him that Herminius had related it to him. But as great a care as Aronces took to shorten his relation, the time which they designed for resting their Horses was expired before he ended: So as he could know no more of Amilcar and Herminius, but that the last of these met the first upon the Sea, who had those two illustrious Greeks with him, and that the Prince of Carthage who had reconciled himself with that Republic whose name he bore, had sent him into Italy, upon a design which concerned Sicily, and which he should know when they had more leisure. After which, all taking Horse they took their way towards Ardea, and yet they would not come too near it, until they knew the state of things: So as finding a little Town in their way, which was not above ten miles off it, they stayed there to inform themselves: For since Aronces was not well resolved whether he should go into Ardea, or unto Tarquin, who was yet at Rome, though he had some Troops alteady about the Town, it was requisite for him that he stayed there: Also Herminius could not follow him neither unto the Camp, nor into Rome: He was willing to go into Ardea, both as friend unto Aronces and as enemy unto Tarquin, but he would not venture himself in the hands of a Prince, with whom he would not be reconciled if he could. So as after they came to this little Town where they stayed, they resolved that since Celeres could not be known in Rome, and since he had no enemies, that he should go and know certainly whether that Prince had any real design of besieging Ardea: At the same time Aronces sent one of his Slaves who was both witty and trusty unto Ardea, to know whether or no Clelia was there still; for he was afraid to resolve upon any course, which in lieu of bringing him nearer that person, it should set him further off.  
So as Aronces, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, Amilcar and Herminius, rested in expectation within that Town, where nothing was talked on but the power of Tarquin, his violences and injustice. But how is it possible (said Artemidorus) that this Prince can be such a one as Fame speaks him, since it appears that he bears some reverence unto the Gods; for he sent two of his Sons unto Delphos with offerings, and I have heard say, that he hath built a stately Temple in Rome, which he did dedicated unto Jupiter. Did you know Tarquin, replied Herminius, you would not wonder he should make a show of some reverence to the Gods; for than you would plainly see, that all the Religion he hath is to serve his policy. Not but that there are some men, who say that he is not very well resolved in his own thoughts, and that be does not well know whether he should or he should not believe there are are any Gods. And for my part, I can never believe that a prince whose ambition hurries him to violate all manner of rights, and to commit all sorts of crimes so long time together, can believe there are any Gods. Men questionless may sometimes out of weakness fail, (said Zenocrates then) but when they do obstinately continue in a long course of wickedness, I think it may well be concluded that those who live so, do not believe there is any thing above their heads which they ought to fear. Truth is (said Herminius) did Artemidorus know what the actions of Tarquin are; what are his Laws, and by what ways he came to the Throne; how he hath maintained it, and what are his maxims, he will with me believe that he never thinks of any Gods. Since happily I may have some negotiations with that Prince, said Amilcar, I should be very glad to know all his life: For my particular, said Artemidorus, I am extremely full of curiosity to know it. And for my part, added Zenocrates, I shall be glad also to hear it; though I know very much of him already. As for me, said Aronces, though I have heard him discoursed of a thousand times unto Clelius, yet I must confess I do not know the whole Series of his History, and Herminius would much oblige me in telling of it: for since I know not yet whether I shall be on his side or no, I shall be very glad to know him a little better than I do; especially since we have now leisure enough to hear his History. For my particular (said Artemidorus) I would if I durst desire a little more, for I must confess that I do as much desire to hear the History of Rome, as the History of Tarquin. The Story of that Prince is so mixed with that of Rome (replied Herminius) as one cannot tell the one but he must also tell all that relates unto the other. Since so (said Aronces) I beseech you satisfy the curiosity of Artemidorus, and addtess your speech unto him, since he hath the least knowledge in the things which you are to tell. Zenocrate's approving of what Aronces said, and Herminius consenting unto what these three illustrious persons desired, he recollected into his memory all that was requisite for their better understanding the life of a Prince, whose name made such a noise through all Italy: And after he had shut the Chamber door to the end none should interrupt him, he began in these terms, but he spoke in his own language; which Artemidorus did understand, though he spoke it not.  

The History of Tarquin the Proud.  
I Am to relate such great, such excellent, and such terrible things unto you; as I cannot tell whether I am able to order my method so, as shall make my Relation pleasing; for I know not very well how I can in few words contain the History of a great City, which hath been governed by six Kings, which seemed to have shared among themselves all the virtues; and after them I know not how I should speak of a Prince who is branded with all manner of Vices and Crimes. I know not I say, how I should in a short time acquaint you with the most dismal effects that ever Love and Ambition caused these many ages: and yet I am resolved to touch upon all that is necessary to make the injustice of Tarquin to appear, or at the least to pass so slightly over the Reigns of those Kings who did precede him, that I may have time enough to aggravate all the Crimes of a Prince, who can never be enough hated. I will not therefore insist upon a previous discourse of Rome's Original; for is there any men at Africa, that knows not the prodigious adventures of the famous Remus and Romulus, who are said to be sons of Mars by a Vestal? Who knows not, I say, unto what they were exposed by the Commandment of the King their Uncle, called Amulius, who had usurped that Kingdom which belonged unto their Mother? who knows not also that the Cradle wherein they were, and which was left in the midst of a Desert, was found out by a She Wolf, which the cries of these two Infants invited thither? who knows not how it is said, the Wolf did let them suck her under a Figtree, which at this day is called the Romulian Figtree? and that others say; a Shepherd finding them, did carry them home to his Wife who nourished them? However it be, they lived and came to be great and brave men. Remus was taken prisoner and delivered by his Brother, after which they both of them joined in the kill of him who had usurped the Kingdom which belonged unto them. After this, they made a peace with Numitor, Brother unto him whom they had killed, and leaving him quiet in his own Dominions, a desire took them to build the famous City of Rome, which Tarquin at this day would destroy, and they built it in the same place where they were left in the Desert, and where they were found: These two Brothers began to build it the One and Twentieth day of April, in the eighteenth year of their age. Indeed, generous Artemidorus, since I suppose you know how that the desires of Reigning did divide them, and that the death of the one did establish the Throne of the other, I shall not trouble you with any more. But let me tell you that in a very short time, this new City unto which Romulus gave his own name, was as potent as any of the most ancient about it. The cause of its being so soon populated was, because Romulus established an inviolable Sanctuary between two little Groves, which were held for sacred, and whither whosoever retired was in safety. So as by this means, he drew subjects unto himself from all the Neighbour Towns, where any men were who feared punishment for any crime. Moreover, it is well known, that he did worship all those Gods, which those of Altes adored, and that he would have Hercules reverenced as he is in Greece. Afterwards that famous plundering of the Sabines made him talked of through all Italy: He established excellent orders in the Town; he did wonders in feats of War; he defied all his enemies; he killed the King Tatius with his own hand; he Triumphed in Rome: The Wars with the Cernebans, the Crustivanians, the Antemians, the Sabines, were all glorious unto Romulus, though the power was divided for a while. Afterwards the War with the Fidenatians began, than the Vientaneans followed, and in both Romulus got eternal glory. But after he had punished the injustice done unto his Mother, after he had established several good Laws; after he had performed many glorious Feats of War; killed Kings, triumphed solemnly, and given peace to his people, he ceased to Reign in ceasing to live. Some thought that the hundred Senators whom he had established, procured him to be murdered that they might Reign: Others said, that he only vanished; but the opinion of such as do not use to follow the vogue of the blind vulgar was, that there was one whose name was Proculus, who seeing the people ready to fall upon the Senators; to appease them came and told them; that Romulus did appear unto him ascending up into Heaven; and assured them, that their Town should be Mistress of the whole Earth. So as the immortality of Romulus, and this happy presage qualifying the people, their whole thoughts were, how they should render such honour unto him as unto the Gods. This Artemidorus was the original of Rome: and this was their first King, who doubtless was both valiant and wise, and fully accomplished for the establishing of an Empire. For my part, it is such a terror to me when I consider how the same people who never were governed, but by valiant wise and virtuous Kings, can brook the government of a Tyrant, that I tremble at it, And to induce you into my opinion, before I satisfy your Curiosity, I would speak something of all those who preceded him. Know then that according to the first Law which Romulus had established, which was, that the people should choose their Kings, and that this election should be confirmed or refused by the Senators which he had instituted: A man of high virtues called Numa Pompilius, was chosen King of Rome by universal consent; and certainly most deservedly, for he was endowed with all the virtues of the ancient Sabines ftom whence he was descended. He was prudent, pacifique and religious; and it may well be said, that the Gods would by his Prudence and Piety establish that Throne which Romulus had erected by his Power and courage; he spent the whole three and forty years which he reigned, only in regulating matters of Religion, making of Laws, extinguishing those vices which the War had introduced; in teaching virtue, in wooing men to Peace, in building Temples; in doing Justice unto men, and in reverencing the Gods, It was he who set up the Vestals in Rome, the institution whereof was before at Albez: This was he who instituted the Salian Priests and all their Ceremonies: This was he who did regulate the Months; it was he who built the famous Temple of Janus, which is always open in time of War, and always shut in time of Peace, this was he, who to testify his love of the Sciences and Arts, did consecrate a Grove unto the Muses, unto which he would often retire himself. It was said, that it was there where a Nymph named Egeria, came to inspire him in all things he did. But after a three and forty years' peace had given him leisure to inspire his people, with the love of Wisdom, he died; and one of the most valiant men upon Earth was chosen in his place: But this Prince being a greater Soldier than Romulus, he began the famous War of Albe, which had such glorious success, that he ruined one of the greatest Cities upon Earth, or to say better, he joined it unto Rome, and of two Peoples, made but one: The famous Combat of the three Horatij, against the three Curatij, was fought during his Reign; after which the Fideates and the Vecentines incited by those of Albe, renewed the War: But Tullus, maugre all opposition, vanquished his Enemies, destroyed the famous City of Albe, and angmented the glory of Rome, he had after another War against the Sabines, whom he vanquished; but after he had bestowed half his Reign in imitation of Romulus, he bestowed the other half in imitation of Numa; for he did not only become Religious as he was, but even superstitious.  
But at last, a Thunderbolt having ended his life and his Reign, another man, called Ancus Martius, who was Son unto a Daughter of Numa Pompilius, was chosen King of Rome, so as emulating the glory of resembling his Grandfather, he began to cause all his Ordinances to be observed. But fearing lest his neighbours, should draw some advantage from his Piety, he began to bestir himself in matters Military, wherein matters of Religion had no share, that his enemies might see, he thought of War in time of Peace. And indeed the people of Latium falling upon him; he vanquished them, and also the Sabines, and afterwards he lived in Peace: It was he who built the first Prison in Rome, and who built a Bridge over Tiber; it was he who enclosed the Mount Aventine and of Janicula within the Wall of the Town, and who built the City of Ostia? but after a Reign of four and twenty years, he died: But after he had prohibited all his Subjects from setting up any new Religions of their own fancy; and commanded them to be conformable unto that which was established in the State. Hitherto, Generous Artemidorus, all I have said hath no relation to the story of Tarquin the Proud: nor would I have related it, but because it was your desire. But now I am to treat of the fifth King of Rome, I must tell you that if he had not been King, Tarquin who Reigns at this day, had never been her Tyrant. And therefore it is requisite I speak a little larger upon the first of the Tarquins; who as he was a Greek originally, and Ambition made him do many brave things, so it is the same passion which caused so many Crimes in his Successor, and for divers reasons I must enlarge myself upon this Subject: Know then, that a man called Demarathius of the City of Corinth, being forced to leave his Country, because it was divided, and the side which he took proved the weaker, he came to dwell in a Town called Tarquinia, where he married and where he had a Son called Lucumo, and another who died.  
Mean time, Lucumo being heir unto his Father who was very rich, he married a Woman of great quality and high spirit, who was called Tanaquil. And not enduring that her Husband should dwell in a Town, where Ambition was an unprofitable passion, she persuaded him to go and dwell at Rome, where virtue was recompensed, and where the happy might happily become Kings, as experience had showed. And in order to this, they settled their affairs and came to Rome. But in coming Lucumo a happy Omen which is known over all the World; also supposing you have heard what happened unto him as he was in the Coach with Tanaquil, I will only tell you how an Eagle hover in the Air came gently to him, and took off his Head a Cap which he wore, according to the Tuscan mode, and after the Eagle had soared with it as high as the Clouds, she came down and put it upon his head again: And. I must tell you that Tanaquil being a Tuscan, and having some skill in Augury, she was so extremely joined at this happy Presage, and so assured herself it would be seconded with happy effects, that she embraced her Husband and told him, that there was no grandeur so high but he might hope for it. So as Lucumo suffering his Ambition to be flattered by such sweet hopes, he entered Rome; where he no sooner was but he went to the King, and offered him his person, and all he had for the service of the State; and the truth is, he disbursed much towards the Wars upon divers occasions. And to be suitable every way unto the Custom of Rome, he quitted the name of Lucumo, because it was the Roman Custom to have two names, whereof one is particular and the other is the name of the family.  
So he took the name of Lucius for the first name, and of the Town Tarquinia where he was born, he made the name of Tarqvinius; so as he called himself Lucius Tarqvinius; and left off the name of Lucumo. Moreover he was affable, civil, and popular; he Courted occasions to do men courtesies, to the end he might oblige them; and he got such credit during the reign of Ancus, that this Prince determined upon nothing without him; also he was very powerful in the Senate, and extremely beloved of the people. The King left him Guardian of his Children by his Testament, so as making use of this favourable conjuncture to satisfy his Ambition, he did openly labour for the Crown before Ancus was dead: Declaring that though he was a stranger, yet that ought not to be any obstacle, since Tatius and Numa were such and yet Reigned. But to the end his design might take effect, the day that the people were to elect a King, he sent the young Princes unto whom he was Guardian to a hunting, lest their presence should put the People in memory of the great qualities of their Father, and invite them to elect one of them two. And the common opinion was, that but for this trick Lucumo had not been King as he was: The truth is he was a very glorious King, for he acted nothing but great things ever since he was chosen: His very pleasures were magnificent, for it was he who instituted the Circensian Games, so famous throughout all Italy, and who built that which we call the Circle, which is between the Mount Palatine and the Mount Aventine. He was wont to say, that in all things there ought to be a difference between Kings and Subjects, even in their very Pleasures; and that it was absolutely necessary, there should be a character of Royalty upon every action of a King, be it in great or little matters, As for Martial matters, he is eternised, for his Acts against the Latins were all glory; he triumphed over the Sabines, and brought the City of Collatia unto subjection, as he had before the City of Appiola; afterwards undertaking a second War against the people of Latium, he became Master of all their strong places one after another; for he took Cornicula, Ficulnia, Cumeria, Crustumerla, Ameriala, Medulla and Nomeuta.  
After all this he employed himself in building public places of eternal memory; and he built one purposely to keep the people from being idle: After many great and good works which he did, either for the conveniency or Ornament of the Town; he laid the foundation of the Temple of Jupiter, which is within the Capitol, only to fulfil a vow which he made during the War against the Sabines. But before I speak of his death, I must tell you several passages purposely to make you the more hate Tarquin the Proud when I shall come to relate his life, and acquaint you with his Crimes. Know therefore, that at the taking of Cornicula, there was among the Captives, a woman, (whose Husband died at this Siege) who was said to be very handsome and of good quality, and who was preferred unto the Service of Tanaquil; also she being big with Child, she was brought to bed in the Palace; for both being fair and witty and virtuous, Tanaquil did love her, and took a care of her: So as being delivered of a Son, he was brought up in the Palace; where they said this Child whose name was Servius Tullus, had his head all environed with a flame always when he slept, This Prodigy making a great noise, the King went to see it and Tanaquil also; who would not suffer any Water to be cast to quench the flame, but assured her Husband out of her knowledge in presages, that this Child should one day be the light of the State, and the greatest support of the Royal Family. The King remembering what Tanaquil said concerning the Eagle, and that all came truly to pass; he gave credit unto her this second time, as at the first; he took so great a care for the good education of the young Servius Tullus, that he grew to be so excellent in every thing, as the King gave him his Daughter in marriage. But after this, the Son of the Predecessor unto Lucius Tarqvinius, who pretended that he had hindered him from Reigning, being much incensed to foresee that Servius was like to Reign in his prejudice, he resolved upon a revenge for him, from whom they thought the injury proceeded: And indeed, they caused him to be murdered by pretended people, who upon a pretence of going to ask Justice of the King, did kill him in his own Palace; but since all the assassinates fled after the fact, Tanaquil not using any fruitless Complaints caused the Gates of the Palace to be shut, to the end this News should not be divulged, she encouraged Servius Tullus to mount the Throne; she spoke unto the people out of the Windows, and told them that the King was not dead; but that he recovered, and that ere long they should see him; and that in the mean while Servius Tullus should do them Justice: And Servius Tullus being gone out of the Palace in the Robe Royal, which we call Trabea, he did render Justice unto each one in particular, seeming as if he referred all to the King, as if he were not dead: indeed both Tanaquil and Servius Tullus did carry all matters so cunningly, as the death of the King was concealed many days. During which time, the Children of Ancus Martius, who had caused the Successor of their Father to be murdered, retired unto Pometia; for those whom they employed in the crime being taken, and perceiving the power of Servius Tullus established, they knew not what course to take: And the truth is, Tullus having all the Patricians for him, was declared King, without any insisting upon the Suffrages of the people. 'Tis true, he was in very great esteem, and so generally beloved that this Ceremony was useless. Thus Tullus mounted the Throne; and with so much glory as none of his Predecessors did ever exceed him. For it was generally agreed by all sides, that he was the owner of all the virtues, and not of one vice. He had also the good fortune to have the advantage in Martial affairs, for he won a famous Battle against the Vejentines. And at his return to Rome he did an act which merited immortal Praise: For hearing how those who envied the grandeur of his fortune, did say, that he was only chosen by the Patricians, and that the People had not contributed their suffrages, he resolved though those who said so were not in any capacity to hurt him, yet to surrender his Authority; and publicly declared that he would not stand upon the legs of Patrician election, but that if the people would not have him Reign he was ready to quit the Crown. But believe it, in thus descending a step lower, he ascended a step higher upon the Throne; and by submitting to quit a Crown, he fastened it upon his head.  
For the people being always much taken with surprising actions; the people of Rome were so charmed to see a King submit unto their suffrages, that he was proclaimed King the second time, with more acclamations and applauds than ever any of his Predecessors. However, as soon as he was settled in the Throne he showed his Authority; for it may be said that he shook all the foundations of his State, by the several Laws which he made, be it either by regulating all qualities, or distribution of Goods, or contribution of all particulars towards public affairs, or Military Discipline, or by the general Rule of the whole Kingdom. He enclosed the Mount Viminal, and the Mount Quirinal within the City, he built a Temple unto the honour of Diana, and many other public edifices.  
All this while, he found great happiness in the society of Tanaquil; and much more in the rare virtues of the Queen his Wife: But his sorrow was that he had only two Daughters; and to hear that Tarquin the Proud who Reigns at this day, and a Brother which he then had should murmur in secret, that they being Children of the late King, should be so far from the Throne. So as Servius being all goodness, generosity, and prudence, he began to look upon him with a very favourable eye, and to speak, as if he intended to bestow his two Daughters upon those two Brothers. But before I tell you any more, I must describe unto you these four persons, of whom this History is composed, to the end you may the more clearly see the crimes of Tarquin. Know then, that the two Daughters of Servius Tullus, were then both of them very fair, though they were different one from another in every thing, yet the name of them both was Tullia; but for distinction in our Court, the Elder was called the Princess without her name, and the younger the Princess Tullia. But to tell you truly, the Elder was the Elder in all things; for she was fair, full of wit, sweetness, modesty, civility, virtue, and infinitely charming. Her beauty was brown, but lovely, especially by reason of a certain kind of sweet langnor which she had without any affectation, which inspires tenderness, and moveth love, far sooner than a sparkling and sprightly Air. Her stature was of the middle size, her eyes sweet, all the composure of her Face was lovely, and there was an unconceivable charm in every part of her person. Her humour was equal, and her Soul tender; she affected glory, and she would not buy any grandeur, at the rate of any baseness; for she did not think it impossible, but one might be happy, and not be a Queen. The Princess Tullia was nothing like her, for she was big, fair, and that very fair, but her beauty had that fierceness in it, as resembled an Amazonian Air, and it may be said, she was fair, but not lovely; her looks were bold, her actions disordered, her voice shrill, her spirit imperious, her soul ambitious, and she was so naturally inclined, never to submit unto any, that from her very infancy, she always made her Elder Sister stand in awe of her, whose disposition was rather to obey, then obstinately to resist. Moreover the Princess Tullia was ever full of dissimulation, malice, and disguisement, and above all she was ambitious; so as though the Princess her Sister was one of the most sweet and charming Persons in the whole World, as I have heard a Cousin of mine say, who had the honour of her acquaintance, yet she did most horribly hate her, without any other reason in the World, but only because she was Elder, and because she imagined that Servius Tullus loving her the better, her fortune would be better. And on the other side, Tarquin and the Prince his Brother, they also were very unresemblant, and as much unlike, as these two Princesses were unto each other. But it was after another manner, for the younger of these was fair, handsome, of a sweet, moderate, and agreeable spirit, and all his inclinations were noble, and though he did affect glory, yet ambition was not the predominate passion of his heart, but was more inclinable unto Love then that turbulent passion. But as for Tarquin he did not resemble him in any thing; for he was big though far from a handsome stature; his Physiognomy was gloomy and fierce, his looks were melancholy and disdainful, his mind base and poor, but he had the boldest heart in the World, the greatest spirit upon Earth, and the most prodigiously ambitious, that ever was any. Moreover, his fancy was quick and ready, which made some turbulence appear in all his actions, so as one would say he was always upon some grand design. As for matter of pleasure he never seemed sensible of any, and doubtless his supreme felicity consisted only in this, that he could see nothing above him, so as it may very well be said, that he loved grandeur only for itself, and not at all for those diversions which follow it. He would always make use of any thing which might conduce to the satisfaction of ambition; when he thought it convenient to express some signs of his Piety, to blind the people, he would then send offerings unto Delphos, he would build Temples, and his profane intentions would employ all sacred things, when he thought them conducing to the execution of his designs. But on the contrary when he thought there was no need of any pretences, cloaks, and colours to dazzle and blind the people, than he would make no scruple at ruining of Orphans, and both by Steel and Poison murder Innocents'; and indeed, he never thought that to be a parricide, and ungrateful, were crimes. This Artemidorus, is the true Character of Tarquin, as he was, and as he is: The Elder of the two Princesses was fair and virtuous; the younger fierce and ambitious: and in contrary to this order, the Elder of the two Princes who were designed for them, was ill-favoured, proud, and wicked; and the younger was pleasing, handsome, and virtuous. So as according to the order of Nature, he who had no virtue, was to marry her who was virtuous; and he who had all noble inclinations, was to marry her who had all the ill; but to take the matter a little further off, be pleased to know, that before the King had explained himself concerning this marriage, Tarquin and the Prince his Brother, had ever a great familiarity with these two young Princesses. For the Queen, who was the Daughter of Tanaquil had so dearly loved the first of the Tarquin's who was her Father, that she took a particular care, these two young Tullia's should live very respectively with these two young Princes who were of the same house, But there being a great suitableness between Tarquin and the Princess Tullia; and the like also between the Princess and the Brother of Tarquin (who was called the Prince of Ameriola, because he had preserved that Town by discovering a Conspiracy) so it was, that the Virtuous loved the Virtuous, and ambition had a natural inclination to ambition. Yet notwithstanding, since he was the Elder, and she was not; and since he observed that the King loved the Princess, better than the Princess Tullia, he concealed his inclination. But on the contrary, the Princess Tullia conceiving it would be more advantageous to her to marry Tarquin, than the Prince of Ameriola, because he was the Elder, and more ambitious than his Brother, she used all her endeavours to get him for her Husband. In the mean time, there being a sympathetical conformity of humours, between the Prince of Ameriola and the Princess, they knew that they loved one another without telling of it; and there was such a violent inclination to each other, that they were not able to hide it. And indeed, there was always such a conformity of mind between them, as they were never seen to differ in any opinion. On the contrary Tarquin and Tullia were always so opposite unto them, that no two contraries could be more; for never any conference happened, though of matters never so indifferent, but the Princess Tullia would be sure to contradict her Sister and the Prince of Ameriola; also Tarquin and the Prince his Brother, were never of one opinion.  
I remember one day above the rest, when these two Princes and Princesses were all together, that the conversation of that day were upon such subjects, as made the various opinions of these two Princesses and these two Princes most manifestly appear. You must know, that the King who bore a particular veneration unto the Vestals finding that those four who were already instituted, had much ado to keep in the sacred fire, would have two more added unto the number. And this Ceremony not being often to be seen, the two Princesses had a mind to see it, and did so the day before this conversation which I am to relate unto you. Indeed this Ceremony was worth the sight, and therefore worthy of my relation unto you. At the first, the High Priest makes choice of twenty Virgins of quality, all under ten years of Age, and all without any defect either in body or mind: Then casting their names into a Lottery, the first who is drawn is the new Vestal: Then the Parents committing her into the hands of the High Priest, they cut her Hair off with a great deal of Ceremony, and after do go and receive her at a certain Tree destined unto this use, which we call Lotos. And afterwards they put upon her the habit of a Vestal, which is; a great, long, and high Caul, from which hangs negligently, variety of Ribonds and Tassels: then they put her such a Veil as the Vestals use to wear when they sacrifice, which is buckled under their Chins with Lockets of Diamonds: As for their Robes, they are white, plated, and very ornamental; and over all they wear a purple Mantle which renders their dress very handsome and noble. And this habit being given them with a great deal of Ceremony and observance: there are always much company to see them. And when the Vestal is once within the Temple of Vesta, no more of any passages is to be seen; for they only are privileged to enter except the High Priest. So there being two Vestals chosen at once, it was the whole discourse; and the two Princesses according to their several inclinations discoursed upon this Ceremony. For my part (said the Princess Tullia) I conceive, that since they will have Vestals, they did very wisely to make choice of them under ten years of Age, and before reason had imprinted itself in them; for maugre all the fine privileges they enjoy, and all the honours which are done unto them, I had rather be any thing then a Vestal. For my particular (said the Princess then) I am not of your opinion; for I do find something so noble and glorious in the Function of the Vestals, that I never see them, but I do envy them. For it is only in them, that our Sex is held in any Rank and Consideration, since in all other conditions, they do not hold their own rank, but only that of their Parents: If a Woman be not married, than she is more or less valued according to the rank of her Father, and if she have a Husband, it is according to his quality that she is more or less honoured. But as for the Vestals their consideration is from themselves; and they are honoured by all that is greatest in Rome, since they are honoured by the King. What the Princess saith (replied the Prince of Ameriola) is so judiciously spoken, as I conceive, none can contradict her. Though there was no other reason (replied Tarquin) to make me think the Vestals but a sort of miserable things, then that they must dream out thirty years, and still be nothing else but a Vestal, and never aspire higher, this I say, keeps me from envying their condition; for I care not for a dry and unprofitable passion, which can never be serviceable to me. For my part (said the Princess Tullia) I am clearly of Tarquin's mind, and say again, that since they will have Vestals, they do very well to take them before reason comes into them; for I am so far from establishing new Laws and Slaveries, as I do freely allow the same Liberty unto all which nature and custom have allowed Women: And if I should freely say, what I think, perhaps I should tell you, that were it in my choice either to be a valiant Soldier, or a Vestal, or even what I am, I should make choice of being rather valiant, than either a Vestal or a Princess as I am, so little am I satisfied with my own Sex. How Madam, (replied the Prince of Ameriola) can you renounce your beauty and the Empire which it gives unto your Sex over the hearts of Men, to be a silly Soldier, rather than a great Princess? Yes (replied she sharply) and I am sometimes so ashamed at my being born a Slave, that were my Fetters such as could be broken, it should not be long before I would break them. Oh Sister (replied the Princess) doubtless you know not what you say; for methinks our Sex hath a thousand advantages above that of Men; for first it enjoys an eternal peace, since we are not obliged to go unto the Wars, and the same honour which invites Men unto it, forbids us. Beauty, as the Prince of Ameriola well observed, is our supreme Prerogative; we have the destinies of Men in our hands: Also we are dispensed with, for taking the pains in obtaining the Arts and Sciences; ignorance in us is no fault, there is no necessity of being valiant, a little wit, and much modesty will serve to make a complete Woman; but on the contrary to make a complete Man, there must be a thousand great qualifications both natural and acquired. It is confessed (replied Tarquin) that there is much wit in your language; but for all that I am of the Princess Tullia's mind, and had rather be a private Soldier than any Woman. For to tell you truly, a Soldier may become a King, but a Woman can never become free. I pray tell me (said the Princess Tullia) in what condition can we find liberty? When we are first born, we are not only Slaves to our Parents, who dispose of us as they please, and make Vestals of us when fancy takes them; but we are slaves also unto custom and decency; for as soon as reason begins to make us discern things, they tell us that we must submit our selves unto the custom and fashion. Also we are more miserable at Rome than any where else, where the Ladies have a fancy, that because the Romans are more valiant than other people, therefore their women must be more severe, more reserved, more ignorant, and more solitary; it is true as my Sister said, that a few good qualities will serve one of our Sex to get much reputation, but it is as true also that this is an infinite shame unto us; for it is as much as to say, that we are not capable of more: Oh Madam, replied the Prince of Ameriola, I must needs be the defender of your Sex against you; for I am fully persuaded that Ladies are capable of all the virtues, and that they have more wit than we. For if we do carefully observe both men and women in places where their education is alike, as in the Country, we shall find much more wit in the women than in the men, and conclude, that Nature hath given more unto you than us.  
I do grant all this to be true (replied Tullia) and to speak in general we have better fancies, and fuller of imagination than men; but it must be confessed withal that we do want courage and hearts; we are contented to be the chief Slave of the house, and oftentimes worse used. Nay we have not so much liberty as to make choice of our Masters, for we are oftentimes forced to marry against our inclinations and it is commonly seen that all the great wit which the Gods have given us, is employed only in trivial talk, and those who are most esteemed amongst us, do make least use of their wit but conceal it as careful as they can, and endeavour to be owner of only one virtue which in my opinion is very difficult to be practised. Mean time, because the world hath a fancy that women are weak, and that they are put to a great deal of pains to keep themselves from loving those who love them, they are forced to live with so much constraint and wariness; as in my opinion this virtue which is thought so requisite amongst them, is no great glory to them: Truth is, they must set a guard upon their own eyes, they must shun the company of those men they like, and they must not go any whither alone. Lying abroad is forbidden us, solitude itself is sometimes ill interpreted, and we are so unfortunate that when it is not known what we do they think we are doing ill; and we must always have some body to answer for our actions, or else they will be ill interpreted. So that as the world goes, we are born with passions which inchain us; for we are not allowed either to love or hate any thing: Ambition is unto us of no use, obedience only is our share; judge therefore whether I have not reason to choose rather the being a valiant Soldier than what I am; and I assure you there is not a day passeth, in which I do not envy the Sex of which I am none. When I see a man walking alone, I envy his liberty; when others travel my envy goes along with them also; nay some that are angry and can revenge themselves have my envy; for men may revenge, but women be they never so much wronged must not complain; or if they do, it must forsooth be so tamely, that their complexion must not alter, nor their eyes lose their languor, as if nature had made us insensible, and all by virtue of the Laws of Decency, which I assure you I cannot choose but murmur against, and those that made them. For my particular (replied the Princess) I do think myself very happy in the calm mediocrity of my spirit; and I find that my Sex hath a thousand advantages over the other, since of the virtues the least difficult are required from us; and I do find it much more glorious to Reign without force than by violence, and that it is the easiest thing in the world to submit one's spirit in matter of Decency. It is unquestionable, that Ambition is not a passion fit for Ladies; but it is a passion so full of tumultuous turbulencies, that I think it a great advantage to be without it. As every one loves to be arguing according to their own humours (replied Tullia sharply) so I do not think it strange we should not be of one opinion. For as you Sister, do find diversion in walking under shades, in gathering of flowers, in making Nosegays, in hearing the birds sing, and listening to the murmur of Rivers, so I am often tired with that which diverts you.  
The Princess being accustomed to endure a hundred such contradictions from her ambitious sister, she turned her discourse another way, lest Tullia should have uttered more than she desired to hear; for she was accqnainted with the impetuosity of her humour. So as insensibly falling upon other discourse, they began to talk of Passions, and to examine whether Love was a more Noble Passion than ambition; and in case both chanced to be in one heart, one of them must yield unto the other.  
So as since this question had some congruity with the Fortunes of these four persons, because Tarquin was in love with Tullia, yet his Ambition required that he should marry the Princess her Sister, rather than her; and on the other side the Princess loved the Prince of Ameriola, yet ambition and conveniency required she should marry Tarquin; each of them having a secret interest in the business, they spoke according to the present state of things, rather than according to their own thoughts; for had they spoke their thoughts, the Princess would have said that ambition ought to be made a sacrifice unto love: The Prince of Ameriola would have said the same: And the Princess Tullia doubtless would have said that Love ought to submit unto Ambition.  
But since she would that Tarquin should marry her, though she was the younger, she found herself a little gravelled at this rencontre. Also she spoke less than the rest, but as for him he did not dissemble his thoughts, but maintained against his Brother, that Love ought to yield unto Ambition. For, said he, love is to be looked on only as a fading passion, which seldom lasts out a life; but Ambition is a Passion which continues unto the last gasp of breath, and it is glorious to die so; and it hath this particular quality, that it is a remedy against Love; for it is so busied, and hatcheth so many several designs, as the other Passion which is both hatched and nourished by idleness, can hardly ever subsist with it. But though perhaps Ambition doth not quite extinguish Love, yet it ought always to sacrifice itself unto Ambition, since one is not always certain to love his Mistress, but sure always to love Grandeur. For the favours of Love are limited, beyond which there is no pretending, and as soon as one is come unto the highest point it can arrive at, Love lessens: but it is not so with Ambition, for fortune is a Mistress whose favours are inexhaustible, who as she satisfies her Lovers augments their desires; and who hath no sooner given them one thing, but she shows them a thousand more which still are in her gift: So as continually showing them guilded baits to catch new desires, Ambition hath always the force of a new passion. 'Tis true (replied the Prince of Ameriola) that Fortune hath more to give than Love. But let me tell you, her favours are not so sweet, and the torments which she causes are not accompanied with a thousand secret Consolations which unhappy Lovers have in the midst of their sufferings. Oh Brother! (replied Tarquin hastily) these Chimerical Consolations which you talk of, are not considerable in comparison of that pleasure which one finds in trampling ones enemies under his foot, and raising himself over the heads of others; and did you know what sweetness there is in plotting an Ambitious design to see it thrive happily, you would not speak as you do. I who have a heart sensible of this Passion, I must confess I do wonder how any can be without it, and how one can disclaim it for matter of Love; for I will affirm that few miserable people ever make any Lovers and to speak rationally, Love aught to be the consequence of Ambition. And truly if Love be without its pleasures; if the sports, the mirth, and all its graces do not accompany it, it is a very pitiful thing. And I think it to be extreme folly in those who cannot satisfy both their Love and their Ambition, not to prefer the last before the first, what joy can be expected from a poor Lover who wants an estate? how is it possible his Mistress should discern the sighs for the poorness of his Fortune, from those sighs which are caused by his Love? how miserably does he divide himself between his cares to please her and his cares to maintain himself? he cannot be liberal but he beggar's himself; he cannot be merry unless forcedly; he dares not ofttimes thwart his Rival, lest he should prejudice his Fortune; and he entertains in his fancy so many things which are not within his reach of Gallantry, that of necessity he must needs be a troublesome Gallant. So as I must conclude, that it appertains only unto Ambitious, happy Ambitious men, to have any thing to do with Love: And those who quit the interests of their fortune, to content their passion, deserve to be forsaken by their Mistresses, for whom they have forsaken all things: And were I a Lady, and should see at my feet one of those faithful Lovers, who would sacrifice all the interests of their Ambition unto their Love, I would advise him to go and get the favour of Fortune, before he pretended to get mine: and would tell him that a greater injury cannot be offered unto a Lady, than to desire she should love him before he be happy. At the least I know (said he, and looked upon Tullia) that were I in love with a person of a high and heroic heart, and could not enjoy her unless I ruin'd my fortune; I will tell her ingenuously, that both for the love of her and the love of myself, I would think no more upon her: for I am sure if she be such a one, she will esteem me the more, and in her heart prefer me before such Lovers as will tell her, that they had rather live in a Cottage with one they love, than upon a Throne without her. But for my part I am none of those, and openly declare that I could never be happy, if I could reproach myself with an act of that nature. For my particular, said the Prince of Ameriola, I must confess I have no thoughts so Ambitious, since I think it not impossible but one may be happy in the poorest Cottage with a person I could Love; and since I could not be so upon a Throne unless she were upon it with me. Whilst these two Princes were talking so, the two Princesses who heard them had thoughts very different: For the Princess thought, the Prince Ameriola was in the right; and she gave such an interpretation upon his words as he desired she should.  
But as for the Princess Tullia, though her ambitious humour did concur with the opinion of Tarquin, yet she was angry with him, because what he said was not consonant with her designs. Her Wit did not furnish her with many arguments against what he had said, but since she would contradict him in something, she agreed with him that one ought to sacrifice all unto ambition; but she said after that the great difficulty was to know, what one should do to content it. For there are sometimes some Loves which may serve Ambition as well as prejudice it, if all advantages be well considered. Tarquin hearing what Tullia said, he made a right application of it; but he seemed as if he did not understand her, because he was not then persuaded that it was advantageous for him to prefer her before the Princess; and that on the contrary he believed, that if he married the eldest Sister, he should the sooner be King: Not that the Crown which Servius Tullus wore was a right of Succession, and that Eldership was any nearer Title to Reign.  
But Tarquin was persuaded, that the tenderness which this Prince did bear unto his eldest Daughter, would move him to get the Senate's Consent for him unto whom he should marry her; and that this would be a shorter, and more sure way to get upon the Throne. Also the People loving the Elder much better than the other, he preferred her out of Ambition, before her whom his own inclination did prefer as most amiable.  
And therefore without any direct answer unto what Tullia said, he said that there needed no examination of any particular adventures; for he maintained only in general that it was requisite to sacrifice Love unto Ambition. And I maintain the contrary (said the Prince of Amcriola) that one ought to sacrifice Ambition unto Love. For my part (said the Princess and turned aside, lest she should meet the eyes of the Prince of Ameriola) since I have nothing to do either with Love or Ambition, I know not what to say unto this dispute: All I can say is, that if any loved me, I would not be sacrificed unto any other interest. You are so fit to satisfy both Ambition and Love (replied Tarquin) that you are not in any danger of such an adventure. Tullia hearing what this Ambitious Lover said, she was in such a chafe, that she rise up and broke off the discourse: And imagining which way she might be revenged upon Tarquin, and satisfy her own Ambition, she conceived herself mistaken when she thought that it would be more advantageous to her to marry him, then to marry the Prince Ameriola. For (said she, in that angry mood) Tarquin is indeed more ambitious than the Prince his Brother. He is more busy and daring, and able to surmout all considerations that may bring him to his proposed end; but he would be his own chooser of the way by which he would come to the Throne: and if he rest upon his own choice, perhaps he may be mistaken and lose his way; for in all probability he will not know how to manage those opportunities which Fortune shall present unto him: Whereas, on the contrary, the Prince of Ameriola is of a more sweet temper, and more agreeable to the People then Tarquin is, and I may become Mistress of his spirit, either by the way of Love or Fear: And when I be in that state, I shall make him do as I please, and shall be then much more happy than If I were tied to the Fortune of this ambitious Lover. For the Prince of Ameriola is questionless most accomplished to Mount a Throne.  
Tullia arguing thus with herself began to flatter the Prince of Ameriola, and to disguise some part of her thoughts. Yet he stood constantly faithful unto that Princess who also entirely reserved her heart for him: But the fidelity which they had unto each other, conduced to render them the more miserable; for they understood presently after, that Servius Tullus was fully resolved that Tarquin should marry the Princess, and that the Prince his Brother should marry Tullia. Not but that this wise King knew well enough, that there was no great correspondency of humour between the Princess and Tarquin, nor between Tullia and the Prince of Ameriola, but in lieu of joining Virtuous with the Virtuous, and the Ambitious with the Ambitious, he thought on the contrary, that since he made these two marriages only out of policy, and to keep these two Princes from raising any stirs in the State, he ought to separate interests, the Ambitious from the Ambitious. And he resolved upon it the sooner, when he knew the discourse which I have related unto you. for by it he came to know what the humour of Tarquin was. If Tarquin and Tullia be joined together (said he one day unto a Senator) there is no violence which they will not attempt; and unless I should set them upon the Throne upon their marriage day, it were folly to make the match; for both of them are ambitious spirits, both violent, bold, and scruple at nothing; but in separating them, perhaps I shall correct their tempers; and in giving unto the ambitious Tarquin a person who hath no ambition, who is fair, sweet, and virtuous; one who loves and fears the Gods, it is probable she will sweeten the harshness of his temper, and will keep him from all attempts against justice: Also it is likely that in giving unto the Ambitious Tullia, a Prince who is handsome, generous, and incapable of any injustice, he will win upon her heart, and alter her mind. Also he having a legitimate authority over her, she cannot attempt what she would, as she might if she had a husband of her own temper. Servius Tullus being thus resolved, the Prince of Ameriola seeing all hopes of changing his resolution taken away, he was in extreme despair.  
On the other side, the Princess having employed the Queen her mother, to endeavour the alteration the King's resolution, she found by her that the King of was unalterable, so as she was extremely sad. But the most particular of all this Passage was that though the Prince of Ameriola did most passionately love the Princess; and though the Princess had exceeding tender thoughts of the Prince of Ameriola; and though they knew each others thoughts, yet they did never tell one another that they loved. For the Princess was so full of modesty, her Lover was so full of respect, they both of them saw so little hope of happiness, Tarquin kept such a vigilant eye upon his Brother, the two Princesses were so seldom a sunder, that the Prince of Ameriola never met with any favourable occasion to express his thoughts unto his Princess. He had told her a thousand times that she was the person whom he most esteemed; he had told her that she was the most lovely Princess upon earth; but he never told her in plain terms that he loved her, However when both sides had received such intelligence as put them out of all hopes, then melancholy did so much damp their spirits, as they were scarcely knowable: Yet they set the best faces upon the matter that they could, and did the same things they were used to do. Not long after the Princess using to walk almost every evening, in a Garden which was in the Palace of Servius Tullus, by the Mount Palatine which he built, because he thought his Lodging at that house near the Mount Esquiline was not convenient, so it happened that they going thither to walk according to their custom, the two Princes whom they were to marry were there also; and as chance would have it, Tarquin which engaged to talk with Tullia; for he knowing her to be extremely ambitious, though he had no mind to marry her, and though he was resolved to sacrifice his love to her unto his ambition, yet he desired to appease her a little.  
Tullia as fierce as she was, had a desire to see whether she could work any change in his mind by a private conference: So as having engaged Tarquin to talk with her, he durst not deny her; and by this means, the Princess and the Prince of Ameriola, whose sorrows were extreme, had the liberty of talk together. But being both of them equally melancholy, they were no sooner separated some few paces from those who were the troublers of their felicity, but looking upon each other, they saw so much sadness in each others eyes, as the Love which they had unto each other was thereby much augmented, for they did easily divine the cause. So the Prince of Ameriola being grown more bold by the melancholy which he saw in the fair eyes of his Princess: Oh Heavens! Madam, said he unto her, I beseech you tell me truly, whether or no you think I may not wish, that those two persons which I see together, may never part; and whether you will give me leave to tell you, that if I have not my wish effected, the grief which I see in your eyes will be my death? and that a death most desperate, unless to make me expire the more calmly, you will permit me to believe that I have some share in those sorrows which I see in you. For truly Madam, you know that I love you; I think you cannot love my Brother, and I am so presumptuous also as to think, that you have less aversion unto me than unto him. Your language doth so much distract me (replied the Prince and blushed) as I know not how to answer you; unless this, that at at this time I dare not tell you what I think.  
Oh Madam (said the Prince of Ameriola) I am infinitely obliged unto you for this answer. And I beseech you, give the most miserable Lover alive, leave to imagine what those thoughts are which now you dare not tell him; and believe that the pureness of my passion doth merit so much indulgence from you. I know very well that as the state of things stands, it is hard to find a remedy, against that evil which afflicts me. But however, one may die more quietly one way than another, and therefore Madam, I must conjure you not to deny me this. Since I am very ingenuous (replied the Princess) I will tell you that I have a very high opinion of your virtue, and I think you are well persuaded of mine: I must confess that there is a natural antipathy betwixt your Brother and me, which makes me wish that the King had not commanded me to marry him; and I will confess further, that there is such a sympathy of humour between you and me, as I wish either that Tarquin resembled you, or that you were in his room. Also I am persuaded that you do hold me in some esteem; and I must tell you truly that I do much esteem you. But when I have said this I have said all, unless this, that when I have done all that Decency will permit me to break my marriage with Tarquin, than I must resolve upon obedience, and to be the most miserable person upon earth. But I beseech you Madam, (said he unto her) if Ambition be not the predominate passion of your Soul, as it is in the Princess your Sister, why should you marry my Brother? leave him to the ambitious Tullia, let us not oppose their fidelity as they do ours; I am originally of Corinth, let us go and seek that security in Greece, which we cannot find in Rome: Do you abandon Tarquin as I will Tullia, and take up a resolution worthy of the Love I bear you and of your own virtue. For, Madam, I am confident, that as soon as ever you are the Wife of Tarquin, he will move you unto such things which your generosity will never consent unto. I know very well, that as his Brother, I ought not to tell you thus much, but as his Rival, it is permitted me to tell you any thing that may serve myself.  
Also Justice requires it, that I should not smother a truth from you, which may be of such a consequence, as the well-being of the King may depend upon it. The truth is Madam, I know that my Brother dares not love you, and that he doth love the Princess Tullia: Nor would he ever marry you, but that Ambition hath a greater prevalence with his heart than love hath. Imagine then Madam, what such a man is able to do who can act against his own felicity. Expect and fear all that is ill from him, Madam, and beware whilst it is time: Moreover I know of an infallible certainty, that the Princess Tullia doth love my Brother and cannot love me; but I value not the last of these, for knowing that I shall never love her, and that I shall ever love you, Madam, I should be unjust if I should take it ill from her. But I beseech you consider, that I am in a most miserable state, for knowing that the King is fully resolved that I should marry Tullia, and that you should marry Tarquin, I know not what course to take. If I refuse this honour which he would do me in giving me his Daughter, than I must go out of Rome, and must never see you again: And if I should stay with you, than I must marry a person who hates me, and whom I do not love, and must see you enjoyed by my Brother, who thinks it no happiness to enjoy you.  
Imagine therefore, Madam, if I have not great reason to beseech you, that you will be pleased to take these things into your consideration, since they may produce such dangerous consequences: I do verily believe all that you say (replied the Princess) but I believe them without seeing any remedy against them; for my honour will not permit me to go with you into Greece, and though a resentment of glory should not give a stop unto it, yet my tenderness of the King and Queen is sufficient. Also I think myself obliged to advise you to marry my Sister, because I think she stands in need of your virtue, to temper her ambitious humour, and to restrain her from any unjust attempts. Oh! Madam (said the Prince of Ameriola then) I perceive I was much mistaken, when I thought you did not hate me; for where there is any tender affection, there cannot be so much wisdom; but one shall have more compassion upon the miseries of the person whom one loves. Since I have none for myself (replied the Princess) you would be unjust, if you should murmur that I have none for you: Then Madam, I beseech you (said he unto her) reflect upon your own condition; should I do as you advise, and marry Tullia who loves not me, nor I her, but should still continue my love to you, than Tarquin would marry you but love Tullia; and it may so chance that you may love me then, more than now you do, and that I myself should contribute unto your misery; for I cannot think it possible you should see me so full of misery as I shall be, and your heart nothing touched with Compassion: Think well therefore upon what I say, Madam, and afterwards favour me so far as to tell me, what course you would have me take; I would have you (said she) submit your mind unto your fortune, since you cannot make Fortune submit unto your mind; and I would have you (if I could speak it without a blush) be as miserable as I shall be; that you should marry Tullia with as much aversion as I shall Tarquin, and yet live as well with my Sister, as I am resolved to live with the Prince your Brother. But I would have you to believe withal, that if I could banish you from me, I should do it this very hour, and believe also, that this day is the first and last that ever you should tell me of your love. I should take it as a singular favour if you would change your passion into amity and friendship, and to love me only as a Sister. Oh! Madam (replied he) it is impossible I should ever love you any otherwise than as a Mistress; and you have brought me into the most pitiful condition in the world: For I must love you without the least spark of hope; I must hate my brother as a Rival; and I must hate the Princess your Sister as a perfidious woman, all whose inclinations are opposite unto mine. Take heed Madam, and fear lest my virtue should forsake me. I should fear it in any other but you, (replied the Princess) but judging of you by myself, I fear no violence nor injustice to proceed from you; for I know very well (if I can speak it for shame) that I can never love Tarquin, and that I can never hate you; but I know withal, that I shall never do any thing but what I ought. After this, the Prince Ameriola talked unto this virtuous Princess of many things; in a language full of passionate expressions, unto which she answered with as much tenderness and virtue: So as finding new causes of admiration at each others great and noble thoughts, they still continued loving one another very tenderly. But for all that their virtues were still much stronger than their Loves; and say what this Prince could he could not obtain any thing further from this Princess. And truly, though she made him absolutely desperate, yet was he not transported so far as to attempt any violent resolution. But whilst these two were talking thus, the Ambitious Tarquin, and the no less Ambitious Tullia, were discoursing after another manner: For they were no sooner at liberty to talk, but Tarquin) who knew that Tullia had intention to dissuade him for her Sister) he spoke the first, and began to complain of what he himself did: Well Madam (said he to her) what do you think of capricious fortune, who disposeth of us in such a cruel manner, and will have me (for your interest) deprive myself of a thing which is infinitely dear unto me? Yet resolve upon it I must, and yet there is no remedy against this misfortune: Did I speak unto one whose heart were inferior unto yours, I should not speak thus; but knowing the Grandeur of your Soul; I dare tell you how I am persuaded, that all the King's favours will follow him who shall marry the Princess, and that the King hath as great an aversion to you, as he hath affection to her. So as if I should let my Brother marry her, and I marry you, than we must both of us prepare ourselves to be their Slaves. Therefore Generous Tullia, I must marry the Princess, purposely to keep you from being her Vassal. And you must resolve to marry my Brother; for he being naturally of a sweet and compliant temper, you may mould him unto my interests which shall be always yours, for my marriage shall not keep me from loving you as much as ever I did, and as between a Wife and a Mistress, the Mistress is always most dear; so it shall be you who shall be really the Queen, if I be King. Tullia hearing Tarquin say so, she did not answer as her virtuous Sister would, if it had been her case; but on the contrary, perceiving she had yet some share in Tarquin's affection, she used all possible expressions to flatter up both his Love and his Ambition: But seeing it would be more advantageous for him to marry her Sister than to marry her, she went not about to alter his mind. So as this most abominable woman seeing she could not be his Wife, and foreseeing that perhaps she should have all the authority, she rested herself contented with the hopes of being his Mistress, though he married her Sister, and she married his Brother.  
Thus out of a resentment both of Love and Ambition, together with their want of virtue, these two resolved not to marry, and yet not to break off. After which, they went and joined with the Princess, and the Prince of Ameriola whose thoughts were quite opposite, since all that virtue could inspire were theirs. In the mean time, since Servius Tullus, required that these two Marriages should be solemnised out of hand, they were married within fifteen days after this conference, and done with all possible magnificence Royal; but with such sensible grief to the Princess, and the Prince of Ameriola, as I have heard say, that the day before the marriage they thought they should have died with sorrow, and that they did bid each other adien, in the saddest manner imaginable. But afterwards, their virtue being stronger, they recovered themselves, and set the best face they could upon the matter, and behaved themselves with so much Wisdom, that few did perceive their despairs.  
As for Tullia, her mind was full of tumultuous turbulence, but upon her consideration of things, she imagined, that perhaps she should be able to induce Servius Tullus to do as much for her, as for her Sister: And at worst, if she could not reign in the person of her Husband, yet she should in the person of her Lover. As for Tarquin, though he loved Tullia, yet he was glad his Brother had married her, because he was sure of her heart still, and because he looked upon his marriage with the Princess, as many steps nearer the Throne. Thus this great solemnity was passed over with thoughts very different amongst these four persons. Mean time, though Tarquin loved Tullia in his heart, and Tullia him again, yet did they secretly prejudice one another in things wherein there was any interest of Ambition. For if the Prince of Ameriola could be King, Tullia had rather been his Wife than Tarquins, because his mildness made hope to have all the Rule and Authority. Tarquin on the other side, who knew the humour of Tullia, was not sorry that he could be King without her assistance; yet they dissembled their thoughts, since their marriage kept a great league of correspondency. As for the Princess, and the Prince of Ameriola, it was not so with them; for though this virtuous Lover asked nothing but the friendship of the person he loved, and though she would not grant him any more, yet as far as civility would give her leave, she shunned all occasions of speaking wIth him in private. On the other side, the King who equally feared both Tarquin and Tullia, was very cautious how he inclined more unto one side than another; and lest he should incense Tullia, he showed no greater favour unto Tarquin, than unto the Prince of Ameriola; and lest he should incense Tarquin, he showed no more unto the Prince his Brother than unto him.  
But in thinking to be very prudent, and striving to carry even on both sides, he contented neither Tarquin nor Tullia; for never were two spirits greater enemies unto all equality than those two. And indeed it was most insupportable unto them to see the King favour both alike: Mean time, since they perceived the intention of Servius Tullus, they gave no rest unto the persons whom fortune had tied them unto; for Tullia was continually persecuting the Prince of Ameriola, because he stirred no more both against the King and against Tarquin; and Tarquin would never let the Princess his wife be in rest, purposely to oblige and move her to draw some unto him and herself from that tenderness which the King had over her; and would needs force her to negotiate against the Prince of Ameriola. So as by this means Tarquin was perpetually acting against his Brother, and against his Mistress; and he would needs have his Wife act against her Sister and her Lover. Tullia for her part, her whole thoughts were how to ruin both her Lover and her Sister; how to pull the Crown off her father's head; and to persecute her Husband, purposely to force him to do all he could against his Brother, and against the person he loved above all the World, and all to throw Servius Tullus out of the Throne: But let the Ambitious Tarquin, and the Ambitious Tullia do what they could, the virtue of these two illustrious persons did not stagger: for the Prince of Ameriola never did any thing which could displease the King, nor which might anger Tarquin, nor which was against the interest of that Princess whom he loved. But as for that admirable person, her virtue went further; for in such things as could not be done without injustice, and which were advantageous to her Husband, and disadvantageous to her Lover, she never meddled with them; yet at the very same time she bore a most horrible hatred against the one, and a most violent affection to the other; she served him whom he hated, and hurt not him whom she loved. 'Tis true, this was but upon certain occasions, where reason required it; for when Tarquin moved her by any unjust ways, either against her Father, or her Sister, or the Prince of Ameriola, she denied him with incomparable constancy; though yet it was always with a sweetness full of respect, able to allay even cruelty itself. However, out of her excess of virtue, and knowing that the thoughts of her Husband were extremely violent, that he stood not in any fear of the Gods, and that he scossed at the Laws of men: She did much endeavour to get his love, and win some credit in his thoughts, in hopes to sweeten the sharpness of his humour. On the other side, the Prince of Ameriola, who ever bore a violent affection unto the Princess, and a most horrid hatred unto Tullia, did constrain himself; and for his own honour, because it should not be said he had a Wife who could be accused of any wickedness, he did what he could to correct his, by a million of examples of goodness and complacency, which he daily showed. But it was in vain for these two virtuous persons to think of sweetening the natural fierceness of Tarquin and Tullia; for do what they could it did daily increase. So as Tarquin despairing of ever inspiring any Ambition into his Wife; and Tullia seeing no likelihood of ever making her Husband to commit any Crimes, though to get Crowns by it, they began to scorn and hate them, and all that were not of their own minds. They began, I say, to love one another more than ever they did, and to repent they did not marry each other. But the chief reason of their repentance was because if they were married, than they should the sooner arrive at their desired ends; so as the fire of Love and Ambition both joining together in their hearts, it broke out in such violent and unjust flames, as the most innocent talk, they had never ended under a promise of committing some crime or other, to unite their loves the more firmly.  
Truth is, they talked of nothing but things most terrible; for sometimes they would say, that it was the most egregious folly in Men, to lose a glorious design for a little scruple of virtue, or out of a fond Chimerical imagination of Glory; or for Men not to establish themselves unless by actions of generosity, which are absolutely incompatible with the execution of great enterprises. For my part (said Tarquin one day unto Tullia, as I understood by a witty Wench who waited upon this Princess) I take this for a most undoubted maxim, that those who will keep themselves within those bounds which the vulgar use to prescribe unto Justice and Generosity, they shall never arrive at any great matters by the way of Fortune: And unless Men will make bold with Laws they shall never exalt themselves above others; nor had there ever been any Kings, Kingdoms, or inequality of conditions. And therefore without any further dorring at Laws, which those who made them will not keep, let us make use only of such as will serve our own turns, and never precisely insist upon it whether the thing be just or unjust.  
These (generous Artimedorus) were the discourses of those persons at that time, and many more such, which I will not now relate; because hereafter, I shall tell you of things much more execrable. Mean time, since they had not always sit opportunities of talking together, they began to write very often unto each other: And as it is not easy for Persons of their Quality, that they should long conceal themselves, the Princess came presently to know, that there was a secret correspondency held between her Sister and her Husband: and the Prince of Ameriola also knew the like between his Wife and his Brother. However, out of a resentment of virtue and prudence, the Princess would not acquaint the Prince of Ameriola with the irregularity of his Wives courses, because this perfidious Woman was her Sister, and because that Prince was her Lover. The Prince of Ameriola on his side, it was long before he would discover unto the Princess, the infidelity of her Husband, thinking it would grieve her to no purpose.  
Thus was he in a pitiful Condition; for it went against his mind to discover the Crimes of his Wife; he could not think of any revenge upon his Brother, because he was Husband unto her whom he loved; who being all virtue, would never have looked upon him again, if he should kill her Husband. And therefore he did hide the matter as much as possible he could; yet since he knew the humour both of his Brother and his Wife, he was desirous to know the very bottom of their correspondency. And to that end, though he was never jealous, yet he employed all his diligence to discover it, and he carried the business so well, that the Slave who carried their Letters was absolutely his. So causing a Seal like unto theirs secretly to be made (for their Seals were both alike) he met with a Letter of Tarquin's unto Tullia, and the Answer of Tullia unto Tarquin. But these two Letters being the most horrid Letters of Love that ever were writ, and also being made public, there was not a Man in Rome who was a hater of Tarquin, which knew not of them. And I knew them better than any others, and more hated the injustice of them, than any whosoever.  
But before I acquaint you with the Contents of them, you must know, that the Prince of Ameriola was so surprised, as now thinking it not fit to disguise any longer, but that it was absolute requisite, the Princess should know the state of things, he resolved to go and acquaint her. And having taken Copies of these two Letters, he went unto the Princess, though he did not use to visit her in private, because she had forbid him, and he went in such a happy hour that he found her alone. Also he had the advantage not to fear his being interrupted either by Tarquin or Tullia; for the one was gone out to Hunt, and the other kept her Chamber, being a little sick. So as finding the Princess alone, according to his wish, he was very glad of it, though he had none but sad stories to tell her. But as for her though she still loved him very tenderly, yet was she troubled at the sight of him: So as this Prince perceiving it, I see, Madam (said he unto her) this my visit doth more displease than oblige you: But, Madam, I beseech you do not condemn me before you hear me, and the cause of my coming: For truly I have so accustomed myself to obey all your commands, and to deprive myself of the happiness in seeing you, that those respects I have ever paid unto you doth merit a grant of that audience which now I desire. Since the Princess knew the great virtue of the Prince, and since she found something in his looks, which told her, that he had some matter of importance to impart, she granted his desire; so as bidding him sit down by her, she began to lend an Ear unto what he would say.  
It grieves me to the Soul, Madam (said he unto her) that what I have now to tell you, is of the most dismal consequence imaginable; but it doth so much concern you to know it, as I am fully resolved not to conceal it, that the discovery makes me ashamed. But before I explain this sad Enigma unto you, I beseech you give me leave to conjure you into a belief, that I aim at no other advantage in all I shall tell you, but in preserving the life of the most fair and virtuous Person in the World, in preserving yours.  
Alas Generous Prince (said she unto him and sighed) I know not whether that be any great service or no: But however, I am much obliged unto you; and therefore I beseech you impart what you have to say. I will not tell you, Madam (replied he) that if Tarquin were not my Brother, nor your husband, that you should have heard of his Death before you knew his Crime; for I hope you are better acquainted with that heart wherein you have long reigned, then to believe it capable of so much baseness, as to let Crimes of that Nature go unrevenged an hour. But Madam, to hold you no longer in suspense, I beseech you read this Letter from Tullia to Tarquin, and also this Letter from Tarquin to Tullia. You may perceive, Madam, that these two Letters were preceded by many others, which perhaps treated concerning your Life and mine. After this, the Prince of Ameriola giving the Copies of the two Letters unto the Princess, she took them, and opening that of Tullia's first, she read these words.  
Tullia unto the most Generous and most Ambitious Prince upon Earth.  
SIR,  
I Have told you a hundred times, that if you will Reign in my heart, you must make me Reign in Rome. For as you would have me sacrifice all things unto your love, so you must sacrifice all unto my Ambition: Not but that I know this Passion is as much in your Heart, as in mine, and that you love me more, as I am Ambitious than as I am Fair: But yet methinks you are a little too slow in your Business. Make haste therefore and presently fix upon the day destined for our Liberty: And believe it, that it cannot be sooner than I desire, and that I have not a greater desire to see you Master of Rome, than to see myself absolute Mistress of your Heart. Be quick therefore, and sacrifice those two victims, which must render both Love and Fortune equally propitious; and be assured, that for my part, I shall not fail in any thing which I have promised.  
Whilst this Letter was reading, the Princess changed colour above twenty times; and after she had attentively read it over again, she shut it up, and restored it back unto the Prince of Ameriola, who told all at night, unto him, who told it unto me: Then lifting up her Eyes, and taking the other Letter, Oh! ye just Gods (said she) is it possible that my Sister should be so abominably wicked? Afterwards opening Tarquin's Answer, she found thus.  
Tarquin unto the Fair Tullia.  
YES my dearest, and most Ambitious Tullia, I shall e'er long do all things requisite to make you Reign in Rome, that I may Reign in your Heart: And before the next Ides be over, we shall be free, and in a condition to subject all others. Mean time, appoint you the day which you have designed for the sacrificing of those two Victims, which will secure our rest, for all things are ready for it. Adieu, be still yourself, I conjure you, that is, incapable of any weakness, of any scruple, and of any repentance.  
Well Madam, (said the Prince of Ameriola unto the Princess after she had done reading the Letters) what do you think upon these two Letters? and what is to be done for the avoiding of those misfortunes which threaten us? for you may plainly see, that you and I are the two Victims that must be offered, and who must set Tarquin and Tullia at liberty. They cannot mean the King and the Queen, since if they were dead, they cannot be in their places, nor yet free; therefore I must conclude they mean both you and me. Since Tarquin is your Husband, and Tullia your Sister, I will not make myself a judge of their crime, though Tullia be the most perfidious Wife in the World, and though Tarquin be the most wicked and ungrateful Brother upon Earth. Speak therefore Madam, I conjure you, and consider that it concerns your Life; as for my own interest I do not value it: and if there be a way to save your Life by exposing mine unto a thousand dangers; I would be sure to take it: and the truth is, since I must never enjoy you, Madam, death is as welcome to me as Life, and I cannot die with more glory, than in dying to do you service. Speak therefore, Madam, and speak quickly; for minutes are precious upon such an important occasion. Alas, Generous Prince (replied she) what would you have me say, or what can I say in this trouble, that I am in; for I am so affrighted at the crimes of Tarquin and Tullia, that did I not know you to be most sincere and generous, I could hardly believe what I see. How is it possible I should think the hearts of two persons so Illustriously born can be capable of such black, wicked, and horrid thoughts? how is it possible Love should inspire them with designs of such a Nature? which way can Love (I say) subsist with such a turbulent passion as Ambition? who can believe that a Daughter of Servius Tullus, that is the most virtuous Prince in the World, should ever offer to pull her Father from his Throne, and murder both her Sister, and her Husband? how can the Brother of the Prince of Ameriola ever contrive his death and mine? Alas, Madam, (replied the grieved Prince) 'tis not now a time to consider how things are possible; but to consider how we should preserve your life. It is so hard a matter to find out harmless remedies (replied she) that I think the best way is to seek for none, but resolve to die. Oh! Madam (replied the Prince of Ameriola) I am never able to consent unto your ruin; and if you do not find out some way to save your Life, I will rather go presently and Poniard my Brother and my Wife; then hazard the seeing of you die by the cruelty of two persons who are so nearly related unto me. But Madam, there are examples of Marriages being broken off; one of our most famous Citizens have authorized what I say; and if ever it were expedient to separate two persons whom Marriage hath united, it is most sitting to separate you from Tarquin, and me from Tullia: And therefore, Madam, if you please, we will take one of these two courses; either tell the King your Father all we know, to the end, that by his Regal Authority he may break off your Marriage and mine, and banish Tarquin and Tullia; or else without making any great noise of the matter which cannot help us, because the King is very slow in his resolutions, let us steal away from the violences of Tarquin and Tullia; your Marriage and mine may be broken, as well when we are not here, as when we are: We have no reason to mistrust the gods; and we have our own virtues to guard and comfort us against the cruelties and calumnies of Men, if you will but be pleased to fly unto some safe Sanctuary. And to testify unto you, Madam, how pure, and un-interested my Love is, if you think it not permittable I should be your Husband, since you have been my Brother's Wife; I am contented to be with you as a Brother, who would protect and defend you as his Sister, and never pretend any further. Thus without shedding the blood of an inhuman Brother, and an unjust Wife, and without your consenting unto the ruin of an Ambitious Husband and cruel Sister, we may sit safe in some Sanctuary where their cruelty cannot reach us; we may be there in security and live happily, if you will but hold me in the degree of friendship; for I do find my Love so subjected unto my reason and your virtue, as it will never move me unto any thing that will anger you, nor say any thing that will displease you. Consent therefore, Madam, I beseech you unto this happy Exile, if you will not consent unto the ruin of Tarquin and Tullia. No, no, generous Prince, (said she unto him) I will neither consent unto the one, nor the other. For if I should go as you propound, doubtless I might save my life; but since I cannot do it and save my reputation also, I must not entertain the least thought of it: For what Calumnies will not the unjust Tarquin asperse upon me? and what scandal will not the cruel Tullia belch out against me? Pardon me, Madam, I beseech you, replied the Prince of Ameriola, if my zeal to your service will never suffer them to ruin you. To take the medium between these two extremes (replied she) we must endeavour to let the King my Father see one of those Letters, either that from Tarquin to Tullia, or that from Tullia to Tarquin; to the end that by his Prudence and Authority, he may shroud us from these two dangerous persons. Perhaps he will think it convenient to put me in some place of safety for a while, upon some pretence which he will invent, and will command you to travel into some Country, until such time as reason hath wrought upon the spirits of our enemies; or else he will find out some other way to secure us.  
But Madam, (replied this Prince) whilst you are contriving ways how to let the King see these Letters, you may perish; and not to deceive you, I beseech you do not think, that as things stand I am able to be far from you: And therefore, Madam, if you do not approve of either of these ways which I propose, you must let me go this very hour unto the King your Father, and impart all I know unto him; and I advise you that under some pretence or other, you do not eat at your own house, nor lie there; for I cannot tell whether it be by poison or sword, that the inhuman Tarquin and the cruel Tullia would have us perish. But if you should go unto the King (replied she) and are not able to prove what you inform, you will thereby make such a noise as perhaps will forward our deaths, in lieu of preventing them. And therefore, if you will be advised by me, have a little patience: Perhaps, those who desired our deaths have repent, and since the slave who useth to carry their Letters is for you; since you have a Seal like unto theirs, and since you can see all they write, we are yet in safety. For Tarquin would know from Tullia, the day which she will design for our deaths; so as when you see that, then let us take heed unto ourselves; and since it is lawful for any to defend their own lives, I give you leave to use all your endeavours to save ours; but I will never allow of any violent remedies; for I had rather die for want of prudence, and by excess of goodness, then to ruin others by too much unjust precipitation. But, Madam, (replied he) can it be any injustice to prevent one's death? However (replied she) Death is not so terrible to me, that to avoid it people should say, I had ruined my Husband; and I had much rather that Tarquin should be eternally branded with my death, than I should be suspected to contribute unto his. And generous Prince (said she and blusnt) since my heart tells me that it hath a tender share of friendship for you, I ought to be more circumspect than otherwise I should; and it is fit I conjure you to be gone, lest this long conference (should it be known unto our enemies) should give them a colour to hasten their wicked designs into execution. However, I conjure you to take a care of yourself, for it would grieve my Soul to hear that I should have a Sister who was the cause of your death. Oh! Madam, (replied the Prince) I beseech you never think of me; but think how to prevent I may never hear the dismal news that a Brother of mine hath been your death. After this, abundance of tender expressions, passed between these two virtuous persons; never proceeded so many heroic, so many passionate, and so many innocent thoughts from any two upon Earth, as from them; they resolved at parting to communicate unto each other what they discovered: After which, the Prince of Ameriola went unto the King, in such a profound melancholy as it was impossible for him to hide it, and it was observed by all the people, and the King himself. As for the Princess, as soon as the Prince of Ameriola was gone, she went unto her prayers, and prayed both for Tarquin and Tullia; and in lieu of praying for their ruin to hinder her own, she only prayed they might repent. But whilst the Prince of Ameriola had been with the Princess, it happened unluckily, that Tarquin who was gone to hunt, returned sooner than he intended; and in lieu of going to his own house, he went unto Tullia's, who kept her Chamber that day: The reason of his so sudden return was, that resting himself under a Tree while they were mending his Bridle, which was broken by riding through a thick Wood, he began to read over Tullia's Letter unto him; and in reading of it in the open light, he plainly discovered that it had been opened, and that there was some small difference between his Seal, and that wherewith it was sealed. So as being naturally suspicious and violent, he made no question, but that it was either the Prince of Ameriola or the Princess who had opened it. And judging others by himself, he feared being prevented, if a remedy were not immediately applied. But lest the business he was about should be too much noted, he seemed as if he intended to hunt out the day, as soon as his Bridle was mended he got on Horseback, and upon the first handsome opportunity, he stole away and came with all speed to Rome. In lieu of going home, he went as I told you to Tullia, where he heard, that the Prince his Brother, was with the Princess his Wife. So as according to his natural impetuosity, his thoughts ran upon nothing else but what poison he should choose to give them. With these thoughts he entered into Tullia's Chamber; he told her that his last Letter had been opened, and desired her to look whether hers had been so also; and indeed this cruel Woman with Tarquin looking upon it, they plainly saw that it had been sealed with a counterfeit Seal; which no sooner spied, but Tullia speaking first, well (said she) had I not good reason to say that you were too slow in your courses, and that you must make all hast possible to remove all these obstacles which hinder our happiness? Yes my dear Tullia (said he unto her) you are in the right, and I am in the wrong; but to make amends I will make the more haste, and therefore without any more delay, these two persons who hinder our happiness must be poisoned this very day. It hath been so long resolved upon, and their ruin is so requisite unto our rest, and unto the Grandeur of Rome, as it it is injustice to deser the execution any longer. Make sure work on your side, as I will on mine; be not so simply weak as to repent; and be sure your eyes do not betray the secret of your Soul: Look unto yourself (replied the wicked and violent Tullia) be sure the fair eyes of your Wife do not change your heart: Never think upon either gods, or Men, or Laws; but think only upon the Crown which you aim at: Remember how Romulus got the Crown by the death of his Brother, and that by this death the people will rank you among the gods. Consider how those who make a long War to get a Crown, do sacrifice many more Victims than you shall; and above all consider, that Tullia will be yours, as soon as the enemies of our happiness are dead. For generous Artemidorus, you must know, that though Tullia was not capable of any scruple, nor any Religion, nor any virtue, yet she would never let Tarquin enjoy her, until he was in a condition to marry her; for her fears were, that if he should satisfy his Love, he would not be so diligent to satisfy her Ambition: And therefore desiring that the passion of this Prince, might help on her Ambitious designs, she was very reserved in that point, though she expressed as much affection to him, as he to her.  
Mean time you must know, that Tarquin and Tullia having both of them impetuous spirits, and shrill voices, and their souls being wholly taken up with the grand Crimes which they were to commit, they were not so cautious, but a Woman overheard them; one who had been brought up with the Princesses, and waited upon Tullia in particular, only since she was married, she heard this dismal discourse; and plainly understood how Tarquin told Tullia at parting, that he would send her the poison as soon as he came home; insomuch as this Woman who loved the Princess, and had some goodness in her, she had so much horror against the crime of her Mistress, as being desirous to prevent the death of these two innocent persons, whose sentence of death she heard pronounced, she went unto her Chamber, where she writ two notes, the one to give the Prince of Ameriola when she saw him, and the other to send unto the Princess. But since some time was taken up in writing, and some in seeking out a slave trusty enough to carry a note of that consequence unto the Princess, her good intentions took no good effect; for you must know, that Tarquin after he had been a while with the King, because he heard the Prince of Ameriola was there, and after he had observed that melancholy in his eyes which every one saw, he went home in all haste to send poison unto Tullia, and to give it unto his Wife. But as ill fortune was for that virtuous Princess, this Tyrant came in before she was acquainted with the conference of Tullia and him; and he came in so just in the nick to hinder her, as the Slave (who had the note which would have saved her Life had she received it) was speaking unto one of her women in the Antichamber, as he came in. He offered to take the note from him, the Slave refused to give it, saying he was to deliver it unto none but the Princess; but Tarquin being naturally suspicious, and thinking he was interested in all manner of whispers, he took it from him, and said, he would take upon him to deliver it; you may well imagine that the Slave and the Woman were much surprised.  
Yet Tarquin was so terrible unto all that knew him, as that they durst not murmur, though they were extremely troubled; for the Slave knew the note was of some great concernment, because he had such a charge with it, and the Woman thought so as well as he, seeing the obstinacy of the slave to part with it, unto any but the Princess. However, they must be patient, the slave went away, and the Woman went into the Chamber of her Mistress, whilst Tarquin was reading the Note, where he found what he imagined; so as seeing that if the business were not quickly dispatched, it would be difficult to effect; he presently sent away the poison to Tullia: after which he went into the Chamber of the Princess, who was not a little troubled, for the Woman who had told her what Tarquin had done. So as since the Prince of Ameriola, and she had agreed to advertise each other of all they heard, she believed, knowing the slave who brought the note was his, that it was this Prince who had written unto her. So as being extremely jealous of her glory, and valuing it above all things else, she feared lest this note should induce Tarquin to think that she held some criminal correspondency with his Brother. But he rested not long in those fears; for this cruel Tarquin intending to delude her, and judging by the sorrow he saw in her eyes, that she knew more than she spoke, he went unto her with more freeness of spirit than usual. And to execute the violence which he had used in taking away the note from him that would have given it unto her, he told her with a laugh, that he would have her guests from whom it came, and what it concerned, adding that if she could not guests right, she should not have it until the morning: The Princess seeing him so pleasant, suffered herself to be deceived, not but that she knew Tarquin could dissemble as well as any Man living; but as commonly persons that are highly virtuous can hardly believe that any can be extremely wicked, so she thought the note to be of no great importance; and she thought moreover, that the Prince of Ameriola and she had given too bad an Interpretation upon the Letters; or else that surely Tarquin had repent. So as setting the best side outward, the endeavoured to guests from whom this Note should come, which he would not show unto her, though she knew not whom to name, for she would not mention the Prince his Brother, and Tullia was not used to write unto her. But after this forced mirth had lasted a while, supper was ready; and Tarquin that he might have the satisfaction to see her take the poison, he would sup with her. I have heard a Man say, who saw her that night, that though she was melancholy, yet she never in her life looked fairer; and he assured me, that Tarquin himself was a little troubled, and that when she called for drink, and he knew it to be the poison, which he had prepared, he changed colour. But when he found that the sight of so great a beauty did mollify his heart, this cruel Man turned away his head, that he might not see her drink the poison: And indeed he talked unto one of his Servants whilst she took it: After which, glorying that he had surmounted the weakness, and foolish qualms of his heart, he was so impudently inhuman as to look upon her as before, and so cruel as to jest several times with her during this fatal repast. But to the end, that the poison might have the more leisure to work its effect, he seemed to have some private business to communicate unto her; so as carrying her into his Closet, he obliged her to be there near two hours, though she began to find herself ill within half an hour after she entered; for the Man of whom he had the poison, assured him, that if no Antidote was applied within one hour after the taking, all remedies after would be in vain, and the party would certainly die. So as though this fair and virtuous Princess did complain at first of her being ill, yet this Tiger Tarquin did keep her there, telling her it was nothing; and talking to her of divers things which he desired her to tell the King. But at last, after he thought the poison had wrought its effects, he seeming very busy in helping her, he would be always by her, lest if she should suspect the cause of her death, she should not discover any thing unto the bystanders. Thus this admirable person did, so her Murderer seemed to interest himself in the pain which she endured. And indeed, when she went out of the Closet, her Women seeing a mortal paleness in her face, did persuade her to go to bed: But she answered very mildly, that ere long they should carry her to her Grave. And as they were very earnest to send for the King's Physicians; I pray do, (said she) see they bring intentions with them to make me die more easily; for to cure me (added she and sighed) they cannot, nor do I desire they should. Mean while, amidst all the hatred which she might well have against her Husband, and her Sister, and notwithstanding, the Love she bore unto the Prince of Ameriola, yet she used not one sharp word against those who killed her, nor one sweet expression of him whom she tenderly loved; but she whispered one in the Ear, whom she trusted with all the secrets of her Life, and commanded her to tell that unfortunate Prince, that she desired him not to revenge her death, but to preserve her memory: After which she asked twice to see the King and Queen; but though Tarquin said he had sent unto them, yet she never saw them, because he hindered any from going, saying it was too late of the night and that he hoped the Princess would pass it over, and that she herself would be sorry they should obey her. The Princess having a great Soul, knew very well she asked in vain, nor was she very earnest upon it, but lifting up her eyes unto Heaven, let me die then (said she with a deep sigh) in hopes long to stand in need of no Consolation. After this her pain increased, and she grew very weak, but when the Physicians came, they did a little revive her, but they hoped never the more for that, but on the contrary said they could not save her; and in saying so, one might have seen by their eyes, that they durst not tell the cause of her death, and that they imagined Tarquin would not have them to tell it, but they spoke in ambiguous terms, enough to make it known. Mean while, this cruel Murderer stood by still; and he had so much dissembling inhumanity as to feel the Pulse of this deplorable Princess, that he might guests how long she had to live: So as this languishing person did in a manner pull back her Arm, and being out of all patience, turned towards Tarquin, with a languor able to inspire compassion into cruelty itself, I ask you pardon, Sir (said she unto him and blushed) for being so long a dying, but it is not my fault (said she and turned another way) for I took all the poison that was given me, and never looked for any remedy; yet these words were not heard by any but Tarquin, and that Lady who knew all the secrets of this deplorable Lady's heart. But she was so full of sorrow as she could not speak, and Tarquin who was as bold as wicked, beginning to speak, he said she began to swoon, and that she would never recover out of it. And indeed, losing her speech, a little after she fell into a Trance which lasted four or five hours. But as soon as Tarquin saw her swooned, and thinking she would never speak again, he sent to acquaint the King and Queen, who coming in all haste were extremely grieved to find the Princess in that condition; yet they never thought her to be poisoned, nor of any thing else but remedies, but all in vain, for she died some two hours after the Sun was up: Afterwards the unjust Tarquin bethought himself how to render her all imaginable honours after death. But whilst this inhuman Butcher was sacrificing this fair Princess unto his Love and Ambition, the cruel Tullia was offering the same sad sacrifice that he was, and as soon as the Prince of Ameriola was returned home, and according to his custom went into a Bath, he began to find himself ill; for Tarquin had made up his Doses of such a Composition, as when Tullia had put it into the Bath, the very vapour of it did stifle him, and took away the use of his reason as soon as he was in.  
The two Servants who waited upon him, being privy unto Tullia's Conspiracy, they had Antidotes to keep this vapour from hurting them; and Tullia had cunningly sent away all others that were not of the confederacy: But after this poison had wrought its effect, and the Prince in that condition, the cruel Tullia herself took him out of the bath, and put him into Bed, causing those who were of this horrid plot, to say that he desired to sleep, and had forbidden any to enter into the Chamber. She herself seeing he did not die so soon as she desired, she would not go to Bed that night, and going often into the Chamber of this unhappy Prince, her impatience was such, as she caused him to be strangled with two Handkerchiefs tied together, to the end there might be no signs of a violent death, and that it might seem he was choked with a Fluxion of Humours. However it was, this Prince died the same night with the Princess whom he loved, which made so great a noise in Rome, rhat nothing else was talked of. Yet Tarquin and Tullia were so terrible unto all the World, that People durst only whisper what they thought concerning the sudden death of these two both at one time, though none called the cause of their death by the name of any disease: These most cruel and inhuman Barbarians, did well enough foresee that causing them to die so both at one time, people would think as they did; but they foresaw more danger to themselves, in causing them to die at several times; for if the Princess had survived the Prince of Ameriola, she would have told the King her Father what she knew concerning his death: And Tulliia would not poison her Husband until she was sure that Tarquin would poison his Wife; lest after he was rid of him who might dispute with him about the Crown, he should not go on in his business. Tarquin for his part would not poison his Wife, had he not been sure of his Brother's death; for he was sure that if his Brother survived the Princess, he would revenge her death, so as seeing much less danger in the mutterings of the people, they resolved to commit these two horrid Crimes both at once, with as much boldness as cruelty.  
And as Tarquin did render all imaginable honours unto the Princess, as soon as she was dead; so did Tullia unto the Prince of Ameriola, as soon as he was expired. This cruel person had the impudence to go and comfort Tarquin after the death of his Wife: And Tarquin also sent this Compliment unto her, that he was more sorry for the Prince of Ameriola's death, as he was her Husband than as his Brother. All this while the wise and prudent Servius Tullus was strangely amazed; for though at the first he did not suspect that the Princess his Daughter was poisoned; yet he was of another mind after the Prince of Ameriola's death, and knew that Tarquin and Tullia were they who sent them into another World, which grieved this good King to the very heart: These two virtuous Persons who were dead, were extremely dear unto him, and their deaths struck deep into his sorrowful Soul; Tarquin and Tullia after this horrid Crime were a horror unto him, but they were a terror also and he feared the same treatment to himself, which he saw used unto others. Yet this Consideration had not kept him from publishing his resentment, had not a reason of honour restrained him. For (said he unto one whom he trusted with all the secrets of his heart) why should I slain my own glory, by accusing my own Daughter for poisoning her Husband and her Sister? Why should I accuse my Son in Law for murdering his Wife and his Brother? When I have accused these two persons can I prove their Crime, or am I assured that I can punish them? for it is likely that Tarquin and Tullia would never have attempted a thing of this nature, unless they were sure of some great party in the Senate. Besides I know no further than by conjectures; and say I had a certain knowledge, it is hard for a Father to punish his own Children, unless they be obliged unto it, for conspiring against the Senate; for in that case the general interest ought to be preferred before the particular, and one's Country before Nature. But this is only to be revenged for the death of a Daughter, and a Son in Law, Rome hath no interest in the business, or if it have it is in a different manner: For I conceive it is a shame unto all Romans to have a King that shall convict, his Son in Law for poisoning his Wife, and that shall convict his own daughter for poisoning her Husband. I conceive it better to dissemble it, and look upon Tarquin and Tullia as innocent. This certainly is ●he best and most safe way for myself; and certainly the most advantageous unto Rome: for unless I should poison Tarquin and Tullia as they have others, they will raise a Rebellion in the City which may hazard my Crown, and therefore it is the best way to dissemble my Resentments. You may imagine Sir, that the man unto whom he spoke, did not contradict what Tullus said; for besides the strength of reason which was in what was said, it had been a hard tale, to tell a Father that he ought to put a Daughter and a Son in Law to death; knowing well that there was no middle way to take, and the banishment of such persons was not enough. So as this being the resolution, the King did dissemble the matter so well, that all the World were constrained to dissemble with him, and seem as if there was not any suspicion either of Tarquin or Tullia, for causing the deaths of that illustrious Prince and Princess. But Sir, not to relate what discourses Tarquin and Tullia had, nor what kind of Love this was, which was begun by the empoisoning of so great a Prince and so great a Princess. Give me leave only to tell you, that as soon as the time of mourning was past, which amongst us lasts Ten Months, Tarquin did marry Tullia, and Tullus could not hinder it.  
Not but that this marriage appeared most horrid and execrable unto him, as oft as he considered that Tarquin poisoned his Wife purposely to marry Tullia, and Tullia poisoned her Husband only to marry Tarquin; but Tullus having begun to dissemble and cover their Crimes, so he would continue it. Also since it was extremely expedient for him to unite the family of the Tarquins with his own. Policy allowed of that which virtue and justice would not, so as suiting himself to the times, this abominahle marriage was made up with all magnificence: For the King knew very well that Tarquin as wicked as he was, had gotten much credit in the Senate and minds of the people: Not but that, as is said before, the Crimes of Tarquin and Tullia were most horrid in the eyes of all the World; yet the people being inconstant, changing every minute, and equally forgetting both virtues and vices, the memory of this cursed act did insensibly wear out, as if the people of Rome quite forgot it. For you must know, that since the death of the Prince of Ameriola and the Princess, Tarquin seeing himself a step nearer the Crown, and desiring all might be forgotten, he became that out of policy which naturally he was not, for he grew exceedingly civil, and was more forward to salute the common people, than persons of quality; he always went through the most popular streets, purposely to meet with more occasions of showing his civility unto those, from whom he expected one day a Crown. Moreover, he would very earnestly interest himself in private business; he would needs be the only Pacificus, and taker up of all Quarrels; he would be the Arbitrator and ender of all differences; he divided those whom he thought might prejudice him, and united all such as he conceived fit for his service; he lent money unto some; he gave money unto others; his Gates were open unto all comers; he itched to serve such as he called his friends; and was infinitely zealous to do all good Offices: Again, he would suit himself most admirably well unto the humours of any, when he was in private with them: And unto such as were religiously devoted, he would seem religious even to a very scruple; he was a very Libertine with the Libertines; he would scoff both at the Gods of the Grecians and the Gods of the Romans. He was voluptuous with those that were so, and he was a Philosopher when he met with men of that profession. Yet I have heard say, that for all these various forms into which he would transform himself, he was still Tarquin, and when he would be the most sweet and courteous, he had still a sullen, gloomy, and fierce look: But for all that the people looking more upon his Civilities than his Physiognomy, he deceived them; and this most abominable Tarquin did get great credit, under the Reign of the most virtuous King on earth. As for Tullia, it was not so with her, for her spirit was not able to vary into so many several shapes as Tarquin was. But on the contrary she thought herself above all she saw, that all the world was her Vassals, and that she owed not observance unto any; that Fortune owed her a Crown, and that she needed not to endeavour the pleasing of any, or getting their Loves. She did extremely slight all Women, and would not admit of any conversation but men. As for her reputation she did not care for any; and when any told her that if she carried he self as she did, unto all the Ladies who did visit her, she would procure their hatred; she would then return answer, that so she could make herself feared, she cared not for being loved. And indeed, she never used any of those trivial obligements, which Custom hath established as a Law among Ladies. Not but that she loved to be commended, though she said she did not care for it, but she could not endure to commend or flatter any: And indeed she was never commended or flattered by any, but out of fear; and certainly they had great reason to fear her, for her actions were all violences, and she was terrible to all the world.  
It happened once that she put a most horrible affront upon the Wife of a Prime Senator, who being of a high and sensible spirit, could not choose but complain as soon as she was out of that Princess' Chamber. For meeting with one of her intimate friends, she no sooner saw him but beginning to speak; Good Friend (said she) rejoice with me, for being delivered during all my life from one of the most scurvy visits in the World; for I am fully resolved never again to go unto the Princess Tullia, no not though she should become Queen. She is so accustomed to be uncivil, (replied her friend) that you need not wonder at her; but I am so little accustomed to suffer incivilities, (replied this incensed Lady) as I cannot endure them. But do you know one (added her friend) that ever went unto Tullia, who received no affrout from her? and do you think it is a shame for you to endure what all others do? I think (replied she half angry) that such as do endure them are people of poor and base hearts, and that I am sure mine is none such. If I could not live unless I went unto Tullia, were I born her Slave, or at least, did my fortune depend upon her; were I sure she would do some great matters for me, than perhaps it might be said, I was too delicate and nice, and that I were to blame if I did not go unto her: But since none of these things are so, for I can live and never visit a Princess who is void of virtue, I am none of Tullia's Slave; my fortune depends not upon her, nor will she ever do any thing for me, and therefore my best and shortest course is never to come at her; for I am not troubled with the disease of those Ladies, who when they have been with Tullia on one of those days, when she did not treat them very ill can go all the rest of the day from house to house, bragging, whether to the purpose or no, that they were to see her, and that she spoke to them. And I remember one whose whole discourse was of that nature, and who had such an art of bringing in all she had to say, to make it believed she was high in Tullia's favour, as I wondered how she could link her discourse together. For at every word, I came from from the Princess, the Princess told me, I spoke of that business unto the Princess, the Princess took me unto the window to talk with me in private, the Princess made me promise her to come again to morrow; and the Princess did at every word so fill up her discourse; as if that word had been taken away all the rest had been nonsense. However she was very well pleased with herself, and thought herself very happy. But I who cannot pay any open respect unto any who are not virtuous, or such as affect incivilities, I will never visit any but such as receive me as I conceive they are obliged to do. And this is my way of behaviour, when I am amongst my inferiors, I am as careful as I can to use my Civilities unto them, when I am amongst my equals I use to measure my civilities with theirs, and I care not how they carry themselves to me so there be no strangers in the Company, though I conceive that familiarity and affability, never ought to banish Civility; but when I am in the company of women whom fortune hath set above me; I am very circumspect, and have an eye upon their very looks, I cannot endure to be Browbeaten, and if those of that quality be not civil, they have naughty hearts and ill wits; for as the world goes it is so easy a matter for them to oblige every one that sees them, or if they do not, it must be concluded they have no wit, or else so foolishly proud, that they think all their inferiors not considerable. And I do openly declare, that I would not be Tullia with all her Grandeur upon a condition to have all her ill inclinations. This Lady being in the heat of her anger, did not take any notice that she spoke before some people who were not obliged to be faithful unto her: And indeed this discourse being reported unto the furious Tullia, she threatened her in such a terrible manner, as the Lady was glad to go out of Rome, purposely to avoid an ill turn. However the secrets of the Gods being inscrutable, the marriage of Tarquin and Tullia, as abominable as it was, seemed to be concordant to their wills, for all things prospered according to their wish: Tullia had three Sons and a Daughter; abundance was in their House, Tarquin and she were never sick, and every thing prospered unto them; Tarquin did signalise himself by his courage upon several occasions in War; and one would have thought that the great Governor of the World had forgotten their Crimes, so happy did they seem in every thing, and yet it was but a seeming happiness; for because they were not upon the Throne, and Tullus lived longer than they would have him, they thought themselves very miserable. And indeed Tarquin from the very first day of marriage with Tullia, never durst attempt any thing against his Father in Laws life; but rather endeavoured to make the people forget that Crime which he was accused of, and get a strong party in the Senate. But the most cruel Tullia being of a more impetuous temper, and having less prudence in her Ambition than he, she thought the way which Tarquin took to ascend the Throne to be too long; and that if he would have his design to prosper, he must take a nearer cut. She would have been glad if her Father would have been so good natured as to have given over the Government into Tarquin's hands; But she saw quite contrary, that this virtuous King did not intend he should Reign; and that if he did part from his Royal Power, as some reports went; yet he intended it should be upon conditions, that he should not be King: So as not seeing in Tarquin all those virtues that were requisite to be in a good Prince, he kept the Royal power in his hands, and used it with such moderation as deserved to be a pattern for all the Kings upon earth.  
But as it is very hard for Kings to hide their thoughts, so Tullia quickly discovered that the King her Father did not intend to put the Crown upon her Head: So as being in a mighty rage, she made it reflect upon her Husband, who did not act according to her mind in the speedy compassing of her desired ends; and not being able any longer to dissemble the thoughts of her heart, she began to look upon Tarquin with eyes full of extraordinary fury. And this Prince being of his own nature very sensible, he asked her from whence this alteration in her humour did proceed? It proceeds (said she) from your tame sitting still, and from your putting yourself into such a state, as you shall never be able to remove; for truly Tarquin to be plain with you, I did not consent unto the death of my Sister, nor Poison my Husband to become the Wife of a bare Citizen of Rome; for the Daughter of Tullus needed not to employ such violent means to find a Husband of that quality, but I thought to find in you a Prince worthy to wear a Crown, and one that would do all things necessary to get it. Know then that if your thoughts be high, you will remember that you are of the Blood of the first Tarquin; you will aspire to sit in his Seat, and out of an heroic impatiency of Reigning, you will force Tullus to surrender his seat unto you, and will not tarry until death drive him out, or till old Age make the Sceptre to drop out of his hand. Know, I say, that if you do this day begin to make the first step up the Throne, if you do it with a firm resolution never to retreat but go on, and either die or Reign; and if you will do all I bid you, than I will hold you for my Husband and my King: But know withal, that if your thoughts go less I will hold you for my Slave; for my Slave that is Criminal; for Tarquin I must repute those culpable, who commit Crimes to no purpose: And therefore I conclude, that if we do not sit upon the Throne, we deserve to be reproached with the death of those two persons, whom we sacrificed unto our Love and our Ambition: But on the contrary, all Crimes will be blotted out, when they are followed with happy success. Make haste then Tarquin; and keep the promise which you made when you married me; you are in so fair a way, that I wonder you should go no faster. You came from Corinth, and are descended from Tarquinia to make yourself King of a strange people, as the first of the Tarquins did: you are of a Royal Family, you see in every public place, Statues erected unto the first of the Tarquins, you dwell in the same Palace which he built, you see the same Throne which he did sit upon; you have the same heart, spirit, and ambition; you fear neither any thing above your head nor about you; the authority of the Laws nor servile fear of Imaginary Penalties do not affright you; you have friends in the Senate and among the people, and if you had not been over prudent, you had been upon the Throne already; and if you should continue still upon this prejudicial Prudence, all that you have already done is to no purpose; what good will all your extraordinary Civility, which you have used unto the most base and abject of the People do you? unto what end serves all your cringing complacency unto all the Patricians? why have you lent out some moneys, given others, and been unprofitably Prodigal, will all your Ambition and turbulent Pangs of Soul serve to no end? Truly Tarquin, if you will make no more haste, I will even advise you to return unto Tarquinia and Corinth, and to seek out for felicity, by some other way than by Ambition. But as for me, since Tanaquil who was a stranger, was so bold and happy as to dispose of Crowns, either in the person of her Husband or her Son in Law, I will see what I can do, and not stay till Tullus refer it to the Senate, who will not render it unto you; nor will I stay so long as till he die, which perhaps will be a long time: Speak then Tarquin will you be a Slave, or will you be a King? In telling you that I will be worthy of you, (replied he) methinks I tell you as much as need; but to let you see that you accuse me wrongfully, I will discover unto you those reasons which move me to defer the execution of so great a design. And indeed, Tarquin told Tullia all his several plots, which he had in the Senate and among the People, but say what he could to move her unto patience, and not to go precipitately to work, he was forced to promise her, to make more haste than well he could; for every minute seemed an Age unto this Ambitious and cruel person, which was employed in the advancement of her abominable design. However she went unto the King, and asked and obtained favours for men unto whom she would not have done them, but upon conditions to serve her against that Prince who did them, whensoever she should need. Thus this virtuous King did by his own benefits contribute to his own ruin; for not a day passed wherein Tarquin or Tullia did not obtain something from him for those whom they had engaged in their wicked designs.  
In the mean time Tarquin lived the most wretched life in the World, for he rested neither night nor day: he had always a hundred several matters which tended all unto one end; for labouring to engage all sorts of people in his design, he held all manner of correspondencies, some men under pretence of eating at his Table came to confer with him, others whom he never saw but at the Temple, other also unto whose houses he went; and some in the Kings own Palace whom he treated with to ruin him: Moreover, scarce a night passed but he went out of his own house in a disguise, to confer with some of the Senators who were of his Intelligence, during which time it was given out that he was gone to Bed. Also he employed the most sacred things to serve his abominable ends; for he engaged some of the Salian Priests, and he made an under hand Proposition unto the Grand Vestal to enter into his interests, but she would not, though he promised to secure her from all danger. Mean while, the common opinion was, that he courted her to extinguish the sacred fire, to the end it might be said, that Rome was menaced with some great misfortune, and that this accident did signify the authority to be weak in the hands of so old a Prince as Servius Tullus; for he knowing very well the nature of the common People, he knew that matters of Religion make a deep impression in their spirits, and that a silly scruple aptly applied to the multitude, will work more with them than all the solid reasons in the World. Moreover, though Tarquin was always full of tumultuous business, though he scarcely ever slept, though his mind was perpetually unquiet, and though he saw himself always upon the very brink of a dismal precipice, since if his design was once discovered, he was utterly ruined; yet he was as healthy and as vigorous, as if he had enjoyed the greatest tranquillity of any man alive. But for the better advancement of his design, he asked divers things of the King, particularly concerning Rome, which were of such a nature, as neither ought nor could be granted, so as they were denied him; and he asked them, purposely that he might have a pretence of murmuring against Servius Tullus; and at the same time he began to complain, those whom either he or Tullia had suborned began also to declaim against the government, and to belch out a thousand bitter invectives against the best of Kings. And it is very observable, that Servius Tullus who was the first of our Kings who made money, and brought in the use of it amongst us, did thereby make the way of suborning those whom Tarquin had need of, more easy. For thereby gifts might be given in private, and without a noise unperceived, which before could not be. Also Tarquin had engaged abundance of all sorts; there was not any Trade or Art, but he had some in it ready to do what he would, he had a Party also working among the very Slaves; so as it was easy for him to scatter what reports he pleased against the King, some said therefore, that he was but a Slave born of a Slave, who after the death of the first Tarquin had usurped the Crown by the Artifice of a Woman, who got him made King without the suffrages of the people. Others told the Senators, that Servius smelling of the baseness of birth, had taken the goods of all the rich Families, and divided them among the poor; others told the People, that the King had taken from them the nomination of all their principal Officers, and bestowed them upon the great ones, to the end they might oppress the weak: And others said, that this Prince who had caused the particular Estates of every one to be numbered, had done it only to know unto whom he should address himself, when he had a mind to undo his Subjects and enrich himself.  
So as every one going the way of his own interest and cunning, dispersing several reports amongst the dull multitude (who are not able to discern justly, and who always are apt to murmur against Authority, especially against an old King) they were presently persuaded, that the most just Prince upon earth, was Tyrannical. Tarquin and Tullia seeing so happy a beginning in their enterprise, they were beyond measure joyed; yet it was a joy not communicable unto others; for the discourse at Tullia's house was only such as were of the intrigue. And I have heard say, that they would sometimes pass away a whole afternoon in nothing but whispers; for all that came thither had some secret or other to tell Tullia, or Tullia them.  
But atlast, the fatal Puncto of time destined for the ruin of Servius Tullus, and the Grandeur of Tarquin being come, Rome was a witness of the most horrid adventure, that ever happened in any place of the World. Be pleased to know, that this Ambitious Prince, having ordered all things for the execution of his Barbarous design, and being fully resolved to kill the King, he went that fatal day unto the Chamber of the Devilish Tullia; for he had passed away all the night in going from street to street in a disguise, and from house to house, to make sure of all those who were of his damned Faction. He was no sooner there but that detestable Princess went to meet him with eyes full of joy; and speaking first, courage Tarquin (said she unto him) you have but one step now to make, before you are upon the Throne, ascend it boldly, and render yourself worthy to be the Husband of Tullia by an act so heroic: Leave tenderness and pity, and such puling qualities to the dull vulgar, and know that I permit you to sacrifice all unto your Ambition, not excepting the King himself. Go then this very day, and with undaunted resolution either ascend the Throne or descend into your Grave; for as the case stands with you there is no middle way to take. No, no, Generous Tullia (replied this Prince) you never need to fear I will startle back, nor need you doubt the happy success of my design, be assured you shall be a Queen before the Sun set, and you shall never see me again unless upon the Throne. After these expressions, this inhuman Prince left her, and went with a great number of armed men unto a place close by the great Theatre where all the public Assemblies were held. But in going thither the common Crier who was gained by that Prince, did command all the Senators in a tumultuous manner to assemble themselves, and come before King Tarquin to know his Will. Mean time, you must know Sir, how that which the sooner advanced this Prince's design was, that the first of the Tarquins had augmented the Senate unto a very great number; so as all the last addition of the Senators were of the second faction, and were much disposed unto a Revolt. And there was not one who did not obey the summons of the public Crier, and came to Tarquin.  
Those of the ancient Senators who had been gained by him came also; the friends of Servius came likewise, some out of fear, others out of a persuasion that Tarquin did act by the consent of Servius, who during his life would have him sit upon the Throne; for they could not believe that any Son in Law unto such a virtuous Prince would offer to pull the Crown so violently off his head. So as both friends and enemies did all equally obey, and followed Tarquin, who without more a do did sit down in the Royal Seat.  
This action seeming very strange, and there being a great multitude of the consplracy gathered together in that place, so it chanced that this great Crowd of men and the great noise of the thing, did in an instant draw thither a vast multitude of people and that which Tarquen did was so strange unto them▪ as those who were of his faction themselves, could not choose but show wonder in their Countenances; so as never such a general consternation was seen. Mean while, the arrogant Tarquin assuming a new pride, as soon as he was set in the Royal Chair of State, he began to accuse Servius Tullus as an Usurper, and told the people all that he had caused to be infused into them before: After which, he began to aggravate the great virtues of the first Tarquin, he treated Servius as a Slave, and spoke in such bold and arrogant eloquence, as if Tullus had been the Tyrant and he the legitimate King. So as there arising a great noise of acclamations amongst those who were hired to it, and a great murmur amongst those who did not approve of what was done, the confusion of voices was such that Tarquin could not be heard. Things being in this Condition, Tullus being advertised of this disorder, he came upon the place, at the least to die upon the Throne which he had so worthily enjoyed. When this venerable King was within four paces of Tarquin, he looked steadfastly upon this Arrogant Usurper who insolently took his place; and beginning to speak, Tarquin (said he unto him) how durst thou be so bold as to assemble the Senate, and to sit in my Seat? Thou art mistaken Tullus (answered this cruel Usurper) for the Royal Chair wherein I sit, belongs unto the first of the Tarquins, from whom I am descended; and thou art only an old Slave whom Fortune only hath elevated, and whom I will put into Fetters that I may take from the Romans the shame of having such a Master. At these words the noise redoubled, and there was such a hurly burly as Tarquin might plainly see, all the World was not for him: So as fearing lest the sight of this old and good King, should turn any of them who were for him, and lest so great a number of people should come, as that he should not be the stronger party, he resolved to execute his resolution in case he found any resistance; for he being tall, young, nimble and strong; and Servius Tullus being old and weak, this Tyrant without any respect either unto the quality of a legitimate King or unto his Father in Law, or as the Grandfather of his Children, he did most insolently lay hold upon him, and throw him down with a most horrible violence from the top of the steps to the bottom.  
Thus the unfortunate Servius Tullus as his last and greatest misfortune, saw himself forsaken by his Guards, and almost all his friends; except my own father, who preserving a most constant fidelity, did help this miserable King to rise, and to get unto his own Palace, for he could hardly walk: But alas, he was no sooner got unto the end of that street, which then was called the Cyprian street (and which the people ever since called the detestable street in spite of all Tarquins Tyranny) but this miserable King was pulled out of my father's Arms who descended him, as long as he could: and presently after was killed by some whom the cruel Tarquin had sent purposely to that end. And my father after he had striven in vain to incite the People unto a revenge of the King's death, was forced to retire home. Mean while, the cruel Tullia who had given orders to advertise her every moment of all that passed, she no sooner heard what inhuman Tarquin had done, but she took Coach in all haste, to go unto the place where the Senate was assembled; and sending to call her Husband, she told him that she was come to render him the first homage, and salute him as King of Rome. But he having business of near concernment in hand, he advised her to stay no longer among the crowd of people, where Peace was not yet established. Tullia returned to her Coach; and when the Coach came to the further end of the Cyprian street, and the Coachman ready to turn upon his right hand towards the Mount Esquiline, he espied the body of Servius Tullus all blood and dirt: and spying this pitiful Spectacle he stopped his Horses out of respect and humanity both, and turning towards this cruel Princess whom he did drive, he showed unto her the body of the King her Father, thinking the sight would have obliged her to stay: But the pitiless Tullia inspired with cruelty itself, did chide him for his respects, and with inconceivable inhumanity and anger, commanded him to drive on without any stay, for any way unto a Throne was good: So as the Coachman not daring to resist her, gave the Bridle unto his Horses, who being fuller of pity than the Barbarous Tullia, did out of horror at the sight of the dead Corpse, avoid treading upon the feet of this great King; but the Wheels of the Coach touching the body of this great and unfortunate Prince were all bloody, this sad horrid spectacle not moving the heart of cruel Tullia unto the least sign of Compassion. But on the contrary when she was told that the Coach had gone over the body of her Father, she turned her head to look upon it, and was so far from any sorrow as she looked upon it with joy. Thus smeared with the blood of her own father, she was so impudent as to return unto her Domestic Gods; but to speak truly Tullia regarded neither Domestic Gods nor any other; and indeed it is not to be wondered at, for she being naturally cruel and wicked, she was not capable of any humanity, but all signs of joy were to be seen in her eyes and all her actions. Mean while, Tarquin being the stronger party, he imposed Laws upon the weaker, and commanded so absolutely the very first day of his Reign, as if he had been the peaceable Possessor of that Throne out of which he had thrown his Father in Law, he could not have carried it otherwise than he did: But to show his inhumanity to the height, he would not suffer a burial to be given unto the Corpse of the late King, lest it should move the people to compassion: saying in most cruel rallary, that Romulus who was ranked amongst the Gods had none: And that his cruelty may appear beyond all that imagination can conceive, the Widow of this unfortutunate King went in the Night, (accompanied with my Mother, who was the only woman that did not forsake her) unto the place where the Corpse of this Prince did lie, and being assisted with some old Domestics, she got the Corpse as far as the Palace, which the most cruel Tarquin and Tullia hearing of, they sent to strangle her; at least, it is certain that this deplorable Princess having sent my Mother to take some course for the private Funerals of the King her Husband, she found her dead at her return, but could not discover any further, for the King's Palace was grown to be a desolate Desert, presently after he was assassinated.  
However, all Rome was in a most horrible consternation; for most of those who had served Tarquin, no sooner saw him upon the Throne, but they repented that ever they helped him up, and found that in lieu of having a King they were like to have a Tyrant. For as soon as Tarquin was Master of Rome he flattered the people only to get so much power from them as to lessen the Authority of the Senate; and therefore he was resolved not to augment either their Authority or their number; he made himself Master of all the strong Forts in the City, and kept always a strong Guard about his Palace. After which intending to become terrible, and to Reign by fear, he put to death a great number of the most illustrious Senators, he exiled many, and became such a terror, as not any were able to oppose his will. Nor did he content himself with putting to death and exiling all those who were in a capacity to hurt him; but he charged divers Citizens with supposed crimes, purposely to pick or make holes in their Coats, and so enrich himself by their Ruins. He took away all meddling in matters of State from the Senate; he made both Peace and War, as he pleased; he contracted Leagues and Alliances with his neighbours, according as he fancied; he was himself sole judge in all criminal causes wherein the honour of many noble Families, and lives of many illustrious Citizens were deeply concerned, and he did so unite all the Authority in his own single person; that he was more absolute Master of R●me than ever any was. This Tarquin who was so sweet, so civil, and so courteous in appearance, who did salute the people so humbly, favoured so many men, helped so many poor, and was so complacential unto all, now he had got upon the Throne, did not desire or endeavour to be beloved, but all his care was how to be feared: For (said he one day) it is the maddest folly in the World for those who Reign, to pretend unto love of the People, since it is the only way to be scorned; but on the contrary, Prudence and Wisdom bids him make himself a terror unto those from whom he expects obedience. For a people who obeys a Prince only out of Love, will descant, and deliberate upon the Commands which are put upon them; but when the Commander is accustomed severely to punish such as do not obey, and hath rendered himself terrible, as soon as ever the command is heard of, the imagination is so taken up with the thought of punishment, in case of disobedience, as that the people for their own interest will blindly and presently obey, without any examination or deliberation upon the matter: And therefore I conclude, it is better to make himself feared then loved. And I am persuaded, that none do love any that are above themselves; but that which is called Love among the people, is only a Love of their own Liberty, which is always greatest when they have an easy and weak master, one who is not absolutely enough, nor knows how to make himself feared and obeyed. This Sir, is the true character of Tarquin, unto whom the surname of Proud was given; but it must be said to the shame of all Romans, that they all did sit still, with their hands in their Pockets, and all submitted themselves. For, except Clelius, the Father of Horace, and my Father, and a man of noble quality called Publius Valerius, who courageously maintained the interests of the Senate and People, all obeyed the Tyrant. But at last, the three first of these, whose courages for two years together did resist against the violences of Tarquin, they were banished by this Usurper. But Clelius is there still; as for my Father, and the Father of Horace, they died presently after they went out of Rome. The truth is, that in dying my Father did an act so extraordinary as is worthy of a relation, which if I do, I shall do an act extraordinary also, since I needs must make an Elegy in praise of him unto whom I owe my life; and since the knowledge of his virtues will help you to hate Tarquin and Tullia the more, I shall without any scruple let you know them. Be pleased to know then, how that virtuous person whose name was Sevilia, was one of the fairest women in all Rome, and one who after she had been adored and courted by the most illustrious persons in all our City, did marry my Father, followed his Fortunes, went with him into exile, with such admirable Constancy, as she was not allrighted at the troubles of travel; nor the sufferings of such as are exiled. For besides that Sevilia had a great and high soul, and was so persuaded that her duty was to be preferred before all things, she never made any difficulty to do what she thought she was obliged unto; especially when it was a duty which amity imposed upon her. And her Amity was ever so un-interested, as she considered only the persons whom she esteemed, never considering herself; and if it was more advantageous for them, whatsoever it was she consented unto, she generously consented unto it; so joining together, a great beauty, a great spirit, and a great wisdom, it is not strange, if when she went out of Rome with my honoured Father, the People should murmur, and say openly that Tarquin had banished virtue in banishing Sevilia. But to return from whence I digressed, be pleased to know, that my Father falling sick, and perceiving he should not escape it, did speak unto Sevilia, like a man who feared not the approaches of death; so as my mother seeing his Constancy, and desiring not to dishearten him by showing all her sorrow, she concealed a part of it, and striving with herself, she spoke to him with extraordinary Constancy. It may be, Sir, (said she unto him) that the Gods will hearken unto my Prayers; but in case they are not pleased to let me enjoy the happiness of your life: I would gladly know, what your pleasure is, I should do? and what education you would have me give unto your Children? for they being very young (added she and showing me and two others unto him) perhaps I may be able to inspire them with such thoughts as you desire: Tell me, I beseech you, in what part of the World you would have me live, until they are grown able to follow those ways of virtue which I shall show them? I would have you return unto the place from whence we are banished replied my Father) to the end my children may be affectionate unto their Country, and may not learn strange Customs, which may keep them from hating the Tyrant of Rome. I would have you use all the ingenuity you can, to infuse into their hearts, the Love of virtue and the hatred of vice. But, Sir, (replied she) should we return to Rome, we must be known unto Tarquin, we must obey him, and ask his permission to enter: Consider well (I beseech you) whether honour will allow me to do what you desire, and whether it were not better do die out of Rome, then enter into it upon such conditions? However (said my Father) I would have my Children brought up in Rome, to the end they may hereafter be Thorns in the sides of the Tyrant; and that I may die with so much comfort as to hope I have left behind me, Children who will contribute unto the Liberty of their Country; as for the ways of getting them thither, I do refer them unto your Prudence, for I cannot divine what will happen when I am dead. After this, Sir, my Father grew weak upon a sudden, and could say no more, for he died the same night. Sevilia's intentions, were to obey her dead Husband as exactly, as if he were living, and she carried herself with so much Prudence and Wisdom, that her kindred and friends who lived in Rome, did get her leave to return, and bring her Children, Tarquin himself not believing that she desired it, not that she was any thing obliged unto him for it. Yet her firm Constancy was such, after she returned to Rome, that she would never go and see the cruel Tullia; and she hath inspired such generous and noble thoughts into me, that I were the most ungrateful of men if I did not publish and acknowledge it. I remember one day when she understood that I had been solicited to be one in a Plot against Tarquin, and coming to me in my Chamber when I was alone, you know Herminius (said she unto me) that hitherto I have punctually obeyed your Father, whose last words you did hear, and that I have laboured to inspire your heart with the Love of your Country. But to tell you truly, my care hath been more to make you hate the Vices of the Tyrant than the Tyrant himself: And I have ever thought, that attempts to ruin him are not lightly to be undertaken, lest by endeavouring to set your Country at Liberty, you should bring it more into Slavery. Do not therefore engage yourself to no purpose, not so much for fear of exposing your life which is so dear unto me, as for fear of exposing Rome unto a more cruel servitude; for Trees that are only shaken with the Wind, and not blown down, will take deep root.  
This, Sir, was the sage advice of Sevilia, which I did blindly follow, yet was she but ill recompensed: For there was no persecution which that virtuous Person was not put to suffer; but the truth is, she did not suffer alone; for to return unto Tarquin, it may truly be said of him that since the first day he ascended the Throne, unto this hour, he never did any act in which there was not some injustice, or some cruelty, or some cozenage in it. All the Wars which he made have also the same character, and one may more properly call the Towns which he hath taken, rather thefts, than conquests; and subtle craft, and deceit have the greatest share in all his actions during his Reign. After he had made Alliance with the Latins, he deceived them, in mixing their Troops with his own, when they had no Commanders of their own Nation. He caused a man whose name was Herdonius, to perish upon a bare surmise, he caused him to be loaded with Chains, and thrown into a place where he was drowned. 'Tis true, he took the City of Pometia with some honour, and he showed himself a great Captain in that Recounter: But afterwards he took the City of the Gabians by such a terrible piece of craft, as if it did not more relate unto the Prince Sextus his son, then unto him, I would tell you the whole passage; but after he had made that City desolate, and put all the Riches of it into the hands of the People, except what he reserved for himself, he endeavoured to taste the sweets of Peace and to blind the People: And for a guise upon all his injustices, in ruining so many, he set himself to finish that stately Temple of Jupiter, whose foundation the first of the Tarquins had laid. But there being many other Temples in building near the Tarpeian Rock, where the foundation of this was laid, and Tarquin having a mind to make this greater than the Prince who laid the first foundation intended, he made no difficulty of pulling down all those Temples, and not to incense the People by it, he made a show, as if he would first observe the flying of the Birds; but certainly the Augurs were hired, and though the Gods had given such an evident sign as should have restrained him, yet he would have done it. There was yet one Temple standing which was dedicated unto the God Thermes, and Tarquin desiring to make use of all, seemed to give credit unto the predictions of the Tuscans, to the end, that giving this example, the People always follow the mind of the Prince, might also believe with him, and be persuaded of what he thought good; and as they were digging up the earth to lay the foundation of this stately Temple, they found the head of a man whose face continued still in form; and Tarquin to make some use of this accident, he sent into Tuscany; and procured the Divines with whom he consulted to say, That it was a most certain sign, that Rome as Tarquin had ordered it, should be the chief City of all Italy, and Mistress of all the World; and indeed, they gave unto that place the name of Capitol which it bears at this present. So as after this, he pressed forward the building of this Temple; after this he made Seats and Scaffolds about the Theatre, at an extraordinary expense. He established two new Colonies; but in doing all these things, he still was doing injuries, injustices, and cruelties. He put the eldest son of his own Sister to death, he had not married his own Daughter but with an intent to be perfidious; and he omitted nothing which might merit the Title of a perfect Tyrant. All this while, Tullia in the midst of all her Grandeur, she never had any content since she was upon the Throne; for she was still so jealous of authority; as she did not think that Tarquin gave enough unto her, and that having more inhumanity to wards Tullus then he had, she thought that she might at least divide with him in the Sovereign Power. So as time wearing out of her heart, that lovewhich she bore unto Tarquin, she grew most horribly jealous; for as soon as she saw this Prince regarded her no more than another woman, she began not to regard him, and treated him so ill, that sometimes she made him go out of Rome. Also, she was so horribly hated there, as when any took the liberty of speech, they called her the detestable Tullia. As for Tarquin, in spite of all his Guards and Power, every one called him Tarquin the Proud. At the first, he did not take this well, and did most severely punish such men, as had no other Crimes but calling him so; but afterwards he was so insensibly accustomed unto it, as he thought this Title not injurious, nor did he take it ill, men should call him so. And to merit it he grew so abominably terrible, as those who were his most private confidents of all his Cruelties, were sometimes so terrified themselves, that they durst not come near him. That famous Sibyl who came unto him, did yet bring him to her ends for all his cruelty, and it hath been wordred a hundred, and a hundred times, that a Prince so violent as he was, did not treat her as sharply, as he was used to do others who denied him any thing. Yet this Sibyl whose name was Amalthea did bring him unto her Bow, though he thought to bring her unto his; for when she had presented unto him the nine Books which she had composed, and which were said to contain such high matters, as soon as he denied her the price she demanded, she burned three of them: Tarquin thinking her to be out of her wits, and having a Curiosity to see those which remained; he asked her what she would have for them? but Amalthea answering him that she would have as much for those six, as she would for the nine, this Prince took her for one that was absolutely mad; but Amalthea without any astonishment at all, took three more of the Books and burned them as she did the first; insomuch, as Tarquin being more astonished, he changed his mind, and admiring the Constancy of this Woman, he asked her the third time, what she would have for the last three Books? and she answering as before, Tarquin did verily believe that they did contain some great matters, therefore he assembled the Augurers; for though he made a mocking stock of Religion, yet still he observed the Ceremonies. But those whom he had assembled thinking it fit, he should buy those Books at any rate, he gave the Sibyl her demands for them, after which she went her way. Yet the People say, she vanished; and those who knew things best, did say that Tullia commanded her to get out of Rome. However it were, these Books were to be kept as sacred, and consulted with upon every thing; but that Rome might feel all sorts of miseries, it was infected with a most contagious disease, which was so mortal, especially amongst Children, as there was not a family in Rome which had not some subject for tears. So as since Tarquin had always the outside of Religion, he sent two of his Sons unto Delphos with grand offerings. A Nephew of Tarquins called Brutus went with them, though his true name was Lucius Junius, but they called him Brutus because his blockishness did resemble that of Brutes. Yet he was in such a condition to be envied by those of the wiser sort, and his folly made him more safe under the Tyranny of Tarquin, than all their wisdoms could. He had a father of a great spirit whom Tarquin put to death, but for this man he being harmlessly incapable of hurting any, Tarquin was contented to take his estate which was very great, without sacrificing him unto his cruelty. I shall not insist any longer upon a particular relation of all his wickednesses, nor his reasons which moved him to banish me; for that would be to relate the whole History of my life, which I will not mix with the story of so wicked a man. Yet I must be so just, as to confess that of four Children which he hath, three of them deserve to have a Father less cruel, and a Mother more virtuous, for the second of his sons who by his first name is called Aruntius, and afterwards named the Prince of Pometia, because he did signalise himself at the taking of that Town, is a Prince that is every way admirable, the third who is called Titus is also a man of very noble inclinations, and the Daughter of Tarquin who is married, hath all the sweetness and modesty of a good woman. But as for the Prince Sextus, who is also called the young Tarquin, he is much different from his Brothers, though he be not so very bad as Tarquin the Proud; for he is handsome, of a good mind and a pleasant spirit, he is naturally eloquent; his Ambition is not unmeasurable; he is merry, frolic, and of a quick fancy; his inclination is to love all manner of pleasures, without any distinguishing of the innocent from the Criminal; and of the two, he loves those of a Licentious Debauchery, better than those who are not so: So as having a smack of his Father's fierceness, and a little of his Mother's cruelty, and mixing these two with his Libertinism and Debauchery, it may well be said that he hath a hundred dangerous qualities for one good one. This Sir is the Character of Tarquin's Family at this day, and this is the character of Tarquin himself, who now intends to besiege Ardes; and who maugre all his Crimes, is so terrible and considerable unto all his Neighbours, as no Prince in all Italy more; and this Sir, is the original of the famous City of Rome.  
Herminius having ended his Relation, was thanked by Artemidorus, by Aronces, by Amilcar, and by Zenocrates, for the pains he had taken, and the pleasure they found in his History of the greatest City in the World, and the greatest Tyrant that ever was. After which reasoning upon all they had heard, and considering that Love and Ambition were the chief causes of all these miseries; Artemidorus wished, that there were no passions in the hearts of men. Oh for Heaven's sake (said Amilcar and smiled) make no such dangerous wish; since I conceive that if men had no passions, in lieu of wishing to live they would wish to die; for nothing is more odious than to have a sluggish lukewarm life, without either desires or fears, a life that is no more sensible than that which we see in Flowers or Leaves. I conceive indeed (said Herminius) that all pleasures have their rise from passions: That is so true (said Amilcar) that if all the wise men of Greece should rise again, I would make them all confess, that all their wisdom were not worth a straw, if there were no passions in the hearts of men, and that wisdom were a treasure which they knew not what to do with. I dare go further than so, (added Aronces) for I am persuaded that all the heroic acts which have been done in all ages, had never been done had there been no passions. I do agree unto what you say (replied Artemidorus) but yet you must confess with me also, that without the same passions few or none of all the great and abominable Crimes had been committed. I do confess that (replied Amilcar) but I must tell you withal, that as we do gather Roses though they have some sharp pricks, admire the Sea, though she causes many Shipwrecks; love the light of the Sun though sometimes it burns, and love the earth though she produces dangerous as well as wholesome Plants; so I say the same of Passions and all the evils of them; that I should be sorry they were quite taken away from men for if they were, all pleasures and delights would he taken away with them, as Herminius well observed. But yet I would gladly know (added he and addressed himself to Zenocrates who had not spoke a word in this dispute) what opinion you are of? had I known what myself (replied he very pleasantly and smiled) I should ere this have told you, but to be sincere, I know not, for since I am very sensible of Love, I would gladly reserve that passion; but otherwise I am so naturally lazy, as I should not be sorry if there were no other passions in the World, because I fancy that if there were none, all would slumber in a continual languor of spirit, and a pleasing phantasm of idleness, which would be exceedingly charming. As for matter of idleness you are in the right (replied Amilcar) for if there were no passions, all brave men would have nothing to do; if there were no Ambition, millions of men would come and go in and out of the World without any thing they had to do in it: Take the passion of Love from a Lover, and he's but an idle creature; take from a brave man that which gets him honour, and he will never go to the Wars, Kings without Ambition might have subjects enough, valiant men not having the passion of getting glory would all sit still undistinguished from Cowards; I believe likewise, that the fields would all lie fallow, Cities and Houses would not be built, men would remain dispersed in the Fields, not seeking for any other lodgings than Grots, such as nature shall make them. And as for Ladies, if there were no passions in the World, I know not what they would do; for they being the weaker Sex, if their beauty did not cause Love in the hearts of men, and that beauty hold them in obedience in lieu of force, I had rather be a handsome Butterfly than a fair woman; for besides their being certainly Slaves, they would live in a most irksome idleness; since they would not know how to spend away that time which now they employ in dressing themselves; do but look upon a fair Woman in a place, and at a time when she thinks none will see her, nor she see any, that would be enough to make one think that if Ladies did know they could never cause Love, they would never take so much pains as to spend all the day in dressing themselves, to be undressed again at night. I once knew a Woman in Africa whom I never saw but twice, yet I saw her very different; for the first time I saw her, she was so well dressed and so handsome as she charmed me, though she was but of a mean Beauty. But a while after, this Lady being gone into the Country, in a place where she never thought to see any; and being alone with her Husband, I happened to come upon a sudden, and I found her so negligently dressed, so ill-favoured, and so different from what she seemed before, as I knew well she did not much care for pleasing her Husband, and that if all passions were taken out of the World, all handsomeness, and all that makes women appear fair would be taken away also. So as though I went with intentions to offer incense unto her, and perhaps my heart; yet I was cooled and offered nothing, but brought away my heart and my incense again, of which I was very glad, for within a few days after, I knew not how to employ them better.  
But to return unto passions, judge you if it would not be the greatest loss that is imaginable, if Passions were taken away; for if there were none then all Ladies would be less lovely and never loved; but as they would not be loved (replied Herminius) so they would not be hated; for it is only love that makes them hated, and commonly only ill treated Lovers, or jealous Husbands do hate them. 'Tis true (replied Amilcar) that they would not be hated, but yet if they be not loved their lives would be strangely tedious to them, and I am confident there is not one woman that is young and fair, but she had rather be hated by a hundred ill treated Lovers, and as many jealous Husbands. than not to be loved by one complete Gallant whom she affects, or to be in such a condition, as to be neither in love nor be loved by any. Let us not complain therefore against Passions, since they are the whole business and the greatest delights of men. Yet I must tell you (replied Artemidorus) it is a business of great difficulty to overcome them. 'Tis true (replied Amilcar in his usual freeness) but since it is so difficult do not strive against them, submit unto them, and in lieu of striving to overcome them, rather seek to satisfy them, and then you will not be so tormented. For my part, I do not wonder that Passions should so tyrannize over the hearts of all men, for every one can say, they must strive against them and subject them, the lesson is written both in Verse and Prose, the Philosophers teach it, the Sages command it, Fathers teach it their Sons, Husbands their Wives, and Mothers their Daughters; so as these poor Passions seeing so many enemies, do more courageously strive not to be overcome, but to reign in the hearts of those who with so much injustice would drive them out. And indeed this is their original, they could not subsist otherwise, they afford infinite delights to those who seek to satisfy them, and seldom do any hurt, but unto such as would destroy them. For my part (replied Zenocrates) they never tormented me in that sort; for since I am persuaded that it is very difficult to overcome them, I had rather submit so as my reason and my Passions never jar, for when my Passions are stronger than my reason, my reason submits unto them; and when my reason is stronger than my Passions, it slatters but would not destroy them.  
You know so little what great passions are (replied Herminius and smiled) that it appertains not unto you to speak of them; but if you were possessed with a very violent passion of Love, or if your own desires had caused you to endure a thousand torments, or hopes had raised in you a thousand inquietudes, than you should be permitted to speak of the force of Passions; for had you but experience of one, you might easily imagine what is the tyranny of the rest. 'Tis true (said Aronces) that whosoever knows the force of Love may easily comprehend that of Ambition, and all the rest of the Passions. Yet I am persuaded (replied Herminius) that one cannot judge of the passion in others rightly, or aught to speak of any but his own; for though they are still passions all over the World, and love is love in Greece as well as in Italy, yet the hearts of men do differently resent it, and variety of tempers do produce several effects out of the same passion, for love in the heart of Tarquin makes him commit a thousand Crimes, and the same passion in the heart of Aronces, makes him to perform a thousand Heroic actions. 'Tis true (replied Artemidorus) but still I must maintain that in what heart soever Passions do Reign, they cause abundance of trouble to him that will content them; and I must maintain still (replied Amilcar) that without Passions we cannot be happy. This dispute had not ended so soon, if a great noise of horsemen had not interrupted them, and caused them to look who they were, but they were quickly satisfied; for they understood that they were Troops, which were marching to be Posted about Ardes, on that side towards the sea, within a mile of the Town.  
They understood likewise that Tarquin was to set out of Rome the next morning, and would go unto the Camp: Mean time since Herminius would not be known unto those who commanded those Troops of that Prince, he would not look upon them; only Aronces, Artemidorus, Amilcar and Zenocrates, who since they could not be known, they saw them pass by. But after they were passed, Aronces was extremely impatient for the return of Celeres, and the Slave he went unto Ardes, because he feared that when Tarquin was come to the Camp; the Town would be so be set, that he could not get in if the interest of Clelia should require it. But to his happiness, his impatience did not last long; for Celeres who was the most diligent and zealous friend in the World, did return about midnight, and confirmed what he heard before concerning Tarquin's departure; and told him further, that it was not believed Tarquins design was to force Ardes, but only to take it by famine, and therefore he might easily get into the place if he heard that Clelia was there. He added further; that the Prince Sextus, the Prince of Pometia, and the Prince Titus would follow the King unto this Siege; and that their Equipage of War would be so magnificent, that every one was so full of Curiosity to see them go out of Rome as if it were a Triumph. As for the Prince of Pometia, (replied Herminius) I shall not fear being his Prisoner, for he is much my friend, and I am sure he will not expose me to the crualty of his father, but would release me; as for Tarquin I would as soon take poison, as fall into his Power. After this Aronces being pricked on by his love, he had a mind to be going towards Ardes, and not stay for the Slave; but Amilcar, Herminius and Celeres did so persuade him that the interest of Clelia required his stay until the Slaves return, that he resolved to stay until the next day towards night. But after that (said he unto them) I will not stay, for very probable the Slave is taken either in going or coming by the Troops of Tarquin, and so will not return.  
This being probable, the friends of Aronces did not contradict what he said, but gave themselves unto their rest that night. But Aronces was waked with joy; for when the Sun was an hour high, the trusty Slave whom he expected so impatiently did arrive; he knowing that his Master would take it well if he waked him, because his business did concern his love unto Clelia, he did awake him, but he awaked him by pronouncing the name of that admirable person, imagining that he could not interrupt his rest in a more agreeable manner. Sir, (said he unto him) I have seen Clelia in Ardes, and— how (said Aronces and interrupted him, rubbing sleep from his eyes) hast thou seen Clelia in Ardes? yes, Sir (replied he) I saw her in the Temple, and I know the house wherein she lodgeth, but I could not speak unto her nor let her see me, do what I could; for Horatius being continually in her company, I durst not approach; for as you know he knows me, and I was in fear that had he seen me he would have Arrested me. However, I know that he carries himself with much respect towards Clelia, though he guards her very closely; for the goes no whither but unto the Temple, and then he follows her. She hath a Woman with her who waits upon her very carefully, as I understand by those who informed me. They say also, that Horatius is very earnest in persuading those of the Town to use all their endeavours for their own defence, which they seem resolved to do, that every day he proposeth some new fortification to be made, and he seems to be very angry with those of Ardes, for thinking that without all those, Tarquin can never take it; for besides his interest in Clelia, he is in great fear (as they say) to fall into the hands of Tarquin, who being an inveterate hater both of his Father and him, will infallibly put him to death. And Sir, since I was afraid that if I stayed any longer enquiring after the designs of Horatius, I should not have liberty to get out, nor you to get into the Town, I returned as soon as possibly I could.  
After this Aronces dressing himself with all haste, he began to consider with himself what he should do or not do; but at last, he resolved to entreat Amilcar (who had matters to negotiate in Italy concerning the interests of the Carthaginian Prince) that he would go unto Tarquin with those two Grecians, whilst he went unto Ardes with Herminius and Celeres; to the end, that if Tarquin did take that Town, he might oblige that Prince to protect Clelia not letting him know that she was the Daughter of Clelius; for he pre-supposed that if Amilcar would he might get the love of that Prince. And indeed this resolution being pitched upon after serious advice, they went about the execution of it. Herminius and Celeres did well see that it was an odd business for Aronces to go and shut himself up in a Town where his Rival also was; but they hoped that offering themselves to defend the besieged, they should be protected, and that since they had nothing to fear but Horatius; Horatius was also in as much danger as Aronces, since Aronces was no less valiant than he. So as then separating themselves, Amilcar, Artemidorus, and Zenocrates wended towards the Camp, where they pretended to meet Tarquin: Aronces, Herminius, and Celeres, took a blind way which their guide directed them, to the end they might sculk in the Woods which were not far from Ardes, until it began to be dark, conceiving it more easy to get in at that time then by day light; but the time being come, in which they hoped to get into Ardes, by a blind way, where the Troops of Tarquin were not Posted, they went out-of the Wood, and went down a little Valley full of Osiers, which grew by the side of a little Brook, which turned and wended itself through a pleasant Meadow, they saw at a distance Armed Men a fight, and they heard the Voices of Women mingled with the noise of Horses and Arms. Aronces thought he heard the voice of Clelia; so as riding on towards the place where they heard this voice, he saw two Coaches, and he saw Clelia under a Tree with four or five other handsome Ladies complaining in a very doleful manner; whilst ten Men, in the head of which was Horatius, were fight against twenty. Aronces never studying what to do, went straight towards Clelia being followed by Herminius and Celeres. He was no sooner with her, but without any insisting upon ceremonies, whosoever these are that be fight (said he unto her) I believe they are all against us; and therefore, Madam, let me carry you away whilst they are busied in vanquishing each other, or else let me have the honour to die in defending you. Clelia being extremely joyed to see Aronces whom she loved so tenderly, and also to see two friends whom she much esteemed, did not stick upon it; but abandoning herself to the Conduct of Aronces he set her upon one of his Horses; but for all this haste, she told those Ladies who were with her, that she wished them who fought for them victory, and having desired them to pardon her, if having enemies on both sides, she accepted of this relief which the gods did offer unto her: After which, being mounted on Horseback, and Aronces also; a Woman who saw this and was given her by Horatius, began to cry out so loud that this valiant Roman hearing her, and looking about to see what the matter was; he saw Clelia on Horseback riding first and conducted by a slave, and followed by three Men on Horseback also, who by their Tires seemed to be Men of Quality, though he did not see their Faces; when he saw this, he prepared himself to follow Clelia: Aronces and Herminius turning their heads to see if they were pursued, there chanced the strangest accident in the World. For Horatius knowing his Rival did spur his Horse, to take away Clelia the second time, and cried unto those of his party that they should follow him. In the mean time, a Man whose Name was Hellius, who was Commander in chief over those who fought against Horatius, and who was much in favour with Tarquin, he knowing Herminius, also knowing how the virtues of that excellent Man were odious unto the Tyrant, he believed that he should be a made Man for ever, if he could bring him alive or dead unto Tarquin; and therefore commanding his Men to follow after Herminius, at the same time when Horatius did go to relieve Clelia, so it was, as without any compact between them, they changed their designs of fight to go and fall upon the Protectors of the admirable Clelia, who then found herself to be in a most pitiful condition; for when she saw both Tarquin's Men, and those of Horatius come thundering with all violent impetuosity upon Aronces, Herminius, and Celeres who turned head against them, though they could not pretend unto any other glory then to sell their lives dear, and to die with honour. So as the admirable Clelia seeing these three Men who were so dear unto her, in a condition to be assaulted by thirty, and imagining them already dead, she did an act which was worthy her great Soul, for turning her Horse upon her left hand, and lifting up her hood. Oye Cowards, said she unto them, are ye not ashamed being thirty to fall upon three Men, who have no other design but to set me at liberty? this great and generous action did so surprise Horatius, Aronces, and the Commander of Tarquin's Men, and wonder did so suspend their thoughts as they stopped, and stayed a while before they could tell what to do. But at last, Aronces putting on his Horse, and followed by Herminius and Celeres, he advanced towards Clelia in the presence of all his enemies, telling them with a menacing action, that they must kill him, before they carried away the fair Person as a Captive. Horatius then finding himself separated from his own Men, and chance had mingled his with the Men of Tarquin, he did not think himself in a capacity to fall upon Aronces, and take Clelia from him, for he conceived that Hellius, who endeavoured to have her in the power of Tarquin, would take her from him again; and therefore he would have had Hellius begin the Combat, apprehending that Hellius aimed at Herminius as well as him, so as Hellius being moved at that great action of Clelia, and the resoluteness of Aronces, he began to speak, and advancing in the head of his Men, whosoever you are (said he unto Aronces) who thus resolutely hazards your Life upon the hazard of infallible ruin, I promise to treat you well, and this fair person also; upon condition I may secure myself of an enemy unto Tarquin, whom I see with you: Herminius hearing Hellius say so, began to speak before either Aronces or Clelia, and looking sternly upon Hellius; if thou desirest to carry my head unto the Tyrant thy Master, and not take me Prisoner (said he unto him) I am contented it should be the ransom of that fair one: But as for Aronces, I advise thee to take heed what thou dost; for didst thou know him, thou wouldst fall down upon thy knees and ask him forgiveness. Horatius hearing what Herminius said and fearing lest he should make his Rival known, he fell furiously upon Aronces, who warding the blow without any leisure to return answer unto Hellius, he returned another blow, whose weight made Horatius to stagger. But whilst these two furious Rivals were fight, Hellius gave command to make sure of Clelia, and that she should be guarded with the rest of the Ladies, which was an easy matter to do. For Herminius and Celeres, seeing some of Horatius his Men making towards Aronces, they went to him with their Swords drawn; so as Hellius then intending to compass about both Herminius and Horatius, there began such a confused fight as none could know friend from foe; for the Men of Horatius fought sometimes for Aronces and Herminius in fight against Hellius. Aronces, Herminius and Celeres they fought also for Hellius in fight against Horatius; and Hellius he fought for Horatius in fight against Aronces, and the confusion was so much the greater, because night came on, and would not let them know one from another, so as there was the most carrible disorder that is imaginable. For the 〈◊〉 of those who fought were so different, as it seemed they could not every one drive on their own: in deed Aronces would if he could have delivered Clelia, both out of the hands of Hellius, and out of the hands of Horatius, because it was more dangerous to be under the power of Tarquin, if she were known then under the power of her Lover. Moreover, he had a mind to defend Herminius, and kill Horatius. As for Herminius, his wish was that Clelia was in the hands of Aronces, that the two Rivals were at Peace, and were united to fight against one of the Ministers of unjust Tarquin's cruelties. As for Horatius, he wished himself dead, he was so desperate to see he was like to lose his Mistress, and not able to kill his Rival; and also like to fall into the hands of Tarquin: As for Hellius, his aim was to take Herminius, to take Horatius, to secure Clelia, and the rest of the Ladies, and to know who Aronces was: However, night was the cause they could not do as they would. Things being thus, they all heard a great noise of horses coming as if from Ardes; so as Hellius fearing to lose all, in desiring to get all, he commanded that all the Ladies should go into their Coaches, and be driven towards Rome. Aronces hearing this, not being in a condition able to hinder it, nor to discern his Rival, he designed to disengage himself and follow the Coaches, and to go and make himself known unto Tarquin, to protect Clelia, rather than suffer her to be a Slave. This design had many dangerous consequences in it, but the time and place would not let him examine them; so as being prompted to do only as his love invited him, he disengaged himself and so happily that Herminius and Celcres knowing his voice, they joined, and made good their retreat fight until they got into a little Wood which secured them. They were not got a hundred paces within this Wood, but the bridle of Aronces being broken, he alighted to mend it: During which, Hellius understanding that those Troops which he thought did come from Ardes, did belong unto Tarquin, he went unto them; but finding neither Horatius, nor Aronces, nor Herminius, he was extremely sorry that he had lost so fine an opportunity, and was forced to be contented with the taking of Clelia, and those Ladies who came out of Ardes, because they would not stay in a Town which in all probability would be taken. Thus Hellius scent them to Rome, supposing that Tarquin would not set out before the next day. But in the mean time, the Moon rising, and beginning to shine, Celeres could the better help Aronces to mend his Bridle, yet it was not long before he could finish it, for commonly in such things, the most hast the worst speed; but during that time, Herminius asked Aronces what he intended to do? and he answered that since Clelia was under Tarquin's power, he could not choose but go unto him, and meet with Artimedorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, to the end he might procure her liberty, not telling who she was, nor that he was the Son unto the King of Clusium, unless the interest of Clelia did force him to it. Not but that I consider (said he) it goes against the grain of my heart, to go and serve a Prince who hates Herminius, and who would have murdered the Father of Clelia; but yet since that admirable person was under his power, he was forced unto it. You have good reason for it, Sir (replied Herminius) and the worst is, in all the design, that I cannot wait upon you to Rome. And therefore, I conceive it my fafest course to go into Ardes, and fight against him that seeks my Life, and is an enemy unto all virtuous Men. As soon as Herminius had said so, Celeres who helped Aronces to stold his horse did hear the voice of one who lamented; and all of them being the more attentive, they did plainly hear a Man making most lamentable complaint. So as Aronces being got upon his Horse, he told Herminius and Celeres, that he would go towards the place from whence the sad sound did come; for said he, it is the duty of miserable people to help those who are in the like condition. The heart of Herminius being no less sensible of compassion than Aronces, he consented unto the motion, and Celeres did not contradict them, and so all three made softly towards the place, from whence they heard this doleful exclamation. But at last, when they were so near as to understand what this Complainant said, Aronces knew it to be the voice of Horatius. So as stopping his horse, and imparting his knowledge unto his friends, they all began to hearken, and plainly heard that indeed it was Horatius who lamented. Alas (said he unto a friend who was with him) into what a miserable condition am I reduced? I am wounded by Aronces and he knows not that he is revenged upon my ingratitude; for I knew him by his voice when he gave me such a blow, as made me stagger, and my horse being wounded fell down dead in this Wood, where I found you in a worse condition that I am; and yet I must deny what I said, for I have lost my Clelia and am in danger to fall into the power of Tarquin. Thus my Rival triumphs over me, my Mistress is escaped out of my hands, and I am like to fall into mine enemies, not being able to rid myself from all these miseries by a generous death, since my sword is broken, and you have lost yours. 'Tis true (replied his friend) you are in such a miserable condition, as I am persuaded that if Aronces saw you in it, he would have compassion upon your ill fortune. Oh my dear friend (replied Horatius) you are much mistaken; for as generous as Aronces is, I am confident he would carry my head to the unjust Tarquin, thereby to deliver Clelia. Thou art deceived (cried out Aronces and went towards him) and to make it appear that my virtue is greater than thou thinkest, I will entreat thy old friend, to take thee up behind him, and carry thee into Ardes. Horatius who was leaning against a Tree and wounded in the hip, was so surprised to hear the voice of Aronces and to see him (for the Moon shined) and both Herminius and Celeres did so admire the virtue of Aronces, as they were a long while before they could speak. As for the friend of Horatius who lay upon the ground mortally wounded, he was so charmed at it, as striving to express himself; Oh Horatius! said he unto him) how happy are you in your misfortune in having such an enemy? No (replied Horatius) but on the contrary I am much more to be pitied; yes, Aronces (added he) I am so much ashamed by your generosity, as I should think myself more happy, if you would take your sword and run me through, rather than thus to loaden me with shame by your virtue. Were you in a condition to defend yourself (replied Aronces) I should deal with you as with an enemy, who hath done the most unjuct act in the World in ravishing away Clelia from me; but being as you are, I will not upbraid you with unprofitable reproaches, but will keep you from falling into the hands of an enemy, who would neither spare your life nor mine. But (replied Horatius) still I must say again, and again, that you do too much; for do what you will or can, I must still love Clelia, and shall love her until I die. As long as she is not in your power (replied Aronces) I care not if you do love her; but if ever fortune should give her you again, I would pursue you all the World over, though I owe you my life. Ah cruel Aronces (cried out Horatius) cannot you remember what I have done for you, but you must also remember what you have done for me? No, no, you cannot but upbraid me with ingratitude. After this, Celeres telling them that it was equally dangerous unto them both, to be long in that place, they took his advice; and though Herminius did love Aronces infinitely above Horatius, yet he undertook to conduct his Rival into Ardes, and took side with the party opposite unto that which fortune had engaged Aronces to take against his inclination, and which both honour, revenge, and virtue did engage him to take. And as they were taking care for the help of him who lay upon the ground, they perceived that he was expired: So that after Celeres had set Horatius behind Herminius, Aronces and he conducted them until they came to a little blind path, by which Horatius said they might get into Ardes without danger, because there was a little River between them and the enemy. Thus the friendship of Aronces unto Herminlus, together with his own generosity, moved him to be a Convoy unto his Rival. Afterwards, one taking the way towards Ardes, and the other towards Rome, they carried with them such tumultuous thoughts in their hearts, as the way seemed much longer than it was. They never thought of those dangers unto which they were exposed by the way; for they had interests which took up their souls and spirits more sensibly, than any dangers could.   
The End of the Second Book of the First Part.   

CLELIA. The First Part. BOOK III.  
THe truth is, Herminius in carrying Horatius back to Ardes, went from-wards Rome with extreme repugnancy; for since Aronces was to be there, he could say that all the object of his friendship and love, was there also; for he had a most passionate affection to the place, he had a Mother there whom he most dearly loved, and he had a friend there in the person of Clelia, whom he esteemed infinite dearly. But for all that, his hatred of Tarquin was so great and well grounded, as it did surmount all the tenderness of his Soul. As for Horatius, the virtues of his Rival were his greatest torments, except the love of Clelia which was above all, and though he did hate Tarquin, yet his jealousy was such, that he had rather be a slave of that Tyrant, than to be delivered by his Rival. Again, Aronces as he drew near Rome his thoughts were confused,; for he would never have gone thither, but that by serving Tarquin during the Siege of Ardes, he might oblige him to release Clelia: So as the aversion which he had conceived against that Prince, ever since he would have murdered Clelius at Capua, and since Herminius had related the story of his Life, did cause in him a strange repugnancy to execute his design, if the interest of his love had not surmounted it. On the other side, when he thought that Clelia perhaps would be treated as a slave, and that if ever she were known to be the Daughter of Clelius, herself would be in great danger, than he was almost out of his wits, and gave himself wholly over unto sadness. Nor as a Cordial to himself durst he hope that Clelia had preserved her affection entire for him, or if he had any glimpse of such hope, it was so weak, as he was nevertheless miserable. He seared also that he should be obliged to make himself and his quality known unto Tarquin, that he might thereby be the better able to serve Clelia; for he conceived that if he should make his love appear, and that it should be known unto the King his Father, who afterwards would know that Clelia was enemy unto the Daughter of Tarquin, with whom he had received such a solemn Alliance, that his Father would not approve of his love; but perhaps would make it known unto that Prince who she was, purposely to ruin her. Not but that he knew the King his Father to be a Man of much virtue, but yet his love making him to fear every thing, he feared lest the beauty of Clelia should add unto her miseries; for considering how Herminius had described the Eldest Son of Tarquin, he thought it impossible but he must fall in love with her, so as the miserable Aronces went to Rome with such unquiet thoughts, as Celeres had much ado to comfort him. The reason why he went to Rome rather than the Camp was, because he heard Hellius had commanded those who conducted the Ladies, to go unto that famous City. But that he might not be there without some acquaintance, Herminius at parting from Aronces, did give him such particular tokens to deliver unto the virtuous Sevilia his Mother, as he doubted not but she would be ready to do him any good Office. Since it was not above eighteen Miles betwixt Ardes and Rome, and the place where they parted being near Ardes, they had arrived at Rome before the Sun had been up, if they had not lost their way, and been stopped; but having no guide they went much about, and were forced to rest their Horses and themselves at least three hours. So as they arrived not at that Gate in Rome, which they then called the Gate Carmentale until the Evening. This Gate was not that, through which they use to go from Rome to Ardes, for that is close by the Capitol, quite contrary, but Aronces and Celeres having lost their way, they came in at this Gate, and went to lodge at a place where formerly they lodged, when they were at Rome only out of curiosity. They were no sooner alighted from their horses, but they went to inquire of Clelia, and to find out Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, whom they thought to be in Rome, because Tarquin was there, though it was told Celeres, that he would set out the morrow after he was there. So as imagining (knowing the humour of Amilcar) that they should find them about the Palace of Tarquin, Aronces went thither with Celeres: but in their way thither, he was much surprised to see two Coachfuls of Ladies, guarded by Soldiers, who entered into Rome at the Port of Janus, and going to the King's Palace. The cause of his wonder was, that he spied Clelia in the first of them, it is true he saw her without her seeing him; for she being very melancholy no objects invited her looks, not imagining that Aronces should be in Rome, for considering the danger wherein she left him, she imagined more probability of his death or being a Prisoner, then to be in that place. However, notwithstanding all her melancholy, her beauty was of such a lustre, as the people only followed the Coach to look upon her. As for Aronces he no sooner espied her, But he showed her unto Celeres, and was joyed beyond all imagination. he was joyed to see her and to see her sad, because he thought he had some share in her sadness. But also he was infinitely sad to see her a Captive, and a Captive unto the most mortal enemy of Clelius her father. As he was divided between his joys and his sorrows, he saw two Vestals, who walking with all the Ceremonies usual when they go through the Town, they stayed and asked whither they carried those Ladies? and being answered that they were Captives, and carried to be presented unto Tarquin, the elder of the Vestals whose name was Verenia, commanded the Officer who had the charge of them to stay the Coaches.  
The Vestals being held in great veneration at Rome, the Officer did as she commanded, and speaking very reverently unto Verenia, he asked what her pleasure was? My Pleasure is (said she unto him) that according to those privileges which have been granted unto us from the first Kings of Rome, and which have been confirmed by all their Successors, you set those Ladies at liberty; for since there were any Vestals they never met any prisoners, but they set them at liberty. I once saved the lives of some Criminal persons, and may much better release innocent Prisoners. I do believe (wise Verenia replied the Officer) that your privileges are such as you say, and that they extend unto Captives as well as unto Criminals; but since you know it is not in me to decide a business of this importance, I beseech you come yourself and maintain your right before the King, and let me wait upon you thither, as well as upon these Ladies; for I assure you that if I could release them into your hands without danger of my life, I should do it with joy. Verenia finding the Officer to speak reason, and having consulted a little with her Companion, she went towards the Palace which was not far off. But this contest lasting a little long, there slocked abundance of people about the Vestals, and about these two Coaches; so as Aronces took hold of this opportunity, and pressed so near, that at last the eyes of Clelia found him out, who was so overjoyed to see him, as she could scareely contain herself, yet since she knew not whether or no it was expedient to take notice of him, she restrained herself, and was contented with showing him the thoughts of her Soul by her eyes, also she looked upon Celeres in a most obliging manner. Yet this mute discourse lasted not long, for Verenia going on, the Coaches followed her. And this being a matter of Novelty, all the Crowd that was gathered together in that place, did follow also to see what Tarquin would do in the business; so as Aronces and Celeres crowding in amongst the rest, they followed also, and not to be altogether useless, they got as near the Vestals as possibly they could; and as an encouragement unto them to insist more stiffly upon their Privileges, Aronces and Celeres did applaud unto the Heavens their design of delivering these Ladies. Mean time, Aronces remembering that Clelius told him he had a Sister who was a Vestal, he asked a Roman next him of what families these two Vestals were? and the Roman answered, that the grand Vestal was Sister unto a banished man whose name was Clelius, and that the other was of the house of Aquilines. So as Aronces now knowing that the grand Vestal was Aunt unto Clelia, he consulted with Celeres whether it were not expedient to make it known unto this Vestal that Clelia was her Niece, before she spoke unto Tarquin? and conceiving she would be more zealous if she knew it, they resolved to trust her with this important secret. To that end, when she came near that great and stately Frontispiece, before the Gates of Tarquin's Palace, and descending from that Chariot wherein she was carried, Aronces after he had asked leave of one that waited upon her, did address himself with all reverence unth her, and told her in a low voice and few words, that there was among the Captives one who was the daughter of her Brother, and conjured her by the name of Clelius to protect her and be silent. Verenia knowing how her Niece was stolen away, she did more easily believe what Aronces told her, and the beauty of Clelia having attracted her looks, she did find in her the Air of her Family; so as promising to be secret, and to insist importantly upon the Privilege, she ranked herself in the Front of all those Ladies, who came out of their Coaches, and being Ushered in by that Officer who conducted them, she asked to speak with Tarquin, who being then in the Chamber of the cruel Tullia, commanded that the Vestals and the Captives should enter. But though the Curiosity was very great, all those who followed could get no further than the Antichamber, except some few whose minds were too high to be denied entrance into the King's Chamber. So as Aronces being as handsome a person as any was in the world, he entered and Celeres also. But they were much amazed when they saw Amilcar, Artemidorus, and Zenocrate's close by the King; especially to see the first of these in such great familiarity with him, though there were many considerable Romans with him, and that though Collatine and the Prince Sextus were present, yet the King talked only with Amilcar, and that with as much familiarity as if he had known them all their lives, though it was but two days since they came unto him. But as Aronces and Celeres were astonished to see Amilcar, Amilcar was much more at the sight of Clelia, Aronces, and Celeres; also Artemidorus and Zenocrates wondered to see Celeres and Aronces, yet they concealed their several thoughts, and every one kept their places to see the business. And indeed the business was worthy of Curiosity; for Verenia was a person who had been admirably fair, and yet had a most comely mind, the Vestal who accompanied her was not above five and twenty years of age, and one of the most pleasing persons in the World: So as these two Vestals approaching the presence of Tarquin, all the Captive Ladies ranked themselves behind her, in expectation of their doom, whether Liberty or Fetters; so as this was a very delectable Object, for all the Ladies were fair and pleasing; it is true the beauty of Clelia did so much dim the Lustre of all the rest, as only she was looked upon. Things standing thus, the grand Vestal began to speak with as much boldness as eloquence, and addressing herself unto Tarquin, Sir (said she unto him) we address ourselves unto you with a Petition so just, as I need only to tell you what our pretensions are, without seeking for any reasons to uphold them; I shall not insist Sir, upon telling you our original; for you who are knowing in all things cannot be ignorant that it is much more ancient than Rome. But I must take the liberty to tell you, that since Romulus brought us from Alta unto this day, no Kings that ever Reigned in this Town, did ever offer to infringe the least of our Privileges; and that we have ever been so considered by Kings and People, as both the one and the other have looked still upon us as the nearest cause of public tranquillity. The first of the Tarquins did rather add unto our Privileges than diminish them: We have received no causes of complaint since our first institution neither from People, Senate, or Kings; and I am confident Sir, that you will give us none, but that you will grant liberty unto all these fair Captives, whom I met by chance; for you know Sir, the Law is, that if a Vestal accidentally meets any who are carrying unto execution, she saves his life and releaseth him; provided she will swear that she did not seek to meet him: And Sir, I can safely swear that I never knew of these Ladies, until I accidentally met them. I know you may tell me Sir, that these Ladies are prisoners of War, and not Criminals; but since they are innocent they are more worthy of favour, and according to all Laws and reason, those who can do the greater things can do the less; and therefore I conclude, that since we can save the lives of Criminals, we may save the innocent from imprisonment, and give them liberty. I know also, that the chance never yet was, when Vestals met Prisoners of War, as divers times they have Criminals, but still I say the Law ought to be expounded as I say, and the conjuncture is so favourable for us, as I cannot think you will lose an occasion of doing a thing of so great a glory; for I do not ask the liberty of any heroic Captain, or of any valiant Soldiers, but only for five or six silly miserable Ladies, who never did any thing against you, nor knows not how if they would. Grant therefore Sir, what we ask, we conjure you unto it, by the sacred fire which we so vigilantly preserve, and by all that is most holy and venerable amongst us. When Verenia had done speaking, Tarquin who heard her with a mocking smile, answered her in these terms. As you are a Vestal (said he unto her) I have willingly harkened unto you but as you are the Sister of Clelius, all that you say is suspected. It is very probable, that there is some craft in your Proposition, for being sure that I would deny you, you think that you may justly tell the People, I have infringed the privileges of the Vestals, that the sacred fire will quickly go out, and that the Gods in revenge will ruin Rome, nor do I know whether out of a premeditated design, you have let it extinguish already. But however it be, I do declare that no Vestal under my Reign shall ever deliver any Prisoners of War, and these Ladies whose Liberty you demand shall not obtain it. Get you gone, and look well to your sacred fire, if you would not be under Guard yourself, and in lieu of tteating you as a Vestal, I treat you as Sister unto my most mortal and ancient enemy. As I am a Vestal Sir, (replied Verenia boldly) you ought to respect me; and as I am sister unto Cielius, all the people of Rome ought to arm themselves in my defence; especially since you would have oppressed my Brother, by your unjust violence and power. Though the Laws (replied Tarquin in a fury) do not condemn Vestals to be buried alive, but for one kind of Crime only; yet I shall make you try what punishment it is, for a Crime of another nature, if you continue insolent a little longer. Get you gone I say once more, and look to the sacred fire unto which you are appointed, and believe it that if Clelius or any that relates uno him, do ever fall into my power, and I send him or them unto execution, you shall not save him though you meet him with all your fellow Vestals; Go, go, Verenia, for I find that if I see you any longer, the Purple Mantle which you wear, will not hinder me from seeing the Sister of my enemy in the person of a Vestal, nor can I be any longer Master of my own resentments. Oh Sir, (said she unto him) your injustice goes too far; and after I have spoke unto you as a Vestal, I must tell you as the Sister of Clelius, that I think it a greater glory in being the Sister of him who opposed you, than if I wore the Crown of those Kings from whom I am descended. Tarquin seeing the resoluteness of this Vestal, and not daring to follow the impetuosity of his resentments, because there was nothing in greater veneration amongst the people than the Vestals, he only commanded that the Captive Ladies should be carried into a Chamber in the Palace, until he should further dispose of them. And without any more regard unto Verema, he addressed his talk unto Tullia, Collatine, Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, and scossing at the Vestals, he made it appear, that though the sacred fire did extinguish, yet he should not be troubled at it.  
So that Verenia was constrained to retire, and leave her Niece under the power of a Tyrant, who would infallibly put her to death if he knew who she was, and yet there was no remedy. As for Aronces he was troubled beyond measure, and he admired the wonderful Constancy of Clelia; for though she heard what Tarquin said, yet did she not change colour, but harkened unto all he said, as if she had no interest at all in it: and her spirits were so free that as she went out of the Chamber with the rest of the Captives, she did strive to pass handsomely by Aronces, to the end she might the better tastifie by a sign with her head, that she had much consolation in seeing him. As for Aronces, he was so sadly afflicted that he was not Master of his own Spirits; and he was so taken up with sorrow, as he followed Clelia when she went out; and if Celeres had not restrained him, he had followed her unto the Chamber where they carried her, and would have made himself known to be of her acquaintance. Mean while, the Prince Sextus who had a general inclination to all beauties, he looked upon Clelia as he was wont to look upon those whom he could not look upon with eyes of indifferency, and his mind was so much upon her, as he went out presently after her, to bid those who had the conduct of those Ladies to treat them very well, and he came to Clelia who walked last; whosoever you are Madam, (said he unto her) I do verily believe you give more heavy Fetters, than those you wear. Be they as light as they can (replied Clelia) yet they do much trouble me, for I am not used to carry any, and if those which you say I give, do trouble those who wear them, perhaps they are miserable without any merit of pity. Sextus had a mind to say something else, but Clelia being entered with the rest of the Ladies into the Chamber where they were to be, he durst not follow them for fear of incensing Tarquin who was jealous of his Authority, even in the most trivial things. Mean while, Aronces and Celeres did walk before the King's Palace, expecting Artemidorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, imagining they would not stay long before they came out. But in expecting them how full of doleful expressions was the sad Aronces? Good Celeres (said he) confess by way of comfort to me, that I am the most miserable man in the World; do but consider how wilful is my wicked fortune, and in what danger Clelia is, were she less fair there was some hopes she would not be known; but being so glorious a star as she is, every one will be gazing and enquiring of her: Methinks also, that though she speak the Romans Language very well; yet one may know that she hath the accent of an African, though when we were at Capua I did not think so. I am afraid lest those Ladies who are with her, should tell that Horace was with her at Ardes; nor dare I trust unto her great spirit and prudence; for I fear that she will not disguise her name; but that the name of Clelia will make her known to be the daughter of Clelius: for doubtless the Tyrant is still enquiring of him, and would have murdered him at Capua; he knows that he hath a daughter, that she is fair, that her name is Clelia, and that Horace carried her away. Those that are so over Prudent (replied Celeres) are doubtless more miserable than any others, for in all probability Clelia will disguise her name: The Ladies with her perhaps knows not what it is, nor know who Horace is, and therefore the best way were to wait, till time tell you more.  
As Celeres said so, Amilcar came out of the Palace, and came to them with Artemido us, and Zenocrates, but he was as blithe and jocund in countenance, as Aronces was melancholy in heart. But coming to them, Come, (said he unto him) come and fear nothing; I have already tamed the Tiger which put you all into terror; it shall be long of yourself, if you do not see what I say is true, and if you be not ere long in a condition to protect Clelia, if he would offer to hurt her, which I do not at all believe he will; for I am extremely mistaken if he do not think Clelia to be very fair, and if Tullia do not observe it as well as I. I left her telling Tarquin that he did ill in treating the Vestals so ill; and that since it was only for the delivery of Women; he ought to have consented unto it. So as since I know that Tullia ●s not over-scrupulous in matter of Religion, and observing that ●he sees as well as I, how Tarquin thinks Clelia to be the fairest of all the Captives. I must needs conclude, that Tullia will ere long get her released. Tullia is so unaccustomed to make use of any harmless remedies (replied Aronces) as I fear, that if she be jealous she will rather put Clelia to death, than set her at liberty. To cure you of any such apprehensions (replied Amilcar. I will get into favour with Tullia. That will not be much difficult (said Zenocrates) for you have already so great familiarity with her, as I believe if you will you may quickly be the Confident of all her Crimes. For my part (said Artemidorus) I do wonder how it is possible Amilcar should in so short a time as since we came hither, do so many things; for he hath showed us all the Town, he is very much in favour both with Tarquin and Tullia, and much more with the Prince Sextus; the Prince of Pometia and Titus do court him, he knows the names of all the beauties in Rome: The Eldest of the Salians believe him to be a Salian, so well is he versed in all their Ceremonies; and if you had heard his discourse with an Augurer you would have been affrighted. It is not possible (said Celeres) that Amilcar could show the one half of Rome unto Artemidorus and Zenocrates. To show you that they tell me no lies (replied he) ask them if I have not showed them the four Ports of Rome, the Carmental, the Roman, the Pandane or the Romulide, and the Janiculan? ask them if I did not bid them observe how that City was a Quadrangle? if I did not show them the Capitol and the stately Temple which Tarquin built? if I did not show them the place where the Vestal Tarpea was buried? and if I did not show them the little Temple of the God Thermes, whom the people would needs adore, maugre all the Power of Tarquin? ask them still whether I have not showed them the Mount Palatine and the Mount Quirinal where the Temple of Romulus was built? whether I have not showed them the Mount Celius, the Mount Aventine, the Mount Viminal, and that of Janicula? ask them still whether I did not let them see the Ruminal Figtree, where Remus and Romulus were found? whether I did not let them see the Sublician Bridge? whether I did not exactly show them all the magnificence of the Amphitheatre and Cirque? whether I did not carry them unto that Grove which is consecrated unto the Muses? if I did not tell them in that place some things that were uttered by the Nymph Egeria, such as aspired Numa with those admirable things which he did? ask them on, if I did not go with them into the famous Temple of Janus, which is seldom or never open but in times of War? if I did not show them that Temple which Romulus vowed unto Jupiter when he fought against the Sabines. Further, let them tell you if I did not show them the first Prison which was ever built in Rome by Ancus Martius? if I did not show them the sacred street, the street Cyprionna, where the Palace of King Numa is, and where Tullia went over the Corpse of her Father? if I did not let them see the Bulwarks which Tarquin finished? several Temples of Vesta, of Jupiter, of Hercules, of Diana, and of many other Divinities? For my part (said Celeres) I do not so much wonder you have showed them so many things in so short a time, as I do to see you in such familiarity with Tarquin and Tullia, and the Princes their Children; for they are almost all of different humours. That which did it (replied Amilcar) was my remembrance how Herminius described them; so as going confidently unto Tarquin, in the Prince of Carthag's name, and presenting Artemidorus and Zenocrates to him as two of my friends, not telling their names or who they were, I was so happy as at my first conference to get into some credit with him; for he having a desire of being instructed in the present condition of Carthage, knowing well there was some difference of interest between Sicily and that Commonwealth, I recalled into my memory all the Policies and Intrignes of those who reigned the most absolutely, and all that I had learned upon this Subject in all my Travels and books. I did highly applaud Periander King of Corinth, who knew so well how to make himself obeyed by force; I preferred Semiramis above Cyrus, because she was more stern than that illustrious Conqueror, and mixing some ingredients of half profanation with my politics, in an hour I got to be high in the favour of Tarquin. As for Tullia, when I was alone with her, I let her understand how all the World said that Tarquin was a debtor unto her for the Crown, and that she merited a Million of Praises, for knowing so well how to set herself above her own Sex, by not dorring at such seruples as Ladies of low and common capacities use, who had not hearts so great as hers. As for the Prince Sextus, remembering his inclination unto all women, I talked unto him of nothing but our African Gallantry, and of the pleasingness in Grecian beauties. And knowing that he was not over Regular in his loves, I made a Satirical invective unto him, against all such puling lovers who use to sigh a whole year, before they will tell they love, and who are so constant as to vow their services unto one Mistress. So as he believing these to be my thoughts, he was as open unto me as any voluptuous person who neither believed the Gods nor feared men, could be unto his dearest friend, when he would relate the manner of his life unto him. But he did open himself very pleasantly, for one could never meet with a more amiable Libertine than Sextus; and my greatest wonder was, considering his quality, that he was acquainted with all the handsome women in Rome, even from the Vestals to the very worst of Slaves. But after you had so well gotten the opinions of Tarquin, of Tullia, and of Sextus, (said Aronces) what did you to enter into the favour of the Prince of Pometia and Titus? these two Princes being of contrary humours to their Brother (replied Amilcar) they had no commerce together; so as seeing them asunder, I talked with them after another manner, and without any blaming of the Prince Sextus for his irregularity of life, I commended them so highly as they had a very good opinion of me; and falling into a discourse of gallantry and love, I quickly observed the heart of the Pometian Prince, was full of such great and tender thoughts, as did become a noble Passion: So as telling him all that I had gathered from others, and was sensible of myself, concerning any amorous matters, he was ready to open his very soul, and to tell me that he was in Love.  
As for the Prince Titus, he being naturally of a cold and reserved temper, he did not so freeely open his heart, and yet I perceived that he had a great disposition to love me. Amilcar did one thing extraordinary more (replied Zenocrates) for there was one of the King's Nephews, whose name was Brutus, who seemed to be a very Blockhead, and in whom one should never find the least glimpse of any wit; he being behind those Princes whilst Amilcar talked unto them, did hearken very attentively unto him, and Amilcar talking with a sprightly and agreeable Air, Brutus did laugh twice so pertinently, as it was observed a great wonder and a miracle of Hamilcar's wit. And a Cavalier did say unto another who stood by him, in a low voice, that Brutus was very happy in giving this sign of his understanding when Tarquin was not present. It is most true (answered the other Cavalier) for I am confident that if he had seen him laugh so opportunely and pertinently as he did, he would have put him to death as well as his Brother; for he lets him live only because he thinks him to have no wit nor spirit. I must tell you (said Amilcar then) that Brutus is not so senseless as is believed; for I having an universal curiosity to know all things; and sometimes taking as much delight in seeing the several follies of men, as their several wisdoms, I began to talk with him a quarter of an hour, and since every one had described him to be extremely stupid, I put a hundred foolish questions unto him, which I perceived did displease him, and unto which he would not answer. They say (replied Artemidorus) that he speaks so little, as that it cannot be taken for an effect of his reason, but for an effect of his stupidity; for I have heard of men many times, who could hide their treasures; but I never heard of any who could hide their spirits and wits. However it be (said Amilcar) he hath more wit than he is thought to have: I know not that (replied Amilcar) but I am sure that you have more than is possibly to be believed. Had you but heard him yesterday you would have wondered (added he and spoke unto Aronces) when he discoursed with an Augurer near the place where the Sibyls Books are kept; for he made the man believe that he was far more knowing in matters of Divinations, than himself; and they were so great in favour together, as he promised to talk concerning the sacred Chickens, and told him that he came from Negrepont, which is the place from whence they say, those come who are most able to presage the truth. But (said Aronces to him) since you are so cunning and happy in all things, I pray what can you do to help me unto a fight of Clelia? It is requisite (replied Amilcar) that to morrow I present you unto Tarquin, under the notion of a man whom I was acquainted with during my Travels, and as a man of courage who would be glad to serve him in the siege of Ardes; but we must endeavour to let Clelia know, that she must give it out and say she was born at Noles, and that Celeres is her Brother: And after this is hinted unto her, I will present Celeres unto Tarquin, who shall beg leave to see his Sister, and we will intercede for him; by this means she will not be thought the daughter of Clelius, but the principal difficulty is to speak unto Clelia. I know not (replied Artimedorus) how is it possible to find a way how to instruct her in all you desire she should know. Perhaps more possible than you imagine (replied Amilcar) and when I return at night from the Palace, I may chance find out an invention for it. When Aronces heard Amilcar say so, he conjured him very importunately, to use his best endeavours in doing him this good Office, and Amilcar taking the business upon him, Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres went with Aronces to visit the virtuous Sevilia, who at the very name of Herminius, did bid them most heartily welcome; and Amilcar went to Tullia, where he found the Prince Sextus, with whom he tampered as if he would be the Confident of all his pleasures. And knowing that he should please his genius if he talked of Ladies, he fell into discourse concerning the fair prisoners, and extolling them to the skies, he asked Sextus if he would make a visit unto them at night? For Sir (said he unto him and laughed) in matter of love, it is good always to be the first man; and therefore if there be any of those Captives which pleaseth your fancy, make haste and tell her that she hath given you Chains more heavy thrn her own. It being an easy matter to persuade Sextus unto a business of this nature, he told Amilcar that he would go presently with him, and accordingly making use of Tullia's name to see them, those who guarded the Prisoners did let them enter; but they found them in several humours, for two of them did so extremely droop in their Captivity, as if they were almost dead; and another who being of a more blithe composition, was a looking herself in a Glass, and mending something about her dress, as pleasantly as if she had been in her own Chamber; also there were other two, who were not very melancholy. But as for Clelia, without either the despair of the two first, or the insensibility of the other three, she was only serious, and gravely sad, and looked as if she were a most perfect Mistress of herself. All this while, Amilcar not desiring to be known, he saluted her after such a manner as at the first made her to understand that she was to take no notice of him. And Sextus at the first entrance talking to one of those Ladies who came from Ardes, and seemed the most considerable, he had time to make such signs unto her, as signified his intention. And he had so much time also as to ask her in a low voice whether there was any of those Captives whom she durst trust? And Clelia pointing unto one who was called Cesonia, he left her as soon as Sextus came towards her, and he went unto that Lady, to whom she pointed, unto whom he told all that was agreed upon with Aronces, to the end she might tell Clelia. Thus he let her understand that if any asked who she was, she should say that she was born at Noles, and that she had a Brother whose name was Celeres. But after Amilcar had said all that related unto Clelia, he began to cheer up all the Lady-Prisoners, and he was so pleasant in talking unto those who seemed so dejected at their Captivity, as he did suspend part of all their sorrows. Mean while, Sextus, unto whom the beauty of Clelia was infinitely pleasing, let her understand (following the counsel which Amilcar gave him) that he thought her sitter to give Fetters then to wear them. But she answered him in such a manner, as did something cool the impetuosity of his fiery temper. So as this Prince, who till now never loved without hope of obtaining them, and who knew not what either fears or respect did mean, did find his heart so stricken with a reverend and respectful fear, as restrained him from talking unto Clelia, as he used to do unto others; so as calling Amilcar to his aid, there began a discourse more general which was very pleasant; for as there could be no talk so far from any matters of Love, but Sextus would apply it that way, so after he had pitied the misfortunes of these fair Captives, and protested that he would protect them as much as ever he could, he began to say, he believed their Captivity did make many sad hearts both at Ardes and at Rome. Truth is, Sir (said Amilcar) since there is not one of these Captives, who is not fair enough to make Captives, I am confident there are many sad Lovers at Ardes, and e'er long will be many ill treated ones in Rome.  
The Romans have such a reputation of glory (replied that person who endured her Captivity so well, and whose name was Plotina) as it is not credible there is any one of them that will be a Slave to a Slave. Oh Sir, (said Amilcar after his natural and sprightly freedom) this is the finest opportunity in the World for a Roman that hath a mind to make any gallant declaration of Love, and were I one, I would not let it slip; for certainly there is nothing more difficult then to do it handsomely, and gallantly; at least I am sure that since I was first a Lover, I think I have made a hundred, and amongst them all there is but two which ever pleased me. It is true said Sextus and laughed as well as Plotina) that for these regular Lovers who woe in print, it is difficult for them, to find out such a happy minute, wherein they can, with a good grace, say I love you. But as for my part, I never woo so; for I am so persuaded that the very thing itself is pleasing, as I cannot believe it will make one angry be it told never so illfavouredly; and therefore I use to out with it boldly, whensoever any occasion is offered. Were one a great Prince as you are (replied Amilcar) were one handsome and had wit at will, than I think indeed, that the difficulty would not be great, to tell you love, and to tell it well; but when one is no Prince, nor handsome, and but of a mean wit, and but indifferently in love, than I assure you it is a business more difficult than you imagine, to make declarations of Love; unless unto fair Prisoners, for in such a case I find no difficulty. For indeed (added he and smiled) these words, Slave, Captive, and Prisoner, do furnish one with a thousand gallant thoughts, and Fetters, Chains, and Torments, are so naturally applicative unto what one would say, as one shall find out a thousand several ways to express their minds. But when one is but cold in love, and hath no great Talon of Wit, (as I said before) then there is no greater difficulty, then to say I am ready to die for Love. But (replied the pleasant Captive) if one be neither in love, nor have any Wit, why should he ever torment himself with seeking of declarations of Love, and talk of that which he is not sensible off? Alas, fair Plotina (said he unto her) if one should never talk of love, but when the heart is full of it, one should never talk of it above once in all his life; for one cannot be twice violently in Love. And all his discourse would be very cold and languishing, since to tell you truly, when any one is long with a Woman, he must needs talk either of her love unto others, or her causing others to be in love with her; for I am most confident that the gravest and most demure Matrons of Rome, when they were young would be very weary of the best accomplished Men, if they should never talk unto them of any thing but Divinity, of the Vestal Ceremonies, of the Laws of the Land, of the order in their Families, or of the news of the Town: A fair and young Lady takes no delight in hearing one tell that such a one is dead, such a one hath made his will, such a one is married unto such a rich Man, this Man is gone into the Country, that Man hath a suit in Law, and this Woman hath a very rich Gown; and therefore it is the only way to be always talking of Love, be it either in earnest or in jest; for follies of this nature handsomely spoken amongst Ladies, do please them better than any moral or politic discourse whatsoever, or any news. I am so much of your opinion (replied Sextus) that even in visits of consolation after the death of Friends, I would find out some invention or other to speak of love; for be it unto a Woman who had lost her Husband, whom she most dearly loved; she must be pitied principally because she hath lost him she loved; or be it so that she did not love him; she must be comforted by giving her some hopes of having a Husband whom she shall love. Yet I believe (replied Clelia modestly) that they use to talk of Love less in Rome, than any where else; they use to speak of it more mysteriously (replied Sextus) but for all that it is spoken of in all parts of the World; and it will for ever be spoken of as long as there are such beauties as you are. It were enough to say (replied Amilcar) as long as there are any Men; for since there are very few beauties comparable unto her you speak unto, you leave over little room for discourse of Love. Whilst Sextus and Amilcar were talking thus, there was one of those melancholy Ladies, who of her own nature was very proud, and a little capricious, and who not being able to endure any discourse of this nature, she began to quarrel with Amilcar; but being very handsome, and seeming witty, he answered her very civilly, though in a very ingenious way of Raillery; on the other side, that jocund Lady whom Amilcar had much pleased, she opposed her friend and told her that she was much too blame in offering to make Amilcar as melancholy as herself, so as there grew a very pleasant contest, yet it lasted not long; for it growing late Sextus and Amilcar went away; but Amilcar having done the business he came for, as soon as he had waited upon Sextus to his Chamber, he returned unto Aronces. Yet before he went from that Prince, he observed that Clelia had taken his heart; and he made him confess that he thought her very fair; and that the only fault that he could find in her, was that he thought her too good and over wise. However, the friendship which was between Aronces, Amilcar, and Celeres, would not suffer them to part Lodgings, but they all three lay together, as Artimedorus and Zenocrates did: Aronces was not looked upon as a King's Son, nor Artimedorus as a Prince, for the state of their fortunes would not permit them; but Amilcar knowing them both, he desired they should know what one another were; So as after he had told Aronces what he had done, and had filled his heart with joy and hopes, he obliged Aronces to discover himself unto Artimedorus, and Artimedorus to discover himself unto Aronces; who no sooner heard of his true Condition, but he knew him to be a Brother unto the Princess of the Leontines, unto whom he was so much obliged; so as embracing him then with abundance of tenderness, he begged his friendship, and promised his most faithful service, not speaking a word of the Princess his Sister, until he knew what opinion he was of, and whether what he thought of the lovely Zenocrates was true or no.  
However, it being very late, and having talked away most of the night without any sleep, they silently gave the rest, unto their rest: And in the morning, as it was resolved upon the day before, Amilcar went unto Tarquin, to present Aronces and Celeres unto him, as two friends of his whom he knew very well in his Travels; and as two Men who came to offer their service at the Siege of Ardes: Adding afterwards a most humble petition for the release of Clelia, whom he called by another name before Tarquin, then that she was called at Ardes, saying that she was carried thither by her Lover against her will; and that being born at Noles in Campania, and being Sister unto a Man who would die in his service, she deserved to be treated better than the rest of the Captives, who were Daughters Wives, and Sisters unto his enemies. At the first Tarquin received Aronces and Celeres very well, and harkened unto the Petition which Amilcar made in behalf of the pretended Sister unto Celeres; but Clelia seeming in his eye to be very fair, and having a desire to keep her, he told Amilcar that indeed his petition was very just, and told Celeres that his Sister should not be a Prisoner; but withal told him, that he must desire a savour from him also, which was that she might remain as a Prisoner until after the Siege of Ardes: For (said he) it doth exceedingly concern me, that it should not be thought the Vestals have any right in releasing Prisoners of War, as they have of Criminals; for if this Privilege should be granted them, there would be in every street a Vestal, when any considerable Prisoners of War were brought into Rome. But Sir (replied Aronces) since this Prisoner for whom we intercede, is no inhabitant of Ardes you may release her, without any thought that it is by virtue of the Vestal Privilege if you do declare, that you release her only upon this account that she was not born among your enemies. What you say (replied Tarquin) is very judiciously spoken; but for all that the people will think her to be released by the Vestal authority; and therefore it is absolutely requisite, that this fair one stay where she is, until after the Siege of Ardes: But lest her Captivity should be troublesome unto her, or that she should pass under the notion of a slave, I will entreat Tullia to be civil towards her, as perhaps she may like being in Rome, as well as in Campania.  
Celeres, Aronces, Amilcar, Artimedorus, and Zenocrates, did use many more arguments unto Tarquin, to make him change his mind, but he began to give them such sharp answers, as they fearing to incense him, and make him suspect something of the truth, they did not importune him any further; and Celeres carrying himself as Clelia's Brother, he gave Tarquin a thousand thanks for promising her to release her after the Siege of Ardes, and in the mean while to treat her well. And indeed Tarquin commanded that some of Tullia's Servants, should the very same hour go and wait upon her, and that they should let any see her who would: So as Aronces making use of that liberty, he went unto her that afternoon, but was carried thither by Celeres, who went to see her as his Sister, Artimedorus, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, went also with them, to the end this visit should not render her in the least suspected.  
Clelia was that day in her negligent dress, but yet in the midst of negligence so handsome, as it was apparent that she was naturally so, and so when she had no company. There being then none with her but the Captive Ladies who loved her dearly, she had so much liberty as to receive Aronces as a Man whom she was glad to see; yet she had restrained herself by reason of Artimedorus and Zenocrates, had not Celeres in presenting them unto her, hinted that she needed not to stand in fear of them. So as this meeting, notwithstanding the pitiful condition wherein they were, was very comfortable unto them. And to the end they might have the more freedom of discourse, Amilcar who had seen all the Ladies but the day before, began to talk with them as familiarly as if he had been acquainted all his life, for being between the pleasant Plotina and the lovely Cesonia, who carried out their misfortunes with more constancy than the rest, it was an easy matter for him to turn discourse in a more merry mood. As for Artimedorus, he durst not talk overmuch because he was no Roman: And as for Zenocrates, though when he pleased he could speak the Language very excellently well, yet it was never his custom to talk much upon the first acquaintance; yet he listened with such ingenious attention, as made it apparent that he knew what wit was, and that he was a Master of it himself. As for Celeres he addressed himself and his discourse unto those Ladies who were of the most melancholy mood; so as by this means Aronces talked with Clelia in private, with whom he had not had a minute's discourse never since that terrible Earthquake, which separated them upon the Banks of the River Vulturnus; and he was so transported with joy at the opportunity, that it did appear in his eyes, in his actions, and in his voice. I beg your pardon, Madam, (said he unto her) for that joy which perhaps you find in my face; for considering the condition wherein you are, I may seem much too blame to express joys; yet I must needs tell you Madam, that at this time I am not a Master of my own thought; but am so overjoyed at the sight of you, to see you out of my Rival's power, and to find some sparks of goodness towards me yet in your eyes, as I cannot choose but abandon my heart and soul unto joys. But Madam, to plump up joys into a fuller strain, I beseech you tell me whether you are any thing joyed at the sight of me, and in seeing me fuller of love than I was, when I had the happy honour to be the most amorous person upon Earth. If the very sight of you did not please me (replied Clelia) truly Sir, I should think myself so unreasonable, as that I should be extremely ashamed at myself. Oh Madam, (said he and interrupted her) I beseech you do not Sir me so, for I am still the very same Aronces, whom the fair Clelia was once pleased to call her Brother, when she began to cast a favourable look upon him as her Lover; and be confident, Madam, that I shall most joyfully renounce the Quality of a King's Son, rather than you should take from me that glorious Title of your Slave. Treat me not therefore, I beseech you in a ceremonious manner; imagine yourself to be upon the Throne, and me in Fetters at your Feet, and use no such offensive Sirs unto me; for my thoughts are so tender and so full of respects unto you, as if you do not call me as you were wont to do, my joys at the sight of you will lessen. Since you will have it so, my dear Aronces (said she unto him) I shall live with you as I was wont at Capua, and I can assure you that you are to me no more considerable, since I know you to be a King's Son, than you were before; for truly, fortune in giving you a Crown, hath not given you any thing which I can put in comparison with your virtue. Oh Madam (said he unto her) I beseech you commend me less, and tell me a little more plainly, that you do love me as you were wont to do; and without any telling me of my virtue, tell me only, that the tenderness and constancy of my love, hath moved your heart: That my Rivals hath made no impression in it, and that you would be glad to reign still in mine. In telling you, I am the same in Rome, I was in Capua (replied Clelia modestly) surely I shall tell you as much as you can desire: After this, Aronces used the most tender expressions in the World unto Clelia; and in the transports of this passion, he talked to her of completing their Marriage, though she was a Prisoner, though Clelius could not come to Rome, nor think of carrying her unto Clusium. Also he himself perceived that his reason was not sound, and was glad that the prudent Clelia did set some limits unto such tumultuous desires, as made him think upon things both unreasonable and impossible.  
After which, he gave a short account of all the passages which had happened: And she also did tell him all she knew; for she told him how Horatius went unto the place where the Earthquake was, which gave him the occasion of his voyage, that was so variously talked of at Capua; she told him how strangely she was amazed when she saw herself without any relief in the hands of Horatius, who yet did treat her with very much respect; she told him afterwards, how when the Earthquake was ceased, Horatius carried her into a house which was not shaken down, which belonged unto one of those that were with him, when he carried her away; that there he got a Coach, how he procured a Woman to wait upon her; and how after he had written unto Stenius after he was at Capua, he was forced to seek his fortune: She told him afterwards, how Horatius resolving upon Perusia for his retreat, he took that way. But Madam (said Aronces to her) when I saw you in a Bark upon the Lake of Thrasimenes, and when Horatius defended himself against the Prince of Numidia who assaulted him, than you were not in the way to Perusia. It is true (replied Clelia) but chance so ordered it, that in this voyage Horatius did meet with the Son of him who commanded, in one of the Isles of that Lake, which is beyond that, where they than kept the Queen your Mother; so as contracting friendship with him, and having trusted him with all his secrets, Horatius changed his intention, and resolved to carry me into that Isle, where the Man assured him to find a safe Sanctuary. And accordingly, he did put me into a Bark with him, his Men and with those of him he met, we were no sooner upon the Lake, but the Prince of Numidia appeared upon the Shore with Armed Men, and having found another Bark he and his Men went into it, and fell upon Horatius as you saw; and I am most confident, that if these two had not stood in fear of hurting me, the meeting had proved mortal to them both. But I beseech you Madam (replied Aronces) how came the Prince of Numidia so just in the nick with his Armed Men? I conjecture (answered she) that I was the cause of it; for you must know, that meeting accidentally with a Pencil and some paint, when I fell into the power of Horatius, I writ upon all places where I passed, on doors and walls, both my name and the place where they carried me. And understanding that Morning we should go unto this Isle, I writ these words in a Window.  If any Friend unto Clelius chance to pass this way, let him know, that they carry Clelia unto one of the Isles upon the Thrasimenian Lake. 
So as supposing, and with reason, that the Prince of Numidia passing by chance that way, and finding this writing, he took these Men and followed me. However, after the Combat with Horatius, and this Prince who was wounded, we came unto this Isle where he presently recovered. But hearing of that express command which the Prince of Perusia had sent to seek me and Horatius in all his Dominions. He who promised unto Horatius a safe Sanctuary in this Isle, recalling his word did oblige him to depart; so as then seeking out for a place of shelter from the violence of Tarquin, and for a protection against all the World, he carried me to Ardes, which he knew was in no correspondency with the King of Reme. And indeed, he was there very well received; but as for my part, melancholy was much my disease: yet I was so happy as to find much comfort in the Company of Cesonia, whom you see there with Amilcar, and whom I found to be a most generous friend; for when Horatius saw that in all probability Tarquin would be prosperous in the Siege of Ardes, and resolved to get out, Cesonia at my request came out also, and persuaded all the rest of these Ladies to come with her. As soon as Clelia had said so, the Prince Sextus entered, and caused the discourse to alter; but Amilcar knowing that Clelia pleased the Prince very much, and having a desire to take him off, he went unto him, and speaking in a low voice, Sir (said he) this fair Prisoner whom I see you look upon more than any of the rest, is indeed the fairest of them all; but let me tell you, that the pleasant Plotina, whom you see on my right hand, is far the jocondest, and more easy to be wrought upon: It is true (replied Sextus) but her beauty is infinitely more charming than any of the rest: I grant it (replied Amilcar) but the worst is in gaining her, you must sigh, and cry, and cringe, and pule, a long time for it; but in all likelihood the conquest of the other will be obtained with a laugh and a pleasant jest.  
After this, Sextus sitting down, and finding what Amilcar had said to be very pleasant, he made it the subject of discourse, but in such a manner, as it was taken only for general discourse, wherein none of the Company had any particular interest. After he had stated the Question in hand, it is not (said he) to know whether a fair and merry Mistress, be more amiable than fair and melancholy, or a fair, proud, and capricious Mistress, but the question is, which of them is the most fit to cause Love? Oh Sir (replied Celeres, not knowing Hamilcar's design) a fair and merry Mistress makes men in love with her, but will not be in love herself, and I know nothing more intolerable than a sprightly blithe humour, who will oblige one with a thousand civilities; concur with one in a hundred pleasures, let you tell her what you will, and will herself be very free; who the very first day you see her will laugh, sing, dance, and play with one as freely, as if he were of Twenty years' acquaintance, who will desire you to come and see her, who will bid you extremely welcome, and who will give one the greatest hopes in the world, and all to no purpose. And as soon as ever ones back is turned, she will never think on what he said, or what she answered. For my part (replied Amilcar) I wonder why you should complain so; for I conceive nothing more sweet than to find some hopes growing with one's Love; to find some recompense as soon as he begins to profess affection, to meet with that pleasure in the beginning of a Passion, with others never meet with but in the end; and all the while never to shed any tears but those of joy: As to that which you say concerning the forgetfulness of a fair and merry Mistress, I say, pay back oblivion for oblivion; and if she will forget what you said, do you forget what she said. Were I of Hamilcar's temper, (replied Celeres) I should without difficulty do as he says; but I assure you (replied he) the matter is not so easy as you imagine, for I have seen all sorts of Lovers; I have myself loved persons of a blithe, jocund, and frolic temper; I have loved melancholy, proud, fickle, fantastical Mistresses, I have loved the little, the great, the black, the brown, the fair, and all sorts. Since so, said the Prince Sextus, you are the most experimentally able to tell us, whether it be more sweetness in loving a pleasant, merry Mistress, or a Melancholy or a fantastical. It is very true (replied Aronces) Amilcar is fitter to speak unto the Question than any other; yet he himself is of so pleasant, equal, and merry a composition (said Artemidorus) as I fear his partiality will make more against the melancholy, than against the proud and fantastical fair ones. To show my freeness from partiality (replied he and laughed) choose which of these three you will maintain, and I will undertake to defend the other. Oh I beseech you (said the pleasant Plotina) do not forsake the cause of the merry ones, and let him take part with the merry and fantastical; you will defend that side so well yourself, both by your beauty and agreeableness of humour (replied Amilcar) as you need none to take your part, yet I consent to be the Protector of the fair and merry ones.  
For my particular (said the Prince Sextus) I will pretend to judge: As for my part (said Aronces) I will not put that in any doubt which my heart hath been so long resolved upon. And for my part (said Zenocrates) since I am yet much unresolved in matters of Love, I still pretend unto no side, but only to be an Auditor. Since so (said Celeres) I will make choice to defend the melancholy Ladies: And to undertake a task more hard than that (said Artemidorus) I will maintain, provided you will pardon the defects of my Language, that there is more pleasure in being loved by a fair, proud, and fantastical Mistress than any other, though I must thus far agree that there is much more sweetness in being loved by a melancholy beauty who is not fantastical. As for your Grecian accent (replied Amilcar) I will excuse it, but I beseech you give me leave to speak first, for I cannot endure to take so much pains as to answer the reasons of others. But consider, I pray, (replied Amilcar) that others had rather reply upon your reasons: Perhaps (replied Plotina) his reasons will be found so good, as none will be so bold as to reply unto them, or show their own. Since you are the only she in all the company (replied Cesonica) who can pretend unto this quality of mirth, perhaps others will also find their Protection as well as you. I assure you (replied Amilcar) it will not be an easy matter to find it; for to enter in the Argument, hath not love its rise and life out of joys, out of pleasures, and looked upon as the greatest felicity in the World, the most amorous sighers that are, never sigh but for joy, all the sobs and sorrows of a Lover are caused by his hopes of being happy. Is it not much better than to meet with love in delights and joys, than to seek it by sad sighing and difficult ways, in such as will never let one laugh but after they have cried? Had I been called unto Nature's Council when she invented all these several sorts of Flowers which she produced, I should never have given any Prickles unto Roses; such a Lover am I of all delights as I would have them without any mixture of sorrows; and I am such a professed enemy unto all gloomy and melancholy Lovers, who will always go the most painful ways unto love, and had rather sigh with the Turtle, than sing with the Nightingale, as I cannot choose but sigh to think upon their follies. Oh Amilcar (cried out Plotina and laughed) you defend our cause methinks so faintly, as I fear you have a will to be baffled in it. Experience is so much above all reasons (replied Amilcar) as we shall be able to defend our cause against all the protectors of the proud and melancholy Mistresses; and if to give them a most sensible example, you will be pleased to let me love you, and you love me again this will be reason enough, to prove that it is better to be loved by a fair merry Mistress, than either a melancholy or a fantastical. When you have showed your reasons (replied she and smiled) we shall see whether we shall authorise them by our example. I must tell you then again (replied he) that I know nothing more vexatious than to Court a melancholy, or a proud fantastical Mistress, nor any thing so sweet as to beloved by a fair and pleasant merry Mistress: For first when one Courts a melancholy Deity, he must be full of all familiarity, he must pay all possible reverence, he must sigh and pule a long time, he must be extremely circumstantial in the declaration of his love, be must pay both great and small services, he must be full of applauds, of sweetness, of tenderness, of rapture, of assiduity, and amongst all these one ingredient of despair. And when all is done, you must either be loved or not loved, if you be not loved then there is abundance of time lost; and if you be loved, commonly it is but a little; for of a hundred melancholy Mistresses, there are not two to be sound who are not both jealous and hard to be obtained, and who does not drive into despair by their continual complaints. So that often one is much more miserable in obtaining their affection then in being denied it. As for the proud and fantastical (added he) they are yet worse, for one knows not where to find them. At first, they will hardly look upon those hearts which are offered to them, one would say that they wronged them in adoring them, or at least one is infinitely obliged unto them, for doing so much honour as to receive their offering; they will disdainfully turn away their head, because one shall not look them in the face, and will sometimes so behave themselves, as if you were to render them all humble thanks for that they have not killed you. I know very well that there are some good fantastics, and that some days one shall oblige them, by telling them such things as angered them the day before: I know also, that at another time the same things will displease, which before did please, so as you can never be at any certainty with them in matter of love; nor be sure you can keep that love which you get the day before; how can one be ever at any quiet, or enjoy any delight in them? for my part I cannot endure to be smiled upon one day, and browbeaten the next; I know these proud ones and fantastical ones, will sometimes go further than others will, but I know withal that they will repent it, and what is gotten with a great deal of pains, is kept but by chance, for one will never enjoy their affection with any tranquil delight. Therefore I do conceive it much better to court the love of a fair, jocund, frolic, and merry Mistress: For first, the Conquest is much more easy, one shall enjoy it in peace; if she should have any tang of jealousy or anger, she is pacified with a serenade, and all quarrels are but trifles which will be reconciled at the next treat, or diversion; I know very well that these merry Mistresses perhaps do not love so zealously; but withal, they do not expect one should love them so extremely; so as giving as much liberty as they take, both parties will be well agreed. They will require nothing from you but such things as are pleasant in themselves; for they will walk with you, they will laugh, they will rally, sing, and dance, and to do all these for the love of them, are no difficulties: and therefore is it not much better to serve such, then others who are so full of the morals and politics of love, and who require if you will get their loves that you also do exactly know them, who rank sighs, sobs, and tears instead of pleasures.  
I have divers more arguments to use (added Amilcar) but I shall not stand in need of all my force against such enemies, as I fear not, since their cause is so bad, and mine so good. Though I want your eloquence (replied Artemidorus) yet for all your Art, I hope Justice will carry it against your specious reasons which have no solidity in them. For the question is not whether hath most or lest trouble in loving a merry Mistress, or a fantastical, or a melancholy; but the question is, which hath most sweets in it. And I do very confidently affirm, that of all the several tempers which a Mistress can be of, none is so fit to move great and sensible delights as she that is fair, proud, and a little fantastical. For it is most evident, that whosoever does take away resistance and all difficulties from Love does murder Love; or at the least doth take away all the sweet and pleasing transports which makes all Lovers happy. And I must also affirm, that to be completely happy in Love he must mix with his love, the glory to make it fervent, and must have an amorous kind of ambition, to redouble the violence of that passion; it is a most high delight after a Man hath been long a slave unto a Mistress, to be at last a Conqueror, and to deserve that glorious title he must have met with such resistance; he will imagine it most glorious to have vanquished that heart which seemed invincible, and he must be able to tell himself that he deserves to vanquish.  
Moreover, though a resentment of glory were not necessary to render that passion the more ardent, yet it must be confessed that Love is either hot or cold: And it must be concluded as impossible, that those desires which a merry Mistress creates in the heart of a Lover, can ever be so sharp as those inspired by a proud beauty, which seem more delicate because they are more difficult to obtain. Not but that a well accomplished Man who is resolute in his Love may be assured to vanquish, if he doth but know how to manage all occasions, and to make use of several favourable and critical minutes which may be met with in the conversation of all proud and fantastical Mistresses; there are some hours when it may be said there is an interregnum in their hearts: I must also maintain that the most sensible favours, are more often obtained by humour, and fancy, then by tenderness and acknowledgements: and a proud fantastical Mistress wins more in an hour, than a merry Mistress can in a year. I grant it (replied Amilcar) but commonly all proud and fantastical Mistresses, do within an hour repent themselves of all the favours they have done; they will even hate themselves for loving you too well: and sometimes they will punish you for what they themselves did voluntarily grant: and their repentance for doing any thing over obligingly moves them unto a thousand more angry words. 'Tis true (replied Artemidorus) sometimes quarrels do arise when one loves a proud beauty; But oh, Amilcar, how sweet are the reconciliations? and what delight is it to see them repent and pay with usury those favours they suspended; and to confer fresh favours to repair the wrong? what pleasure is it I say, to see this lofty and noble pride to stoop and make excuses, and give many marks of submission? what high delight is it sometimes when they would favour you, to see them vex and fret at themselves, and their hearts out of obliging weakness, to pant so as they are forced to be favourable unto you? when one hath obtained any favour from a proud beauty, her pride will be the sweetest thing in the World unto you: for her pride unto others will make you give hearty thanks, she is not so to you; whereas an equal tempered Mistress who is universally merry and affable unto all, she does rather vex than please one. Therefore I conclude, that there is more glory and delight in loving a proud fantastical and coy Mistress, than one that is pleasant, merry, and affable, and though perhaps one may be happy, in a melancholy and in a merry Mistress both; yet the conquest of a proud Mistress is more easy, than the conquest of one who gives hopes the very first day that one begins to love them.  
If Celeres (replied Amilcar) do defend the cause of fair and melancholy Mistresses, as you have of the proud, I shall stand in need of the fair Plotina's help, to maintain the cause I undertake. Grecians being before all others in eloquence; replied Celeres, and Artemidorus having a most vast will; Perhaps my reasons will not found so well as his; Not that his side and that which I am to defend are much opposite, for few proud and fantastical Woman who are very merry; and few also who have not some touch of melancholy; but it is a certain kind of sweet and charming melancholy which makes most violent and tender passions grow in the heart of a Lady. When I speak of a fair and melancholy Mistress (added he) you must not imagine I mean such as are of a gloomy, frowning, fretting and angry humour: for I make a great difference between Sadness and Melancholy. But I mean such a sweet and charming melancholy as is not an enemy unto all pleasures, and gallant diversions. I mean, I say, a melancholy which has a sweet languor and passion in its looks: which makes the heart great, generous, tender and sensible; and puts into it such a zealous disposition unto love, as those who know not what a melancholy heart is, do not know what love is; and I am confident that a Lover who is acquainted with all the delicacies of this passion, does find more delight in a certain kind of languishing and passionate lustre in the eyes of his Mistress, than he shall in all the mirth and jollitry in the World: He will not value those eternal laughers who think themselves worthy of pity if they do not laugh from morning to night: and certainly the most sensible delights of that passion, are not those delights which move laughter: And if after a thousand sighs and secret groans, a Mistress afford but one favourable word which gives any spark of hope, a Lover will not hearken unto it with more sensible delight, then unto all the ingenious raillery in the World: not but that he has his joys; but they are such joys as are rather languor than mirth; such joys as are peculiar only unto love, and melancholy is so particularly proper unto that passion, that his very pleasures have a tincture of melancholy. His studies and muse, which seem so dull and heavy, are infinitely pleasing unto him: and at his faintings of spirit are preferable, before all diversions in the World; and though there appear no blithness in his eyes, nor ever laugh, yet he thinks himself very happy. I know very well that at the first acquaintance, a merry person is extremely pleasing: and that it is much easier to get acquaintance with such, than those more serious. For, as Amilcar said very well, one shall get familiarity with them the very first day of acquaintance; they will laugh, sing, dance, and tell a thousand merry stories: whereas on the contrary, one must go more slowly to work, with those whose temper, most take me; for commonly, upon the first acquaintance with them, one shall see but the outside of their beauties and wit, nor will they show all their ingenuity of a long time; and when you do know all, still you are to seek their hearts; so as discovering every day fresh graces, you have every day fresh delights; but it is otherwise with jocund and pleasant persons; for at the very first they show you all their beauty, their hearts, and all their affections; and certainly if you love them not at the very first, you will never love them. And also, if she love not you at first, she will never love you, nor afford you any but common favours.  
And the very truth is, they only who have passionate Souls, do know how to take every thing as a favour, who only can invent innocent delights, and can make hope last, after they have given you their affections. For my part, I must ingenuously confess that I do love the merry better than the melancholy; but I must withal tell you, that I would not spend all my life in mirth. I would have my friends of that temper, but not my Mistresses, for there is nothing more cruel then to love one who never minds nor observes any thing but pleasures: It is otherwise with a passionate melancholy Mistress; for if you give any obliging language she remembers it a hundred times, she repeats it unto herself in secret, and she will make you glad to see she remembers it, by hinting something or other handsomely which will let you know it. If you play a lesson on the Lute unto her, and there be any passionate Airs in it, which seems suitable unto your love of her, she will resent it with tenderness; she will make application unto herself, and answer you with such sweet and languishing looks, as shall most sensibly delight you: But on the contrary a merry Mistress never minds any passionate Air, but begins herself to sing some song or other which signifies nothing. If you send any passionate or amorous Epistles unto her, she runs over it in reading; or if she have any diversion in hand, perhaps she will put it in her pocket and not read it, till she be more at leisure; and when she hath read it. perhaps she will burn it, or may be throw it into her Cabinet, and never read it at all. But when a serious, passionate, and melancholy Mistress receives a Letter from her loved servant, her heart beats when she takes it: she opens it with a blush, and she reads it with care and secrecy; she reads it over and over an hundred times, and seriously ponders upon every syllable, and though she remember every word, yet will she read it again and again. The truth is, there is nothing so sweet as when one is loved by such a melancholy virtuous person, to see how she will be troubled in denying any slight favour which you shall ask of her, and will deny it in such an obliging manner, as a merry Mistress would oblige you less in granting it, than she in denying. I do know very well, that such use to love very ardently, and desire also to be ardently loved, and therefore they use to complain very often, but what though? is there anything in this World so sweet as to see a Mistress complain she is not loved enough? can she possibly give you a more apparent testimony of her Love? a merry Mistress indeed complains sometimes that you do not enough divert her, but she will never find fault that your passion is not strong enough; yet quite contrary with a melancholy Mistress, for she will complain she will grieve, and will even be sick for sorrow and anger, she will break off with you by all means though God knows she cannot, and when you have once appeased her, she will fill up your Soul with infinite joys. and you will find in her all the favours and ardency of a new affection, nothing is so sweet as these reconciliations in Love.  
You shall also have this advantage by loving a Mistress of a serious and passionate temper, as never to hazard any thing as you shall often in loving a merry and fantastical humour, for if you find the last of these in a good mood, when she hath not power to deny her heart unto those who divert her, she will give her heart unto you, but yet she gives it rather by chance than choice: a proud and fantastical Lady will often do the like, and love you more out of an humour than out of any inclination. But a virtuous melancholy Mistress, who hath a tender Soul and a noble heart, she is long in denying you, and will not bestow her affection, but when she cannot choose but give it, but yet when she doth give it she giveth it freely; and yet she gives it not all at once as the others do, she shows her heart by degrees; and when you do see the bottom of it, you shall be so happy as to see none but yourself in it. Indeed a passionate and melancholy Mistress, hath love in her head as well as her heart; she can remember and repeat every passage, and wheresoever she is, her mind is still with her Lover, she thinks upon all the places where she hath seen him, and would never be out of his sight, she hath continually a hundred thousand things to tell him, which yet she never does; and there is in this kind of Love such a sweet miscellany of joys and inquietudes; as she is continually in the one or the other. For not to be mistaken, I must affirm, that to know all the delights of Love, one must know all the bitters of it, and whosoever cannot make a great misery out of a trivial matter, shall never take any great delight in a great favour. But if one will be happy in love, he must pick out great pleasures from slight favours, and must have a heart so sensible, as the very sight of a place where once his Mistress hath been, must fill his heart full of joy, as such joys as must grieve him; his heart must be full of thoughts upon her, he must think upon nothing else; and he must think upon her, sometimes with delight, and sometimes with grief. But the fair and merry Mistress, and also the proud and fantastical never use to have any such tender thoughts, It is only the charming melancholy which is able to inspire a zealous, lasting, and pleasing Passion; As for a merry Mistress, it may be said she rather lends you her heart than gives it; for she never gives it so absolutely, but she can recall it as often as she finds any one that can divert her more. As for a proud and capricious Mistress, it may he said that one can never get her heart without a ravishment, unless perchance she cast it upon you out of anger, rather than give it you of good will; and you can never be so sure in possession of it, but you may lose it again by the same capricious toy which gave it you. But as for a melancholy Mistress, when she gives her heart, she gives it wholly and absolutely, and gives it in such an engaging manner, as (when one knows all the delicacies of this kind of affection which so few do know) it is impossible there should ever be any change in love: And if it were lawful in Rome to use so sacred a comparison with a profane, I would say, that melancholy is the Vestal which preserves the fire of Love in the heart of a Lover, since without it, a zealous and lasting Love cannot be.  
Good Celeres (said Amilcar) say no more, for though I have undertaken to be the defender of merry Mistresses, and mirth, yet I think if I were not near the lovely Plotina, you would convert me. The truth is (said Artemidorus) that Celeres and his expressions have tendered my heart. But the wonder is (said Aronces) that Celeres who hath so eloquently discoursed upon Love, yet never had any of those great and violent Passions, is able to instruct others so well. It is true (replied Celeres) and though I was never any more than a piddler in Love matters, yet I am very well acquainted with the Passion: And had I not thwarted my own temper, or had ever met with a lovely Melancholy Mistress who would have loved me, I should have been the deepest in Love of any man living. For my part (replied Amilcar) I can scarcely believe you; for since my first beginnings in matters of love, I have begun a hundred several loves, which have made me so knowing in that Passion, as I have been loved two or three several times with all imaginable violence. For aught I see (replied Sextus) if one should desire you to tell us the History of your life, they should desire more than one single History. True Sir (replied Amilcar and laughed) and to speak properly, you must desire me to relate the History of my Adventures. For my Part, said Plotina then, I have a great desire to know them: I think, added Cesonia, that this curiosity would be general if there were any hopes of being satisfied. For my particular, pursued Clelia, I cannot tell whether or no I am deceived, but I think Amilcar had rather relate the adventures of any other than of his own. It is very true Madam, answered he, there is nothing more unhandsome than to relate ones own worth; for if one be modest be will not enough commend himself, and if one be not he will commend himself too much.  
But I perceive (said Plotina unto Sextus) That the dispute is ended, and no judgement is given, whether the merry or the melancholy, the proud or the fantastical, have the advantage. Though I took upon me to be Judge (replied Sextus) yet I should be very presumptuous if I should pronounce any sentence before so many beauties whom I know so little: perhaps there may be more of them merry than I imagine; and those who seem melancholy, are so out of some accidental Cause, and not out of temper; and therefore I think it much better to entreat Amilcar that he would be pleased to relate unto us, some of those beginnings in love which he spoke of. Oh Sir, replied he, I am not fit to be my own Historian: But if you desire to have a Relation of some such Adventure, I have had a hundred friends in my life who have had many gallant and extraordinary adventures; which I am acquainted with as well as my own; and you need only but to tell me what kind of Story you would have. Since it is fitting to divert Prisoners, (replied Sextus) I pray let us have no tragical stories: With all my heart, replied Amilcar: for I am the least acquainted with them; but still I would gladly know a little better of what nature you would have a History. I would if it be possible, replied Sextus, have one that should not end either with a death or a marriage: Oh Sir, replied Amilcar, I can fit you, for I have a friend who has run through adventures enough to afford a hundred Stories; which never ended so. All the Company laughing at what Amilcar said, and at his manner of saying it, they began to press Amilcar unto a Relation of one of these hundred Histories which he spoke of; so as he thinking it to be good service to Aronces if he kept Sextus from talking unto Clelia, he set himself to relate an Adventure, in which he was very perfect, and which for its singularity deserved to be told unto so noble a company: and therefore with eyes full of jollitry, he began to speak in as free an Air, and little troubled as if he had but three words to speak: But as he was turning towards Sextus, with intentions to address his speech unto him, that Prince desired him to make his address unto all the Ladies in general: And Amilcar obeying him, began thus.  

The History of Artaxander.  
SInce I was ever very sincere; I must at the first tell you, that the names which I shall name in the Relation of this adventure, are names only supposed, That I shall also vary from the true places where the things were done, and that I myself do not well know, whether he whom I shall name Artaxander, was big or little, black or fair. But yet I can assure you, it is not more true, that you are all of you the fairest Prisoners in the world, than it is that all I shall now tell you did really happen in some place of the world or other, and that not long since: For I cannot endure old stories of three Ages ago; but what I am to tell you is an amorous adventure, a new adventure, a gallant adventure, and a most certainly true adventure. I must further tell you, that Artaxander who ere he be, being come to Crete, a Town which harboured the most fair and gallant women upon earth, and having quickly gotten the most accomplished men and fairest women for his friends, not then having any engagement of love upon his soul; he went out to walk with one of his friends in a Garden out of the Town, which is one of the most delectable places in the Isle, and the Isle you know is one of the best in all the Aegean Sea. And this Garden being from the Town two miles after the Italian measure, they went on horseback. In coming thither they saw two Coaches before the gates; And Artaxander presently enquiring whose they were, he understood that one of them belonged unto a Lady whom I will call Cephisa; and the other unto a Lady who had a Niece which lived with her, whom I will call Pasithea, because indeed she resembled one of those Graces who owned that name. But he no sooner heard this, than he was very glad of it: for he had heard much talk of Pasithea, though he had never seen her, for she had been in the Country ever since he came to Crete: so as turning towards his friend, whose name shall be Philiontes: well friend (said he unto him) I shall now see her whom I have heard so much of. Doubtless you will (replied he) and I am not the most mistaken man alive, if she be not as well pleased with the sight of you, as you will be with the sight of her. After this Artaxander whose action was all freeness he entered into the Garden; and no sooner in but he spied five or six women about a Fountain, who talked very loud and with much joy. Among the rest, Artaxander fixed his eyes upon one who was of a middle stature, and a most rare beauty: her Action was sprightly, her Garb pleasing, her eyes shining and merry, the smile in her Looks and the blithness of her behaviour, seemed as if she did counterfeit some body as she talked unto one of those Ladies whose name was Cephisa. And indeed, Artaxander and Philiontes staying behind a Hedge and looking upon all this good Company, they perceived that Pasithea was counterfeiting a Lover of the old fashion, who was then in Crete: and one who had a kind of forced ridiculous Air with him, whirh rendered him intolerable, though otherwise he had wit enough. Pasithea did counterfeit him so admirably well, as though Artaxander and Philiontes did not hear the name of him whom she did imitate, yet by her tone, her walk, and her action, they knew very well whom she did so perfectly personate. So as Artaxander, who was excellent good at the same faculty, and who was a particular friend unto all those Ladies except Pasithea, he undertook a piece of Gallantry, which hit very happily: for knowing him very well whom Pasithea did counterfeit, he came from behind the hedge, walking as the man used, and putting himself into the same garb and posture as he used, when he would be pleasing: After he had saluted all the Company in general, he accosted Pasithea in particular, in a language so like that which she was imitating, as all the Company were very pleasingly surprised. But as for Pasithea, she was so astonished and took such delight in this kind of gallantry, that after she had heartily laughed at this passage; I beseech you Sir (said she unto Artaxander) let me enjoy your friendship and acquaintance; for having a great desire to see myself, and know how I behave myself, and how I speak, I will then entreat you to personate me as well as the man which you now did imitate: As for my friendship Madam (said he in his own ordinary tone) I cannot well tell whether you can have it or no: for the truth is, you are too fair for friendship: Oh Sir, replied she, I shall be very well contented with your friendship, and let love alone; and therefore to be my friend is no such difficulty as you imagine: Whatever it be Madam, (said he unto her) let us leave the future unto the will of Love and Fate, and give me leave to tell you thus much, that though I never had the honour to see you until this quarter of an hour, yet I have expected a sight of you this fifteen days with much impatience: And let me tell you further, (added he and laughed) you are obliged unto me, for not giving away my heart unto one of these fair ones, until I had the honour to see you: lest I should have been forced to have recalled it when you came: 'Tis very true indeed (said the amiable Cephisa) Artaxander as great a Gallant as he is, has not yet made any addresses of Gallantry unto any of us: I must confess myself much obliged unto him (replied Pasithea) and to return civility for civility, I can assure him that in all my voyage I did not accept of one heart which was offered unto me. And yet I must confess I was somewhat near it, when Cephisa spoke to me in your behalf; for I make no doubt but that you are the same Artaxander, of whom she hath spoken so nobly. Yes Madam (said he unto her) I am the same Artaxander, but the difficulty is how I should make good the commendations of Cephisa, as Madam, you are able to make good those praises which all the world gives you. But Madam, give me leave to tell you, that though I have professed I would not have any to throw away their loves upon me, yet I think myself obliged to give my heart to you in recompense of your not accepting any heart for my sake. Though I should not give it, yet you have power to take it away from me whether I would or no; and therefore to keep you from theft, I had better be liberal and give it. Did you know my good humour (replied she and laughed) you would not speak as you do: for my foolish fancy is to love that which is stolen better than that which is given me: If so Madam, replied he, I beseech you give me my heart again to day, and steal it from me to morrow. After this all the rest of the Ladies and Philiontes also mixing in the discourse, it became extremely pleasant: for Artaxander having a new design of pleasing, and Pasithea the like, they did exceedingly divert themselves and others also. For they did put into practice all that I had said concerning mirth and merry people in the height; and if Artaxander had been acquainted with Pasithea all his life, he could not have been more familiar with her than he was: before they parted, Pasithea and he were whispering their conceits of all the company; he taught her one Song, she him another; he composed a Copy of verses ex tempore, upon a Posy of Flowers which she gathered and threw unto him; and she again replied. Moreover she gave him her hood and gloves to hold whilst they were at a Collation in a green Arbour; she gave him also some of those fruits which were upon the Table; and letting a Ring accidentally fall; which was of no high price, and which he reached up she let him wear it, yet asked it of him at first: but when he told her that he loved to keep that which he found, as well as she did what she stole, she answered him that he should not have it unless he staked something against it and won it; then if you please Madam, (said he unto her) I will stake and lay myself against this Ring, that you are the fairest in the world; and because we will not put it unto chance; Judges shall be chosen to divide the wager. So this pleasant wager was laid, and the Ring was adjudged unto Artaxander. After this, they all went to see the house unto which the Garden belonged, there to rest themselves and where all this fair company did sit down and enjoyed a pleasant prospect out of a Closet with an open Balcony. But Pasithea entering last because she stayed ●alking with Artaxander, all the places were taken up except two before the Balcony. I perceive (said Pasithea and laughed) they know I am not like those Ladies who will be always in the shade, since they seat me with the Sun in my face. Those who have such a complexion as yours (replied Artaxander) who are so young, so fair, and eyes so sprightly cannot be seated better than you are: especially (added Cephisa and smiled) when they would show themselves. I must confess indeed (replied Pasithea) that I desire both to see and be seen: but withal I must tell you I am not so affectedly foolish as some Ladies are, who will at any rate be always showing all the beauty they have, and whose minds run wholly upon such setting themselves off as makes them ridiculous to all beholders. And it is very ordinary (said Artaxander) for I never came in any place where I did not find some Ladies in placing themselves in an advantageous light as any would be in placing of a picture. I know one Cretan, replied Philiontes, who is the most ambition's woman upon earth; so very extreme, as I think she would not appear fairer than others, but only out of her ambition, and without the least smack of Gallantry: This Lady was one day put to a pitiful perplexity, for be pleased to know, that this Lady who had a thousand quarrels in her days about matter of place, and would contend for it with such as were much above her quality, this Lady, I say, came one day to one of her friends, whose chamber was so contrived as the highest place in the Room was the worst in the world for a beauty to be in: for the purest complexon there seemed to be yellow, by reason of reflection from a window opposite to a plot of yellow flowers, which caused that yellow reflection. Also the composure of this Lady's face was such, as if she were in an advantageous place, her eyes seemed hollow and ill-favoured, so as knowing this place was not favourable to her, she was then much perplexed between the interest of her ambition, and the interest of her beauty; for she knew well that if we took up that place, she should look pitifully upon it; and if she did not seize upon it, than another Lady would sit above her: so as not knowing upon a sudden what to do, because it was a thing she could not foresee, for the Chamber was new built, and she had never been in it, she fell into a miserable perplexity. But I pray Sir (said one of the company unto him) if she had never been in that Chamber, how could she know it had that ill quality? The Question is ingeniously asked (replied Philiontes) and as easily answered. For you must know that when this ambitious Lady first entered, she saw one standing in this dangerous place; upon whose face she saw what would reflect upon her own, if she were in her room. So as not knowing whether she should take it or no, to gain a little more time of consideration she stepped back, and seemed as if she had some private business with one behind her, she carried her unto the other end of the Chamber to talk with her; but the best jest was she knew not what secrecy to talk of, insomuch as the other was as much amazed, to hear her talk of so many senseless nothings, as that Lady was in finding out an expedient, how to avoid this disadvantageous place. But at the last, after much talk to no purpose the other Lady did guests the cause; for she began to find fault with the Chamber, and say her own was far beyond it, she said this was ill situated; she could not find a convenient place to set a bed in it; she would alter all the doors and windows; purposely to make better lights, such as would make her seem fair, and and to satisfy her Ambition, she would turn the very course of the Sun, she would have the whole house pulled down, though it was a most stately Fabric, rather than expose herself unto a light which was disadvantageous unto her beauty. I know a Lady in the place from whence I came (replied Pasithea) who would do as much, if the occasion should present itself; but I know others at Crete who are as ridiculous; for there is a woman whom Cephisa knows as well as I, who because she hath very white hands; is continually doing something or other which may give her an occasion of showing them. For one while she will be mending somewhat about her own dress, and another while she will be so officious too, to be mending something about her friends; sometimes she will purposely let fall her hood, that she may take it up and so show her hands; and when she is at any gallant Collation, she will always eat of that which is far off her, and not that which is near, because she would have a pretence to reach forth her hand and arm, and so show their fairness. Fie, Pasithea, (replied Cephisa) you have said too much: No truly (replied she) I have not said enough yet; for there are some who think themselves so fair, as that they do not only show their hands unto others, but are continually looking upon themselves.  
For my part (said Artaxander) I know a Lady who indeed hath admirable white teeth, who most certainly had never laughed, if her teeth had not been so; for all the composure of her face was serious and melancholy, yet knowing the whiteness of her teeth, she laughed in spite of nature's teeth, and got an artificial smile which is the most ridiculous thing in the World; for her mouth is always opened with a laugh though there be no signs of any mirth in her eyes or face; and her lips are so used to show her teeth, as I am confident that she sleeps open mouthed. All the company laughing at this pleasant description which Artaxander made of that Lady, it was confessed that such things were often to be found, and that it was a weakness which beauties ought to correct themselves for, since nothing is more ridiculous than affectation. And yet nothing is more ordinary (replied Cephisa) especially amongst young people; nothing is more fantastical than to roll the eyes by Art, and yet many women consult with their Glasses, only to learn the trick of it, but the truth is, a woman should not use any arts to please, but only such as belongs to the handsome dressing themselves, and choosing such colours as best becomes them, but I cannot endure any should practise to make faces, nor to show any parts of their beauty with so much affectation as if they had a design to sell them. The Tyrian and Sidonian Merchants do not use more care in showing their rich Die and Tapestries, than many great Beauties in showing theirs. For my part (said Pasithea) I am resolved none shall ever upbraid me with any fantastical affectation. I believe it (replied Cephisa) but yet you may be upbraided with that jocund humour which will not let you think upon any thing else, they wrong me who think my mind runs not 〈◊〉 upon pleasures (replied she) for indeed I will always love that which pleaseth me, the way then to get your love (replied Artaxander) is always to please you, It is true (said she and laughed) and if you please me always as well as you have pleased me this day, we shall always agree very well. Oh! sweet Pasithea (replied he) I am much joyed to hear you say so; and that you may know me better, give me leave to tell you I am nothing like those men who cannot be Masters of their own minds; who are sometimes merry and sometimes sad, and cannot speak out of their humours: As for me, I have four or five several sorts of spirits, and I am able to choose which of them I please at any time; therefore since that in which I am this day doth please you, you shall see me in it as long as I live.  
And indeed after this, Artaxander and Pasithea grew as intimately familiar as any two in the world. Pasithea told him where she dwelled, Artaxander asked leave to come and see her, she granted, and when he went, he stayed always very long with her. They parted always with so many signs of friendship, that never any growing affection appeared more sensible than between these two. And since the first day of visit they were almost always together; for the hunour of Artaxander much delighting Pasithea, and th● humour of Pasithea much pleasing Artaxander, an 〈◊〉 of pleasure did unite them, and caused them 〈◊〉 continually together; so as in a few days Artaxander perceived that his heart was wounded with the ●he p●st darts of Love; it is true, his Passion met with no bitter rubs, but he might in reason and without vanity, have as much hope as love; for Pasithea was so sweet towards him, and he knew so well that he pleased her, as he was almost sure of being loved. And indeed within a few days Pasithea gave him as many signs of affection as she possibly could; she permitted him to talk of his love, and did not forbid him to hope; a while after she let him believe he was beloved: Indeed the hearts of these two were so accustomed unto pleasures, as perhaps they did not so sensibly as others, gust the happiness which they enjoyed; and it must be granted that when any do come out of a state of sorrows into a state of joys, they are the most sensible, but happy they both were, and if Artaxander contrary to his custom had not taken a fantastical conceit in his head, his love of Pasithea had lasted longer. But the better to make you understand the business, you must know, that when Artaxander was most pleased with Pasithea, and most confident of his being pleasing unto her, he fell in talk with Cephisa, who was no hater of him, and aggravating his good fortune, he opened his whole soul unto her; but conceiving this, Cephisa did lend but an hollow ear unto him, nor did think him so happy as he thought himself, he asked her the reason, wondering very much she did no more congratulate his good fortune. For truly, (said he unto her) Pasithea is wondrous fair, her humours are infinitely pleasing, I please myself in pleasing her, she esteems me beyond my merit; she loves me almost as well as I would desire, and we see one another continually. You do very well Sir, (said Cephisa) to mention this last thing, for without it all the rest would not make love subsist. For certainly, if Pasithea were but one month out of your sight, as pleasing as she is she would easily forget you.  
Melancholy people (replied Artaxander) are so confidently persuaded that merry people will find Consolation in all conditions, as I can hardly believe what you say, unless you can give me an example of it. If that will convince you (replied Cephisa) I shall easily find one; but since you may perhaps think I disguise the truth, I pray ask Philiontes who is your particular friend, what passed between Pasithea and a most handsome man who died about four months since, and for your further satisfaction desire Pasithea herself to relate the adventure of that illustrious dead man: to the end you may engage your heart no further than she engaged hers. Artaxander was very desirous that she would tell him further, but she kept firm to her resolution, and therefore as soon as he was parted from Cephisa, he went unto Philiontes. As soon as they met, he asked him whether Pasithea had lost a friend or a Lover within this four months? As for a friend (replied Philiontes and laughed) Pasithea can never lose him, for people of her humour can never have any; but as for a Lover, she did lose one whom she loved as well as she could love, and whom she ought to lament as long as she lives: But pray why did you never arquaint me with this Adventure (replied Artaxander) I perceived you so well pleased with Pasithea from the very first, (replied Philiontes) as I thought it not sit to acquaint you with a passage which the knowledge of it could not be advantageous to you: And I should never have spoke of it had not you spoke first. But I pray (replied Artaxander) what was the name of him she loved, and what kind of man was he? he was so very handsome and of so noble a mind, (replied he) as my eye never yet saw a better? his Quality was much above Pasithea's; they began to love when they were Children playing together; this lovely Lover gave a thousand heroic Testimonies of his Love unto this Lady, he ventured his whole estate for her sake, he adventured his life for her several times; and it was impossible to express more love than he did to her. Pasithea also, in requital of his affection, answered him in all that virtue would allow; and I am confident that Philocrates, as long as he lived had no cause to complain; for he being continually in her eye, he did continually please her, yet did not know her heart to the bottom. How (replied Artaxander then) was it Philocrates, whom I saw about four months since? who died in the same place where I was? was it that same Philocrates who loved, and was loved of Pasithea? The very Philocrates (replied Philiontes) the very same Philocrates, who though he was most dearly loved all his life, yet was soon forgotten after his death. Oh Philiontes, (replied Artaxander) unless there were some great disgust between Pasithea and him at parting, it is impossible a Man of his merit should be so soon forgotten: you are so far in favour with Pasithea (replied Philiontes) as you may easily make her tell you all passages between them; and therefore I will tell you no more; and in le●d, do what Artaxander could, he could not get Philiontes to tell him any more: so as curiosity augmenting, by the difficulty of finding satisfaction, the fancy took him in his head to go unto her, and know how it was possible she could comfort herself so soon, after the death of a lover who had so much merit. So going unto her, according to his custom; and finding her alone, he seemed at the first not to know any thing of Philocrates his love to her, but only named him as one who was his Friend. He had no sooner named him, but Pasithea began to speak, how (said she without any extraordinary distemper did you know Philocrates? Yes, replied he and he died in my Arms, for whom I much lament, for he was a Man of great parts. For my part, replied Pasithea, he has diverted me many a time: but as for you Artaxander, I believe you have no great reason to lament him: for had you seen him in Crete, I believe you would not have been good friends. I understand you very well Madam, replied Artaxander, and to speak truth you are in the right; for it is not usual for two Rivals to be friends. You know very much for a stranger (said she unto him) I cannot tell what I know as a stranger (replied he) but I conceive that I know not enough as a Man unto whom you have given your heart; and therefore I beseech you lovely Pasithea, tell me ingenuously all the passages betwixt you and Philocrates until he parted from Crete; and fear not that I shall be jealous, for you may imagine there is no danger of a dead Rival. At the first Pasithea was something shy in satisfying the curiosity of Artaxander; for, said she, I cannot endure to trouble myself with talking of past things unless they were serviceable to things present, or things to come. But at last, being overcome by the persuasion of Artaxander, she began to relate all the passages of Philocrates his love unto her, especially all the Diversions, Treats, Feasts, and Merriments, which he had given her; so as they being all pleasant passages, she laughed as heartily in relating all these things, as if the Man who gave them all unto her, were not dead, at least not dead so lately. But the wonder was, that in this relation, she confessed ingenuously that she did most tenderly love Philocrates; that he never gave her the least distaste, and that they parted as most dear friends, and that she was much obliged unto him after his death, because by his last Testament he had given her a great part of his Estate: Sure then Madam (said Artaxander to her) the memory of Philocrates must needs be very dear unto you; I assure you (said she) I do think upon him sometimes with much delight, for we have laughed together many a merry time; then remembering some things which she had not told before, she began to tell them with such freeness of spirit, as if she never had any interest in what she told: so that as long as this Relation lasted, Artaxander could not see the least grief or sorrow in her eyes, or face. But on the contrary, there was such extreme joy in her words, in her voice, and in her eyes, that as well pleased as he was to see his Rival's death, did not move the heart of his Mistress, yet he was very sad.  
Thus Pasithea supposing that he would think she did too obligingly remember him whose adventures she had related, she affected to show her insensibility, by showing her jollitry. And to that end she began to talk of a hundred merry passages; and she related to Artaxander some things which her dead Lover had spoken unto her: He told me the day before his departure (said she unto him) that though death was alike to him in all places, yet he should grieve more to die far from Crete, then to die near me. Believe me (said I unto him) I do not understand your reason, since I profess unto you, that if you were very sick in danger of death, I would not see you: For what delight soever can be taken in the sighs of a dying Lover, I profess I would not be present at your last groan; and thereforee I cannot see any reason you have to desire dying in Crete, more than the furthest part of Africa. Yes Madam (said he unto me) if I die in Crete I shall have a Tomb, and I should hope that the sight of my Urn would hinder you from engaging in a new affection. And therefore, Artaxander (added she and laughed) if you take any care for the burial of your Rival, you do not know that you do a thing against his intention, and a thing which hereafter will be serviceable unto you.  
However, since it was his Fate to die, I am very glad it was in Africa; for I should have been troubled in passing by his Monument; and I cannot endure any sad objects; for I do not know any greater folly in the World then to grieve, when it is a thing cannot be helped by grief. Believe me, Madam, (replied Artaxander very discontentedly) in this you are the wisest Woman in the World: You speak in such a tone (said she) as if you took it ill I did not cry for the death of your Rival. I know not, Madam (replied he) whether I should take it well if you should cry; but I confess I think it strange you should so little grieve; and to be plain with you, I will do what I can to persuade myself, that it is myself who gives Consolation to you after his death. But Madam, it is impossible I should ever be so persuaded; for the first time, I had the honour to see you in the Carden, where you were so 〈◊〉 personating that ridiculous Lover, 〈…〉 were a● after the old mode, you had 〈…〉 and blithness in your eyes and mind then ever I saw you since; yet it is so short a time since my Rival died, and as one can hardly imagine him to be dead. Thus I must conclude, with sorrow to myself, that it was not I who did comfort after your loss, but that it is only your own natural temper, which is to love the diversion, and not the divertor, unless it be for such diversions as proceed directly from his person; so as such as think to be tenderly loved by you, will be much deceived, and miserable; for since my Rival could not attain to any perfection of love from you, no Man else can ever pretend unto it; and to be plain with you, I think it wisdom in any person to disengage himself from such a one as you, who is not capable of any violent passion.  
Since you think that you have found out a new fantastical, and pleasant way of complaint (replied she) I wonder not you should make yourself a little merry with it, and since I think myself a little good at Raillery, as if I did believe you spoke your real thought. Seriously Madam (replied Artaxander) I am much afflicted to see you so much incapable of loving aright, and that you should so little love the most lovely Man upon earth. I assure you (said she) that I loved him as well as ever I could, and that I do not love you better than I did him. I do believe it, Madam (answered he) and believe it easily; for my Rival was a Man incomparably above me in all things, he hath done you a million of services; a million of services more than ever I did, and I make no question but that you loved him more than you do me. And therefore you need not think it strange, I should grieve at the small affection which you had unto him. For Madam (I must tell you again) that I wish I had been the Man who had comforted you, and that I had seen you weep the first time I had the honour to see you, in lieu of seeing you laugh, I wish that I had wiped away your tears. But had you seen me crying (replied she and laughed) you would not have loved me, and so far would you have been from courting, that you would have fled from me, and therefore I see no reason you have to complain. I complain, Madam (replied he) because you did not well enough love my Rival; for being persuaded that you did not love me so well as him. It much concerns the happiness of my life, to think that you loved him very well; and therefore it is not so santastical as you imagine, that I should grieve that you grieve no more for his loss. I do not tell you (replied she) that I love you less than I loved him; but out of my plain sincerity, I told you that I loved you no better than I loved him. I do believe you, Madam (replied he) indeed I do believe you, and I do too much believe you for my own tranquillity; for when I do consider that an absent Lover, and a dead Lover are both alike unto Women of your humour; and when I consider, that as soon as I am out of your sight, you will forget me as one whom you never saw, my vexation is more than I am able to express. Moreover, my imagination is so weak and apprehensive, as I cannot choose but think that if I were either dead or absent, you would within one month contract affection with some other, and would relate unto him all our adventure as merrily, as you have related unto me, the adventure of my unfortunate Rival. And therefore to be downright plain with you, I am resolved to the utmost of my endeavours to disengage my heart; and considering your extreme insensibility, if I could revive my Rival I would do it, to the end he might upbraid you with your affection unto me. Oh Sir (said she and laughed) if you could work that wonder, you would put me to it indeed; for than I think I should quit you both together, and perhaps make choice of a third, before either of you two. As Pasithea said so, much company came in, so as the discourse of necessity became general.  
But as chance would have it, the discourse did fall upon the very same subject; for Cephisa, began to talk of a Lady, who after the Death of her Husband did strange things to testify the excess of her sorrow, and who afterwards did so cheer up self, as if she had quite forgotten him. For my part (said Pasithea then) I think these things the greatest follies in the World; for when any hath received a loss of this nature, all a whole Town will run to comfort the party afflicted: If you chance to meet one of them, and ask whither he is going? they will answer, that they are going to comfort forsooth; ask another, and they will answer the same; and yet those they go to comfort would not be comforted unless they came, as if the tears of others were the Pearls that must enrich them; but there is no greater folly in the World, then excessively togrieve when there is no remedy, and the greatest wisdom is to cheer up presently as soon as one can; and I assure you it is my maxim, that when I lose any whom I love, I will do all I can to forget him.  
Indeed I have heard say (replied Cephisa craftily) that when Pasithea lost a person whom she loved dearly, and from whom she had his Picture and several Letters, she presently burned all his Letters and threw away his Picture. I do confess it (replied Pasithea sharply and blushed) and so both I and all else aught; to what purpose is grief for the dead? And to what purpose is your affection unto a living person, replied Artaxander, since it is a thing impossible to be sure of it? Do you think (said she) that the affection of these death-lamenters, is more sure than mine? for I am most confident, they cry, and pule, and lament more out of temper than affection. I grant they do cry out of their tempers (replied Artaxander) but it must be granted also, that they do love zealously or coldly, by the same reason, and you are of a temper to love nothing but pleasures and joys, you are incapable of any sorrow or affection. I would gladly know (said a Lady in the Company what precise limits are to be allowed unto sorrow: If you will believe Artaxander at this time (said Pasithea) he will tell you, that you ought to live ever upon the grave of the party loved, or at least to cry Eternally, and make Fountains of your eyes. And if you will believe Pasithea (replied he) she will tell you that you may dance upon the grave of your friends that sorrow is a fond weakness, and that the loss of a fair day to take the Air in, deserves to be lamented more, than the loss of the most perfect Lover or the most faithful friend in the World.  
For my part (said Cephisa) I love not extremes in any thing: I think a middle way may be taken, and that without either despair or insensibility, we may grieve, and comfort ourselves in a reasonable manner. I would gladly know (saith Pasithea) how you mean it, that when one hath lost a Lover, they may know whether they may make another; if when one hath lost a Husband, she may marry again; and if when one hath lost a friend, one may get another in his Room. You ask many things at once (replied Cephisa.) And which is most strange (added Artaxander) though you should make the most just Laws in the World. yet she would break them all. Since I cannot deny Pasithea (replied Cephisa) I will endeavour to content her though I am as well as you persuaded that she desires to know more than she would learn, at least put in practice. Though I should break all your Laws (replied she) yet I should do no such work of wonder, since the Laws of the greatest Kings are broken every day: Speak then Cephisa (said she and laughed) and teach me the art of crying handsomely. You know so well how to laugh handsomely (replied Artaxander) that I cannot believe you will ever learn to cry: if I had known how to laugh so well as you say, you would have taught it me since I first knew you (replied she) but good Cephisa, answer unto all my questions one after another; and to begin with the first, tell me whether when one hath lost a Lover, one must bury themselves with him, or make a vow against being fair, and use one's eyes in nothing but crying? for if it must be so, I promise you I will never permit any to love me, unless he can lay in good security that he is immortal, lest I should be put to die with him, or else lead a life so melancholy as is not worth the living.  
To give you my opinion clearly (replied Cephisa) one should never be engaged in any particular affection; but since an innocent love is allowed, and one hath the misfortune to engage the heart to love one whom death takes away, one ought never to engage again, without any excessive sorrow; yet since it is so natural to be so comforted with time in the most sensible sorrows, I will not absolutely condemn one whose heart shall be moved the second time unto a particular tenderness; but if any woman shall go beyond twice, I profess I shall hold her to be neither reasonable nor virtuous. Then you allow one to have a second Lover? replied Pasithea, after one hath lost the first: It were much better never to have any or at least no more but one (replied Cephisa) but to suit my Laws with humane imbecility, I will allow one to have two Lovers, provided there be a long interval between the death of the first, and the beginning of the second love, also upon condition that the second Lover be worthy to succeed the first; and that one should defend one's heart against the second more resolutely, then against the first; that one should be secretly ashamed of any new engagement; and that one should not engage until time and reason, have allowed some comforts: I would not have any new Lover banish the first out of the heart of a Lady: but I would have it to be time and reason which should comfort her, and to put her into a Condition of loving the second time: And I dare boldly say that any woman whosoever which shall engage herself in any new affection, presently after the death of the first Lover, as a most unfaithful person, more unhuman and more insensible than if she were unfaithful to her living Lover. It is manifest (replied Pasithea, that all your Lovers are living and well; but if you were in fear they would die before you, than perhaps you would not speak as you do. Yet I am contented with this Article; and therefore tell me whether it is lawful to have two husbands, as well as two Lovers? Since Custom hath allowed it (replied Cephisa) I shall not contrary it; but if you would have me tell you ingeniously what I think, I must positively confess that I would more willingly pardon a woman who admits of two Lovers, than her that admits of two Husbands; for it less wounds a delicate Genius, to bestow the whole heart twice for a time, then to give it for all the life. And indeed, if some strong resentments of Love or Ambition will not excuse a woman that marries twice, she is inexcusable: At least I am sure it is better to be a proud nice Mistress then to be one of those wives who as soon as ever they have buried one Husband are in bed with another, and never lament his loss, but in hopes that their tears will prefer them unto another more agreeable to their fancy. Yet those who are only possessed with two innocent passions, they have much more to say in excuse of their imbecility; for it cannot be denied but that there is some sweetness to reign in the heart of a well accomplished man, and to be zealously loved; and the delight to have a faithful and obedient servant, may in some sort excuse her who after a long lamentation for the loss of the first, does desire to have such another Captive; but I cannot conceive what delight a woman can take in taking a new Master: And I should not believe it possible, if experience did not every day show us examples of women, who without any Ambition or love or reason for it, do marry themselves again only to marry, without any other reasons for their marriage. Nor will I ever trust those great mourners, who would shut themselves up in the Tombs of their dead Husbands; for I have seen so many of them so soon comforted, as I like much better a sorrow that is more wise and lasting, and will sooner allow a woman two Lovers then two Husbands. As for that (said Artaxander) I believe Pasithea will not contradict you: I do confess it (replied she) and I will dispense with her from the pains in telling whether she may take new friends in lieu of others that are dead. I do believe, replied Artaxander, that you have no mind to know it. I confess that also, said she; but it is because all my friends are well, and I would not trouble myself so far as to consider upon any others. You should have said, replied Cephisa, that you know well enough already how to use them; for have you not lost Philocrates? 'Tis true (said she without any blush, or shame) and I have taken Artaxander in his place: I know not Madam, replied he, whether I am in the place of Artaxander; but I think his place to seem better than mine, but it is much better to be at rest in a grave, then to be in the heart of such an humoured woman as yourself.  
But methinks (replied Pasithea and laughed) that Cephisa hath not ranked Philocrates aright: For he was my Lover, and she has ranked him amongst my friends. After this the spirit of Artaxander was so incensed against the insensibility of this hard hearted woman, as he returned her a hundred sharp expressions: And then the company parting, Artexander carried Cephisa to her lodging, who doubtless bore him so much good will, as was very likely to become love; and therefore she was not sorry to see him so incensed against Pasithea: but rather on the contrary did blow the bellows to kindle a greater dislike; for she acquainted him with an hundred particularities of her former gallantry which Pasithea had not told him, because she did not remember them. And indeed Artaxander with all jollities, was much grieved that Pasithea should so indifferently resent the death of his Rival: and he could not have grieved more if she had loved some other than he was, that she loved not him enough: For truly (said he unto Philiontes) what security can I even have in the affection of Pasithea; since I have it from her own mouth, that she cannot love me better than she did Philocrates, whom she loved not at all since she can be so soon comforted. But you have not loved many others, replied Philiontes. who loved you no better than she doth, and yet never torment yourself. 'Tis true (said he) but I loved them no better than they loved me: but my affection unto Pasithea, for I intended towards her such a violent passion as might have been set for an example unto all Lovers: yet now I see, my best course is, not to love her at all; and methinks I owe so much respect unto my dead friend, that I ought not to contribute unto the pleasure of one who does so little lament him; Also I should serve Pasithea but right, if I did make her lament Philocrates. The way to know whether this jocund Lady do love you better than she did her first Lover (replied Philiontes and laughed) is to let Artaxander die. Oh Philiontes, (replied he) that remedy is too violent: when you understand me well, replied he, you will find it a better remedy than you imagine; For my meaning is, that Pasithea shall not find it in you for a certain time, that same Artaxander who loved her, and who had the art to please and divert her. Cease therefore if you will be ruled by me, from being so complaisant and sweet unto her; never see her unless it be to chide her; be reserved and melancholy; and make that pleasing Artaxander whom she loved to die, and see if she will love him after death, and use all her endeavours to revive him: And indeed Artaxander smothering all his joys, he seemed to be a very sullen and melancholy man, and behaved himself as one who cared not a rush for diverting her: he never saw her but with a sour face; he talked not as he was wont: he did not laugh at what she said, he moved no delight, but when he spoke he complained against her, so as Pasithea began to think it much better if he were dead, then to be present with her in such dumpish humours. And one day she told him her mind; for as he began to upbraid her with her cold affection: I pray Artaxander (said she unto him) either assume your good humours again, or else I shall be worse to you then to Philocrates: for I do but forget him, but I shall hate you most horridly. Oh Madam, said he unto her, I do defy you: for I am confident that you can neither love nor hate: and therefore I cannot hope to be loved, so I do not fear being hated. But Madam, if you will not have Artaxander to trouble you, you must not do more for him than you did for Philocrates. Truly, said she, I cannot; for I did as much for Philocrates as virtue would permit me, and neither will, nor ought do more. Then, Madam (replied he) I must love no longer, since I cannot be contented with such an affection as you had unto Philocrates. Were I inspired only with a bare piece of gallantry, a light Love, such as I have seen a hundred in my days, you should not speak thus: But, to my misery, I was resolved to love you otherwise than so; and since there is no medium, you must either love me more than you did Philocrates, or else I must not love you at all. Artaxander (said she) as I cannot do as you would have me, so if you can do what you say you would I perceive Madam (said he unto her) that you think I cannot; but perhaps I shall show you, that it is possible to break any chains which you can give; and to try whether I am master of myself, I will deprive myself of the happiness in seeing you. And indeed Artaxander did presently rise up, and went away from Pasithea: Also to make it appear, that his design was to break off with her, he sent her back her Picture which she gave him, and went the next morning into the country with Philiontes, at whose house he lay; for Philiontes being the only son, and a very well accomplished man, he was almost master at home, though he had a Father and Mother, and having a very noble and pleasant house in the Country, he carried Artaxander with him for a month who by the help of himself and the Muses do cheer up himself after the loss of Pasithea, and all this voyage was as pleasant as any man alive. Thus this beginning of love did end, neither by death nor marriage, nor hatred, nor jealousy. But to pass from one into another, you must needs know what accident fell out that same night Artaxander and Philiontes returned unto Crect. But first I must acquaint you, that since their departure there was come a Lady to the town, whom Artaxander never had seen, which Lady had a daughter who passed for the only rare beauty in the world.  
This Lady having formerly lodged in the house of Philiontes Father, and had contracted a great league of friendship which his Mother; they came thither very often in the absence of Artaxander and Philiontes, their house being just over the way. But to come speedily into this other beginning of Love which I promised, and to acquaint you with that which absolutely chased Pasithea out of Artaxanders' heart, you must know, that there being much company at supper with Philira (for so will I name the Mother of the great beauty whom I will name Cynesia) as ill luck was after all the company was gone, those servants who should have extinguished the lights, and made clean the room, were so negligent, as that within an hour after the house was on fire; and so violent at first, that Philira and Cynesia fearing their lives more than any thing else, went out and went unto the house of Philiontes his Father which was over the way, and so far off the fire, as there was no fear of catching: but by the help of neighbours the fire was quickly quenched, yet Philira and Cynesia durst not go home, for all the household stuff was carried out in haste for fear of burning; and the Mother of Philiontes desired Philira and Cynesia to take a lodging in her house: and she with more convenience offered this piece of civility because Artaxander and Philiontes being out of town, their chambers were ready prepared to receive these Ladies. And so Philira was carried into the chamber of Philiontes, and the fair Cynesia unto that of Artaxander. But as commonly in all such disorders, things are not done regulary, and as Cynesia had not her own woman to wait upon her, so the servants of the house did but half shut her door, and making haste to go into bed and regain the time of sleep which they had lost, they left a candle burning in the chamber of the fair Cynesia, who was not at all sorry for it, because being frighted with the accident of fire, she thought she should not sleep; but she was mistaken; for silence, rest and weariness, did lul her into a deep sleep as well as all the rest of the house. Mean time, you must know, that the weather being very hot and nights much better to travel in then days, Philiontes and Artaxander to avoid the excessive heat, did take Boat at Sunset, to return unto Crect, giving order unto their men to come by land the next day; for the Moon shining all night, fancied much pleasure in returning thus; for the night was clear, the sea serene, the boat covered over with Orange and Myrtle branches, which gave a most admirable odour; they had cushions to lean upon, if a desire of sleep came upon them, and the Rowers were excellent at the art, neither was the boat so little, but they might talk and not be hard by the Rowers; so as I have heard both Philiontes and Artaxander say, that they never passed a more lovely night then that; for two such such wits could not want discourse: sometimes they would sing, sometimes muse, sometimes make verses, sometimes rally with the Rowers; they admired the beauty of the Sea which the sparkling of the Stars did silver; they lent a pleasing ear unto the murmur of the waves in the silence of night, and at last harkening to the strokes of the Oars, which are very apt to cause sleep, they slept; and when they waked they enjoyed the most pleasant prospect in the world at their approach to Crect: also they had slept so sound, as they imagined they had slept as much as ordinary, and as much as they needed: At last they came to Crect, and the town having no other walls but the sea on that side, they might easily go to their own house; and they went through all the City and met not a man in the streets, for it was very late, and about an hour after Philira and Cynesia were gone to bed: Mean time, as they could not imagine that their chambers were taken up, so they went directly home; and indeed they were much amazed to see some signs of burning in their neighbourhood. But at last knocking gently at the gate for fear of waking the Master and Mistress of the house, a slave who lay close by, heard the knock, so as imagining that perhaps it was some of Philiraes' servants who came to speak with their Mistress, he did rise up, and half awake, and half asleep, he went unto the door; at the which he no sooner was, but knowing the voice of his Master's son, and of Artaxander, he opened the door in all haste: As soon as they were entered, this slave would have called up some men to wait upon them and light a candle, but Philiontes would not let him wake any, and the Moon shining as light as day he forbade him, but bade him go to bed again: The slave obeyed, and being one whose office was only to open the door, and beside, a dull fellow, he knew not that Philira and Cynesia had taken up the chambers of Philiontes and Artaxander: He knew well that they were in the house, for he saw them come in, but his business not being above stairs, he never enquired where they lodged, so as Philiontes and Axtaxander parting, because their chambers were not both up the same stairs, they went each of them to their own. But Artaxander was strangely surprised, when coming to his chamber door he saw it open, and a light burning in it; but much more was his wonder, when he saw such night dresses as Ladies use, lying upon the Table; but again his admiration was incomparably great, when he saw one of the greatest beauties in the world lying in his bed, who did lie in the most advantageous posture to appear fair, and make Artaxander in love with her; For the weather being very hot, the Purple Curtains about her bed were all drawn open, and gave him the liberty to see and admire her beauty, which seemed the more wonderful, by reason of his surprise at such a fair object. Cynesia; who was of a notable tall stature, did lie upon her right side, and the clothes upon her being very thin, one might see the whole shape of her body; her head leaned upon one arm, and the other lay loose upon the pillow: also having undressed herself in a kind of tumultuous haste, a part of her dresses were untied, and her black locks lay curled upon her most admirable white neck: As for her left arm, it lay bare upon her Pillow, and showed its delicacy. Artaxander found every part of her face most rarely excellent; and though her eyes were shut, yet he judged of them by the rest. She slept with a lovely smile; and though complexion does not use to show itself much in sleeping, yet Cynesias was as fresh as any rose; her lips so red, and her curled hair so black, together with her pure complexion, was the most inviting object in the world. Artaxander being strangely surprised at this fair apparition, he knew not what to think; and his wonder was the greater because he knew not Cynesia: He judged her to be a person of quality both by her dress, and a Carcanet of Diamonds about her neck, which she had forgotten to put off, and also by a Case of Picture which was tied about her left Arm with a black Ribbon, though the Case was not a very rich one yet Artaxander knew that none wore any such but people of quality.  
Artaxander being then in this Condition, he knew not what to do; for he had a good mind to waken this fair one to see whether her eyes were as fair as he imagined them; but fearing to procure her hatred, if he should affright her when she waked, and sound her with a man in that place, he durst not attempt, but bethought himself of a more respective and gallant a course. For having in his Pocket by chance the case of a Picture, much more rich and handsome then that which Cynesia had tied about her Arm, he went softly towards the fair one, and kneeling down, he untied the black Ribbon about her arm extremely nimble, and tying his own case in lieu of that which Cynesia wore, he never awaked Cynesia. But I forgot to tell you, that this Case which Artaxander tied upon Cynesiaes' Arm, was made to put Pasitheaes' Picture in; and ever since he had sent her back the Picture he wore the empty Case: So as having a Silver Pen and Ink about him, and having a quick fancy, he writ these four Verses within the Case, before he tied it unto Cynesiaes' Arm.  

Night's better than the Day  
Such Mysteries to discover,  
As you my Love know may  
And yet not know the Lover.   
He had no sooner written these four Lines in the Case and had tied it unto her fair Arm, but he heard some coming up the stairs. So as fear left he should wake this fair one he went hastily to the place where he heard the noise, and went so gently as he did not awake Cynesia. He was no sooner at the stairs top, but he met his friend, whose adventure was much different from his; for in lieu of finding a great beauty in his bed he had sound the Mother of Cynesia, whom time and age had withered into extreme ugliness. Yet he knowing her, because the Moon shined as light as day in the Chamber, he made a gentle retreat without any disturbance to her rest, and came to his friend: So as meeting upon the stairs top, and relating to each other their several adventures, Artaxander whose sleeping beauty had weakened his spirits, he entreated his friend to go out again with him; they commanded the Porter to speak not a word of their returning, went to lie both together at a friends house. And Philiontes finding it a pleasant conceit, that Cynesia should not know how her Picture Case came to be exchanged, he consented unto his friend's Proposition. And so all was done as Artaxander desired, for they went out of the house; they charmed the Port for speaking of their return out of the Country, and went to lie all night at the house of a Cousin unto Philiontes. But to the end, they should not go to their own house until night, they sent to meet their men who were to come by Land, commanding them not to come to Town till the latter end of the day, and charging them to keep it secret, that they came by Water; but on the contrary to say that they came by Land and with them.  
But the most pleasant part of all the adventure was, that Artaxander having slept sufficiently in the Boat, and being very fresh and lively, he fell into discourse with Philiontes concerning his sleeping beauty, and to ask a hundred several Questions. For Heaven's sake (said he unto him) do not hinder me from loving her; and you cannot do me a better Office any way in the World, then to contribute something which will make me in love: But to tell you truly, I would not have this fair one of Pasithea's humour but would have Pasithea with all her jollities so vexed to see me captivated by another, as she shall grieve more for it then for Philocrates. I assure you friend (replied Philiontes) you have found out any excellent expedient for it: For first all fair ones in general cannot endure to lose their servants, and Pasithea in particular will be vexed no the Soul if you should love Cynesia. Moreover, be assured that this fair one is of a far different temper from the other; for her temper is melancholy, though she be very pleasant in Company, and hath a most merry Air with her: But withal, she is sometimes a little fantastical. Yet having a Passionate Soul and a tender heart, her capricious fancies never last long. Oh my friend (said Artaxander) this is enough; for Cynesia being fair, witty, pleasing, melancholy, and a little fantastical, I shall hope even out of variety only, for a thousand delights in loving her; but you do not love her yet (said Philiontes and laughed) Truly friend (replied Artaxander) though I do not yet, yet I shall do ere long, and did I but once see her eyes open, I should not doubt but to be in love with her: However (added he) I am engaged to be so, since I told her as much by the Verses which I writ in the Case that I exchanged with her; and therefore though I should not be in love with her, yet I must seem so a while. But if you be not in love with Cynesia said Philiontes) and she keeping your Picture Case, your gallantry will cost you somewhat dear: If she keep it (replied Artaxander) she will do me such a favour as will make me in love, for I must tell you that favours and beauty have a strong influence upon me. But how can she know (replied Philiontes) that it was you who made the exchange? she may easily guests it (replied he) for I intent this evening to wear the Case which I took from her in such a place as she cannot choose but see it. In saying so, Artaxander took the Case out of his Pocket which yet he had not opened, because his mind was wholly taken up with this adventure. But he was astonished, when at the opening he saw the very same Picture of Pasithea which he had sent her back, when he quarrelled with her. At the first he believed that these two Ladies were friends, unknown to him; and that Pasithea had sent Cynesia her Picture whilst he was in the Country; but he was not long in this belief, for Philiontes told him that they were enemies; so as not knowing what to think upon the adventure, he was extremely perplexed. For my part, (said Philiontes unto him) I am apt to believe that Pasithea being of no reserved humour, she hath giving this Picture unto some new Gallant that hath sacrificed it unto Cynesia. But if that be so said Artaxander) it must be concluded that Cynesia hath some Lover whom she doth not hate; for those who take such pledges do engage themselves as much as they think to engage others. What you say (replied Philiontes) perhaps is but imagination, which I will think to be but upon an ill foundation; for since you are resolved to be in love, at what rate soever, I must take heed of telling you any thing which may hinder you. The truth is (replied Artaxander) love is an excellent Antidote against wearisomeness, in a place where one hath nothing to do; for there the sending of a common Message, or the receiving of one, doth pass for a whole day's work; if you be in love, you will have no sooner done one thing, but you will be thinking upon another; your own very muse will please you; and nothing doth so sweetly take up the spirits of a gallant love; as for great and violent passions, they possess them over much. For my part (said Philiontes) I conceive one should either not be in love at all, or else love in good earnest; for certainly the greatest Passions procure the greatest pleasures. It is true (said Artaxander) but withal, they bring with them the greatest sorrows: I must confess it (answered Philiontes) but I am of such an humour, as I would have all or none: I value not those slight affections, which require as much pains about them, as a high Passion; they will take you up as much time, but will not recompense the labour. For a thousand of these half loves will never be able to conquer a whole heart; and therefore if you will be ruled by me, either love not Cynesia at all, or else love her in the height. So I am resolved (replied Artaxander) though it were only to be revenged upon Pasithea for caring so little to lose me, and bestowing her Picture so quickly upon another, as it is very likely she hath. But whilst Artaxander and Philiontes were thus talking, the fair Cynesia slept sound, and it may be well said, that by her sound sleeping, she prepared new Arms for the Conquest of Artaxander. For when she awaked, her complexion was more fresh, and her eyes more sprightly. But in awaking, she was all wonder to see a Case about her Arm all set with shining Diamonds in lieu of her own, and which was incomparably more rich; she no sooner saw this surprizng change but she blushed; and raising herself upon her bed, the held her Arm out to the light, as if she had been mistaken; but the more ●he looked upon this Case▪ the more sure she was that some came into the Chamber whilst she was asleep, and did imagine it to be a man, thinking such a kind of gallantry could not proceed from any Woman. So as a resentment of modesty, did for a while raise some inquietudes in her mind. Yet upon second thoughts of the adventure, she concluded, that he who made that advantageous exchange, had a noble heart, so as she hath since confessed, that she was then fuller of curiosity than care. Her greater wonder was that she knew there was not any Man in the house but only Philiontes Father, who being very old, could not be suspected of such a thing.  
She knew very well that he had a Son, for she was acquainted with Philiontes. And she was not ignorant that Artaxander also had lodged in the house, for though she knew him not yet she had heard talk of him. But she could not dream of them, because she heard say, that they were in the Country, and no speech of their return. As she was in this amaze a particular Friend of hers whose name was Cleophila, came in to see her, and to rejoice with her that the fire in her Mother's house had done no greater hurt. But as soon as she saw her, and saw her so fair: Oh Cynesia (said she unto her) it appears by your eyes that you have rested very well, for all the trouble of the night: But for my part, had I been in such a fright, I should have hid myself all the day after. For my complexion would have been so dull, my eyes so hollow, and my heart so saint, that I should have swooned with fear; yet I see that you had not the least fear of being burned. It is true (said Cynesia) I have slept as sound this night, as if no accident had happened, or as if I had not changed my Bed. And to make it appear true, I will tell you of the strangest piece of gallantry, that ever you heard of: After this, Cynesia told Cleophila all the passage, and that she might better see the Case, she held out her Arm, entreating her friend to untie the Ribbond. Cleophila had no sooner untied it, but Cynesia opened it; but she was extremely surprised at the sight of those Verses which Artaxander had written, and so much, as that she could not read them aloud, but first read them to herself, and then recited them unto Cleophila in this manner.  

Night's better than the Day  
Such Mysteries to discover,  
As you my Love know may,  
And yet not know the Lover.   
Afterwards, she looked upon Cleophila, who was not less surprised than she: And upon serious consideration, Cleophila concluded, that it must of necessity be Artaxander. Not that I can discover it by his stile in Verse (said she) for he useth to write much better; but since they were doubtless writ upon a sudden, they may very well be his; for I have known sometimes when ex tempore he hath writ no better; and therefore I will conclude that it was Artaxander who is the Author: That it was he who saw you asleep, and that it is he who is in love with you. But Artaxander is in the Country (replied Cynesia) Artaxander then is in more places than one (replied Cleophila) for I tell you it can be none but he: And I must tell you that to conquer such a heart as his sleeping is no small glory to you. Alas (replied Cynesia) as for his heart I cannot pretend unto it, for hearts are never taken sleeping. I do assure you (replied Cleophila) that though you had fewer charms than you have, yet Artaxander loves you. For this beginning of acquaintance and adventure, is in such a pleasant way, as I make no question but he will answer it as pleasingly. It vexeth me exceedingly (said Cynesia then) that he who writ those Verses, hath jest me such a ●ox as I will not keep; and the worst is, that the Picture of Pasithea is in it which he took from me. So as those who know not how the case stands, but are ignorant that she and I are enemies, will think that I have showed it out of ma●ice; for as the case is between us, they cannot imagine she would give me her Picture. How? (said Cleophila) had you Pasithea's Picture? and was it in the Case which is taken from you? Yes (replied she) and that is it which most troubles me, for I cannot endure to be suspected of being guilty of any malice: But I beseech you (replied she) how came you to that Picture? Ah Cleophila! (answered Cynesia) I shall blush to tell you; yet know it I must (replied she) if ever you will know any thing of me. Since you will know it (replied Cynesia) I will tell it in two words. So I know it (said Cleophila) I care not whether it be in two, or a thousand words; but lest we should be interrupted, I pray tell me quickly. You know (replied Cynesia) that Clidamis hath a long time born a little good will unto me; and you know also, that all the World has laid it in his dish, that he hath been an unfortunate Lover all his life long. 'Tis true, (answered Cleophila) for Clidamis had been in love with above a hundred Women, and not one of them ever loved him: and yet he is handsome, and has wit and spirit enough: yet I thought that his misfortune would have ended in you, and that you were no hater of him: for I know he has been often with you in the Country. 'Tis true, replied Cynesia, but it is as true also, that the more I saw him, the less I loved him: And in my opinion, the reason why Clidamis makes no better progress in his loves, is, because whosoever sees him one day shall see him eternally the very same: he is always equally handsome; always equally civil and respectful; he will never love you more nor less; nor never hath any spirit and wit more one day then another. So as I believe people are so accustomed to see him always the same, as their opinion of him is also always the same, and he shall be no better loved at the end of the thousand visits than he was at the first.  
But be what he will be (added she) that's no matter, and to return from whence I digressed, know, that Clidamis one day being extremely earnest with me to tell him why I did not love him, I answered again, that the reason was, because I knew that he was never loved by any. The truth is (Clidamis (said I unto him) though I would, yet I dare not love you: for after all your baffles in matter of love: I should be ashamed to be more indulgent than any other unto you: and I am so addicted to do as others do, that I never was the inventor of any fashion: you may imagine then, that▪ who will not so much as wear a Ribbond which others do not, will never give my heart to an unfortunate Lover, unto whom never any gave any heart unto: And therefore if ever you would have me love you, you must first make yourself loved by some other; that having an example to follow, I may the more easily be persuaded to follow: but A adam (said he unto me) should I court another to love me, I should seem as if I did not love you. Seem what you will (said I unto him) but I assure you I shall never love you unless some do first begin, and unless all the World do know it. I believe Madam, said he unto me, that all this is but ingenious raillery; for you being persuaded that I cannot love any but you, and that none will ever love me unless I love them, and therefore it will be very difficult for me to procure that example which you require; and though I should procure such an example, yet you would not follow it. Seriously Sir, said I unto him and laughed, I believe I should love you more than I do, if any else had loved you. We'll see that Madam (said he unto me) for I will go immediately unto Crete, with a full resolution to try whether I can make any beauty love me, upon condition you will not take it ill, if I do dissemble with her in seeming to love her. Since my aim was only to be rid of Clidamis, and believing that he would not be loved in the future more than in time past. I told him that I consented unto the condition. So he lest me in the Country, and went to Crete, just as Artaxander broke off with Pasithea, because she did not lament the death of Philocrates. As chance would have it Clidamis heard of the difference between them, and hearing of Pasithea's humour, he applied himself to her; and he sound her heart so inclinable to him, as either to be revenged of Artaxander, in letting him see she could as readily forget him living, as Philocrates dead, or for some other cause, she received him very well; she gave him her Picture, which he sent unto me yesterday, summoning me to keep my word, and assuring me that Pasithea loved him, and that he still loved me. As chance was, I tied this Picture to my Arm, intending to restore it unto Clidamis the next time I saw him; and so it chanced that it was taken from me in manner as I told you.  
I profess, replied Cleophila, it is a most excellent adventure: for if Artaxander have this Picture, as I am confident he hath, it will amaze him to think how you should come by it: for it is not possible he should be ignorant of the enmity between you and Pasithea: Also the Adventure may be more pleasant yet: for if Pasithea be drawn with a garland of flowers upon her head, very likely it is the same Picture which she gave him, and which he restored back to her. At least I am sure, the Limner told me that he did draw Pasithea's Picture after the same manner.  
I assure you (said Cynesia) the Picture is so drawn, so as if it be Artaxander who took it from me, he will wonder extremely, to see a Picture which was once his in my hands. However it be (said Cleophila) I am confident you would not be sorry to see Artaxander your Captive. So as it would spite Pasithea (replied she) I must confess I should not be very sorry. Truly, replied Cleophila, though it should spite no body, you could not be sorry, for Artaxander is so brave a Man, as that to conquer such a heart must needs rejoice one. But I beseech you (said Cynesia) let us talk no more of Artaxander, for perhaps it was not he who came into my Chamber: and though it were, yet perhaps my eyes when he sees them will blast the adventure. Your eyes are so lovely (replied Cleophila) as you may assure yourself that though the heart of him who saw them sleeping, was not captivated, yet waking, he will be. However since it is very likely, that you will see him this day, who saw you in the night, I advise you to dress up yourself as handsomely as you can. As Cleophila spoke this smilingly, Cynesia smiled also: And as I have been told since, did dress herself with a little more design of being handsome, then if her aim had been only a general design to please every one. But being not at home, as soon as her Mother and she were ready, they returned thanks for their entertainment, and went to their own house. Yet Cynesia did not show her Mother the Picture Case which Artaxander had left in lieu of her own, lest the adventure should become too public. Cynesia was most perplexed to think what she should say unto Clidamis, who she imagined would come to see her; for she could not restore Pasithea's Picture unto him. Nor would she have him think that she kept it as a sign of her love. So as to gain time, upon a pretence of setting their house in order after that tummlt of fire, she desired her Mother to pass away that afternoon at a friends house, and not to stay in her Chamber to receive all the visits which would be made after that accident. So as by this means Cynesia was not at home until night, and so Clidamis would lose his labour, if he came. Mean time, Artaxander and Philiontes being advertized that their Men were at the Gates of the Town, they went through a back lane to meet them and crossing over a great plain, it chanced that they passed just before the Gates of that Lady's house, where Cynesia, her Mother and Cleophila did pass away the day: So as these three Ladies came out, at the very same time when Artaxander and Philiontes passed by in their Country habits, as Men newly come to Town: Cleophila was much surprised at this; For all she spoke unto her Friend, was only her imagination, yet she showed her Artaxander, who took no notice of these Ladies no more than Philiontes, because they were talking together very earnestly: So as they being on Horseback, and the Ladies on Foot, they lost the sight of them: for since it was not far from home they were entered in, before they could come to the door. However, since Cleophila was full of curiosity to know the truth of this adventure, and since the arrival of Artaxander did much perplex her, she got Cynesia to entreat her Mother, to desire Cleophila, that she would lie that night at her house. And indeed so it was, These Ladies had no sooner supped, but Clidamis with other Ladies of the Neighbourhood came to visit Cynesia and her Mother: And all were no sooner set, but Philiontes and Artaxander entered. The first of these presented his friend unto the Mother and the Daughter, as a stranger which their Town had gotten during these absence▪ Philiontes spoke so highly of Artaxander unto these two, that they received him very civilly. But Cynesia was strangely amazed, to see the Picture Case which was taken from her, tied with a lively coloured Ribbond, and worn by Artaxander in such a place as was most obvious to the eye of Cynesia. But as she was amazed at the sight of it, so Clidamis was much more; for he could not imagine by what adventure, this Case which he had sent unto Cynesia, could come into the hands of Artaxander whom she never saw before, but was presented unto her as a Man absolutely unknown unto her. However Cynesia could not doubt but that it was Artaxander who came into her chamber when she was asleep, & therefore out of modesty could not choose but blush; but to hide it, she began to talk with Cleophila in a low voice, who being very glad that she had guessed aright, begun to ask her in a merry manner how she liked her new Lover? I am so perplexed at the perplexity of Clidamis (replied she) as I have not leisure to answer your foolish question. Why, said Cleophila, you need not perplex yourself about Clidamis; for since he knows that you are a stranger unto Artaxander, he cannot think you to have any hand in this pleasant adventure. After this every one taking their places, Artaxander did so well order the matter, as that he fate next Cynesia, and talked with her, so as Clidamis could not hear what he said; for Philira the Mother of Cynesia having set herself to relate unto him the accident of fire which happened, and being extreme earnest in telling how frighted she was, he was almost all the night taken up with hearing, and could not put in a word to interrupt her; for she was an eternal talker, and would never give over her tale as long as she had any breath. But whilst poor Clidamis was harkening to her much against his will, and whilst all the rest of the Ladies were harkening also, Philiontes talked with Cleophila, and Artaxander with Cynesia, whose intention being earnest to restore the rich Case unto Artaxander which he had left with her, and to get back that which he had, that she might restore it unto Clidamis, she was very glad of the opportunity of talking in private with him; hoping to find a fit occasion for compassing her ends; yet it was not so easy as she imagined; for Artaxander turning the talk another way she could not bring it about, and he according to his ordinary jollity, began to chide her for being so long in the Country, as familiarly as if he had been her most intimate and ancient friend, and he made the most pleasant and satirical invective against a Country life that ever was heard. But (said Cynesia unto him) why should you complain against me? for you knew me not yesterday, and hardly know me to day. That's the reason, Madam, why I complain (replied he) for if I had had the honour to have known you sooner, I should never have had the shame of bearing any other chains but yours, and perhaps by this time, I should have had the glory of getting some place in your heart. But, Madam, that you may not think me one of those common slatterers, who use to talk, and often knows not to whom, I beseech you give me leave to tell you, that you are not so unknown to me as you imagine; and that within these eighteen hours I did admire you, and something more. But first (added he, and looked earnestly upon her) give me leave to rejoice that I find your eyes more lovely than I did imagine them; though I must tell you, I did imagine them to be the fairest in the World; and certainly I had great reason for it; for it was nothing likely that the gods should bellow upon you, so many several excellent beauties, and not give you fair eyes also. And I assure you, most charming Cynesia, as soon as ever my good fate brought me to the place where I saw the most lovely sleeper that ever eye beheld; I presently conceived you to have the most dangerous and captivating eyes in the World. Oh I beseech you Artaxander (said she and turned away her head) do not make me blush. Oh I beseech you Madam (replied he) think yourself beholding to me for staying so long as eighteen hours before I would see your lovely eyes; and as great as my desire was to see them, for being so respective as not to waken you. The truth is (replied Cynesia, and blushed) your boldness made me more ashamed than ever I was in my life. Ah Madam (said Artaxander) I was happy then, but not bold; and if you will be so good as to pardon my boldness, in telling you that in all likelihood I shall be extremely in love with you, I shall acquaint you with the whole adventure. Since I am of opinion (replied she) that there is not so much power in me as to make any in love, I cannot easily believe you have any inclination that way: but I will confess, I would forgive you any thing, upon condition you will ingenuously tell me what made you so liberal when you played the thief; yet I must declare unto you beforehand, that the Picture Case which you took from me was none of mine, and that which you left in lieu of it shall never be. I assure you, Madam (replied Artaxander) I know not any thing you have of mine but my heart, which I beseech you seriously not to restore; for I am confident it can never be in better, or more fair hands. However it be (said she) tell me by what enchantment this adventure came about? You phrase it right, Madam (replied he) in calling it an enchantment: for since the time that Cupid was in his Cradle, never any fell in love so until now. I pray (replied Cynesia) let Cupid alone with his Mother, and only acquaint me with the accident. So Artaxander began to make her a faithful relation of the whole passage, and so happily for himself, and pleasingly unto Cynesia, as she took some delight in it: yet she always interrupted him, when he told her how fair he thought her. It is enough Artaxander (said she) it is enough; for I desire to know no more than so much as will justify you; and to make it appear that I am not unjust, I am contented to treat you as an innocent person, and will think myself obliged unto you. Though it would be most glorious unto me to be obliged unto you, Madam, (replied he) and more than for you to be obliged unto me; yet I must assure you that there is nothing in the World which I would not do for your service. If so, said she, than I pray restore unto me the Picture and the Case which you have, and I will restore that which I have unopened; for as I told you before, that which you have is none of mine, and that which I have of yours shall never be. As for the Picture which is in the Case I took from you, Madam (replied he) I shall without much difficulty restore, since it has not the honour to be yours, but upon this condition, that you will tell me whose it is; for I should be very glad to know unto whom Pasithea gave it. But Madam, as for the other Case which you have, since you say you did not open it, I beseech you do; and know that what is written within it, is more true now then when it was written. Did I not know Artaxander any other way (replied Cynesia) I should think him to be all Raillery; but since I do know his humour, I will make a better Interpretation of him; and to testify it (added she) I will trust myself with you, and confess that the Picture of Pasithea, belongs unto Clidamis. How, Madam? replied Artaxander, is Clidamis my successor? thanks be to the Heavens he shall never be my Rival, unless he be in love with you. You speak with so little seriousness (replied Cynesia and smiled) as I hardly know whether I did well in trusting you with a confidence of this Nature However, since divers reasons make me desirous to let Clidamis have his Picture again, and to keep him ignorant by what strange accident you come to have it, I entreat you if he talk with you, to tell him, that upon your return you sound it upon the Table in your Chamber, where I had forgotten it I will tell him as much, Madam, replied Artaxander, provided you will likewise tell me, why Clidamis did put this Picture into your fair hands; for he can't be ignorant that you and Pasithea hold no correspondency of friendship, and so if he be in love with Pasithea, he is very unwise to trust you with her Picture. We have been so small a time acquainted (replied she) that I were out of my wits if I should tell you all you ask. Then Madam (replied he) you have driven me out of my wits; for though I have known you as little as you have me, yet I am ready to trust you with all the secrets of my heart and soul. But to return unto Clidamis (added he) I perceived that he looked upon me from time to time with much curiosity; and he looked upon after such a manner, as moved to think that if he were my successor in the heart of Pasithea, he might perhaps also be my Rival in the heart of Cynesia. As Artaxander said so, Cleophila, who had gotten Philiontes to tell her all the adventure of the night before she came unto them; and Philiontes joining also, the discourse between these four persons was very pleasant. For my part (said Artaxander) I am more than ever persuaded of the infallibility of Destiny; for if Fate had ordered, that the fair Cynesia had lain in Philiontes his Chamber, than perhaps it would have been he who should have fallen in love with her, and not I. For heaven's sake (said Cynesia pleasantly, and interrupted him) do not think yourself engaged to say you love me, because you have told it me in four verses; and lest you should (added she, and offered him the case) I pray take it again. But, Madam (said he unto her) you said even now you did not open it. 'Tis true (said she) but as I am willing to pardon all the flattering untruths which you told me, in talking with you, so you may very well pardon me this. Oh Madam, replied he, I will pardon you with all my heart; provided you will believe I cannot flatter when I speak of you. After this Cynesia still demanding the Case which he took, and offering to restore his, he told her that he could not do that all in one day; but beseeches her to stay the restitution of that which he had from him, until he had so far advanced himself into her favour, as to obtain her Picture: And indeed, do what Cynesia could, she could not make him take it that day, but was contended with his restoring that which belonged unto Clidamis, who was so astonished to see such private discourse betwixt Artaxander and Cynesia, that he knew not what to think upon it. But it bring late, the company parted; and Cynesia being desirous that Clidamis should not be too much troubled at this adventure, she entreated him to wait upon Cleophila home; and that Lady undertook to restore the Picture and Case unto him, and to tell him (as it was contrived) that Artaxander sound it by chance upon the Table in his Chamber; and that he need not trouble himself about it, because Cynesia never told Artaxander that the Picture was his.  
As for Artaxander, he found Cynesia more charming awake then asleep, and returned home with his friend with a strong disposition to love her: And indeed he did easily apprehend this growing passion; for though it was never wont to break his rest, yet now he slept not a wink all that night; for when he fancied himself in the same Chamber where he had seen Cynesia, and in the same bed where he saw that fair one asleep, his imagination did so perfectly represent her, as he could not possibly rest although he had some pleasing slumbers. On the other side, Cynesia hearing that Artaxander was never hated by any, she thought him more amiable than Clidamis who was hated by all; and she was nothing sorry, that she had gotten this new acquaintance. But since she was resolved not to keep his case, she sent it unto him the next morning; and so handsomely that he could not choose but receive it; for she caused it to be left with one of his servants for him, the servant not knowing what, or from whom it was: And Cynesia being a person unto whom such presents were not to be presented: he durst not any further importune her to keep it. This his gallantry passed for a noble piece of Liberality, and cost him nothing; but to speak the truth it cost him something that was dearer to him then the Case; for had he never seen Cynesia, he had not lost his heart and his liberty; yet at the first, he was not sensible of his misery, but on the contrary he thought himself so happy in this affection which was growing in his heart, as he could not hide the joys which she had. Moreover his thoughts of revenge upon Pasithea, did kindle in him much satisfaction; for he had such a hatred unto the follies of that Lady, as made him consider that if Cynesia did not make him quite forget her, it was not impossible but he might renew again with her. On the other side, Pasithea who never looked for any thing in love but what would divert her, and who thought that Clidamis did love her, she valued not the loss of Artaxander, though every hour in the day did allow her one minute of sorrow for it, because she could not meet with any who could divert her as well as he. As for Clidamis, he was in a most miserable condition; for he was not loved by her whom he did love, and was loved by one whom he did not love. Thus did he receive all the favours which love could confer upon a lover, and yet was not happy. Also he was sensible of all those sorrows which that passion could inflict upon a lover; for he was loved where he would not be, and not loved where he would: He was jealous, and knew not directly the cause: The new acquaintance of Artaxander did fret his heart; he was vexed that Pasithea's Picture had been in his hands: he knew not whether he should cease counterfeiting love, or whether he should seem to cease loving Cynesia, and see whether she would recall him: And indeed his perplexity could not be greater. As for Cynesia, she also had some secret disgust of heart; yet since those disgusts were not very dis-agreeable she was not much disquieted: But for Artaxander, he was so glad at his being in love, as not being able to hide his joys, he showed it unto Cynesia within the space of five days, from his first acquaintance; And being alone with her he began to give most humble and hearty thanks and that with such earnest expressings, as she did really believe that she had either said or done, something which had obliged him, though she could not remember it. And she began to rub up her memory, and find out the reason why he should so emphatically express his gratitude: Upon a recollection of all her thoughts, she could find nothing, unless it were that she having spoken much good of him unto some she had conversed withal, he might come to the knowledge of it. Yet not thinking this cause enough to oblige unto so many thanks, she asked him, what she had done for him to deserve them? At the first he would not tell her; for truly, Madam (said he unto her) I am afraid lest you should repent of your goodness unto me, and lest that repentance should lessen my joys, if I should tell you. It is not my custom (replied she) to repent of any thing done that may please such men as I esteem; and I assure you, the principal reason why I am so desirous to know what it is, is only to the end, that I may do the same again.  
Oh Madam (said Artaxander) than I must tell you what it is you have done for me, not because it will oblige you to do it again; for you cannot choose but do it whether you will or no, you will do it as long as you live, and the thing which you will do is absolutely the most pleasing thing in the World unto me. For Heaven's sake Artaxander (said Cynesia then) tell me what it is I have done which so much pleaseth you, and which I cannot choose but do again? You have made me in love, Madam (replied he) and in so doing you have done me the greatest pleasure in the World, you have delivered me from a most drowsy idleness, and I thank you heartily for it, for otherwise I know not what I should have done in Crect: Thus, Madam (added he, and would not give her time to answer) you have infinitely obliged me; for you have roused my spirits out of a dull sluggishness of mind, which is the most unsupportable thing in the World. Though I should grant, I have caused you to be in love (replied she) yet I cannot confess that you owe me any thanks: For (added she and smiled) unless you were sure of a favourable reception, I cannot see you have any reason for your thanks, which I am sure you cannot know, because I know it not myself. Oh Madam (replied he) it is a most high happiness to love you; and love hath such a secret and charming influence upon me, as I do prefer all its torments, before all other delights whatsoever; and therefore, though I know not whether you will be sweet or sharp unto me, yet I must thank you, for making me in love, as much as for the most obliging favour you could bestow upon Artaxander. Though I know very well (replied Cynesia very sweetly) that it is not handsome for me to entertain any Lovers, yet I think myself obliged to treat you less severely than any other; for since you think that to be in love is sufficient to make you happy: one need not to fear the being too much importuned with your Complaints. I did not say, Madam (replied Artaxander) that to be in love is the height of happiness; but my meaning was, that I should be most miserable if I were not in Love; and that I should be less miserable by being in Love, then by not being so.  
After this Cynesia answered him with all the modesty becoming her Sex, but yet without any bitterness or incivility; and though she did forbid him any more talk of his Passion, yet it was in such a manner, and made him not fear being hated, though he did not obey her. And Artaxander did continue his expression of Love, and so often, and handsomely as he persuaded her to hear him. Artaxander as pleasant as his humour used to be, yet he could be of a very serious temper when he would; and he found in Cynesia all qualities requisite to please him: such as expected mirth from her did always find it, they who looked for Melancholy found it in her also, for she could suit herself unto every humour; moreoover, she was exceedingly modest, but such a modesty, as did not muzzle up the spirits of men, but allowed the fancy so much civil Liberty, as made her Conversation very pleasing; Sometimes she would have some little and delicate fantastical quirks which did marvellously increase love; but these phantasms never appeared unto any but her Lovers, and not at all in common Conversation. The worst in Cynesia was, she was extreme subject unto her own inclinations; and so very much, that if she had not been very virtuous, her reason could not restrain her. However, it is without all question, that Cynesia was as amiable a person, as was in the World; and Artaxander loved her extremely, who hoping to be loved again by degrees, and desiring to spite Pasithea, did use all such endeavours as are expedient to win upon Cynesia, and to be revenged upon his first Mistress. As for Clidamis, Cynesia did treat him so coursely since her acquaintance with Artaxander, as he sought for all occasions to vex her, since he could find none to get her love: And for Pasithea, no malicious stratagem was un-invented, and unsought after, to spite both Artaxander and Cynesia. But in lieu of spiting them she did very much delight them; for Artaxander was very glad to find a greater share in Pasithea's heart than he imagined; and Cynesia also was glad that she had gotten a Slave from that merry fair one. So as joining all these petty circumstances together, they began a most tender, gallant, and public love between Artaxander and Cynesia. For Clidamis and Pasithea did watch them so circumspectly, as that they to vex them did publish every trivial thing that passed between them. They never walked together but it was divulged; they never held any long private discourse but it was told; and Artaxander was generally as well known by the name of Cynesia's Lover; as by his own, but so far from being vexed that he was very glad of it; for Cynesia being known to be a most illustrious person, her honour was not in any danger; and indeed, she was noble every way, her quality was high, she was admirably fair; she had a most sublime wit, and those who said Artaxander was in love with her, than said also that he was not hated.  
Things being upon these terms, a chance happened which wrought a great change in the heart of Artaxander, who then certainly did love Cynesia most tenderly: But before I directly tell you the cause of it, I must let you know; that there was a man in Crect whose name was Alphidemon, whose misfortune was to be esteemed of none; Yet he was not very unhandsome and to speak truly of him he was not worse than a thousand others, of whom people use to speak neither well nor ill. His quality was high enough, to excuse his mediocrity of merit if he had been discreet. But however, he was ranked amongst those who were unpleasing, even by those who were unpleasing themselves, and was not at all esteemed. Artaxander at his coming to Crect had seen him amongst others, and had rallied with him a hundred times, never thinking he should hereafter have any further interest in him. But Artaxander being upon such terms as I told you with Cynesia, he went to walk one evening in a Garden with Philiontes, unto whom he talked concerning the joys he had in loving Cynesia, and of his hopes of being loved, aggravating the great delight he took in having moved the heart of so noble a person. After a long time of walking they entered into a green Arbour, intending to rest themselves; but as they entered they found Cephisia and Pasithea there. At firsts they would have retired as if out of respect; but Pasithea being that evening in her merry and malicious humour both, she called unto Artaxander. I pray, Sir (said she unto him) do not shun Cephisa who is your friend, in expectation of your new Mistress. Since I do not love to molest the pleasures of others (replied he and laughed) I would have retired lest you should expect there my Successor, unto whom I will yield in every thing. I assure you (replied she sharply) it is more honour for you that Clidamis should be your Successor, then for you to be the Successor of Alphidemon: And to be plain with you, it is more advantageous to me, to be upbraid for not loving a brave man, than it is for Cynesia for loving a man of so low a merit: And I think it a greater shame for you to succeed Alphidomon; then for you not to be loved more than Philocrates was. This discourse did so surprise Artaxander that he knew not what answer to make; for he knew, that she durst not be so bold as to speak thus in the presence of Cephisa and Philiontes, if there were not some ground of truth for her accusation which she made against Cynesia. Yet he smothered his resentments and did not appear any thing moved at what she said; Did you know (said he unto her) what advantage I draw from all this you speak against Cynesia and me, you would never have told it; but you would rather give Clidamis a thousand commendations, then to blame Cynesia whose merit and virtue cannot be blemished.  
I speak not concerning the merit of Cynesia (replied she subtilely) for I know it is much, and that's the reason I blame her, since she loved a man of no merit. As Artaxander was going to answer, though he knew not well what to say (for I know all his thoughts as well as himself) A great company of Ladies with Alphidemon came into this Arbour. As soon as they were entered, Alphidemon bolted out such poor expressions, as Artaxander was forced out, and went presently to inquire, whether it was true that Cynesia who was a person so full of wit could ever love such a man. As soon as he came into a solitary walk which was not far off, he looked upon Philiontes who followed him: and beginning to speak, I pray Philiontes (said he unto him) deliver me out of this perplexity of mind; and tell me ingeniously, whether that which Pasithea said concerning Cynesia, have any ground of truth in it? For since I am but a stranger at Crect, I am ignorant in the History of it; and therefore I conjure you by our friendship to tell me whether Cynesia ever loved Alphidemon? All I can say (replied Philiontes) is, that all the town doth say it, and all the world believes it. But Philiontes. how comes it to pass, replied he surlily, that you did not acquaint me with it when I began to be acquainted with Cynesia? because you did earnestly entreat me (replied he and laughed) to say nothing unto you which might hinder you from loving her, and told, that I was a very bad friend if I did. And to tell you truly, I did not think it fit to acquaint you with a past adventure which was not advantageous unto Cynesia whom I esteemed very much, and who is a Lady of infinite merit. And when all is done, though she did love Alphidemon, yet she loves him not now; and scandal itself could never say there was any criminal affection between them two. Oh Philiontes (said Artaxander) a woman of any wit could never be innocent, if she could love such a man as Alphidemon, though she were as modest and chaste as Diana: And I had much rather he successor to a brave man who had obtained some considerable favours from the person I should love, then to be the successor of a fool: and truly there is something in this adventure which doth so cruelly wound my imagination, as from this very minute, my heart which was such a subject unto Cynesia, begins to revolt. But what does it concern you (replied Philiomes) whom Cynesia did love, so she love you now? It concerns me so much (replied he) as I do not think I can love her, any longer, at least I am sure that having such an opinion as I have of Alphidemon, and since Cynesia hath loved him, and all the world knows it, it is impossible she can confess any favour which can oblige me, or be honourable unto me: For when I remember all the fond grossities and foolish absurdities of Alphidemon, and all I have heard say of him, and all I have seen him do, I am so ashamed to succeed him in the heart of Cynesia, that as charming as she is, she ceaseth to be so unto me, as soon as I consider she could love Alphidemon. Truth is, I shall value her heart as a profane place, wherein I would not reign; nor shall I now think her eyes lovely, since she has looked favourably upon him: And me thinks she has done me a manifest injury in loving me after Alphidemon. I profess (replied Philiontes) this is a most pleasant adventure, that after you have broke off with Pasithea, because she did not enough love a brave man, you should break off with Cynesia; because she did love a fool. Oh Philiontes, replied Artaxander, this last adventure is much worse than the other, for it blasts both honour and love. For to tell you truly, the hatred of Cynesia would be more honourable to me then her love, since she can bestow her love where no merit is: and I think that I should suffer less if Cynesia had been perfidious to me by dividing her heart with some of my Rivals, who were a brave man, than I should in her being faithful unto Alphidemon: And if I can but once cure myself of this Passion which I have to her, I will make a vow never to engage myself in love with any other before I am very well informed whom she hath loved: For to be the successor of a Fool in matter of affection is the worst quality upon earth. I think it a less shame to have a Fool to ones Father then to succeed Alphidemon: for I cannot help the one; it is none of his fault; but in the other case the fault is all his own; he might have chosen whether or no he would offer his heart; or he might make a retreat after the offering, if he hear that he cannot be loved unless he be the Successor of a Fool. But since many things are spoken which are not true, I will know from the mouth of Cynesia whether it be so; as I did from Pasithea also the passages betwixt Philocrates and her. So the next morning Artaxander sought for an opportunity of finding Cynesia alone; but as ill luck for her was, he could not find it, for she was not within: so as Artaxander, going to visit some other of the neighbourhood in expectation of her return, he heard nothing but speeches very disadvantagiaus concerning Alphidemon. One said he was ill-favoured; others that he was dull; some said his wit was but shallow; others that he was too rough; other that he was a clown; and every one had such a terrible cry upon him, as made Artaxander extremely sorry: For though commonly men love to hear faults found in their Rivals, and to hear them ill spoken of, yet Artaxander had other resentments, for he thought that all which was spoken in disadvantage of Alphidemon, did reflect upon him; and that every ill quality which was attributed unto Alphidemon, was shameful unto himself: so as his mind being extremely incensed, he went the second time to Cynesia, and found her alone; for Philira was gone another way and not returned; she received Artaxander with all those joys which she used at her first seeing him: but as for him, he had such anger in his eyes, and a kind of fullenness in his humour as quickly moved Cynesia to ask the cause. So as without pumping for any set speech to satisfy her desire, he began to speak: Madam, said he unto her, I do conjure you to be sincere, and promise to answer directly and truly to what I shall ask. I do promise it (replied she and blushed) for I am confident you will ask me nothing, unto which I may not answer. Nay, nay, Madam, said he, do not deceive yourself; for the thing which I shall ask is of such a nature as it will never be told unless you be engaged by oath; and therefore before I ask the Question, I will have you swear to tell me truly. If you do well consider, replied she, the strange manner of your importunity, you may well think that I will not engage myself by oath, for you tell me that you would have me promise to tell a thing which I ought not to tell unless I be engaged by oath; how can you think then that I should promise to tell you that which reason forbids me to tell? Think better with yourself, and without any oaths or obligations upon me to promise any thing, tell me what you would know; and afterwards I will see if I can satisfy your curiosity or no. Oh Madam, (cried he out) If you were clearly ingenious, I would promise what I desire: but in telling me nothing, you have told me all, and I have no more to ask you. Artaxander spoke all this in such a surly and angry manner, that Cynesia being troubled at it, and knowing that she had done nothing since she was acquainted with Artaxander which could anger him, she promised to tell him truly whatsoever he should ask her. Then I conjure you Madam (said he unto her to tell me ingenuously whether you ever loved Alphidemon? Alphidemon (replied she and blushed) was of my acquaintance so young, as it may well be said, we began to see light, and be acquainted both together. The matter is not, replied he, when you began your acquaintance; but to know whether you loved him or no: what caused you to love him; how it came to pass you loved him no longer? and what reasons did induce you to change your mind? you ask me these Questions with such an arrogant tone, replied she, and they are so troublesome to be answered, as if I were not exceedingly indulgent towards you, I should not answer them at all: but since perhaps you may think I concealed some crimes if I do not satisfy your curiosity, therefore I will ingeniously answer to your demands, and tell you that as soon as ever I began to open my eyes, I began to be acquainted with Alphidemon; and I will confess that from the very first dawning of ●ny days, I had a strong inclination towards him and permitted him to love me. And that you may see my great confidence in your discretion, I will confess farther, that the 〈◊〉 and assiduity of his courtships, joined with my own inclination, brought me at last to love him; and should have still loved him, had he not been guilty of such a lightness as damped my spirit, and obliged me to break off with him. And the truth is, though I well enough knew Alphidemon to be a man of no great reputation in the world; yet should I have continued faithful unto him, had he been so to me. For I must in my own justification tell you, that the world doth much wrong Alphidemon; and that he is much more amiable, then is believed, to one he loves; being certainly very sweet, and complacential. Oh Madam (said Artaxander) Alphidemon is less amiable towards those he loves then towards those he loves not, because he sees them oftenest; but certainly he is not less amiable towards those of whom he is loved; and that's the reason you find him not so disagreeable as all the world doth. As I have already confessed, that I bore affection to him (replied she) so I must with the same ingenuity tell you, that I do not love him. I would willingly believe it, Madam (replied he) but that you did love him, is enough to make me the most miserable of all men: And such is my mind, as I should think myself much less miserable, if you had loved one who was worthier of you than I am, to know that you loved the worst, and most unworthy of all the lovers you ever had. I must confess, Madam, I wonder how it was possible I should win any thing upon your heart, since Alphidemon did; for I am nothing like him, my making is not like his; I do nothing that he does, I speak not like him, nor are my thoughts the same with his; and indeed I know no two greater contraries than Alphidemon and Artaxander. How was it possible he should please you and I too? How could you love him and me likewise? I wonder that the man whom of all the world I most despise, should be the man whom you the most of all esteem. As for that, I shall give you satisfaction (said she) by explaining the affection which I had unto Alphidemon, and the affection I bear unto you; for I loved him by inclination only and you by inclination and knowledge. Oh Madam (said he unto her) blot out your inclination to me, for I will have nothing in common with Alphidemon.  
I will blot you out of my heart also (replied Cynesia sharply, being angry at Artaxanders' surly tone) for men may render themselves unworthy as well by phantasticalness, as by want of merit. When I began to love you Madam (replied Artaxander) I gave you most hearty thanks for making me in love, as for a very great favour: But since I understand you have loved Alphidemon I must confess Madam, that if you should take me out of love again, I should thank you much more; for I know nothing more cruel then to be successor unto Alphidemon. Since certainly Madam, this happy Alphidemon could never have won upon your heart but by telling you a thousand simple and ridiculous fooleries, and as many impertinencies, and by doing the same things before you, which have made all the Town despise him. Judge Madam, I beseech you, what honour it will be unto me to make the same conquest he did? Cynesia being much offended at Artaxander, though she could not give one good reason to excuse her affection unto Alphidemon, yet they quarrelled until the return of Philira who turned the discourse. At his going from thence he went unto Cephisa, who as I told you, bore such good will unto Artaxander as was likely to grow over tender, if she had not striven against that growing inclination: So as when Artaxander, who loved her very well, did relate unto her the squabbles 'twixt him and his Mistress: But first, since she had not seen Artaxander, since Pasithea in her presence had vexed him by calling him the successor of Alphidemon, she no sooner saw him come into her Chamber where she was alone, but beginning to smile, Artaxander (said she) you are very much obliged to me; for though that which Pasithea said unto you before me, was enough to make any one laugh, yet I did not laugh at all; but no the contrary, I did chide her for what she had said, and almost fell out with her in your behalf. I do confess myself obliged unto you (replied Artaxander) and should be much more, if you could make me out of love with Cynesia. Oh Artaxander, replied Cephisa, you do not consider what you say. I consider but too much (answered he) for the more I consider, the more I find it a shame to be the successor of Alphidemon: And I am so weary of my two last adventures, as I am almost resolved to alter my course of life. Indeed (pursued he) if you will give me leave to love you with such a tender amity as shall be a medium between love and common amity, and will endure I should turn weather cook, and relate unto you all my follies, I will absolutely renounce all those high passions which they say do only afford great delights: For my part (said Cephisa) I am willing to accept of your offer, but to tell you truly I do not think you are able to do as you say. I am not indeed (replied he) but in all likelihood I shall be ere long; for I assure you I cannot find either pleasure or honour in Pasithea's love, since she could not love a man of much merit long enough. Neither can I endure Cynesia's love, since she could love a man unworthy of her affection; and to tell you truly, the affection of a woman to a fool cannot be innocent: It is men of wit, ingenuity, and gallantry, who can only devise a thousand innocent delights to entertain their Mistress, between the time of their first being in love and the time of consummation. As for a fool lover, as soon as ever he has grossly told his Mistress that he loves her, he tells brutishly that he presently expects a recompense of his love, and if he find it not presently, two to one but he casts off his Mistress. Truly Artaxander (said Cephisa) me thinks you go a little to far; for Cynesia is virtuous. I think she is, when I think well upon it (replied Artaxander) but when I do not, I sometimes doubt it; for what can a man of ingenuity say unto such a man as Alphidemon? and what innocent delights can you imagine from a lover that hath no smack of gallantry in him? Never ask what delights one can find in love (replied Cephisa) for love brings its delights with it: and as soon as a heart is possessed with this passion, the mind is also prepossessed: it cannot see things as they are, but sees them only as love will have them: So Cynesia, being very young, and having a strong inclination to Alphidemon, love will not let her reason see his faults; not but that I do condemn her; for I cannot endure one should love that which is not amiable. 'Tis true (replied Artaxander) and if one will love, let them love where they may have rest, and not as I did; though I can say to my comfort, that any other than myself might have been catched; but how could I guests, that those things which do afflict me, should have done so: My fears also at the beginning of my love to Cynesia, were wrong placed; for I feared her wit would have been too delicate and high, that she would have thought me a Man not sufficiently accomplished; that my Gallantry would have seemed to her of too merry a strain; and that she would be insensible of my passion; but the truth is, I feared those things which I needed not to fear; and I did not fear that thing which only I ought to fear; 'tis true there was no shadow of any cause to fear it; for how could I possibly imagine that Cynesia, who stood upon her wit and glory, should ever love Alphidemon, whom all the World despised, and who indeed deserved no esteem? The truth is (said Cephisa) this could not be divined or believed, unless there had been a hundred such circumstances as would have put it out of all doubt. For my part (said Artaxander) I am better informed then any else; for Cynesia hath confessed to me that she loved Alphidemon, even with the same breath that she spoke kindly unto me; unto me, I say, who does not a jot resemble nor never will, nor will ever have to do with any thing that ever was his.  
After this, Artaxander began to walk about the Chamber and muse, as if he had been alone, though Cephisa was with him, naming sometimes Alphidemon, and sometimes Cynesia, as they came into his mind; and he was above a quarter of an hour in this dump; Cephisa would not disturb him, because she thought it good sport, and indeed because she was not sorry that Artaxander's heart was dis-engaged from the love of Cynesia. But at last, perceiving himself, he roused out of his study, and had many pleasant conceits upon his being Alphidemon's successor. After which, he returned to his Lodging, and in his way he met Alphidemon, whose very sight did much incense him; for he was very unhandsome and slovenly, he saluted clownishly, as if he were a Man of poor quality; and when he came to the house of Philiontes his Father, he there heard a hundred simple passages of Alphidemon. So Artaxander being more and more exasperated, and conceiving that it was not fit he should any longer love a person who could love Alphidemon, he resolved to break off with Cynesia. For (said he unto Philiontes, who would have dissuaded him) I shall have this satisfaction that those who will say, she would have made me Alphidemon's successor, will say also, I refused it, and renounced the succession. If you quit Cynesia (replied Philiontes) you will so rejoice Pasithea, as if you be of any vindicative temper, you will not leave her. I am fuller of revenge than you imagine (replied he) but I will not be revenged upon myself; and if I should continue loving Cynesia, only because I will not joy Pasithea, I should be extremely ashamed of being Alphidemon's successor. But (said Philiontes) can Men love when they list, and cease when they will? I know not that (replied he) but I will try. And indeed Artaxander went no more unto Cynesia, but went every day unto Cephisa, cheering up himself with his Amity for the loss of his love. Mean time Clidamis, who quickly heard how squares went between Artaxander and Cynesia, he returned to her and quitted Pasithea; but Cynesia not liking him so well as she did Artaxander, she gave him be cold entertainment; imagining that Artaxander would take it well. On the other side Pasithea was vexed to the soul to see Clidamis forsake her, and that it pleased Artaxander whom she would gladly recall.  
As for Cynesia she could not imagine what course to take to cure Artaxander: It was in vain for her to say that she never loved Alphidemon, because she had confessed it: nor would she make Alphidemon more esteemable or esteemed than he was. So as she had no other way, since she stood much upon her honour, then to seem as if she cared not for Artaxander's slighting her. Mean time Artaxander being quite out with all manner of gallantry, the friendship of Cephisa was a real Cordial to him; for beginning the rules of friendship with her, he found himself in a very good condition, and did not alter as long as he was at Crete: He gave Cephisa an account of all his follies, and took more delight in telling, than he ever did in the acting them; for Cephisa being of an excellent and pleasing spirit, having also much good Will unto Artaxander, and he likewise to her, their Conversation was with such a friendly liberty as made it very agreeable: And when Artaxander left Crete, he was more sorry to part from his friend, then from all his Mistresses; and I am confident he lived in more content with Cephisa, than ever he did with Pasithea and Cynesia with whom he had those beginnings of love which you desired to know, and which I have told you with so little Art, as I have reason to fear that all these Illustrious persons who have heard me, will repent of their curiosity.  
For my particular (said Clelia, seeing Amilcar had no more to say) I am far from repenting, for I do think these two beginnings of love worth a whole History. For my part (said the Prince Sextus) I am very affectionate unto Artaxander, because methinks he resembles Amilcar. Truth is (replied Aronces) Artaxander is set out in an excellent Character: I concur with you (said the merry Plotina) but yet methinks if Amilcar had been in Artaxander's place, he would either not have quitted Pasithea so slightly, or else he would have returned to her, after he had quitted Cynesia; for I do not think him so fit for a friend, as for a Mistress. I have yet been so little known unto you, Madam (replied Amilcar) that methinks you judge too rathly. However (said Cesonia) I much desire to know what this Artaxander is? my desire is the same (said Artimedorus) for my particular (said Zenocrates) I would gladly know both Pasithea and Cynesia; my curiosity is for Cephisa (added Clelia) for methinks a friend that gives more comfort than two Mistresses, must needs be of much merit. I profess (said Plotina) I would give any thing to know the true names of all these persons: Truly all your Curiosities are to no purpose (said Amilcar) for if you did know the Names you do not know the persons. If you will (said Celeres in a low voice unto Plotina) I will give you the Key unto this History, upon Condition you will seem as if you had it by Enchantment. Plotina having a pleasant and merry wit, she thought it would make good sport, if Celeres would be as good as his word; so as pressing him very obligingly unto it, he told her the true Names of all those whom Artaxander had introduced in the adventure which he had related; and then retired handsomely from Plotina, of whom Amilcar took no notice when she whispered with Celeres; for his design being to keep Sextus from talking with Clelia, he applied himself in talk wholly unto that Prince: So when Celeres was gone from Plotina, she began again to entreat Amilcar he would be pleased to tell them the true Names of Artaxander, of Pasithea, of Cynesia, of Cephisa, and all the rest of whom he had spoken; and he still persisting in his denial, she told him that she requested a thing from him which she could tell, as well as himself. And to testify that I sought only to be obliged unto you, if you will promise me to confess the truth, I will engage myself to write such a Key as all the Company shall know the true names of every one they desire: Ah lovely Plotina (replied Amilcar) if you can make that good, I will not only engage myself to tell you whether your Key be true, but I will engage to be in love with you as long as I live, though you should too little love another Philocrates, or too much love another Alphidemon. I desire no more (replied she) so taking Pen, Ink, and Paper out of her Pocket, she went unto the Window to write the Names which Celeres had told her. And after she had written them, she gave the Paper unto Zenocrates to read: So as all the Company flocking about him, he began to read what Plotina had written, which was in these terms.  

The true Key unto the History of Artaxander.  Artaxander.— Amilcar. Pasithea.— Belisa. Cynesia.— Lindamira. Cephisa.— Liriana. Alphidemon.— Phelinix. Clidamis.— Alberites. Philiontes.— Timaides. Crete.— Sydon.  
Zenocrate's had no sooner done reading, but every one was earnest to tell Amilcar that they knew him to be Artaxander. Well (said Amilcar) I will be Artaxander if you will have me; for I am as merry a Man and Complaisant as lives: But I would gladly know, by what Enchantment Plotina did find it out. After this, Amilcar mused a while, and then looking upon Celeres who could not choose but smile: Ah Celeres (said he) it is you who have betrayed me, for I have heretofore made you the Confident of my Follies. Yet I would gladly know (said Clelia) why you took so much pains in changing all the Names of all these persons and your own? for we know neither Belisa nor Pasithea. It is true (replied he) but you do know Amilcar) better than you do Artaxander, and it was for his sake only that I put a guise upon the rest.  
But the wonder is, that in my haste of changing names I have committed a merry error and none takes any notice of it; for I have given a Grecian name unto an African. For my part (said Sextus) I see no reason more than the rest of our Company, why you should conceal your having interest in the Company, why you should conceal your having interest in having what you have related. I told you already, Sir (replied he) before I began to relate the story, that I did not love to be my own Historian, and I must tell you again, that I never will, and that those who will write such Books as that famous blind man did, whose works all Greece adores, must always introduce some persons to tell the adventures of others. For then the Relator commends or condemns those of whom he speaks according to their merit. They will impartially describe the persons whom they do introduce, they will descant upon things, and mingle their own thoughts with theirs; but when any are their own Historians, all that they shall say in their own advantage is suspected; and it is so difficult to do, that if it be a woman who tells her own tale, she cannot handsomely say, I made him in love with me; and if it be a man, he cannot well say, that he was loved, or that he was valiant; and therefore it is a thousand times better to have the Story told in the third person then in the first. There is reason in all you say (replied Aronces) yet some men would think it strange that a third person should know so many particulars of things, wherein he himself hath no interest. I am persuaded of what you say (replied Amilcar) but yet it may be an ill grounded persuasion; for some men do better know all the advantages of others then of their own, because they may come to the knowledge of them from the months of persons uninterested, yet true it is, that those who read, aught to enter into the very thoughts of the Writer, and so the relator of the person whose story is related; but upon the whole matter, I cannot endure to hear a Woman tell of all her Conquests, or a man of his exploits; sometimes when they are forced upon it, I will allow them to do as well as they can: and to put in practice what I speak of others, I make a promise unto myself, never to relate any thing that hath happened unto me, unless to one person only at once, and as seldom as possibly I can. I am very glad of this resolution (said Plotina and laughed) for since it is very likely that we shall have some adventures together, I shall be safe, and need not fear that you will ever tell what passeth between us; unless it be under such disguised names as will keep me safe from my dangerous interpretations. I do believe (said Cesonia) that you would not be glad to have your adventure told in that manner: but am persuaded that if it were, you yourself would find out a key for it as you have done unto the History of Artaxander. For my part; (said one of those melancholy Ladies, who fretted at her captivity) I wonder much at the excessive curiosity which I have observed in all the company to know the true names of the persons whom Amilcar brought into his Story: for since it changeth nothing, neither in the adventure nor in the thoughts, what matter is it whether the persons were Grecians or Africans? And why should so much ado be about that which cannot afford any real diversion; for my part if Amilcar had said at the beginning of his relation, that he was going to relate an adventure which he had invented, I should have harkened with as much delight as I did, and should have more admired the ingenuity of him who could so handsomely invent an adventure. Whatsoever you are pleased to say (replied Plotina) certainly there is more pleasure to be taken in hearing a thing which is known to be a truth, then in hearing a known falsehood. There are some truths (replied Clelia) which are so unpleasing, and so far from probability, and there are some inventions so full of delight and likely, as it may be said, that sometimes a lie is more pleasing than a truth, and resembles truth, more than truth itself doth. Since every one speaks after the rate of their own beauty, I will not dispute by reason, to uphold that which concurs with his own inclination.  
You speak very well (replied Sextus) and therefore pleasures are not to be condemned in any whosoever, and my humour is such as I will never condemn them in others; but I cannot endure that others should condemn them in me. For my part (said Zenocrates) that sometimes I see many things which do not please me; but the natural irksomeness which I have to all things which do not delight me, cannot make me condemn them, but pass by, and say nothing. For my particular (said Amilcar) I always condemn those who condemn others. Certainly (said Aronces) one ought to be very reserved in giving his opinion upon the pleasures of others. And yet it is so little used (replied Celeres) that nothing is more subject to censures than pleasures. 'tis true, replied Artimedorus, but it must be confessed withal, that nothing does better discover the bottoms of men's hearts; and therefore it is not without cause that some should so accustom themselves to observe them: for in solid and serious affairs, the mind is close, and cannot be known; but in matter of pleasures, ones hearts and spirits lie open; they are discovered to the bottom: And by them best are men's manners and inclinations known. 'tis ordinarily seen (said Clelia) that by little things great ones comes to be known. For my part, said Amilcar, men may be much deceived in judging of me, by my pleasures: For I take them so many several ways; when fortune brings me to a place, where I cannot have them, I make pleasures of my business, rather than want them: The truth is, one cannot live without pleasures; and those who seem never to enjoy any, but are naturally sober and grave, most certainly they find delight even in their own Melancholy. After this, Sextus finding by the silence which Clelia and the rest of the Ladies observed, that they thought it time to end discourse, he did rise up; and went away with Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres: Who after they had waited upon Sextus to his lodging, they went every one to their own: But the sweetest part of that night unto Aronces was, that when Sextus did rise up, and Amilcar had cunningly engaged him in talk with Plotina, Aronces found an opportunity of a little talk with Clelia, when none could hear but herself: So as this precious opportunity made him pass away the night in much delight. Mean while since the siege of Ardes drew on, and since the presence of Tarquin was necessary he must prepare himself for a departure. Yet he had found Clelia so fair, that he could willingly have deferred it some days, if his ambition had not been so prevalent with his heart: For though Tarquin had never any violent inclinations to love, yet he found something so extraordinary in this fair prisoner, that see her he must in the Morning; giving orders that she should be waited upon very diligently; and conferring many favours upon others for her sake. Mean while, the proud and cruel Tullia, knowing it, she was very importunate in behalf of the Vestals, with Tarquin to release them; she caused Verenia to come the second time unto that Prince: But he was more moved against her this second visit, than the first: For he told her, that to recompense her endeavours of raising a Rebellion in Rome, he would send to seek her brother all the World over, that he might send him and all his Family into another World. After which preparing for his departure, he did depart the next morning: Followed by the Prince Sextus, the Prince of Pometia, the Prince Collatine, the young Sons of Brutus, two other young men of quality of the Aquiline Family; all the bravery of Rome, Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, Celeres and many others. This departure was so sudden that Sextus could not see the prisoners: But Celeres, passing for the Brother of Clelia, he went to her, and carried Aronces with him, who had the happiness to bid her adieu; But this adieu was so sad, as it may be said they did only communicate sorrows, and make an exchange of grief. For when Clelia considered, that she was under the power of Tarquin who did most horridly hate her Father; when she thought that this proud Tyrant did too favourably look upon her; that the Prince Sextus did the same: That the cruel Tullia had showed no civilities unto her: That Aronces was going to the Wars where he might die: The Celeres who passed for her Brother, might perish also as well as Amilcar; and that she was to be left without any help in the hands of most wicked people, it was impossible but she should be extremely grieved. On the other side Aronces who more sadly resented the miseries of her he loved, than his own, never considering what might be said of him in the King his Father's Court, he thought upon nothing but the pitiful condition of Clelia. Yet since Tarquin had promised to deliver her, when the siege of Ardes was ended, this hope did something moderate his sorrows. But the truth is, his fears of her being known to be the daughter of Clelius did take away the greatest sweetness of his hopes. Also the very grief of being from her, and leaving her under the power of that Tiger Tullia, did so extremely afflict him, as it may be said, this only was enough to make him worthy of compassion. Also they expressed themselves unto each other, the most sadly that can be imagined, whilst Celeres and Amilcar who was with them this visit did take their leaves of the other Ladies, But the adieu of Plotina and Amilcar was as merry as the other was Melancholy, and at parting were as full of their pleasant frolics as ever. Yet Amilcar set a more serious face upon the matter, when he took his leave of Clelia: For maugre all his mirth, he did most obligingly resent the misfortunes of this fair one. But after they had left her, Aronces, Celeres, and he, durst not go and see Verenia, lest if it were known, Tarquin should suspect them: But they went secretly unto the virtuous Sevilia, purposely to oblige her to let Verenia know, that her illustrious Niece had in their persons, some defenders against the Tyrant. After which they went unto that Prince, as well as Artimedorus and Zenocrates. Mean time, there might be seen go out of Rome that day; the most magnificent equipage of War, that ever was seen since the first Foundation of that proud Town; for under their former Kings the Romans either out of poverty or moderation, never used any superstuities. Moreover Amilcar being equally agreeable unto Tarquin, unto Sextus, unto the Prince of Pometia, and unto Titus, he shared himself amongst them during this march; for he was sometimes with one, sometimes with another, and though their humours were all different, yet he pleased them all. As for Aronces, he was so full of sorrow, that he entertained only himself. Artimedorus he talked with Zenocrates, for they two had enough to talk on in matters wherein none else had any interest; and for Celeres he entertained Collatine in discourse of the siege. However Tarquin's Quarter being betwixt Rome and Ardes, the Camp was so near that Famous City: as one might go and come betwixt them in a day, but reason did forbid Aronces from doing so, lest he should render himself suspected: So as it might be said, that he was as miserable as if he had been further off from Clelia, since he durst not go and see her. But Tarquin was no sooner come to the Camp than he gave out orders concerning the siege; he went to view all the several Posts, and would have the strangers with him to the end they might see that the way of Roman War had great congruity with the Grecian and African way. As for Aronces he accompanied Tarquin, he reasoned so rightly, and gave such good advice unto this Prince, he began from that day to look upon him not as an ordinary man: But as Tarquin and this brave Troop were upon a hill which Aronces said was requisite to be made good, they of Ardes made a sally: And so advantageously for themselves at first, as by the favour of another hill upon the left hand Tarquin was set about before he was aware. So as then he was very happy in having so many brave men about him: For maugre the vigorous assault of his enemies, who doubled them in number, they repulsed them, and did such prodigious things that day, as made all who saw him admire: For knowing that Horace was in Ardes, he bore a secret hatred unto those who defended him; yet when he considered that Ardes was the harbour of his noble friend whom Tarquin hated only for his virtue, his heroic heat, which made him do such great exploits did begun to slack; But for all that when he considered that at the end of the siege Clelia was to be delivered, he thought upon nothing, but what might conduce to the taking of this Town; so as bestirring himself that day to defend him who besieged it, he did defend him as if he had infinitely esteemed him, as if he had most dearly loved him, and as if he had been incomparably tender of him, though at the bottom of his heart he had a most horrible aversion against this proud Tyrant. So as desiring to signal himself upon this occasion; he did as I told you before, such marvellous things as made both his friends and enemies admire him. Also all they who followed Tarquin did acts worthy of eternal memory; and one would have said, that the Romans, the Grecians and the Africans did vie valours with each other in vanquishing those who assaulted them. So as all these brave men fight together, they beat the other as brave and as strong as they were, and did drive them to their very gates, after they had killed many, and took more prisoners than they themselves.  
But amongst those who Aronces took with his own hands; he found two who told him things very different; for after some of Tarquin's Troops were come up to relieve them, and that they could retreat without fear of any sallies, he asked these prisoners concerning the state of the town, and the number of men to defend it? Sir, said one of the soldiers, there are men enough to find you work; and if the valiant Horace do escape his wounds; as it is hoped, he and Herminius, joining together, will make you pay dear for your victory. How? (said Tarquin, and blushed for anger) is Horace and Herminius both in Ardes? Yes, Sir, replied the courageous soldier; and had they been in the head of those troops you have beaten, perhaps you had found a sharper business of it. Tarquin being incensed at the boldness of this prisoner, commanded him to be put to death; but since it was Aronces that took him; oh Sir (said he to Tarquin with extreme generosity) since this prisoner belongs to me, I beseech your Majesty not to be so cruel unto him, for I think myself obliged to defend his life; and I assure you he did so stoutly defend it, that he merits better usage. I will give him to your valour (replied Tarquin in a wrought one) though his insolency deserves death; for how durst he in my presence commend two of my most mortal enemies and enemies whom I hate as much as Clelius, and Horace and Herminius deserve it.  
After this, Tarquin casting his eye upon the other captive, whom Aronces took, he began to ask him who he was? for he seemed to have the air of a stranger. Sir (said he in very broken Roman language) though I am taken amongst your enemies, yet I am not so; for I belong unto the Prince of Numidia, who sent me into Ardes to know whether a daughter of his who was stolen away was there. He had no sooner said so, but Aronces, Amilcar, and Celeres did know the man, and that he did belong unto the Prince of Numidia, therefore their hearts began to beat extremely, fearing he would tell something which might give Tarquin some cause to think that Clelia was the daughter of Clelius; but as good luck was, the man had heretofore been servant to Amilcar, who turning his eyes towards him; he made such signs to hold his peace, and in such a menacing manner, as the poor fellow not knowing what to say, or not to say, he said just nothing. Tarquin seeing him to be a stranger and ignorant in in what he desired to know, he let him go amongst the rest of the prisoners, at which Aronces was very glad; but desiring to know a little more concerning the Prince of Numidia, when Tarquin was gone to his quarters, he went unto him who kept the prisoners to speak with this African who might satisfy his curiosity; and he went with Amilcar, who made the man to tell, that the Prince of Numidia desiring to get into that party which was opposite unto that which Horace took, he had a desire to know whether he was in Ardes, as it was reported he was; so as Aronces was likely to see his Rival arrive in the Camp of Tarquin, and to arrive in such a manner as to be known who he was: However he 〈◊〉 dissemble his resentments, and for Clelia's sake comply with all the pleasures of the Prince Sextus, because it was he above all the rest, from whom he was to hope for Clelia's protection, if Tarquin should hear by any ill fortune that she was Daughter unto Clelius; for Sextus being not capable of that politic hatred which the King his father was, it was to be hoped that Clelia being very fair, and pleased him, he would defend her in case Tarquin should offer either to hurt her or love her too much: for Aronces saw she was in danger of these two extremes; so as though he was very melancholy at the heart, yet he was forced to seem merry in the face, and though he was free from any licentious Debauchery, yet he lived as if he were the greatest Libertine of all men upon earth. And since Tarquin's design was not to take Ardes by force, but by hunger, the time was likely to be long, and Sextus brought into the Camp a way of life more voluptuous then in Rome, for they did nothing but feast continually from Tent to Tent, and from Quarter to Quarter: However there was a necessity of complying with his humour, though against the hair of ones own; and sometimes is is wisdom not to seem wise. Thus Aronces being both amorous and prudent, did comply with the times, and was at all these tumultuous feasts of which Sextus was the Ringleader, also he treated this Martial and merry crew, in his own Tent, and treated them in a manner so magnificent as did amaze the Romans, and in such a neat fashion as made all the Grecians admire. Artimedorus, Amilcar, and also Zenocrates did treat them in their turns, as men that knew how to go through any thing they undertook. But Sextus mixing matters of love in all things, the discourse in all these feasts was commonly either upon Beauty, or the humours of women, either in commending or blaming of them. So as all this merry company was at Supper one night with the Prince Sextus; he began to chide Collatine, because his wife could never be seen, though she had the reputation of the fairest woman in all Rome. For indeed (said he unto Aronces, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres though) Collatine be Nephew unto the King my father, and by consequence Lucretia of quality to be known by all in Rome, yet she is known by none, but her Reputation which seems to be upheld by Enchantment; for since she will not see the Queen because she was once ill treated by her, she will not be seen in any place where her beauty may be judged of; if she do pass through the streets unto the Temple, her Head is always pulled down, and she never frequents any other place. If she do walk, it is in places so solitary as none ever use to come at them; and the truth is, Lucretia is never seen but by five or six people, whom none ever sees: And yet for all this, she hath the reputation of being the fairest Woman that ever was seen in Rome. But to tell you truly, I do not believe it (added he and laughed) for if she were so fair as reported, I am confident she would show her beauty, maugre all the Roman austerity, in spite of all the vigilancy of Parents, maugre Collatine himself and all his jealousy; for I must certainly conclude, that if she be fair, he must needs be jealous, since none ever sees his Wife. Oh Sir (said Collatine) you are extremely unjust in accusing me of any jealousy; and I were the most unreasonable Man living were I jealous of Lucretia. I must tell you (replied Amilcar) that a beauty solitary, and a solitude voluntary, is one of the rarest things in the World; and therefore though you be not jealous, yet the Prince Sextus is very excusable in suspecting you to be so. For my part (said the Prince of Pometia) I know Lucretia a little better than you do, and I am sure that the cause of her retiredness proceeds not from any jealousy in Collatine, but only from her own modesty and from a fancy she hath, that there ought to be a great difference between a fair Mistress and a fair Wife. For my particular (said Sextus) I am not of her fancy, for I think it fit a Wife should be the Mistress of her Husband, and that a Mistress never ought to be the Wife of her Lover. The truth is (said Artimedorus) a Wife ought not to give over her gallantry towards her Husband, as soon as she is married; and a Mistress should be so familiar with her Lover as to become his Wife, by her little care she takes to please him. And yet it often happens so (replied Aronces.) I would have a Lady rule her Lover (said Amilcar) for if the Husband do cease loving as soon as she is married, I would have the Wife cease being his Mistress, and I would not have any such difference made betwixt Gallantry and Love as usually is. I do confess it (said the Prince Titus) for I cannot endure that Men when they see any Ladies, should say, I could like such a Lady for my Mistress, but not for my Wife; and on the contrary, I could affect such a one for my Wife, but would not choose her for my Mistress; for I conceive what becomes a Wife, becomes a Mistress; and what becomes a Mistress renders her to be a charming Wife; and I would have my Wife as charming as my Mistress; and I would not have my Mistress more Cocket than I would have my Wife. Then you would have her as austere as the Sibyls (replied Sextus) and that she be as solitary, savage, imperious, critical, censuring others, thinking ill upon the least conjectures, and melancholy; that she deprive herself of all pleasures, to have this only, that she hath the reputation of a good Woman and when she will can give over the World. Oh Sir (replied the Prince of Pometia) Lucretia is none of those; for she is excellent society though solitary, she is severe and rigid only to herself; she always thinks well of others, and she maintains it neither good nor modest for any Women to suspect those of their sex in general, of any great weakness; she never condemns pleasures in others, she puts a good construction upon every thing, she is not lumpish nor Melancholy; and if she were not solitary she would be adored by all the World. You love her Sister in law so well (replied the Prince Sextus) that you are not to be believed in all you speak to the advantage of Lucretia. If a Husband may be allowed to commend his own Wife (replied Collatine) I would say, that the Prince of Pometia doth not slatter Lucretia; and that the affection he bears unto my Sister, doth not move him to speak against truth. For my part (said Sextus) I do not insist upon such critical formalities; and therefore Collatine, without any consideration of being Husband unto Lucretia, I pray you tell me ingenuously, and impartially whether her beauty be comparable to the beauty of that fair Prisoner which you saw when the Vestals demanded her liberty? For my part I must profess unto you, that I never in my life saw any so fair.  
The truth is, she is very fair (replied Collatine) yet I know not whether it be because I affect black beauties, better than the fair: But I profess unto you, that I think Lucretia as fair for a black beauty, as that prisoner is for a fair beauty: And of the two I would leave the fair and take the black. For my part (said Aronces) I should not do so; upon this the Prince Sextus having an extreme desire to see Lucretia, did because unto all the young Gallants to second his design, so as every one began to affirm that Lucretia was not so fair as reported. If she be so as she is represented (said Zenocrates then) I am sure she is not so fair as one I have seen in Sicily. For my part (said Artimedorus) I know one that will not yield unto her. For my particular (said Amilcar) I have met with many Lucretia's, but I know only one fair prisoner in all the World. Aronces had a good mind to say so also, but he durst not for fear of suspicion; so as he let all the rest speak, who all confessed, that though they had Mistresses of their own, yet the fair Prisoner, was the fairest that ever was seen. As for the Prince of Pomctia, he did not say any thing against her great beauty, but only said that Lucretia and his own Mistress could not be compared together, because they were so opposite as two contraries could not be more, the one having fair hair, and grey eyes; and the other black hair and black eyes. Mean time, This feast which Sextus made, having raised the spirits of Collatine to a jolly height, he was that time full of rallary; so as the Prince Sextus, beginning again to chide him for his pretended jealousy, though he knew well enough that he was not jealous, Collatine did rise up upon a sudden, and looking upon all the company. To make it appear I am not jealous (said he unto them) And to let you know that Lucretia does merit all the reputation of beauty which she hath, I freely offer to take horse immediately, and carry you all unto my house. Collatine had no sooner said so, but Sextus ravished with joy, did take it at his word: So as though it was late, they all took horse, and went to Rome: so came to Collatine where Lucretia was, who not expecting so great a company was working with her Woman, an excellent piece of work she made the business of her solitude. However being always naturally handsome, though she did not think of seeing any that day, yet she was not in such a negligent dress, as did any thing take from her beauty; but on the contrary, her dress was very advantageous. So as all this Company making a great noise at their coming, and hearing that her Husband brought them, she prepared herself to receive them very well. So Lucretia leaving her work, she went to meet them, and not knowing that her beauty was the cause of this journey, she showed it in its full lustre: for she had four slaves who walked before her with lights, which made it at first appear unto all that came, she merited all the reputation of beauty which she had: and that there was none but Clelia who could dispute with her for being the greatest beauty in the whole World.  
The Prince Sextus was so blasted, that he stood dumb as he was the first time he saw Clelia; so as Amilcar observing him, he jogged Aronces, who was very glad to see it, in hopes that perhaps his inclination to Clelia would lessen, by his liking Lucretia. So as Amilcar (after he had asked Aronces pardon for the injustice, I was going to do his Mistress) he began to cry aloud that the fair prisoner was vanquished; that Lucretia had got the victory, and that Collatine was the happiest man upon Earth. Zenocrate's also did highly appland the beauty of Lucretia. Artimedorus did the same. The young Sons of Brutus as much. The two young Aquilines no less. The Prince of Pometia asked every one what they thought; the Prince Titus said as others did; and Collatine himself in saying nothing, did yet imply that Lucretia was never fairer than she was that night. All the while, this Wife and Modest Lady was so surprised at their expressions, and at their tumultuous commendations which they gave her, as she knew not what to think. Yet being of an admirable spirit, and not having forgot the mode of the World in her solitude, she did handsomely retire. But the Prince Sextus being charmed with the beauty of Lucretia as much as with Clelia, he was something deaf to the motion, and with Amilcar began to make a long invective against solitude: For truly said Amilcar unto (Lucretia, whilst Collatine was talking unto some others whom he had brought thither) you are infinitely to blame for thus hiding as you do, the greatest beauty upon earth; for take in which way you will, solitude is good for nothing. Yes Sir, replied Lucretia, it is good to satisfy those who seek it and love it. But Madam, answered Sextus, those who do love it and seek, if they were as you are they ought not to love or seek it. 'Tis true (added Amilcar) for solitude will not let either beauty or virtue show itself; and is good for nothing, but to give the World occasion to say that when the Wife is fair and solitary, her Husband is jealous. Though I do not expose myself unto the World, replied Lucretia, yet I do not think that any will say that Collatine is jealous. If they do not say so, replied Sextus, it is in your presence, when they can say nothing else but that you are the fairest person that ever was seen. But yet, said Amilcar, I would gladly know, what delights can solitude afford? Though no other, but to be sure they will trouble none (replied Lucretia) nor be troubled by any, yet this is a great pleasure; for these are two things which often happen unto such as expose themselves unto the World. Did I see in all your Chambers (said Amilcar) abundance of great and stately Mirrors, which would let you see yourself every way, I should not then wonder what pleasure you could take in your solitude, for I am confident you would be infinitely pleased with looking upon yourself: but that you should pass away your life poring upon works, and that a piece of several coloured Tissue should take up your eyes and mind, this is a thing above my understanding. I know (added he) that a person who has some secret affection gnawing upon her heart which makes her apt to muse and study, she indeed may easily pass away whole days in working upon some excellent piece, because that would be a handsome pretence for her entertaining herself, and talking unto none; but that a Woman of Spirit should find any delight in passing away her life with drooping eyes and hands busied in Works like Bees in their Hives; this is a thing which I cannot comprehend. Therefore I must conclude that those who pass away their whole lives so, have either very shallow Spirits; or else have some secret cause of reservedness which doth busy and divert them. For my part (replied Lucretia and blu●●'d) since I have no secret confederacy with any; It must be then concluded that I delight in my works, because my Spirit is very shallow. Oh no Madam; said Sextus, I can never believe that: But perhaps you have a fancy by this way to make all the World believe you have as much virtue as beauty: But Madam, let me tell you, after a long accustomacy unto this kind of life, you will not know how to enter into society again and commonly all your sage beauties, do make themselves the most miserable people in the World, by beginning a form of life too severe. But Madam, if you will follow my advice, you shall add nothing to the Roman austerity: Be not more severe than the Vestals; Quit Collatia, and return to Rome, and do not anticipate old age, by a living death: For so I must phrase solitude. For my part, replied Lucretia, I think the life so infinitely sweet, as I cannot give it so terrible a name: And to tell you truly (added she and laughed) I think the life so pleasant, as I assure you, I think this is the worst night I passed away ever since I became solitary at Collatia. Lucretia spoke this with such a sprightly Air, as that it was as much as told the Prince Sextus it was late, and time to retire; so he left Lucretia with so much esteem of her, as all the company (except Collatine who took no notice of it) did plainly see she had pierced his heart.  
The truth is, it was a thing not difficult to do; for the love of Sextus was only of sensual love, wherein the mind was not much considerable. But at last all the company after they had left Lucretia, in her Chamber they rested themselves an hour; and such repast as haste would permit, they returned to the Camp: But in their return, Artimedorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates and Celeres, who had a desire to advance Lucretia in the heart of Sextus, and so chase out Clelia, they did nothing else but commend the beauty of Lucretia, and envy the happiness of Callatine. Also they told Sextus in a low voice, that certainly Lucretia with all her virtue was of a very passionate temper, that her eyes did speak as much; and that she was not so hard to be overcome as Clelia, who was of a more cold temper: So as Sextus, whose nature was impetuous, abandoning his heart to the beauty of Lucretia, and not quite chase out Clelia, he returned to the Camp, not knowing directly whether he was more taken with the black or the fair beauty. Truth is, since he had seen Lucretia last it seemed she had the advantage of the other. Also hearing so many cry up the beauty of Lucretia his heart was the deeper wounded; for nothing does more blow the fire of a growing love then applauds of her who is the cause of it. As for Aronces, though he wished heartily that Sextus would love Lucretia rather than Clelia, yet he could get no further expressions from him than that Clelia was less fair than Lucretia. So he returned to the Camp without almost speaking one word; and when they came near the Camp, he rid some twenty paces behind the rest, because he loved more to muse then mix with such tumultuous discourse, and he observed that all the company stayed; so as coming up to them, he saw one of the King of Rome's Officers, who told the Prince Sextus, that there was come into the Camp an Envoy from the King of Clusium, who came from the King his Master, to advertise Tarquin, that the Prince his Son, who stole out of his Court was unknown in his Camp, and beseeched him that if it was so, he would seeure him, lest he should marry the daughter of a man who was his enemy, with whom he was in love; adding, that the Lady's name was Clelia, that she was the daughter of Clelius, that she was taken away from Horatius, and that she was lately come out. This (said the Envoy) was no sooner told unto Tarquin, but he imagined that the daughter of Clelius must needs be one of those Lady's captives which were in Rome, and therefore I was sent in all haste with orders that they might be more strictly looked unto; for Tarquin remembering how earnest the grand Vestal was for the liberty of those captives he did not doubt but Clelia was one of them; and he seemed so incensed against her, though he knew not which was she, that he swore he would put her to death; though for no other reason then to hinder the King of Clusium's Son from marrying her. But (said the Prince Sextus) does the King believe, that the King of Clusium's Son is in his Army? Yes, Sir (replied he, and whispered) for he told that Envoy there was many strangers with you, whose mind might well become the Sons of Kings; so as this man does very impatiently wait for your return at your Tent door, to spy if any of those who are with you be Son to the King of Clusiam. Though Tarquin's Officer spoke this in a low voice, yet Aronces heard it, and heard it with unimaginable grief, yet he conceived that it was extremely expedient for him not to discover his thoughts, and therefore set the best face he could upon the matter: when the Officer had left the Prince, and was gone away, he observed that Sextus looked sometimes upon Amilcar, sometimes upon Celeres, and sometimes upon him; for he could not imagine Artimedorus or Zenocrates, two Sons unto the King of Clusium, because their Accent was purely Greek, and he knew very well that the King of Clusium's Son was not brought up in Greece. But desiring to talk of this with the Princes his Brothers though they seldom used to talk and converse together, he severed those from the rest, and rid some twenty paces before, not taking any notice of those who followed; for he did not think that the last thing which the King his Father's Officer had told him, had been heard; so as Aronces, closing with this occasion, he beckoned unto Celeres, and staying some places behind, they rid softly, so as they were a hundred paces behind the rest when they entered into a thick and dark Wood So as Aronces desiring so much liberty alone as to think what he should do, he took a little blind path way with Celeres, which after a hundred turnings and windings did bring them into a little solitary Valley, where there was four or five poor Shepherds cottages upon the side of a little Rivulet; no sooner were they there, but they stayed, and imagining that Sextus would send to seek them, Aronces looked upon his friend with eyes so full of sadness, as was enough to melt a heart into sorrow. Now Celeres (said he unto him) what say you now to the cruelty of my destiny? Fortune indeed is very cruel unto you (replied Celeres unto whom Aronces had told all he heard) for I must confess I know not what course you ought or can take. I can die Celeres (replied he) and that's the most reasonable course I can take. Consider but my condition well and you will find that I have reason to do so; for as I gathered from the speech of the Officer, Tarquin does almost certainly know that the Daughter of Clelius, is in his Power, and he will be glad to know that Clelia is she that is the Daughter of his Enemy. Moreover if I do return to the Camp, I am sure to be a Prisoner, for I shall be known: If I do not return they will follow me, and which is most considerable, I shall do an ill Office unto Clelia, since I cannot return unto Rome: both you and I, and Amilcar also shall pass for cheats and impostors; for we have told Tarquin that you are Clelia's Brother. And yet in not going I see more danger towards her; for perhaps by talking unto Tarquin I shall stay his fury against that admirable Lady. Your greatest comfort is (replied Celeres) that since Tarquin hath some inclination towards Clelia, certainly he will not treat her so cruelly. Oh Celeres (cried out Aronces) what comfort can it be to see a Tyrant in love with ones Mistress? Yet I must confess that now I am angry that the beauty of Lucretia pleaseth Sextus, more than the beauty of Clelia; for I know none fitter than he, to stand between her, and his Father's fury. But alas unto what a pitiful condition am I brought, who for the safety of Clelia, must wish well unto my most insolent Rivals? As they were thus talking, they heard a great noise which made them look about; and they were no sooner turned, but they espied coming out of a corner in this Valley, the Prince of Numidia and Horatius who were fight, and Herminius parting them, though they were both Rivals unto his friend, and though by their death he had been rid of two redoubtful enemies.  
This sight did so surprise Aronces that as the state of his mind then stood, he knew not whether what he saw was true or no; for he could not imagine that Horatius should be so soon recovered. It is true that it well appeared, those two stout Rivals had not all their strength; for though they fought with abundance of animosity and courage, yet one might plainly perceive, that both of them were weak, especially Horatius; as for the Prince of Numidia it was long since he was well recovered of his Wounds, and therefore had time enough to gather strength, if his melancholy had been no hindrance. But Aronces and Celeres seeing this Combat, and seeing Herminius very busy in parting them, Aronces was in sufficient perplexity. However men of great Souls when they see others fight, have but two ways to choose, either to part them, or to take side. Aronces not being able to take the latter of these ways; because it was hard for him to choose between two Rivals, and because he scorned advantages, he went strait towards them with Celeres, whom he acquainted with his intention. But though they went as men whose intentions were to help Herminius in parting them, yet they did not at the first take it so, but recoiling back some paces, they turned both against Aronces, as against him that was most to be feared, and asked him, which of them two he would have to fight with him: But Aronces not harkening to what they said, cried out that it was not a time to fight and kill one another, when there might be some use of each other to deliver Clelia; but it was better to suspend their Animosities, as he would his, until she were free. He had no sooner said so, but he saw the Prince Sextus appear at the end of the Valley with all his Troops; for he seeing that Aronces did not follow him, he believed therefore that it was he who was Son to the King of Clusium; so as turning back, he fortuned to light just upon the place where these three Rivals were together.  
Mean time, as things stood, since neither the interests of Aronces nor Horatius was not to fall into the hands of Tarquin, they both of them took a way through the thick of the Wood, and Herminius followed them. But when Aronces saw that the Prince of Numidia stayed behind them, he hastily bid Adieu unto his friend and his Rival, and turned back, not being able to leave such a terrible enemy as the Prince of Numidia about Tasquin, lest though that Prince should not be so cruel as to put Clelia to death, yet he might be so unjust as to marry her unto that Prince. So as finding it more safety for her, to return to Tarquin, since his Rival was to be there: He went to Sextus. And when that Prince asked him who those were which rushed through the Wood, out of his friendship to Herminius and generosity to Horatious, he said that they were men he knew not, and that as he met them he parted them, imagining that Sextus could not discern them, because their faces were turned the other way.  
After this, Aronces presented outo him the Prince of Numidia though his Rival. After which, Sextus taking Aronces apart, he asked him whether it was true, that he was Son to the King of Clusium? I have asked Amilcar, Artimedorus, and Zenocrates (said he unto him) who are all your friends, but they will tell me nothing; yet since I love you, I shall be glad to know it, that I might the better serve you. Aronces was now hard put to it; for considering the inclination which Sextus seemed to have to Clelia, he thought it no prudence to tell him who he was, since it was likely that e'er long he would know Clelia was the Daughter of Clelius, whom they would not have him to love. Yet the new inclination of Sextus unto Lucretia, did take off that objection: and judging also that he could not long hide himself, he confessed that he was Porsenna's Son. He had no sooner confessed this, but Sextus blushed; and looking upon Aronces, tell me truly (said he) is this pretended Sister of Celeres, the Daughter of Clelius? I know she is, and therefore will not seek for the reason, why you would not say that Lucretia seemed fairer in your eye then she. However, (added he, and would not give Aronces time to Answer) I will not advise you to put yourself into the hands of the King my Father, unless you will hazard the life of Clelia, but I will promise you to protect her as far as I am able, and also to steal her away if Tarquin should come to the last extremities against her. And therefore when I begin to march steal you away from me the second time, and I will promise none shall follow you. Since what Sextus said, seemed to be very obliging, Aronces thanked him, and without telling him precisely whether he would follow his Counsel, or not, they began to march; but in marching Amilcar being come to Aronces, he gave him an account of all passages: Afterwards marching a little asunder from the rest, he began to examine the pitiful condition wherein they were, and their ir-resolution what course to take. For truly, said she, he who advises me to keep out of the hands of a violent Prince, he himself knows not what Justice or Generosity is; he seems to be in love with Clelia, he can love as many beauties as he can see, and consequently may love Clelia and Lucretia both at once; he tells me of stealing away the Person whom I love, to save her life, and doubtless if he should steal her away, he would not give her unto me.  
But on the other side, if I should put myself into the hands of Tarquin, I should be a Prisoner both to him and to the King my Father: I shall perhaps be only an unhelping Spectator of all those punishments, which the Tyrant will inflict upon Clelia, and shall not have so much liberty as to die with her. But alas, if I should fly or hide myself, what can I do that way either for Clelia, or for myself? I durst not go to Rome and endeavour to deliver Clelia, I cannot go into the Camp and kill Tarquin if he intent to put her to death; and which way soever I look, I see nothing but inevitable misery. As Aronces said so, and as Amilcar was going to reply, they came to a place in the Wood, where several ways crossed: So as Sextus turning aside his head, he made a sign unto Aronces, as who should say, this is the place where he should separate from him; but that which seemed to prompt him to a resolution, was it which made him more un-resolved, not being able to imagine that Sextus could have so much generosity, as to have no self end in the counsel which he had given him: So as staying in that place with Amilcar not knowing himself which way to wend, his Soul was tumultuously agitated with those various thoughts which Love did raise, as he could not stir a step either backward or forward.    
The End of the First Part.   

CLELIA, AN EXCELLENT NEW ROMANCE: DEDICATED TO MADEMOISELLE de LONGUEVILLE.  
The SECOND PART.  
Written in French by the Exquisite Pen of Monsieur de Scudery, Governor of Notre dame de la Gard.  
LONDON, Printed for Dorman Newman and Thomas Cockerel. 1678.   

TO MY HONOURED LADY, THE LADY Dorothy Heale.  
MADAM,  
IF to comply with your Modesty were not to sin unpardonably against your other Virtues, whose infinite merit enforceth all persons to disobey you, by a professed admiration and acknowledgement of them, I should fear to own this Duty. But the offence being so general, and the Person against whom it is committed of so great a Goodness, I am the better encouraged to hope your Pardon for a zeal so inconsiderable, that the noise thereof will be soon lost in the crowd and universal acclamations of your Admirers.  
Amongst these, MADAM, you may behold those generous Persons upon whose Virtues Rome, the Empress of the World, was Founded, suing to yours for Protection, which (if you please to hear them relate their misfortunes) I am confident your Charity will not deny, and they shall then confess themselves rewarded far above the merit of their unjust sufferings. It is not, MADAM, that I dare wish these vacant hours should betray the least minute of yours to a loss; it will be happiness enough that you allow them to live under your Name, in whom all those scattered excellencies, which are here divided amongst many Persons, are united and perfected; for which there cannot be a greater veneration than that of  
MADAM, Your most humbly devoted Servant, J. DAVIES.   

CLELIA. The Second Part.  

BOOK I.  
O Ye gods, cried out Aronces, with a doleful accent, viewing the several ways, whereof it was now in his power to take his choice, into what a strange confusion am I reduced! Why do you not either either enlighten my mind, or force my Will? Or why must I be ignorant of what I ought, or might, or would do? It is indeed high time, replied Amilcar, to resolve on something; for when all is done, you must either for the Camp or for Rome. It is resolved, replied immediately Aronces; it is resolved, and what ever may be the event, I must go thither where Clelia is, and there expect how Fortune shall dispose of us. The Sage Sivelia will haply favour me with a retirement, she well knows the tender affection of her Son Herminius towards me, she hates the Tyrant, and loves Virtue, which is motive enough to oblige her to do me any good office. If I repair to the Camp, continued he, I shall be discovered to be the Son of Porsenna's, secured, and sent to Clusium, without being able to do any thing for Clelia. In the mean time it is easily conceived she will want assistance, whether Tarquin consider her as the Daughter of his Enemy; or look on her as a Servant; or that Prince Sextus forgetting the beauty of Lucretia, be absolutely subdued by hers. Therefore my dear Amilcar do you repair to the Camp, and there employ that noble Talon which the gods have bestowed on you, cunningly to divert Tarquin from causing any search to be made for me at Rome; nay acquaint not even Sextus himself with my resolution thither; be both the Protector of Clelia's fortune and mine; engage our friends to contribute their services; and to be short omit nothing which your generosity, friendship, or courage shall suggest unto you, as sit to be done.  
This said, Aronces and Amilcar resolved on a certain place, where they should hear from each other, and so parted, the former making towards Rome, the other to the Camp. Amilcar made such speed, that recovering the time which he had spent with his friend, he overtook Prince Sextus before he had reached the Camp, which he did purposely, that he might be an eye-witness of the first transports of Tarquin, when he should understand that Aronces was not in his power. But having joined with this Prince, and those which accompanied him, Collatine asked him where Aronces was; whereto Amilcar answering, that he had lost sight of him in the Wood, and believed he would soon overtake them: Sextus, who was satisfied, he would not return, and had his imagination filled with the beauty of Lucretia, began to play upon Collatine, and told him that Aronces was fallen in love with his Wife, and haply was returned to Collatia. Be it so my Lord, replied Collatine smiling, you may lament the misfortune of your Friend; for as to the humour of Lucretia, if I were not her Husband, I would never be her Servant, were I not resolved to be the most wretched of all Men. Ha Collatine (replied Amilcar, who made it his business to divert the company from thinking on Aronces) what a happy Man are you to be Husband to one of the greatest Beauties in the World, and yet be guilty of no Jealousy? It is indeed, says the Prince of Pometia, a very rare thing. I am of your mind, replied Sextus smartly, but when all is done it is not so strange that Collatine should not be jealous of a Woman that never sees any body, one that views not her own beauty, and one so jealous of herself, that she will not be seen by any. What Sextus says, replied Artimedorus, is questionless considerable, yet the felicity of Collatine, is not to be esteemed the less, who is married to one who only loves him and solitude. For my part, said the pleasant Zenocrates, I should rather wish to be a while jealous, then to have my wife given so to solitude. But I, replied Collatine, am very well pleased with mine, not that if she were of an humour to be as gallant as they say your Grecian and African Ladies are, I should be ever the more jealous. You would indeed do very well in that, replied Amilcar, for to speak truly, jealousy in a Husband many times hastens the misfortune by fears, since that his jealousies rendering him hateful to his wife, she most commonly bestows all the love she abates him, upon some other.  
Such was the discourse this merry company entertained themselves with, when they came to the Camp: but they had scarcely reached Sextus' Tent, but he sees a Man conducted by an Officer of Tarquin's who very earnestly viewed all those which followed him, whence he inferred, that it must be that Envoy of the King of Clusium, who came to seek Aronces. So that approaching Amilcar, he communicated this observation to him, and asked him softly, where his friend was. My Lord, replied he, I left him so distracted, as to resolution, that as I dare not assure you whether we may not see him here to morrow morning (though it be contrary to my advice) so am I utterly ignorant where he is, as having only a promise that I shall know. In the mean time I conjure you to serve him what lies in your power, as also to protect Clelia; and this continued he, I conjure you to do by the beauty of Lucretia. It is but a day since, replied Sextus, that if you had made any request to me, I was only exorable by the fair eyes of Clelia: but now, added he laughing, those of Lucretia carry it. Ah, my Lord (replied Amilcar laughing with him) you do well to prefer the Brown Beauty before that which is Flaxen haired, for the latter is often guilty of coldness and indifference, and seldom discovers any picquancy or passion.  
Upon this the Prince enters his Tent, taking no notice that he had seen the Envoy of the King of Clusium, who having viewed the Prince of Pometia, Prince Titus, Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, Celeres, Collatine, and the rest of the company, told Tarquin's officer, who conducted him, that he whom he sought was not there, and so made towards this Prince, to acquaint him, that he had not found his Masters Son. But he was hardly in his presence, ere Sextus accompanied only by Amilcar, and Zenocrates, came into him. In the mean time, Tarquin being in a great distraction of mind, asked somewhat hastily, whether he had heard that Ardea should be relieved by Collatia, for to be short, continued he, I cannot conceive, but that you leaving the Camp, while I was engaged in so important a siege, you had some other design in it than your diversion. Sextus not used to brook such reproaches, was incensed into a blush, and answered him as roundly. But Amilcar knowing how much it concerned Aronces, there should be no mis-intelligence betwixt these Princes, he engaged himself into their contest with that pleasant confidence, which is so natural to him, and which gained him the opportunity to speak what he would, without offence taken. So that Tarquin recovering his tenderness towards his son, by the mediation of Amilcar, at length came to ask where Aronces was. My Lord, while we all came somewhat disorderly, every one according to his impatience, to be at the Camp, I am to learn whether Aronces be come before us, or be yet behind, and all I can say of him is, that I have not seen him since we came into a wood, that is not far hence. He had fcarce said this, but Tarquin commanded he should be sought in his Tent, and all places he used to frequent; but it being fruitless to look after him, word was brought to Tarquin he was not returned. This gave him occasion to suspect he might be son to the King of Clusium, since that he appeared not. But to be more fully satisfied, he obliged the envoy of Porsenna, to describe him whom he sought, which he did so naturally, that it was no longer doubted, but that Aronces was the very Prince. Tarquin knowing that Celeres was his intimate friend, he sent him to seek him, and in the mean, inquired of Amilcar and Zenocrates, what they knew of the condition of Aronces. The latter answered, that his acquaintance with him was only that he casually met him upon a journey, but for his birth and quality he knew nothing. And for my part, says Amilcar, though I know no more of him than Zenocrates, yet I am persuaded he deserves your Majesty's protection. Ah Amilcar, cries out Tarquin, I would not wish Porsenna's son in my power, but only to hinder him from doing a thing which would cause me to hate him, and which one day would raise a war between Rome and Etruria. For, to be short, if Clelius' daughter were once Queen of Clusium, I know nothing should divert me from entering into a war, should dethrone her, which I should be farther encouraged to, for that it were to satisfy the desires of Porsenna, who pretends an aversion she should ever reign over his Subjects. After some other discourse, Celeres returns, but though he answered what ever Tarquin demanded, with much prudence and circumspection, yet was this Prince further satisfied, that Aronces was the son of Porsenna; which thought Celeres did not acknowledge, yet was it easily discovered, that, not answering positively; neither as to the place of his birth, nor quality, there must be some secret reason that hindered him. But to be absolutely resolved; this Envoy of the King of Clusium having mentioned a mole which he that he sought had on his hand, Tarquin had observed it one day, that Aronces presenting him with two Prisoners he had taken, he stretched forth his hand to show them unto him, so that the business being by this discovery put out of all doubt, Tarquin commanded he should be diligently sought out. He even sent to Rome to take him, if he were returned thither, and he spoke with that violence, which easily discovered his mind disturbed by more than one passion. But my Lord, says Amilcar to him, may I presume to ask you what crime hath this pretended son of the King of Clusium committed? He loves the daughter of a man I hate, replied he furiously, and the King his father desires me to secure him, lest his passion engage him into something unworthy his quality, and the greatness of his courage. But my Lord, replies Amilcar, do you know where the daughter of your enemy is, whom Aronces is in love with? In all likelihood, says he, she is among the Captives, which were taken at the sally out of Ardea; but this difficulty is to know which of them is the daughter of Clelius, for they are all very amiable; in the mean time, it is my greatest concernment to be satisfied. If you please, my Lord, replies cunningly Amilcar, I will be your spy, for (added he slily) since there is no more to do, then to cross Aronces' Marriage, I shall easily wave the interests of his love to engage myself into those of his ambition. What you say is very pertinent, or very generous, replies Tarquin, but all things considered, I am resolved to be my own spy, for I would not be deceived in this design.  
Sextus hearing his Father speaking thus, was troubled at it, as inferring thence, that he must needs love Clelia; which consideration had almost restored him to the inclination he once had to that Beauty, and taken away much of that which he now had to Lucretia. But at length Tarquin being resolved to act alone, Sextus shifting place, changed with all his sentiments, and not considering Clelia otherwise than as his friend's Mistress, he directed all his thoughts to Lucretia, and imagining what a great satisfaction it is to conquer a heart with was never conquered, he could think of nothing else; for Amilcar, he advised with Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres, concerning the interests of their Friend, insomuch, as conceiving it requisite he should be acquainted with the state of his affairs, they sent to him a trusty Slave, directed to the virtuous Sivelia's house, so to be brought to Aronces. But for Tarquin, he was in a strange disturbance, as not being able to remain long in that uncertainty; so that the siege of Ardea being in a good condition, he resolved to pass away a day or two at Rome, as well to discover by his own industry, which of the Captives was the daughter of Clelius, as to cause a strict search to be made after Aronces,  
The next day therefore, without any further delay, he departed, and came to Rome the same night, where he was no sooner arrived, but the cruel Tullia, who had perceived that Clelia had smitten the heart of the King her Husband, came and acquainted (though she knew nothing of it) that the Captive whom he preferred before all the rest, was certainly the Daughter of Clelius, and Mistress of Aronces, which she augmented with a hundred other things of her own invention, to induce him to believe it. But he not being thereby convinced, and that the secret passion of his soul, flattered him into a Wish, that that person might not be the daughter of his Enemy, he gave the less credit to Tullia's relation. I know very well, answered he that by many arguments, Clelius' daughter is among the Captives; for, to be short, they were taken escaping out of Ardea, whence the Envoy of the King of Clusium affirms, that that daughter of my Enemy was departed not long before the siege. Beside, the Grand Vestal, Sister to Clelius, pleaded for their Liberty, with an earnestness by which I easily perceived, that there was an interest of family, which she was more tender of, than any Vestal Privileges. But all this does not absolutely satisfy me, that this fair Captive, of whom you spoke, is the daughter of Clelius. If you were not prepossessed, replied the fierce Tullia, you would believe as I do; for as she is more beautiful than the rest, so is she the more likely to kindle a violent passion. Nay she is withal more given to melancholy, she hath much the air of a Roman Lady, she will not positively tell who she is; and I have observed, that twice or thrice she hath not answered to the name which she now hath, whence I infer, it is not her own, and that she is not yet sufficiently accustomed to the name which her companions have given her. But I beseech you, replies hastily Tarquin whence are you so resolved, that this beautiful Captive must be the Daughter of Clelius? When you have told me (replied she as fiercely) the reason, why you would not have her to be your Enemies Daughter, I will tell you why I would have her to be so: Did you not know it, replied he, I would tell you, but since it is so easy for you to imagine it, I shall spare myself the pains. However it be, replied she, know that I think it unworthy, that he who hath brought Rome itself under subjection, should submit himself to a Captive, and haply the Daughter of his Enemy; and assure yourself further, that Tullia, who hath violated all right to put the Sceptre into your hand, can easily hinder that person from coming above her, who ought not to look on me, but kneeling.  
Having thus said, this fierce Princess departed, and Tarquin being in a strange confusion of thoughts, was only certain of this, that he had a greater affection to Clelia, than he had ever had for any. But indeed ambition had so taken up his whole life before, that it may be said, he had not the leisure to Love; but as things stand now, Ambition lay in a manner dormant in his heart, since he saw no further object to engage his wishes. And since there is a certain relation between Love and Ambition (since that certainly it is as great an ambition to reign in the heart of a beautiful person, as in a State) Tarquin was insensibly captivated by the beauty of Clelia. But as the cruel Tyrant knew as yet better how to hate then to love, he was strangely tormented in mind, fearing to find the same person the object of his hatred and his love. Is it possible, said he within himself, that I should be so infortunate, as to love the daughter of Clelius? No, no, added he, it is an absolute impossibility, for my Heart without the assistance of my Reason, would have soon discovered the Daughter of my Enemy, and would not have been guilty of so great a baseness as to have loved her. It must be so, continued he, there is such an Antipathy between Clelius and me, and I have so inveterate a hatred for him, that if he were certainly the father of this beautiful person, I should be naturally obliged to hate her. But in sine (continued he after he had paused a while) in case my heart have betrayed me, if I am really deceived, and that this fair and enchanting Captive be effectually the Daughter of my Enemy, what course should I take? At these words Tarquin stopped a while, but suddenly recovering himself, Ah! base spirit that I am, cried he, do I deliberate how I should deal with the daughter of Clelius? No, no, continued he, I defy all further deliberation, I must renounce her love, I must burden her with my hatred and chains, and put her to death, to be revenged of her Father. But am I certain I should do what I say (said he again to himself) I have certainly in my life done things so extraordinary, that such an action as this might be looked on as an ordinary consequence of the greatness of my courage; but when all is done, I never did any thing that seemed so heard to do as this: I have sacrificed a Wife to my Ambition, 'tis true; but I had no great love for her. I dethroned Servius Tullius, I acknowledge it; but I had ever hated him; and I never yet met with a necessity should force me to destroy that which I loved because I have loved nothing but my own greatness, and therefore I must confess I am yet to resolve what I should do: if this fair prisoner proved my Enemies daughter. Here Tarquin was silent, and having paused a while, he repaired to the lodgings of the Captives, with intention to try all means to discover which of them was the true daughter of Clelius.  
But when he was employed in this visit, Aronces struggled with incredible afflictions. For as according to his expectation, he had found the sage and generous Sivelia servant to serve him, so he was hid in her house, and by her means held correspondence with all the secret friends of Clelius and Herminius, as also with the Grand Vestal. Thus he knew all that passed in the Camp, and at Rome, for the Slave which Amilcar had sent, was come to him, and by Sivelia he knew all that happened in the City. But that was it that rendered him the more unhappy, for as the state of affairs stood then, he could not rationally hope to apply any remedy thereto, Tarquin's power seemed to be so strongly established, that nothing could shake it. He was indeed generally hated, but withal he was generally feared, in as much as had he been beloved, he could not have been better obeyed than he was; and to be short he was become so dreadful, that men durst hardly think aught against him. There was not one true Roman who wished not it were in his power to destroy him, but there was not one who had courage enough to undertake it: so that it might be said that Rome had always an infinite number of men fit to be conspirators, before there ever was any conspiracy; so dreadful were the proud Tarquin and cruel Tullia grown. Thus all that Aronces could do, was to bemoan himself, and endeavour to find out some means to send to Clelia, to see if there were any possibility to carry her away. But that was a thing seemed not so easy to be done, he being obliged either to continue this retirement, or run the hazard of being taken. Sivelia was of such a high spirit, that she never went to Tullia's; nor was the Grand Vestals absence thence without suspicion: it was not fit many were acquainted with Aronces' retirement in Rome; all which augmented his misery as much as could be. Tarquin's arrival was no small affliction to him, nay he escaped not the misery of being acquainted with his visit to the Captives, and that the design of it was only to discover which of the prisoners was the daughter of Clelius, so that his sufferings were such as will hardly admit a perfect imagination of them: For he considered himself every moment ready to be discovered and secured, and that Clelia would be found out by her father's inveterate enemy, and the cruelest enemy that ever was. Alas (said he to himself, during the visit) what a deplorable condition am I in? for if Tarquin discovered Clelia, and that the hatred he bears her father exceeds the love, it is said, he bears her, he will destroy her, nay, will invent new torments to do it; but if his love to her shall outvie his hatred to Clelius, to what persecution is she, to what misfortunes am I exposed? But cruel and proud Tarquin, continued he, though thou were loved as much by the People as thou art hated, and that all my subjects were thy Guard, nothing should discourage me from attempting to deliver Rome, that so I may deliver Clelia, if so be thou art so unjust as to evil entreat her.  
But while the unfortunate Aronces thus sadly entertained himself, Tarquin was in the lodgings of the Captives, from whom he had received the greatest civility which he could expect from persons, whose liberty could not be obtained without his consent. The end therefore of his coming thither that day, being to discover Clelia, he entertained them all secretly one after another, as soon as the first civilities were over. He was desirous Clelia might be the last he spoke with, because it was she he wished might not prove the daughter of Clelia; so that not doubting but to find her among the Captives, he talked with the sage Cesonia, the merry Plotina, and her companions before he spoke to Clelia. But though he sifted them very craftily, yet he could not make any great discovery; for being all excellently witty, and withal, bearing a great affection to Clelia, they told him nothing whereby he might be informed which was the daughter of Clelius.  
But at length, taking Clelia aside, and viewing her sometimes with the looks of a Lover, sometimes with those of an Enemy (such a distraction was in his soul) I beseech you, Madam, says he to her, deliver me out of the greatest disquiet I ever was in, and, if it be possible, restore me into a condition, wherein I may both make you happy, and entertain some hope of being so myself. There is such a distance between your fortune and mine, replies modestly Clelia, that I cannot easily imagine how the same thing can make us both happy: and, my Lord, continued she, can there be any thing wanting to your felicity? There is Madam, says he to her, and to acquaint you wherein my happiness is deficient, you are to know, there are in my soul two passions, both which I would fain satisfy, that is, Revenge and Love; for, for my part, I have every where placed Revenge among the most violent passions, since there is not any thing from whence proceeds greater violence as to Desire, nor greater sense as to pleasure. I therefore conjure your assistances to appease these two passions which exercise such a Tyranny over my soul. As concerning Love, pursued the Tyrant, I shall need only to tell you, that you were no sooner in my chains, but I was in yours, I need say no more to engage an answer from you which shall make me happy. But for Revenge you must tell me which of the Captives is the daughter of Clelius, for as for your part, I am confident you cannot be the daughter of a man indeprecably hateful to me, and one whom I will destroy sometime or other, what part soever of the earth affords him a retreat. Clelia hearing Tarquin in such a fury, could not but blush, which he observing, and interpreting to signify as much as that he might thence conceive she was the daughter of Clelius, he was surprised into the most horrid agitation of spirit could be imagined. However Love prevailing in this first sally, Ah Madam (cried he taking her by the hand) be not the daughter of my Enemy, I conjure you, for I perceive that all your beauty could hardly fasten love so in my heart, but that hatred would forcibly displease it, If therefore you are not Clelius' daughter, show me her whom I must sacrifice to my vengeance; but if you are she, deceive me if you can, and name some other to me who shall suffer all those punishments which the daughters of Clelius (the daughter of my most mortal Enemy) deserves. I shall presently believe you Madam, continued he, and I shall not afterwards trouble myself to be undeceived, so you but satisfy the love I bear you.  
What you tell me, my Lord (replied Clelia, with an admirable expression of a great courage) is so sudden and so strange, that I hardly know what to answer to it: But now I am provided, and shall do it so exactly, that you shall not need any further to persecute either my companions or me. Know therefore my Lord, that I do not conceive myself any ways obliged to tell you whether I am Clelius' daughter, or not, and so I shall tell you nothing which may give you any light in that you so much desire to know, yet shall not stick to tell you what I truly conceive of your demand, whether I am she or not. For if I am not she, but some one of my companions be daughter to that unfortunate Exile, I will die ere I discover her, having heard what I have said. But if on the contrary, I am she, whom yet you would not know, but that you might hate and destroy, I declare unto you, that if the meatal of my heart be right, I shall wish rather your hatred, than your love, and shall never submit to flatter the passion of a man would take away my father's life. Therefore, my Lord set your mind at rest for this matter, for as my Companions will not betray me, in case I were Clelius' Daughter, so neither shall I discover whether the Daughter of Clelius be among them: And to puzzle your enquiry the more, I will not positively tell you, whether I am or I am not Daughter to that noble Roman. I would not believe that you are his Daughter (replied he abruptly) but you discover somewhat the fire of his heart; and if the mildness of your looks did not abate the sharpness of your words, I should immediately treat you as the Daughter of Clelius. As I am persuaded (replies Clelia) that I have said nothing to you, which I ought not to have said, so I cannot admit of any repentance for it. But my Lord, continued she, whether some one of my companions be Clelius' Daughter, or that I am she, is it possible you should not see, that your mind cannot be guilty of these cruel sentiments of detestation, without a greater injustice than any you now stand accused of? All the violence you have committed since you came into the World, were done in order to your mounting the Throne; but what would it advance you to sacrifice a wretched Captive? To be revenged, replied he insolently, in the Daughter of all the mischiefs the Father hath, or hath endeavoured to do me. For I am certain, continued he, that in what place soever Clelius is, he is perpetually plotting my ruin, and when he shall not imagine any possibility to accomplish his design, he will persecute me with his wishes, and it will be his affliction that he cannot do it.  
But to be short (Madam) there is no mean in this case, you must either name me a daughter of Clelius, whom I may as highly hate, as I love you. I have told you already how gladly I would be deceived; but my Vengeance requires a Victim, for in that transportation I now am in, if you do not what I desire, I shall deal with all your companions, as daughters of Clelius, that so I might not be deceived as to that point: And so while you receive from me a thousand and a thousand expressions of affection, they shall as many of my detestation, and pretended cruelty. Ah my Lord, cried out the generous Clelia, though I were at my own disposal, though Tullia were not your Wife, and though you offered to raise me into the Throne, I should abhor the love of a Prince so unjust as you are. How now Coyness; says he to her, do you slight the passion of a man, who never loved any thing but Glory and You? Who hath brought all that have resisted him under subjection, who hath subdued a heart as great, and as high flown as yours, and yet makes you that offer which never was made to any? In the mean time, continued he, do not imagine that what I say is an airy threat, for I go presently, and begin the punishment of your Companions, by separating them from you. To be short, Tarquin commanded the Captain of his Guards to be called, but Clelia staying him, no my Lord (says she to him, with an undisturbed generosity) it shall never be said, that I have altogether escaped the injustice of Tarquin; and my life, in the condition I am, is not so precious, as that it should be preserved by any treacherous act. Know then, unjust Prince, that I am the daughter of the noble Clelius, and that my true name is Clelia. Ah Madam! replied he, why do you tell me what I desire not to know? I tell it you (replied she with a wonderful constancy) that you may see I am not unworthy my Father's virtue, and that though I had not my birth in Rome, yet I have a heart truly Roman.  
Clelia uttered these words with a confidence so allayed with modesty and composure, that Tarquin was amazed at it. Ah Madam, cries he, you must questionless have a greater sense of the love I bore you, than I imagined, since you discover such a secret to me. But I know not (continued he sighing) what reason you have to trust me, for the agitation of mind I am in, makes me uncertain whether I yet love you, or begin to hate you. Hate me, hate me, my Lord, replied she, for it will be much easier for you to satisfy your love. I have at this instant so great a desire to hate you, replied he, and have so much reason to justify it, that I despair not to subdue that other cruel passion which is in my soul. But to do it the more easily, I must forbid myself your sight, for though I am incensed by your confidence, yet the sweetness of your looks disingages my cruelty and dis-arms my fury. And I wish it the pleasure of the Gods, my Lord, replied she, I were so powerful as to reinstate Reason in your Soul, and banish thence that injustice which makes you hate my Father, and so fills your government with violence, that you can never expect Love where you find Obedience. Ah, excessive Charm I (cried he, relenting on a sudden) how little would I have the hatred of all the World, so I had but your love! You are yet, continued he, at liberty, to retract what you told me. Tell me, I conjure you, that your affirming yourself to be Clelius' Daughter, was only out of design to save your Champions, hoping the Love I bear you would exempt you from punishment: I promise you belief, and though all the World should tell me that you were my Enemy's Daughter, and that he himself should confirm it, I would not credit it, if you did not tell me so yourself. To be short, have you not observed, that I have not done what I might for your discovery, and on the contrary, have only said that by which I might not discover you? For I might more easily have screwed out this secret, by giving you hopes of all things, and promising to pardon the Father for the Daughter's sake, which you might, with justice expect from a man so deeply in Love as I am. Tell me then, I once more conjure you, that you are not Clelius' Daughter; deceive me, since it is for your advantage I would be deceived: But to deceive me right, abjure the interests of my Enemy, and if the sacrificing of Tullia can translate you into her place, I can easily consent to it. No, no, my Lord, replied Clelia, without seeming to be moved, I shall never recant; and since I have confessed my birth to you, my discourse and resentments shall be proportionate to it. I will not promise so much for my part, replied he, for if you will obstinately persist to be his Daughter, who hath so often endeavoured to dethrone me, I shall soon deal with you, as such a man's Daughter deserves. When I told you my name was Clelia, replied she, I prepared myself to suffer all your outrages, and that like a Daughter of Clelius, that is to say, with an unalterable constancy. Ha, 'tis too much, cries out the unjust Prince, so boldly to name my Enemy, and make it a glory to be the Daughter of a man who hates me beyond the measure of all hatred that ever was.  
This fury having seized Tarquin's mind, it exhaled such black and ominous vapours into his imagination, that though Clelia were the same she was wont to be, that is, one of the most beautiful persons in the World, yet he looking on her with eyes troubled and eclipsed by the several passions which were stirring in him, thought her not now, what he thought her a quarter of an hour before. Being therefore as unlikely to treat her with the same respect, he commanded her to be carried to a lodging apart, that she should be carefully watched, and should not be admitted to speak with any whatever. All her friends and companions, who were on the other side of the Chamber, hearing this unjust command, cast themselves at Tarquin's feet, to beseech him not to separate them from Clelia. If there be any one among you, replied he insolently, that will be Clelius' Daughter instead of her, I will be content, if she be. For my part, says the generous Cesonia, there's not any thing I will not say or do, to keep such a virtuous person from being ill entreated. What you say is great and noble, replied Clelia; but if you think me worthy of so high a testimony of friendship, I must entreat you not to envy me the Glory to be Daughter to the most virtuous Roman, that ever Rome was Mother of: Take not that from me, I conjure you, since it is almost the only comfort I have left me. At these words, Tarquin being at a loss of all patience, caused the order he had given for the separation of Clelia and her companions, to be put in execution, he remaining immalleable amidst the Tears of so many eminent Beauties; which done, he departed to his Apartment.  
But he was no sooner arrived there, but one of those he employed to discover what passed in the houses of those unfortunate Nobles he had banished Rome, acquaints him, that there was a man lay very secret at the virtuous Sivelia's house; adding, that it was in all likelihood, Herminius, who was come away disguised from Ardea, and come to Rome to raise some tumult while he were engaged in that Siege. Tarquin being then extremely disturbed in his mind, did not at the first consider the probability, or improbability of this report; but being always ready to do violence, he commanded a strong party to go and search Sivelia's house, in case she should make any resistance against those should come and demand Herminius. But he had scarcely given this order, but another relation arrives and confirms the former, and assures him that Aronces lurked somewhere about Rome; so that concluding that he who was said to be at Sivelia's, might very well be the King of Clusium's Son, he called back him he had commanded to the Mothers of the generous Herminius; for considering that the business now concerned the taking of a servant of Clelia's, and one of so great quality, he made some distinction between an Enemy and a Rival, and added some new Orders to the former, that, in case they should find at Sivelia's neither Aronces nor Herminius, they should bring to him the virtuous Roman Lady, to see if he could sift any thing, he desired to know, out of her.  
He who was ordered to Sivelia's house, could not be there so soon, but, by her intelligence at Court, she had understood, that Tarquin had separated Clelia from the other Captives, that she was narrowly watched, and that there was a rendezvous of those whom this Tyrant used to employ, when some violence was to be committed in any of the houses of those illustrious Citizens, whom he hated only for their virtue. So that she, as famous for her Prudence as her Generosity, conceived that order might concern her, and that haply Tarquin had been acquainted with Aronces' retreat at her house; for Amilcar had once sent thither, and it was not impossible, but that a Slave might reveal a secret of so great importance; So that to go prudently to work, she thought fit Aronces were acquainted with the state of Affairs, and considered what were to be done for his safety, if they came to search the house for him: For having a high esteem for him, and looking on him as a friend of her sons, and, though unfortunate, yet guilty of a great Virtue, she was resolved to do as much for Aronces, as she would for Herminius, for whom she would have done any thing. Engaged in this consideration, she went to Aronces, who had just made an end of writing to Amilcar, and acquainting him how things stood, she proposed how much it concerned him suddenly to change his lodging. But I beseech you, says she, conceive not I make this Proposition to you, out of any suggestion of fear for my own concernments, for it is long since I am prepared for any violence the Tyrant shall be guilty of. But it so much concerns you, that you be not taken, besides the satisfaction my Son receives in my serving you, that I shall neglect nothing. The safest way therefore is, that you depart my house, and that very suddenly, and lodge yourself in some one less suspected. When you are gone, continued she, fear not, I shall discover where you are, though Tarquin put me to the greatest torments, imaginable. I should be very unhappy, replied Aronces, if I should expose one of the most virtuous Ladies in the World, to so great misery, and I would rather return into the power of Tarquin, than lay you open to his cruelty, To be short, if the admirable and unfortunate Clelia wanted not my assistance, I would spare you even that trouble of finding me a refuge. But (generous Sivelia) it is you have acquainted me with her condition; and if the contrivances of Amilcar, seconded by your endeavours, with those of your friends, and Clelius', put me not into a condition to carry her away, when Tarquin shall be returned to the Camp, I fear I shall be the most unfortunate man in the World, since that otherwise the earth shall not own a more unhappy person than Clelia.  
This done, Sivelia conceiving the departure of Aronces was not to be delayed considering the intelligence she had received, told him, that for to make his retreat good, he should be let out at a backdoor into a blind street, abutting on the Cyprian street, and that there was a Garden-gate, which should be opened to him; as soon as she had acquainted herewith a certain friend of hers, who was Aunt to Brutus. But that you may be the more confident of her fidelity says she to him, know that this illustrious Roman Lady is a friend of Clelius' that she abominates the Tyrant, and that if her life might deliver Rome, she would be glad to sacrifice it. She is very ancient, yet guilty of a great vigour of body and mind; a lover of Glory and Honesty, a Kinswoman of my Husbands, and one that hath a great affection for me.  
Here Aronces staying her, told her, there needed so much precaution, and that he wholly resigned himself up to her disposal; so that to lose no longer time, Sivelia sent one of her servants to this Aunt of Brutus, whom she before had prepared for the business, having indeed always foreseen what she now feared would happen; so that it being near night, all was accomplished with ease. Thus Aronces having taken leave of Sivelia, who promised to acquaint him with what she should learn, and to send him what ever came from Amilcar, went from the house of this virtuous woman to that of Brutus' Aunt, who not knowing him as yet to be the son of Porsenna's, entertained him only as a friend of Clelius and Herminius, and an enemy of Tarquin.  
But he was hardly out of Sivelia's, but he who was ordered to come to her house, was at the door followed by those that were able to force obedience. They soon were masters of the gates: but Sivelia knowing they could not find what they came for, she herself gave order all the lodgings of the house should be opened to them, Which done, the Tyrant's officer in this business telling her, that he was commanded by Tarquin to bring her to the Palace; she told him, that heretofore she had more willingly obeyed him, when she was commanded to depart Rome, than she could now, that she was to go to a place where she had not set her foot since the death of the generous Tanaquil, and the Princess of Ameriola; but that howsoever she was ready to go along with him. To be short, followed by many of her Slaves, she is conducted to Tarquin, who no sooner cast his eye on her, but he asked her, whether it were Herminius or Aronces who had lain concealed in her house. My Lord (replies she without the least disturbance) if you truly knew what I am going to tell you, that is, that I shall tell you nothing which shall give you the least discovery of what you desire to know. For if neither Aronces nor my Son had been at my house, I should be obliged to say, I had not seen them; and if either of the two have really been there, I should so much the more earnestly assure you that your intelligence hath been false, for there are some emergencies wherein truth itself is criminal. If you might therefore, with less trouble to yourself, have spared your pains of sending for the widow of a man of a great virtue, whom you did not love, and mother of another, whom you hate, though all the world assure me he hath all those qualities which can render a person of Honour worthy to be loved. The question is not, whether I have, or have not reason to hate Herminius, replies the rude Tyrant, for I never much examined that in all my life, because I suppose those that are in sovereign power do right, when they do what they will. But the business now is, to tell positively in what place he now is, who lay secret in your house, and whom you now have disposed elsewhere. No, no, my Lord, I shall never be forced to tell what I know not, or what I have no mind to reveal; therefore all I have to do, is to assure you that you get nothing out of me which may be prejudicial either to Aronces or Herminius, and that this resolution is such as no rewards, nor menaces, can make me change. Tarquin seeing this constancy of Sivelia, was extremely exasperated, and spoke all he conceived would shake her resolution, but it proved fruitless, and she behaved herself with so much cunning and indifference, that he was somewhat doubtful whether he had been truly informed. So that to gain leisure to examine his own apprehensions, he sent Sivelia back to her house, and commanded all out of his presence.  
But this solitude lasted not long, for the cruel Tullia, who had learned how things stood, came to tell him that he was not so diligent as he should be, to satisfy the King of Clusium, that in the mean time he might want the assistance of his arms, seeing the obstinancy of those of Ardea, and that for this reason he should have searched for Aronces in all the houses in Rome. It is true (continued she, out of a hideous design of wickedness) there is a short and a surer way to satisfy Porsenna's; for since, as they say, the daughter of Clelius is among the Captives, the only way is suddenly to dispatch her, for that done, where ever Aronces be, he will soon resolve to return to Clusium, there being, questionless, no more approved remedy against Love, than the death of the person loved. I think the advice very good (replies Tarquin somewhat sullenly) but presently holding his peace, he studied a while, as if he would have examined whether that which Tullia said, or he said himself, was well or ill spoken. So that in this secret discourse, perceiving that Tullia passionately wished the death of Clelia, rather out of a suggestion of jealousy, than any reason of state, he became the protector of her, to whom he had carried himself as a Tyrant and a Persecutor, and not acquainting Tullia that he really knew the daughter of Clelius, when you have advised me to put to death all these Captives; said he to her, you consider not, but that only one can be my Enemies daughter, that the rest are persons of quality of Ardea; that, if we should happen to treat with that City, which defends itself so obstinately, these Ladies will be demanded, and that it might prove of ill consequence to have recourse to so violent a remedy in the present conjuncture. Those of Ardea will be the more hardly reduced, and the secret enemies I have in Rome will make it the pretence of an insurrection, when I am returned to the Camp. Of a hasty man you are a very prudent man, replies smartly Tullia, but I am but too well satisfied, that your Prudence is more obliged to your Love, than to Policy. In the mean time I am to tell you, that though Ardea should prove irreducible by the destruction of these Captives, and that Rome itself should thence rebel, I shall find the means to destroy the daughter of Clelius, that it may never be said, that a Princess who lifted you up into the Throne, be so slighted by you, as to be thought less considerable than a Captive. Fortune, Madam, replied fiercely Tarquin, hath placed you where you are, and me where I am; therefore let us continue as we are, and assure yourself I shall ever do what I ought, to make the best use of that authority, which you say is derived from you.  
As Tullia was going to make some mischievous reply, Amilcar (who had prevailed with Prince Sextus to send him to Rome, both to visit Aronces, and endeavour to make Tarquin return to the Camp, so to divert him from seeing Clelia) had sent in a message to the King for audience. Tarquin, who was well pleased, his conference with Tullia was thus interrupted, gave command he should be admitted, which caused this fierce Princess, who at that time regarded not what news came from the siege of Ardea, to retire grumbling, But Amilcar was scarce come in sight, but Tarquin having received him as well as the present disorder of his mind would permit, asked him the reason of his coming, My Lord, said he to him, Prince Sextus knowing what zeal I have for your service, hath been pleased I should come and represent unto you, how necessary your sudden return to the Camp is, for since the enemy had understood by certain spies, that you were not there, they are strangely encouraged, insomuch that they have ever since exercised us with perpetual sallies. There is also a certain report scattered in the Army, which hath generally disheartened your Soldiery, for it is said you intend to raise the Siege, and will not return any more to the Camp: Therefore am I come in the behalf of all your Captains, to conjure you to return as soon as you can possibly. Prince Sextus himself (added he very cunningly) acknowledges that his humour, inclined to pleasures and diversion; is not so proper to retain soldiers in a regular discipline. Thus my Lord, if you credit me, you will soon disburden yourself of those affairs which detain you at Rome, and repair to the Army. For, to be free with you, I do not conceive you should be so earnest to satisfy the King of Clusium, that you should be wanting to a design so important as the siege of Ardea.  
Tarquin thanked him for his advice, and told him he would follow it, but that he must conninue yet a day or two at Rome. Amilcar having by this means insensibly dispersed part of the heaviness, which clouded this Prince's heart, husbanded so discreetly his humour, that this fierce Tyrant entered into discourse with him, about Aronces and Clelia, as if he would play the mediator between Porsenna's and them and that he had changed his sentiments of Clelius, though indeed it was only to lure Amilcar, reciprocally to tell what he knew of them. But he being faithful to his friend and withal, reserved as Tarquin thought himself, told him nothing that could prejudice either Aronces or Clelia, though it were the hardest task in the world, for he must neither have over-flattered Tarquin's love, nor yet too much awaken hatred and there was a certain moderation to be observed, which only Amilcar was able to find out. But at length, after along conference, which amounted to nothing, Amilcar retired. However, he could not that night have any account of Aronces, because it was too late; and not coming to know what had happened at Sivelia's till the next morning, he durst not go thither in the daytime. But as soon as it was night he visited that virtuous Lady, from whom he received all the civilities, which a friend of Aronces and Herminius could expect: so that as soon as the first salutations were over, and some little discourse about the present posture of affairs, she told him she would bring him to the place where Aronces was. But generous Sivelia (said Amilcar to her, when he knew where Aronces lodged) doth not Brutus live with his Aunt? He does, replies the discreet Lady, but trouble not yourself for that. I am satisfied, replied Amilcar, he is a man will not dive very deep into your designs; but if I am confident of his stupidity on the one side, I am fearful on the other. To be short continued he, who told you that this man, who seems to have so little judgement and whom the world looks on almost as an Idiot, may not have wit enough to discover that Aronces lies concealed at his Aunts? Not but that I am persuaded he hath more understanding than is believed, for I have seen him smile twice or thrice more opportunely, than if there were no reason for it. However it be, says the sage Sivelia, fear not Brutus, and be assured I would not have exposed your noble friend to any danger. I crave your pardon, Madam, replies pleasantly Amilcar, and that for no light crime, since it is one of the greatest, that I had not absolutely cast myself on your prudence, but presume to dispute any thing which the sage Sivelia had done. But I assure you I shall not, while I live, be guilty of such a miscarriage, and that I had not now slipped into it, if the friendship I bear Aronces had not made me fear what I needed not, since he is under your conduct. Friendship with me, replies the generous Sivelia, signifies a thing so sacred, that if it had engaged you into some speeches I must have distasted, I should not have been displeased. But it is not come to that, for what you said proceeded from caution, and were it not that I am better acquainted than you, with the whole family of Brutus, I should have been to blame to have done what I have.  
This said, Sivelia, according to her first intention, caused Amilcar to be brought to Brutus' Aunts, where Aronces lay hid; but he had no sooner seen her, but he thought her worthy to be a friend of Sivelia's and that the affections of these two illustrious persons were cemented with Virtue and Generosity; for she discoursed with him with so much judgement, and so great goodness, that he might justly conceive, that Aronces would not have trusted himself to a greater Sanctuary. But at length this illustrious Roman, who was called Racilia, perceiving he was in some impatience to see Aronces, led him to his chamber, where none had so much a sight of him, save two Slaves, of whose faith his Lady was confident, not fearing to be deceived in them, as having in matters of great importance, where her whole house was concerned, made trial of their discretion.  
As soon as Aronces perceived Amilcar, his patience quickly reached him, to express the joy he had to see him, and to know what occasions brought him to Rome, and what, since his arrival, he had learned of Clelia. He had such an art to make his thoughts so easily intelligible, that though at first he uttered but four or five words Amilcar, by the paraphrase of his looks and actions, understood all he would say. To spare him therefore the pains of ask, he told him in few words the occasion of his coming, and what he had done at Rome since his arrival, assuring him, for his greater comfort, he doubted not but take away Tarquin to the Camp, and consequently remove him, both from Clelia and him; adding, that he was really much obliged to Prince Sextus, who seemed concerned in his safety, and that of his Mistress. Alas my dear Amilcar, said he to him, I am afraid he is but too much concerned in Clelia. No, no, replies this pleasant friend, you have now nothing to fear on that side, for 〈◊〉, the amiable Zenocrates and myself have done nothing since your departure but railed at 〈◊〉 haired Beauties, and celebrate the brown, and presently Lucretia runs so in his mind, that he can talk of nothing else, unless it be when 〈◊〉 is present, nor can he well abstain then, and some days since transported with his amorous imaginations, he had almost discovered to him the passion he had for his wife. Ha, Amilcar, how am I obliged to you says Aronces, to have removed from me so terrible a Rival? and how much would you add to that obligation, if you could hinder Tarquin from being one? But if he were not, replied Amilcar, he would be an enemy to Clelia, and she should be equally a mark of his hatred, or his love. Good God cries out Aronces, that which I think in this occurrance, is absolutely criminal; for if I should believe my first apprehensions, I could wish Tarquin were rather an Enemy to Clelia, than a lover; but after a consideration, resumed he, since that as an Enemy he might take away her life, that as a Lover he may preserve it, and that his love is the necessary obstacle, which staves off the lamentable effects of his hatred; let us, if we can, wish that he may continue his love to Clelia, but let it be withal, our prayer, that we could dispose of her in such a place as where she may fear neither his Hate nor his Love. To this end, replied Amilcar, I shall make it my endeavour to continue in Rome, when I have obliged Tarquin to depart, to see if there may not be some means to corrupt the Guards of Clelia, to carry her away, or even to persuade the cruel Tullia to dismiss a Captive, who possess the heart of Tarquin. Aronces, who could think of nothing but Clelia, swallowed all Amilcar said, as if things were really arrived to that pass, and as those whose souls are governed by a violent passion, he discoursed of occurrences which in probability would never come to pass. He made a hundred frivolous objections, proposed for expedients, things almost impossible, though he knew them to be such, and he kept Amilcar so long that the sage Racilia was fain to send them word that it was time he retired lest that returning late to his lodging, he were suspected engaged in some Plot at Rome, and that it should be discovered it were so indeed; so that these two friends were forced to separate. My dear Amilcar, says Aronces, embracing him, how happy are you, that you are not acquainted with Love! and how wretched am I, who have not the power even to wish I know it not, though all the unhappiness of my life proceed from this passion. Truly, replies Amilcar smiling, if you knew how idle he is that loves nothing, you would not think me so happy as you do, for many times I know not how to dispose of my leisure, nor of my reason, no not of my thoughts: and were it not that my own frolic humour gave me some diversion in the Camp, where there are no Ladies, I know not what would become of me; nay, so far am I from being able to elude Love, real of feigned, more or less, that many times I create to myself an imaginary love, which plays with me the Lieutenant of a real one. This created passion, when I have none real, exercises my imaginations without disturbing my mind; and this amorous disposition, causing neither great grief, nor great joy, does yet gently entertain the fondness of my fancy. In this condition I can more easily make Love-verses, than when the soul is hurried away with some violent passion; and in this humour I can be almost as trivially pleasant in talk, as if I proposed to myself all those indulgences, which feed the hopes of the happiest lovers. Ah, my dear Amilcar, cried Aronces, you rather affect Love in general, than direct it to your particular Mistress, and could I be but of your humour, I should be much less miserable than I am.  
Being at this point, they heard a certain noise upon the stairs, which enquiring what it was, they were told that Brutus was come into the house, so that Amilcar, to give him way to repair to his lodging, stayed a little longer with Aronces, yet not without a little reflection on Brutus' late staying out, for that he could not imagine, that one of no greater designs than he, could be guilty either of humour or business to detain him so long. But he made no longer discant on it, and so parted with his friend, after he had once more promised him the utmost of his power for Clelia, and to engage Tarquin to a sudden return to the Camp, that he might endeavour in his absence to carry away this beautiful person, and that so, as Aronces and she might return to Clelius at Capua, to avoid at once the cruelty of Tarquin, and the violence of Porsenna's. But for Amilcar, his intent was to pass into Sicily, and thence return to the Prince of Carthage his Master, knowing well, that by reason of the interests which were to be reconciled between the Republic and that Island, Tarquin was not to be thought over considerable, Rome being not at that time able to wage a Sea-war.  
But as humane prudence cannot with certainty foresee whatever shall come to pass, though one be ever so expert in the art of disputing by conjectures, Fortune disposed otherwise of things. At first sight it seemed likely things would have happened as Amilcar had imagined, for he acted his part with so much subtlety, that within two days he got Tarquin to return to the Camp. It is true, the former of these two days proved infinitely-crosse to Clelia, for Tarquin came once more to visit her, and talked to her things so contradictory, that it was easy to perceive that Hatred and Love caused a strange disorder in the heart of that Prince. But as his soul, through the whole course of his life, was rather accustomed to hate than to love, so he insisted more on things harsh and cruel, than those which speak sweetness and passion; and he much more easily found out words fit to express his hatred than his love: so that he omitted no menace he thought would oblige her to deny herself to be the daughter of Clelius, and to resolve to satisfy his passion. But she being fortified with a rocky constancy, a virtue that hath no parallel, and an extraordinary faith to Aronces, answered him with a confidence might convince him, she would not retract what she had said. Whereupon having shaken hands, with all hope of making her change her resolutions, and his love coming to act the last part, he remained a certain time silent, not so much as looking on Clelia, as if he were afraid her beauty might soften the hardness of his heart. He therefore leaned on a window which opened towards Mount Palatine, and musing on the present posture of his soul, Love became predominant, and flattered himself with a persuasion, that if he could subdue the hatred he bore to Clelius, he might conquer Clelia.  
But he had hardly entertained the imagination, that to gain Clelia, he must send for Clelius, and recant his own former apprehensions, but Love gave place in his turn, and Hatred as being the stronger, entered on the government of his Soul. So that being resolved to depart the Chamber where Clelia was, disorderedly he lifted himself from the window, and began to go towards the door. But not being able to do it without looking on the beautiful person, and meeting with her eyes pregnant with a new birth of tears, he once more suffered a change in his imaginations, and not taking the least time to consult. Well cruel person said he to her, what must be done to make you flexible? must I stifle the hatred I bear Clelius? Must I love you as the Daughter of my Enemy? Must his banishment be revoked? Must he be preferred before all other Romans? Speak Cruelty, speak, and set a price on your heart that I may purchase it; for to be short, I will sacrifice the hatred I bear Clelius, and the love I profess to Clelia; but that heart, as obstinate as it is, shall one day come into my possession. I am persuaded, replies the generous Virgin, that if you should send for my Father to come to Rome, he would not consent, and that it were as hard for him to forget the injustice you have exercised towards him, as for you to forget your own cruelty. Therefore I have nothing to answer you, but what I have already, for I am not only against you, because you hate my Father, but also because he hates your tyranny, and that I hate it myself. Not but that if you could repent you of all your violences, the hatred might dissolve from my heart, but, my Lord, that love should take its place, it doth not follow, that which you desire of me being so absolutely impossible to be granted, that it is not worth your bestowing a thought on't. Ah, 'tis more than enough (cries out the Prince exasperated by the constancy of Clelia) and I cannot suffer this obstinate assurance, wherein you so much glory. How, continued he, blushing for anger, I shall be thought weak for my desire; to love you as the Daughter of Clelius, for endeavouring to subdue my hatred, and offering a horrible violence to all my inclinations; and I shall be ashamed to have been guilty of this baseness to no purpose. If it be so, continued he with a certain threatening action, you shall rather repent your obstinacy. As I have never desired any thing but what reason and virtue suggests, replied Clelia, so, my Lord, do I never repent, nor can all your power ever oblige me to entertain a thought of that nature. We shall see that, says he arrogantly to her, when I shall once be able to hate you, which I hope I shall, if you learn not that I am well Versed in the art of Revenge, and that it is easier for Clelius to undergo banishment, than for you to suffer the torments I shall assign you. When you once begin to hate me, replied Clelia, without the least agitation of spirit, you deliver me from one of my greatest torments, by disburdening me of your love. If I were of your opinion, replied he, I would struggle with my passion, and love you while I live. If you take it so, answered Clelia, I must certainly be the more wretched, but you will be never the happier: Therefore, my Lord if you will trust me, hate me, since that thence only you must derive your quiet. My life is at your disposal, and there is no punishment which you may not inflict on me; but for my will, my Lord, it is not in your power to regulate it according to your humour, and my Father is the only man in the World, whose empire extends to that. Since you will have it so (replied he with a Barbarism, which carried something terrible along with it) I will hate you, and that most horribly. But what do I say? continued he, I hate you already, and if I were not resolved to make you suffer a tedious punishment, you should not long hug yourself in the vainglory you derive from opposing one whom never any opposed but to his repentance.  
Hereupon Tarquin left Clelia, but withal commanded she might be carefully looked after, and that none whatsoever should speak with that fair and virtuous person, no not even Tullia herself. As he went out he met Amilcar, who desirous to discover somewhat of his sentiments, said to him smiling that he was come to beg the favour of him, that he might visit the Captives; for, my Lord continued he, I suppose you trouble not yourself much to suffer those to be seen whom you do not believe the daughters of Clelius. You are in the right, replied, Tarquin, and on the contrary, I should be well pleased you saw them, conditionally you will inform me what they shall tell of Clelia. I told you, my Lord, once before, replied cunningly Amilcar, that I was a friend to Aronces, but that I do not conceive myself obliged blindly to humour his passion, if so be he be guilty of any, and it is not impossible but that I may be very serviceable to you in your design. But my Lord, added he, it is necessary I see Clelia herself, for from her companions I should get nothing, since they are not together, and it were much the shorter way, that I should see her the first, whether your desire be I should screw something out of her which you would be glad to know, or that I must endeavour to make her change her resolutions. Besides, my Lord, continued he, I must needs tell you, and that with an ingenuousness which cannot proceed but from the earnest desire I have of your quiet, that great Persons, such as you are, cannot condescend to a hundred trifles which yet must be known to make one able well to Husband the inclidations of Women. You have spent your whole life, either to learn the art of Government, or to put in practise some noble kingly Science, which consists only in things high and sovereign; but on the contrary, to discover the Secrets of Women, and take in the Garrisons of their spirits, a man need ascend no higher than a certain Art, called the Trifling Art, if I may so express it, which I have studied all my life, and am admirably perfect in. In the mean time, my Lord, you are not to conceive, that this Art is easily learned, for, take it from me, there is as much required to know all the several ways of Application, wherein a man must address himself to the Reserved, the Jocund, the Fair, the Deformed, the Gentle, the Fierce, the Weak, and the Obstinate, as skilfully to govern several nations of several inclinations: For whereas ordinarily every Nation is actuated and informed by a certain general inclination, almost all Women are so wedded to their particular humour, which must necessarily be found out by him whose business it is to overmaster it. There are some a man must be as submissive to as a Slave; there are others which you must in a manner slight, before you have their love. There are some cannot be brought acquainted with Vice, but by continually preaching of Virtue to them; others on the contrary, though pleasantly free in discourse, yet of a constant Virtue. There are some, into whose greatest secrets you screw not yourself, but by entertaining them with trivial stories; there are others only reducible by Presents; others whom you engage when you give them occasion to present you with any thing; there are, to be short, so many several sorts, that, without any extraordinary correspondence with Womankind, a man may be easily deceived. But for my part, my Lord, I dare brag I cannot be, and if you would pump out any secret, I am the fittest handle in the World for such a business. I am convinced, replies Tarquin, but the question is, whether a friend of Aronces be fit to make representations of Clelia. At these words Amilcar was a little to seek, for that a certain punctilio of Virtue made him a little shy, and hardly induced even to deceive Tarquin, though a Tyrant; but considering there was no other way for him to serve his friend, he answered him in such ambiguous terms, that Tarquin might expound them well, even according to his intention. So that really believing that Amilcar thought it more advantageous for Aronces, to suffer himself to be cured of the love of Clelia, than to persist in the disease of it, he was inclined to burden him with part of his secrets. Whereupon, taking him along with him to his chamber, he entertained with a Panegyric upon Aronces, telling him how earnest he was for his quiet and his glory, and to rid him of his love, he was, if possible, to be persuaded that Clelia loved him not, and to perform this the better, it was to be certainly discovered whether she did love him truly. It is true, continued Tarquin, correcting himself, that Aronces is a person so amiable, that it is not to be doubted but that he is beloved where he loves. Ah my Lord, replies Amilcar, smiling with that freedom he took, when he endeavoured to please, it is apparent that your soul hath been guided by Ambition, rather than Love, since you conceive there is any regard of equity in the choice of a Lover. Besides that to speak truly, a King can never be well acquainted with things of this nature, for the respect which men bear to persons of your quality, causes them not to appear to you without disguise; and so you are to learn, that there is nothing so humorous as the choice which Love makes. For sometimes you see men of excellent parts love persons of ordinary merit; and very often it's observed that Women despise very handsome men, and adore others, who can boast of almost nothing recommendable. For which reason I have ever relied more on the fantastic humours of those I have loved, than on my own Addresses and Services, nay than on a certain Drollery I am guilty of, which they say, is sometimes requisite to entertain Ladies. Therefore, my Lord, though Aronces be indeed, a graceful person, it follows not he is beloved, and if you will grant me the liberty to entertain Clelia, I promise you a faithful account of her heart. I am content, replies Tarquin, conditionally you truly inform me, whether she love Aronces or not. But my Lord, (replies Amilcar very cautiously) I do not engage myself to discover the whole secret of her Soul at the first visit, and you must give me leave to see her more than once; nay it were not amiss if you suffered Plotina to be with her, for she being a merry conceited Lass, and one that pretends some friendship to me, I may make use of that affection to make her reveal what you desire to know.  
This Amilcar uttered, in a manner seemed so natural, that Tarquin, notwithstanding his distrustful humour, was surprised by it: So that by this means Amilcar got one of Clelia's friends to be with her, and had the liberty to see her, which was no small comfort to that beautifol Captive, and the unfortunate Aronces, whom Amilcar acquainted with all this the same day. But to continue this intelligence, he related divers things to Tarquin concerning the consent of these two persons, whence he concluded, that he really was an engine very fit to discover what he was impatient to know.  
In the mean time, the news that came from the Camp, pressing Tarquin's return thither, he left Rome, not being fully resolved whether he should love or hate Clelia, none being able to guests whether of these two passions should have the disposal of his mind. For, in some strict charges that he gave, he provided that the cruel Tullia should not, in his absence, meddle with the Captives; and in others he seemed to be the absolute disposer of Clelia's destiny. He set over her as a guard, one he had employed in his most horrid cruelties, for it was the same who was accused of having poisoned Brutus' Father and Brother, by the command of this cruel Tyrant, who had never furnished him but with such tragical Commissions. Nevertheless he commanded him to admit Amilcar into Clelia's Chamber, until he should receive order to the contrary, allowing this friendly African eight days to find out the true apprehensions of Clelia, which expired, he was to render him an account. He also charged all those Spies, whom he had always kept at his own charge, to use all means possible to discover if Aronces were not at Rome, and to learn precisely who that man was, who (he had been informed) lay hid at the virtuous Sivelia's. He spoke more insolently than ever he had done to the cruel Tullia, who certainly wanted not an earnest desire of being able to destroy him whom she had elevated into the Throne, could she have hoped to be countenanced either by the Senate or People.  
But her cruelties had so alarmed the general hatred against her, that she could not hope the least assistance, though she should undertake to destroy Tarquin, for that none would have trusted her.  
Amilcar, in the mean time, acquainting Aronces with every day's adventures, they sent to the Camp, and writ to Artimedorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres, that they might take notice of what passed; as also that they should oblige Prince Sextus to do what lay in his power for Aronces, and keep Tarquin from returning to Rome, at least till the siege of Ardea was over: On the other side Sivelia, going almost every day to Racilia's, visited Aronces, where was resolved what was to be done. These two virtuous Ladies went also sometimes to see the grand Vestal, but secretly, and advised with her about the means to relieve Clelia. But though Aronces, by the advice he gave, was as active for Clelia as any other, and was as it were the intelligence of all those designs which were moving for her Liberty, yet he was overwhelmed with incredible misfortunes, but chiefly for that he was forced to confine himself for certain days, not daring to stir abroad for fear of being taken, and that he durst not act by himself.  
In the mean time, Amilcar knowing whatever news was stirring in Rome, as well as if he had lived there all his life, found there was a knot of young men, persons of quality, who were very desirous to shake off the Yoke of Tyranny; and when they were sure they were not heard, expressed their hatred of the Tyrant with much freedom, though till that time none durst so much as speak of him, ever since he was established in his power. But being very raw, as if it were the first Year of their acquaintance with this World, their courage much exceeded their prudence, so that Amilcar looking on those young men as fit for the execution of any dangerous enterprise, if there were need, thought fit to court their correspondence; for though they were of the Army, yet they often came to Rome, the distance between it and the Camp being not great. Besides that, upon Tarquin's return thither, a cessation of all hostility for eight days was agreed on; during which time there were some offertures made of an Accommodation.  
In the interim, two Nephews of Publius Valerius, a Kinsman of Horatius, and an Uncle of Lucretia came to Rome, into whose company Amilcar shuffled himself so handsomely, that they disinherited him not; and he so flattered their humours by the sport he had made them, that he soon commanded their hearts: so that he concluded, that if there were any occasion for them, he might command them, especially if they were to be employed against Tarquin; for they were no longer scrupulous even in his presence, to discharge whole volleys of derisions and imprecations at the Tyrant. There was one thing which particularly made them glory in their Resentments, which was, that there was another combination of young men which they called, by way of abuse, the Slaves of favour; for indeed the young Vitellians, the Aquillians, and Brutus' two Sons, who were yet of the youngest, were much at the devotion of Prince Sextus and the two Princes his Brothers, so that not being able to comprehend how those, whose fathers and most of their friends, had been destroyed through the cruelty of Tarquin, could be faithful to the Prince, they cast at them, among themselves, all the injuries imaginable, whence Amilcar presumed he should find them ready to execute any adventurous action when occasion should serve.  
But during the cessation of the siege of Ardea, it seemed to be the pleasure of Fortune, there should be a kind of a general truce in the hearts of so many illustrious afflicted persons. For Aronces had the opportunity to write to Clelia, by Amilcar, and by the same hand received her answer. Clelia consequently had the happiness to receive fresh expressions of her Lover's faith, and to give reciprocally the like of hers. Plotina had the felicity to see Amilcar, who was so precious in her esteem; Amilcar had the satisfaction to entertain her, and the glory of being so effectually serviceable to his friend. And the virtuous Sivelia was felicifyed in the company of her illustrious Son, who taking the advantage of the Truce, came disguised to Rome, not only out of a consideration of love, but also to see his noble Mother, and visit Aronces, whom he was not a little glad to acquaint with what he knew of Horatius, as also to endeavour to do him some good office: for he had received by the Spies which those of Ardea had in Tarquin's Camp, that Aronces was not there, and was conceived to lurk in Rome. So that not doubting but that Sivelia could give some account of him, his resolution was to be fully satisfied. Horatius for his part, in his excessive affliction, had some benefit by the Truce, for that it afforded him the leisure to perfect the cure of his wounds, and to consider what he should do to outvie the generosity of his Rival, yet without violating the interest of his love. Nay, even Tarquin himself was at some ease, for that he received from Amilcar, what gave him some shadow of hope.  
As for Prince Sextus, he had the least share in this happiness, for the love of Lucretia exercised such a tyranny over his soul, that he had not the least command of it himself.  
As for Prince Titus, and the Prince of Pometia, they also having some secret interest to manage at Rome, found their convenience of the Truce as well as others: Nay, even the cruel Tullia put on a little more cheerfulness, and became less furious than she was wont, as being in some hopes to corrupt him who kept Clelia, who not conceiving himself sufficiently rewarded for the late murders he had committed by the orders of Tarquin, seemed inclined to swallow the promises of this cruel Princess.  
Things being in this posture, the noble Herminius came one evening to Sivelia's, Amilcar being in the house, who was extremely glad to see him, for he had a natural affection for him, and infinitely esteemed him for his parts and virtue. Herminius also, who had as great experiment of the merit of Amilcar as any living, was overjoyed to find him at his virtuous Mothers, from whom he had received a thousand expressions of tenderness, which he had requited with as many obliging testimonies of gratitude and true friendship.  
But Sivelia's enjoyment was somewhat obscured by a certain fear she had, lest her Sons return might be discovered; but Tarquin not being at Rome, and Amilcar advising, that Herminius should for more safety, lodge with Aronces, she was received and with more quiet enjoyed the presence of a Son, in whom all the virtues made a glorious constellation, and in whom his greatest enemies found not the least declination to any evil habit. For indeed Herminius was in his inclinations noble, in heart free, passionate, compassionate, and generous; in humour he was mild, civil, obliging, complaisant, having a mind fit for all things, and fortunate in finding out many pleasant and innocent circumventions to divert his friends of both sexes. Moreover, though he was a very discreet person, and sufficiently reserved among those who had not much of his company, yet, when he pleased, he screwed up his humour to a certain bravery and sprightliness; but to those he loved not this was mystical, and his frolickness might confidently be taken for an expression of his esteem and his affection. He was excellent good at writing of Billets of all sorts, and had such a happy and easy vein of Verses, that it was Amilcar's judgement, Greece afforded not a more general, a nobler, and a more nimble wit, than that of Herminius, insomuch, that sometimes he would wish he might change wits with this illustrious Roman saying, that Phocilides the Milesian, who was then alive, had never made better Verses than he, nor Sapph more amorous. Amilcar therefore having an infinite esteem for Herminius, made a thousand obliging expressions to him at his coming to Sivelia's, but at last left this dear Son with his excellent Mother. But after promise he should go to Aronces his loding, whither he was going himself, and where, according to his custom, he used to pass away the Evening. Sivelia therefore having acquainted Herminius how all things stood which concerned his fortune, sent notice to Racilia of her son's arrival, and begged the same favour for him as she had done for Aronces. To which that generous Matron having made such answer as was fit she should, Herminius went to her house, where he was received as a kinsman of her husbands, and as a friend for whom he had a great tenderness. He had also the happiness to see a Niece of hers, whose name was Hermilia, a Virgin, if any in the world, had extraordinary excellences both of body and mind; but he was much surprised to find that neither Aronces nor Amilcar had so much as seen her. Not that Racilia was confident of the discretion of this Beauty; but the reason she gave Herminius, was, that she found Aronces so afflicted, and Amilcar so frolic, that she thought the melancholy of the one would not admit diversion, and the frolic humour of the other was enough for his friend and himself. But Herminius assuring the interest of a Kinsman of the fair Hermilia, told her Aunt, that his friends must needs see her; Racilia then, without delay, accompanied with her daughter, conducted Herminius to Aronces' chamber, where they found Amilcar, who had that day brought a Letter from Clelia to that illustrious Lover, which consequently affording him as great satisfaction, as the unhappy state of his affairs would permit him to receive, he entertained Herminius with a many expressions of gladness, having first asked Racilia leave to embrace his friend. But these first ceremonies of friendship being over, Herminius presented Hermilia to him, acquainted him who she was. How, cries out Amilcar, hath this fair Virgin been in the house ever since I came hither? She has, replied Herminius smiling, and had it not been for me, this Treasure had been yet hidden from you. Ha Madam, says Amilcar to Racilia, your generosity is very great in regard of your compassion, not to consider that the sight of this beautiful person is an excellent medicine for unfortunate persons. It may be, replied obligingly Aronces, she is as likely to make, as to cure such. But if you'll believe me, says Racilia, there is no great danger of her doing either, for she ever says that a man is not to seek his comfort any where but in himself, and that in her own nature she is so harmless, she can do no hurt, which her compassion shall not allay, if it cannot cure. As I have never been so unhappy as to do any, replied the modest Hermilia, so I am not certain whether I should be so good as I am believed, and so I should have as great a pity for those ills I were guilty of, as for those I were not.  
This past, Aronces being Master o'th' Ceremonies in his own chamber, though it were in Racilia's house caused these Ladies and his two friends to sit down. It is true, that while Amilcar spoke to this virtuous Roman and her Niece, Aronces listened to Herminius, who acquainted him with all he knew of Horatius. As I am true to you, says he in a low voice, I must needs confess that I have discovered in your Rival, the most generous resentments in the world; for it is constantly believed, that in some intervals, he wishes he could love you, and that he could give over loving Clelia. But in others he hath an extreme indignation to be obliged to you for his life, and cannot but wish himself the possession of her whom you love, or at least desires you might not possess her. So that Generosity and Love being at continual variance in his heart, Reason, instead of deciding so great a difference, sometimes is of one side, sometimes of the other, and rather foments than qualifies this civil war. But I pray, says Aronces to him, how long may Ar●●● hold out? for it concerns me the Siege continue, that it may be the longer ere Tarquin return to Rome. As for Horatius and myself, replies Herminius, we shall maintain it so well with the general assistance of the inhabitants (who are so resolute, that they will not yield till after all extremities) that in case the Treaty come to no effect; as I verily believe it will, Tarquin shall find he hath more work to do then he conceives; for his Army is daily weakened, and the People of Ardea becomes more warlike by Discipline, so that it is probable our Forces will be the greater at the end of the Siege, than they were at the beginning, though we have no foreign supplies.  
But while Aronces and Herminius were thus engaged, Amilcar entertained Racilia and her charming Niece; and having an admirable insinuation, to sift out any thing he had a mind to know, and yet do it by way of diversion, he pleasantly asked Racilia why the women at Rome were reserved, and more given to solitude, than in Greece or afric, or indeed in any other parts of Italy. Is it that the men are here more terrible? or is it that the women are guilty of too easy a resentment of (not to say) a greater disposition to love? or is it that they are threatened more like prisoners? If you had known Rome, as I have known it, replied Racilia, you had much more reason to speak as you do; for when I was young, all the women were as reserved as so many Vestals, they were not seen but in the Temples, and upon Festival days, Marriages were contracted rather upon consideration of the interests of Families, than any acquaintance of the persons, and men's hearts are so inflamed by a love of Fame, that they thought not of any thing else.  
But since the death of the virtuous Tanaquil, and the dethronement of Servius Tullus, the greatest part of the Roman Ladies are not indeed Romans, and women live a manner here as they do in other places. But a little farther, says Amilcar, I would fain know why they are also more austere here than in other cities, and why they have been yet more than now they are? For my part, replied Racilia, when she had well considered it; I think, it proceeds from this, that Rome was built by men that had no wives, and who came not by them, but by forcing them from their neighbours. For being at the first afraid, lest they should again forsake them they kept them very strictly, and used them to a solitary kind of life, which after became customary and decent. Certainly, replied Amilcar, this decency is very unjust and very rigorous. Besides, continued he, if the women at Rome, were not handsomer than elsewhere, I should be contented they were mewed up, but they are so handsome, that it is an affront to the Gods who govern the world, to hide the greatest ornament of it, and I am confident, he who should take the fair Hermilia's opinion in this case, would find that her thoughts and mind were at no great distance. As I am not handsome enough replied she smiling, to oblige you to conceive that I am troubled for the sight of the world, so am I to learn what makes you believe there is such an affinity between our thoughts. If I durst tell you before the sage Racilia, what your Glass tells you as often as you consult it, replies Amilcar, you would acknowledge I had reason to say what I do, and withal persuade yourself, that there is no Beauty in Rome hath so much cause to quarrel with the retirement of Women, nor so much reason to rejoice that it begins to diminish I know not (interrupted Racilia, smiling with a certain Majesty) whether Hermilia can answer what you say, but had it been to myself at her age, I should not have been much troubled at it. I am so desirous, replied pleasantly Hermilia, not to do you any dishonour, that if I should answer, I might haply answer to purpose, but being not assured of it, I had rather return nothing to such webs of flattery; and he that weaves them, knows well enough that I am not to be caught with them, and haply conceives I should, could I not blush at his commendations. You answer so nobly, in not answering, replied Amilcar, that certainly I am not the first that told you that you were one of the greatest Beauties in the world. But to return into our way (said he, directing his speech to Racilia) I would gladly ask you, Madam, who are Virtue itself, whether you believe these extraordinary retirements are the only pales of Modesty, which is so natural to the Sex, and whether, on the contrary. an honourable liberty may not contribute a great lustre to their virtue. For what commendation can that woman derve, who sees not any either pleasures her, or she can affect, to have all her life-time a new heart, which she knows not on whom to bestow, had she a desire, and which none desires of her? However, replied Racilia, there are at Rome, as well as other places, women that bestow their hearts. If it be so, returned Amilcar, I believe they bestow them unhandsomely and out of time, for there being not here so great a freedom of Conversation as there is in afric, they must needs bestow them, not knowing on whom, and must measure men only by the outward sight, which is the most deceitful thing in the world. To be short I know a man in Greece who is well-set, handsome, of a good stature, a good face, free in his action, jam his carriage noble enough, and at the first sight, one that seems a man of business and quality; for he acquits himself very well of his first compliments, comes confidently into company, departs the same, is not discountenanced at any thing, and till you ascend higher than the questions, of what weather it is, or some such piece of intelligence, comes off pretty well. He laughs with a good grace, so it be with others, but the mischief is, that when he laughs alone, he laughs in a wrong time, and then are discovered a low reptile spirit, that creeps not up near a Mediocrity, and a soul purely material, Judge now, if some great Beauty who had seen this man, only in the Temples, or on some festival-days, and should bestow her heart on him, would not be finely trapanned. Your exaggeration is so pleasant, replied Racilia, that if all men had such excellent parts as you have, ● should not quarrel, that there is a free toleration or Conversation in Rome since Tarquin's government, and Tanaquil's death. But to be plain with you ● think it a very extravagant thing to have a house open to all manner of persons, and to entertain a sort of trifling Amorists, to tell trivial stories unhandsomely, and to no purpose; and in what country soever I had been born, I should never had loved company without choice. Nor are there many true Romans that do so, and those who are any thing careful to preserve the customs of their country, comply with the times with a certain moderation, which makes a distinction between their Houses and an Exchange, so far as to banish solitude. In few words there is here a noble personage, who is called Publius Valerius, who hath a daughter of excellent endowments. To all persons of Honour his house is open, and he freely suffers his friends to see both his wife and daughter Valeria.  
At these words Herminius, who was talking with Aronces, and who confusedly heard the name of Vuleria, made a stop, and hearkened to what was said of her, which made Racilia, who knew that Lady had a great interest in the heart of Herminius, smile a little, however going to continue her story, Amilcar staying her, Ah Madam, said he to her, I beseech you tell me whether this Valeria be of my acquaintance or not, or am I the most abused man in the world, if I have not once seen her with the Queen; She goes not often thither, replied Hermilia; but certainly it must be the same that I mean, replied Amilcar, for, being extremely taken with her, I asked whether she came not often to Tullia, and I was told, very seldom. But to be further assured whether it be the same, I can only tell you, that she, whom I saw with the Queen, and whom I was infinitely taken with, is a Lady of a mean stature, and hath not such great staring eyes, as are sometimes the emblems of a natural stupidity, but such as being neither great nor little, cast a ray full of mildness, passion and spirit, which pleases and charms, and which at once argues ingenuity, virtue, goodness and love. Moreover, she hath a sweet, sprightly, and a serious look, which is infinitely pleasing. Her mouth is narrow, her lips carnationed, something a pale complexion, her hair ashy coloured, and the air of her countenance so free and so noble, that a man cannot but come near her as soon as he sees her. And, to be short, I prevailed so much, that I stood two hours near this enchanting Beauty. Could you as exactly describe her mind as you have her person, replied Herminius, you would make an excellent piece of it. I am of your mind, says Hermilia smiling, that indeed Amilcar had admirably drawn Valeria; but he shall give me leave to tell him, that, for her mind it is you only are concerned to commend it, though it deserve the commendation of all the world. I confess (says Amilcar, not giving Herminius leisure to answer) that I had not time to discover the whole mind of Valeria, but if I have not known it, I have guessed at it, and I am confident she hath at once, a great, noble, lofty, pleasing and modest mind; and to advance a little higher in my discovery, I also affirm, she hath a heart full of passion and tenderness, and that if she be not in love, she is fit to be, and that most passionately. Ah Amilcar, cried out Herminius smiling, you know more of her than I, for I can tell you no news of Valeria's heart. Without being curious to dive too deep into your secrets, replied Racilia, I must needs agree in the same vote with Amilcar; for I believe Valeria fuel for the greatest affection. However, I have not a whit the less esteem of her, continued she, because I am satisfied, she will never be guilty of an irregular affection, and whereas she is guilty of tenderness, she is so much the more worthy praise; since it is not to be doubted, that she ever loved what was not worthy to be loved, and constantly endeavours that her esteem and her friendship may be the reward of Virtue. Herminius harkened to this discourse of Racilia, with an extraordinary content, and it was easily perceivable, that, if he durst, he would have said much more of her than she: insomuch as Aronces observing it, whispered to him as much as signified, that he was convinced that Valeria governed his heart. But perceiving, as he spoke to him, that he was unwilling to make a public profession of it, he diverted the discourse, and thought to make an end of it where it began, pleasantly concluding, that though the Roman Severity were guilty of no other inconveniences, but depriving us of the acquaintance and conversation of Valeria, it ought to be condemned.  
But I assure you, replied Amilcar, it is guilty of many more, for, to speak truly, there are two things which are in a manner equal in the hearts of all people, in what place soever they are born; the desire of Liberty, and a certain natural inclination to Love; and I am confident there is not a woman in Rome, but could love some one or other, if she would be guilty by her inclination, and would be glad to be at liberty. In the mean time, according to that manner of life which they are forced into, they are reduced to an impossibility both of being loved, or loving innocently, and locked up as Captives. Whence it will happen, that those whom nature hath endued with a passionate inclination, and a violent desire of liberty, will hate their Fathers, Mothers, the custom of their Country, and their own Virtue, which forbids them a thousand and a thousand indifferent things. So, to come nearer what I aim at, walking, conversation, noble entertainments; whereas they are in themselves harmless pleasures which bring no dishonour to those who make use of them, are transformed to crimes to almost all the women of Rome, through the impatient desire they have to them, and the continual quarrelling they have with those who forbid them the use thereof. For in fine, it is not so far from hence to Capua, but they can hear that such a severity is not exercised there as here. It is true, said Aronces, that to speak rationally, the virtue of women is checked very much by an excessive restraint, and a denial of those pleasures, which bring with them nothing of scandal. Ha, generous Aronces, cried out Racilia, that which to you seems so harmless, is not of so little consequence as you conceive.  
As I have lived a many years, and have been banished Rome long enough to know how they live in other places, so I can assure you, that those things whereof you make so slight account, are those which cause the greatest disorders that happen among women. I am so well opinioned of my own sex, that if my judgement be taken, there is no woman can at first sight prove faulty, nor can be guilty of any premeditated design to engage herself into a dangerous affection. But commonly, familiarity, opportunity, a desire to please, the pleasure of their conversation, whom we see often, the enjoyment they mutually receive from us, the desire to be preferred before others, and friendship itself, do all contribute to the generation of Love, who would never be born in Solitude, nor would ever appear, if men would only be contented to look on women at public Festivals, and not speak to them. For we must not say that Love is the child of that Beauty which passeth to the heart through the eyes only; since it is an error condemned by experience, that this passion is not lasting, when it is bred and nourished by the only desire of Beauty.  
But to return where I left, I knew a woman at Tarentum (during the time I followed my banished Husband) who had been brought up by her Mother according to the Roman severity, insomuch, that though she were very beautiful, yet did she live in a great restraint, though in a City where there is liberty enough. She however bore it patiently, was satisfied with her manner of life, she was pleasing, jocund, and seemed to be so indifferent, that it was said in the house, that Madam Indifference did what she pleased. For my part, it was ever my opinion, that the moderation of her humour was her only felicity. However it be, being of this condition, her mother having some business in the Country, left her with an Aunt of hers, who was not so much addicted to solitude as she; but she had not left her behind, had not some little indisposition of body disabled her for the journey. To be short, she kept her chamber four or five days, during which time being not very sick, her Aunt, for her diversion sake, admitted to her all those that came to visit her. The first day she being utterly unacquainted with this fashion of the world, was very troublesome to her; the second proved little better; the third she did not think very tedious; the fourth she thought very divertive; and the fifth, she was the first took occasion to inveigh against her former solitude, and did it so gracefully, that she infinitely pleased an honest man who was there that day. The man hereupon making it his business to return her the content he had received from her, came at last to please her effectually; yet could he not assure himself an interest in her heart. For as Indifference is the temperament of prattling Cockneys, so she had not much more affection for this Lover than for another, but had such a huge ambition to be courted, that she became the veriest Gossip that ever was; and all the endeavours of her Mother, when she returned out of the Country, could never cure the infection she had contracted from this world's conversation. You had spoke more truly, if you said that of solitude, replied Amilcar, for in my opinion, all the disorder of her mind proceeded from the solitude she had lived in before, which made all things seem new, all things pleasant to her, her mind and senses being equally surprised by that which was strange to them. The great secret therefore is to accustom young people to all harmless pleasures, lest they should one day prove dangerous to them. For certainly it is with pleasures, as it is with perfumes, which a man smells not when he hath always about him. Therefore added he pleasantly, if ever I have a daughter, she shall dance as soon as she can go; the first word shall be taught her, shall be Gallant, she shall know Love's name before her own: and after all this, she is more likely to prove a Vestal, than a Gossip. Racilia smiled at this humour of Amilcar's as well as Hermilia, and Herminius; but for Aronces, melancholy had so stiffened his complexion, that his face would not admit the lightest appearance of joy, so that the virtuous Matron perceiving how little he seemed concerned in the company, retired, taking Hermilia with her, and leaving with him Herminius. Amilcar, who was not afraid to be seen, thought it his duty to conduct her to her lodgings; which done, he returned to Aronces' chamber, where he stayed as long as he could. But at length he left him, and repaired to his lodging, lest in case he did not come in, it might be suspected he had a hand in some plot in the City. Soon after Herminius also left Aronces, and went into another Chamber joining to his, where Racilia had designed him a lodging.  
Now is our illustrious Lover left alone to comment on his afflictions past and present. But at last he fell asleep, overwhelmed with his discontents, and flattered with a small hope of the possibility of delivering Clelia. It is true, he slept not long, for the Sun had no sooner appeared, but he heard people talking with Herminius, such whose voice he had no great accquaintance with, so that knowing it was of equal concernment to that generous Roman, not to be discovered, as to himself, he was desirous to know whether they who spoke were his friends or his enemies. Harkening therefore very attentively, towards the place whence he heard the voices, one whereof he thought he should remember, he was fully persuaded that it was the voice of Brutus, Racilia's Nephew. But soon after he was of the contrary opinion, for that calling to mind his stupidity, he disinherited what a minute before he absolutely believed. For though he heard not distinctly what he said, because he spoke not very loud, yet he concluded him a very understanding man, for that when he had given over speaking, he, to whom he had directed his discourse (who was the same Publius Valerius who was afterward called Publicola, and whose daughter had been so much commended the night before) speaking a little louder, told him, all he had said had been excellently well spoken. But, said he, when all is done, my hope tires, and I expect no more of Fortune. I know, replied he, to whom he spoke, that whatever Herminius hath proposed, is so strong, that there seems nothing to be opposed against it; and that in all appearance, Tarquin's power is so strongly established, that nothing can overturn it. For, the People is accustomed to the yoke of his Tyranny, the Senate is full of his own creatures, or, to say better, his Slaves; the Army is at his devotion, and there seems not even in Rome to be one true Roman. So that to judge of things according to outward appearance, Rome is for ever enslaved, and we quietly expect to see Vice triumph eternally over Virtue, and to see Sextus one day seated in the Throne, for, as to the Princes his Brothers, they are better endowed, than to think they shall ever possess their Father's place. But, in fine, notwithstanding all these reasons which seem so invincible, I shall still tetain a hope of Liberty, though I do not yet apprehend the ways whereby Rome may be delivered. For when I call to mind how Tarquin came to usurp the Supreme power; when I reflect on the virtue of the late lawful King, whom this Tyrant caused to be massacred; when I consider the great number of innocent persons, whom he hath either banished or put to death; when I review all the wickedness of Tullia, and stirring them in my memory with those of Tarquin, I see a confusion of Parricides, Poisonings, Murders, and all Impieties imaginable, and cannot believe but all the Romans remember it as well as I, and thence infer, that, though we know it not, there are thousands and thousands of Romans that abhor Tarquin, that earnestly desire his destruction, and only expect a favourable occasion to manifest the detestation they have for him. I therefore hope, that as Fortune hath dandled him a long time, he may at last meet with a Check in his Game, and that by a happy frolic of the same unconstant Fortune, we shall meet with a conjuncture of time fortunate for the deliverance of our Country. It may indeed happen, answers to that Herminius, that the Siege of Ardea, may prove omnious to the Tyrant, and that from our so well defending the City, that he cannot take it; it may be, I say, this is a fit conjuncture to make a rising at Rome. For if the siege last yet a while, his Army will be weakened, he will not lose a Soldier, who leaves not in the family whereof he was a ground of complaint, nay he will lose his power in the Senate; since as you know, when some proposed the difficulty of taking Ardea, he slighted the advice was given him, and treated the Authors of it, as ignorant persons both in war and policy. Moreover, the people whom he hath employed so long time about the building of Jupiter's Temple, and the Scaffolds of the Circus, is certainly weary of such an endless work, besides that, having expended vast sums, the Treasure he had got together out of other men's Fortunes to that end, are almost exhausted. So that if it happen, that this Prince should not take Ardea, it is not unlikely but that the virtue of the Romans might be so far recovered, as to be strong enough to make the Tyrant fly. But how can the taking of Ardea be obstructed, replied Publius Valerius? For when the Army he now hath shall be mouldered away by the obstinacy of the besieged, and that the people weary of the War shall not take up Arms; Porsenna's, who waits his assistance to bring his Son into his power, and hinder him to marry the Daughter of the generou's Clelius, who, they say, is in Tarquin's power, will furnish him with Troops. To do what I propose, replied Herminius, it must be endeavoured that Tarquin may not be supplied by the King of Clusium, and that Ardea may be relieved by the King of Ceres; for in this conjuncture, it is the concernment of Rome's Liberty, that her Tyrant may not increase his power by any additional conquest. You speak very well (replied he who made the third man in the Dialogue) but since I must say all I have in my mind, it is your part to do what you say is necessary for the safety of Rome, for it is you must maintain Ardea, it is you must persuade the King of Clusium's Son, that by the correspondency he holds in his Father's Court, he may hinder Tarquin from having any supplies, if he desire it; and it is you also, that must persuade him to make use of the intelligence, which I conceive he hath in the King of Ceres' Court, to obtain relief for Ardea, while in the mean time Valerius and our secret Friends shall so dispose things at Rome, as that advantage may be taken of the first favourable opportunity which Fortune shall afford. But who hath told you, replied Herminius, that I am acquainted with the King of Clusium's Son? Aronces himself (replied he who spoke) yet he thinks not that he told me so much, continued he, for he was deceived as well as others, and believing me the most stupid of mankind, he heeded me not, when one day he talked with Celeres concerning his Fortune; so that I have from his own mouth, all that is to be known concerning his Birth, to confirm what I have said. Moreover, you know that Racilia, as well as your noble Mother, is a true Roman, and considering how much it concerns all true Romans to have Aronces their friend, she hath told me all she knew, either from Sivelia, or the grand Vestal who is also of our correspondence. For in point of Insurrection, we must be sure to make those who are Ringleaders for Religion of our party. Therefore Valerius courts as much as may be; the friendship of the Salii, who you know challenge a great Veneration in Rome as well as the Vestals. Since you are so learned, replied Herminius, I conceive it is fitting as well for Aronces, as yourself, that you two be better acquainted; and if you will give me leave, I will go into this Hero's Chamber, to dispose him to know you as you are, and to oblige you and Valerius to unite your interests for the destruction of Tarquin.  
While these three excellent men were in this discourse, Aronces, who heard all, was so surprised, that he was at a loss, whether he should believe what he had heard; for he was satisfied, that he was not mistaken in the voice, and that he who was with Valerius and Herminius could be no other than the same Brutus who seemed to be so stupid. Yet he remembered he had heard Amilcar say, that he had seen him smile very opportunely twice or thrice, and that he had more understanding than was believed. But after all consideration, he could not apprehend, during the present tumult of his thoughts, upon what rational account so wise a man was resolved to go for an absolute Idiot, nor how he could so naturally seem so having so great a reach; as he found in him by the things he had heard. Hence his astonishment increasing every moment, he could not hear that Valerius and Brutus consented to what Herminius had proposed. But presently he hearing rapping at his Chamber door, which he having caused to be opened by a Slave that waited on him, sees Herminius enter, who not giving him the leisure to speak, My Lord, says he to him, I come to offer you the friendship of the two most noble Romans that ever Rome nursed, and to beg yours for them. For mine, replied Aronces, you shall dispose of it as you please between your two friends; and I am glad to receive theirs. But Herminius, tell me presently, whether my ears have deceived me, is it not Brutus, whose voice I have heard? Am I not deceived? No my Lord, replied Herminius, and this Brutus, to whom that name was given for the eternal memory of his apparent stupidity, is the greatest and noblest soul you ever knew; he is a man capable of things of greater, and things of lesser consequence; he is both solid and pleasant, and whose obscure life it so strange, that nothing can be more. But I beseech you says Aronces, disguise him not any further to me, and so starting out of bed, while Herminius went to fetch in his two illustrious friends, he was at the Chamber door ready to receive them.  
Brutus, who was at his own house, in that it was his Aunts, made Valerius and Herminius go in before him; but as it was not fitting such an interview should have any witnesses, Aronces bid the Slave, who attended him, though he nothing doubted of his fidelity, to depart the room. Which done, looking on Brutus with admiration he seemed not to him the same man he had been, for though he was not very handsome, yet now he seemed indifferently wellfavoured. His Physiognomy was sprightly, and giving his mind liberty without affecting that simplicity, whereby he used to conceal it, Aronces presently knew, that he whom he saw, was the same whom he had heard speak. But he was further confirmed by what this illustrious Roman said to him; for after that Herminius had by a pertinent compliment opened the interview, that Valerius had complemented in particular, and that Aronces had spoken to all three according to his excellent wit, and pleasing way, which is ordinary with him; it coming to Brutus' turn, you see, illustrious Prince, said he, how far the Tyranny of the wicked Tarquin extends, since that to preserve my Life, I was forced to lose my Reason, or at least to conceal it, so as he might have no knowledge of it. But I beseech you, continued he, conceive not that my only design in it was by such a humorous carriage, to avoid death; for if my feigned stupidity proceeded not from a nobler cause, I should not think myself worthy your notice. In the mean time, as I cannot now particularise my Fortune to you, be pleased to give me leave to conjure you not to judge of me before you understand me perfectly, either from myself or Herminius, who knows the mystery of my life, and whose apprehensions I acknowledge as my own. What I have heard from you not a quarter of an hour since, replied Aronces, what I received from Herminius just now, and what you tell me yourself, give me so much caution, to interpret all things to your advantage, that without knowing any thing of your adventures, I yet believe that your feigned extravagance is an effect of a great wisdom, and a great generosity. You are in the right, my Lord, says Valerius, in what you say; for I can assure you, that since there have been any generous men, there have not been any that could ever arrive to such a constancy, or, to say better, obstinacy of generosity, as that of the illustrious Brutus.  
Upon this, Herminius, who had not brought them together to commend one another, changed the discourse; and, as it is certain, that in great men there is a certain secret Sympathy, which unites their hearts sooner than those of others; so in one half hour, these conceived themselves of a long and standing acquaintance, and the sprightly Herminius knew so well how to humour his friends, that he was in a manner the cement of their Society. By no other assurance than that of his honesty, which was equally known to all, he raised such a confidence between them, that upon his single word they mutually trusted to one another that which was of greatest importance in their fortunes. But when they had so discovered themselves one to another, they found that their interests, though different, required the same remedies. For Brutus and Valerius wishing only Rome delivered from the Tyranny of Tarquin, looked no further than how to take away from him the power he had usurped. Herminius was engaged in the same interest, and in divers others; and Aronces desirous to deliver Clelia, and to avoid falling into the hands of Tarquin, could no other way accomplish his design, better than by destroying him who kept his Mistress Captive. Upon which Herminius telling him, that if he hoped to bring about so great an enterprise, he must, by the means of the friends he had in his Father's Court, hinder him to supply Tarquin, and oblige the King of Ceres, to relieve Ardea, or at least to make a deversion; Aronces having considered of it, told Herminius, that he must oblige Zenocrates to go to Ciusium, for that he was well known, and much esteemed by the Princess of the Leontines, a Woman of great authority, and much subtlety; that he must take with him a Letter to her, and another to Queen Galerita his Mother, and that Celeres should be sent to the King of Ceres, with whom he had been long enough when he was young, to expect credit, when he spoke on the behalf of Aronces. For though his Court had sometime been a Sanctuary to Porsenna's, yet, as he was nothing interessed in the siege of Ardea, so was it not impossible to persuade him, that it concerned him that Rome became not so powerful, as to be able to oppress all its neighbours. To make this more feasible, Herminius engaged himself, that those of Ardea should also send to that King. For though their City was besieged, yet was it not so narrowly, but that some every day came in, and went out of it. But Aronces not knowing how to acquaint Zenocrates, nor Celeres, but by the means of Amilcar, he desired permission of Brutus and Valerius, to communicate their designs to him, promising he would be answerable for his fidelity; you may also engage him to contribute his subtlety to the business, replied Herminius. It is not necessary, replied Brutus, for I know by experience, that one African is more subtle than all the Romans. I have been also told, that he hath suspected that I had more understanding than my words betrayed, and if I had not been very cautious indeed to avoid his survaying, I am confident, he had pried into my heart. If he had, replied Aronces, you would have fared never the worse for it, for Amilcar loves not to hurt those who hurt not him.  
While Brutus and Aronces were in this discourse, Herminius was fallen into so deep a musing, that Valerius who awoke him out of it, asked him the reason thereof. He at first seemed a little suspicious to tell him, but Valerius having aloud expressed his curiosity to know it, Aronces and Brutus joined with him to press him to declare what he thought. At last resolving to comply with their desires, Conceive not, said he to them, that the denial I made you, proceeds from any humour I have, my thoughts should be a secret to you; but I wish you had given me leave to decide within myself, whether a certain scruple of Virtue be well or ill grounded. But since, in the mean time, you will know it, it is sitter you should be Judges of my thoughts, than that I should judge of them without you. Know then that I was considering with myself, whether it were not to be feared, that the different interests which equally oblige us all to destroy the power of Tarquin, may not slatter us so, as not to see any difficulty in a design to change the whole face of Government. For if you will have my true apprehensions, I shall tell you, that if Tarquin had been legally chosen, I should never endeavour to force him from Rome, though even he had banished me, though he had destroyed my house, and were the most unjust Prince in the World, I believe we ought to reverence the Gods in the persons of those who have a legal power, and should undergo their violent domination, with the same patience as we endure Earthquakes and Deluges. I know well enough that the business now in hand is not of this nature. For Tarquin is a Tyrant, and his cruelty is such, that we may innocently endeavour to destroy his power; but I beseech and conjure you, consider well whether we may not expose Rome to a greater Tyranny; and whether while we hope to make her fetters lighter, we may not make them heavier. For, in fine, a change of this nature cannot be effected without a general alteration of the body of the State; and what is more to be feared is, that, if the design fail, Tarquin may strengthen his authority by the destruction of so many thousand of Innocents' and the ruin of many illustrious Families. So it may come to pass, that instead of being the Deliverers of our Country, we shall be the Destroyer's of it, and we may be accused of having preferred the desire to be revenged for our private injuries before the public Tranquillity.  
If Tarquin could be more wicked than he is, replied Brutus, there were, questionless, some consideration to be had of what you say, which certainly is worthy of your Virtue. But can Rome be more miserably dealt with than she is? Is there any one house of honest people, which Tarquin persecutes not? or can there be one found under his government who suffers not? The Rich he impoverishes; the Virtuous he either banishes, or puts to death; nay sometimes he torments the Innocent, only to satisfy his humour, though it conduce nothing to the confirming his authority. Let us not therefore raise any more doubts, generous Herminius, about a thing of such importance, and so much glory continued he, and let us expect the success of our designs from the Gods. Since I am no Roman, replied, discreetly, Aronces, I conceive I ought not to speak upon this occasion; and as I am, continued Valerius, I will presume to say, that Rome is so o'repressed with the weight of its chains, that there can be no change but must be advantageous to her. Since it is so, I have no more to say, replied Herminius, for it is possible my reason should have a stronger light than both yours.  
Hereupon Brutus and Valerius departed, and Herminius stayed with Aronces. It is true, he was not there long alone, ere Amilcar came in, who was strangely surprised at what he heard from these two friends; for though he had some light jealousies that Brutus had more understanding than was conceived, yet he could not believe what he heard of him; and if Aronces and Herminius had not promised he should see him in the Evening with all his reason, and all the excellences of his mind about him, he would still have doubted their words. In the mean time, not to lose time, Amilcar having understood about what Aronces had a meeting with Brutus, Valerius, and their noble friend Herminius, sent immediately a Slave to the Camp, to bring Zenocrates and Celeres to Rome, to receive instructions what they were to do. For Herminius, he returned to his Chamber to write to that enchanting Beauty, from whom proceeded all the Enjoyment, and all the Torment of his life; for he was never sensible of any pleasure, but when he thought on her; nor did he feel the hardship of Exile, but only in this consideration, that being not in Rome, he was far from Valeria. But Friendship had a strong influence over his soul, and that which he had for his illustrious Mother, and for the admirable Clelia, caused him both pleasures and afflictions. But at last, Love became Mistress of all the Passions, and he had a greater tenderness for such of his friends as were in love, than others, so penetrable was his heart to this Passion, Aronces in like manner, for his part set himself to write to Clelia, whom Amilcar visited every day, and his intention was to give his friend his Letter in the Evening, to be delivered the next day to that incomparable Virgin, who led a very melancholy life.  
The merry disposition of Plotina was some comfort to her, and the visits of Amilcar, allayed her affliction much, not only by the hope of Liberty, but also those testimonies of Love, which she received by him from her dear Aronces. That which was heavyest in her affliction, was, that she heard no news from Clelius, nor Sulpicia; but having a great and resolute heart, she underwent her misfortune with a great constancy. Her former misfortunes were now a kind of comfort to her, for when she called to mind that terrible Earthquake which had separated her from Aronces, and put her into the power of Horatius, when she reflected on what passed in the lake of Thrasimene, where the Prince of Numidia fought with this fierce Rival, who had carried her away, and that to recover her from him; when she was near Ardea, and was an ocular witness of that cruel combat, wherein the illustrious Aronces, after he had delivered her, was like to perish, had not his great Valour, and his good Fortune rescued him; when she considered the condition she was in when she was brought before the cruel Tarquin, and when the grand Vestal interceded for her liberty, and afterwards when she remembered Tarquin's fury after she had acknowledged herself the daughter of Clelius, she considered that in all these adventures she could not hope to have Plotina with her, to see Amilcar, to have the means to write to Aronces, and to receive from him. Conceiving hence some weak hope of a better fortune, during this cessation of Tarquin's tyranny, she spent her time somewhat comfortably with that merry-conceited Virgin, whose humour was so near of kin to mirth, that she made a pleasure of that which would have been an affliction to another.  
In the mean time Amilcar to continue the opportunity of visiting Aronces' Mistress, and to knit longer delays, writ every day to Tarquin, and fed him with hopes, that in time he should discover Clelia's most secret apprehensions; and that she might be brought over to prefer the interest of his Family, before that of Aronces. He also visited the cruel Tullia, and was not unwelcome to her; for as it concerned him for his friend's sake to keep in her favour, so he knew excellently well how to manage her humour. When he was in her presence, and that it was opportune, he took occasion to set Ambition in the front of all the passions, and represented Love as a satire, and all the pleasures that attend it: Cruel actions he called Confident actions, when they conduced to their advantage who did them; and (in sine) he had gained such an influence on her, as he doubted not to make use of her in opposition to the tyrant, if there were need. This cruel Princess knowing that he had the permission to visit Clelia, was glad to hold a correspondence with him, that by that means she might take away that Captive from Tarquin, when she should think it fitting. Tarquin, for his part, wanted not employment, for the siege of Ardea found him work enough. Love and hatred Dichotomized his heart and was a greater torment to him than his cruelty had caused to others.  
As for Sextus, his mind was full of Lucretia, whose beauty had made such an impression in his heart, that he could think of nothing but the means how to satisfy his passion. The Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus, were not without their secret Loves; Artemidorus and Zenocrates had each of them their Secrets and their Afflictions; and only Celeres was at liberty, though he had a soul naturally very passionate. But yet in the condition he was in, his tender affection and wit was spent in bemoaning his unfortunate Friends, and in finding out ways how to serve them, and therefore he was over joyed that he could imagine the means.  
But whilst these several persons had their different resentments, there was no mention of the Prince of Numidia, who had been expected in the Camp; nor could Aronces imagine what resolution he should have taken, for there was no likelihood he should have cast himself into Ardea, besides, that Herminius knowing him, he was confident he was not there. But, in fine, night drawing on, Amilcar returned to Aronces' chamber, where he found Herminius, Brutus being not yet come, so that while they expected him, Amilcar related to Aronces all he had done, and afterwards renewed the desire he had to be informed of that man's life, who had so cunningly concealed his Reason; for I cannot believe, said he, there was ever any man so unhappy, or at such a distance from all kinds of pleasures. I cannot well apprehend what he could have done; they say he married very young, he hath children, and he seems not to have an estate proportionable to his birth. How then could he conceal his reason from his wife, while she lived? How could he subsist, carrying himself so, as if he had not the discretion to govern his estate? And how could he live without Love, without society, without friends, without pleasure, and without any comfort? How could he endure to be treated like a stock, and a mad man? And how could he abjure all acquaintance with Fame? How could he be persuaded to renounce both to love any thing, or be beloved, and could brook the contempt of all the World? It is indeed true, replied Aronces, that this seems incomprehensible; but a greater miracle than all this, is, that though Brutus hath constantly acted the Sot, he yet hath preserved that great and admirable understanding, which you shall by and by find in him. When you shall understand it of yourself, replied Herminius, you will be much more amazed; for, as I have told you already, Brutus hath not only a good understanding, comprehension, judgement, and an acquaintance with great things, but he hath withal, a lively, nimble, delicate, and an admirably versatile wit. Besides he understands so exactly all the contrivances of Love, and knows as well how to make use of all those ingenious circumventions, which sometimes do sooner conquer the heart of a great Beauty, than the most signal services, that neither Greece nor afric afford a Gallant that knows better than he, the art of reducing of an illustrious soul. But you consider not, says Amilcar laughing, that while you would describe Brutus, you really draw yourself, for I can easily see your picture in it. You know Brutus then so much the better by it, replied he, and here he comes in good time to confirm what I have told you. And indeed Brutus was coming in while Herminius was speaking of him, but it was after such a manner as Amilcar was surprised at it. For knowing there was none in the chamber, but Aronces, Herminius, and he; he did not shadow his reason as he was wont to do, but entered with a certain freedom, which Amilcar had never observed in him. But he was no sooner come in, but going strait on to that witty African, since that when I deceived the distrustful Tarquin, and the suspicious Tullia, said he to him, I could not overreach the subtle Amilcar; I were as good show him what I truly am, that being obliged to me for my confidence, he may help me to keep a secret, wherein haply the safety of Rome is equally embarked with my own. What, the Brutus whom I now see, replied Amilcar, is he the same as I have formerly seen! Spare your exclamations, replies Herminius, till you have seen him better than you now do, for you have yet but a glimpse of him. Ah Herminius, replied Amilcar, I will see him throughly, and I confidently promise there shall be nothing I dare not do, might I but obtain from Brutus the History of his Thoughts, for according to the manner of his life, I believe he can hardly afford us any thing else.  
If I had nothing else to tell you, replied he, your demand were easily granted; but my life may afford things of greater consequence than you conceive. If there wants only fidelity to become worthy the knowledge of your adventures, says Aronces, I will be responsible to you for Amilcar's and my own; and if you will think yourself requited with twenty Histories for one, added Amilcar, you shall have all mine for yours; for if you believe me, I was never so much oppressed with curiosity. Since I am obliged in point of honour, to satisfy it, replied Brutus, I promise you an account of my whole life; but if you have it not from myself, you must take it from Herminius, who knows all my adventures and all my thoughts, or from one of his Kinswomen, who hath known much of the secret of my soul. But it shall be conditionally, that I be not present at the relation, for I do not find my Spirit strong enough to hear the recital of my past happiness, at a time when I pretend to no other pleasure, then that of revenge. and the deliverance of my Country, from the slavery wherein it is. Aronces and Amilcar thinking the request reasonable, it was resolved, that on the morrow Herminius should relate unto them the life of Brutus. But he could not do it so soon as these his two Friends could have wished, for that some occasions of his found him writing all the morning, and in the afternoon, he had the happiness to see the enchanting person whom he loved in Hermilia's Chamber, who to further his satisfaction had feigned herself sick, so to oblige Valeria to give her a visit. It was therefore after night, ere he related to Aronces and Amilcar what they were so impatient to know. It is true, that Brutus being employed otherwise, they had as much leisure as they could wish, yet were they so importunate, as if they feared they should never have enough of it. For as soon as Amilcar was come, and had given Aronces an account of what concerned Clelia, they pressed Herminius to a performance of his promise.  
Accordingly, this noble Roman, who needed not study long about what he had to say to them, but only to observe some order, began in these terms, directing his speech to Aronces, being first assured, he was not overheard by any, but those who were to be acquainted with a secret so hidden and so important as that which he was going to reveal unto them.  

The History of Lucius Junius Brutus.  
YOu are not to expect, my Lord, in the History I am to relate to you, to meet with those extraordinary accidents which of themselves suffice to make a relation pleasant, since my particular business is to discover unto you a life absolutely obscure. I shall make you acquainted with a man, of whose worth Rome itself is ignorant; one thought equally a stranger both to understanding and courage, yet one, notwithstanding his seeming stupidity, never guilty of dishonour in his actions, nor extravagance in his speech, though he have strangely accomplished so great a design as to keep one of the greatest hearts, and noblest minds that ever was, undiscovered from the siercest Tyrant upon earth. Look not therefore to find him gaining of Victories, besieging of Cities, and doing those illustrious actions, which ordinarily fill up the life of a Hero, yet I must bespeak for him the highest of your esteem, and the greatest of your praises, which I am confident you cannot deny him, when I shall fully have represented him to you.  
But in the mean time, do but reflect on your thoughts of Brutus, but two days since, consider him wrapped in those cloudy distracted looks, which promised neither goodness nor discretion; call to mind that affected stupidity, which when he spoke since, seemed to disguise it into nonsense, that so when you shall conceive yourself obliged to acknowledge that this very man whom in this relation I shall call no otherwise than Brutus (though it be not his true name) is the most generous, the most pleasant, the most amiable person in the world, and one as capable to undertake affairs of the greatest, as well as the least consequence, you may be pleasantly surprised into a greater admiration of him. But that you may not make his virtue so much the object of your astonishment, you are to know, that he is of as noble a Family, as any Rome affords, for he is descended from one of those gallant. Trojans, who having to extremity defended their City, followed Aeneas to seek out another country, under the conduct of those Gods, who direct them to Italy. The Family of Brutus Fortune seemed to be particularly prodigal to: as to Riches; for Marcus Junius, his Father, was one of the wealthiest Citizens of Rome. For which reason Tarquin: before he made himself King, had brought about a Marriage between him and his only Sister, Tarquinia, out of intention, if occasion served, by the strength of his Brothers-in-lawe wealth, to bring to effect his own secret designs. For, though he knew Marcus Junius to be a man of a great virtue, and that Tarquinia inclined more to the peaceable humour of the Prince of Ameriola (who was then living) than to his, yet could he not be persuaded: but that the interest of alliance would easily engage Junius into any interest of his. But this conjecture deceived him, for this generous Roman could not be taxed with the least concurrence with the crimes of Tarquin, and the virtuous Tarquinia spilt as many harmless tears, as her brother had shed, of innocent blood, since his assuming the Sovereignty.  
Thus may Brutus be said to be the Offspring of Afflictions, and I have it from Sivelia, that Tarquinia never had merry day from the death of Marcus Junius, till her own. For besides that she abhorred the impieties of the proud Tarquin, and cruel Tullia, and sympathized with all those unfortunate Innocents' whom they ruined, she herself lay open to the violence and tyranny of her own brother.  
But that you may be the better informed what justice Brutus had to hate Tarquin; I must in few words tell you whence proceeded the hatred of Tarquin to Brutus' Father. You are then to know, that as soon as Tarquin had by those strange ways, known to all, made himself King, he initiated his reign, with all the injustice imaginable, it being his design, by the ruin of all honest men, to establish himself in the Throne he had usurped. He did not presently engage his Brother-in-law in this design, out of a hope, that being gradually disciplined into these violences, he would in time be even prevailed with to be the executioner of his cruelties, as you shall soon understand.  
Being ambitious to overmaster his Neighbours, as well as the Romans, he was no sooner seated in the Throne, but he plotted the subjection of the Latins. But that proved a harder task than he conceived: for there was one Turnus Herdonius, a man of great authority among them, opposed him, because he refused him his Daughter, whom yet he was willing to bestow on another of that Nation. Tarquin looking on this man as one that would prove a rub to all his undertake, if he were not destroyed, and considering withal, that to attempt it openly, would be dangerous: resolved to do it by treachery. Knowing therefore that the whole Senate was satisfied with the integrity of Junius, he told him, that he was certain, that Herdonius was in Conspiracy against him, and all the Senators, in order to bring the Romans under subjection to the Latins, and to make himself Master of both Nations: but having no testimony to prove this against Herdonius, it was necessary a person of Authority, such as he was, should by his credit maintain the accusation when it were once advanced.  
He had scarce made an end of his proposal, but this virtuous Roman, after denial sharply reprehended him, and told him, that if Virtue did not dissuade him from discovering the crimes of a Brother-in-law, he would soon acquaint Herdonius with it, and I know not certainly, whether he did not threaten to do it, so to divert him from so pernicious a design; for knowing well enough what a Kidney Tarquin was of, he easily perceived that he would falsely charge Herdonius with this pretended conspiracy. Not but that Herdonius was both mischievous and ambitious enough, but it is also as certain, he never was guilty of any attempt against the Tyrant's life, much less against any of the Senate, and that his main design was to make himself as strong as he could to oblige Tarquin to prefer him before his Rival, and consequently bestow on him the Princess his daughter.  
But in the mean time, Tarquin being as subtle as wicked, seemed to rest satisfied with the reasons of Junius, and thereupon promised he would do no violence to Herdonius but by just and honourable ways. However, he made a shift to dispatch him otherwise, for corrupting a Slave belonging to Herdonius, who, while his Master, was out of doors, suffered a number of swords and other arms, to be brought into his Master's house, the cruel Tarquin confidently dressed up an accusation against him, insinuating that it was fit enquiry should be made into the business; and so engaging all those to whom he spoke of it, by the apprehension of their own danger, he persuaded them they should be fully enlightened, as to what he said to them, by searching Herdonius his house. This was done, and there were found the Arms which Tarquin had secretly conveyed thither, and such other circumstances as amounted to make him thought guilty; upon which those whom Tarquin had purposely brought along with him, seized disorderly every one on a sword of those which were found, and without any other ceremony threaten him with death. He is taken, bound, and by Tarquin's order cast into the Springhead of the Ferentine fountains, where he no sooner was in, but overwhelmed with stones, he was presently drowned. The business was done so of a sudden, that Junius knew it not ere it was too late to prevent it, though as soon as he had notice that some Soldiers were commanded to Herdonius', he went to divert Tarquin from so strange a violence. But he could not make such haste, but that Herdonius was dead, and all he could do was to acquaint Tarquin that he was not ignorant of his crime in it.  
This business broke off all correspondence between him and Tarquin, insomuch that he went not to Court, but when honour obliged him; he gave order, Tarquinia should go very seldom to the Queen; so that both of them made it afterwards their whole business to see well educated two sons which they then had, whereof Brutus is one. It is true, he was then but a child, but his brother, who was six or seven years elder than he, made some advantage of the instructions they gave him.  
Another thing which extremely exasperated Tarquin against Junius, was to see what use he made of that excessive wealth which he was master of; for when Tarquin had confiscated the estate of any virtuous Family, Junius and Tarquinia secretly relieved all those whom he had ruined; which they did after such a manner, as if they conceived themselves obliged to enrich those whom the Prince impoverished, and that it was their part to restore what he took away from all virtuous people. Tarquin therefore thought, that their liberality did as it were, dis-arm his Tyranny by making him uncapable to make men miserable, and that Junius, having married his Sister, robbed the Crown of all he was so prodigal of. Nay, he conceived that this man's Virtue secretly reproved his Vices, so indeed that at last he was no longer able to endure it. Being therefore resolved to rid Junius out of the way, and tempted withal with the advantage of being Guardian to his Children, and consequently disposing of all the great Wealth of that house, he caused him to be poisoned. But as it is hard to meet with poisons that leave no marks of their malignity, the virtuous Tarquinia knew (but too much to her grief) that her noble Husband was taken away by the cruelty of her Brother. But that which was most remarkable in his death, was, that Junius, who had an infinite affection for Tarquinia, and doubted not but that he was poisoned at a Banquet, where he was forced to afford the tyrant his company, yet had the generosity not to tell her of her Brother's cruelty, nor ever mind her of revenging his death. But if he showed himself so reserved to her, he was more open to his eldest Son, who was arrived to years of discretion. For he sent for Licinius, an ancient friend of his, whose faith he trusted with all his secrets, and speaking to his Son in his presence, he enjoined him to be as dutiful to that virtuous friend, as to himself, to prefer Virtue before all things, never to forget that his Father lost his life through the injustice of an Usurper; never to miss any occasion might conduce to the deliverance of Rome, and to instil these resentments into his younger Brother, as soon as he should be capable to receive them; which done, he died in an admirable assuredness of mind.  
But Tarquinia's constancy was at the first onset overmastered by her grief, and it was impossible she should not betray some light suspicion she had, about the death of Junius, even while the fierce Taquin, and the cruel Tullia, were comforting her for the loss which they caused her; for this inhuman Princess had a hand in this, as in all the rest of her husband's enormities. But Tarquin catching at so visible a pretence, soon began to ill-intreat his Sister, and possessing himself of all the wealth of the Family, reduced Tarquinia to a very sad condition; for he left her not any thing to dispose of, nor was she suffered to have her eldest Son with her, which added infinitely to the affliction of this generous Roman Lady, who in that very circumstance underwent the greatest persecution which could fall upon her after the loss she had received. For Tarquin observing in his Sister's eldest Son, certain great and virtuous inclinations, and that he had withal a great understanding and courage, caused him barbarously to be murdered, and that so confidently, that he troubled not himself whether he were accused for it or not, or studied any pretence for it, as if there were not any other account of his loss to be given, than that he feared, that that illustrious unfortunate man should revenge his Father's death, and recover that prodigious wealth, which he had possessed himself of.  
Tarquinia, who had yet hardly dried up her tears for the death of her husband, was so transported with that of her Sons, that to save what was left, she resolved to steal out of Rome with this child, and she did it so much the sooner, insomuch as she was advertised by Licinius, that Tarquin would within a few days, snatch him out of her Arms. So that this wise Matron, assisted by the counsel of this faithful friend of Marcus Junius, absolutely determined to forsake that place where her own Brother reigned with so much injustice. It is true, she had the happiness of Licinius' company thence; for being hated by Tarquin, he thought it conduced to his safety to leave his country as well as she. So that Licinius, Tarquinia, and the young Brutus, who then had no other name that Lucius Junius, departed Rome disguised, and pitched upon Metapont for the place of their retreat.  
That which obliged Licinius to advise Tarquinia to that place, was making it his business to bestow the best education upon his Friend's Son, who had so much enjoined it at his death, he thought there was no City in all Italy where it could be better done than at Metapont. And in effect, he was not deceived, for it being not long since that famous Samian Philosopher, whose renown hath so filled the World, died; most of his Disciples were there still, nor was it a small number, since there were near six hundred, who particularly professed tbat they had learned of him, to honour Learning, and practise Virtue. Nay, Pythagoras had left behind him a Daughter, capable of the highest Disciplines, who had withal so great a Virtue, that her example was no less effectual in reforming the looseness of the Women of that place, than the reprehensions of her Father. There were constantly with her Archytas of Tarentum, Alcmaeon of Crotona, and Hipasus of Metapont, nay even the dreadful Milo every where famous for his prodigious strength, was forced to submit to the powerfulness of her charms, and do honour to the memory of Pythagoras, who had lodged at his Fathers, while he sojourned in Crotonia. Licinius therefore believing Metapont, to be such a School, as were fit for the education of young Brutus, continued there with Tarquinia.  
But my Lord, I had forgot to tell you, that Marcus Junius had enjoined his wife at his death to marry that illustrious Roman, that so his children may have a virtuous Father, and that his Friend might have that wealth which he said he deserved better than himself, and whereto he had much right; for it was certain, that Licinius had been in love with Tarquinia, nor was she altogether void of love for him; so that though the second marriages are not very frequent at Rome, and that Tarquinia at first made some difficulty to obey her Husband, yet she was overcome, when she saw herself forced to fly; considering with herself, it were much more to her reputation, to follow a banished Husband, than a banished Friend, how virtuous soever he might be, as also that Licinius would have a greater care of her Son, and would be inseparably engaged in her Fortune. Thus the virtuous Tarquiniu, who was yet very handsome, though past that youthfulness which commonly illustrates a great Beauty, married the virtuous Licinius, but it was done privately; and there's not one in all Rome yet knows that he is Tarquinia's Husband, and therefore cannot consequently imagine that the fair Hermilia is Brutus' Sister.  
How, interrupted Aronces, this beautiful Virgin whom Amilcar yesterday entertained with such gallant Courtship, is Brutus' Sister? She is, replied Herminius, for Tarquinia had this Daughter at Metapont, in the time of her banishment. But how, says Amilcar, is she said to be Racilia's Niece? Supposing she were not Tarquinia's Daughter.  
The sequel of my discourse shall acquaint you, replied Herminius; but to hasten to that which relates to Brutus, I am first to tell you, that in a short time, Licinius and Tarquinia were mightily esteemed at Metapont; however, they thought not fit to discover what they were, but rather to conceal their Quality, though they could not their Virtue, for which the wise and learned Daughter of Pythagoras, whose name was Dame, had so great a friendship for them, that she was particularly tender of the Education of young Brutus. She recommended him to the most famous of her Father's Disciples, as soon as he had arrived an age capable to receive their instructions, and she herself gave him that advice, which hath not been smally advantageous to him in the sequel of his life.  
For, my Lord, I must so far divert to the commendation of this learned Virgin, as to say, that no man in the world would think it a dishonour to have a heart of the same metal with hers, insomuch that Licinius and Tarquinia having experienced her prudence, goodness, and her virtue, deposited with her the whole secret of their fortune, which reviving in this generous Virgin, the manner how her illustrious Father had sometimes avoided the tyranny of Polycrates, she had a particular tenderness towards those who forsook Rome to escape the tyranny of Tarquin. This consideration occasioned a strict League between these three persons, which was no small advantage to Licinius and Tarquinia. For though Dame was not very rich herself, yet she is more esteemed at Metapont, than those who can brag most of the favours of fortune; and besides that there is a great veneration for the memory of her Father, insomuch that the people have made a Temple of the house where he lived, and that her Mother, named Theano, was also famous there for her Learning and Virtue, her own rare and excellent endowments purchase her the admiration of all the world. To be short, she made one expression of Virtue which was very glorious, and such as I cannot but acquaint you with, that you may the better know her, who hath instilled the first sentiments of it into the illustrious Brutus.  
You are then to note, that Pythagoras dying, left to his Daughter all he had written while he lived; not but that he had a Son, a knowing and virtuous person, but that he had a greater esteem for this Daughter than for him; and believed that she would the more exactly obey him in that command of his, that his writings should never be carried out of house. This generous Virgin, though she were not rich, yet obstinately refused the infinite riches which were proffered her, if she would but deliver up what her illustrious Father had entrusted her with; choosing rather to live poorly, than disobey the last desires of him to whom she ought more than her life, as being indebted to him for a part of her Virtue. This being an action very remarkable, proved so glorious to this excellent Virgin, that it gained her the general veneration of all Metapont. Hence came it that her friendship proved so advantageous to Licinius and Tarquinia. She was also the cause that Brutus was not brought up as other children, and that he was never taught any thing but what was manifested to him by Reason, not content with the simple performance of memory, as is the manner of most Masters to deal with those are committed to their charge. Besides, though she were daughter to a Philosopher, who professed austerity, and one who had prevailed with the women of Metapont, voluntarily to bestow part of those things which served them only for ornament, towards the building of a Temple for Juno, yet she was of opinion, that those who but began to live in this world, should be allowed a certain honest liberty, and that Virtue should have a kind of Adolescence, as I may so say, during which Festivals, Recreations, and innocent pleasures should be permitted, lest the soul should at the first assault be discouraged by the difficulties of study, and should be overwhelmed by that which should make her bear fail against all adverse fortune whatsoever. I shall entreat you (said she one day to Tarquinia, as I have learned since) if your resolution be to bring up your son to great things, begin betimes to instil into him the love of Glory, and endeavour he may prefer it before all things. But how can I, replied Tarquinia, considering my Son's age, inspire him with desires of Glory, since he is hardly master of his Reason? On the contrary, replied this wise person, it is in this age, easiest to weed out evil inclinations, and to cultivate the good, if the disposition of those they would correct, be but well understood. But commonly those who have children, are more troubled to bestow Wit on them, than Virtue. They are desirous to teach them the Art of Writing, and speaking well, not caring whether they are taught to do well; whereas if you follow my advice, you will think the Manners of your Son of equal concernment with his Mind. That which troubles me concerning Junius, replied Tarquinia, is, that he is Vehement in any thing he desires, that he is sometimes as violently carried away with the consideration of things of little importance, as those of the greatest, and that whatsoever his heart is sensible of, he obstinately loves: And if he be so unhappy, as one day not to arrive to that faculty of discerning that there may be an obstinacy without danger, he would be subject to very strange things. I grant, replied the virtuous daughter of Pythagoras, that what you say may come to pass; but when all is done, the temperament of great minds ought to be such as you represent that of your Son's, for there is nothing at so great a distance from true and heroic Virtue, as that soft indifference which obliges some persons to be pleased with all things, or nothing; whence it comes to pass, that they neither entertain great desires of Glory, nor great fear of Infamy; that they neither love nor hate; that they follow custom blindfold; that they are only sensible of the afflictions of the body; their minds being in a manner insensible; and lastly, that they are guilty of a certain indolence of mind, if one may so express it, which renders them unworthy of life. In like manner, I should be more prone to conceive greater hope of a man that should in the beginning of his life, be strongly hurried away by some evil habit, than one that fastens on nothing; for to one that can love or hate irreconcilably, there needs no more to make him a virtuous man, but to represent unto him a rational object; but, with him, who is uncapable of any violent attraction, and whose heart lies legar to a general indifference, a man can never do any good; and Philosophy itself, who boasts it hath remedies for all the indispositions of the soul, never had any could cure an indifferent mind. Nay, I am persuaded, continued she, that indifference is commonly an inseparable companion of lowness of spirit; for it is so natural to man, to be carried towards that which he believes to be good, that if indifferent people were able to judge of things, they would fasten on something. But certain it is, that this lukewarmness of temperament, which sends forth but feeble desires, sheds but feeble lights, insomuch as those who are guilty of it, not knowing any thing certainly, cannot fasten on any thing with perseverance.  
I crave your pardon, my Lord, that I have been so particular in their circumstances, which seem not to be absolutely necessary to my relation; yet I hope you will not think them altogether unprofitable, since they serve to let you know what kind of education that man hath had, who hath so fortunately concealed the greatest mind in the world, and can as opportunely discover it when he pleases.  
But not to abuse your patience, I shall enlarge no further upon this subject, and only tell you, that Brutus had the learned Damo for the Tutoress of his youth, and the chiefest Disciples of Pythagoras were his Masters. I have heard him acknowledge, that the ingenious Commendations, and gentle and seasonable Repehensions of that knowing Virgin, were more advantageous to him than all his Books. She sometimes gave him very considerable advice, though she seemed only simply to entrust him with the secret resentments of her heart: For Brutus having passed that age, wherein there is little danger of speaking any thing unseasonably, in company he seemed to have arrived to such a consistence of reason, that even those rational persons, with whom he conversed, admitted him five or six years older than he was. So that though he were yet very young, Damo numbered him among her friends, and those the chiefest. And certainly it was not without reason, for Brutus even at that time had a many excellent and winning endowments: He travelled into Greece, wherein though he spent but a year, yet it sufficed to polish his mind, and the Love he had for Sappho's Verses, was so great, that the same passion taught him to make some himself, and those so good, as might be preferred before those of that famous Lesbian. Moreover he was courageous, meek, obliging, complaisant, and amiable, and born under such an Ascendent of love, that never was there any Lover guilty of a greater tenderness than he. Yet was not his affection fixed on any thing at Metapont, though he lived there after such a high rate, as raised him the love of all the Ladies there. 'tis indeed true, that the friendship he professed to Damo, was a kind of Antidote against that Tyrannical passion, which hath been since, and still is, his merciless tormentor.  
But since Licinius and Tarquinia could not think on Rome without regret; Brutus as soon as he was come to age, began to think of his return, and imagined it more glorious for him to die, than not to revenge his Father's death. However he said nothing to Tarquinia of this intention of his, because she was sister to the Tyrant, who had ruined his house; but in fine, though he had an extraordinary tenderness for her, yet had he as great a hatred for Tarquin. But he did not yet perceive how he could hope to hurt him, yet he did what he could to avoid all assaults of love at Metapont, as being resolved to die at Rome. Nevertheless he had acknowledged to me, that once or twice he had received some impressions of Love, but that Ambition and Friendship had soon stifled them. So that though Brutus' conversation at that time, was much like that of a Gallant and an Amorist, yet the Ladies had named him among themselves, the Loveless Gallant. That name indeed exposed him to a dangerous adventure; for you are to know, that the famous Milo, celebrated for his strength at the Olympic Games, yet one between whose body and mind there was no proportion would needs one day jeer him, and call him as others did, the Loveless Gallant But he did it so bitterly, that Brutus, who certainly carries indignation enough in his heart, though, when he pleases he can put on as great a moderation, told him, with a malicious smile, that he was ready to acknowledge himself the Loveless Gallant, if conditionally he should confess himself to be the Lover without Gallantry. The dreadful Milo, whose force nothing could resist, presuming on the adunatage which Nature had bestowed on him, returned Brutus a very sharp answer, who as confident of his courage, as the other of his strength, answered this famous wrestler with such a noble boldness, that the other conceiving himself affronted, blushed with madness, and, were it any glory for Milo to overcome thee, said he to him: I should soon teach thee, that some presumptions are unfortunate, by punishing thee for that thou art now guilty of, by provoking one who can, when he pleases, crush thee to pieces. I know very well, replied as roundly Brutus, that Milo hath been accustomed from his infancy to play with a young Bull, and that he carried one on his back at the Olympic Games: but I have never heard (continued he, with a smile full of contempt) that he knew as well how to fight with young Lions. Saying thus, Brutus lays hands on two swords which a Slave carried along who accidently passed by the place where Milo and he were walking. But he had no sooner taken them from the Slave, but casting one of them to Milo, Take that sword, said he to him, and, if thou wouldst preserve thy glory thou hast acquired, despise not an enemy who thinks he hath as great a heart as thyself, though he acknowledges thee to be the stronger. Milo entertained these words with a fierce look, while he took up the sword, which this illustrious Roman had cast him, and retreating two or three paces, and viewing with a threatening action, Young Confidence, said he to him, force me not to destroy thee, by casting thyself upon my arms, for I care not to overcome where there is no glory. But Milo had no sooner uttered these words, but he was convinced there was work for his strength to overcome theenemy he so much slighted. For Brutus making a pass at him with an incredible nimbleness, had run him through the body, had he not as readily warded the thrust with a backblow, which made both their swords strike fire, which argued the strength of the arm which gave it. In the mean time Milo knowing that his advantage was to close with him, forgot not himself. He was greater than the ordinary size of men, his age double that of Brutus; he had all his life-time practised wrestling, and all other exercises of the body, which requireth either sleight or strength; he was accounted the best wrestler in the world, and he was so excessively strong, that, it being beyond vulgar belief, that nature alone could make him such, people said, he derived it from a certain Stone, whose virtue was to bestow more than natural strength upon those that carried it. But though Milo had done things which might be justly attributed to a Giant, Brutus found him more work than he expected, for he fought with so much judgement, that it was impossible Milo should close with him, though he made it his only business to get him down. For Milo had no sooner thought of what he was to do, but Brutus shifting place, caused Milo to change his purpose, such a sleight had Brutus in making his passes, and presently recovering himself out of the reach of that merciless enemy, who endeavouring only to fasten on him, did only ward his blows, knowing that if he could but once get him under him, the victory were certain. Nor indeed had Brutus any great hopes to escape this bout, for having cut Milo over the left arm, he was so exasperated to see his adversaries sword died with his blood, that he furiously ran upon Brutus, whom he got by the shoulder, but happening to lay hold on him with his left hand, the wound in his arm pained him so, that he was forced to let go his hold, so that Brutus presently getting off, played upon him more furiously than before. The fierce Milo seeing himself in this condition, would cast himself a second time upon Brutus; but he having by his activity avoided the blow, Milo was so enraged that he would offer at him by a black-blow over the head, which certainly, had it been effectual, had laid him along. But Milo having miss his blow, it happened the same strength should have gained him the victory, contributed to his being overcome; for he being desirous to direct his second blow on Brutus, his sword, missing his adversary, met with a tree, into which it sunk so deep, that striving to draw it out, he could not without breaking it. But what was admirable in Brutus, was that seeing his adversaries sword so engaged, he stood still and took no advantage of it, it being in his power, in this unfortunate Interval, to have killed Milo. But in this posture were they surprised by the Slave from whom Brutus had taken the swords, who being gone for people to part them, returned sufficiently accompanied to put an end to the Duel. In the mean time Milo was so horribly enraged at the disgrace he received, that he knew not in a manner what he did, insomuch that in his madness taking hold of the Tree wherein was the piece of his sword, he shook it so violently that he took it up by the roots, and thought to have brushed those with it who were coming to them. This expression of a prodigious strength augmented Brutus' glory, for there could be nothing so unexpected, as to see one of his age and strength overmaster the terrible Milo, who had not met in all Greece with him that durst oppose him. But if the prudent Damo had not used all the interest she had in Milo, to persuade him to stifle the shame of being worsted, he would have broke forth into some violent course against Brutus. But she so well knew how to temper the bitterness of his humour, that she forced him to embrace him whom he would with all his heart have smothered, were not the fierceness of his disposition restrained by the respect he bore her.  
Thus, my Lord, have you had an account of Brutus' infancy, who after this furious combat, was ●n greater esteem among the Ladies than ever. For though Worth be not the virtue of Women, yet is it certain that they love it, and that for its sake they prejudice other good Qualities, by preferring those who it may be are only Hector's, before others, who instead of that one, have a many other rich Virtues.  
Hereupon, Brutus seeing himself commended, and courted more than ordinary, was more inclined ●o fall in love with a very handsome Lady with whom the particular manner he came to be acquainted, is worth the relating to you. Besides that, though it be not she that gave such a violent assault to Brutus' love, yet it is at least her acquaintance that hath been the cause of his coming to Rome, and that he lived here after the manner you have seen him.  
You are then to know, that at Crotona there was a maid of an excellent wit, called Bellanira, who held correspondence by Letters with Damo; insomuch that writing to one another, as two persons who had no matters of state, but only certain secrets of friendship to communicate, they gave one another an account of their pleasures, and principally of the new friends of either Sex, which they made. So that Damo receiving one day a Letter from Bellanira, showed it to Brutus, and told him, she needed his assistance very much to answer it. Brutus conceiving it was some great affair that Damo should desire his advice in, opens this Letter, and found in it, if I mistake not, these words, at least I am certain it was to this effect.  
Bellanira to the wise Damo.  
I Once thought I should never have loved any thing but you, but now I am to tell you, that I have found a new Friend so worthy to be loved, that though I have your promise not to contract any new friendships, you would certainly come short of your word, if you knew her as well as I do. She is a Virgin, whose person endued with thousands of charms, wit, goodness, her inclinations absolutely noble, and her conversation infinitely pleasant; she is neither humorous, nor proud, but dearly loves her Friends, and is perpetually speaking to me of you, though she knew you no otherwise than by fame, and of whose friendship I have a thousand tender expressions. I desire to know whether I can, without ingratitude, refuse her affection, or without being unfaithful to you, divide mine with her, for since my heart is at your disposal, I cannot receive into it this new and charming Friend, without your permission, though I know not well how to keep her out.  
When Brutus (who went at Metapont under a wrong name, which I cannot at the present call to mind) had read this Letter, he told Damo that it was handsomely writ, but saw not any necessity she had to answer it. You shall see that when I have done it, replied the smiling; but when you have answered it, replied he, I can do you no service in it. When you read it, answered she, you shall give me your opinion. Whereupon Damo taking writing-tables, writ to Bellanira, which when she had done, showing it to Brutus, he there in read the Letter I am going to repeat to you.  
Damo to Bellanira.  
THat you may assure yourself I am a person of as much sincerity as any in the World, I do ingenuously confess, that I am not a little glad that you have furnished me with a pretence to break the promise I made you, not to entertain any new Friendships. For if you have found out a Woman-friend you like so well, I can boast I have met with man I am so much taken with, that I think him worthy to be a Servant to that Beauty you have so drawn to the life; for there issue greater charms from his mind, than can from her eyes, as being one, whose soul speaks greater excellencies than you have met with in all the men you have known. So that to deal sincerely with you, I should have been as much troubled to refuse admittance to this new friend, as you would be, should I oblige you, to break off with yours. I am willing therefore, that we be mutually guilty of Infidelity, and (the better to confirm our joynt-conquest) that we engage these two persons, who both love us, to love one another; lest that, if your friend should have a servant that were not my friend, she might prevail with you to forsake me, and that mine having a Mistress which were not your friend, he would endeavour to lessen my friendship towards you. Propose therefore what I tell you to that amiable person, who robs me of part of your soul, and I shall make the same proposition to him who must keep you company in mine.  
But for aught I see, interrupted Amilcar, the Sciences have not spoiled the wit of this daughter of Pythagoras, since she writes so excellently; and her Philosophy is not too austere, since she allows Love to be of the University of her Friends.  
On the contrary, replied Herminius, she holds that to be truly virtuous, requires a temperament full of passion, and that there cannot be a servant affection for Virtue, where there is not withal a passionate tenderness. But to speak truly, did the Painters draw Love as she imagines it, they would disburden him of his Fillet, his Bow and Arrows, and leave him only his Torch; for this wise Virgin says, she cannot endure the Love that is blind, and that it is enough a heart should be set afire, without being shot thorough with darts. In fine, she so purifies this passion, that she cleanses it from whatever is dangerous, and yet takes away nothing from it that is pleasant.  
But to return to Brutus, after that Damo had shown him the Letter she writ to Bellanira, he made as if he understood not himself to be that so well-liked person, she so mentioned to her friend, but purposely, that he might be the more fully satisfied of a thing which pleased him; but at length she reduced him to a necessity of rendering her a thousand thanks. Yet he told her, that he should never have confidence enough to see Bellanira, having seen what she writ to her of him; but she answered, it should not be long ere he saw her, for that she was resolved on a journey to Crotona, that she had engaged Tarquinia for the same place, and that she would oblige him to conduct her, and indeed within fifteen days all came to pass accordingly. But in the mean time, Bellanira and Damo writ to one another, with as much bravery as friendship; so that when they saw one another, Brutus found himself confirmed in the mind of Bellanira, who joyfully received him, and sincerely confessed to Damo, that she were to blame if she should refuse his friendship.  
But this new friend of hers being not yet come to Crotona, as being expected within four days, these two loving persons resolved to put some trick upon the enchanting Chrysis, for so was that Beauty called. To this end Damo, who knew that Brutus could as easily disguise his mind, as discover it, when the humour took him, told Bellanira, that, the more to surprise her friend, 'twere fit Brutus should put on his stupidity the first time he should see Chrysis, to see how she would receive a Lover, of whom she had form so great an Idea. Bellanira approving the proposition, and Brutus saying that it was easy for him, and not unseasonable at the first sight, to disguise his humour, rather than to be too forward to disclose it, promised so far to overreach the fair Chrysis, that she should go near to despise him. And I promise you, replied Bellanira, that as soon as she comes to know you, she will esteem you infinitely. It shall be therefore for your sake, replied he. Nay, it shall be rather for her own sake, replied the pleasant Damo, since she must be much to blame, if she knew you and did not esteem you. For, to deal plainly with you, you will not be able to conceal yourself. Not but that when you are among those that force you to it, you differ much from what you are among those you like, yet you also listen like one who hath the discretion to be weary of hearing things of no entertainment. However it be, replied he, I warrant you, I make Chrysis believe I have not common sense, and force her to some visible expressions of her contempt. For my part, replied Bellanira, I am somewhat afraid, as well as Damo, that you will not be able to deceive Chrysis; whereas there is nothing more unhandsome than to undertake a pleasant circumvention, and not go through with it. I should find you in a greater fear, replied Brutus, if I were obliged to gain Chrysis' esteem at the first sight, to entertain her with great and noble things, and screw up her admiration, instead of purchasing her contempt: for truly, I think nothing harder than to act a great wit, nor any thing easier than not to show that wit one hath. You have too much for to hide it so easily, replied Damo; but, put the case I have as you say, replied he smiling, it will not be hard for me to do what I think. We shall see replied Bellanira, but I am afraid you yourself will be deceived, and that you cannot deceive Chrysis. That which makes for Brutus, replied Damo, is, that whether he deceive her, or not, it will still be much to his reputation; for if he cannot conceal his wit, it will be said he is very happy, that he hath so much that he cannot hinder it from appearing; and if he do conceal it, he will be much commended for his subtlety, that he can conceal the greatest wit, from one of the sprightliest wenches in the world. Brutus returned this compliment with another; and their discourse that day was so pleasant and divertive, that Bellanira could not conceive how Brutus could carry himself and not discover his worth.  
But in fine, three days after Chrysis comes to Crotona, but so late at night, that she could not meet with any could direct her, either to Brutus or to Damo. In the mean time, Bellanira, whose imagination was tickled with the pleasure of her friend's surprisal, sent her back word by a slave which Chrysis had sent to her, that she was very sorry she could not wait on her, as being somewhat indisposed, but that if she were as obliging as fair, she would give her a visit in the afternoon; which Chrysis, who had for Bellanira the greatest ardency of a new friendship, failed not to do, and came presently after dinner. But she was no sooner come in, than Bellanira, after the first ceremonies of compliment, told her that this new friend of Damo's, who was to be her servant, was in Crotona, and was that day to be at her lodging, together with that excellent maid, who had honoured her with his acquaintance. But I beseech you, said she to her laughing, make me not ashamed, show this day your greatest wit; and consult with my glass about your dressing, that your beauty may shine in its full lustre. Ah Bellanira, replied she, who grasps at wit, loses it, and I never miss it, so much as when I most think on it. But I pray you, continued she, what do you think of this friend of Damo's? I take him, replied Bellanira, to be the greatest wit in the world, and that if you can conquer his heart, it will be a conquest worthy of you. But, continued she, to spare both you and him the troublesomeness of your first compliments, I shall not exactly represent him to you, but shall leave that alone till discourse start out an occasion to do it.  
Chrysis satisfied with what her friend said, fell into discourse about Damo, who soon after comes in; but she had hardly appeared, ere Bellanira, presenting Chrysis to her, said to her, See I pray, whether my infidelity be excusable, or if I could, without injustice, deny my friendship, to a person whom I think worthy of yours, which is much more precious than mine. Damo answered this Bravery very obligingly, both as to Bellanira and Chrysis, who talked with so much discretion, that she both justified Bellanira, and ravished Damo.  
In the mean time comes in Brutus, but though Bellenira knew he was to disguise himself to deceive Chrysis, she herself was surprised at the manner of his carriage; for, as he came in, he changed the very air of his countenance, stupidity entered into his physiognomy, his civilities were so ungraceful, and uncertain, that Chrysis was extremely disturbed, especially hearing Bellanira naming him by the name of that friend of Pythagoras' daughter. But if she was surprised at his arrival, she was amazed at his discourse for, for two hours together she could not observe in him a look or a smile, which might raise a suspicion that he had but a common sense, so far was he from seeming to have any extraordinary parts. Not that he had betrayed himself by any extravagant talk, but there was such a natural dulness in all his discourse, that it was not to be imagined, that he, who spoke so, did counterfeit; insomuch that Chrysis had not the least jealousy of it, but was absolutely persuaded, that he, whom she saw, was not the same she had heard of. So that coming to Bellanira, For Heaven's sake, said she to her, what pleasure do you take to do me a discourtesy? Nay it is true, that you yourself buy the delight you take in abusing me, at too dear a rate, when you purchase it with the conversation of the most stupid of mankind, and that for so long time. Bellanira; who was very much pleased at what Chrysis said, as being an evident token that she was deceived, burst forth into such a loud laughter, that Chrysis was confirmed in what she thought, that her friend had put a trick upon her; but that which was most admirable, was, that though she was satisfied she was deceived, yet could she not comprehend after what manner. So that the more she spoke of it, the more sport she found Damo and Bellanira, for she intimated by what she said, that she did not believe Brutus to be Brutus, and was so far from thinking him able to understand what she said, that she did not stick to tell him so much.  
But the man who seemed so stupid, upon a sign from Damo and Bellanira, ceased to be so, and surprised Chrysis after such a manner, that having heard him talk a quarter of an hour, she could not hold from breaking forth into a cry of astonishment. She would be angry with Bellanira, and to punish her for this advice, she told her she would honour her friends the more for it, and prefer this new one before her. Alas Madam, replied Brutus, do not break any of the Articles which are agreed upon between our two friends, for any concernment of mine, and remember that I am to be your Servant, not your Friend. Though I should do a less displeasure to Bellanira, replied she, in receiving you favourably as a Lover, than if I receive you as a Friend, yet you will give me leave not to enslave myself to the humours of two persons, who take up all their sport upon my account. Ah Madam, cried out Brutus, if you will do Bellanira so great a spite; and deprive her of all your friendship, you must needs be guilty of some love; for do you conceive that any thing else can lessen the affection you have for that amiable person? Believe me, continued she, friendship is never destroyed by friendship, there must be something stronger than itself, that should force it out of a heart which it is once possessed of, and it is only Love which can do what you pretend. For when all is done, a man may make many new friends, without injury done to the old; a man's mind is easily divided into many friendships.  
There are some friends, whose secrets a man is contented to know, and yet thinks not sit to trust them with his; there are others, to whom a man communicates things of importance, whom he would not entertain with trifles; and on the contrary, there are some, whom a man would acquaint with many inconsiderable secrets, to whom yet he would not commit matters of concernment. So that a man raises some kind of pleasure out of all, and though it be in a different manner, yet a man still takes some delight in all those for whom he hath never so little friendship. But Madam it is otherwise with Love, for when one is possessed with never so little of it, it presently causes a remission in the enjoyments of friendship; and when the heart is once wholly inflamed by it, there is no pleasure in the friends of either sex; what was divertive before, ceases to be so; the conversation of those we most esteem proves tedious; and pleasure itself is not pleasure, if it be not divided with the person beloved; for in fine, Love knows so well how to disrelish all the enjoyments of friendship, that if you would take a full revenge of Bellanira, you must resolve to entertain a little love. If it be as you say (replied Chrysis laughing) I should be much obliged to you, if you can engage Bellanira to love some body, that so my friendship may prove unconsiderable to her. Ah, charming Chrysis, replied the lively Brutus, that is the way to be revenged on yourself; for you would thereby deprive yourself of the greatest pleasures in the world, and bestow it on Bellanira, who would little regard the delights of friendship, when she hath once tasted those of Love. But I pray tell me, says Damo, who hath taught you to talk so learnedly of a passion, which was never yet absolute Mistress of your heart? I am born under such a Love-star, Madam, replied he, that even when I do not love any thing, yet from the simple imagination that I may love, I derive a sensible delight.  
Upon this, Chrysis inclining to be pacified, there happened very pleasant discourse between these three persons: but it was soon interrupted by the entrance of a Lady who carried severity in her countenance, all whose actions were as it were set in tune, and whose very looks seemed to commend all that is called Pleasure. Insomuch that Bellanira, Damo, and Chrysis, who knew her, presently stifled this discourse, whereat Brutus much wondered; for he perceived they were quite other people than they were a minute before.  
As soon therefore as this party was gone, he hastily asked who that austere Lady was, who had disturbed their discourse. This Lady, replied the pleasant Chrysis is one, whom a certain Disciple of Damo's illustrious Father, hath instructed to part with humanity and reason; but the worst is, that she is not the only woman in Crotona, who hath vowed to observe this cruel Austerity, which indeed is as pernicious as Calumny itself; for they are a knot of women of the same humour, whom I cannot by any means away with. But I would know further; replied Brutus, how they have been induced to love Virtue, when she is represented to them so deformed. To give you a true account of their severity, replied she, you must lay this down as an immovable principle, that the temperament is not to be changed.  
The doctrine of the wise Pythagoras, though it be in itself but one, yet hath it been diversely interpreted, according to the several opinions of those who have received it. So that there being a person of some quality, though of no great parts, among the Disciples of Pythagoras, a man of a severe nature, he for the most part misunderstood his precepts, and misinterpreted them to his own humour; insomuch, that at last he hath hewn out a certain scrupulous moral Philosophy, which frightens a mind rightly principled.  
As for that, says Bellanira, we are only to consider, after what manner the Ladies, who are under his tuition, speak and behave themselves; and we shall find them so chimerically scrupulous, that it is not easily imagined how discreet and knowing women could be cajolled into things so fantastic. And that which is yet stranger, added, Damo, is, that these scrupulous Ladies, whose stomaches would turn to see Love but in picture, rail at all women, lightly condemning the most innocent actions; cannot endure those pleasures they themselves take not, spare not the reputation of the dearest to them of their own sex, find fault with every thing they do not themselves, and turn to the worst what ever is done behind their backs, and whatever they understand not. Mereover, they are strangely prying into all things, they would know what ever is done in other conventicles, that they may have somewhat to rail at in their own; they even have an indignation to those delights, which they will not take themselves, and they are so conceited on their pretended Virtue, that they treat all other Ladies as profane persons, unworthy their Society. But for my part, I shall never account these virtuous, who take occasion from their Virtue, to augment their pride, and to contemn whatever is not of their way. But that which is further remarkable, added Bellanira, is, that none of these scrupulous Dames, who are so rigid in censuring the actions of others, reform any one evil habit in themselves, for I know one the most choleric person in the world who endeavours not once in her life to restrain the first agitations of her mind, but is perpetually ranting and chiding those that live under her. I know another so slothful and careless, that I think, some days, she would not go one step forward to meet a good fortune that were coming to her. I know one so penurious, that she will not allow herself those ordinary things which advance her beauty, though she be a great cherisher of it; and there are four or five of them, who, far from living upon wild fruits, as Pythagoras did, are so great lovers of good cheer, that they spend the greatest part of their life in eating or in studying what they should eat. In the mean time, these Dames, because they set an extraordinary value upon themselves, despise all others, and imagine that people ought to build Temples, and erect Altars to them.  
But to countervail this replied Damo, there is another of my Father's Disciples, who hath expounded his doctrine after another manner, for there are a sort of women, into whom he hath instilled his opinions, scruple at nothing, but out of a desire they have, that their actions might be well taken, make the best of those of others, how faulty soever they may be. They hold, that it is the Intention only that can make an action evil, so that with the best Intentions they many times commit the greatest Follies.  
There is among these women so professed a Libertinism, that it may be said they place their honour in not having any: For they trouble not themselves about any thing but what pleases them, and what diverts them; and to justify this humour, they quote that act of compassion which my Father did in Egypt, when he prevailed with the Fishermen to sell him all the Fish they had taken, that he might restore them their lives. Whence they infer that it is not likely that a man, who though he performed an act of Virtue in giving liberty to a sort of Fishes, would have all the passions chained up, and so render humane life comfortless and pensive, so that squaring Philosophy to their own humour, they lead such lives, as if they were come into the world only to study their pleasures, and to satisfy all their desires without any abatement.  
I should prefer these however before the other, replied Brutus, for they hurt no body, and spend not their time ill; but on the contrary, those austere Dames, are damnably troublesome, and disturb all the enjoyments of Society. Truly, replied Damo, they all deserve to be condemned; and there is a third way may be taken, which certainly is the surest, the most rational, and the most convenient, if the mind be but rightly disciplined.  
But, my Lord, I consider not that I spend too much time in relating to you what passed between these persons; for since that the counterfeit stupidity of Brutus at that time, partly occasioned his continuance of it, for his safe abode in Rome, I might have passed by the account of all that conversation. But to make amends for this digression, into which I am sensibly fallen; I must withal omit a many gallantries Brutus did in that place, while he stayed there, yet not forgetting to tell you that Tarquinia and Damo returning to Metapont, prevailed with Bellanira to accompany them, and brought also Chrysis along with them. Brutus then having the opportunity to see them daily, began to eotertain a love for Chrysis, nor could he say he wanted any from Bellanira; so that now he was not out of employment, as being a servant of Chrysis, though Bellanira had the greater affection for him, as believing him not too far engaged with her friend: Besides that he had infinite friendship for Damo.  
Now was it that he led a pleasant life, for his greatest business was to find out new recreations. Love and Friendship were the subjects of his Poetry, and those of his Epistles, Compliment and Courtship; nor did he find others less pleasure than he did himself. But indeed this bravery was interrupted by the grief which the death of Tarquinia brought him, who died in Childbed of Hermilia; but as time doth insensibly cure all afflictions of this nature, so Brutus, within a few days, yielded to his former inclination, whereof the frequent journeys he made to Crotona, whither Chrysis was returned, were such visible expressions that Licinius could easily perceive the progress of that passion through the mask of the trouble he was in for the death of Tarquinia. Whence taking occasion to perform his promise to Marcus Junius, he told Brutus that his friends at Rome had wrought his reconciliation with Tarquin, and that he understood there was some little inclination to a Revolt; that therefore he was obliged to return thither, and consequently should not engage himself at Crotona. I have stood so long upon my guard as to that point, replied Brutus, that if you find me not some employment, I shall not long be master of myself. For the hatred I bear Tarquin will be unprofitable, as long as I remain in a place where I cannot hurt him. Therefore if you would stifle the love which I feel growing within me, let me know whether I may hope to revenge my Father and my Brother's death; deliver Rome from slavery, and assume the glorious title of the Restorer of my Country.  
You demand much in a breath, replied Licinius, but all I can tell you, is, that while you are at Metapont, you will do nothing of all you intent. Let us then to Rome, replied Brutus, and that suddenly. You must certainly go, replied Licinius, but you must withal do it securely, and suffer yourself to be guided by those who are acquainted with Tarquin's humour, and who hope to over reach him, and elude all his distrust. Brutus attentively harkening to Licinius, promised an implicit obedience to his advice, and that he would submit himself to him as he would have done to his Father.  
This done, it was resolved they should communicate their design to the wise Damo; nor failed they the same day to acquaint her with the whole state of their affairs; but when they had well examined the business, they were mightily troubled to find out some expedient for the safety of Brutus' life. For his part, it was the least of his troubles, but Licinius, and Damo seemed not so littly concerned in it. At length, after many thoughts of it, this prudent Virgin said, she thought she had found out a way how Brutus might be in Rome without danger. For, in fine, said she, directing her speech to Licinius, I never heard that Tarquin doth ordinarily commit any crimes which are no advantage to him. When he poisoned his Wife and his Brother, It much concerned him they should be out of the World. When he caused Servilius Tullus to be murdered, 'twas to get into the Throne himself. When he dispatched the Widow of that virtuous and unfortunate King, it was out of a fear lest her tears and her virtue might move compassion in the people. When he gave a violent purge to the Senate, it was his design to remove thence all virtuous persons, who might oppose his injustice. When he banished or put to death so many illustrious Citizens, 'twas because they were men of conduct and courage, likely to undertake any thing against him. And to come near home, when he put to death the Father and Brother of him, whose life you would preserve, it was because they were powerful, forward, and rich. Hence I conclude, that for Brutus to be safe at Rome until the Gods shall think fit to change the Government, Tarquin must be persuaded that Brutus can never hurt him.  
Now this will come to pass, if he will but resolve to do that for his own, and haply for the safety of Rome, which he so pleasantly did some few days since for the diversion of his Mistress, when by an ingenious trick to deceive the fair Chrysis, he counterfeited Simplicity so naturally, that he deceived one the least easily deceived of any I know. How, replied fiercely Brutus, must I act the Fool and the Sot all my life? You must certainly do it, replied she, for by that means Tarquin, not jealous of you, would rest secure, and would haply be glad to let you live, so to give an example of moderation, when it is not prejudicial to him. Ah, generous Damo, cried he, how harsh is this expedient! For though it be a hard task to betray a great understanding, it is a harder to personate distraction; and since, to be free with you, I must tell you, that my only business at Rome is to destroy Tarquin and be revenged on him; I beseech you consider what mischief that man can do him, whose conversation all the World would avoid, and who would be thought not to have common sense. For my part, replied she, my reason dissents from yours, for I conceive nothing more considerable in a dangerous conspiracy, than to have a great understanding, and a great courage, invisible to the World. In fine, if at Rome there be no inclination to a revolt, added Licinius, you may be safe and quiet; and if there be some secret risings in the City conducing to your design, you may discover yourself to those who shall be able and desirous to act for the public good. Yet once more, cried out Brutus, this expedient is harsh and indigestible. And yet, replied Licinius, there is no mean, you must either resolve this way, or be for ever banished Rome, and not expect to revenge your Father's death, or ever hope to recover what the unjust Tarquin hath taken from you; and to ascend a little higher, you must either accept it, or ever renounce Glory. If it come to that, replied Brutus, I would rather renounce Reason, and submit myself to whatever you shall order.  
Having thus resolved, Licinius, not willing to give Brutus' leisure to repent, set all things in order for his departure, and four days after, the resolution taken was put in execution. He thought not fit Brutus should come to Rome till he had seen how he would be received, so that he only brought with him the little Hermilia, who was hardly out of her Nurse's arms, and delivered her to be brought up to the sage Racilia, giving out that he was married at Metapont, but that his Wife was dead, not discovering whom he had married, for fear of exposing Hermilia to the cruelty of the tyrant, should he know she were daughter to Tarquinia, for whom he had an inveterate hatred, especially since she had left Rome. But he was no sooner admitted into Tarquin's presence, but he asked what was become of Marcus Junius' Sons? whereto he answered, that though he were alive, he might well be numbered among the dead. This doubtful answer increasing Tarquin's curiosity, he was very importunate with Licinius to resolve this Riddle; who acting his part very subtilely, made as if he were loath to satisfy his curiosity. But at length yielding by degrees, he told him he was much troubled to tell him that a man who had the honour to be so near of kin to him, was so senseless as Junius seemed to be in all his words and actions. This he had scarcely said, but Tarquin, instead of being troubled at it, could not but betray his gladness; not but that he said it troubled him, but his eyes, more faithful than his mouth, discovered the secret of his heart, and argued, he had rather have a senseless, than an understanding man to his Nephew. Nevertheless, being afraid of being deceived, he bid Licinius bring him to him, which he pressed so much, that Licinius easily perceived that if he did not obey the tyrant, his life was in danger. So that promising what he desired, she sent an express to Brutus, whom he had secretly brought to an old friends house within six miles of Rome, and acquainted how things stood. Brutus was now past all deliberation, as to what he was to do; for considering with himself, that if he went not to Rome, Licinius might be ill entreated, and that withal his own life, as well as that of his Father-in-law's was in danger, if he appeared not there in his feigned stupidity, he resolved to do it, and was accordingly brought to Tarquin. But as he went; what did he not think on, and what apprehensions of anguish seized him? He lfet Metapont, where he had led an infinitely pleasant life, as a banished person. He there left a gallant friend, whom he infinitely loved, he smothered a growing love, which filled his heart with hope and joy, he lost the good company of a many honest people; he renounced all pleasure, save the hope of Revenge, and he forsook, as I may so say, his own reason. But, all considered, Licinius' life being at the stake, the revenging of his friend's death, and the deliverance of his Country, being to be effected, he overcame the aversion he had to make use of so fantastic a pretence for his stay in Rome; and resolved to live there after a much different manner than he had done at Metapont. In effect when Licinius presented him to Tarquin, he acted the part of a dull and foolish person so well, that the fierce Tyrant was deceived in him, so that instead of being troubled to see him in that condition, he was very glad of it, for it was an affliction to him to think that Marcus Junius should have a Son alive in any place in the world, who might haply ome day endeavour to revenge his father's death. But considering him in his present conditition, he was not afraid of him, nor was he sorry he could give one example of humanity without danger. He therefore seemed to have a care of him, and to be the more assured of him, he thought fit he should be married, for he was not so sottish but he betrayed the inclination he had to women. But being to marry, he must take the daughter of a man engaged in his interests, lest he should dispose of himself, and haply alley himself with some family too well affected to the public good, and so the name of Junius, venerable in Rome, should revive. Nay to disaccustome a People from a Name had been dear to them ever since the foundation of the famous City, the young Gallants of the Court began, by way of abuse, to call him Brutus, and left off calling him Junius; for as to the other name he went under at Metapont, and which I have forgotten, it was never known at Rome. But that which was most remarkable, was, that he whom they called by that name, which was not proper for him, though it seemed so, accustomed himself to answer to it, the more to express his stupidity, so that insensibly all came to call him Brutus, and Licinius himself hath called him so.  
You now know, my Lord, in what manner this noble Roman returned to Rome, was married, and lived there, not so much as taking notice that Tarquin had usurped all the wealth of his house, and gave him only so much as was barely necessary for his subsistence. Nor indeed did Brutus trouble himself about it, but his wife's father, who was nothing afflicted at the misfortune of his son-in law, for that the Tyrant enriched him upon his account, But Brutus who was not come to Rome but to deliver it from the tyranny of Tarquin, was infinitely perplexed, for he understood by Licinius Valerius, and his virtuous Aunt Racilia, who were all entrusted with the secret of his life, whatever passed in the particular faction that were in Rome, the City, and that a Plot was sooner laid, and a Party engaged, but Tarquin quashed it by the death or banishment of the Plotters, and that consequently there was no likelihood of destroying the Tyrant, or delivering Rome, or ever appearing there with his reason about him, though he were resolved to forget all the violences, and all the enormities of Tarquin, for he was absolutely convinced that if the tyrant should once discover he had any understanding, he would soon take away his life. He also heard how that the cruel Tullia insolently answered a woman, who said, It was great pity, that Brutus was so stupid; that if he were not, it should cost him something more than his reason. So that not conceiving any probability of doing what he hoped, he led a most sad and melancholy life, having no other comfort but what he received by the Letters of the wise daughter of Pythagoras; for as for his rising love, it vanished presently after his return to Rome. While he was in this perplexity, his wife dies, leaving him two sons, which she brought him soon after their marriage; which accident somewhat increased his pensiveness, for that she was a handsome woman and good natured. Not but that he lived with her in a strange awe and caution, for though he had a great friendship for her, because she was so well conditioned, as not to despise him, and that she believed him as simple as he made himself, yet he never durst discover himself to her, as knowing ever since he married her, that it was an impossibility with her not to tell a thing she knew, and that there never was woman less able to hold her peace than she. So that he was forced to an insupportable reservedness, even in those hours wherein all others have the greatest freedom. Yet could he not but grieve for her death, as one in whom he had met with both virtue and mildness. But as he had not any great affection for her, and what he had might be rather called acquaintance than friendship, so, had he known no other affliction, Time would have overcome it. But he saw Tarquin's power increase every day; he saw the greatest part of any worth, banished or put to death; all the young men slaves to the tyrant's fortune; and so little likelihood of any advantageous change for Rome, that he could hardly entertain any hope ever to see his Country or his Reason at liberty. This brought an unspeakable melancholy, which caused him to avoid company as much as he could, nay in a manner made him desirous to avoid himself.  
But Licinius, who was yet alive, and who had discovered this secret to Publius Valerius, as being his intimate friend, and withal a hearty enemy of Tarquin's, perceived well that Brutus became more and more pensive. So that he therefore spoke to Racilia, with whom was the little Hermilia, who knew not yet that she was Brutus' Sister, to think of some means to comfort him, for he knew that Brutus reposed a great confidence in her. He advised her to take him into a pleasant seat she had upon the Tiber's side, four miles from Rome. To be short, she proposed to him the passing of three or four days there; to which proposition, containing nothing opposite to his Melancholy, he consented and went thither, but with an intention not to return any more to Rome, but to wander about the world until some change should happen in Tarquin's fortune. For, said he within himself, since I cannot hurt the tyrant, and so revenge my Father's death, and deliver my Country, to what end is it to condemn my reason to perpetual slavery, and to captivate myself eternally? what glory, or what advantage is it to me, to live obscurely, and go for the most senseless and the most stupid of all mankind; and be withal an utter stranger to all pleasure and society? I cannot in the condition I am in, be guilty of either Vice or Virtue, but live after such a fantastic manner, that since there were men, never any lived as I do. Yet for all this, could the hope of Revenge and of Glory but keep possession of my heart, I could have patience; but to live without pleasure, or so much as the hope of any, is absolutely insupportable, and that which I can no longer endure.  
Thus was Brutus so o'erwhelmed with melancholy, and so weary of the life he led, that he resolved to leave his Country, and become a voluntary Exile. Being therefore confirmed in this design, his only study was to put it in execution, and put himself in a posture to leave Rome, and at the first to go no further than Metapont, knowing he had still a many good friends in that place. He was also somewhat confident that Licinius and Racilia would relieve him in his banishment, and would send him somewhat to subsist, though they were never so angry. Not but that when he thought of leaving Rome, and losing all occasions which might happen in his absence to do Tarquin a mischief, it a little assaulted his resolution; but after all consideration, seeing no likelihood of any to happen a long time, and being no longer able to endure that reservedness wherein he lived, he hardened himself in the resolution he had taken, wherewith he neither acquainted Racilia, nor the young Hermilia, who, as I told you, knew not as yet that she was Brutus' Sister, as being too young to be trusted with a secret of so great importance. So that being unchangeably resolved, he designed his departure within three days, pretending he would return again to Rome, so to deceive his Aunt, whom he avoided as much as lay in his power, because she perpetually pressed him, to know whence that new affliction proceeded, which she observed in him. But affecting solitude as much as might be, the day before his departure he walked along the river side, and there revolving in his mind whatever had happened to him, he remembered the pleasures he found in the conversation of Damo, Chrysis, and Bellanira, and thereupon opposing one passion to another, he was satisfied he should find some comfort, even in this, that though he quitted the noble ambition of being the Deliverer of his Country, he might aspire to the Conquest of some great Beauty.  
But his mind could not entertain all those imaginations without some confusion, as he hath since confessed to me; nor could he well distinguish between that which comforted him, and that which afflicted him, when turning about at the noise of a Chariot, a Slave very submissively asks him, whether the Chariot he saw coming were in the right way to Racilia's house? Brutus being obliged to answer him, told him after his affected simplicity, that it was the ready way; which said, not enquiring whose the Chariot was, nor who was in it, nor so much as looking that way, he continued his walk, so great was his melancholy. Nay this very adventure added to it, and caused him to stay out later than he should have done: For, said he, to what end do I go into any company, wherein I must be what is almost insufferable to be, and such as is below the envy of all? Is it possible, continued he sighing, is it possible to be more unhappy, than to be what no man would be, no not the vilest Slave upon the face of the earth? Amidst these thoughts Brutus continued his walk, and that so long, that ere he returned the Lamps were lighted at Racilia's. 'Tis true, he met there with excellent company, but that you may know how much he was surprised in it, I must tell you, that the wife of Spurius Lucretius was there with her incomparable daughter Lucretia, as also the beauteous and divine Valeria; he met there also with Sivelia and Mutius, whom you have seen with the King, and I myself was come to accompany these noble persons, who were come upon no other design, than to surprise Racilia in her solitude. But as this illustrious Roman is a person of conduct and aeconomy, our reception was such as if we had been expected, besides that it was with a great cheerfulness, for Lucrecia's mother and mine were her intimate friends, Mutius was some kin to her as well as the other two, Valeria and Lucretia she had a great esteem for both for their own sakes, as also for theirs of whom they derived their being, and for my part, I was also entertained upon Sivelia's account. Omitting therefore nothing requisite to our entertainment, she presently gave order the house should be adorned with that magnificence, as if she were to keep some great Festival. So that Brutus returning, and entering into a large arched hall, furnished to admiration, he wondered to find there such a noble company; for you are to know, that as he had not the privilege of much conversation, so was he not acquainted with all the Beauties in Rome, for he had never seen Lucretia unveyled, nor had much more knowledge of Valeria, though Valerius was of his cabal. It happened so that he was no sooner entered, but those two Beauties shining full into his sight, dazzled him into a change of colour. For though Valeria were not haply as exactly handsome as Lucretia, yet she may well be accounted a very excellent person. In the mean time, though none conceived Brutus could contribute any thing to the company, yet as one of good birth, and Nephew to Racilia, he was saluted, but with that coldness of compliment, wherewith we entertain those whom we esteem not, and, without allowing him any part of the discourse, it was continued in the same channel it was in before. For his part he only hearkened to what was said, and earnestly viewed Lucretia, who certainly that night shined with an extraordinary beauty. For though I know you have seen her with Prince Sextus, yet I shall not stick to say, she was at that time handsomer than she can be now, though she yet deserve admiration. It was impossible a complexion should have more lustre, or an eye more majesty, and withal more sweetness than she then had. Nor indeed did Brutus look on her indifferently, which when I observed, I came to her, and whispering to her smiling, You see Madam, said I to her, how great the power of your beauty is, since that Brutus, as brute as he is, is sensible of it, and admires it. If that which you call Beauty in me, replied she smiling also, produce no more glorious effect than this, I shall not hastily be too proud of it. But truly, said she, I so much pity poor Brutus, that I have not the heart to laugh at his stupidity.  
As she said this, a great noise was heard in the Court, and presently Racilia had notice, that the Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus, who said they had lost their way a hunting, desired entertainment there for that night; but the truth of the business was, that the former of the princes, being fallen in love with the young Hermilia, took this occasion to give her a visit. Now these Princes being virtuous persons, especially the Prince of Pometia, Racilia out of consideration both of equity and prudence, received them kindly, though she ever abhorred Tarquin. Besides that, having a large and fair house, and that the Princes brought none with them but their Slaves, she was not much troubled at their coming, and so she stayed with her former company, as if she had no further care to take. In the first place the Prince of Pometia related how he and Titus lost their way, but he did it with so much art, that I am confident the fair Hermilia as young as she was, easily perceived that she was the occasion of that hunting, and that that Prince looked after no other pray then that of her heart; for turning her head a side, she blushed, and seemed not to heed what he said, though he listened very attentively.  
But at last, all having taken their former places, Brutus having not all the while said any thing, Titus fell into some private discourse with Lucrecia's mother and Sivelia, so to do his brother a courtesy, for by that means he might the more freely entertain Hermilia, who was somewhat shy of engaging into discourse, while Lucrecia's mother was with her Aunt. So the general discourse happened between Racilia, Valeria, Lucretia, Hermilia, the Prince of Pometia, Mutius, and myself; as for Brutus, he said nothing at all, though sometimes he was very desirous to speak something, simply or heavily, according to his custom, especially because Tarquin's sons were in the room. But he hath told me since, that he was so loath to speak indiscreetly before Lucretia, that he thought better to be silent, then to say any thing that night. But the discourse was changed after such a manner, as gave him occasion to observe, that Lucrecia's Wit was as great as her Beauty. For you are to know, that as in Rome they work admirably in earth, whether it be for Vessels, or Statues, so Racilia, who studied curiosity and convenience as much as might be, had excellent Vessels, insomuch that the Slaves who waited on her, covering certain tables, and placing all things necessary for the treatment of so noble a company, the Prince of Pometia observed that one of the tables was of the same material with those Vessels I mentioned, and was admirably wrought. It was supported by three children, who seemed to have so much ado to carry it, that one would think himself obliged to help them to bear it up. The Prince liking it very well, began to commend it, and was going towards it the better to consider the workmanship of it. Which the two Slaves, who were covering it, perceiving, they lifted it up to bring to him, but so rashly, that they overturned it, and broke it all to pieces. That it seemed very admirable to all the company, appeared by the cry they all made when that mischance happened, except the Mistress, who seemed not to be at all moved at it. As for the Prince of Pometia, who was the innocent occasion of this mishap, he made a thousand excuses to Racilia; but she not being in the least angry with the Slaves, who had so indiscretely spoilt such an excellent commodity, told the Prince, that the only trouble she had, was, that it was broken before he had had satisfaction of seeing it; but yet that happiness might be recovered, she would have another of the very same making; which when she had said, she with a great calmness commanded those who had broke that, to fetch another out of a certain place she directed them to, and to have a care they did not break it. Ah Madam; cried out Lucretia, looking earnestly on her, How I love you for your great patience, and that you are not of those Women who are angry, at all times, in all places, before all sorts of persons, and for all things! For I do not conceive any thing nobler than to raise one's self above a certain testiness, which is contracted by custom, and to which most womans, are prone enough, since that many times it makes them do as fantastic things as folly itself would put them upon. It is true, replied Racilia, that to be soon angry is an ill custom to take up, both for one's self and others. And I think, added pleasantly Valeria, that fair Ladies ought to have a greater care to reform this fault, than others; for excessive anger injures Beauty. To that purpose continued Lucretia, I saw, not many days since, a very handsome Lady, who, upon such an occasion, became in an instant very deformed, and continued so for above four hours. She had then some extraordinary cause to be angry, replied I, or haply she had something spoilt as considerable as this table of Racilia's. Not at all, replied Lucretia, and the adventure is so odd, that I have a mind to tell it you. You will oblige me much, replied Racilia, for Hermilia is naturally so Passionate, that if she have not a care, she will come to be very choleric. 'Tis true, replied the blushing Beauty, that I am naturally somewhat inclined to this froward passion, but yet I do not conceive I have given the fair Lucretia any occasion to make pleasant stories of the extravagances of my passion. For my part, said Mutius, (who is of a nature violent enough) I cannot be such an Enemy to Anger, nay I am persuaded, that it is it makes the virtue which seems to be opposite to it; for, it is certain, a great patience is an effect of great courage, and a great courage is oftener found in those who are of a choleric disposition, than in those who are so dispassionate, that a man knows not when they are offended, nor when they are obliged. Passion and Choler, replied Racilia, are two different things; but therefore I oppose what you say, added she, I shall be glad to hear what Lucretia says, for I am persuaded that sometimes Examples are better Masters than Precepts. I must indeed confess, says Lucretia, that I owe a great part of my moderation to the impatience of two or three of my acquaintance, and principally of her whom I am going to tell you of. Imagine then, continued she, this Lady, who is very buxom, to be in the best humout in the World the last time I saw her, for she was free, jocund, complaisant and lightsome. That which partly caused her to be in so good an humour, was, that looking in the glass, she thought herself that Morning handsomer than ordinary, and that two other friends of hers and myself, had told her so much while we were walking in her Garden. To be short, her complexion was more serene, her eyes gentle, and her lips carnationed; but at last, having walked enough, she brought us into her Chamber. She had no sooner lifted up her veil, but she goes to the glass, questionless to be confirmed in the high opinion she had of her beauty; but what was most pleasant, was, she found it so strangely overcast, that she could only see herself as if it had been through a thick mist. So that not knowing of a sudden whether there were any mist in the Chamber, though it were very fair weather, she turned somewhat troubledly toward her friends and me, which we perceiving. and knowing whence it proceeded, as being just opposite to the glass, as well as she, laughed at it; and I told her jestingly, that that accident was a punishment for the excessive delight she took in her own Beauty. But it was no sooner out of my mouth, but she blushed for madness, and without making me any answer called up hastily one of her Women to know what had discoloured her glass. But instead of ask it mildly of the maid, who was but young, and seemed to be simple enough, she presently changen her voice, her countenance and action, in somuch that she who a minute before was of a composed air, and had a mild and modest look, ceased immediately to be what she was. For not giving her Slave time to answer what she asked, she presently imaginrd she was to blame for ask, and that she knew the reason of it without her telling. She added, that certainly it must be she, who thinking herself pretty, instead of minding her work, did nothing but view herself in the glass. This gave her occasion to tell her, that she was much deceived, if she thought herself handsome, and to ask her why she pretended to it, and whom she so much studied to please, and talked to her so many trivial stories, that I was never so much ashamed of any thing, as I was of that person for the concernment of my sex. And when the poor Girl, whom she so much exclaimed against, would have said something to justify herself, her Mistress presently found something else to quarrel as, so that at last having compassion on her, I would needs excuse her. But I had hardly opened my mouth, ere the incensed Beauty changing the object of her anger, fell upon me, and told me that if I offered to excuse her, I should make her so impudent, that she would be no more for her service, multiplying words so strangely, that no other had the leisure to speak. In the mean time, the Roses and Lilies of her delicate complexion were so disturbed, that they were not discernible; for her face was inflamed into a deep red, the white of her eyes was changed, which were enlarged beyond their ordinary size, looking disturbedly and scatteringly, and indeed, as if she saw not what was before her; the figure of her mouth was not the same; she repeated the same thing twenty times, and she seemed rather a mad Priestess of Bacchus, than a modest Roman.  
But in fine, all this came to nothing, for when she had ranted and scolded, and vented her extravagances to weariness, it appeared she had no reason at all to be angry. For when she came down into the garden to entertain us, she gave order her chamber should be perfumed against she came in, so that in obedience to her commands, burning much purfume, the glass was overcast with it, and the poor Slave, who never thought of looking into it, perceived it not. She thence at last conceived the maid had not done any thing of what she thought, and that she was to blame for having kept such a stir. But though she was convinced of this, yet was there not an absolute calm in her mind; on the contrary, a certain conscience of her weakness raising a new tempest in her, suffered her not to rest free from some toss of indignation all that day. She answered peevishly all that spoke to her; she quarrelled with all attended her, and that before whoever came to her, without ever considering whether it were civil or not; nay I am not certain whether she came not so high as to threaten a little Slave she had. I was never so much astonished at any thing, as to see this strange transport of spirit, and withal, what an alteration Anger made in this great Beauty. You so pleasantly describe this fantastic anger, replied I, that though I am naturally somewhat inclined to it, I shall henceforward take a great care to correct it in myself, though I am of opinion, that this inclination of nature ought not to be blamed; nay, on the contrary, hold, that Anger in noble and regulated minds, is an argument of greatness of courage and integrity. For if you look upon this passion in a discreet man: you will find it never breaks forth but upon some resentment of injury, wherein reputation is concerned, and that it is a pure effect of his virtue, and speaks the tenderness of his soul, the delicacy of his mind, and the clearness of his apprehension. For how can a man of an upright soul resent a manifest injustice, and not carry a heart sensible of it? Or he who sets a high valve on his reputation, receive an affront without indignation? Nay I am of opinion, added Mutius, that, to speak generally, the temperament most inclined to choler, is that of gallant Spirits. Yet all nations certainly, replied I, are not persuaded that Choler is a necessary ingredient of Valour; on the contrary, the Lacedæmonians hold, that it is prejudicial to it, which is the reason that they animate their Soldiers to fight with a sweet harmony, to infuse joy and tranquillity into their souls; and before battle's sacrifice to the Muses, to oblige them to preserve their reason entire in sight. That which to me seems most inconvenient in choler, replied the sage Racilia, is, that persons of weak constitutions are more subject to it than others, as children, and such as are in a declination of age and reason, are angry at any thing. In like manner, sick persons, who are not masters of their reason, are vexed at trifles, such as they are ashamed of when they are in health; and lastly, women (if I may be so free to the discredit of my sex) for the most part, being not capable of any great fortitude and strength of parts, are many times hurried into humorous vexations, as appears by the relation of Lucretia. I agree with you, replied I, that indeed it argues a weak mind, and little discretion to be angry at small matters; but I withal maintain, that never to be moved, signifies rather an insensible mind, than any strength of reason. Nay I presume to affirm, that it is no virtue to be insensible, that Anger may produce good effects, and that it is just sometimes to give it way; but withal, I aver it is danger when it becomes habitual, and that it is commendable to bridle it, and that a must never be overmastered by it. Certainly, replied pleasantly Lucretia, where there is not a stayed mind, Anger is a dangerous habit, and suits not so well with women, for I have observed a certain attraction in affliction and tears, but I have never seen any beauty in anger, nor known any impatient that were withal agreeable. That which is not insupportable in this passion, says the Prince of Pometia, is, that its object omits not any limit as other passions do. As for instance, if a man have a great tenderness for some one particular person, it is only for that very one's sake that he shall betray a certain weakness, while his passion lasts, which is the only testimony he gives of all those pleasant extravagances, whereof he knows himself guilty. But as for anger, it fastens on all things, it equally reaches things sensible and insensible, and the mind is incensed by things of small, as well as those of greater concernment, according to every one's humour. You are in the right, replied Lucretia, for an enraged Musician breaks the strings of his Instrument, a Painter flings away his Pencils; a Senator will be angry if you descent from his Opinion; a Husband quarrels with his Wife for being too expensive; and a Wife quarrels with her Husband if he be too covetous; a great Beauty falls out with her own Hairs when they will not be ordered as they should be; and if it be true, that there are any Lovers in this world, it is possible, added she smiling, they may sometimes confer their discontents together, upon over very slight occasions, if so be they are of a choleric disposition.  
Lucretia acted this exaggeration with such a grace, that she gained the commendation of all the company for her wit, and Brutus hath told me since, that almost forgetting his artificial stupidity, he had been likely to contribute his praises to those of the rest. And indeed he prepared himself to speak, but the fair Hermilia hastily prevented him, which I only observed, but at that time made no great reflection upon it, for I harkened to Hermilia, who not willing to quit the discourse about anger, made it her business at least to excuse it. But in fine, said she, how is it possible not to be angry at many trivial things which happen, for it is in respect to these that I would speak of anger, that is, how can the mind be so qualified as not to be stirred to anger at a many inconsiderable accidents, which every moment happen beside all expectation? Hermilia indeed is now in the right, said Valeria, since that to speak in general terms, it is easier not to be hurried into passion upon some important occasion, than never to be moved at these sudden ones, when haply Reason stands not on its guard, but the mind is surprised, and moved before it take time to consult. For my part, added Mutius, I shall never believe the Gods have bestowed on us such passions, as we may not innocently use; and I am strongly persuaded, that as there may be a Love without Crime, so there may be an Anger without any just blame, and that it is the use of it only that requires regulation. I am of opinion, replied the gallant Prince of Pometia smiling, that only Lucretia deserves to be the Halcyon of Anger, if I may so express it, and that it is from her that we must receive instructions how to qualify this tumultuous passion which is so displeasing to her. The Prince of Pometia hath spoken so excellently well, replied I, that it is sit the fair Lucretia grant what he demands. Let her make what orders she please against Anger, replied Mutius, she shall have much to do to keep it quiet in my heart; and for my part, said Hermilia, I must needs quarrel with her severity. You would do better, if you advantaged yourself by her example, said Racilia to her; but for my part, says Valeria, it will be no great trouble to me to submit to her. And it will be less to me to enact my pretended Laws for the Ladies, replied Lucretia, for I have no more to do than to bid them imitate your moderation. To be short, continued she, as it is not my duty to regulate another's resentments by my own, so I have no more to say, but to propose Herminius for a pattern for men, as I do Valeria to all of my own sex; for I know by experience that they are both subject to a great sensibility of spirit, and that if Reason had not taught them the lawful measure of anger, they would be overmastered by it, as well as so many others. Ah Madam, said I, looking upon her, you do not know me, I am not fit to be a pattern of patience, for if you knew how sensible I am upon some occasions, and how angry I am with myself for it, it would move your pity, and you would seek into your own reason for that which you cannot find in my heart, as having much more frailty than can be imagined. For my part, added Valeria, I confess I am mistress enough of my own passions, I have the art to conceal my anger, or at least to repress it, so as it never transported me to say any thing which I repented when my passion was over. Ah Valeria, replied Lucretia, how much am I obliged to you, for having given us in few words the most excellent rule in the world!  
I would ask no more of all women, than to keep within those bounds; for if they should do so, they would never be hasty or fretful, they would not be always chiding their Slaves, always quarrelling with their Friends; they would not be violently hurried into passion, before those that come to visit them; they would have a respect to themselves, and would not cloud the serenity of their eyes with a storm of fury. But if you quite take away anger, replies Hermilia pleasantly, I know not how Ladies can beget an awe and respect in such as make addresses to them, since in my judgement it is their only defence. For instance, if any one be so bold, as to entertain a Lady with some discourse that is displeasing to her, I am confident, if she blush with anger, and give some testimony of her displeasure in her eyes, this forward person will presently shift discourse, rather than continue it, out of a fear to displease her. But on the other side, if she be so patient, that she express no sign of anger, he will at last make her angry in good earnest. You press this too far, replies Lucretia for though I am an enemy to excessive anger, yet I allow women to express their indignation; even to fierceness; but I would that the redness which anger spreads upon their cheeks, should but add to their beauty, not disorder their minds, and that they preserve their respect rather by a modest severity, than by angry expostulations, which at no time become a woman, especially when they are such as are worth nothing, raised upon frivolous grounds, and a disparagement to such as are subject to them. I mean those passions which spring up anew continually, those persons who are subject to them, never taking any care by a strong resolution to correct so ill a habit, which by rendering them less fair and pleasing, brings them sometimes into the hatred and contempt, not only of their superiors, but even of their inferiors.  
Lucretia having proceeded thus far, the banquet was brought in, which put an end to this pleasant and profitable entertainment. Brutus all this while said not a word; but ceased not to admire Lucretia, with whose Wit he was more taken than with her Beauty, though her beauty were admirable. But that he might be at the same time acquainted with all the perfections of Lucretia, it happened they came to speak altogether of her goodness; whereof Valeria related a many instances, though much against the others will, insomuch that the night was wholly spent in her commendations. So that when all were retired, Brutus was wholly taken up with thought of Lucretia.  
It happened, that the chamber where this Beauty was disposed to lodge, joined to a closet which was in Brutus', which having been sometime a passage between those two chambers, they had only nailed up the door which went out of it into that where Lucretia and Valeria lay. But there being certain chinks in the door, through which it was easy to see what was done in the place where these two Beauties were; Brutus, who had often taken notice of it, could not withhold, being returned into his chamber, from going into the closet, and beholding these two Beauties whilst they undressed themselves, in whom he discovered a thousand new perfections. For the dress of Roman Ladies hiding the neck, he knew not until this instant the perfection of theirs; indeed his heart being already destined to Lucrecia's service, even before he knew so much, he fixed all his observation upon her with such a steadfast view, that he had not the power to close his eyes all the night after. This pleasing Idea, though full of all delightful charms, troubled his rest, insinuating a kind of commotion into his heart, betwixt grief and joy, which raised in him a thousand different imaginations. It made him a long time forget the design he had taken to leave Rome within two days, and to banish himself voluntarily from a place, where it behoved him to hide his soul, if he would preserve his life, and where he saw not any likelihood of revenging his Father's death, or delivering his Country, as he intended, whilst he confined himself to this foolish disguise. At last, after a long deliberation, suddenly recollecting himself, and remembering the resolution he had taken to go away, it vexed him that he had seen Lucretia, he endeavoured to blot her out of his imagination; he looked upon this accident as a new misfortune, which gave him the knowledge of so excellent a person, when he had resolved to go so far from the place where she was: It is true, said he to himself, that as I shall see and be seen of her, I need not much regret her absence, since if I fall not in love with her, I shall not lose so great a pleasure in depriving myself of her sight. For though fair objects delight our eyes at all times, even though our hearts be not touched, yet the pleasure of the eyes is a mean pleasure. A garden of flowers would please my eyes as much as the sight of a fair woman, for whom I have no passion myself, nor desire that she should have any for me. On the other side, if I love her, I shall lose less by this separation; for after all, how passionate soever I become, I dare never express it to her, nor hope for any allowance thereof; and how can she love a man in whom appeareth nothing of wit or conversation, one that she values less than the meanest, and most stupid Slave?  
Let us think no more of Lucretia but pursue our design of quitting Rome, a place where lives a person, who perhaps may make me yet more unhappy than I am. In what part soever of the world else I shall fall in love, I shall be less miserable; for I may hope not to be despised, I may obtain leave to say, that I love some one, or at least to complain of her cruelty.  
Thus Brutus believing he had mastered his own will, passed the rest of the night in thinking upon his journey; and as soon as the Sun appeared, he rose with intent to walk alone without thinking on the company at Racilia's house. But whatsoever his intention was, he had not power to go away without the curiosity of going into the closet, through which he could see into Lucrecia's chamber. This desire was so great he could not resist it; in fine, he entered, and peeped in at the same cranny as he had done the night before, but his curiosity received little satisfaction, for though he saw Lucretia asleep, yet he had a less sight of her than when she was awake, because she slept in so modest a posture, that he could see nothing but her right hand, in which the seemed to hold carelessly a little white veil which covered half her face. This hand indeed was so white, that it made an end of the theft her eyes had begun, and stole away his heart. Yet did not Brutus perceive this infancy of love; he called the first motion of his passion, curiosity; he resolved to walk alone, to avoid meeting with Lucretia, that he might not be obliged to speak in her presence, fancying to himself a kind of pleasure in being separated from her, that so he might not accuse himself of having spoken indiscreetly before a person to whom he found a great inclination in himself to use all his Rhetoric, if he had been in such a condition, that he durst have discovered his thoughts. He went hereupon to walk in a Meadow bordered with Willows interwoven with thick bushes, which butted upon the Tiber; Thither he went with a resolution to return home, till the fair troop were gone; for having openly professed stupidity, he was not tied to any rules of civility, and the presence of the two Princes did no longer oblige him to a self-constraint. So that to compass his design, he went, followed only by a Slave, to take a light repast with the Priest of a little Country Temple, not far from the place which he had chosen for his walk. In fine, he ordered it so well, that he went not back until it was within an hour of sunset, and then not doubting but that the company which caused his solitary humour was departed, he took his way along the River to go home. But as he began to walk, he was touched with a little kind of discontent for not having seen that admirable person whom he avoided to meet. He condemned himself almost at the same instant, and giving his thoughts leave to range without any fixed object, he sent the Slave that attended him before, and in this manner walked along the River, not well knowing where he was, until coming to the midst of the Meadow, he beheld there women seated at the foot of an old Willow, who chanced to rise at the same time, as he perceived them and began to walk away. Scarce were they risen, but he knew these three to be Valeria, Lucretia, and Hermilia, who knowing him, as he them, turned aside to avoid them. For Hermilia herself was not only ignorant that she was Sister to Brutus, but was a stranger as well as her two friends, to the true worth of this noble Roman. Not willing therefore that their conversation should be interrupted by a man, who, as they conceived, could add nothing to it, they turned as I said, aside. This action gave Brutus to understand what it was that obliged them to shun him, whereat he was infinitely troubled, yet did he comply with their intention, and saluting them afar off, went directly on to the house of his Aunt, imagining that the rest of the company were there still. But this belief deceived him, for he found Racilia alone, who told him, the two Princes had been gone ever since the morning, and that the mother of Lucretia, Sivelia, Mutius, and I, were newly departed. How comes it then, replied Brutus, that Lucretia and Valeria are here still? That, replied she, proceeds from some concernments of Family, which have moved Lucretius, father to Lucretia, and Valerius, father to Valeria, to remove their daughters for some time out of Rome. But being careful to whom they would trust their daughters, they have thought fit to commit them to my government, while the fair weather holds, which courtesy they have desired upon account of the alliance which is between our Families, and the friendship there is between these maids and Hermilia, there being no concernment of yours could hinder it; for that, added she 〈◊〉, you are not thought any dangerous person. Brutus having heard what Racilia said, blushed, though he himself knew not why. However he returned some answer to what that sage person said to him; which done, he discoursed with her about divers things. He asked her, if Sivelia, whom he knew to be an enemy of Tarquin's, had not informed her of any thing, whence might be raised a hope of some change in Rome; to which she answering, nothing at all, he was infinitely sad, and began to bemoan the cruelty of his destiny, and complained of it with so much sense and passion, that Racilia hath told me since, that she never heard man speak so well, nor so feelingly as he then did. That which yet increased the affliction which he received from his own lamentations, was, that seeing those three fair ones, whom he had seen in the Meadow coming towards him, her rise up purposely to avoid them, but with such an aversion, that she extremely pitied him.  
But Brutus was scarcely gotten out of this delightful company, but repenting him of his purpose, he returned into the place where it was, and secretly condemned himself for the intention he had had. For in fine, said he, since there is almost no pleasure but that of the sight, which I may pretend to participate with rational creatures, it were hard to be deprived of it, but I should at least make this advantage of fair objects, as to entertain myself with delightful imaginations. Upon these thoughts, Brutus making a short return, spent the evening amongst these lovely Virgins, but it was rather to hearken to them, than to entertain them. Yet he made a shift to speak once before Lucretia, but it was with affected simplicity, though he was with much trouble forced to it, for thinking it uncivil not to answer what was asked him, and withal not daring to answre to any purpose, it must needs have infinitely afflicted him.  
Lucretia never having heard him speak before that time, whispered to Hermilia, and asked her whether he never had any more wit, which Brutus overhearing, felt such a vexation as he had never felt before: For before he had seen Lucretia, he was extremely pleased that he was thought absolutely stupid, because it conduced to his design; but for that admirable Virgin, he could not endure she should have the same thoughts of him, as so many others. Nay he was encouraged in the good opinion he had conceived of her, by divers things she that day spoke in the commendation of Goodness; for in fine (said she to Hermilia, who maintained that it was sometimes prejudicial to be overgood) a great mind without goodness may be feared and hated, but it is never loved: And I am so much confirmed in what I say (continued she, speaking somewhat lower) that I would rather have the stupidity of Brutus, than the wit of the cruel Tullia, though she have one of the greatest in the world. But my Lord, though Lucretia intended not that Brutus should have heard her, yet he did; and what is remarkable in it, is, that though he could not think himself obliged any way by this discourse of Lucretia, yet he humoured himself into a certain delight, to think that she wished rather to be what he was, than to be Tullia; so that flattered with his imagination, he, with much satisfaction, listened to the discourse of these three maids. For my part, said Lucretia, I take such a pleasure to be good, that I am resolved to be so while I live, and consequently must needs prefer a great goodness without wit, before a great wit without goodness. But certainly, replied Hermilia, those persons that are so good, that they can never be otherwise, are not very divertive; and to tell you what I think, I am of opinion, that goodness alone hath in it something faint, weak and displeasing. whence it comes, that it signifies almost nothing in some people. But it cannot be so said of wit; for I know some persons much given to be mischievous, whom yet I am taken with, though I am confident they will do me an ill turn, when ever it lies in their power. On the contrary, I know another person of excessive goodness, one who would not be guilty of a thought of ceasing to be good, even to her enemies, who yet is infinitely troublesome to me, insomuch that hours seem ages, when I am alone with her. And hence I think I may with reason affirm, that Goodness accompanied with wit, is good for all things, but without it, is almost good for nothing, Ah Hermilia, cried out Lucretia, you are an unhappy body to say so; for it is uncredible, that Wit without goodness is fit only to do mischief, and that goodness without Wit, hath at least this advantage, that it can do no hurt. But, replied Hermilia, an excessive goodness is sometimes hurtful to those that have it, for when you are feared by none, you lie open to the affronts of all, and are thrust to the wall sooner than another. That indeed which Hermilia saith, happens sometimes, replied Valeria, and through a certain malignancy that is in the world, if you are not thought able to return evil for evil, you must never expect good for good. So that were I to have my wish, I would certainly desire as much wit as goodness, were it only to make use, when occasion served, of that precious quality, which without question raises the esteem of all the rest, and without which they deserve no great commendation. But though one should have nothing to do with the world, replied Hermilia, Wit is still more necessary than Goodness; for as to Conversation; Goodness contributes nothing to it. Nay, on the contrary, continued she laughing, it may be said, it is very prejudicial to it; for those who are so excessively good can find exceptions at nothing, they approve all things, they endure all things; and so the discourse dies every moment. No Hermilia, replied Lucretia, I must descent from you in that, since that only those who have Wit and Goodness together, give life to Conversation. For are they not of a contrary humour to those, who abuse and calumniate their acquaintances, whereas it may be inferred from what you say, that those only beget diversion, who raise quarrels and contestations in companies? But to be more serious, I boldly affirm, that it is only a rational goodness which distinguishes men from beasts, and the greatest expression of reason that can be given, is, to be able to hurt, but out of a consideration of Virtue and Goodness not to do it. Yet these good People without Wit, replied Hermilia, who are good, and know not why they are so, what employment will you put them upon? And these persons of great wit, replied Lucretia, who make no other use of it, than to deceive those who trust them, to rail, and raise scandals and reports, what business have you for them? You press me somewhat too hard, replied Hermilia, for I confess I should be to seek how to dispose of such malicious persons, as should make others harms the business of their wit. But do you also, to requite me, acknowledge that you would be much troubled what to do with those good dull ones, who are guilty of neither malice nor delight. To reconcile you both, replied Valeria, I think mischievous persons are to be avoided, how witty and divertive soever they may be, and that they are not to be particularly acquainted withal; aed that the good are to be excused, out of a consideration of their great goodness, and their imperfections are to be born with, notwithstanding their want of wit. But to put a question somewhat harder to be resolved, added Valeria, I ask you both, whether you would have an extraordinary Wit? For my part, replied Hermilia, I shall soon choose; and I as soon, replied Lucretia, for I am already resolved. But this satisfies not me, replied Valeria, you must tell me, whether you have chosen; Methinks, replied Hermilia, you might easily guess that Lucretia hath taken the great Goodness with the indifferent Wit; and you might as easily conceive, added Lucretia, that Hermilia hath chosen the greater Wit, and indifferent Goodness. Yet I am confident, added this wise Virgin, that if there were two such persons, she whose goodness were greater than her wit, would be much more beloved than the other. I know not whether she might be more beloved, replied Hermilia, but I am certain that she whom I have chosen would be the more esteemed. But what signifies that esteem, replied Lucretia which begets not friendship? for I lay this as a principle, we should not desire to be esteemed, but in order to be loved, or at least to be thought worthy to be loved. If you value not an Esteem without Friendship, replied Hermilia, what will you have me to conceive of a kind of lukewarm friendship without esteem? For I cannot believe that one can have an eager affection for a person of mean wit, how good soever he may be. If the love we have for a good person be not grounded on the esteem we have for him, replied Valeria, it must needs proceed from the acquaintance we have with him, which we conceive obligeth us to love him. Nay then, replied Hermilia, I perceive she that makes the proposition, declares against me. On the contrary, replied Lucretia, it may be said, we are both of your side; for though you speak against goodness, yet we know you to be one of the best in the world. It is indeed true, replied she, I am not wicked; and to speak truly, I would not be otherwise than good; but it is true, that there are a sort of mischievous people that please my humour, and some good, who are troublesome to me, and to speak generally, goodness is almost every where oppressed. Yet that hinders not, replied Lucretia, but that virtue ought to be the foundation and support of all the rest; and that we should wish rather to suffer injustice, than to do it; besides that, to speak rationally, Goodness is a virtue so well becomes a woman, that I know not any she hath greater need of. I acknowledge, replied Hermilia, that a wicked woman is a Monster; but certainly, one that is ingeniously malicious, adds much to Conversation, and it were a great loss if there was not some such. Since you are so much taken with them, replied Lucretia, I wish you may never want some of those women, who can wink at nothing, who condemn all things, who tell merry stories of their best friends, who, as soon as they are out of sight, abuse them; who envy the praises are given them, and themselves commend them less than those who are not acquainted with them; and to be short, who do them more hurt than they could expect from a merciless enemy, and less good than from a generous one. And the more to punish your obstinacy, aded Valeria, to Lucrecia's wishes I add thus much; I wish with all my heart, that you may have one truly good friend, who may acquaint you with all the treacheries the rest are guilty of towards you, that so you may at last become equitable, and acknowledge with us, that true Goodness is preferred before greatness of Wit, how shining so ever it may be.  
As she said these words, Valeria rise up, whereupon it being late, these three maids retired, and left Brutus, who had harkened to them all the while, with little ceremony, yet Lucretia took leave of him with greater civility than the other two, which he took infinitely well. For arguing from the civility she had for him in the condition he was in, that she would esteem him, if she were better acquainted with him, he was so ravished with the consideration, that it begat in his heart a certain pleasant commotion, which one might presume to call Love; or at lest something he felt, which he could never define.  
In fine, not to abuse your patience, Brutus, who was resolved to depart, without acquainting any, could not perform it so soon; for something being yet wanting, which was necessary for his journey, he took occasion from that light hindrance, to make the less haste, not thinking himself that Lucretia was partly the cause of his change of resolution. But three or four days after he was sensible, that the Beauty, Wit, and Goodness of that person, had made a strange progress into his heart, for he could not keep out of the company of these three-maids. They at first thought him very troublesome, which he himself observed; but being such a one as was not to be treated uncivilly, neither would they do it; insomuch that at length, making no account of him, they spoke before him as freely as if he had not been in place. Brutus by this means having Lucretia always in sight, and viewing her with all the charms of her Beauty and wit, fell deeply in love with her. But to his grief Love entered his heart without that insinuating companion which they call Hope, which by her beguiling charms makes men undergo such long and violent afflictions. Whence it came to pass, that Brutus, as soon as he was convinced that he really loved Lucretia, was extremely troubled, and looked upon it as a second motive to remove himself far from Rome. To what end, said he, should I entertain this fruitless passion, which I must never presume to discover? How can it be imagined that the stupid Brutus should be capable of admiring and adoring the incomparable Lucretia? But alas! continued he, though she understood my passion, I should be no less miserable; for is it possible she can love a man in whom there is not the least appearance of wit? And to come yet nearer home, when I should trust myself to her discretion, when she should be convinced I am not what all the world takes me to be, what likelihood is there she should admit the addresses of an unfortunate man, who dares not betray his reason, lest he lose a life which he hath designed to sacrifice to the liberty of his Country? Shall I go and tell her I am a Conspirator, when at the same time I am to tell her that I love her? Shall I entertain her with interests of State and Revenge at the same instant when I am to treat her with Love and Respect? But if I should thus entertain her, is it probable I might make some advantage of it, or that she would ever be prevailed with to run fortunes with such a wretch, as in all likelihood will never be otherwise? But supposing such a miracle should be done, which cannot, that she should be moved with my affection, is it probable that Lucretius, a man of spirit and ambition, should bestow his Daughter upon a Sot, or that Tarquin would suffer me to marry the daughter of a Woman, who is not engaged in his intersts but by force? No, no, Brutus, said he sighing, thou must not love Lucretia; and if thou dost but imagine it, thou wilt really be as great a stranger to thy Reason as now thou seemest to be. Renounce then at once both the object of thy Hatred and that of thy Love, forget Tarquin and Lucretia; stisle together thy growing Affection, and thy desire of Revenge, since it is fruitless to cherish either; and go seek in another climate a gentler Destiny than what thou hast found in thine own Country.  
Hereupon Brutus thought his Reason was convinced, and that he should infallibly depart. But it was not a quarter of an hour that he had been thus resolved, ere he had a fresh conflict in his soul, which made him a minute after reflect on things quite different. What do I, said he? what do I? Am I still the same Brutus who ever was guilty of an importunate desire of revenging the death of an illustrious Father and a virtuous Brother? Have I forgotten the commands of the one, and the instructions of the other? Have I overcome the Love I had at Crotona, that I might forsake Rome? Have I for no end parted with the sage Damo? Have I fruitlessly renounced the use of my Reason, and hath that importunate Virtue (Patience) which in time overcomes all things, absolutely forsaken me? For my part, added he, I believe the Gods consider my weakness, and have purposely brought me to the sight of this admirable person whom I adore, to stay me here, and hinder me from being so unworthy as to quit the design I had of delivering my Country. Certainly there must be something extraordinary in this emergency; for what likelihood is there, that a blind chance should direct Lucretia to his house, at what time I had secretly resolved to be gone, and that having never seen her, I should go as it were purposely, when I had but two or three days to stay? Besides, I at first avoided her as much as lay in my power; she hath hardly spoken to me since I have known her; and yet methinks I have always been designed to her service, so violent is the affection I have for her. What probability is there that Love should nestle in my breast amidst so many thorny distractions, were it not decreed that the beauty of Lucretia should cause the safety of Rome, by flattering on me a love that stays me, and permits me not to forgo the revenge I have undertaken to execute? Let us then cast ourselves upon the disposal of Fortune, by submitting our heart to so excellent a Beauty: Let the love we receive from the eyes of Lucretia inflame our hatred to Tarquin, and if we must be unhappy in this affection, as it is very likely, let us bear our misfortunes as just punishment for that unworthiness we have been guilty of, in thinking to remove from Rome. Let us with courage endeavour to subdue the heart of this illustrious person, and at the same time overturn the throne of this infamous Tyrant; although, if I may truly speak my thoughts, I am confident it will be easier for me to snatch the government of Rome out of the hands of the proud Tarquin, than deliver my heart out of the power of the divine Lucretia. Let us love then, let us love, since it is the will of Fate, and without considering what may happen to us, let us obey the inclinations which directs us to adore Lucretia. Let us look on her as a person hath preserved virtue in our soul, which we shall eternally acknowledge, even though she should never do aught for us, since it is she that hath cherished in us the design of Rome's deliverance.  
This storm being over. Brutus' soul was as it were in a calm, which made him conceive that this resolution proceeded from some supernatural inspiration, and such a friendly correspondence happened there upon this adventure between his Heart and his Reason, that he thought no more of his departure; his thoughts were wholly taken up with the love of Lucretia, while he expected an occasion to make Tarquin feel the weight of his hatred; so that he suffered his heart to wander into the love of that admirable person, though he found no other present advantage of his passion, than that he was stayed in Rome by the attractions of this incomparable Virgin, whom yet he neither durst say he loved, nor hope to be loved by.  
Being thus resolved to love, he was so much satisfied in himself, that it was visible in his eyes and countenance, insomuch that Racilia having observed it, took occasion the first time she had a private discourse with him, to ask him the reason of it. But he satisfied her not, for there being naturally a certain mystery in Love, he thought it discretion not to reveal a Secret, which he himself known would be thought extravagant by any one who had not the same apprehensions of it as he had. Giving therefore his passion all the liberty imaginable, he endeavoured to double those chains whereby he was already fastened, and miss no opportunity to see Lucretia, and to hear her speak.  
In the mean time, Racilia, though she knew Brutus to be much more considerable, as to point of gallantry, than he seemed to be, yet did she allow these Virgins the same freedom as before; nay, which is more, prayed them to admit Brutus to walk with them, telling them, that it might haply enlighten his mind, that they should pity one in his condition, and endeavour what they could to disperse that deep melancholy which increased his natural stupidity, adding, that their presence had already in some part lessened it. Not, my Lord, but that Racilia was as innocent in this as Virtue itself; but she so much pitied the life Brutus led, that she was glad any way to make it more comfortable. But to say truth, she could not conceive he would entertain Love without Hope, nor that any thing amorous could lodge in that heart, which Revenge had so long since taken up. Besides, that it is not unlikely, but that if Brutus had a design to marry, she would have been glad it had been either with Valeria or Lucretia; as for Hermilia she knew well enough that Brutus was not ignorant she was his Sister.  
This Society by this means became pleasant enough, for besides that these three Virgins were excellent good company, yet the admission of some other persons made it better and more divertive. There was a Sister of Collatine's, who spending the season of the year in the neighbourhood, came thither often, out of a design to render her Brother some service with Lucretia, whom he was in love with. The Prince of Pometia and his brother Prince Titus came thither divers times; for though they were Tarquin's Sons, yet the consideration of their virtue exempted them from the hatred which men had for their Father. Commonly Mutius came along with them, and for my part, I had ever some commands or other from the virtuous Sivelia, to her whose house so many amiable persons made their rendezvous. So that though Racilia professed all the severity of a virtuous Roman, yet being of a mild nature, allowing the freedom of the Country, and having a confidence in the virtue of those persons, who were under her charge, and considering that the men who came to visit them were very respectful, as also her kindred, all except the Prince of Pometia, Titus, and Collatine, she herself was extremely satisfied with a company wherein was nothing but what was innocent. Lucrecia's also came thither sometimes, and Sivelia oftener.  
But as it is not my own History which I relate unto you so I shall not tell you, that Mutius and I had a certain passion, caused in us by the same person, since we both had an affection for Valeria; for than I should have too many things to acquaint you with, which have no relation to the adventure of Brutus. But I shall give you to understand by the way, that Lucretia had esteemed Collatine and Brutus, that Hermilia was courted by the Prince of Pometia, though it was suspected he was a servant of Collatine's Sister, who was called Collatina; that Titus was in love with her I last named, and that Love itself was as it were the Soul of this fair Troop. But indeed the love was not reciprocal, for Lucretia had a great aversion for Collatine, and knew not that Brutas was so deeply in love with her. Valeria had no affection for Mutius, and little more than friendship for me: but for Collatine's Sister, she certainly had an esteem for Titus: and Hermilia, without all doubt, had a strong inclination for the Prince of Pometia, though Racilia believed it not, and indeed is yet ignorant of it. Notwithstanding all this, Love was so well disguised among these persons, that nothing was visible but Courtship, Respect, Civility, Compliment and Friendship. It happened sometimes, through the care every one took, to conceal their Sentiments, that Visits were given without the least private discourse with the person beloved. One time among the rest, I remembered, the Prince of Pometia discoursed altogether with Collatina, Titus all the time entertained Lucretia, Collatine courted Valeria, and Mutius, and I treated Hermilia. But for Brutus, conceiving himself not suspected of any, he quitted his ordinary reservedness, and always kept near Lucretia. This indeed was no great satisfaction to him, for not daring to discover himself, she suffered him merely out of pity, and out of regard to his quality and her friendship with Racilia. But yet indeed he took a great pleasure to spite Collatine: not that he could be jealous of Brutus, but that Brutus kept him from having any private discourse with Lucretia. Nor indeed was Brutus at first jealous of Collatine; for besides, that in Point of gallantry Collatine was none of the most considerable, it was easily perceived that Lucretia had an aversion for him, though she discreetly concealed it. But his fear was of the fair and subtle Collatina, whose insinuating, submissive, and obliging humour, was very likely to do her Brother a good office. So that after a while, Brutus had to deal with at the same time, resentments of Love, of Jealousy, of Hatred, of Revenge, and of Ambition; yet without any rational hope of ever being able to satisfy any one of these violent passions. For it was not likely Lucretia should love him before she knew what indeed he was; it was as unlikely he should discover unto her a Secret, which known, might divert him from endeavouring the deliverance of Rome, and being revenged of Tarquin: it was also somewhat improbable he should suddenly ruin a Prince, whose power was strengthened by his cruelty: and for the ambition he had to arrive at the rank of his forefathers, he had no great reason to hope it while his reason were in captivity, and Tarquin in the Throne. Hence was it that sometimes he thought himself the most unfortunate man living. He now and then slipped into Rome to confer with Licinius and Valerius about his main design so long since undertaken. Here was he entertained whole days together, with the exorbitances of Tarquin, the cowardice of the Senate, and the small hope they had to meet with an opportunity to discharge themselves of what lay so heavy on their hearts.  
But Brutus in the mean time entertained himself with his own thoughts, and the Muses, about the love he had for Lucretia; for, having, as I told you, been acquainted with Pythagoras' daughter, and traveled into Greece, he could have complained in verse of the cruelty of his amorous fortune, could he but have hoped that Lucretia might one day be acquainted with his love. But according to the posture of his soul, he made no advantage of his talents, since he durst neither speak nor write, and yet he was almost out of himself to do either. For though Poetry be not yet very common at Rome, where they know little more than those Acrostics of Sibylla, yet Lucretia, Valeria, and Hermilia, understood more of things of this nature than a many others, by the means of a Greek Maid a Slave of Racilia's, whose mother had sometimes lived with the learned Cleobulina, daughter of Periander King of Corinth. This Slave having an excellent understanding, had secretly taught them somewhat of her language, and had repeated to them a many excellent compositions of Sapph and Phocylides, with which they were infinitely taken. Which Brutus coming to know, was extremely troubled, in that he durst not make use of those things which haply might bring him into favour with Lucretia; and thinking withal in himself, that he could not pretend to any esteem from her, he was afflicted beyond all belief, insomuch that in some intervals not considering the hazard of his life, not troubling himself about the designs he had against Tarquin, he resolved to acquaint this admirable Virgin with his love, and that as a man that knew how to express his thoughts in other language, than what he ordinarily spoke. Yet could he not stave off a certain fear, that, in case he succeeded not, Licinius, Valerius, and Racilia, should perpetually hit him in the teeth for discovering himself; besides the consideration he had that Tarquin might make Licinius suffer, when he came to know he had abused him. Thus resolving on nothing absolutely, he led a most distracted life, his melancholy not admitting any consolation; for he was neither able to struggle with his love, nor durst acquaint her with it who was the cause of it. Nevertheless he still loved, and that with an extreme obstinacy, for though Lucretia added no fuel to his passion, yet did it sensibly increase, even despair having that effect in him which hope hath in other Lovers; For in fine, said he 'tis true, I cannot hope any thing, yet this cannot weaken my love, since my despair proceeds not from Lucretia, but it is the extravagance of destiny which makes me uncapable of hoping any thing: She does not certainly favour me much, and she were to blame if she did, and I am obliged to her for her indifference for me, snce it is not the same Brutus she is acquainted with, that I would have in her favour. But alas! continued he, that other Brutus is at such a distance with Fortune, that it is not likely he will ever dare show himself to Lucretia; and if I renounce not one part of my reason, she will still be ignorant of the love she hath kindled in my heart, and consequently I shall be the most unfortunate man alive. How (cried he out, as he hath told me since) shall not Lucretia, the admirable Lucretia, know that thou lovest her, and thou art not such a Sot as thou art taken to be? Canst thou be contented to be ever the object of her contempt and her indifference? No, no, continued he, I shall never do it; nay though I should lose my life, though I should hazard all, and that Rome must eternally be subject to the tyranny of Tarquin, Lucretia must know that I live under her power. She is discreet, good, and generous, and it may be she will not cast away a man, that out of excess of love trusts himself to her discretion.  
But weak man that thou art, resumed he, hast thou for born all rational discourse for so long time, only to tell Lucretia that thou lovest her? Think, think on the love thou owest thy country, not on what thou mayst have for a person, who haply will not have any for thee. Remember thy Father cut off by the cruelty of Tarquin; thy Brother dispatched the same way, and that both dying, commanded thee to revenge their loss. Consider Rome enslaved by the most horrid Tyrant the earth affords; regard so many thousand of virtuous families expecting their safety from thee, and since thou wilt be base, imagine that the discovery of thy love to Lucretia may haply cost thee thy life; and think at length, if there be any thing of virtue yet remaining in thee, what blot it would be to thy memory to have preferred the love of Lucretia, before that of Fame and thy Country.  
Upon this, such a tempest rose in Brutus' soul, that it was easily perceivable he had not herein taken the advice of his reason. To be short, he was that day so dejected and so melancholy, that he would not see any body, and the more to avoid all company, he walked out into that Meadow, where I told you one evening he had seen Lucretia, Collatina, and Hermilia sitting on the River side, discoursing with the Prince of Pometia, while Racilia walked a little aside with Collatina's Mother, this company being come thither since his coming out alone.  
Being thus engaged not to avoid Lucretia, though he wished it, he made towards the place where she was, and having saluted the whole company, he found their discourse to be about Love, and that the Prince of Pometia opposing Hermilia (who still purposely contradicted him) held that it was not the proper virtue of a woman to have an insensible heart, and on the contrary maintained that a Lady could not be throughly assured of herself until a violent affection had possessed her soul. For in fine, said he, I find that a woman makes no great difficulty to oblige those whom she hath no tenderness for, to forbear the expressions of their love; I find it is no great reputation to wrestle with a weak and unsettled inclination; but for a woman, courted by a man of extraordinary worth, whom she also loves, not to engage herself too far, and notwithstanding all the sympathy of a reciprocal love to preserve Virtue impregnably seated in her heart, is certainly of great merit. Yet my Lord, I conceive, replied Valeria modestly smiling, that it is best not to study always for this expression of Virtue, lest that at first drawing in to love innocently, one should come at last to love beyond the limits of Honour. For my part, said Hermilia, I conceive it more glorious to oppose love, than to entertain it, how innocent soever it may be. And for mine, said Collatina, (who secretly carried on her Brother's interest) I must, notwithstanding the great severity the Roman Ladies profess, affirm, that where the rules of civility are observed, there is an infinite pleasure to be beloved, and, if I may presume to say it, to love. For in fine, if the enjoyments of Friendship be thought delightful, only comparatively to those of Love, which they say are greater, it were madness not to love something, it being supposed the use of it were not forbidden, I could not have believed, replied Valeria smiling, that a Roman Lady should make Love's party good with such confidence. She is so good a Sister, replied Hermilia smiling also, that she would rather forsake the interest of her Sex than of her Brother.  
Whilst these Virgins were thus engaged, the fair Lucretia fell into such a deep musing, that she minded not what was said, though the were concerned in it. On the contrary, entertaining herself upon the first discourse of the Prince of Pometia, in the commendation of Love, she quite forgot the company, till that Collatina taking her by the arm, told her laughing, that she must contribute to that conversation; ask her whether she thought Love a troublesome thing or a pleasant. Lucretia answered, that she could say nothing of a thing she was not acquainted with. To take away that pretence, we must describe that passion to you, replied the Prince of Pometia, who having an excellent wit, made it his business to say all he could to the advantage of Love. He described all the insinuations of Hope; he represented the surprises of the first desires which that passion inspires into us; he enumerated the delights, the transports, the tempting illusions it causes, the pleasant reveries that accompany it; and in fine, omitted nothing which might relate to that noble passion. Having so done, he pressed her to tell what she thought of Love. But she absolutely refusing, her companions set upon her and persecuted her so long, till at last she promised they should have her opinion, conditionally they would permit her to write it down. Enquiring therefore who among them had any table-books, it happened that only Brutus had one.  
Whereupon, this concealed Lover, who was glad of an occasion to have any thing of the writing of Lucretia, presented her with his table-book, wherein she writ what she thought of Love. But my Lord, that you may the better understand what atrick she put upon them, I must set down the same words which she writ, which she assured them contained her true sentiment of love.  
Hereupon Herminius spying a table-book upon Aronces' table, took it, and writ down the same words as Lucretia had made use of; which done, dilivering the table-book to Aronces and Amilcar, they therein found the ensuing words;  
Past, how, there, quickly, ah, but, not, sweet, if, soever, last, were, love, can, no, is love.  
How (replied Amilcar laughing, when he had read these scattered words) is there any rational sense in what I have read? For my part added Aronces, I confess I can make nothing of them; and therefore think that Lucrecia's design was to find her friends somewhat to do, and not desirous to discover unto them what she thought of Love, pleased herself by putting them to the trouble to pick sense out of words which had not any.  
What you say my Lord, replied Herminius, continuing his relation, was the opinion of the Prince of Pometia who having read what Lucretia had written in Brutus' table-book, told her that she was a very wag, so unmercifully to abuse her friends, and not give her opinion of a thing of the greatest importance, and the most delightful in the world.  
I am not to learn, replied she smiling, that it is the property of the Gods only to speak obscurely; but all considered, since that out of a consideration of modesty I have conceived myself not obliged to give my opinion expressly of a thing I am not able pertinently to speak of, you must either interpret my words or not understand me. But seriously, said Valeria to her, is there any sense in what you have written? I protest to you, replied Lucretia laughing, there is not only sense, but very pleasant sense, and excellently well expressed; and that I never in my life have, nor ever shall speak better. But that you may not charge me with any vanity, continued she, I must tell you that the words are not mine, but I have borrowed them, I know not whence, nor yet from whom. Certainly, replied Hermilia, you are not much beholding to the Lender, and you may as easily return as much to those of whom you have borrowed them; for whatever you may be pleased to say, what you have written here signifies no more than so much Gibberish. Neither is it so good as to pretend to that fustian language of canting, whereby some that are crafty overreach and elude the simpler sort of people, for there is not any one who would not easily perceive there were no sense in what you have written. For instead of saying.  
Past how there quickly, ah,  
one should say.  
Ah how quickly there past,  
And so of the rest, it were as good as it was before, or to say better, as bad. If you would but change the order of the words, replied Lucretia, you would infallibly find my true meaning; but without jesting, said Collatina to her, is there any reason in these words? Sincerely, replied Lucretia, the highest in the world; and I much admire that four such piercing wits as you are, cannot sift it out. I would fain see (added she maliciously, thinking to make sport) whether Brutus can understand it better than any of you, and shall desire him to give his judgement of the question in hand. For my part, replied Collatina, if Brutus understand this language better than we, I shall think it very strange, I pray let me first once more, see these enchanted words, replied Hermilia, wherein Lucretia says there is such excellent sense, which yet seem not to contain any reason; for if it be so, there was never in this world such a Metamorphosis.  
Hereupon the table-book was handed from one to another, till it passed through all, none being able to make any sense of it, nor did any think of giving it to Brutus, all being obstinately desirous to guess at what Lucretia had written. For Valeria, who understood her, told the Prince of Pometia, that certainly Lucretia did not dissemble, and that there must be reason as what she had written by her very looks, but at length none being able to make any thing of it, Brutus, who had a huge desire to see those words, asked for his table-book, which had not been so soon restored to him, had not Lucretia, who was glad they could not find out what she had written, taken it from them; as for Brutus, she little feared his interpretation: Snatching it therefore out of Hermilia's hand, she returned it to the owner, who having received it, retreated two or three steps, and set himself seriously to consider the words. While he was looking on them, he could hear Collatina jeering at his earnestness therein, supposing he sought what he should never find. But that which pleased him infinitely, was to hear Lucretia chiding her for being so uncivil as to make sport at him. In the mean time Brutus, who was of an excellent reaching wit, proper for the finding out of such things, apprehended Lucrecia's fancy, and disposing the words into their genuine order, he found they made up two verses of Phocilides which had been translated, that he had known them along time, and that the Greek Slave at Racilia's had taught them Lucretia. Finding therefore the humour very ingenious, and Love being at that time predominant in his heart, notwithstanding what thoughts he had a little before, he could not but satisfy a violent desire he had to give Lucretia a secret testimony of both his understanding and his love. Besides that, perceiving she would not explain her own verses, he concluded she would observe the same secrecy as to the answer. For you are to know, that those two verses, the words whereof Lucretia had only transposed when she writ them in Brutus' table-book, are two verses very amorous and pathetic, of such an easy natural sense, that you cannot but remember them, when I have once repeated them; and in fine, those words which appeared so terrible shuffled out of their places, when they were disposed in their proper order, expressed Lucretia thus;  

How sweet were love, if not so quickly passed,  
But ah! there is no love can ever last.   
Ah Herminius, cried out Amilcar interrupting him, how it troubles me that I could not decipher these verses! but I must see whether these words are the same with the other. Whereupon taking the table-book wherein Herminius had written them, he compared them word for word, till he had found there was no difference betwixt that fantastic canting and these two verses of Phocilides; which done, Herminius thus continued his relation.  
Brutus therefore having unravelled this confusion of words, and found in them the two verses I have mentioned, immediately made two others, fantastically transposing the words, as those of the other, as you may see by what I shall write under the former, conditionally you do not interrupt me for the interpretation. For now that you have the Secret, you may easily find them. Content yourselves therefore, that I only tell you the words which I write as I speak them.  
Last, permit, ever, and, my, shalt, graced, all, some, thou, love, shall, love, beauty, find, with, thou.  
I give you a thousand thanks, replied Amilcar, that you have given me a dispensation as to the discyphering of these words; for I should never have done it. But to comfort me, let me soon know that the others were as little able to do it as I  
That I must, replied Herminius, and that without any flattery; for Brutus having wrote these words under those of Lucretia, and returned them to that admirable Virgin; the table-book passed through the hands of all the company; but to say truth, rather to abuse Brutus, than look for any sense there. For the Prince of Pometia was of opinion with Valeria, Collatina, and Hermilia, that Brutus understood no more of the business, than to set down certain words at random. So that not able to keep from laughing at his pretended simplicity, their censure of his words was quite contrary to what they made of Lucrecia's; for though they could make nothing of Brutus', nor indeed endeavoured to find any thing in them, so poorly were they conceited of him; yet they affirmed they understood them, and that they were of admirable sense. They abusively repeated the first words, which they said made a wonderful harmony.  
But while they so unmercifully jeered one whom they knew not, Lucretia, who was of a nature could not endure to make sport of such as were not thought the wisest, took the table-book from them; and seriously considering what Brutus had written (that he might see she did not slight him) was somewhat surprised to find these words relative to those she had made use of: Fastening therefore her mind, as well as her eyes, upon what Brutus had written, she went aside two or three steps from her companions, and looked on the words so attentively, that she understood Brutus as well as he had done her; for she there found these two verses, which answered those of Phocilides.  

Permit my love, thou with all beauty graced,  
And thou shalt find some love shall ever last.   
Lucretia had no sooner deciphered these Verses, but she blushed, and that the more when turning to look on Brutus, with some amazement, she met his eyes half way, and saw in them a certain trouble, and withal a certain quickness, which she had never before observed. But how strangely soever she might be surprised by this accident, she made a shift to conceal it, for she would neither interpret her own words, nor discover Brutus' so that having somewhat recovered herself out of the amazement she was in, she came to her friends, and told them they were better ghessers than she, for she could make nothing of what Brutus had written: Nor did I intent it for any but yourself (replied he negligently with his accustomed simplicity) which though it seemed to be very bluntly spoken, yet did it confirm Lucretia in what she believed, which was, that there was something extraordinary in this adventure.  
This made her so infinitely desirous to be at liberty, to reflect on what had happened to her, that she insensibly engaged the company to a little distance by walking aside; only Valeria, who was acquainted with all her secrets, she drew aside, and related to her what she had met with. But is it possible you speak seriously, replied Valeria, or is it by chance that you have made two verses of these extravagant words of Brutus, who haply knows not himself there is any such thing in them? You do not consider what you say Valeria, said Lucretia to her, for these two verses are so pertinently answerable to mine, that Brutus must of necessity have understood what I writ, and making them on a sudden, must of necessity have an excellent understanding, though he be accounted the most stupid among men. It is, certainly, excellently well done, replied Valeria, and as certain, that he was never before guilty of any discovery of Love of this nature; and not to dissemble longer with you, since Brutus is an understanding man, he certainly loves you, and for some days past, I have observed him perpetually looking on you. Nay I am persuaded, added she, the love he bears you hath cleared his understanding, and that the fire your eyes have darted into his soul, hath enlightened his reason. Ah Valeria, replied Lucretia, my eyes do no miracles, and Brutus must have been long since what I now find him. 'Tis true, replied Valeria, I now suspect somewhat more than ever I did, for I remember I have known Brutus privately spend whole days with Licinius and my Father, and so it is not impossible something may be shrouded under this counterfeit stupidity.  
But when all is done, how is it imaginable that a man should always conceal his understanding, and expect an emergency of love to manifest it? I should therefore rather conceive it a prodigy, and that Brutus inspired by love, should speak this time as those do that speak Oracles, who many times understand not what they say. However it be, added Valeria, the adventure is so considerable, that it is fit the whole company were acquainted with it, that every one may give his opinion of it; for, after all, what Brutus hath written will never be taken for any declaration of Love, if you be not so pleased. No, no, replied Lucretia, let us not be so hasty, for if Brutus have those parts in him which he would not discover to the world, for some reason to me unknown, I shall do him no prejudice; nor indeed would I have him think that I have unriddled his verses. Besides that I shall not interpret my own, for Collatina, who, as you know, is perpetually speaking to me of her Brother, would believe when she had once seen his verse,  
How sweet were Love, if not so quickly passed!  
that she had no more to do, than to assure me of Collatine's fidelity to engage me to entertain his affection. Therefore let us not say any thing of this accident, not even to Hermilia nor yet to Racilia, until we know Brutus somewhat better than we do. Valeria hereupon promising to do as she would have her, they came up to the company, which soon after dispersed itself. For the Prince of Pometia returned to Rome, and Collatina's mother went the same way.  
In the mean time Brutus was so infinitely satisfied, to find by the actions and looks of Lucretia, that she understood him, that all the reasons he could rally up to engage his passion, were not able to beat him off from his resolution of loving Lucretia; and he was so pleased to think that he had at the same time given her a slight hint of his understanding and his love, that at the same instant, Hope, which till then was a stranger to his heart, became absolute mistress of it, and brought along with her all those pleasures, which are her Attendants in ordinary. Let us love, let us love (said he in himself, when he was come to a place where he might freely reflect on what had happened to him) and let us not oppose our good fortune; let us engage our liberty for all our life, let us double the chains which fasten us to Lucretia, let us double them with those hands which must break asunder those of Turquin's Tyranny. Let us enjoy all the pleasures of an Infant-love, and hope for all those of a fortunate Lover. Let us believe the love of our Country, and that of Glory not to be inconsistent with them; On the contrary, let us be assured, that the only ambition of being worthy of Lucrecia's affection, will hasten the deliverance of Rome; and let us not raise those difficulties, which haply we shall never meet with. Let us then discover to Lucretia all our Love and all our Worth, and let us not imagine a half-confidence in her, which may equally eclipse our Reputation and our Love: for haply, continued he, if we do not make it her interest to conceal our secret, she will go and reveal it to some one who may do us a discourtesy. I now perceive, added he, I have carried myself inconsiderately for the safety of my life, but I cannot repent me of it, and I had rather die this day, now that I know that Lucretia does but imagine that I love her, and am not Brutus the stupid, then be assured to live an age, without the happy acquaintance of this admirable person.  
On the other side, Lucretia could not quit her thoughts and observance of Brutus; but as often as she saw him, she thought she saw somewhat in his eyes she never before had taken notice of, and met at the same time with love and greatness of mind. This raised in her an unspeakable curiosity, to dive into a secret which seemed to her so extraordinary; yet would she do nothing in order to the discovery of it, not so much as take any occasion to speak to Brutus, though she passionately wished it. But Chance befriended her the next day, for it happened that Lucretia, who was naturally much inclined to solitary musing, walked all alone into a large Court which was behind Racilia's house. But that in case the weather were over hot, they might have the pleasure and convenience of the sight of the Garden, there was lately built a large Arbour, open of all sides, opposite to the stairs which led into the Garden abutting on a spacious walk that crossed the Court. Lucretia therefore having left Valeria and Hermilia in a slothful humour, that kept them within doors, as thinking fitter to entertain themselves in the Hall, took a turn into the Garden, intending to return to her friends as soon as she had done. But insensibly forgetting her first design, and withal her herself, she walked so long thinking on a hundred several things one after another, that growing weary she returned into the Arbour I spoke of, with intention to rest her a while, for there were seats all about it. They had also taken care to put curtains to all the sides, which, if need were, might be drawn against the Sun; so that Lucretia finding the place very convenient, goes in, sits down, and continuing her thoughts, looked into the Court. She was no sooner sat down; but Brutus comes in to her, who having walked a long time in a little Wood which was behind the Garden, came to this Arbour to rest himself, not knowing that Lucretia was there, the curtains being drawn on that side he came in at; for I had forgot to tell you, that there was an entrance into it on any side.  
That which is particular in this accident, is, that Brutus, engaged in deeper meditations than Lucretia, was as much surprised to find her there, as she was to see him come in. But if he were surprised, it was with much delight, for having never been with her alone, he thought himself absolutely happy to find her in that posture, especially being resolved, as he was, to discover himself truly to her, and to acquaint her with his love. But though he passionately wished for the opportunity which Chance now favoured him with, and that he saw himself at liberty to speak, yet had he such an extraordinary commotion, and so great a disturbance in his heart, that he could not but blush as well as Lucretia. For though the adventure the day before had made this great Beauty extremely curious to know precisely what thoughts she should have of Brutus, yet was she somewhat troubled to find herself alone with a man whom she did not conceive to be such as the world took him, and one who had manifested his love to her, in so strange, so ingenuous, and so gallant a manner. Nevertheless, having not any way discovered that she understood those two verses he had made to answer those she had made use of, she recovered herself, and returned his salute.  
But though she might without any hazard of censure, have stayed there with Brutus, the place being open to all the house, as also the Court, where a many Gardeners were at work; yet she pretended as if she would not sit down again, but reassume her walk. Brutus perceiving her purpose, spoke hastily to her to divert her, and taking hold of a corner of a large veil, which she had on her head, but hanged carelessly over her shoulders; Ah Madam, said he staying her, do not forsake a wretch you are not acquainted with, who yet dies out of a desire that you may; but dares not discover himself to you, if you grant him not the favour of an audience without witnesses. Deny me not then the suit I make to you, that you would but hear me, and that without interrupting me. For, Madam, I have so many things to acquaint you with, that to hear me, I must bespeak all your goodness, all your patience. Lucretia hearing Brutus speak in this manner, was extremely surprised; for though she believed him to be other than he seemed, yet could she not avoid a strange amazement, to hear him speak in an accent quite different from what he was wont. So that not knowing on a sudden, whether she should grant or deny his request, she a little while stood irresolved, though advising with her heart, she was extremely desirous to know what obliged Brutus to conceal his worth from the world; for she was satisfied as to what then obliged him to discover it to her: However she was in doubt what to do, insomuch as that Brutus reading her irresolution in her eyes; I beseech you, Madam, said he to her, do not deliberace about what you have to do, seat yourself where you were before I came, and be assured, that if I durst cast myself on my knees to obtain what I desire, I should not rise before you had granted it. But since I dare not almost do any rational action when I may be seen of any, neither may I any way express that extraordinary respect which I bear you, lest if I should manifest that awful adoration which is due to the admirable Lucretia, I might discover part of my reason. If you but knew my amazement, replied this Beauty, looking on him with eyes wherein might be seen the characters of curiosity, you would not think it strange to see me at such a loss of resolution, for my thoughts are burdened with a thousand things at once, which I am not able to tell you, but you might easily conjecture. In fine, added she, how can I possibly take you to be the same I have ever known you, or imagine that you can eternally disguise yourself as you do? Is it possible to guests at what obliges you to this, and to conceive that you should single me out to reveal a secret of this nature to? To me, I say, whom you have found ever indifferent, if not uncivil, to you, and who have not done any thing which might oblige you to make any difference between me and Valeria, Collatina, or Hermilia. Ah Madam, replied he, you have done one thing which hath placed you in my heart, in a rank different from the others; for as to Valeria, I have only an esteem and a friendship for her; I love not Hermilia, but as being her Brother; and I look on Collatina as Sister to my Rival, whom therefore I ought not to trust myself to. But for you, divine Lucretia, I consider you as the only person who governs in my heart, and who only deserve to know the whole secret of my fortune. I am therefore resolved to cast myself so far into your hands, that my life shall be every moment at your disposal. For the secret of your Fortune, replied modestly Lucretia, I should not do well to tell you I am not desirous to know it, since it is not likely; but I entreat you proceed not in it, nor tell me any thing which may make me prefer the former Brutus, whom I have known, before him I now begin to know. If you are impartial, replied he, I am confident you will not be offended at what I shall tell you; if you are not, I shall show you so easy a way to be revenged of the injury I shall have done in adoring you, that to ruin me, you need no more than commend me, for if you but tell any one that Brutus hath any understanding, I am sure to be presently sacrificed to the Tyrant. Fear not then any thing, Madam, from a man who puts his life into your hands, and it may be, does something more. I am so inclined to pity the unfortunate, replied she, that looking on you as the most wretched of mankind, since you are forced to conceal the understanding you have; I also consider you as such a one, as it is not the pleasure of the Gods I should destroy, but rather assist: but yet once more, tell me nothing which may cause me to repent of this indulgence I have for you.  
With this Lucretia sitting down; and Brutus seating himself close by her, he in few words acquainted her with the cruelties of Tarquin towards his family, the flight of Tarquinia and Licinius, his abode at Metapont; thence he came to tell her of the desire he had to return to Rome, there to serve his Country; the way the sage Damo had found out for him to return thither safely, by concealing his understanding as he had done; the miserable life he had led since his return, and the resolution he had taken to wander about the world, so at least to deliver his Reason, since he could not Rome. This condition, Madam, said he to her, was my soul and affairs in, when you by the Charms of your Wit and Beauty stayed me here whether I would or no. Since that Madam, I have done what I could to resist you; I have objected all that to myself which I conceive you would have had me; and I lest nothing unattempted which might oblige me to cease loving you. But when I had done all, it was impossible, so that at last I am resolved to acquaint you with my fortune, and discover to you my passion, and withal let you know, I am furnished with more understanding than is believed, and that thence I may assure you I have much more love than you can imagine, though I do not think I could give you a greater argument of my reason, than the expression of the love I have for you.  
All that you tell me is so strange, replied Lucretia, that you should not think much that I have not interrupted you, though you have said many things which the stricter rules of civility allow me not to hear. But indeed the strangeness of your fortune, the miseries of your life, and the confidence you have reposed in me, by trusting me with a secret of this nature, have obliged me not to interrupt you, but to suffer you to say what you please, reserving to myself the liberty in my turn to acquaint you with my thoughts.  
For answer therefore to what you have said, give me leave to assure you, that I think myself so much obliged to you for the esteem you must needs have for me, that the preservation of my own life should not engage me to hazard yours, by revealing what it so much concerns you that none know. But that done, generous Brutus, I must tell you, that to give an infallible testimony of the greatness of your understanding, and constancy of your soul, you must overcome this affection which you say you have for me; and to give me an assurance of your pretended love, you must never more speak to me of it. Ah Madam, cried out Brutus, it is impossible for me to do any thing of what you enjoin, for I assure you I shall no longer struggle with my passion, but will rather die with grief, if you grant me not the favour sometimes to tell you that I love you. Were it not inhumanity to deny this weak comfort, to a wretch that puts his life into your hands, who trusts you with the greatest secret that ever was trusted to any, and who gives you the highest testimony of esteem that any man could give?  
Consider Madam, that I am the most unfortunate of men, that I was on the point of setting my reason at liberty, when you chained it up, that my own Sister knows not that I am her Brother, nor indeed that I am not the stupid Brutus I seem. Consider I say, that besides the miseries of my House and Country, I am also burdened with those of my Love. For, Madam, I declare it to you, I love you without any hope, and expect not any return of my love, since it were unreasonable the admirable Lucretia should love a man whom the world despiseth, whom Fortune hath cast off, who is every moment in danger of being destroyed by Tarquin's cruelty, who hath almost quitted the hope of delivering his Country, who must never discover his reason, and who must trifle away his life with the reputation of a man of no understanding. But after all, though I do not hope to be loved, yet I shall think myself happy enough, if you but give me leave to tell you that I love you, and suffer me submislively to complain of all my sufferings. I do not see how I can pretend to less, or desire less; and that your virtue as cautious as it is, cannot without cruelty deny me a thing wherein there is neither engagement nor danger. For (added he, not giving her time to answer) you cannot fear it should be suspected I were in love with you; and much less that you should permit my love; and when after an age of afflictions you should be pleased to express a certain kind of goodness, which I might call an innocent favour, there is no fear I should make it known, since I could not be at such a loss of discretion without hazarding my life, or exposing myself to incredulity. For if the stupid Brutus should say he were not hated by Lucretia, none would believe it, and if he went by any reason to prove it, it might cost him his life. Consider then, I conjure you, that you are the only she in the world whom I durst trust with the most important secret of my soul. 'Tis true, Racilia, Valerius, and Licinius, know the secret of my Fortune, but it is you, only you know that of my Love. It is you, Divine Person, added he, shall be my Mistress, my Friend, and my Confident; it is you shall be all the world to me. If I deliver Rome, you shall partake in the glory; and if I cannot do it, you shall condole with me, for the miseries of my Country, and shall be to me instead of Kindred, Friends, and Fame. Admit then, I beseech you, a Lover that desires nothing, that hopes nothing, one that could not boast of your favours if you did him any, that makes you the sole disposer of his destiny, and and that believes he hazards nothing, when he endangers all, since that, if you deal unkindly with him, he is resolved no longer to live. I therefore declare unto you, Madam, that if you feel not in your heart some favourable inclination to entertain my passion, I expect not you should be faithful to me. On the contrary, I give you leave immediately to tell Valeria, Hermilia, nay even Collatina, though my Rival's Sister, that I am not what I am thought, that I have more understanding than is conceived; that I am engaged in some Plot at Rome, that Tarquin must destroy me; and if this suffice not, tell it Tarquin himself. For what else concerns me, imagine not that I offer you a transient love: on the contrary, I shall tell you in Prose as much as I did in those two Verses, which you well understood, though you would seem not to do it. Assure yourself therefore, Madam, that I shall love you eternally; and withal consider, you that are so ingenious, that you will have that advantage over me, which no other Beauty can have. For in fine, all other Lovers, how faithful soever they may be, are at the best but faithful in their hearts, since that many times they are not so in their words, and that a thousand reasons of Civility, Decorum, and Custom, oblige them to commend other Beauties, when occasion requires; nay they have their she-confidents, who share in their affections. But, according to the rate of my destiny, I cannot commend any but you, nor love any else whatever; and as I have already told you, all my wishes, all my hopes, all my felicity, is terminated in you. And if possibly I might obtain of the admirable Lucretia any thing beyond my hope, I should not only think myself the most happy, but the most glorious man in the world; nor would I change fortunes with the greatest Conquerors, whose Victories Fame hath spread through the world. Speak then, Madam, speak, continued he, but with that goodness and justice which may show you pity the most unfortunate Lover that ever was. If you were simply a Suitor for my compassion, as the most wretched of all men, replied she, you might assure yourself of it; but that quality of a Lover which you would put on, obliges me to deny you all pity. Ah, I beseech you Madam, remember what you said yesterday,  
How sweet were love, if not so quickly passed!  
and assure yourself I shall love you eternally.  
Since love cannot last long without hope, replied Lucretia, and that I shall give you none, this personated love will soon blow over. However, added she, trouble not yourself about your Secret, for as I have told you already, I conceive myself obliged to be faithful to a man, who is so well opinioned of me, as to trust me with his life; and that you may be satisfied, that I will do any thing I may lawfully for you, and that I have no design to ruin you. I must ingenuously confess, that I understood yesterday what you writ in your Table-book, and was surprised at it, that not being able to contain within me all the reflections I made upon that adventure, I acquainted (my other self) Valeria with it, But yet fear not, added she, any prejudice from this discreet Virgin; for besides that she is naturally good, I am confident she will never speak of what she knows, if I do but desire her, and will go immediately and do it.  
If you admit me to love you, replied Brutus, it is certainly requisite you have the goodness to take care that what you and Valeria (whose virtue I am satisfied of) only know, may go no farther. But if that cannot be, as I told you, I have done all I can, and you have no more to do then to punish my presumption by my ruin. In the mean time as it is permitted to one that is unfortunate to fancy comforts to himself out of any thing; so you will give me leave to believe, in case you be faithful to me, that it is because you are not yet fully resolved to ruin me. Ah Brutus, replied Luerecia, you distract me strangely, for I cannot be so base as to ruin you, yet I cannot endure you should interpret my generosity to my disadvantage.  
While she was speaking thus, she spies Hermilia coming out of the house, and Valeria staying her by force, as if she would have hindered her from coming to the place where she was. And indeed it was so, for it happened that Hermilia having through the hall window seen Brutus and Lucretia together, took pity to see her obliged to entertain a man whose conversation was no way pleasant, which made her tell Valeria that she would go and relieve her. But Valeria knowing the adventure of the Verses, and being withal very willing that Lucretia should discover Brutus' secret, justly suspected that so long a discourse might produce something; and therefore that it might not be interrupted, she would have kept Hermilia from disturbing them, telling her, it were fit to leave Lucretia alone with Brutus, were it but to punish her for her wilful humour the day before, when she would not tell what she writ in the Table-book. But as last Hermilia getting from Valeria, came running to the place where Lucretia was, who, not much troubled at the interruption, left Brutus, and went to meet this fair Virgin, whom she hardly thanked, for having delivered her out of a company which she said was very troublesome to he. Yet did not Lucretia speak with her accustomed freedom, as being not quite disintangled from the adventure had happened unto her, but Hermilia reflected not much on it, but believed that little disturbance she descried in Lucretia to have proceeded from the trouble she had had to entertain Brutus, who not able suddenly to shift himself into his stupidity, chose rather to remove himself further from Lucretia, then coming near her to say nothing to her, or at lest nothing that might please her.  
In the mean time, Lucretia, though at the present she had no thoughts of entertaining Brutus' love, was yet particularly careful to speak in time to Valeria, to let her know, that what she had told her the day before, was of greater consequence than she conceived. Yet could she not speak to her till they were retired to their bedchamber; for before, either Hermilia or Racilia was always with them. But as soon as they were private, Luerecia acquainted her friend punctually with all that Brutus had said, celebrating the greatness of his understanding; and the difference that was between his ordinary manner of speaking, and when he spoke freely; and in fine, pretending to Valeris that she had a great esteem for him, though she were not half acquainted with him. But all considered, added she, I wish I had not known him, or that he had been satisfied to have chosen me only for his friend, to comfort him in his affliction. Ah Lucretia, replied Valeria, since, after a manifestation of love, you wish him that made it your friend, I am confident you would soon admit him as your Lover: I must then needs be prepossessed with a very strong inclination, replied Lucretia, for though I am persuaded one may lawfully love once in their life, so it be withal innocently, and should believe there is nothing so Pleasant as a tender crimeless love, yet must I needs, as I said, have my mind extremely prepossessed to engage myself into Brutus' love, since that you may easily judge, that considering his reputation in the world, my Father would never consent I should marry. For my Mother, knew she truly how things stand, I am confident she would lay her commands upon me to entertain Brutus' affection; for her heart is so sensibly possessed with the memory of his illustrious Father, that the hatred she hath for Tarquin is certainly grounded upon the death of Junius, with whom she was very intimately acquainted. But you may well think, added she, that I shall not go and reveal this secret to her, and consequently have nothing else to do, but to avoid meeting with Brutus. But if you over-warily avoid him, replied Valeria, those who observe it will take occasion to suspect something, for you have ever seemed less desirous to shun him then any. And therefore, added she laughing, do not avoid him so wilfully; have a better confidence of yourself, and only resolve to make good your heart while we stay here. The advice you give me, replied Lucretia with a gentle smile, hath something injurious in it, for it might be thence inferred, that you do not much believe I really would avoid Brutus. But that you may be satisfied, I tell you nothing but truth, added she, I will do what I can to hasten my return to Rome, for in fine, I must needs acknowledge I have so great an esteem for Brutus, as to wish he might think honourably of me.  
The next day Lucretia writ divers things to her Father to oblige him to send for her home; but the reasons which moved him to send her for that part of the Summer into the Country, being the stronger, Lucrecia's endeavours proved fruitless, so that she was forced to be content to remain at Racilia's for she had a soul too great to give the true cause of her desire to return to Rome, since Brutus' life was concerned in it. In the mean time, this disguised lover, from his first opening of his love to Lucretia, was glad of any occasion to entertain her, or to write to her; and having an ingenuity beyond the ordinary rate of men, he found out a hundred ways to convey his Letters, and that so as she could not but receive them. But all notwithstanding, Lucretia having a real aversion from engaging herself to Brutus' love, one day represented unto him all the difficulties which she thought might break the obstinacy of his love to her. For in fine, said this discreet person to him, you may easily judge that my Father would not bestow his Daughter on a stupid Brutus; and you may withal conceive that the Brutus, who I think worthy my greatest esteem, is not in a condition to discover himself; and therefore not finding how I can any way dispose of myself, you will excuse me if I entreat you not to speak to me any more of your love. As for my friendship, said she to him, it is at your service, and I promise you withal, that I will not avoid you, as for some days I have, conditionally you admit Valeria, who knows all the secrets of my heart, one of our company. Your pleasure shall be my will, returned Brutus, so you will permit me still to love you, contenting yourself that I shall not challenge your affection, till your heart should be overcome by the greatness of mine, and be forced to do me justice. Till than that you be only my friend, since you are so pleased, and that I may be accounted Valeria's, I am content; but withal, vouchsafe to stay till you fully understand what I am; and if when you are throughly acquainted with my heart, you can deny me yours, I shall have no other business in this world but to die. I shall then at once forget the love of my Country, that of Glory, and that of Lucretia, and shall have no more to do but to commit to dust the purest flame that ever shined in amorous heart.  
From that time, my Lord, had Brutus more of Lucrecia's company than before, for that Valeria being admitted into the Club, Lucretia did not so much avoid him. Yet Hermilia stood many times in his way, that he could not entertain Lucretia with his passion; for she was seldom out of their company. As for Valeria she was so charmed by the excellent endowments of Brutus, that in few days she became as great a friend to him as she was to Lucretia; and that which augmented the friendship of these two persons, was, that Brutus acquainted this discreet Virgin with the particular correspondence he held with Valerius.  
But notwithstanding all the enjoyments the company of these two admirable Virgins afforded him, yet was he still very unfortunate; for though he knew that Lucretia had really a great esteem and friendship for him, yet was he not contented, because it is particular to that passion his soul was engaged with, not to be satisfied but by itself.  
This found matter of perpetual complaint, notwithstanding the prohibitions of Lucretia to the contrary; but commonly he did it by Letters which though he found a hundred ways to get into her hands, whether she would or not, yet would she not answer any, till at last thinking at once to satisfy him, and oblige him to do what she would have, she resolved to silence all his complaints with one answer; but lest she might engage herself too far, she only sent him these words.  
When you more Reason dare profess,  
You ' shall know more of Happiness.  
But my Lord, this message soon brought Lucretia another, which I must needs show you, for having undertaken to entertain you with the History of Brutus, I have got from him whatever I thought requisite for your satisfaction: See then the answer of this disguised Lover.  
When I profess more reason, you tell me I shall be more happy; Ah Madam, how hard is it to preserve, so much Reason where there is so much Love, and how long must I continue miserable! You give me certainly, Madam, an excellent Precept, but I cannot follow it. All the Sages of Greece told me as much before I knew you, but it is only you have taught me that all their instructions are fruitless. Never had I such a disturbance in my soul as now, and that which sinks me deeper into despair, is, that haply it might be said; that for what concerns you I had no reason to despair. For certainly you exercise no cruelty on me, nay I am obliged to celebrate your goodness; but is it not equally certain, that you love me the less, by how much my affection is the greater to you? You look on my passion with so much calmness and indifference, that in my judgement you would be more sensible of it, were it only a pleasant fiction wherein you were nothing concerned, nor knew any more than the relation from some eloquent person. Ah Madam, how cruel are you if this be your true apprehension! and how much more cruel if it be not! and how careful are you to conceal the truth from me, so to make me the most infortunate of men! What shall I say to you, Madam? since I find you so insensible as to Love, I doubt me you are more as to Friendship; and that all the expressions I have received of yours were only strong imaginations, and so many pleasant sallies of your mind. Have I not other afflictions enough in my passion? The difficulty to speak with you; the sad necessity of myself restraint and reservedness; the absence you every day threaten me with, and whereof the very thoughts murders me; to which you shall not need add an insensibility the most unkind and the most cruel that ever was, and especially since it hath all the appearances of humanity and candour. What I desire is, I confess, too much for me to receive, but it is little for you to grant; Heaven is my witness I desire nothing else. Tell me but once, I admit your love, and forbid you not to hope you may be loved; and than though you never speak to me more, I shall be content, and my passion will be dissolved into serenity and joy. But if the terrible word of four letters frightens you, and that he be the cause of all your fears. I shall consent that for the future, this LOVE be called respect, or Friendship, or what you please, provided that between us it signify something quite different from the name. Pity me Madam, pity the purest and most unspotted Affection that ever heart was capable of; you will certainly, could you but see the tempestuousness of my thoughts. My mind is discomposed by the disorder of my heart; and I am sometimes afraid I shall really come to be what the world believes me, if you do not change my destiny. May I presume to tell you, Madam. I do almost repent me I have ever loved you; I have wished I could love you no longer; nay, I have endeavoured it. But soon after, I have found I was not master of my own thoughts; I have condemned my endeavours, and repent of my repentance, as of a crime. This, Madam, is the deplorable condition I am in, and must be while you are so pleased; for I am not to be acquainted with my own frailty, which you know as well as I, and therefore it is to little purpose for me to complain and threaten at the same time, since all I have to do is to suffer, to disguise, to be silent, and to love you eternally.  
This Letter being very full of passion, Lucretia was a little stung with it, insomuch that she resolved to return Brutus a longer answer than she had done before. For indeed not to conceal any thing from you, the great worth of this illustrious Roman, the generosity of his heart, his gallantry, the confidence he at first reposed in her discretion, the disconsolate life he led, the respect he had for her, the experience she had of his virtue, and the pureness of his apprehensions, together with a certain passionate stile, which was that of all his writings; had kindled in her soul a certain affection, the force whereof she was not acquainted with. Yet I am confident, you will infer from the answer which I shall read to you, that she had a certain obliging tenderness for Brutus, though she never allowed a thought which was not virtuous and innocent. But that you may know whether I am in the right or no, hear what was Lucrecia's answer.  
I should never have believed that Innocence could have been so cowardly as I find it in my own heart. For I assure you, that though I fear not any thing either as to you or myself, yet am I haunted with a secret distrust, which is no small affliction to me: I cannot precisely tell what it is I fear, and I cannot but fear what I cannot tell; nor can the consideration either of all my own virtue or yours, restore my mind to quiet and composure. It is so overcast and disordered with thousands of niceties and doubts, that if the tenderness of my heart were not engaged on your side, I know not whether I might not repent me of a great part of that goodness which I have for you. But to give you my true thoughts, I am persuaded this civil war will yet last some time. I could wish it were at an end, for you know, as War banishes all pleasures from those places where it hath to do, so that whereof my heart hath for some time been the Seat, suffers me not effectually to apprehend the joy of being by you preferred before all the world, and governing in the heart of a man of extraordinary worth, and (which I value much more) one whose affection is composed of Virtue and Sincerity. In fine, is it not true that in some late private entertainments, you have observed I had not the least liberty or command of my mind? Is it not as true, I was neither merry nor melancholy, neither absolutely dull, nor absolutely cheerful? That to speak truly, I was neither absolutely mild, nor altogether severe, and that if you had never found me more amiable than you did those two days, you had never loved me? However, I hope you will not blame me, the rather, if you consider I have an infinite passion for Reputation and Innocence. I know there is nothing criminal in your affection, but I know my own weakness, which is such, that I am afraid of any secret; I never was burdened with any, and all novelty distracts me. Yet it may happen, that observing from time to time the integrity of your resentments, I shall seriously resolve to share an innocent Secret with you; and shall then give my soul way to entertain all the sweetness it may find, in being tenderly loved by a person who knows how to love, and who can love with respect and innocence. I should tell you a thousand things more, should I pretend to answer your Letter exactly, and acquaint you with the true state of my soul. But I have not the leisure, and am not certain whether I have the will; for, seriously, the disquiet of mind is such as I am ashamed of.  
I am confident, my Lord, that though this Letter contain nothing in it of extraordinary Obligation, yet you cannot otherwise think than that Brutus should take it as a very high favour, as wherein he might easily perceive that Lucretia had a great esteem and a strong inclination for him. Nevertheless he found in it some things to complain at, as you may judge by the answer he returned to it, whereof this is a Copy.  
If I love you not beyond what any one can love you; if my love admit any thing which the most exact and nice Virtue can any way censure in itself, if I can live contentedly, or, to say better, but only live until you love me, I wish I were the wretched'st of mankind. This is all the answer I shall make you, desire no more of a wretch, whom you have already made lose his understanding and his reason, and if you change not your thoughts, will make him also lose his life. But Madam, what necessity is there to answer you, you sufficiently answer yourself? You fear, you say, and cannot tell what you fear; You are engaged with the most fervent and the most accomplished love in the world; and if I dar'st say so Madam, with your own goodness and compassion, and yet all your forces consist of a sort of nice Difficulties, as you yourself call them, that is to say, reasons which are only shadows of Reason, such as a great and noble Soul, as yours, shall never entertain. Upon these niceties then, you would easily deprive him of all content, who of all the world hath the greatest love for you. For these niceties he must be condemned to perpetual torment, so as to be dissolved into sighs, groans, and complaints, and must accuse all your past goodness as so much cruelty. Certainly those who fiercely and disdainfully repulse their Lovers, are not haply as inhuman as you are; for their fierceness is a remedy against itself, and many times saves those whom it might bring into despair. Besides, these, when they are so scornful, they believe they have reason to be so, and are not swayed by niceties, and their rigour therefore is so much the more excusable. But for you, Madam, what shall I say to you? Shall I complain of you, or shall I commend you? I am in doubt whether, so much am I disordered; but this I know, whether you are merciful or cruel, nice or not, I cannot but love you while I live; and all the difference will be this, that as you are pleased I shall be the happiest or the most unhappy of all Lovers. Alas Madam, is it possible you can destroy all my felicity, all my joy, haply some part of your own, only because you know not whether you would have what you would, or that you wish it imperfectly? Have compassion on me. I beseech you Madam, let us once be an example, that perfect Virtue is not inconsistent with perfect Love, and that it were very unhappy, if it were deprived of the sweetest pleasure, or to say better, the only in the world. What serenity will you infuse into my mind, if you can afford that which you desire unto your own? What glory were there equal to mine? With what Kings, and with what Lovers would I change condition? O ye Gods! how doth this very thought crown me with joy, in the midst of all your cruelties? But if you are resolved still to oppose my happiness, I tell you seriously, you will either give me my death, or make it my perpetual wish. Consider therefore Madam, what you do, and the more to engage you to be tender of my life, remember that the safety of Rome is haply concerned in it, and that you cannot ruin me without exposing your Country to eternal slavery.  
Lucretia having received the Letter, showed it Valeria in a little close Arbour, which was at the corner of Racilia's Garden; but she did it with so visible expressions of disturbance in her looks, that her friend not able to guests at the meaning of it, asked her the reason. For in fine, said she to her, this Letter hath nothing in it which is not full of respect and passion; and I am confident, it is no trouble to you that Brutus loves you. I confess, it replied Lucretia, but that which infinitely afflicts me, is, that I have not that command of my heart, so as to be able when I should desire it, to avoid loving him. It is certainly in my power, added she, not to give him any expressions of it, but if I do it, I am so much the more unhappy; for when ever I force myself to hide from him part of that esteem which I have for him, I am presently haunted, notwithstanding all my resistance, with a certain fear to destroy his affection by over-concealing my own. Not but that I believe I may love Brutus innocently, for the last time my mother was here, she expressly commanded me to entertain Brutus with that correspondence of affection, which a virtuous maid may express to a man that were to be her husband, adding to this command another, that I should never discover what she enjoined me.  
But my Lord, I had forgot to tell you that Racilia, who was not ignorant of the great friendship, was between Lucrecia's mother, and Brutus' father, and had often observed that her Nephew had a violent inclination for this excellent Virgin, took one day occasion to confer with this Illustrious Roman, whom she knew to be implacably exasperated against Tarquin, and told her she thought it very strange her Husband should suffer Collatine to make public addresses to Lucretia, since it was generally known she had an aversion for him. To which Lucrecia's Mother reposing an absolute confidence in Racilia, made answer, that for her part she was infinitely troubled at it, nor could imagine any way to divert her Husband from it, who proposed to himself great advantages by an alliance with Tarquin. But not to trouble you with an account of these two women's discourse, it shall suffice I only tell you, that Racilia, confident of her discretion, to whom she spoke, acquainted her that Brutus was not what he was thought to be; she produced divers of his Letters to confirm, she had said no more of him than he deserved; and in fine, represented him to her as the worthy Son of a man, for whom she had had a very tender friendship, as a secret enemy to Tarquin; and as the illustrious lover of her Daughter. Whereupon summing up all together whatever they thought might help to break off the marriage with Collatine, Racilia obliged Lucrecia's Mother to lay her commands upon her Daughter to be very civil to Brutus, not making any further discovery to her. For knowing that the principal reason which moved her Husband to admit a marriage with Collatine, was that Collatine was of the Blood royal, she doubted not but that marriage being broken off, he would be content she should take Brutus with all his stupidity, as being Tarquin's Nephew. Not knowing therefore truly how things stood, she laid that command on Lucretia, which contributed much to the happiness of Brutus.  
Hence it was that Valeria understanding by Lucretia the command, which her Mother had laid on her, took occasion to tell her those little difficulties were groundless, and that she was of opinion she might innocently entertain Brutus' affection. But Valeria, replied Lucretia, if I should, and he not know what my mother hath enjoined me, he will haply esteem me so much the less, and if I acquaint him with it, he will think himself the less beholding to me for what I shall do for him; so that I am in the greatest confusion in the world. For, I wish Brutus' love, and haply should be won to love him; Yet am I tormented with insurrections of Fear, Shame, and Repentance. I wish I had written harshly to him; I wish I had not answered him at all; I wish he had not written to me; I wish he would write to me every day; I wish he had never loved me; I wish he would love me eternally; and in fine, I wish things so different and inconsistent, that when I examine myself, I am almost dead for fear I should love Brutus better than he loves me. For according to my present apprehensions, I could wish, were it possible, he never had loved any thing, or that he might love nothing besides myself; and if I could reflect on all the passages of my soul, I should there find jealousy, despite and pride, but withal a mixture of virtue, innocence, and an obstinate desire of glory, all which torment my soul beyond all imagination. If Brutus had heard what you have said, replied Valeria, he were not over miserable: but I can assure you, replied Lucretia, that if he understood the true meaning of all my words, he would not be much the less miserable: You are in the right, Madam, (replied this illustrious Roman, starting from behind a thick-set hedge, where he lay hid, and withal, casting himself on his knees) for there is no condition more miserable, than that of not being hated, and yet so treated as if one never were to be loved. Ah Brutus, cried out Lucretia blushing, I shall not excuse the presumption you are guilty of, in discovering to me that you have overheard me. Ah Madam, replied he, what have I heard, whence I may derive the least favour? On the contrary, is not this irresolution of your foul, absolutely insufferable? Ask Valeria what she truly thinks of it, and I doubt not but she will tell you, if she speak sincerely, I have reason to complain, that you are yet to consider whether you should admit my love or not. I must acknowledge, Madam, I did not think myself to be so miserable, nay sometimes I flattered myself that these groundless difficulties, wherewith your Letter was so well furnished, had really no place in your heart. But for aught I can perceive, you are not yet certain whether you should love or hate the miserable Brutus; and his fate is still so doubtful, that your own heart is yet ignorant of its own secret resentments. Complaint is so natural to Love, replied Valeria smiling, that I wonder not at yours; but when all is done, you should think yourself happy to have heard what Lucretia hath said of you, & she herself should be satisfied that you have heard those things which might excuse the tenderness of her heart. Ah Valeria, replied Lucretia, I am so little satisfied in myself, that I would willingly change hearts with you. If the fair Valeria, replied Brutus, do but justice to the love of Herminius, I should haply get something by the exchange. Do not I pray charge me with injustice, replied Valeria, at the same time, when out of pure goodness I am your advocate; and accuse me not of having a heart more tender than Lucretia.  
Hereupon these three persons being mutually satisfied, Brutus and Lucretia appealed to Valeria to judge of those differences should happen between them. For in fine, said Lucretia to Brutus, if you can persuade Valeria, that a virtuous person can entertain such an affection as you mean, I shall consent to admit yours, conditionally you never oblige me to be openly undutiful to my Father, that in case he dispose of me contrary to my inclination, you will endure it patiently without hating me; and when that happens, you never see me after. Ah Madam, replied he, these are strange conditions, but I must accept them, provided on your behalf you suffer my passion; you favour me with all the opportunities you can to speak with you; you receive my Letters, and answer them; and lastly, cheerfully permit all those innocent expressions of love I shall make to you. So you rest satisfied with the resentments of my heart, replied she, I shall do what you desire, as soon as you have persuaded Valeria, as I have already told you, that a virtuous person may be engaged to love, and shall have proved it to me rather by example than by reason; for not to dissemble with you, added she, I have not much to learn of what might be said to justify a virtuous love. Ah Madam, said he to her, if there want nothing but to convince you, I am the happiest of men. For I know at Metapont an admirable Virgin, of whom I have heretofore spoken to you, who hath not conceived she hath done any thing prejudicial to her reputation, in resolving to love. Might it please the Gods, replied Lucretia, it were the daughter of Pythagoras. Your prayers are heard Madam, replied he, it is of that sage person I am to speak to you, and in few words to satisfy your curiosity, and furnish you with an example; I am only to acquaint you that Damo had fortified her heart against the addresses of the most virtuous persons in the world, as believing she could not meet with any one man, in whom there were a conjunction of Wit, Virtue, Goodness, Gallantry, Tenderness, and Fidelity. She could not I say, be persuaded it were possible to find a Lover, whose desires exceeded not the limits of Innocence, nor his transports those of Discretion; so that despairing to meet with a man of a virtue great enough to love, at the rate of that affection, which she imagined requisite in an upright well-meaning person, she was resolved not to love any thing but Glory. But at length one of the most famous Disciples of Pythagorus named Alcmaeon, falling deeply in love with her, and bringing along with him all those perfections which she thought it impossible to find in any one man, she changed her resolution, and after a many thousands of applications, from Alcmaeon, and thousands of services tendered and performed, she hath entertained his affection, and given him expressions of hers; she hath received Love-letters from him, and hath answered them; she hath favoured her Lover with a thousand opportunities of private entertainments; she hath received verses from him, and hath returned others to him. Ah! migbt it please the Gods that the incomparable Lucretia would make as amorous for me as those of Damo were for Alcmaeon. But that you may not find me in any untruth, and may withal be satisfied of the tenderness of this virtuous person's heart; Be pleased to hear some of her amorous Poetry, and, if you can, inform yourself thereby what are the pleasures of Love, and be convinced that Virtue itself inspires this passion with charms, so that these two things not being incompatible, you might love me without any distrustful reservedness. Hereupon Valeria, who knew Lucrecia's humour as well as herself, knew well she desired no more than that her innocent affection might be justified by some authority; pressed Brutus to repeat those verses of Damo; whereto Lucretia by her silence consenting, he told them, that those verses had made such an impression in his heart, that they had found a place in his memory, though he had not much troubled himself to keep them in mind. Not that they are, added he, so excellently good, but that they have a certain vein of passion, which I am taken with, and wish you were also. Upon this, Brutus recollecting himself a little, repeated the following verses, which Damo had made under the name of Lysis, though they were directed to Alcmaeon.  

False and unjust their censure is,  
Who Love account a cruel pain;  
For can there be a greater bliss,  
Than loving, to be loved again?   

My joys, when Lysis 's constant love  
I view, arrive at such a height,  
That to deject them is above  
The humble power of scorned Fate.   

He who in Love is deeply read,  
Knows the least trisle to improve;  
In every glance her bright eyes shed,  
A thousand harmless pleasures move.   

A smile, a sigh, one little sight,  
Contribute charms to our desire;  
Her grief confers to our delight,  
Her very tears increase our fire.   

Then Lysis we no more delay  
To make our mutual passions known,  
At which let wondering Lovers say,  
Their souls are twisted into one.   
Can you any longer doubt, divine Lucretia (said Brutus to her, having repeated those Verses) that a virtuous person may love once in all her life? Can you, I say, who know the reputation of Damo, and who have heard, there is not another maid in the world so serverely virtuous as she? Love therefore, charming Beauty, or at least suffer yourself to be loved; and if you will not make amorous verses, suffer others to do it for your glory: Suffer me I say, to do any thing which may convince you of the greatness and tenderness of my affection, that when you once are, it may prove contagious to you. For, in fine, Madam, if we do not a little love that which loves us, there can be no sensible pleasure in being loved. Be pleased then to enjoy yourself in the empire of my heart, by granting me a part of yours. You have so much of it in my friendship, replied Lucretia, as might content you. Ah Madam, replied Brutus, how little is your acquaintance with Love, if you believe the most fervent friendship in the world can satisfy it! No no, Madam, deceive not yourself, I cannot possibly be happy, if I am not loved after another manner than one loves his friends. I dare not presume to tell you that I will you should love me, continued he, but if I may without crime think it, I should wish your heart were in a condition to feel what it never felt, and what it should not for any besides the too too happy Brutus. I should wish, I say, you were moved when ever you saw me, and that from me alone you should derive all your felicity. My demands, Madam, added he, are indeed great, for a man that deserves nothing, but all considered I demand nothing but what is innocent. I absolutely forbid my desires all criminal favours, and in fine, wish no more than you will, so you will permit me to love you, and that continuing my adorations of you with the same fervency and sincerity, you will give me leave to believe, that if I am not loved, I may be.  
Upon this, Valeria interposing herself between them, carried things with so much discretion, that though Lucretia said nothing that might positively engage him, yet did Brutus think himself happy. For, in fine, he was allowed to make his complaints, and write to Lucretia, when he could not come to speech with her. It was also promised he should be answered; they permitted him to hope he might be loved: He was assured of certain meetings with her in the same place, conditionally the business might be carried so as Hermilia and Racilia should not suspect any thing. For though Brutus affirmed to Lucretia that his Aunt was not ignorant of his having more understanding than he made show of, yet did they stand in fear of her, as not suspecting she knew any thing of his passion.  
Now was it that illustrious Roman thought himself the happiest of men, and what before had contributed to his affliction, seemed now to conduce to his happiness. For now he found that his disguise was as advantageous to his love as to his hatred, since he could approach both Lucretia and Tarquin, and fear neither Enemies nor Rivals, thinking himself so felicified in the love and esteem of the admirable Lucretia, that he valued not the disesteem of all the world. He was no more troubled to be silent before all people, since he was permitted to speak of his love to the person that caused it; and when he could but get into that close arbour, where Lucretia began first to show him favour, he found more pleasure to be there alone, than he could have done in the most pleasant company Rome could afford, though he were at liberty to display all the perfections of his mind.  
Nor was the love of his Country hereby any thing abated; no more than that of Glory: on the contrary, since that he assured himself of the Love of Lucretia, he thought himself doubly concerned to endeavour the destruction of Tarquin; not only because he being once ruined, Collatine would let fall all pretensions to Lucretia, but also out of a pure disinterested motive, as conceiving it necessarily contributed to the glory of this excellent Beauty, that by the deliverance of Rome, he should set his own reason at liberty; and withal put himself into such a condition, that all the world might take notice of the passion he had for her. As soon therefore as love had poslessed itself of the empire of his heart, he redoubled his former endeavours to accomplish that great design, wherewith his soul is at this day burdened. Nor was he disturbed by any melancholy apprehensions for some days ensuing that wherein Lucretia had honoured him with the first expressions of her love; nor knew any other affliction than what proceeded from the impatience he had to give his Mistress another private visit; when any occasion hindered Lucretia and Valeria to meet according to their innocent appointment: But this was no small penance to him, even so great, that one day it grew so violent upon him, that he thought not a simple Letter sufficient to express to Lucretia the earnest desire he had to see her again. Having therefore an excellent and easy vein of Poetry, though none knew it but Lucretia, Valeria, and myself, he enclosed a paper of Verses in a Letter he writ to Lucretia, with intention to deliver it to her himself, as he often did, when he could not meet with her but in company. But this Letter he made a shift to deliver her, as she sat betwixt Collatine and myself, for we often made visits at Racilia's, whither we were drawn by no mean concernments. I am confident you are desirous to know how he would carry the business so, as to deliver this Letter to Lucretia; but that you may conceive how it was done, I am only to tell you, that Lucretia, Valeria, two or three other Ladies, Brutus, Collatine and I, were all together in that close Arbour, where Brutus had the day before seen Lucretia, and where he had that day met her, had we not disappointed the meeting. Having, as I told you already, written his Letter, and being very desirous to know what Collatine said to Lucretia, and more to oblige Lucretia to think on him, while his Rival entertained her; he took a walk out of the Garden for to get behind the Arbour, whence he had once before overheard a discourse between Lucretia and Valeria; and there, as I told you, he placed himself to hearken to what Lucretia said to Collatine, and afterwards to appear before that excellent person, in hope of some occasion to deliver her his Letter. But it so happened that this Beauty, who it seems was not much taken with Collatine's discourse, rested herself negligently on the hedge of the Arbour, and amidst her thoughts had passed her hand through, wherewith she sat plucking the leaves, not thinking what she was doing. Brutus seeing it, soon knew it to be Lucrecia's fair hand, and was fully satisfied it could be no others; for besides that, her hand was of a particular kind of making, she had on a ring, that she always wore, which absolutely convinced Brutus he was not deceived. Not much minding the design to hearken to what was said in the Arbour, he put into the fair hand of Lucretia a little Table-book, which he had purposely caused to be made for to write Letters to her in; and (out of a transport of love, which he could not retain, though with all the reason he had he endeavoured it) kissing it he shut it, thereby to let her know, that what he gave her could come from none but himself. Lucretia being surprised at this accident, began to blush, and thought to have cried out: but by good fortune, reflecting suddenly on the adventure, she apprehended what it was, and withheld herself. Yet Collatina asked her very importunately what the matter was, but she only told him, rising up, that she had hurt her hand a little, whereupon drawing it to her hastily, she wrapped it into a corner of her veil, as if she had hurt it indeed, though it was only to hide the Table-book she had received from Brutus, who for his part was so well satisfied with the adventure, that he came not into the Arbour, out of a fear he might not conceal the present agitation of his mind, but went and walked alone.  
In the mean time, Lucretia having cunningly conveyed the Table-book into her pocket, resumed her part in the discourse; but when they had sufficiently rested themselves, they all began to walk, without observing any order, for sometimes the whole company marched all in rank, and spoke all together, and sometimes they divided themselves into particular entertainments. It happened by this means, that not able to fasten any discourse with Valeria, with whom two women talked whisperingly, I came all alone after Lucretia, who was entertained by Collatine. But it happening that as she went she wanted something out of her pocket, and that at the same time Collatine said something to her, whereat she was displeased, she minded not that she had dropped the Table-book which Brutus had given her: For my part though I walked musing yet seeing it fall, I took it up, and opened it, with intention to write some gallantry in it, before I returned it to Lucretia, whereat she should much wonder when she saw it. But I was much surprised myself, to meet with Brutus' Letter and Verses he had there written; of both which these are Copies;  
You will find by these Verses, that I think on you, when haply you bestow not a thought on me; but I shall entreat you, Madam, to assure yourself, that the affliction I have that I cannot speak with you, is greater than the pleasure my Rival finds to entertain you; and to do me justice, be pleased to let me read in your bright eyes, when I shall have the happiness to see them, that his entertainment hath not been pleasing to you. I had rather not observe in them any favour for myself, than be in suspense whether there is any for him. Believe it, Madam, and withal, that with as much impatience, as love, I wait for the happy satisfaction to entertain you privately employing myself no otherwise in the mean time, than in perpetually saying.  

When will the Fair, for whom I burn,  
This place with her rich Presence bless?  
Dear minutes fraught with happiness;  
Ah will you never ne'er return?   

From Night to each successive Morn,  
Sorrows my Quiet dispossess;  
Dear minutes fraught with happiness;  
Ah will you never, ne'er return?   
Having read this Letter and Verses, I was no more desirous to write any thing in the Table-book, as being in an incredible disturbance. That which caused it, was that I knew the writing of Brutus for though he endeavoured to appear stupid, yet upon some necessary occasions he made a shift to write. Knowing therefore by chance, his hand, which was the easier to be known, as having somewhat a strange Character, for that Brutus had learned to write at Metapont, and not at Rome, i was in such a trouble, as I am not able to express to you. For I could not believe Brutus able to write well, either in Verse or Prose, nor that he could love Lucretia, nor be loved of her. No more could I conceive that some other should make use of that disguise, it being very unlikely any one should trust him with a secret of that consequence; and if so, who should that be? There was none but he at Racilia's; and there came no other men thither, but the Prince of Pometia, who was in love with Hermilia; Titus, who was a servant to Collatina, and Mutius, whom I but too well knew, had an inclination for Valeria. Thus not knowing what to think, and being resolved to dive into a secret of that concernment, I thought fit to take Valeria aside as soon as I could conveniently. But not desirous to cause Lucretia that trouble which her knowing that I had seen her Table-book might give her, I chose rather to entreat Valeria to tell her friend that she had found it; for having an infinite esteem for that beauteous and discreet Virgin, I should have been extremely troubled, my sight should cause her any confusion. But in sine, not to spend time on frivolous things, you are to know, that I spoke to Valeria, that I showed her the Table-book, and to engage her to satisfy my curiosity, I gave it her without any condition at all, entreating her to deliver it to Lucretia, after the manner I had proposed, and conjuring her, if it were a thing lay in her power, to deliver me out of the affliction I was in. But as this Wench is infinitely generous and free, and that I desired not to know the secret of her friend, but in case she might lawfully reveal it to me, so she told me, that she durst not satisfy my curiosity. In the mean time, she charged me not to speak of what had happened to any whatever, and to reward my discretion, promised she would manage the business so, as that Lucretia and she being but the same thing, he who had written that Letter and those Verses, should make but one with me. To be short, Valeria, who thought it might be some advantage to her, that I were admitted into the Society, and that haply I might in many things be serviceable to Brutus, by the hatred I bore Tarquin, resolved to speak that night to Lucretia, and acquainted her with what had happened: For she conceived, and rightly, that without doing so, she would not be engaged to repose any confidence in me; which done, she doubted not of her consent, that I might be of the Conclave, and her commands on Brutus to trust himself to my discretion, and to receive me as a friend. It is true, for the latter I needed not her assistance: for you may be pleased to know, that having parted with Valeria, I walked out all alone into a spacious Meadow, joining to that Orchard which is beyond the Court, where I no sooner was, but I descried Mutius coming towards Racilia's, but perceived him set upon by four men, who pursued him with their swords drawn, and cried out to him, that he must die. Having no weapon about me, I thought indeed they would make their words good, and that Mutius was irrecoverably lost, for the place was very solitary, and was not enclosed to Racilia's house. But though Mutius were my Rival, yet I thought myself obliged to relieve him. To that end I for a little while hid myself behind an old Willow so to discover who they were that set upon him, that I might the better single him out of the four, whom I should endeavour to disburden of his sword. But I had not a moment to deliberate, for seeing them press hard upon Mutius, I ran straight to them, calling them base cowardly villains, thinking by my confidence to make them believe that I was assured of relief. While I was speaking to them, and putting myself in order to do what I could for Mutius, Brutus issued out of the Orchard with the same intention, who by a threatening action would signify to those that set upon Mutius, that if they gave not over they might haply have the worst of it. Hereupon joining our forces, and being by this expression of courage somewhat confirmed, that Brutus was not what he was taken to be, we engaged two of these Assassinats to make at us. But immediately closing with them, Brutus snatched his sword from him he had to do with; for my part I could not do as much, for he that I was engaged with was excessively strong in the arms however I held him play so well, that pressing hard upon him, his sword became so engaged: that I easily broke it. By which means he not being in a condition to hurt Mutius, and Brutus having disarmed his man, these two having gotten from us ran away. Mutius having thus but two to deal with, and Brutus being furnished both for defence and assault, as I was going to fasten behind one of them, these two Rogues, who were as cowardly as wicked, cried quarter, and begged audience, Mutius conceiving it concerned him to know what reason they had to set upon him, promised them what they desired, provided they delivered their swords to me; which upon promise of life they did. They hereupon confessed they were ordered by Tarquin to pitch upon some occasion to dispatch Mutius, when he went out of Rome; that understanding he was to come to Racilia's, they for more certainty waited him in that place; adding, that they were not afraid to set upon him there, as knowing that Racilia had not many people with her that could make any defence; that further, this Meadow was at an indifferent distance from the house, and convenient enough for an ambush, as having on the one side an Orchard, on the other a little Wood They were no sooner disburdened of this confession, but Brutus transported with fury against Tarquin's injustice, said four or five words after such a manner, as I had never observed in him before. But he suddenly withheld himself, as soon as he perceived that I observed him; whereupon I joining with Mutius, put divers questions to these Villains; which done, leaving them to their evil destiny, we left them at liberty either to repent, or commit new crimes. Yet that they might not discover that they had revealed Tarquin's violence in case it were not thought safe to publish it, Mutius furnished them with what might recommend them to Soldiery; in some other part of the world.  
Mutius being on horseback, I desired him to go before, telling him he would follow; I am content, replied he, it is but just I should make it know, that I owe my life to you both. Hereupon Mutius riding forwards, Brutus and I were alone, according to my desire. But so fierce was the desire I had that he would discover himself to me, that I was resolved to speak to him as one that were partly acquainted with his Secret. For, in fine, said I in myself, if Brutus be the same Brutus that I know, I hazard nothing by telling what I have aimed to tell him, and if one the contrary he be such as I imagine him, I shall accomplish my design. Being thus confirmed in my resolution, I made a halt, and taking him by the arm, and looking steadily on him, Show me I beseech you, said I to him, your Understanding, as you have done your Courage. For I know more of you than you think, and haply it concerns you more than you conceive, to have a confidence; for if you trust me not, I shall not think myself engaged not to discover the excessive curiosity I have to dive even into the bottom of your heart. But to oblige you to it, added I, I promised you an inviolable faith, and I offer you my friendship, without any jealousy that is ill bestowed, for if you are beloved by Lucretia, you deserve the love of all the world. Brutus hearing this discourse, was extremely surprised, and presentiy inferred, that Valeria had discovered him to me, and that it was to no purpose for him to conceal himself. Whereupon making a loud acclamation, Ah Herminius, said he, you are happier than I, for since Valeria hath acquainted you with her knowledge of my Fortune, she must needs love you, even so far as to have lost a great part of her reason and prudence. Not but that if any one were necessarily obliged to know what I see you do, I had not made choice of you for that end; for in fine, said he to me. I know you to be a person of honour, that you loee Valeria and hate Tarquin. 'Tis true, generous Brutus, (said I to him with an incredible astonishment) I profess honestly, I hate the Tyrant and love Valeria; but I must add, I admire Brutus. But, continued I, that you may see my sincerity, I will tell you by what adventure I came to know you: whereupon, I related to him what had happened, entreating him not to be troubled that I knew his secret, and assuring him that Luorecia should never find that I had the least knowledge of it. Upon this Brutus, who was not ignorant how much our Family had been persecuted by Tarquin, my Father dying an Exile, would not have an imperfect confidence in me, and since I was so happy as to have his good thoughts, he opened his heart to me, desired my friendship, and offered me his, and we stayed so long entertaining one another, that Racilia fearing some accident had befallen us, sent out to seek us. By this means we were forced to repair to the company, but before we had quite reached it, Brutus put on his ordinary Mien and simplicity, and received the commendations which Mutius gave his valour, as one that knew not what it were to have courage. In the mean time, I drew near Valeria, and told her I knew Brutus without her, and craved her pardon that I had not exactly observed the instructions she had given me.  
But my Lord, not to be so particular in this part which concerns my own relation, Valeria and Brutus got Lucrecia's consent that I might be admitted into confidence; and there was such a noble friendship between us, by reason of the several interests, whereby we were united, as also through a great sympathy of humour and sentiments, that for a certain time we lived very pleasantly. But as for Mutius, though he had been assaulted by the orders of Tarquin, yet would he never take their advice who counselled him to remove further from him. For my part, I should have been glad he had, first, because that in removing from Rome, he also removed from Valeria; and secondly, for that he being once out of the way, the assassination would have made a horrid noise in the world, and would somewhat have inflamed the detestation all had for Tarquin. He so dearly loved Valeria, that he chose rather to expose himself to a second assassination, than forsake her, though she loved him not. So that he earnestly entreated me to say nothing of what the Villains had discovered of Tarquin; but, said I to him, How can you hinder Brutus from telling what he knows, considering his natural stupidity? People so little reflect on what he says, answered Mutius, that it will signify nothing, if you but keep counsel, insomuch that Mutius persisting in his opinion, I was forced to turn him lose to his own inclination, and to be faithful to him out of a principle of generosity.  
In the mean time, this friendship with Brutus brought me much oftener than before to Racilia's; for it was the pleasure of this illustrious man, that she knew I was his friend; whereupon this excellent woman told him, that Sivelia also knew the secret, by which means our correspondence increased, and that if Hermilia were but acquainted with it, our company might be free and unreserved. But indeed she obliged us to so much circumspection, that Brutus told us one day, it was absolutely necessary she knew that she was his Sister, that so strong a reason might oblige her to secrecy; adding, that it were not amiss Racilia knew that Lucretia and Valeria were not ignorant of it; so that in fine, Brutus having thus disposed Racilia, she told Hermilia one morning that Brutus was her Brother; and Brutus told her himself that she was his Sister, expressing himself so discreetly, and so obligingly, that this amiable Virgin was extremely surprised at it. What was most remarkable, was; that though she was really glad, yet was not her gladness free from disturbance; however, it was then considered as having no other reason, than that her astonishment obscured the freedom of her mind; and that it is but very lately that I discovered that it proceeded from her having engaged her affection to the Prince of Pometia. This is yet a Secret both to Brutus and Racilia, therefore I shall entreat you not to speak to them of it; for indeed Hermilia is very unhappy to place her love on a man, whose whole Family her Brother makes it his business to ruin. But in the mean time, she could not be charged with loving the Son of a Prince, who had poisoned her Father, and put her elder Brother to death, for when she began to love him, she knew not that she was Sister to Brutus. Nor indeed can she be charged with any inconstancy, for certainly she never discovered any thing to the Prince whom she loves, that were prejudicial to her Brother, nor indeed doth he so much as know that she is Sister to Brutus.  
But at length to return whence I have digressed, this first amazement of Hermilia being over, she carried herself as one that was glad of such a Brother as Brutus, so that ever after, when there was none but Racilia, Valeria, Lucretia, Sivelia, Brutus, and myself, our Society was nothing but Freedom, Brutus being the most pleasant company, and the most divertive person in the world. Not that he openly professed himself a servant to Lucretia, no more than I did to Valeria, but we had brought up a certain gallantry of friendship, which signified almost as much, since that the desire of pleasing, compliance, services and addresses, were the effects of it. When Brutus was minded to do some high piece of Gallantry, he ever did it under my name; so that directing it openly to Lucretia, it served at once to hide Brutus' love to her, and mine to Valeria. But the love of Collatine and Mutius were extremely troublesome to us, for when they came to Racilia's with the Prince of Pometia and Titus, and that Collatina was there, how pleasant soever their company be in itself, we were strangely weary of it; but among the rest Brutus was o'erwhelmed with it, for as soon as any strange face appeared, he was forced to resume his stupidity, and suffer Collatine to say what he pleased when he was with Lucretia, which was no small affliction to him. One day I remember above all the rest, which was the last Festival day that we celebrated in the Country, wherein Brutus was both extremely satisfied, and extremely afflicted. But since you are both strangers, that you may the better understand it, you are to know, that there is one day yearly set apart for the celebration of a certain Feast, which is called the Feast of the Fountains, on which every one adorns the Fountains and Wells, which are within his grounds, with Garlands of Vervein and Flowers. This is performed with great ceremony, for these Garlands being prepared, are carried to the Temple dedicated to that use, where he that is to do the ceremony, sprinkles them with Holy water, which among us is in great veneration. This done, they pick out the fairest maids of the Quarter where the Feast is kept, who are that day clothed like Shepherdesses; and they have each of them as many Garlands as they can conveniently carry. Thus burdened, they march two and two, having before and behind them little Chorus' of Music, who sing certain things in praise of the Waters, and the Gods which dispose of them. In this order they march from Fountain to Fountain, placing these Garlands upon little Altars of Turfs, purposely erected for that end. This Feast then falling while Valeria and Lucretia were at Racilia's, it was celebrated with great magnificence and joy: for there being a many Fountains about this virtuous woman's house, & that she is very punctual in the observation of all the ancient customs of the Country, especially those which have any concerment of Religion, she was particularly careful for the solemnity of this Feast; and those who thought themselves interessed in the persons that were at her house, would not certainly fail to be at a Ceremony of this nature, For though it was at first instituted upon considerations of Piety, yet there is withal something of Gallantry in it. So that the Prince of Pometia, Titus, Collatine, Mutius, and myself, went thither, and brought some others with us. As for women, besides Valeria, Lucretia, Collatina, and Hermilia, there were two kinswomen of hers, who are of the house of the Aquilii, and four or five other handsome Lasses. According therefore to the custom, all the men sent in a huge number of Garlands of Verveine and Flowers, for those who were to carry them; for in these occasions, the Lady who hath most given her, is the most honourable. But that it may be known on whom these Garlands are bestowed, those who send them cause the Garlands to be tied with divers knots, which must be of the same colour as the Lady is in, to whom they are sent, she being obliged that day to have on her Shepherdess' habit divers knots of the colour she is most delighted with. By this means is she known who hath most Garlands; and the people superstitiously believe, that she to whom that happens, will infallibly within that year meet either with some great happiness or some great misfortune. It does indeed often so fall out; and if Reason were not stronger than Example, one would be almost obliged to believe it. However it be, this Feast was celebrated at Racilia's with very gallant Ceremony, for all the women that were to carry the Garlands, were handsome, neat, and well made; there was an incredible abundance of Flowers, the Music was as good as that of the great Feast of the Salii; the order of the Ceremony was punctually observed, even the day as to weather, favoured the celebration of this Country Festival; the Banquet was under a great bed of Jesimin on one side of the Court, in the midst whereof was a Fountain, which they had covered all over with Garlands of Flowers; and the rest of the day was spent in walking and pleasant discourse. It happened in the mean time, that Collatine and Brutus had, under my name, given so many Garlands to Lucretia, that she had more than all the rest, unless it were Valeria, to whom I had sent more than would have served to exceed Lucretia; but desirous to let her friend have the honour of the Feast, she caused some of them to be laid aside. Whereupon Lucretia having the advantage, all according to the custom, bid her prepare herself for some great joy, or some great affliction, every one endeavouring to expound it according to his fancy. Some told her she should bring all hearts into subjection; others that her rigour would cost some servant of hers his life, whose loss she should notwithstanding regret; only Brutus speaking to her with his eyes, signified to her what she was more pleased with, assuring her by his looks, he should love her eternally. It was certainly a strange torment to him, to see Collatine always near Lucretia, and I must confess it moved pity in all that saw him. Not that Collatine is a strange person, looked on now as a Husband, but considered then as a Lover, he seemed not to deserve Lucretia. For if you look narrowly on him, Collatine is neither well nor ill made: he neither hath a great, nor a little heart; he neither speaks admirably well, nor excessively ill: He is at no great distance from a good capacity, but he advances not a subtle intellection of things. If he be guilty of no considerable Vice, neither hath he any extraordinary Virtue to distinguish him from other men; and if he have never done any unworthy action, neither hath he ever given any Heroic expression of a great Courage. In fine, he is one of those men who never spoke any thing which was not spoken before; one whom a man can neither praise nor dispraise; one of those who being spoken of, are never mentioned in their own name, and who are most commonly better known, by saying he is such a woman's Husband, or such a man's Son, than barely by their own names. By this account therefore, Collatine should be no great eyesore to Brutus, who, beside all this, knew that Lucretia had a natural aversion for this Rival: nevertheless, so prone are we to hate those who pretend to conquer the heart we are secretly possessed of, that how confident soever Brutus was of Lucrecia's affection, yet at certain times he could not endure Collatine. But there were also other times, wherein he thought himself so happy in the love and esteem of that admirable person, that he easily pardoned the contempt of all others. To advance his satisfaction, it happened that this discourse was such as suited excellently well with his humour; for all the young people that were in the company, being seated at one of the great beds of Jesimine I spoke of, a young Aquilian began to speak of the glory which Lucretia had received in having more Garlands of Flowers than all the rest, who yet were such as deserved to be first in all places. The truth is, said Lucretia to him, those who bestowed them on me, may more justly pretend to the praise than I, unless they may not haply be blamed for not making a good choice. But men are so accustomed, added she, to use the term Glory in every thing, that they can hardly speak without it, whereas that word in my opinion, should be attributed to those only who have done some great exploit in War, or to those who are eminent in some Virtue or Science. But do you conceive, said I to her, that one may not say to a beautiful person, that she is very glorious in conquering all hearts, and establishing an Empire to itself without Arms, without Injustice, and without Violence? This Empire is many times so ill established, replied Valeria, that it were very weakly founded upon the glory which hath no other support than the inconstancy of most part of those who make it their business to love; but after all, I conceive that to be true glory which consists in deserving the esteem of virtuous persons, and not in their love, for this passion hath many times such a fantastical birth in the hearts of many persons, that it were unjust to attribute much glory to those women that are loved, though haply it were more unjust, to blame those much who love them. As for Glory, said Mutius, I am of opinion it principally pertains to Military actions, and that the valiant may pretend to it more than others. I agree with you, replied I, that the valiant deserve it; but withal the virtuous may lay claim to it as much as any. For my part, I am of Herminius' mind, replied the Prince of Pometia; and I, added Titus, but it must be withal acknowledged, that the gaining of a battle deserves a higher glory than the simple mastering of the passions. To follow custom, replied I, a victory of this nature makes more noise than that you speak of, but I am yet to know whether the desert be so great, as also whether it be not more glorious for a man to conquer himself than others. But by this account, said Hermilia, we cannot pretend to much glory, according to Mutius' sentence, for women go not to the wars. Ah Hermilia, cried I, the Ladies have their victories and their triumphs, and know so well how to wage war even in the time of peace, that, whatever Lucretia may say, they deserve much glory; but to speak truly men have more than women in some occasions, and I am persuaded it is much more glorious for a man to be loved by a virtuous woman, than it is for her to be loved by a virtuous man. For in my opinion, the excess of beauty takes away from the honour of the conquest, and an exceeding handsome woman, that subdues a heart, deserves no more glory than a Conqueror, who having an Army of a hundred thousand men, and intelligence within a small City, should take it without resistance. The glory therefore of women I take principally to consist in this, that their endowments exceed their beauty, and in a word, their deserts be equal to the love men have for them, though they lost all that rendered them handsome. For my part, replied Mutius, I am an adorer of the Ladies, yet all considered, I take it for granted, that in the business of Love, Glory is not much concerned. How, replied the Prince of Pometia, would you think it no glory to be loved? The greatest pleasure in the world, replied he, but methinks I should not think it that which ought truly to be called Glory. For in fine, if one be loved by a person of no virtue, he hath nothing to boast of; and if he be loved by a virtuous person, she raises so many niceties, that a man must always disguise himself, he must hardly ever look on her, he must strangely endeavour to conceal himself, he must complain of her indifference, when haply she hath not any; a man must not say he loves her, and must be obliged to so many artifices, and so many mysteries, such certainly as Glory hath no acquaintance with. If you speak of vanity, replied I, am of your mind, but as to glory, I must descent. For in the first place, I conceive it pertains as much to Love as to War, and that this relation is the more symbolical, by reason of the combats, the victories, and the triumphs of it. But I hold farther, that the more secret a Love is, the more glorious is it to the man beloved; and if you will appeal to the Company to judge, I shall undertake to maintain, that there is nothing so pleasant, nothing so glorious, as for a man to be loved by a person of great merit and a great virtue, though the world know it not, nor haply never should.  
As I spoke thus, I observed that I much obliged Brutus, and did not displease Lucretia by defending a cause wherein they were so much concerned. Besides, that I was not sorry that I had engaged my Rival to maintain an opinion, which, besides its ill consequence, must lose him in the esteem of Valeria; and I pressed him so hard, that conceiving himself bound in reputation obstinately to make good what he had advanced, he undertook to do it. He spoke the first, thinking it an advantage to give in his reasons before I had mine, so that the whole company favouring us with a silent audience, Mutius began to state his opinion by a definition of love made to his own fancy. To make you acknowledge that true which I maintain (said he directing his speech to me) it is only to be considered, that Pleasure is the soul of Love, as I may so say, and that if Love had not in it an ingredient of something pleasant, people would not be in love. When we speak of love, our minds are carried away only with the pleasures of it; Hope itself is the mother of many sensible delights; nay we find them even in our very afflictions, so that grief and joy are only the effect of Love, which admits not any thing of Glory. For a man dares not boast of the least favour without dishonour, and a Lover that divulges the indulgences of his Mistress, does himself more injury in divulging them, than she does herself in favouring him. And to speak seriously, what glory doth that man deserve, who prefers his pleasure before all things, who regards nothing but what should make him happy, who makes it his business through all his life to avoid whatever may hinder his enjoyments, and who thinks not of having any thing else to do than eternally to pin himself to her sleeve, by whom he thinks himself loved? I know well, there is nothing so pleasant, nothing so charming; but I also apprehend, that every thing having some advantage which is particular to it, Pleasure is the particular attendant of Love, as Glory is of Valour. But though it were true, that a certain kind of Glory might be found in Love, it should not thence follow, that it must be a concealed love; for in my judgement, there can be no secret Glory: and to speak of Glory according to the notion I have of it, it is properly that which we mean by the word Fame. If it spread not, and fill all places, it diminishes, and signifies as much as nothing, as being the reward only of transcendent actions. On the contrary, in Love, and especially in these secret Loves, the lustre and noise is that which is most avoided. A man stifles the Letters which he writes and receives; appointments are commonly in solitary places; they who love for the most part speak as low as they can, they conceal from one another the best part of their thoughts, and were it not for envy and detraction, Fame would not be much troubled with proclaiming amorous victories. Thus I suppose I may conclude, that if Love be the subject of any Glory, it must be a public professed love, as was that of one of our Kings, who having taken a Virgin prisoner in the Wars, fell so deeply in love with her, that he got a Son on her, who afterwards became his Successor. But to think that such a love as none have any knowledge of, may be glorious, is that I shall never believe, and you will not find very easy to maintain.  
I know not, replied I, whether I shall find it so hard to make my party good, or no; But this I know, that I do not believe myself confuted. To answer you then in some order, I shall presume to tell you, that (considering how you have endeavoured to define Love, saying, that pleasure is its soul) I must acquaint you with what Glory is; for you speak of it, you seem not to know it well, and that you have taken Vanity instead of it. It is indeed certain, that there is a certain resemblance between these two, though really there be the greatest difference between them that may be. For Vanity is only a beguiling appearance, which subsists not but by some other, and never makes use of Virtue; but true Glory is something so pure, so great, and so noble, that it admits not the least mixture of this Vanity which you take instead of it. Glory is as necessary a result of a virtuous action, as light is an effect of the Sun that causes it, and it results after a manner which hath no dependence on any other different cause. For as a virtuous action continues still the same, though it be done without testimony, so it necessarily follows, that Glory, which, as I may so say, is born with it, infallibly attends it, though the action be not divulged. Thus remains a glory for well doing, though the world know it not; and, after all, a man must be his own spectator, and though he were sure never to meet with any other approbation than his own, yet must he so act as if he expected that of all the world, imagining as it were a glory to himself, even in his own esteem. Besides, it is certain a man should labour more for his own esteem than that of another, and to deserve glory rather than to manifest it. For in my opinion, if any thing can weaken the glory of a good action, it is the care a man takes to make it known. Not but that it is natural enough to be desirous of praise, but it may be withal affirmed that this desire is an argument of weakness, since it is certain that this violent desire which possesses the hearts of many people, proceeds from this, that they would have divers testimonies of their virtue, and not satisfied with their own judgement, wish theirs confirmed by that of others. But, all considered, who ever is over-desirous of the noise which ordinarily follows noble actions, loses of the honour he ought to expect. It may, I conceive, be easily hence concluded, that if Glory may be lost in the divulging of it, it may subsist without being made known at all; and consequently, though a great action were secretly done, yet is it not deprived of its glory, which is concomitant with the thing whence it arises and depends, on that, and not on the Caprichio's of Fortune, who blames or commends whom she pleases, sometimes with reason, sometimes without.  
Having thus proved, if I mistake not, sufficiently, that Glory depends rather on Virtue, than Fame: I am further to show, that she is not always chained to the chariot of Victory, and the triumphs of Conquerors. The Empire certainly of Glory is universal, for there is a glory to be learned, there is, to be generous, just, and good. It is glorious to possess all the Virtues together, as also to be eminent in any one; there is a certain glory in all the liberal Arts, nay even to be excellent in the Mechanics if it stands with a man's condition; nay the simple endowments of Nature want not their glory, and it hath been the express pleasure of the Gods, that it should be the inseparable companion of whatever is graceful and good in this world. It is, in fine, a kind of glory to be well skilled in the games and recreations men have invented, whether it be to show their slight, or try their good fortune. So that it were a very strange thing, that Glory, which a man meets with every where, should not be found in Love, especially since it is of such consequence in Friendship: for it is generally acknowledged, that it is a glorious thing to be able to love one's friends constantly, and to be so deserving as to acquire noble acquaintances. But to confine myself to Love, since it is the ground of the dispute, by the same reasons that you say Glory appertains to War rather than to the peaceable Virtues, I maintain, that it is more to Love than to any thing else, since it is confessed that there is a strange resemblance between Love and War. In Love, as I have already said by the way, they talk of Combats, Victories, Conquests, Chains, Irons, Crowns, Slaves, Captives, Prisoners, Prisons, Defeats, and Triumphs, and to discourse gallantly of Love, it is so necessary to use all the terms of War, that a man cannot do it without; since, that in the one as well as the other, there are secret Intelligences, Surprises, and Stratagems. But though it were granted you. replied Mutius, that Love in general is able to dispense Glory, it will not be given you that this is to be understood of that secret love I speak of. I have told you already, replied I, that that the more secret a love is, the greater is the pleasure, and truer the glory; for can there be any thing more pleasant or more glorious (added I, looking on Brutus, yet so as was not perceived) than to be loved of that person for whom of all the world one hath the greatest esteem, and to receive as an acknowledgement of his merit, the affection of a woman, who is esteemed and admired, and whose single approbation is more glorious than that of all the sex beside? Do but imagine, said I, what glory it is for a man to entertain secret thoughts of happiness amidst a great company, being near his Mistress, and seeing her frowning on a Rival, who haply knows not you are his, and is utterly ignorant that you are possessed of the heart he endeavours to conquer? Do you think Mutius, it is possible for a man to enjoy this kind of pleasure without a sense of that which is in glory most pure, most ravishing, and most delightful? No certainly, but when a man sees himself preferred before all the world, by a person whom he equally prefers before all, he infallibly receives all the satisfaction that glory can afford. Can there be any thing so glorious, as for a man to say to himself, though his Rivals know nothing of it, nay though it may be in their presence, This admirable person who slights all that come near her, hath bestowed her heart which was never before subdued, on me; she derives all her happiness from me, as I do all mine from her; I even engage her reason to submit to the passion she hath in her soul; she does for me whatever virtue will permit her to do; I triumph, in fine, over the heart of a person whom I esteem, and whom I love beyond myself; and this triumph is secret, while my Rivals disburden their fruitless sighs in her presence. I assure you Mutius, I should think myself more glorious in this secret triumph, than if I triumphed publicly after a victory of another nature. Nay I am confident this kind of secret glory raises the heart even to a certain noble pride, whereby a man contemns those who he knows can never arrive at the happiness he is possessed of; and certainly it must be, that you never knew any such glory, nor ever imagined there was any such thing, since you cannot comprehend that Glory is consistent with this secret Love, and that with such insinuation, that it far exceeds whatever the most glittering vanity can afford, that is pleasant to those whose hearts are possessed by it. Further, those who are equally made up of Love and Vanity, who love not, but to the end it might be said they are loved, never arrive at a true, nay not at a quiet glory: for though nothing be in so much disgrace as Indiscretion, yet those who are most indiscreet would not be thought such as they are. But these, on the contrary, take a thousand trifling and ridiculous occasions to make known that which they would seem to keep very secret. Sometimes they must seem to be disturbed, sometimes melancholy, sometimes frolic, that people may ask what troubles their minds; to which answering ambiguously, they give men occasion to imagine what they would have believed. They must drop Letters purposely to be seen, though they seem to be very much troubled at it; they must trust their secrets to some false Brother or Sister, by which means their pretended favours are blazed abroad, though sometimes they must of necessity be moved to see that people believe not what they relate. But for my part, I am very incredulous as to what these favourites of good fortune tell me, who give out, that no conquest is difficult for them, and boast of a hundred adventures, which in all likelihood they never knew any thing of: for whoever can love can be silent, and Secrecy is a thing so engaging in Love, that without it all the favours a man receives are neither pleasing nor glorious, and to do you justice, it was excellently well said of you ere while, that were it not for destruction and envy, Fame would not be much acquainted with what passes in the Empire of Love. You might have added, imprudence and vanity, for commonly it is not known what passes between two Lovers, but either through the vanity of the Servant, or the imprudence of the Mistress. But indeed however it may come to pass, there can no great glory arrive hereby; for if the servant be indiscreet, he deserves not the favours he hath received, and cannot thence derive any true glory; if the Mistress want conduct, his conquest may be pleasing, but not very glorious: and if Envy and Calumny acquaint Fame with what passes between two Lovers, it never proves to their advantage. I know there are innocent Loves, which yet come to be discovered through pure misfortune; but when it does happen, I believe a person of Honour ought to be troubled that his conquest is made manifest, and that there is none more glorious than that which is not known to any. For, in fine, it is not Fame that bestows true Glory, she only proclaims it; and Glory without Acclamations, is able to subsist, and to render a virtuous man happy. Fame and Love never were much acquainted; Mars may haply employ her upon divers occasions, but for Love, the God of Silence is his only friend; for as to Fame, she is certainly an enemy to both loves and lovers, and the true glory of two persons mutually loving, consists in this, that they are themselves the only witnesses of their tenderness and virtue, and esteem themselves and one another so highly, that their own approbation is sufficient to make them happy. Secrecy is principally that which makes for the glory of a Lover; and I maintain, that when a man is so fortunately circumspect, as to be able to conceal an affection of this nature from the eyes of the world, he feels in himself a a certain secret pleasure, which cannot arise but from that glory which a man takes in loving, unknown to others what he thinks deserves the adoration of all the world, together with that of being loved by that only person which he can love.  
Whereas you say that Pleasure is the soul of Love, I grant it, but I expect you should also grant, that to speak rationally, Glory is the nicest of all the pleasures of this passion: for in fine, whatever you may call favours, signify in love what the Ensigns do in war; there must be such things had, nay they must be had out of this main consideration, that they are the emblems of Victory, which is always succeeded by Glory: how pleasing soever they may be in themselves, yet would they not be desired with so much earnestness, were they not attended by Glory: but when all is done, they are not desired that they might be divulged, but that they might be concealed: However it be, this is certain, that when a Lover can oblige a person of great virtue, and a great mind, to do for him those inconsiderable things, which if you take away Love, there was no reason she should do, though the things in themselves are not unlawful: he places so great a glory in a triumph of this nature, that it may be said, that as there is no love without pleasure, so there is no true pleasure in that love which hath no concernment of glory: Retract therefore your opinions, and repent of so injurious a design as to deprive the noblest of all the passions of that which distinguishes it from that kind of love which even Tigers are capable of, which is much different from that I speak of.  
While I thus discoursed, Brutus, who applied all I said to himself, was incredibly enlivened; for if ever concealed Lover found the sweetness of this secret glory I pleaded so much for, it was questioneless Brutus; since that while I spoke, he stood near this Rival, who was so far from suspecting he was loved by that person whom he loved, that he thought him not capable of entertaining any love at all. But if I did him any pleasure by displaying the apprehensions I knew him subject to, I caused so much disturbance in Lucretia, as that she could not forbear blushing. However her blushes were not interpreted as they might have been, though Collatine observed them; for to speak truly, it was not easily imaginable there should be such an intrigue of affection between those two persons.  
But to return at length to the question in debate, the whole company gave sentence against Mutius, who doubtless was sorry he had undertaken that task. Not but that he is naturally given to cracking and ostentation, and consequently spoke as he thought; But that Valeria reproached him after such a manner, as he might easily infer that she would never give him occasion to employ Fame to publish the favours he should receive. Yet Mutius is a person of extraordinary merit, but certainly he is too ambitious of fame and public acclamations. It is true, he hath a heart contains whatever may deserve them, for Rome affords not a stouter man than he, nor one more capable of doing those heroic actions which cast honour even on whole Nations.  
But my Lord, to return to my Story, you are to know that the subtle Collatina, whose business at Racilia's was only to do her Brother a good office, and who is a person of the greatest curiosity in the world, staying two or three days with Lucretia and Hermilia, took an humour one morning to search Lucrecia's Cabinit; which she had forgotten to lock. Not that she did with any design look for that which she found there, but with intention only to take something out which Lucretia had worn, for to present her Brother with, as a favour she had procured for him; but the first thing she met with, was a Letter of Brutus', whose writing she knew not. However pursuing her curiosity, she read it, and found it so excellently well written, that she was much surprised at it, though it were couched in such terms, as spoke not clearly, that the writer was loved, yet such as gave occasion to imagine he was not hated, nay put it out of all doubt, that he might love, and that most passionately. She was so surprised at this accident, that she read over this Letter three times, yet could not imagine who had writ it; but going to search if there were any other, Racilia comes accidentally into the chamber where she was, whereupon locking the Cabinet hastily, yet keeping the Letter, she could not continue her search, by reason Lucretia came also into the room. Collatina in the mean time was strangely perplexed, as not knowing whether she should acquaint her Brother or not with what had happened; for she was loath to raise any jealousy in his heart. But she thought it not unfit, he knew he had some concealed Rival. She at first suspected I might have written the Letter, but coming that day so Racilia, she cunningly engaged me to write something for her, to discover my writing, which seeing it was nothing like that of the Letter, she was at a greater loss than before, for she was confident that neither the Prince of Pometia nor Titus had any hand in it, since they made it their business to further Collatine's marriage with Lucretia. As for Brutus, she little suspected him to be her Brother's Rival, clearly forgetting she had ever seen of his writing: but believing him very simple and natural, she thought she might fish out of him, who had within some few days past, sent to Racilia's, so to discover something of this Letter, which caused her so much disturbance. Being thus resolved, and to that end putting herself in order to go and find out Brutus, who was walking in the garden, Collatine comes in, but in his way meets her alone reading the Letter once more, before she spoke to Brutus, but with so great attention, that as she read it, he looking over her shoulder, read it also, wherein he found these words, and heard Collatina after she had read it, breaking forth into this exclamation, not thinking any had been so near her; Who would ever have thought Lucretia should receive such a Letter?  
It is now past all dispute, Madam, that I shall never be satisfied; for if I see you not, I die, and if I do see you, I die also, in that I can but half see you, and that before so many witnesses. What necessity is there I should be miserable? Of all that you say to others, I make no advantage, neither do you Madam, since they do not allow it that esteem which they ought; and though they cannot but admire you, yet they consider not your conversation as the most delightful, and the most charming of any in the world. But for my part I dare not commend you as they do, nay I may not presume to honour you with that affection which they call Friendship. O ye Gods, was ever any self-constraint more harsh, more insupportable, and more importunate upon your compassion! If your delicate mouth can say nothing that may comfort me, let your fair hand at least acquaint me with my condition in your soul, that I may know whether, amidst that throng of people that sometimes crowd about you, you secretly afford some few thoughts on a man who bestows all his on you, and who would not live but to love you.  
Collatine had hardly read over this Letter, with all the commotion a Lover, who feels the first agitations of jealousy rising in his heart, could be guilty of, but snatching it out of Collatina's hands, Ah Sister, said he to her, is it possible that you should be the bearer of such Letters to Lucretia, and is it possible she should receive them? As to your first question, replied Collatina, it is not true; to the second, I must confess it, that you may not justly blame me. But I pray, replied Collatina; who is this fortunate Rival of mine, who presumes to write so amorously to Lucretia, and who expects to be answered? I know not, replied Collatina; and as you came in, I was going to Brutus who is on the other side of the Garden, hoping to know of him who hath sent hither within these three or four days, for I have taken this Letter from Lucretia unknown to her; I know not the writing, and all I can tell you is, that it is not Herminius'. Ah Sister, you are too cruel to raise a jealousy in me, and not inform me of the Rival that causes it. This past, though Collatine came purposely to give Lucretia a visit, yet instead of repairing where she was, he went with Collatina to Brutus, little imagining that the Rival he so earnestly looked after, stood nearer him than he thought. Being come up to him, he asked him whether there had been any great company at Racilia's, since his last being there; whereto Brutus not guessing at Collatine's intention, and thinking he asked him that, as conceiving him only able to say yea or no, simply answered there had not been any body. But I pray, replied subtly Collatina, came there not some Slaves hither, directed to Lucretia that brought her any Letters? Brutus, who could not imagine what she would drive at, and knew not of the coming of Slaves, answered, again simply, that he had not seen any. But do you not know this writing (said Collattina, showing him his own Letter, not thinking he had writ it) and did you never know any Letter received by any one of a writing resembling this? Brutus looking on what Collatina showed him, was much astonished, for he presently perceived what it was. However, he had such a command of himself, that neither his Rival nor Collatina could observe any disturbance in his countenance. But to gain time to reflect on this adventure, he took upon him to read the Letter over and over, and having in so short a time well considered the business, he concluded that Callatina knew not he had written it, for he suspected not that Lucretia had betrayed him, but believed that some accident yet unknown to him, had brought this Letter into his Rivals hands. Fearing therefore he might haply show it to some body that would discover it to be his writing, he took at once a crafty and confident resolution; for having sufficiently considered the Letter, he, with a simplicity excellently natural, told Collatina that he had never seen any writing so like his own as that was. No, no, I warrant you, replied Collatina, abusing him, you never writ this Letter. I do not tell you that I have (replied Brutus without the least disturbance) but only tell you that this character is much like mine.  
Upon this Collatina and his Sister left Brutus, without the least suspicion that he had any hand in that they were so inquisitive about, so much were they deceived in his feigned stupidity; besides that if they had not thought him so stupid, they would hardly have suspected he should write to one in whose company he was every day. Thus was Collatina excessively disquieted, for the more he strove to guests who should write this Letter, the more unlikely was he to find it.  
On the other side Brutus was not without affliction; for he was not a little troubled that this Letter fell into the hands of Collatine, not so much for his own interest, though it concerned his life, as for Lucrecia's. So that seeing Collatine and his Sister halted to talk together, he took a walk about to find out Valeria, that he might acquaint her with what had happened, by whom Lucretia might be informed, conceiving she yet knew not that she had lost the Letter. He was so happy as to meet with Valeria in a place where he might safely tell her what he pleased. Valeria having reasoned a while with him about what was to be done to hinder this adventure from spreading any farther, went immediately to Lucretia. To gain time, they entreated Hermilia, having acquainted her with the business, to go meet Collatine and her Sister, and entertain them in discourse while they should resolve what to do. They were indeed at a mighty loss; but at last Valeria told her, that since there was no name mentioned in the Letter, it were best that Lucretia first spoke of it before Collatine, and that she took some occasion to say that she found it in one of the walks on the Fountain Feast day, when there were so many people at Racilia's, and that she could not imagine whose it should be. Ah Valeria, replied Lucretia, I cannot have that confidence. You must have much more, replied Valeria, if Collatina show this Letter as directed to you. Besides, Brutus' life being concerned in it, if it should be known to be his, methinks nothing is to be sticked at. But if you would, replied Lucretia, you might do what you propose to me, for though I am confident that Collatina must have taken this Letter out of my Cabinet when I left her in my chamber, you may say you gave it me to keep. I will do so, said Valeria, but you must first see whether Collatina have taken any more. Going hereupon to satisfy themselves in what they desired to know, they found that of all Brutus' Letters there wanted only that, and so went to entertain Collatina, his Sister, and Hermilia, who were in a low room, while Racilia was busy with some that were expressly come from Rome to speak with her. They were no sooner entered the room, but Lucretia perceives in Collatine's eyes the first startlings of a violent jealousy, and in Collatina's a fierce indignation. Nevertheless she kept her countenance, and not expressing any notice she had taken of the change of theirs, she asked Collatina where she had met her Brother, and afterwards asked Collatine what news at Rome. Whereto he answering coldly, Valeria, who knew what she had to do, began to play upon him for his sadness, and telling him that when a man is in a melancholy humour he should never make visits, but stay at home. I was not (replied he coldly) so sad when I came from home as I am now. And what sad accident have you met with by the way, replied Hermilia? It may be, replied Valeria, he hath lost a Letter of as great consequence as that I found the last Feast-day, when there were so many people here: I am sure if I had lost such a one I should have been extremely troubled. But before you can lose any of that nature, replied subtly Lucretia, it must be conceived you are fit to receive such. It is then a very strange Letter, replied Collatina. To be free with you, answered Valeria, it is such a one as in my judgement seems very like a Love-letter; and were it not that the overcurious Lucretia had taken it from me, lest I should show it to some one to find out who writ it, and to whom it was directed, I would presently show it Collatine, that he might assist me to decipher it. Valeria spoke this in appearance so ingenuously, that Collatine began to hope that the Letter he had might be the same which Valeria spoke of. So that desirous to be satisfied, he solicited Lucretia to show it him; Collatina, who was of the same opinion with her Brother, tlod her that she must communicate that Letter, for they both concluded that if she could not produce it, they could not charge her with any thing. Hermilia for her part knowing what Valeria and Lucretia drove at, took occasion to tell Collatine, that that Letter was not so terrible. For, in fine, said she very cunningly, it is easily perceived that he who writ it is in love, but there is nothing whence it may be inferred that he is loved. But why did you not show it me, says Collatina to Valeria? Because Lucretia was pleased to take it away from me, replied she, but to engage her to show it you, I should in revenge make you believe that she herself lost it. Ah Valeria, you take a strange course to make me show it; but I shall not do it, added she, if Collatine and his Sister promise me not never to speak of it, and to restore it me as soon as they have read it; nay I will do nothing, if, that you may be disappointed from showing it to others, you consent not it may be presently torn to pieces.  
You may imagine, my Lord, that considering the violent desire which Collatine had to be satisfied in this business, he promised to do what Lucretia would have, and that his Sister did the like. But for Valeria, and Hermilia, Brutus' life being concerned in it, as also the reputation of their friend, they did that in this adventure to deceive Collatine and his Sister, which cannot well be imagined. Lucretia pretended to go and fetch the Letter which she said was in her Cabinet, carrying herself so in the business, as if she made no question but to find it there. But as she went to her chamber, which was the other side of the house, she spies me coming in, and points to me to come strait to her, which I obeyed; but not affording me leisure to speak, she told me, what had happened, and I promised her my best assistance to deliver her out of the trouble she was in. I went therefore immediately to the company, as if I had not met her at all, soon after which Lucretia returning I saluted her, as having not seen her before. But Lucretia having returned my salute, began to tell Valeria that she asked her for a thing she had not, and that she must have taken it again out of her Cabinet; for, added she, I am certain it was there yesterday, and as certain that it is not there now. I assure you, replied Valeria, I took it not. It must be then Hermilia, replied Lucretia. For my part, answered that fair creature, I can assure you I have it not. But, replied Valeria speaking to Lucretia, is it not because Herminius is here that you make a new difficulty to show it? No indeed, replied she, for I am confident of Herminius' discretion: but there is nothing so certain, as that some body hath taken it. It must be then Collatina that hath it, replied Valeria, for as to Hermilia, I see by her looks she hath it not. Valeria herein speaking the truth, Collatina blushed, so that Lucretia, Valeria, Hermilia, and I, said all together, that certainly Collatina had it, that she must produce, or at least, for her justification, permit Hermilia to search whether she had it about her or not. To be short, this confident wench, who yet does every thing she does handsomely and discreetly, beset herself to do what was given her in charge. Whereupon Collatina perceiving the Letter would be found about her, and believing by the cheerfulness of the other three, that the business was as they made it, told them laughing, that it was true she had it. But she added a little lie to the matter, for she hath since confessed she took it out of the Cabinet, but she than affirmed she had found it in Lucrecia's chamber. As for Collatine, he was so glad to think the Letter had not been written to his Mistress, that he joined his entreaties with mine to his Sister, that she would deliver it, since she confessed she had it. Collatina accordingly delivers it to Valeria, who was very earnest to have it, saying, it was she that found it, and consequently it belonged to her. But as soon as she had it, she showed it to Collatine, as if she had not known that he had seen it. Collatine also pretended he had not read it before, but coming at last to my hands, I said I knew who had written it, and to whom it was directed, but would not discover it, because the Lover was one of my friends. This past, I earnestly entreated Valeria to bestow that Letter on me; for if you knew, said I to her, in what affliction the Lover is who writ it, you would pity him. But to satisfy you further in this adventure, you are to know, that this Letter was never seen by the Lady to whom it belongs: for he who writ it had it about him the day there were so many here, intending to send it to his Mistress that evening, which was the time he could with most ease deliver his Letters to a young Slave she hath lately entertained. You will therefore do justly if you restore it to me, and never speak of this accident, for by divulging it, there will be a necessity of discovering what men were here at the celebration of the Fountain-Feast, and then haply it might be guessed what Lady were concerned in this Letter. As for Collatine, added I, I have nothing to beg of him upon this occasion; for I look on him as a man so rational, that I am confident he will do that for my friend which he would wish were done for himself, were he so happy as to be in a condition to lose some Love-letter which the fair Lucretia should have received. As I spoke this, after a manner, ingenious, yet earnest enough, Collatine and his Sister were convinced the thing was no otherwise than as I said, so that the jealousy of this Lover was by this means absolutely smothered.  
But to disguise the business a little further, Valeria said she found some difficulty to deliver me the Letter; for it may be, added she, if you restore it to him that writ it, he will send it to his Mistress, and so I shall occasion her receiving a Love-letter. And if he do not send that, replied I, he would haply write another more passionate; therefore trouble not yourself with these groundless inconveniences, but let me have that which you have found. Hereupon Hermilia, Lucretia, as also Callatina, telling Valeria I spoke but reason, I became master of the Letter, which absolutely cured Collatine of his jealousy. He was fully persuaded that if that Letter had been written to Lucretia, she would not have suffered it to come into my hands; for some days he was not well assured whether I was his Rival or not: however, he did not suspect me to have written that Letter, because he knew my writing. His mind therefore being fully becalmed, he was the rest of the day more jocund than ordinary; and to tell you the truth, Valeria, Lucretia, Hermilia, and I, were not very sad; for we were so elevated, that we had once more secured Brutus' life, and that our imposture had proved so fortunate, that we were excessively merry that afternoon.  
But that which was most excellent was, that when Collatine and his Sister were departed, and that Brutus was at liberty to speak in private with Lucretia, she told him she would not have him write to her any more, and had almost told him as much as that he should not love her any longer. After all, said she to him, when you have well considered it, it is a kind of madness to be engaged in any affection how innocent soever it may be, since it always lays one open to censure. For how can one love without writing? How can one write without passion? How can one be assured not to lose Letters, when one writes so often? And how, in case one may lose any, can we expect always to meet with such as interpret things of this nature to the best? On the contrary, is it not true, that as soon as it is said a man loves a woman, it is believed she also loves him; and that as soon as it is thought a woman loves a man, they distinguish not between her loving, and her being subject to censure, and then it is immediately imagined that the expressions of her affection exceed their true bounds? Therefore Brutus, if you will take my advice, love me not, for it is a sad thing to consider that the unhappy accident that discovers the innocent affection which is between us, should expose your life to the cruelty of Tarquin.  
Ah Madam, cries out Brutus, how cruel are you yourself to speak to me thus! and with how little experience of Love, if you think he troubles himself with any ratiocinations, or that he can be distracted by fear or difficulty? On the contrary, obstacles and dangers increase it in a generous mind; and if you knew, Madam, what pleasure I feel when ever I consider that by discovering my love to you, I have put my life into your hands, you would not say what you do. For, Madam, since it is in your power when you please to betray me to the world, methinks I owe you my life a hundred thousand times, and that if you preserve it, you preserve it as a thing which belongs to you, and in which you have a greater interest than myself. Admit not then any repentance, I beseech you, for those innocent favours you have done me: I receive them with so much respect, I remember them with so much gratitude, I enjoy them with so much pleasure, and I desire the continuance of them, with so much earnestness, that if you should change your mind, you were the most unjust person in the world. And lastly, Madam, this day's adventure ought not to discompose you, for if Collatine had taken away my Letter, I should have met him by the way, and rather than your reputation should have been prejudiced, I would have exposed my life a thousand times. Banish then all fears, Madam, I beseech you, recommend your heart to an innocent confidence, be satisfied that you know you are Virtue itself, that your example makes me more virtuous than I should be, that in fine, there is nothing can upbraid yourself with; and entertain not as you do, the apprehensions of misfortunes which likely will never happen: for to expect in love at all times as much Prudence as Virtue, is the only way to be always miserable. Alas, replied Lucretia, is it so easy a matter to be happy? I know not Madam, said he to her, whether it be possible the experience you have of my affection, might render you happy; but this I am certain of, that as long as you repent you not of that goodness you show me, I cannot be miserable, and defy Fortune, though she sometimes makes even King's unhappy, that ever she shall be able to force Brutus to think himself unfortunate, while he hath the glory of your favour, and while he shall be so happy as not to see you in the power of another. 'Tis true, Madam, I can live contentedly, though I possess you not, provided another do not enjoy you; and I love with so much tenderness, that the only pleasure of your favour and indulgence enables me to endure, without repining, all the torments which are the inseparable attendants of love.  
I know not what you will say of me, replied Lucretia, that I permit you to speak so long without interruption; but certainly, there is so much obligation even in my silence, that you should not quarrel at it. For while you have been speaking, my reason hath suggested a hundred things against you, which I was loath to tell you, and indeed never shall. And therefore since I am so unjust as not to follow all these advices, you were better spare the grief it would be to you to know, that I do myself some violence when I bear it not, and that it is withal a pleasure to me to hear you.  
This past, Brutus said so many excellent things to Lucretia, that their hearts were in an absolute composure and calm; I restored Brutus' Letter to that fair Lady, and for some days she and her Lover met not with any disturbance: 'Tis true, this fair weather lasted not long; for you are to note, that the day of the Fountain-feast the Prince of Pometia, Titus, Collatine, and Mutius, concealed so ill their several passions, that Racilia, desirous to break those haunts, hastened her return to Rome, so to deprive these Lovers of all opportunites, that might be advantageous to their Loves. Not that Racilia was fully acquainted with the designs of those two Princes, but knew as much as engaged her to cross them. But when Brutus came to understand that Lucretia was to return to her Fathers, and that he was now to lose all occasions of entertaining her, he was insupportably afflicted. 'Tis true, he had the comfort to see that Lucretia shared this affliction with him, and took this separation most heavily. There was yet a weak hope left of seeing one another at Valeria's; for Brutus being at liberty to go at any time to Valerius' house, he imagined thence great advantages to his love. But all considered, he was extremely afflicted at Lucrecia's parting; and their conversation at that time was so amorously passionate that I shall not repeat it, lest I should move you too much; for I have a many other things to tell you, which will sufficiently engage your pity. Their only comfort was, that bidding one another adieu, they promised to write to one another every day if they could; and accordingly, when they were returned to Rome, there passed not a day wherein they heard not of one another. Things fell out at first so happily for Brutus, that his love was no longer secret, neither to Lucrecia's mother nor Racilia; but these two virtuous Ladies approved it so well, that they were resolved to use all their endeavours to complete it in a marriage. So that the admirable Lucretia making no longer difficulty to entertain an affection absolutely innocent, writ more obligingly to Brutus than she had ever done before: for as to Visits, they could not be easily contrived, at least with that liberty, that they might speak freely one to another, since it must have been when none were at Valeria's when they came thither. But being both of a disposition highly passionate, they endeavoured to comfort one another by certain assignations of the mind, as I may so express it, for they agreed upon a certain hour every day, during which they promised to think one of another: and that which was remarkable in it, was, that Brutus did really many times wait for that hour with almost as much impatience, as if he expected to see Lucretia. For he found something so pleasing in being assured that she expressly thought on him at the same time as he thought on her, that when he thought fit to express to me the enjoyments which this kind of assignation afforded him, I could no longer doubt but that he was the most amorous of all mankind. He would indeed tell me, that he never writ with more ease and greater passion to Lucretia, than when he chose that hour to write in, and that the confidence he had that Lucretia was as Punctual in thinking of him as he was of her, did both sharpen his invention, and augment his love. I shall read you one Letter thus written, that you may see Brutus dislembled not when he said so, and withal acknowledge that the greater a love is, the more ingenious it is to find itself great pleasures, as well as great affliction. But what is yet further considerable, was the manner how I came to know this new kind of assignation. You are then to know, that coming one evening to see Brutus, I stayed there so late, till the hour appointed with Lucretia was come, so that on a sudden I perceived he had left me, though I was in the room with him. My meaning is, his mind was at such a distance from what I said, that he behaved himself as one whose spirits were otherwise employed, and would have been glad to have been alone. I left him a while in that posture, but after a tedious waiting, out of the curiosity that is permitted in a friend tenderly intimate, I importuned him to tell me what he ailed. He at first made some difficulty to confess the business his mind was taken up with, as fearing I might laugh at this supererogation of love; but at length seeing me importunate to oblige him to speak he turned to me, and having conjured me not to make sport at his amorous punctilios, he told me that Lucretia then thought of him, that he was obliged to bestow an hour on her; and that if I had not the goodness to speak to him of Lucretia, I should not speak at all, and should leave him either to meditate or to write. It were much better to leave you to the last, replied I, for you would not find that delight in what I should say, as you would in what you should write; as for what you should only think and not write, Lucretia were never the better for it. Thus engaging him to follow advice, conditionally I might see what he did, he writ the Letter I am going to read to you.  
I cannot, Madam, better perform the promise I have made you, than by telling you in this instant that I am as good as my word, and that my thoughts are wholly taken up with your charms, my love, your goodness, and the eternal faith I have promised you. In this employment I have already bestowed almost an hour: but is it possible for me to tell you how many things I have thought on in that time? I cannot, though I should write till the morning; for the thought is much more nimble than the hand, and the thought of a Lover much more than that of other men. But Madam, you may assure yourself I have thought nothing unworthy you; and, if I may presume to say so, unworthy a man you affect. Pardon me this vanity. Madam, it is haply more excusable than you conceive. For in fine, the acclamations of the people, supposing I could deserve them, Statues and Triumphs should not raise me to so much, nay I should haply think myself as much above all things as I conceive myself beneath you; Ah Madam, it may be I have told you as much before, but I cannot but repeat it again: Is it not possible you should apprehend what pleasure it is to be loved by the most admirable and most accomplished person in the world? You would find there were nothing so pleasant, and that in proportion to this felicity all other are but misfortunes. Yet conceive not, Madam, but that these over happy minutes are mingled with those that are less happy. But for that I am only to consider the injustice of Fortune, and reflect on the invincible difficulty which hinders me from seeing you often, and acquiring the esteem of others, that so I may be more worthy of yours. How can I be assured Madam, that you love me as much as I wish, proportionably to the merit of my passion, or at least as much as your last charming seems to promise me, even in not promising? In the mean time, Madam, know that I do not punctually obey your last command, which was that I should love Virtue more than I loved you; for I love you both equally, since that really you are but the same thing. I do by one oath more confirm it to you, and if I fail I shall be content, as an ungrateful and perjured person, to forfeit all the affection you cast on me. But Madam if you will love, even to my Tomb, tell me so much I beseech you, and believe me, you can neither tell it me too often, nor too clearly, since that I know no pleasure, no joy, no comfort, save that of imagining that I am alone interessed in your heart, and that you will never force me thence.  
Brutus having writ this Letter and showed it to me, and folded it up in order to be sent away the next day; he opened it again and added this Postscript.  
Consider with yourself that I am the most miserable man in the world, when I am one day without seeing you; Ah! if you consider it not, I am much more miserable than I thought myself.  
I should never have done, if I should stand to particularise all the little circumstances of the loves of Brutus and the virtuous Lucretia, who was perfect in that admirable art of making the tenderest passion in the world consistent with the greatest virtue: for she never was so rigorous to Brutus, as to give him occasion of any rational complaint, nor was she ever so prodigal of her kindness as to question her innocence.  
But not to wrong your patience overmuch, I must hasten to tell you, that Brutus was hardly warm in his hopes of happiness, but Lucrecia's mother died, whereat he was so much troubled, as if he had never met with a greater misfortune; for, besides that the consideration of the friendship that was between them made him more sensible of her loss, as also the grief which Lucretia took at it, his affliction was increased in that with her he lost all his hopes. About the same time there was a great conspiracy, ready to break forth, discovered: For, my Lord, though Brutus' soul was taken up with the love of Lucretia, yet is it certain, that of glory and his Country were not dispossessed; but even while he seemed to write such excellent and such passionate Letters, was he not unmindful of the liberty of his Country; and if I should acquaint you with all the attempts he made, and which only Fortune crossed in their effects, you would stand amazed at it. That which is considerable, is, that though he were the first wheel in all the commotions that happened in Rome, yet was he not so much as suspected to have a hand in any; his affected stupidity eluding as well his Enemies as his Rivals. It did indeed much retard his happiness in his love, a misfortune would admit no remedy, since it would have been madness in him to acquaint Spurius Lucretius that he was a more understanding man than he was thought, for it would infallibly have cost him his life, by reason of the obligations which were between Lucretius, Tarquin, and Collatine. Brutus by this means was incredibly afflicted, and the pleasure he before had found in being loved, was turned into the greatest torment in the world. For certainly there is nothing more cruel than for one to know that he is loved equally as he loves, and yet to meet with perpetual obstacles in the accomplishment of his happiness. In fine, to shorten my relation, for six months Brutus writ every day to Lucretia, there happening no miscarriage neither to his Letters, nor to those of that admirable Lady; but it being impossible to be always so careful, but that sometimes one may forget what he seems most to mind, it unfortunately happened that Lucretia passing through her Father's chamber, dropped one of those little Table-books, which I told you Brutus had caused purposely to be made to write to her. Lucretius seeing it fall, instead of calling to his Daughter, suffered her to go out of the chamber, & took it up; for being made after a particular fashion, he was so curious as to look on it. Opening it therefore hastily, not thinking to find in it any thing should move him, he was much surprised to meet with a Letter directed to Lucretia, and that a Love-letter. But that you may be the better informed, I will read you a copy of this Letter, which Brutus hath furnished me with; for this unhappy writing being that which utterly wormed him out of all felicity, he still remembers it, to increase his misery. This was it Brutus writ to Lucretia.  
Fortune was pleased yesterday to punish me for that excessive generosity, which made me prefer the interest of R— not only before my own satisfaction, but haply before yours: for in fine, excellent Lucretia, I did in a manner nothing of all I had proposed to do, as being extremely out of humour. But that you may know how far the love I bear you exceeds all considerations of glory and friendship, you are to know that my disturbance happened through my endeavours for the liborty of my C— and that I could find no diversion even in the company of one of the most virtuous persons in the world, and one most endeared to you and me. But certainly it is impossible to avoid disquiet, having lost all occasion of seeing you, and withal imagining the advantages of your conversation. I go out in the morning about the great affair you know of, and if I can I will come to the place where I could not yesterday. Do me the honour to meet me there, for I will do whatever lies in my power, to come and tell you in that place, that I die for love, and withal, that there is nothing more pleasant, nothing more charming than to die so.  
You may well imagine, my Lord, that Lucretius was much surprised at this Letter, yet knew he not the character, as having never seen of Brutus' writing; nor would he show it to any who should better inform him, because he could not do it without making it known that Lucretia had some underhand Loves; besides that imagining some other ways to screw out this secret, he thought not of this. In the mean time, being an understanding man, he easily apprehended when he had read the Letter twice over, that the R. standing by itself almost at the beginning, stood for Rome, and the C. about the middle stood for Country; but all could not enable him to guests at the person who writ to Lucretia. He also concluded that this Lover was engaged in some Plot against Tarquin, nor did he doubt much but that this Lover was loved, yet could not imagine who it might be. He at first thought to call Lucretia, to make her confess by force what he desired to know; but changing his purpose he thought fitter to take some other course to find out the truth, looking on that as the last refuge, if this failed. Finding therefore in the Letter that he who had written to Lucretia, entreated her to come that day to a place where he was to go, he resolved his daughter should be secretly followed thither, so to discover who was at the place where she was appointed to come. This commission he gave a certain Slave, who being very faithful to him, acquitted himself punctually of this charge. According to the appointment and the pleasure of Fortune, Lucretia came to Valeria's in hopes to meet Brutus there, for that it seems was the place he had appointed her to come to; but Brutus being forced even against his will, to stay at Licinius', where there was a secret Club, consulting about the great affair they had then in hand, entreated me to go and make his excuses to this beauty, which employment I was very glad of, not only out of the great affection I had for Lucretia and Brutus, but also because of the opportunity I had thereby to see Valeria. To serve therefore my friend, I went to the place where he was expected, not thinking there was a spy to observe who came to Valeria's. It happened also, that Lucretia, Valeria, and myself, being very merry together, we stayed till it was very late, besides that Valerius, whom I had left with Brutus, had enjoined me to stay his return home, that I might know what had been resolved on at the Club, whereat for some reasons it was thought fit I should be.  
In the mean time, this Slave of Lucretius, Lucretia being gone from Valerius', acquainted his Master where she had been, and assured him that none came thither besides but myself. Lucretius was hereupon persuaded that I was a Servant to his Daughter, and conspired against Tarquin. This apprehension had some appearance of truth, for he knew I had often seen Lucretia at Racilia's while she was in the Country, and there were not many than knew I was in love with Valeria; and as Brutus had often made use of my name in divers gallantries and addresses to Lucretia, as I have already told you, so had it raised a small report that I had some affection for her, insomuch that sometimes Collatine himself knew not what to think. Lucretius therefore having received some slight intimations, of what I tell you, absolutely concluded I was the Conspirator, and the Lover: for my Father dying in banishment, he thought it was likely I might be as guilty of hatred to Tarquin, as love to Lucretia. So that having thus reconciled the business, he caused this Beauty to be called to him, and carrying her into his Closet, he began to treat her most reproachfully, and that with so much transportation and fury, that Lucretia, who is sweetness itself, was much amazed at it; but what increased her amazement, was to see in her Father's hands the Table-book, which she thought safe enough elsewhere. Not knowing therefore how to excuse, much less clear herself, she resolved to be patient, and withal summoning the greatness of her spirit and courage, she bore all that Lucretius said to her, and heard him with the greatest attention might be, so to discover whether he knew who had written to her. But she soon perceived he knew not, for Lucretius having tired her with the bitterest reproaches, told her there was yet one way left whereby she might excuse her weakness, which was to acquaint him with all she knew. For, said he to her, since your love hath such an influence on Herminius, as to oblige to communicate to you the designs he hath against Tarquin, you must give me the particulars, and by giving me occasion to do the King a signal service, engage me to forget your miscarriage. Lucretia hearing her Father speak in this manner, was surprised afresh; for she gathered from his discourse, that he knew not the truth, and was not acquainted with Brutus' writing, since he believed me to be in love with his Daughter. She at first was a little glad to see that her servant's life was out of danger, but was at the same time troubled that I was unjustly suspected. She there fore did all that lay in her power to persuade Lucretius that I had not writ the Letter, and to convince him that my love to her was as to a Friend, not a Mistress. But there being a many circumstances which made Lucretius' opinion seem the more likely to be true, he was the less satisfied with his Daughter; For in fine, said he to her, if you say true in that, why do you not tell me who writ what I find in this Table-book? For to think, continued he, to deny all, and confess nothing, is absolute madness. All I can tell you, Sir, replied Lucretia, is, that my misfortune is greater than my guilt, and if I have entertained his affection, whose Letter you have in your honds, it was by the commands of the most virtuous Mother in the world. I know well that yours, replied he hastily, affected Tarquin's enemies; but though that be true, yet it justifies not you; and if you discover not to me all you know of the Conspiracy, I shall engage you in such a manner, into the interests of those whom you wish ruined, that you will be forced to change your opinion. I may well change my fortune, replied she, but for my judgement it is impossible; therefore Sir, press me no further, all the favour I beg of you is, to believe that Herminius is no servant of mine, and that he writ not the Letter you now have in your hands, as I shall make appear to you by showing you his writing, which is quite different from that. But to deprive you at once of all occasions of persecuting me to no purpose, I declare that I will never tell you who writ that Letter, and and though I knew all the circumstances of any Conspiracy, I should not discover it. Nevertheless know, that my heart is still innocent, and that I am not engaged in any thing that is criminal.  
Lucretius being hereupon enraged against this admirable Virgin, treated her with the roughest language he could, thinking thereby to terrify her into some confession. But seeing her not to be shaked out of her constancy, he resolved to force her to marry Collatine; for he had long since observed her backwardness as to that business. Since you will not, said he to her, discover what I so much desire to know, I must needs engage for some concernment of your own, to hinder this secret Conspirator from acting any thing against that Family into which you shall be disposed. I therefore command you to prepare yourself to marry Collatine within three days; he was importunate with me this morning about it, and I will it should be absolutely effected within the time I allot you, and that in the mean while you see no body, and least of all Valeria; for since you have made her the Confident of your criminal loves, she is not fit to be acquainted with your marriage.  
Lucretia hearing this resolution of her Father's cast herself on her knees, beseeching him with tears not to force her to marry Collatine. You may choose, said he to her, and to avoid it you have no more to do than to name this secret servant of yours, and discover this Conspiracy: for if you will be so obstinate as to do neither, I will immediately carry this Letter to Tarquin, that he may take some course to find out whose writing it is. Nor shall I so much as blot out your name, and thereby manifest your weakness, choosing rather to see you covered with shame, than expose my house to the indignation of an incensed Prince, who haply will come to know this enterprise by some other hand, and thence infer, that my Daughter having a Servant among the Conspirators, I might be engaged in the Conspiracy. There is therefore no mean, you must either discover your Servant, or marry Collatine, or be content that I carry this Table-book to Tarquin.  
You may easily judge, my Lord, what an extremity Lucretia was in, for she was confident Tarquin knew Brutus' writing and as confident, that if that Prince came to discover he had any understanding, it would prove the occasion of his ruin, though he contributed nothing to the liberty of Rome. On the other side, to marry Collatine was a thing almost insupportable, but to expose Brutus' life was much more. She was ever overburdened with the thought that Lucretius might haply do what he said, and that it would be spread about Rome that she had a secret Love, which it may be would not have been thought so innocent as indeed it was. So that seeing which way soever she directed her choice, all was insufferable, she wished for death as the only remedy could free her of all the miseries she was in a manner overwhelmed with. But looking on this as a fruitless wish, she made use use of persuasions, entreaties and tears, to move her Father not to force her to a choice wherein she must needs be unhappy, what resolution soever she took. What made her the more desperate, was, that when she imagined herself in her Father's case, she thought he had reason to be displeased, though really she deserved no blame, nor indeed could she oblige him to change his purpose, and all she could do was to prevail with him not to take any absolute resolution till the next morning. But to secure her, he set a guard upon her chamber.  
Lucretius being thus convinced, that if I were not a Servant to his Daughter, I must be of the Conspiracy, went and told Tarquin that there was some plot a foot wherein I was engaged; upon which intimation, this Prince, always ready to believe what ever was said against the children of those whom he had ill-intreated, sent out orders to take me. For besides Lucretius' intelligence, he had been informed by some of my ill-willers, that I contracted not any particular friendship with any but such as were illaffected to him. Being therefore satisfied with a bare pretence to destroy me, he gave order I should be secured, but it could not be issued out so secretly, but a friend of Sivelia's having notice of it, acquainted her. She immediately caused me to be found out, and told me I must leave Rome and provide for my safety. But there being many things to engage my stay there, I could not easily resolve to depart, nor haply should I at all, had not Valerius and Brutus come and told me that the Tryant had discovered somewhat of the Plot, and believed that I was the only man had been named to him. It was impossible then for me to stand out any longer; I was forced to depart, and that without bidding Valeria adieu.  
Brutus knew not all this while that he was more unfortunate than I, yet that day he began to be a little disturbed, as having neither heard from Lucretia, nor sent to her. Nor could even Valeria herself rid him of this disquiet; for though she had at least so much friendship for me, as to be concerned in my removal, yet was she not in condition to go as far as Lucrecia's, who on the other side was in an incredible discomposure, as having passed the night without any sleep, and yet not fastened on any resolution. And certainly when she considered that she was to marry Collatine, and should see Brutus no more, she suffered something beyond all imagination: but when it came into her mind, that her Father might carry her Lover's Letter to Tarquin, that he would discover the writing, that she should lose her reputation, and that Tarquin would put Brutus to death. She was at a loss of all reason, and was no longer Mistress of her own thoughts. It could never enter into her imagination, that she should ever accuse him whom she loved beyond herself, and so she had only two things to examine. But the more she considered them, the less able was she to make any choice whether of these two indigestible proposals she should accept. That which added to her misery, was that she could have neither advice nor comfort; for Lucretius had taken such order for her close imprisonment, that she had not the liberty either to write or speak to any whatever. But there was a necessity of resolving on something, though this Beauty after a night passed without so much as closing her eyes, was the next morning as far from any resolution, as she was the night before, she indeed began to change her judgement when she understood by a woman slave who waited on her, and was locked into the Chamber with her, that she heard one tell a man that was talking with her Father, that I had made my escape, and was out of Tarquin's power: whereupon representing to herself more sensibly the danger Brutus was in by her means, in case he were discovered by this Letter, her only consideration was how to secure her Lover, and she conceived there should nothing seem hard for her to do upon that account, nay not even marrying with Collatine. So that Lucretius coming into her chamber when her mind was thus taken up, and earnestly pressing her to choose, or expect to see him do what he said he would, she felt in herself so great an apprehension of Brntus' death, and the loss of her own reputation, that she promised to marry Collatine, conditionally Lucretius would return the Letter he had, that he would never inquire further who writ it, and as much as he could, trouble not himself to guests at him. Lucretius believing that when she were wife to Collatine, and consequently engaged into the interests of a Prince, whose near kinsman she had married, she would be easily induced to ruin even the whole Faction, whereof her former servant was, promised to do what she desired, provided the Letter should not be returned till the wedding day; and that till then, she should pretend herself indisposed, so to avoid the occasions of all visits. Thus Lucretia, notwithstanding all the aversion she had for Collatine and all the tenderness she had for Brutus, expected the celebration of the Marriage with some impatience, that so she might secure her servant, by remanding a Letter which might haply cost him his life. She thought not fit to acquaint him with her condition, because she imagined he would advise her to somewhat disadvantageous to himself, and that he could not easily apprehend what resentments she then had for him.  
Brutus, in the mean time, though he were much troubled at my departure, was yet much more that he heard nothing from Lucretia. But understanding that they gave out at home that she was not well, he inferred that she was out of humour to stir abroad, and that she had failed writing to him upon no other account, not dreaming that it would not be long ere he heard the saddest, and to him the strangest news in the world. According to what he had resolved, my Lord, Lucretius, who thought it the safest way immediately to dispose of a Daughter, cajoled by a secret love, managed the business with so much discretion and diligence, that he engaged Collatine to press him for his Daughter Lucretia; and he carried it with so much judgement, that Tarquin consenting to the marriage, it was presently concluded, and three days after solemnised. All was done very privately, Lucretius giving out, that his Daughter being yet in mourning for her Mother, it was not fit it should be done with much ceremony. So that the first news that Brutus had of it, was, that Lucretia was in the Temple in order to be married to Collatine; for having been employed in satisfying those who had taken any alarm at my departure, he had heard nothing at all of it. But he had no sooner heard this news, but he received this Letter from Lucretia, which contained only these words;  
Being obliged by a cruel necessity, either to marry Collatine, or be the cause of your death, I have chosen rather to abjure all the pleasures and enjoyments of my life, and consequently make myself eternally unhappy, than to expose yours to nny aanger. Bemoan my hard destiny, I beseech you, and, in gratitude for what I have done for your sake, forget me, if you can, and see me no more; for I must love you no longer, and yet I should not avoid it if I saw you. Obey therefore the cruel command I lay on you, to see me no more, and assure yourself I shall lead such a sad and solitary life, that I shall give you no occasion to think me guilty of inconstancy.  
I leave you to consider what a condition Brutus was in when he read this Letter; he knows not yet himself what he thought in that terrible instant, and all the account he gives of it, is, that not knowing precisely what he intended to do, he went to the Temple where they said Collatine was to marry Lucretia. He was no sooner in, but he understood that the Ceremony was past, and that all things were performed in much haste, because it was feared Lucretia might swoon. He understood also, that Lucretius, notwithstanding his daughter's indisposition had caused the Ceremony to be performed; and that as ill as she was the cruel Tullia was gone along with her to Collatine's house. Not knowing therefore what to do in this distracted condition, he went to Valeria's, whom he acquainted with his misfortune by showing her the Letter he had received. But in all things his countenance spoke so much despair, that he moved a great compassion in generous Valeria. Well, said he, looking on her with the tears in his eyes, what say you now of Lucretia? What must I think of her? and what must I do? Can you imagine by what charms Fortune hath changed her heart, or what strange adventure hath obliged her to prefer Collatine before the unfortunate Brutus? For my part, replied Valeria, I understand nothing of it, nor indeed can imagine either that Lucretia hath ceased to love you, or hate Collatine, or altered her judgement. But do you understand, replied Brutus, why she should not acquaint me sooner with this design; or why, in case Lucretius have used any violence, she hath not given me leave to die before she married Collatine? For in fine, since the affection she had for me, was not strong enough to hinder her from becoming the wife of my Rival, she should also have given him the satisfaction of my ruin, and spared me the grief to see her in the embraces of another, and see myself forsaken by a person for whose sake I was willing to forsake all things, and for whom haply I had forfeited much of my reputation. It is just in you, O ye Gods, (said he to himself, while Valeria was speaking to some one that asked for her) to punish me, for having admitted into my heart any passion that should divert it, or haply hinder it from the deliverance of my Country. At the first dawning of my love I looked on Lucretia, as the person by whom I was stayed at Rome for the execution of this great design; but I must now look on her as an unconstant woman, who is the cause that I have not destroyed the Tyrant. She took up all my thoughts; her representation followed me into all places; and though I then believed I did all that lay in my power to revenge my Father and Brother's death, and to shake Tarquin out of his throne, yet now I am of opinion, that I was more employed about the love I had for Lucretia, than the hatred I had for the Tyrant. But is it possible, resumed he, that Lucretia, the virtuous Lucretia, should be dazzled with a greatness so weakly established, since it is grounded on injustice? Is it possible, I say, she should alley herself into a Family which she knows I am obliged to destroy? Does she believe that any concernment of hers shall hinder me from turning Tarquin out of the Throne, if opportunity favour me to do it? Or will she, to secure the Tyrant, reveal what design I have against him? Proceed Lucretia, proceed, continued he, for by exposing me to the cruelty of the Tyrant, you do me less injury than by making me feel your own. Valeria coming to him when he had proceeded thus far, he renewed his complaints, beseeching her assistance, at least to find out what might be the motives of Lucrecia's defection: for I cannot be persuaded, said he to her, that she is so poorly opinioned of my heart, as to imagine that I can entertain death with less ease than I can her loss. Do me but the favour, continued he, that I may see her, for if she be not so merciful to me, I shall certainly think no violence too great for me to do myself.  
This discourse of Brutus came from him with such earnestness, that Valeria fearing he might haply do himself some violence, promised to do what he desired, though she was not certain to prevail; for she sufficiently knew Lucrecia's heart, and easily foresaw that since she was resolved to be Collatine's wife, she would be no longer Brutus' Mistress. But willing to appease the present grief of this despairing Lover, she told him not what she truly thought.  
While Brutus thus groaned under incredible afflictions, Lucretia amidst her melancholy, had one great comfort, in that her Father had kept his word with her: for being ready to go to the Temple, she got Brutus' Letter returned to her, so to secure his life. Nor could she but be somewhat pleased that she was taken ill at that time, and continued so still, because the indisposition of her body served for a foil to that of the mind. But all considered, what comfort soever she might raise from the present thought of having sacrificed herself to the safety of her Servant, yet soon after she thought herself the most unfortunate person in the world: for she irrecoverably lost a man whom she infinitely loved and esteemed; she married another for whom she had an extreme aversion; she allied herself into a Family, which all virtuous persons endeavoured to ruin, and she resolved to give herself over to perpetual solitude. But at last these considerations contributing to her melancholy humour, she fell really sick; by which means it was more easy for her to conceal from Collatine the small satisfaction she found in being married to him. She would needs remove from Rome purposely to avoid all meeting with Brutus. She began to commend the air of Cellatia, as being better for her health, in so much that she was conveyed thither sick as she was. By this means was she in a condition to be more solitary, never hardly to see Brutus, and to see her Husband less often, who being obliged to show himself at Court, would be forced to leave her many times.  
In the mean time Valeria could not come to sight of her, for Lucretia writ a Letter to entreat her not to attempt it, for some reasons which she should one day acquaint her with. So that Brutus not knowing what to do, was afflicted beyond all expression. Yet were there some intervals, wherein he found some slender comfort, to understand that Lucretia was sick and melancholy: but there were also others wherein he gave so much way to his despair, that he had not the command of his own thoughts, and there was no consideration of violence which his mind reflected not on. But the great virtue which guarded his soul successfully, opposed all those irregular apprehensions which his love and his despair suggested; yet could it not overcome the extreme desire he had to see Lucretia, though she had forbidden it him in the last Letter she had written to him. Directing therefore all the efforts of his mind to find out some way to satisfy himself, he cunningly informed himself, by the means of Valeria (who might more easily come to know it than he) that Lucretia who began to recover, though against her will, her former health, spent the afternoons for the most part, when her Husband was absent, all alone in a Garden, adjoining to Collatine's house: and that sometimes she stayed there till she went to bed, when it was fair weather and the Moon shined. Brutus being thus particularly informed what Lucretia did, acquainted not Valeria with his intention, lest she might oppose it: but when he was fully satisfied of all he desired to know, he trusted himself to a faithful Slave, who had lived with him ever since his being at Metapont. Pretending to go into the Country, he went by night to Collatia, and took up his lodging, disguised at a man's house whom his Slave was acquainted with: for having been there divers times, he knew the walls of Collatine's Garden were but low, so built purposely for the prospect of the first story of the house, which is built on one side of the garden; which not being absolutely level, hath in one part divers hedge-rows and little arbours, that the unevenness might the less appear.  
Having thus laid his design, he came, as I have already told you, to Collatia, at a time when he knew Collatine was not there, and that his Sister was at Rome with her Mother, who was yet alive. But to do his business the more easily, he had brought with him one of those Ladders, which fasten on a wall as soon as they touch it, and had so well provided for all things that might contribute to his entrance into the garden, where they said Luerecia came every day, especially in the evenings, that he doubted not a successful issue of his enterprise. For he knew that the walls of Collatine's Garden were in a loan street, through which none passed after it was once night. It is true he had some reason to fear any one came along with Lucretia; but he had been so persuaded that she was always alone, that, considering the desire he had to see her, this difficulty signified nothing with him. He had also this advantage, that he feared not to be seen from the house, though it were built towards the garden, because that uneven corner which I mentioned, was taken up by two or three large Arbours. But in fine, not to trouble you with so many inconsiderable circumstances, which you may easily suppose, you are to know that Brutus, not debating his resolution any longer, undertook by this course to see Lucreeia; besides that having the reputation of stupidity, and being withal of some kin to Collatiné, though he were found in the garden, it would have passed for a little extravagance of a man whom many believe to be quite out of his wits; by which means Lucretia should fear neither the jealousy of her Husband, nor censure of the world. Brutus therefore came thither one evening, attended only by his slave, whom he appointed to wait him on the outside of the garden-wall; and he was so fortunate, that as soon as he was gotten down into the garden, and hid himself in one of the little Arbours, he by the light of the moon sees Lucretia beginning her walk, having forbidden her women to follow her, and left them sitting in a little Lodge at the Garden-door. 'Tis true, he was somewhat troubled to see that in a quarter of an hours time she came, not to that side where he was, nor could he go where she was, without being seen by those women who sat in the Lodge. But at last Lucretia in her solitary humour seeking obscurity, quitted the plain part of the garden, and passing along a thick hedge. row, came to that arbour where Brutus was; who fearing that if he were perceived before she were come quite to the place, she might call her women, hid himself to give her way to come in. She was no sooner in, but sitting down she fetched a deep sigh, and that with such an accent of anguish, that Brutus was extremely moved at it, and transported with love; without any further hesitation. Ah, I beseech you Madam, said he, casting himself on his knees before her, tell me whether the unfortunate Brutus be any thing concerned in the sigh he hath now heard; and if he be, permit him to return you sigh for sigh, till he expire at your feet, and assure you dying, that there never was any servant more amorous nor more faithful, than he whom you have with so much cruelty forsaken. Lucretia was so surprised to hear Brutus speak, and to see him in the posture he was in, that she was not able to express her astonishment by any crying out: on the contrary she was seized by a most piercing grief, and continued a while unable to speak. Yet thrusting him from her with her left hand, she made a sign to him with her right, that he should be gone, and that he was to blame for what he had done. No no, Madam, said Brutus to her, you need not thrust me away, since I am come for no other end, than to know from your own mouth the cause of my misfortune. And I beseech you, said Lucretia to him, going to rise, have you as great a care of my reputation as I have had of your life, and expose me not to a suspicion of having spoken to a man, at such a time and place as this. The place where you are, replied he, is so far from that where you have left your women, that they can neither see me, hor hear me; nay they cannot come towards this place but you must see them, and you further know, your reputation can receive no prejudice from the stupid Brutus, and that the Brutus, whom you are acquainted with, hath no design against your innocence. Permit therefore Madam, that I ask you what I would fain be satisfied in; for if I were sure to be discovered, I should not be gone, since it is certain I cannot injure you. But am I obliged, replied he, to obey a person who hath taken her heart out of my hands, to bestow it on, my Rival? Ah Brutus, replied Lucretia relenting, I were more happy, and, it may be, more innocent than I am, if either I had done it, or could yet do it: yet raise no advantage to yourself of what I tell you, for I assure you, you will be never the more happy for it. Nor shall I satisfy you so far, continued this illustrious Lady, as to particularise my misfortunes, lest that by justifying myself to your apprehension, and acquainting you how much I have obliged you, and the true state of my soul, I should engage you to love me as you did formerly. How Madam, interrupted he, can you suffer me to be ignorant of what you thought, while you made me the most unfortunate Lover that ever was? Can you wish I should not know what might be the pretence, or excuse of your cruel proceedings? Can you desire I should be utterly ignorant of what is done in your heart? Ah Madam, if it be so, I must think you never loved the unfortunate Brutus, nor ought he to love you, though he were in a condition to dispose of his own thoughts. But alas, he is far from it, for he loves you and adores you, notwithstanding all your infidelity, Ah, I beseech you, replied Lucretia, accuse me not of infidelity and be satisfied that I am so generous as not to accuse you as causer of all the misfortunes of my life; since that it is upon your account that I am wife to Collatine. Upon mine, Madam, replied Brutus? It is certain, replied Lucretia sighing; and since you are so desirous to know the true cause of your misfortune and mine, you shall have it: Whereupon Lucretia told him how she lost that fatal Letter, which her Father had found; which passage she aggravated so with words so smartly expressing the confusion she was in when Lucretia would oblige her to discover who writ it, or to marry Collatine, that he was extremely moved with it, especially when she fully conyinced him that the fear of hazarding her own reputation, and principally that of exposing the life of such a man as he was to the cruelty of Tarquin, had obliged her to submit to her Father. Consider now (added she after she had ended her relation) whether I have loved you faithfully, and whether I deserve to be thought inconstant. However it be continued this virtuous Female, as my love to you hath been always innocent, and that I can love you no longer, since I am Collatine's, I must, though I die for it, resolve never to see you more. For this reason is it also that I am resolved not to see any, but shall lead a life so solitary, that though you should be so unjust as to persist in your love, you shall never have any opportunity to let me know of it. Nay I will so carry myself towards Collatine, that I hope excepting my melancholy, he shall have nothing to object to me. Yet can I not but acknowledge, that the aversion I have for him will last as long as I live: but after all, since a consideration of honour hath prevailed with you to conceal your reason for so many years, I must needs think myself obliged by a like motive, to conceal the aversion I have for a Husband, and the affection I have for a Lover. Ah Madam, it is much easier to conceal one's Reason than one's Love, and if you ever had any for the unfortunate Brutus, you would rather have permitted him to die a thousand times, than forsake him. For, Madam, do you consider the sad condition I am in? Another Lover would find a hundred comforts in such a misfortune as this; he would betray betray your inconstancy to all the world by his complaints; he might revenge himself by pretending to some other affection, and he might haply be recovered of his misery by such a remedy, or at least would be the better enabled to bear the ill success of his love through the consolations of his friends. But for my part, Madam, who am the unhappy man that all the world shuns, and no body knows, I am not capable of any comfort. You were to me all the world; I found in you a Friend and a Mistress; I found in you all pleasure and all glory; and I imagined myself so happy when I had but one minutes private discourse with you, that I would not have changed fortunes with the most fortunate Monarch in the world. I was somewhat pleased with myself, that my understanding was only at your service, and for your sake; you were absolute Mistress of my will; you had the same power over my desires; and in fine, you had such a sovereignty over me, that never any Empire was better established than yours. But what said I (resumed he, correcting himself) you had? you have the same power still, and it is only Death that can dissolve it. It is true Madam, how unjust soever you have been in preferring my life before my quiet, I am the same man I was; and it shall be your fault, if I find not some lenitive in my misfortunes. Ah Brutus, replied Lucretia, since I have changed my fortune, you must change your judgement. But Madam, said he to her, continually I shall beg nothing of you, that I not so much as tell you that I love you, what matters it to you what is done in my soul? Permit me then to see you sometimes; you know Collatine and I are of kindred, that he can never suspect me to be in love with you, and that my palpable stupidity will give me as much freedom any where as I would take. Give me leave to see you, provided I never entertain you with the secret resentment of my heart. No, no, Brutus, replied Lucretia, I would not you should esteem me less than you have; nor will I ever do any thing which I may object to myself as destructive to true glory: for all considered, to be Collatine's Wife, and Brutus' Mistress, are two things absolutely incompatible. Ah Madam, replied he, will you then be pleased to become my Friend? I heretofore in the beginning of my loves refused your friendship, but I now beg it, and that with tears. When I proffered you my friendship, replied she, I could without any difficulty entertain your love; but alas Brutus, the friendship of a Lover is not to be accepted when a woman is once another man's wife, and hath the least tenderness for her reputation. Resolve therefore not to love me any longer, and that, if I may so say, for my sake, as I have resolved to be unhappy for your sake; and that you may be assured, I do all I can, and haply more than I ought, I permit you to believe, that I shall grieve for you while I live. On the other side, fear not I shall ever discover your secret: for though you cannot in any likelihood destroy Tarquin, but you must withal give check to the fortune of that Family, into which I am entered, I shall lay nothing to your charge while you meddle not with Collatine's person. Not but that if you conceive I speak for my own interest, I should advise you forsake Rome; to set your reason at liberty, to go and live at Metapont, where you have friends of both sexes, and where you may be cured of what passion your soul is sick of. For in all likelihood Vice will ever triumph over Virtue. Brutus will be always miserable, and Tarquin always happy. How, Madam, replied the unfortunate Lover, you would have me forsake Rome, quit the design of revenging myself, and delivering my Country, but for no other end than that I might be the farther from you. Ah Madam, I neither can do it nor aught, and if Death do not deliver you from my presence, you shall never be delivered from it. I shall be delivered from it, replied she, if I reside constantly at Collatia, whither you will have no pretence to come; and though Collatine himself should command me to see you, I would entreat him to pardon my disobedience: and this pretended stupidity which heretofore furnished me with a pretence to see you, shall henceforward be my excuse not to see you again; but I shall think myself the more obliged, if without any further dispute you obey the command I lay on you, not to endeavour it. But is it possible, replied Brutus, that my sight is become so insupportable to you, and that having expressed so much goodness as to let me believe that I might be the object of all your happiness, I am now thought the only cause of your misfortune? For I tell you once more, Madam, that if you will be pleased to be my Friend, I shall not think myself absolutely miserable: and if I ever forget myself so far as to speak any thing to you whence you might gather I would be treated in the quality of a Lover, I give you leave to acquaint Tarquin that I am a dangerous Conspirator, and deserve death. But do you think, replied she, that when I lost you, I withal lost all reason, and that I can be perswded that Love may be turned into Friendship, or Friendship into Love, when one pleases? If it be so in your heart, added she, you never knew any true passion; and I should punish you for your dissimulation passed with eternal baoishment. One might indeed in a short time pass from Love to Hatred; one may sometimes pass from Love to Indifference, and it is not impossible to ascend from Friendship to Love; but to descend from Love to Friendship, is that I cannot comprehend how it may be done. I could believe, added she, there may be some Husbands, who having been infinitely indulgent of their Wives, are after a long time cooled, so as to have only an indifferent affection for them, which may be called Friendship: but for a Lover to become a Friend, is a thing I conceive impossible, and shall never believe. Persist not therefore in the proffers of your friendship, or the desire of mine: for since Fortune hath been pleased to cross the innocence of our affection, I will see you no more, and I profess to you, I shall hate you, if you continue to persuade me to a thing which I believe inconsistent with my duty. For in fine, Brutus, you but too well know that I have loved you, and you haply imagine that I shall love you as long as I live, therefore our conversation can be no longer innocent: one look of yours raises a controversy in my soul; I must not any longer trust either you or myself in such a case as this; and I have already spent too much time with you, in debating a thing already resolved. Go your ways therefore, Brutus, go, the unfortunate Lucretia commands you; be careful of the life she hath preserved you, and remember sometimes, that it hath cost her all the happiness she could expect. But hold, added she, rising from her seat, think on nothing that concerns me: for if I thought you remembered it, I could not haply forget you. How, Madam, cries out Brutus, you cannot but remember me, and can you imagine I should obey you, when you command me to forget Lucretia? No, no, Madam, abuse not yourself, it is not only death can raze you out of my heart; and if the despair that hovers about my soul were not kept off by the love I bear you, my hand should soon rid Tarquin of an Enemy, and Lucretia of a Lover. But Madam, since that if I lost my life I should cease to love you if excess of grief take it not away, I shall not, which I do not but out of a pure consideration of love, since, as you may easily imagine, Madam, I must expect to live the most miserable of any man in the world, which can afford nothing more insupportable, than for a man to see his Enemy in the Throne, and his Mistress in the embraces of his Rival. For, all considered, Madam, I concur with you, that Love can never be remitted into Friendship, and when I begged the quality of your Friend, I only meant to tell you, that I should never ask any thing of you but what a virtuous friend might desire of a virtuous woman. Assure yourself therefore, Madam, that I shall love you to the last gasp, and that I shall love you so entirely, as never any man did the like. But in requital, Madam, added he, promise me that you will not make it your business to hate me; for I had rather be deprived of your sight, than that you should not promise to love me always. Ah Brutus, I neither can nor must promise you any thing, replied she; in the mean time, I must leave you, and be gone, for I see one of my women coming to tell me that it is time to retire; and indeed Brutus turning his head saw a woman-slave who was come half ways the Garden, and made directly towards the place where he was. This put him into a strange disturbance, for he thought he had a thousand things more to say; nay he imagined that if he had said them, they would have moved Lucretia; but if he should have offered to detain her by force, she would have taken it in much displeasure. He therefore submissively took her by the garment, and would, out of an amorous transport, have kissed her hand, and entreated her to favour him for one minute more: but this virtuous woman, troubled at her very soul for him, certainly did herself a strange violence in refusing him what he so passionately begged. So that commanding him absolutely to let her go, and doing it as one who expected obedience, he in effect obeyed her: he dismissed the hand and garment of this afflicted Beauty; and he had this comfort at least, to perceive she thought well of his respect and obedience. For having gone as far as the entrance of the Arbour, where this discourse passed, she turned to him, bursting forth into tears, and reaching to him the same hand which she had taken from between his, Farewell Brutus, said she to him, might it please the Gods that the innocency of our affection would permit me to think on you, and that you might also think of me. At these words Brutus taking her by the hand she presented to him, kissed it with such a transport of love, that if she had not drawn it back with some violence, he had not soon dismissed it. But this slave, who was come to tell Lucretia that it was about the time she used to retire, was so near, that he was forced out of a consideration of respect, to withdraw himself without answering the last words Lucretia had said to him. When she was departed, he looked on her through the leaves as long as he could, but saw she had let down her veil, which he conceived was to hide her tears from the slave that followed her. He also observed, that she twice turned her head towards the place where she had left him, as also that she went from him very slowly; for though he was in an unconceivable despair, yet the excess of his love quickened his apprehension of any thing related to his passion; but to any thing else was insensible.  
Lucretia and her women being gotten into the House, and having locked the lodge-door that went into the Garden, though he knew not well what he thought on, yet could he not resolve to be gone. For observing a greater light in one part of the house then in any other, he concluded it was Lucrecia's chamber, and looking on the Windows, he had such a disturbance and confusion in his thoughts, that it were impossible to express them. He found indeed some ease in seating himself in the place where that Beauty had sat, and in that posture he entertained his love and his affliction till the break of day, not thinking of the Slave who knew his design, and waited for him without the Garden. But at last the Cock crowing acquainting him what time it was, he went out as he came in, and repaired to the house where he had taken up his secret Quarters.  
In the mean time, as Hope is such a Montebank in Love, as instead of one real pleasure, entertains us with a hundred imaginary, he was really persuaded he might see Lucretia in the same manner another night: but though he came to the same place, he met not with her; for this virtuous woman conceiving he might come again, went thither no more. So that Brutus not thinking it safe to stay any longer in that place, whither Clllatine came the next day, returned to Rome exceedingly grieved: for Lucrecia's virtue rendering her more amiable than she were otherwise, it made him the more unfortunate. Not long after he was told that Lucretia had persuaded Collatine to make the walls of his garden somewhat higher, though it much prejudiced the prospect from the house, which he might easily apprehend only for his sake. This nevertheless discouraged him not, for having a heart as great as his love, he omitted no artifice or opportunity from the time that Lucretia was married, to speak with, or send Letters to her, or to oblige her to permit Hermilia or Valeria to speak to her of him; or to procure the favour that he might see her in some place, though he spoke not to her. He also, notwithstanding the hatred he had for Collatine, made frequent visits to him, in hope of some occasion thereby to see Lucretia: but all these contrivances and designs amounted to nothing, Lucretia leading a life so solitary, and disengaged from the disturbances of the World, that I think there never was woman gave higher expressions of a great virtue than she did. For it is out of all controversy, that never Wife lived better with a Husband than she did with Collatine, though she had an aversion for him; nor did ever Mistess express such a constant rigour and severity towards a servant, though she had a tender affection for Brutus. Thus was Brutus extremely taken with her virtue, and fearing that disconsolate solitude might shorten her life, he sent her word by Valeria, that he had so great an esteem for her, as, to break her from that reserved carriage, he would make it his main business to avoid her, that so she might quit that melancholy course of life; conceiving his misfortune would be the less, if he were alone unfortunate. But she would not be persuaded, nay would not so much as return Brutus' thanks for his compliance and respect. However, I dare assure you he was never in his life so deeply in love with this admirable woman as he is at this present; nay I may presume to tell you, that the love he bears Lucretia is greater than the hatred he hath for Tarquin: but his love is upon the hardest condition that love can be capable of, since it admits no Hope, nor the sight of its object. All the comfort therefore that he hath, is, what consists in the hope of satisfying that just hatred he hath for Tarquin, since he can now pretend nothing to Lucretia.  
Herminius having left off speaking, Aronces thanked him for the excellent entertainment of so pleasant a relation: and Amilcar expressed himself so well satisfied with it, that if he could have resolved to be constant, he would have wished himself Brutus, as unfortunate as he was, looking on his History as a thing extraordinary, though it was not furnished with those heroic adventures which raise the admiration of those that hear them. But to make some advantage to yourself of the acquaintance I have made you with Brutus, replied Hermius, speaking to Aronces, acknowledge that you are neither the most unfortunate Lover, nor the most unfortunate man in the world: for certainly Brutus being now past all hope, and leading such a life as he does, is a thousand times more miserable than you are. Ah Herminius, cried out Aronces, I am not of your opinion, but account myself much more unhappy, in that I have to fear Clelia's death, than Brutus is to see Lucretia in the arms of Collatine. But my Lord, the misfortune you fear, replied Amilcar, it may be, will not come to pass, and so your fear is of a disaster that is uncertain; but for Brutus he is past the fear of a mishap, he undergoes it, and that without any hope of seeing any end of his suffering. He hath yet this comfort, replied Aronces, to know that Lucretia cannot suffer any thing but what the affection she hath for him, imposes on her; but for what concerns me, I see Clelia exposed to the violence of a Tyrant, whether he love her or hate her: nor can I yet perceive by what means I can deliver her, nor who will deliver myself. It being by this time very late, Herminius and Amilcar retired, and left this illustrious Lover at liberty, to compare his misfortunes with those of the illustrious Brutus.   
The end of the first Book of the second Part.   

CLELIA: The Second Part. BOOK II.  
AS no part of the life of Brutus was reserved from Aronces, he went the next day to his Chamber, imagining he might receive some delight by discoursing with an unhappy lover, whose misfortunes paralleled his; and these two illustrious Lovers did at first so Sympathise. and love so united both their hearts, that though they were both miserable, and that their discourse contained nothing but melancholy subjects; yet a delightful pleasingness did at this time dispel those dull fumes which clouded their Intellectual Faculties: But whilst they did as it were thus sport away the tedious hours, and that Herminius endeavoured by the assistance of his friends, both to prosecute his passion, prejudice Tarquin, and serve Aronces, the discreet Amilcar acted for Aronces against Tarquin, for Clelia and Plotina, and all the other Captives, and endeavoured likewise to engage the fierce Tullia to deliver all those Prisoners, principally those to whom he was obliged both by friendship and inclination: He writ to Tarquin, to the Prince Sextus, to Artemidorus, and Zenocrates: Yet had he time to compose several things, which are usually made but in a pleasing idleness; for Herminius and he made each of them a short song, according to the African custom: They had a certain gallant Air which contained both ingenuity and love, pleasure and rapellery, they using both simple and natural expressions, and it seems that they intended but to trifle time in making these songs, and that 'twas not impossible others fancies should concur with theirs. In the mean time, as they had sent to the Camp for Celeres and Zenocrates, they came to Rome, but could not inform them of any considerable thing in reference to their affairs; for during the Truce, all the young men went continually from the Camp to Rome, and from Rome to the Camp; Artemidorus not being willing to permit Zenccrates and Celeres to be more happier than he, went with them to see Aronces, whom he highly esteemed; and these three being arrived at Rome, and having the same liberty as Herminius; to visit Aronces; they passed some days in a society pleasing to unhappy persons; for as these new Comers were of this secret, they were commonly together; and after Dinner, Racilia, Hermilia, Valeria, and Sivelia accompanying them, there was doubtless a society composed both of accomplished and agreeable persons: For though Aronces, Amilcar, Herminius, and Celeres were men of known integrity; 'tis certain that Artemidorus and Zenocrates had extraordinary merit: Artemidorus was well made, he had a judging spirit, and a grandeur in his Soul; but he so equally possessed all good qualities, that though he was a complete man, he was just one of those which make a particular Character, and which resemble not any person, though many would willingly resemble him. For Zenocrates, he was tall, of a fair proportion, and good deportment, white teeth, a lively tincture, brown hairs, a most agreeable smiling, and a pleasant countenance which gave delight to all; but he had a certain languishing indifferency to which his temper carried him; it gave him sometimes a stupidity of Spirit, which made him appear as if he were in an idle dotage, and obliged him to keep in certain occasions a kind of melancholy silence, that he could not suffer without some slight reluctation, when he knew he might if he would speak more agreeably than the most part of those to whom he gave such a peaceable audience: But for all this admirable dulness, the gallantness of his Spirit and ingewity appeared when he writ either in Verse or Prose; and I can assure you, that if he had an heart more susceptible of love's impression, it had been very fit to make illustrious Conquests: for Zenocrates was (as I have already told you) fair, and of a good deportment, he had much Spirit, he was both discreet and wise, he had a charming affability; all his inclinations were noble, he was modest, respectful, and faithful to his friends; but a languishing melancholy so possessed his Spirits, that though he was an accomplished Gallant, he could not affect any one person, though adorned with all the excelling features, had he been assured of a correspondency in love; so much did he fear dangerous enterprises. He had beginnings in love, which should have had continuance; but the Fire which flamed in the morning, extinguished in the evening. I know not how he could make an opiniative lover, for the faculty would have hindered the augmentation of his passions, the great difficulty would have rebated his Spirit, and the only thought of a long constancy, would have much perplexed him; he had no desire to engage himself to love a person which was not above him, neither would he resolve with himself to love one of that quality, if fortune had forced him to do it; so little he affected to enterprise difficult things: Had he likewise passed the commencements of his life without having any of those Demy-Mistresses, that are loved without inquietude, that are willingly left on the first occasion that presents: 'tis not but confessed, that he had been in love, and he might be again: But those which are intelligent in tenderness, believe not that he was capable of any great attachment; and though he was accused of some temerity and inconstancy in love, he was known to be very sincere and agreeable in friendship, and he was so amiable, and merited such estimation, that he would not be known without esteem in love. Artemidorus and he being then joined with their illustrious friends, this Society had been full of delectation, if those which composed it had been more happy; there was during this time a small cessation in the distemper of Aronces, which deferred the Voyage Celeres and Zenocrates had resolved on; Amilcar having acquainted this unhappy Prince, that he had conferred with Tullia, that he was the Confident of her Jealousy, and that he did not despair but he should oblige her to deliver Clelia; and farther told him, that this cruel person had promised him to suborn him which kept her, and that on his part he was engaged to carry this fair Virgin into Africa, and not let her return from thence: He knew moreover that those of Ardea, which negotiated with Tarquin, demanded above all things, the rendition of the Captives; and it might be if Tarquin should refuse to do it, he would exasperate the people and the Soldiers, which might justly murmur, to see that he had rather continue the war, than to accord a thing of so little consequence: and that by this means it would be possible to excite some commotion in Rome, and the Camp where they should have need of two men as valiant as Zenocrates and Celeres: Thus their departure being deferred, and hope having taken possession of the heart of Aronces, the conversation became a little more delightful: But there happened an accident which gave some disturbance to this favourable disposition; for as things were reduced to this estate, unknown persons enterprised one night to take away Clelia; they fastening scaling Ladders to the Windows of her Chamber, some of the Guards their confederates having given them admission at one of the Garden Gates: 'Tis true they were constrained to retire, because he to whom Tarquin had confided the keeping of Clelia, hearing some noise awaked, and went with a party of his Companions to the same Garden, where they found a man of a good presence at the head of 10 or 12 others, whilst two resolute Soldiers ascended those two Ladders they had put against the Windows of Clelias' Chamber, who was then in a strange perplexity; for she did not know whether those that endeavoured to open her Windows, were friends or enemies; she saw no likelihood that this enterprise was made by Aronces, since Amilcar who had the liberty to see her, had not advertised her of it; so that she imagined there was more probability to think it was the cruel Tullia, who would have her in her power: But this imagination soon vanished, for how valiant soever he was which had undertaken this enterprise, he must yield to number; for those whom he had left to secure the Garden gate by which he entered, being disanimated, and the Gate shut upon him; there was no other resolution for him to take, than to render himself or die like a desperate person: And as the State of his Soul permitted him not the hope to live happy, he chose the last, and acted such prodigious things, that Clelia and Plotina who were now dressed, and who beheld that which passed in the Garden (by Cinthia's beams which illuminated it) had compassion to see a valiant man reduced to such a condition, whose visage they could not discern: Clelia fearing he (that so valiantly defended himself) might be Aronces, and desiring rather to expose herself to save the life of a valiant Enemy, than let a faithful lover perish, she cried to him who kept her, that he should not kill one deserted by his men, for there remained now none but himself to oppose so many adversaries: The voice of Clelia persuading him to whom she spoke that it may be she knew who that unknown was, who so resolutely defended himself, and believing he should render a great service to Tarquin to take him Prisoner, he commanded him to endeavour it, but not kill him; and this brave stranger who had heard what Clelia said, turning his head to see her, three of those which environed him spying this advantage, cast themselves upon him, seized his Sword and took it from him, though he made terrible efforts to hinder them: 'Tis not denied but he was dangerously wounded in divers places, but being resolved to sacrifice his life (since his enterprise was destroyed) he acted the part of a desperate man; but he was now compelled to yield to number, and submit himself to the conduct of them who had disarmed him; his strength being so decayed by his loss of blood, that his feeble limbs could scarce support him. In the mean time as this news was divulged, all the Palace were alarmed; the cruel Tullia being advertised of it, and Jealousy having wholly possessed her Spirit, she was more irritated against him which hindered Clelia from being taken away, than against him which endeavoured to do it, she would have known his name but no person could tell it her, neither would he acquaint her with it: Tullia then demanded if any of his men had survived the Combat, but they answered her that two of those he had employed in this occasion, and who were hurt as well as he, knew not themselves, or at least wise feigned not to know it: This giving no satisfaction to Tullia's curiosity, she sent for Amilcar, to endeavour to discover if this unknown had attempted this enterprise for Aronces, and he which had the keeping of Clelia sent to advise Tarquin what was passed: there was such a great noise dispersed of it throughout Rome, that Aronces had quickly notice of it, but very confusedly; for some said Tullia had plotted it, desiring to have the prisoners at her dispose; others that Tarquin had contrived it, to have them in his power without angering Tullia; and that his design had proved ineffectual, through the inconsideration of those to whose confidence it was committed: Some said 'twas Aronces, others said 'twas Horatius, and so many various relations were form according to the capricious humour of those which reported them, that 'twas impossible to ground therein any real conjecture: Aronces hearing these several reports by Brutus, Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres, was much perplexed to know how he should comprehend the reailty of this adventure. Herminius assured him, there was no appearance that Horatius had left Ardea, and it could not be Tullia, because she at this time employed Amilcar on the same design: there was no reason to imagine it was Tarquin, for he knew better how to carry on his enterprises. Aronces could not then tell what to think, for the more he considered still what his imagination proposed to him, he conceived far from the truth: but at last he believed, that as the Prince Sextus had a violent Inclination for Clelia, before he was captivated with Lucrecias beauty, and that he was injust and violent in his passions, he had attempted to steal away this fair person, both from him and Tarquin; finding more true semblance in this opinion, than all those he had premised, he fixed his thoughts here, and was so overcome with grief, that he designed to revenge Clelia for that violence which was offered her, and to seek all means to assault Sextus; he having need of no assistance both to vanquish and punish him: but after he had contrived this revenge, he saw Amilcar enter, and not doubting but he was of the same opinion, he went to him and said; tell me my dear Amilcar; do you yet believe that Sextus is more amorous of Lucretia, than Clelia, since the last night's adventures? I assure you replied Amilcar, Sextus had no hand in it, for I come from being Tullia's Agent so discovering who hath made this attempt; and from speaking to him who hath so courageously exposed his life in this dangerous occasion. What replied Aronces, have you seen him which hath so valiantly defended himself? Yes replied Amilcar, I have seen him, and seeing him, I see that fortune hath given you none but illustrious Rivals. Is the report then true that 'tis Horatius? replied Aronces: No replied Amilcar, but not to hold you in suspense, it is the Prince of Numidia who hath performed this grand action. What? cried Aronces, is it Maharbal, which would once more take away Clelia? he had no such thought (replied Amilcar) for he protests he pretended no other thing then to free her from the cruelty of Tarquin, and to remit her into the hands of Clelius and Sulpicia, whom he assures me are nigh Rome. By your favour Amilcar, said Aronces to him, tell me all you know of this adventure and how you knew it. Since you will be informed in all particulars replied Amilcar I must tell you that Tullia sent for me, that I obeyed her orders, and I found such a fury seated on her countenance that it almost struck me into a Palsy; at first she accused me to be one of the confederates in the last night's enterprise; but I gave her such solid and satisfactory reasons to excuse myself, that as she is endowed with all the advantages of a grand Spirit, she imagined I was too real to equivocate with her; and not knowing what to think, she sent me to him who appeared to be the chief conductor of this enterprise; but I confess I was astonished when I knew the Prince of Numidia had acted it, as he was almost buried in grief, and very much hurt; he did not so much as cash his eyes upon me when I approached him: No sooner did he hear my voice, but he turned his head, and extending his hand towards me; though said he to me you be always my Rival's friend, yet I am glad to see you, to tell you, before I expire, that I die with a strange regret not to have had so much affection to him, as to yield him Clelia without repugnance, or hate him so much as to dispute her with him; and assure him (if you ever see him) that I pretend no other advantage in delivering Clelia, then to give her liberty, and render her to Clelius and Sulpicia, who are not far distant from Rome, and are at this time— As he desired to pronounce the name of the place where they resided, his strength failed; and though we applied all remedies to recover him, there was a full Hour elapsed before the expiration of this fit; but though his fainting spirits were recovered, he was yet deprived of reason; for since that he knew not what he had told me, and I could not demand of him where were Clelius and Sulpicia, and seeing he had lost the use of reason, I conceived it would be dangerous to acquaint me with it before so many persons, and though the Prince of Numidia be your Rival, I should incur much blame, if I should let him be treated with severity, and not disclose his quality both to Tullia and Tarquin, to whom they have sent an express to inform him of the precedent accidents, and discovering it was the Prince of Numidia which would have delivered Clelia: I shall hinder you from being thought conscious of it, and clear myself from all suspicion. I would do the same (replied Aronces) were I in your condition, but I am much afflicted: for I fear, and not without cause, that this accident will confine Clelia to a closer imprisonment, and that your design will not take effect.  
As 'tis by Tullia's means I hope to procure her liberty (answered Amilcar) this accident will not destroy our intentions; but will, as I conceive, much conduce to the furtherance of them; for Clelia's Keeper having retained her with so much circumspection, hath acquired such credit of Tarquin by frustrating this design, that if Tullia suborns him, as she hath promised, it will facilitate her escape; but in the mean time we must arm ourselves with patience; as there appeared some probability of truth in this conjectural opinion of Amilcar, and that lovers usually catch at any shadowy glimpse of hope, though grounded on incertainties; yet a dull melancholy eclipsed the countenance of Aronces; Amilcar demanding from whence it proceeded? He confessed he would admit of no consolation, whilst any of his Rivals pretended affection to Clelia, the Gods know, said he, that I am not capable of envy, and that I do not emulate the glory of any one; but when it reflects on my Passion, I cannot confine my grief, especially when I see a Rival endowed with excellent qualities, expose his life for the safety of a person I love, whom she beheld with her own eyes to contend for her liberty; and 'tis impossible being as generous as she is, she should requite with ingratitude the courtesy of Maharbal. Oh Sir (replied Amilcar) it is not so, for I have seen Clelia, I have told her his name whom she saw so courageously defend himself, but far from retaliating any affection to him; she believes that taking her from the power of Tarquin, he had the same thoughts as heretofore, when he would have taken her from Horatius, when he fought with him on the Thrasimenian Lake; and this delacatesse of love which you testify, gives you grief built on no rational foundation. What (replied Aronces) do you believe I have just complaint to deplore the condition to which fortune had reduced me? what? do you believe I can support a voluntary imprisonment, without some regret not to have power to deliver Clelia? Ah Amilcar pursued Aronces, 'tis certainly little less difficult for Brutus to draw a Veil of stupidity over his reason, then for me to make use of mine in so strange a manner; for in fine, if I should continually labour for to deliver Clelia? if I should every moment expose my life to effect it, I should not suffer less than I do, in nothing but reasoning with my friends upon incertain hopes; but I am very glad to hear that this enterprise proceeded neither from Tullia's hath, nor from Tarquin or Sextus love. For Sextus, replied Amilear, cast away fear, for Artemidorus hath told me, he is so amorous of Lucretia, that he cannot command his Passion; nor can he teach his tongue to bury her in silence.  
As this Rival cannot prejudice Brutus (replied Aronces) I receive extreme satisfaction at it; for if he where not his, I am really persuaded he would be mine; which would be dangerous for Clelia in this estate. Whilst Aronces thus spoke, Brutus arrived, and a little after Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres, to whom they confided the whole secret of the intended enterprise, reserving only Brutus his affection for Lucretia; and they being ignorant of it, believed there could be nothing more satisfactory to Aronces, then to persuade him Sextus had deserted Clelia, and that he was caught in the snares of Lucretia's beauty; but if this discourse pleased Aronces, it afflicted Brutus, whose heart was at this instant supplied with a new hatred against Tarquin, seeing now (as if it were before his eyes) the expiration of his father and brother, and the total destruction of all his family; all the crimes of the Tyrant and Tullia had wholly pressed his thoughts, and Sextus his love for Lucretia, did so discompose the serenity of his temper, that he would not suffer them to make any mention of it; for said he to Celeres (who spoke of this Prince's Passion that Species of transportment) which seizes Sextus when his eyes saluted a beautiful person, cannot be termed love; for if a clear inspection could be made into his heart, there would be found nothing but impetuous desires, which respect neither a becoming grace, nor virtue, there would I say be found an Antipathy between his Passion and Spirit; I am even persuaded he doth not much care to be beloved, and that he would be as content if a woman should offer herself to him, through the consideration of interest and ambition, without resigning her heart, as if she was forced by a violent affection to favour his love; but 'tis otherwise in those which are rightly capable of love, they being not perfectly happy, unless there is a reciprocal affection, and there are none but those which are infected with brutish appetites who regard not what motive obliges any woman to use them with civility. 'Tis true (said Aronces) an interessed is a superficial favour, and I should have no great obligation to a woman which would rather submit herself to my fortune not affection. But it happens so often (replied Amilcar) that those whom fortune favours, merit not to be favoured by themselves, and they would much wrong their judgements to complain that a woman permits their visit, rather through interest then love. I am of your opinion (replied Artimidorus) that an interessed Lady merits not to have a lover which considers her through any other cause than his own satisfaction; and Brutus hath reason to say that this species of resentment cannot rightly admit the term of love, since 'tis not correspondent; for if we consider well what passes in the hearts of two persons form after this nature, we shall find avarice in the Ladies, and brutality in the lovers. That which you say (replies Brutus) squares with reason; but I must add, that a Lover composed of his humour, can neither be faithful nor happy, for in his heart the end of an irregular desire is the beginning of another; and since he disregards the love of his beloved, he respects nothing but pleasure in the fruition, and is capable of an amorous impression at the sight of any thing which delights his fancy: these brutish Lovers cannot confine themselves in their voluptuary passions; sometimes affecting brown, and sometimes fair persons; and in fine, their affections are in a manner so brutal, that the love of the most savage and cruel Animals is no less than theirs; therefore I should extremely commiserate the fair and virtuous Lucretia, for having surprised the heart of Sextus, did not her solitary retirement shelter her from the persecutions of such a Lover: and as Herminius noted the agitation of the spirit of Brutus, he diverted the subject of their discourse to the adventure of the Numidian Prince, which was considerable enough to deserve their attentions; for it seemed very extraordinary that an African Prince should have so much intelligence in Rome as to enterprise to take Clelia from the Palace of such a Prince as Tarquin. And passing from one thing to another, they had a desire to predivine the actions of this violent Prince, when he should have notice of this accident; some said he would be transported to the ultimate extremity against the Numidian Prince; others that for his own interest he would consider the quality of Maharbal; some said he would poison him; but Aronces who was wholly composed of generosity, and whose heart was sensible of compassion since the last conference with this illustrious Rival; and since he left a Letter at his departure from the Willow Island, entreated Amilcar to reverse, by his sedulous endeavours any cruel sentence should be decreed against him; and Amilcar so flattered Tullia's humour, and wrote such a judicious Letter to Tarquin, that the storm of anger soon vanished, which threatened the destruction of the Numidian Prince; and what they descanted upon, proved but airy imaginations; 'tis true his wounds were dangerous, and his death almost inevitable, his Fever augmented, his reason was not yet remitted to its proper seat, and those which dressed him much feared his Recovery; so that we many very well say his deplorable condition was some means to secure his life. It was most remarkable in this encounter, that Tarquin learning the Quality of the Numidian Prince, conceived his love for Clelia incited him to steal her away, he not being ignorant that Clelius a long time resided at Carthage; imagining then Clelia more amiable since she had attracted such illustrious persons, he felt a reduplication of love in his heart, and the cognisance he had to find a new Rival, renewed his affection, if I may use that term, he had even some joy to think that whatsoever Aronces was, he would have some despite against the Numidian Prince for endeavouring to deliver Clelia; and his thoughts were constant with those of a violent Prince, though love had never been the prevailing passion; he gave order to redouble the Guards of Clelia, and confirmed an ampler Commission to him who commanded them, which was very satisfactory to Aronces, because that Amilcar, assuring him that Tullia was persuaded she should gain him, he might hope suddenly to effect Clelia's liberty; he knew likewise that those of Ardea obstinately persisted in requesting Tarquin to deliver the Captives before the commencement of the Treaty, and that people began to murmur at Rome, as well as the Soldiers in the Camp, because Tarquin denied their proposition.  
These things put such a favourable disposition in the spirit of Aronces, and all his friends, that they found themselves capable to enjoy all the sweetness hope gives them, who passionately desire any thing; for there is a hope of revenge, as well as a hope to possess a Mistress; those which had no effective interest in this place, were at last interested in their friend's behalf; as for Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres, 'twas friendship which confined them to this place; but for Brutus and Herminius, they had both many interests to induce them to reside here, their friends, their love, and their Country; and things being now reduced to a better estate than they had seen them long before, they were partakers of the same hope; 'tis not that Brutus expected any thing on Lucretia's part, which might advantage him, but at least he imagined, if he destroyed Tarquin, he should likewise destroy Sextus; so that a jealous resentment exciting in him a desire of revenge, it seemed to him he could no less act against Tarquin in quality of a Lover, then of a true Roman. Hope thus finding entertainment in the hearts of so many discreet persons, their conversations was very agreeable, when they consorted at night to render an account what they had learned concerning their common interests; it often happened that Racilia, Hermilia, and Valeria were there; for Valerius permitted his daughter to remain sometimes two or three days with Hermilia, who was become her chiefest friend, since the solitude of Lucretia; for Clelia, she had likewise her part in the repose of others; Amilcar acquainting her with the hope she had, giving her news of Aronces; and assuring her according to the information of the Numidian Prince, that Clelius and Sulpicia were not far from Rome, and Plotina fitted her humour with such Scenes of mirth, that they at this time chased away those melancholy thoughts condensed by the contemplation of her misfortunes; there were likewise other happy Lovers, for the Prince of Pometia knew he might claim affection in Hermilia's heart, who thinking all those which assembled at her Aunt's house, contrived nothing but how to compass Clelia's liberty, remained satisfied to have acquired the affection of one of the most virtuous Princes. Titus on his part had received such demonstrations of love from Collatina, that he was glad the time gave him occasion to repay a visit to his Mistress, the most unhappy were Artemidorus and Zenocrates, who had both assuredly interests without Rome. 'Tis true, the last not being of a humour to send his heart and spirit where he was not, had more tranquillity than the other. Amilcar one evening noting that Brutus had brought them into Hermilia's Chamber, she keeping it by reason of some indisposition, and with whom Valeria was then, demanded of him, if the serenity of his spirit proceeded from his fortune or temperament, and of Artemidorus, if his anxiety was an effect of his misfortune, or the melancholy of his humour, as to Zenocrates (replied Artemidorus) I can only answer you for him, that he makes his own tranquillity; and I can answer you for Artemidorus (replied Zenocrates) that the sensibility of his heart acts as much against him as his evil fortune; if those who give us audience, were informed in our lives (replied Artemidorus) they could perhaps confess that my sensibility is more excusable than sometimes your indifferency; for you know absence (which is a great disease in love) is not a very sensible malady in you, but on the contrary, cures you of many others. In truth, replied Zenocrate's smiling, which added a grace to his expression. You tax me with an unjust reproach; I confess sometimes I do not remember those persons I see not, but I protest unto you, as soon as my memorative faculty represents them to me, they command the same affectionate privilege as before. You discourse of this so pleasantly (replied Hermilia) that you seem to have no desire to remember those you have loved, when they are absent from you, because you can affect none but those who are present before your eyes. Yet (replied Artemidorus) he is not assured to love all those he sees, for he is subject to certain petit absences of heart, which sometimes must distract his friends; and 'tis certain I have seen him more than once waver in his affection; 'tis not but he knows how to make declaration in love; for I remember he writ four in the compass of a day, which contained much gallantry; 'tis true, 'twas only to divertise a company of amiable Ladies. But (said Zenocrates, dying his cheeks with a blush) I may very well say I have had a thousand loves in my life; but among all those, I can scarce insert three or four in the Catalogue of true loves; and I am assured, if you compare mine with yours, you may conceive me to give you the denomination. 'Tis not (added he) that I believe those men, who boast of a violent passion, love not a little more than others, which are more sincere; and for my part I believe I love as much as I can love, and that if it were as permanent and durable as some, I should be the most amorous of men; but I confess it sometimes sooner passes away than that of Artemidorus, who believes he should recede from his honour, if he should be suspected to change first, there are some hours, when it hath continuance, it disturbs my repose; and when I make my voluntary imprecations to explicate myself out of this amorous labyrinth; for I may very well say love is a great affair. Ah Zenocrates, cried Amilcar, if love is a great, it is an agreeable affair. You ought then to be persuaded in what you say (replied Herminius) since if you love none of this nature, you deny your own expressions. I pray, said then Zenocrates to Amilcar, learn me how I must order myself, when I would dissemble love, for I have more than twenty times essayed to do it, without arriving at my intended end. For my part (replied Amilcar) I find no great difficulty in it; for when I see a jovial Lady, who hath any facility in her humour, or gaiety in her spirit, and that I find my fancy disposed to make a volatile love, I can desert when I please, and which gives me delight as long as it lasteth; I accustom myself to speak to this person more than any other, I look upon her, I praise her, I continually cast forth artificial sighs resembling true ones, I sometimes sing some slight Airs I formerly composed, which she applies to herself, and sometimes I express myself in amorous Verses, languishing regards; and in fine, I tell her I love her, or at least make such pretensions, afterwards for that small pleasure she hath taken in my affability, she retaliates hers, hope then possesses my heart, and after that I feel I know not what, that I call love; for in fine, that you be not deceived, it is not of these slight imaginary loves, as others, where love precedes hope, since in this, hope must precede love, and he must first be assured of the progress of his affection, before he commence his; the Lady you choose must not therefore be so full of complacency, that her behaviour hath too much facility, neither must you choose women whose hearts you can conquer but by forms; but you must find one neither too austere nor too facile, who hath no particular Gallant, and who affects Gallantry, neither must she have a furious spirit; 'tis good she should be a little tractable in love; and in fine it suffices she should be fair, young, a little merry, and without capriciousness; for if she hath more imagination than judgement, she shall be so much more fit to make one of those Demy Mistresses, that I may leave without despair, when my fancy prompts me to do it, and with whom I may pass most pleasant hours. You exaggerate that so handsomely (said Valeria) that I believe Zenocrates will essay it on the first occasion. In truth (replied he smiling) I think I should now experiment it, were there any Lady here which might admit the Character of Amilcar; but for my misfortune, I know none of this humour at Rome, do you know at Leontine, at Panorme, at Syracuse, and at Agragentine, said Artemidorus to him. I confess it (replied he) but it may be before I return, my fancy will, as usually, soon vanish. But, said Herminius to him, it seems requisite to me, that we should be better informed of your Adventures, I know Artemidorus hath recounted them to Aronces, after he had acquainted him with his own; but it would not be just to trouble him to relate them; and 'tis much better yourself should satisfy our curiosity. For my particular (said Zenocrates) should I undertake to recount my History, I should no sooner mention myself, but Artemidorus would interrupt me; and affirm, I am not well acquainted with myself; and I believe my Adventures ought not to be known of so many persons, and there are some considerable accidents in my fortune, which are not convenient to publish, till it pleases my destiny to change the state of things; but for Artemidorus, it much imports his repose, that all friends should know his fortune, to banish the most unjust grief, ever seized a lover's heart; for till this time none can persuade him he hath injury, and as 'tis convenient for his repose, I offer myself to be his Historian; for though I should not be accused of too much ardency or levity in love, I condemn it not. I would therefore have the permission to recount the affection of Artemidorus; for if these persons here present do not persuade him, that the excess of his secret grief is unjust, he will never be cured; all than testified a great impatience to obtain the consent of Artemidorus, for Brutus was not displeased to know, if he might find a lover as unhappy as himself: Herminius, by a tender resentment, wished the power to consolate Artemidorus: Amilcar, by an universal curiosity, desired to know the life of this Prince, and both Valeria and Hermilia, according to the nature of their Sex, had an earnest desire to hear the narration of Zenocrates, induced thereto by a natural resentment, incident to Ladies of their quality and perfections; for Aronces, as he knew all that which had happened to Artemidorus, he augmented the curiosity of the Company; and in fine, he was so pressed by their forcible persuasions, that he consented Zenocrates should relate his adventures; but not desiring to be at the recounting of them; and Aronces having already heard them, he requested him to withdraw into his own Chamber; and after their departure, Zenocrates having considered on what he had to say, began to speak in these terms, addressing his speech to Hermilia only, he being then in her Chamber.  

The History of Artemidorus.  
THough Sicily is not so far distant from Rome, that I conceive you are ignorant of the Customs thereof, yet I pre-suppose there's many things which never arrived your knowledge; for, Madam, to speak ingeniously, the Romans so despise all other people, that they believe they should injure themselves even to know their manners. And our Ladies not being so reserved as here, 'tis requisite you should be pre-acquainted with the general usage of divers places, I shall have occasion to insert in my narration; for fear you condemn not in particular those who have interest in things, I intent to relate unto you. I shall then tell you, Madam, that Sicily having at this time the Commerce of Africa and Italy, as well as of Greece and Asia; I may say this famous Isle is the common Country of different Nations, and there is a confluency of divers people in all places where Commerce is most consigned, and except at Panormes there's scarce in any part the true manners of the Country; and 'tis rare that in all the Maritime Towns except that I intent to mention, they have a certain spirit which retains something of their opposite neighbours; so that the Coast of Messina which was called heretofore Zangle, when the Giants, as is reported, inhabited it, hath a resemblance with those of Rhegium, the Coast which looks on the Ionian Sea, with the Ascatique and Heraclea and Agrigentine with the Africans customs; but for Leontine which is the native Country of Artemidorus, the Customs there have some Conformity with all these different Nations, agreeing likewise with those of the Country; but to speak in general, there is in all places so much liberty and gallantry, that without doubt there is scarce any Country in the World, where one may have such a delectable residence: For besides that the Country is pleasant, fertile, and very diversified, the people are full of spirit, and have generally so much; as for that reason they are suspected to be artificious and a little inconstant. But as I shall speak but of Leontine and Agrigentine, I shall tell you nothing of the other Cities of this famous Isle, neither shall I much trouble myself to speak of the first, because I cannot do it without mentioning many things, which have reference to the Princess of the Leontines, Sister of Artemidorus, whose Adventures I ought not now to recount to you: be contented then to know, that as the Country of the Leontines is nigh the fertilest in the Isle, all pleasures are there in their great Lustre, except in Syracuse and Agrigentine, where I may say with the permission of Amilcar, all the African Gallantry hath passed: But to come to the principal History I have to relate to you, without telling you all those slight things which resemble themselves in all the Commencements of love in the World: You must know that this illustrious unhappy person, is his Brother who is now Prince of the Leontines, and of the admirable Princes who hath now found an Asylum in the King of Clusium's Court, and being at his birth endowed with all noble Inclinations, he was in estate to merit the esteem of all those who knew him: For his person I shall say nothing of it, for you see 'tis framed according to the exact rules of proportion; but for his Spirit, though you know it hath all advantages imaginable, yet I assure you, you do not sufficiently know it; for his grief hath so clouded his humour, and left such an indifferency and melancholy, that he hath no more the same agreement he usually had in his conversation, and that he yet would have, should joy resume its usual place in his heart: As for his temperament 'tis without doubt tender and passionate, he loves glory and is extremely grateful, maintaining the greatest of all Vices, is ingratitude; he is both liberal and just, and few have equalled him in merit: 'Tis true that for those he doth not esteem, he hath not a too regular civility, he is very free to those which please him, else reserved to all. Artemidorus then meriting that Character in which I have represented him to you, and being in a splendid Court, submitted to the Love of an amiable Virgin, as soon as he returned from a Voyage he had made into Greece: 'Tis true she was none of the greatest beauties, but she hath such an agreement, that she gave envy to the fairest, and love to the most insensible; for though her Person is well made, and infinitely pleasing, she hath a sweet and tempting spirit, which repels nothing, but attracts all; she hath it neither too free nor too serious, and there is such a charming facility in her entertainment that 'tis not strange if Artemidorus was surprised with its attractive Charms, and I may very well assure you, that I think this Virgin which is called Clidimira, had nigh as much affection for him, as he for her, at least she gave him such innocent testimonies of esteem, which made him believe she would permit him to bear her Chains: Artemidorus being thus immerged in love, Clidimira made some seeming difficulty to engage herself to love him, because she foresaw the Prince of the Leontines would not suffer her to espouse him, there being some difference between him and her Father; but flattering herself with the hope that the love of Artemidorus might surmount this obstacle, she took care to foment his passion, and gave him such innocent demonstrations of affection, as a virtuous virgin might licence a man she believed might one day espouse her, for as she wrote gallantly and tenderly, Artemidorus received many Letters from her, and during a long time, he was the happiest Lover in the world: But in the end he was eclipsed, by the Prince his brother who seeing this love was divulged in the Court, cast out some expressions, intimating his dissenting from it; Artemidorus therefore used all possible means to persuade his brother to alter his determinate will, though there was no likelihood to effect it; and the Prince of the Leontines seeing with what order Artemidorus spoke to him; forbid him not only to think of espousing her, but to absent himself from seeing her, declaring to him that if he would not obey him, he would confine this Virgin to a place where he should not see her, and seeing Artemidorus persevere in his affection, he defended Clidimira from suffering his brother's visits, yet she would receive him into one of her friends houses; in fine, seeing all his Commands were slighted, he committed her to the custody of her who commanded the veiled Virgins at Leontine, which are consecrated to Ceres, and he more easily effected his intention, because Clidimira having no mother, and being rich, he made her interest a pretext to enclose her there. In the mean time, Artemidorus was overwhelmed with grief, for Clidimira was in a sacred place where no violence might be offered her; on the other side, this Virgin being thus immured in a solitude, and not having permission to breath himself in the open air became buried in such a languishing melancholy, that it much impaired her health. Artemidorus having notice of her indisposition, and having ineffectually tried always both by affability and violence, either ro divert his brother's indignation or to steal away Clidimira, and fearing her grief would bring her to the Margin of her Grave, caused information to be given to the Leontine Prince, that to essay to cure his passion, he was resolved to perform a Voyage, on condition that as soon as he was departed he should set Clidimira at liberty; or at the least commit her to a Lady of quality; who should be responsible for her; afterwards divers Persons engaging themselves in the negotiation of this affair, this unhappy lover to deliver his Mistress fled both from himself and Country; by a pure resentment of love, for you must not think he had any design no more to affect Clidimira, he being at this time more amorous than ever, at his departure he writ a Letter, containing many tender and passionate expressions, which he left with a confident of her passion to deliver her, and withal to tell her that he would sacrifice all for her interest, and that he would account himself happy in his exile, if she would inviolably preserve her affection; assuring her that if the state of things did admit of any mutation, he would unknown to any return to Leontine to see her, and to carry her away with her consent, if she had any desire to run his fortune, he recommended her to the Princess his sister, and to all his friends at Court, not forgetting to perform any thing a faithful lover is obliged to do, after that he embarked in a Vessel which returned to Rhegium, carrying with him all Clidimira's Letters as his only consolation during his exile; for I forgot to tell you that the Prince of the Leontines was not engaged to free Clidimira, unless Artemidorus departed the Isle. Behold him then embarked not for any long Navigation, but as the Sicilian Sea is very dangerous, an impetuous wind rose on a sudden, forcing the Vessel where Artemidorus was, between those two Rocks so famous for Shipwrecks, known by the name of Sylla and Charybdis; 'tis true the fortune of Artemidorus was so happy that the Pilot having had a design to steer his course to Messina where the Tempest had cast him, his Vessel which was engaged between those two famous Rocks, after it had suffered much agitation, run upon a shelf of sand not far from the shore, those who were within seeing the Vessel take water on all sides, resolved to make their Arms their Oars to save their lives; for Artemidorus he signalised his love in this encounter, for not believing at first he could save a Casket in which were all the Letters of his Mistress, and being not resolved to leave them, he remained last in the Vessel; but in fine, having tied his Casket on two Oars laid a cross, and fastening them with a Cord to his left Arm, cast them into the Sea, throwing himself after, swimming with so much force that he reached the shore, and preserved those precious testimonies of Clidimira's love, part of the goods cast into the Sea were again recovered and part lost, and the Shipwrck was very nigh Messina, Artemidorus went thither, but he was in a condition to be commiserated, for his equipage was lost, and his men perished, and if he had not remembered that he knew a man at Messina, which heretofore belonged to the King his father, he had been exposed to extreme necessity; for the Captain of the Vessel was not of Leontine, and was withal reduced to such misery that he was not in estate to afford him any assistance. Artemidorus being gone to Messina had the fortune to find the party he sought for, but as he would not have his quality known, he changed his habit, & took a common soldier's habit, had he desired to appear like himself, that man who assisted him was not in a capacity to sit him with an equipage proportionable to his condition. Artemidorus found some relaxation in his misfortunes, when he considered that by this divesting himself of his gorgeous attire, he should not be subject to all those ceremonies which are inseparable concomitants to persons of his condition in their passage through foreign Countries, he was much troubled to choose a place where he should reside; for in the estate where he was he would not pass to Rhegium he having no acquaintance there: after some consultation with himself, he had a design to go to Heraelea, from whence he hoped easily to have notice what transactions passed at Leontine, he thought 'twould be advantageous for him to take this resolution, because there was war now between the Prince of Agrigentine, and the Prince of Heraclea, for the limits of those two petty estates: For as you know Sicily is divided into so many different Dominions, that 'tis impossible they should always be at peace, and as the Leontine was enemy to the Agrigentine Prince, Artemidorus believed if he should bear arms against him, the Prince his brother after he was informed of it would perhaps repent of the injury he had done him against the iuterest of his love, 'tis not but Artemidorus as he is just did not know that the Prince his brother was injust in hating the Agrigentine Prince, who was a man of extraordinary merit, desiring therefore to go to the War, he had rather take the part of the Heraclean Prince then another's, enemy to his brother; after he had spent one month at Messina, he departed from thence with a design to list himself in the Heraclean Troops; but going thither he met some avant coureurs of the Agrigentine Army, as he would not have been taken, he did what he could to escape them, and he having met eight or ten Cavaliers which were returning to the Heraclean Camp, he animated them to their defence; and they so courageously defended themselves, that there was scarce ever seen a Combat so terrible, and of such a long continuance between such an unequal number, the Agrigentines being four times as many as the Heracleans; for Artemidorus, he acted such prodigious things (remaining alone in fight Posture) that they which environed him resolved to save his life, though he refused to render himself on any conditions: at last, overpower'e by number, he was forced to receive his life, after his Sword was broken: There was amongst these Agrigentines a man of quality, called Terillus, who judged this action too bold and adventurous to be performed by a simple Cavalier, such as his habit represented him, and he saw something in his air so great and noble, that he believed he ought not to treat him as a common prisoner, he caused him to be attended with much circumspection, and after he had sent back part of his men to the Camp, he went himself to present his prisoner to the Prince, who was gone for two or three days to the City of Agrigentine. Artemidorus was doubtless much afflicted to be a Prince's prisoner, who was at so much enmity with his Brother, that 'twas almost impossible they should come to any reconciliation; for he believed if he knew his quality, he would thereby much advantage himself; and the Prince of the Leontines when he was advertised of it, would perhaps be transported with anger against Clidimira, because he would look upon her as the immediate cause of this inauspicious accident; he therefore hoped he should not be known, there being no great commerce between Leontine and Agrigentine; and having heard he was at a Castle he had built on the further side of the City, he thought he should not be exposed to the view of many persons; that he should suffer but the disquietude of Imprisonment, and that in some general exchange of Prisoners, he should recover his liberty; and to flatter himself with some consolation, he likewise imagined, that the Wars between those two petty States would soon be put to a period, and that there was nothing more requisite for him, then with constancy to support his Imprisonment: Being settled in this resolution, he patiently submitted to their conduct. But Madam, before I declare to you in what manner Artemidorus was presented to the Agrigentine Prince, and how he was treated, 'tis necessary for me to give you a brief character of the Prince to whom he was presented, and of the Princess his Daughter, and another person of the same Sex, who hath much part in this History; to the end that in the continuation of my recital, you may have a more perspicuous understanding of what I intent to relate; for, for my part, I love to have an accurate description of those of whose adventures I receive a narration. Therefore I must tell you, that the Prince of Agrigentine is a man in all things illustrious, His house to which the principality appertains, is not only most Noble, and of great Antiquity, but more eminent by the opposition it made against the Tyranny of the cruel Phalaris, who rewarded the Inventors of any new punishment, and whose injustice is at this time in so much horror amongst the Agrigentines, that I dare not pronounce his name but with detestation; for to entertain their hatred against him, and render his name odious to posterity, they one day in a year publicly show (with Imprecations) a brazen Bull made by one called Perillus, to the end those whom the Tyrant would put to death, should be therein enclosed, and a fire being made round about it, the voices they pronounced resembling bellow, would the less attenerate the people's hearts; you may conceive his Tyranny by this Invention which was made to please him; but he found one act of Justice in his life, for he put him to death in this brazen Bull who was the Inventor of it, though he was accustomed to recompense those who invented such things; But if he was just to Perillus, the gods were just to him; since after innumerable cruelties, he expired (like Perillus) in this brazen Bull; and the hatred which the Agrigentines had conceived against him was so great, that because his Guards were habited in blue, which he employed to exercise those cruelties, they forbade their dependants from wearing this amiable colour, and 'tis but about a year since that the Princess of Agrigentine at the earnest request of one of her friends whom she passionately loved, hath again introduced it: But to resume the thread of my discourse, the Prince I have mentioned being of an ancient Race, and enemy to this cruel Tyrant, he is in much veneration at Agrigentine, and if he should be recommendable but by his own virtue, he would be very much respected by his Subjects; for besides as he nigh governeth the City as if it were a Republic, he hath spirit, learning, capacity, and experience; He is an excellent soldier, and a great Captain, he keeps his Troops in exact Discipline, he knows the art to make himself feared and loved by his Soldiers in particular, and his Subjects in general; he hath qualities befitting a man of his Birth, he is courteous, civil, and obliging, principally to the Ladies; he understands and speaks with facility many languages, he favours learning, he is magnificent and liberal, and hath an heart sensible of glory; he takes all innocent pleasures, he retains a certain gallant air, demonstrating to those which know him that his heart is susceptible of love. But if this Prince merits an high encomium, he hath a daughter worthy of him, and able to command admiration from all, Philonice is the Princess of Agrigentines' name; she is the most surprising Person in the world: for you must know, that as the Princess her mother was wrapped in the cold embraces of the grave ere she completed a triennial age, her illustrious Father having at this time many warlike Preparations, which have since impaled his brow with victorious Laurel, instead of leaving her at Agrigentine, caused her to be educated at a magnificent Castle belonging to him, situated in the Campagne; and as she appeared in the world, she was adorned with all imaginable politeness, and I assure you without flattery, that she is acquainted in many things which her only imagination hath dictated to her; and for her Person, 'tis infinitely pleasing, her head is crowned with black resplendent hair, she is of a mean stature, yet so agreeable and noble, that it admits of no disadvantage, her action is free and natural without any affectation, the circumference of her visage shows the extremes of an imperfect Circle, and almost formed it to a perfect oval, the new fallen snow was turned in comparison of the refined purity of her complexion, her mouth for shape shamed the imitation of the most exquisite Painters, and all the features of her face had so near a kindred of proportion and symmetry, as the severest master of Apelles art might have called it his glory to have copied Beauties from her as the best of models, her eyes darted forth such a radiant splendour, as neither the firmest eye, nor the strongest soul could arm themselves with resistance of proof against these pointed glories, but there results from all these perfections such a modest air on the visage of Philonice, that her only physiognomy clears what blemish can be imputed to the virtue of her soul, and delicateness of her spirit, 'tis not but when she meets with any that she neither esteems nor pleases her, she hath a certain coldness which (without being uncivil) seems more touching to those to whom it is addressed, she's affable, but the grandeur of her soul, and habitual probity, retains her from making those delusive caresses which by many Ladies of the Court are practised with so much Prodigality; but for a person she loves, there's no Princess in the world can testify her tenderness in more obliging and real expressions; she is of such a liberal inclination, and all her resentments are so discreet and generous, as she believes her action should not belly her words; for spirit, she hath it to admiration, she speaks both naturally and gallantly, she writes pleasant Letters in a stile so natural, reserving her quality, that I can mint no expression to equal their praise, she hath a solid virtue, glory is the chiefest of her delight, her heart is tender, spirit firm, her amity both constant, sincere, and agreeable, she's discreet in all her actions, she's never capable of any transportment, she is both young and wise, she hath judgement without experience, and prudence without pride, and she is so accomplished, that I can tax her of nothing but of too much virtue, since, 'tis certain she is so modest, that she doth not well know it, at least she speaks as if she esteemed herself not so much as she ought; 'tis true, she accuses herself in such an ingenious manner, that her own words betray her. There's likewise in this place another Virgin, whose Father is Governor of the Castle of Agrigentine, who is highly esteemed by Philonice, not without desert, for besides as she is fair, and hath an engaging spirit, which both pleases and charms all those who approach her, she knows how to fit the humour of all Persons, her Discourse is admirable, she never appears distempered at her company, she hath a modest jovialty, that gives delight to many persons. This Virgin called Berelisa hath moreover such a passionate spirit, that she makes her glory consist in knowing how to love her friends; and as Philonice hath much inclination for her, she is commonly with her: The day in which Artemidorus was brought to the Castle of Agrigentine, she was with this Princess in a great Hall, where the Prince her Father was, with many other Ladies leaning on a Balcony which jetted on the Court, to see twelve stately horses that had a little before been sent to her Father, and she desiring to go next morning to the Chase, he would have both her and Berelisa choose those they would have for that gallant sport; as their eyes were wholly employed in surveying these Horses; Terillus who had taken Artemidorus entered into the Hall, followed by his prisoner, leaving his men at the entry of the gate; you know Artemidorus is of a gallant deportment, which will easily make you believe that he attracted the regards of the Agrigentine, Prince of the Princess Philonice, and the amiable Berilisa, and all the rest of the company, for though his habit was but simple, yet had he the air of a person of Quality, though in the design he had to disguise himself, he affected unusual simplicity: 'Tis true seeing all perfections concentre in these Ladies, he would not hinder himself from saluting them with such a grace, that disposed them to conceive a good opinion of him; In the mean time Terillus who presented him to the Prince of Agrigentioe, seeing him prepared to give him attention, thus said, Sir, I come to present to you this Prisoner, I am obliged to praise, and to excuse the weakness of those who took him, and to give you occasion to treat him with civility; for to speak as a person of Honour, who ought to commend the courage of his enemies, it hath sometimes been more easy for me to put five hundred men to flight, then to vanquish this valiant man; for there was so much difficulty to make him render himself after his Sword was broken, that I conceived it requisite to acquaint you with his valour; to the end, that treating him according to his merit, he should repent himself from having exposed his life, rather than to be your Prisoner.  
It is so natural (said Artemidorus) for generous Conquerors to praise the courage of those they have vanquished, that I ought to draw no vanity from the praises you have attributed to me. He which praises you is so brave himself, replied the Agrigentine Prince, that you may glory in his praises; and if you had ever seen him in any dangerous occasions, as he hath seen you, you would retribute the like praises to his Valour; and as your great magnanimity and the air of your Visage easily dispose me to believe you are of illustrious blood, though your habit contradict that opinion: Tell me what you are, and what's your condition, and what motive induced you to take such an unjust party? I know by your accent you are no Heraclean, but I am confident you are a Sicilian, and concluding you a Sicilian, and not an Heraclean, I confess to you I cannot tell precifely, whether you are of Syracuse, Panormus, Erycine, Messina, or Leontine, though it seems your pronunciation speaks you the last. Sir, replied Artemidorus, as I have many particular reasons which oblige me not to discover either my Name or Country, dispense with it if you please, and I assure you I will not complain of you, if you do me the favour to treat me as a private Soldier, and as a Prisoner of War. Whilst Artemidorus thus spoke, Philonice and Berelisa attentively fixed their eyes upon him, and the Prince of Agrigentine after an exact survey, noting the whiteness of his hand, turning towards Philonice and Berelisa thus said: I pray, What think you of this Prisoner? may I credit his words, or my reason? For my part (replied Philonice) I find him to have the air of a person of Quality. For my particular, added Berelisa, I am persuaded this Prisoner is a man of condition and spirit, and if he should have confessed it to me, my belief would not receive any stronger impression: For, pursued she, depressing her voice, if he was but a simple Soldier, he would heighten his condition to be more civilly used. Philonice confirmed what Berelisa had said, and all the other Ladies were of Opinion, that this Prisoner was neither a simple Officer nor Soldier: The Prince of Agrigentine turning towards him with a gallant and civil air natural to him; As 'tis advantageous for you we should doubt of your words (said he to him) and that all these Ladies will not believe you, nor suffer me to do it, permit me to think you are not such a person as you represent yourself, therefore you shall be treated with all the civility and courtesy that a generous Prisoner may claim, but kept with as much exactitude as persons of quality; and in time (it may be) you will resolve to speak with more confidence. 'Tis not for the vanquished to give laws to the vanquisher, replied Artemidorus, and I have doubtless nothing to do, but constantly to support my Imprisonment; I render thanks to these Ladies for their advantageous opinion: Artemidorus pronounced these words with such a noble Air, that it added a confirmation to their belief; and having sent for Berelisas' Father, who (as I have already told you) was Governor of the Castle, he commanded him civilly to treat him, and to take strict care of him; who departed with his Prisoner as soon as he had received this express order from the Prince. But to the end (said the Prince of Agrigentine, addressing himself to Berelisa) this Prisoner should have no desire to cancel those Chains the fortune of War hath imposed upon him, give him, I entreat you, those of love. 'Tis affirmed it is so dangerous to desire to give much, without exposing themselves to take a little, replied Philonice (seeing Berelisa framed no answer) that I would not counsel her to obey you. Her silence (he replied) gives consent, and she hath so attentively beheld this Prisoner, that I imagine the Beauty of his Person hath already stromed her Inclination. I ingeniously confess (answered Berelisa, a vermilion Tincture shadowing her Cheeks) this Unknown pleaseth me, without knowing him, I pity him as an unhappy person, whom I believe worthy of my compassion, and to whom I will voluntarily render all the favour lies in my power, not prejudicing your service. If you oblige him to love you, replied the Prince of Agrigentine, he will love his imprisonment, he will bless his captivity, his chains will be grateful, he will it may be change party, and you will give me a new Subject, by procuring a new Slave. At these words all jested with Berelisa, seeing it pleased the Prince, and they were minded the more to do it; by reason Terillus there present was amorous of Berelisa, though she could not affect him: This Lover thus finding all to counsel his Mistress to conquer this Prisoner's heart, and having noted she had looked upon him with extraordinary attention, he even wished he had not taken him, and could not conceal his anger from Berelisa; who perceiving it, and not being thereat displeased, suddenly changed her manner of speech, to answer to the Raillery of the Agrigentine Prince: She told him that after some consideration, she imagined she should perform a charitable Office, to give love to this Prisoner, but to the end (pursued she) that the more glory should reflect on me, I must first know whether he is a person of quality, whether he is of your enemy's Country, or whether he is amorous, that I may effare his first Mistress from his heart, that I oblige him to renounce his party, and to forget his Country. But if he should change his party (replied Terillus) would he be worthy of your esteem? and do you believe, that a man without honour should merit your love? For my part, replied Berelisa, I love glory as much as any person, and I cannot suffer a degenerate action; but in case of love, I would not have honour to be alleged to me, to destroy my intentions; and if I had a Lover, and that I was so unjust as to demand a testimony of affection from him, which did not rightly square with Justice, I would he should be unjust for the love of me, and that he should yield to love me; for if I make no scruple to be injust for the love of myself, sure I cannot think it fit my Lover should do it for the love of himself, and that he prefers his interest to my will, I know to speak prudently, love ought not to contradict honour, but to speak as Mistress of it; Love aught to make a Lover act any thing to please his Lady. Ah Berelisa (replied Philonice) you say too much of it, for the means to esteem him who obeys you, if you command him any unworthy act. I have already told you, replied she, that I can esteem my Lover no more than myself, and that I would he should be capable of all that I do, and all that I would have him do; 'tis not that I should be assured, I should be ever incapable to command any indignity; but I am likewise assured, that a Mistress cannot think it good that she should not be blindly obeyed, and that if he disobeys, he should yet pretend to be a lover. For my part, replied the Prince of Agrigentine, which have (it may be) as much experience in love as war, I believe that a man of honour, which sees himself constrained to commit an unworthy action, or disobey his Mistress, ought not to perform her commands, but desert his Empire, and endeavour to cure his amorous Lethargy, by the knowledge he hath of her Injustice, but he ought not to pretend to continue to be beloved, sure to speak of the thing in general, it appertains not to a disobedient lover to aspire to that advantage, and when 'tis ones misfortune to love a less generous person, he must renounce her love and favours, to preserve his liberty, to reason on all that she commands him; it is a thing so opposite to the Laws of this Passion, that 'tis only fit to destroy the Empire of Love; all those Titles of Prisoner, Captive and Slave, which are given to a Lover, are infallible marks he is obliged to obey; and he must relinquish the Empire of this God, which makes so many happy and unhappy, if he will not obey without reason and knowledge, but when I conclude, he must always obey his Mistress, I infer he must submit to none but those who have generous hearts. But Sir, replied Terillus (whose spirit was enraged) if a man is obliged to obey without any consideration, what then belongs to reciprocal Love? Do you think it should be just that a woman should refuse inconsiderable favours, saying, her virtue restrains her, and that a man may not say to a woman that he is retained by love from obeying her? For if you desire a Lady to give you an assignation, she says by doing it, she should hazard her reputation: if you entreat her to write to you, she will answer you, that though it may be innocent, it is so dangerous to accustom herself thereto, that she cannot resolve to do it, and these things she refuses by a resentment of glory, are not things criminal, yet you will have a Lover refuse nothing; and that in a word, there should be no reciprocal Love. I pray, replied Philonice, to please Berelisa, do not you imagine, that if it should be true that a woman might love as she should be beloved, she was obliged to the same things, for there are reciprocal affections, whose testimonies ought to be different. 'Tis true, said the Prince of Agrigentine, for Kings ought to love their Subjects, and Subjects their Kings, yet their obligations are different; for the one hath power to command, the other ought to obey. Fathers and Children ought likewise to have a mutual affection, and so there should be between Masters and Slaves, though their Duties have no resemblance; likewise, though the heart of a Mistress, as well as a Lovers, aught to be tipped with a tender beam of affection, yet the testimonies have some disagreement; a lover was never heard to say to his Mistress, I command you to obey me; yet no person is ignorant, but in a Lady's mouth a command is more obliging than a request, and between entreating, ordaining and commanding, custom hath yet certain distinctions, which makes a lover, whose heart is framed in the delicate mould of love, rather to desire his Mistress to ordain, than entreat any thing of him, and to conceive a greater pleasure would accrue to him by the word command, than request; therefore I conclude, that a lover must obey, or relinquish his love; for as soon as he commits any disobedience, he flies his love, and hath no more right to pretend to any affection: and if the fair Berelisa can acquire this valiant Prisoner to inrol himself under my Standard, I shall esteem it a greater felicity. I confess (replied she) I should not be displeased at it; and were I advantaged with a larger proportion of Beauty, or graced with more charms fit to conquer hearts, I would not despair of my intended surprisal; for all my intelligent faculties seem to court my heart to affect him. You sometimes so harshly censure those you know, said Terillus to her, that this your new kind of injustice doth not surprise me. Those you say I know are, it may be such strangers to themselves (replied Berelisa to him, her accent expressing her anger) that they have no great reason to accuse me of injustice. After these words the Prince of Agrigentine changed the Discourse, speaking to all the Ladies, which were to accompany the Princess, the subsequent day to the Chase; and when night began to veil the sky with its sable mantle, the Prince and Philonice, with all the other Ladies returned to the Palace situate in the middle of the City; Terillus followed the Prince of Agrigentine, and Berelisa remained at her Father's house, who was named Afranor, and who being of the most conspicuous quality next the Prince, had the sole power committed to him, when the Prince engaged in any warlike action. In the mean time the Chase next day was performed with all imaginable magnificence; the day was ushered in by a fair morning, not one cloud wrinkling the brow of heaven, and the company wholly fashioned to delight Philonice, who could guide with much dexterity the reins of her horse, and who was dressed after the most gallant exquisite mode, had this day all the pleasantness of her humour, and Berelisa alone had such disposition to melancholy, that she could not surmount it; Philonice had therefore for her a thousand obliging cares; for though she did not passionately love blue, which she had caused to be used at Agrigentine, on purpose to please Berelisa, she was at this time clothed in that amiable colour; she had sent to her a kind of Coif with plumes, to shade her from the scorching heat of Phoebus; and in fine, she forgot nothing which she thought might oblige her to banish this severe melancholy. Nevertheless Berelisa could not conceal her distemper. 'Tis true, that as she did not affect Terillus, and that he did this day importune her, she conceived him to be the sole cause of her anxiety; and when Philonice having separated her from the company, demanded her the reason of it: she answered her it was the great concourse of people. But, said Berelisa to her, who would you banish? I would assuredly banish Terillus, replied she, and if I might effect my desires, added she smiling, I think I should send him to the place of that valiant Prisoner, to whom I would willingly resign his, for at least, if he did not delight, he would not importune me. Seriously (said Philonice to her, shadowing her cheeks with a modest smile) I believe the valour of that Unknown Person sways your inclination. 'Tis true, I have a good opinion of him, replied Berelisa, but above all, that which engages me to desire to serve him, is, a resentment of amity; for (as you know) I have a Brother very dear to me, who hath already completed a year in peregrination, and who it may be is exposed to such adventures; I fancy that there is a certain equity which obligeth the gods to render us all the good we desire; and I am resolved to desire all I may for this Unknown, in hope that the gods will cause the like to be retaliated to my Brother, in what place soever he resides; for, as you know, Telesis is as well my Friend as Brother, and I am both his Sister and Confident; and conceiving myself more obliged to love him, because he treats me as a Friend, then because he is my Brother, my thoughts continually reflect on him, and 'tis assuredly the precedent motive, which hath induced me to interest myself in this valiant Unknown. Telesis is certainly worthy of your expressive tenderness, replied Philonice, but I know not (added she) if this Prisoner was deficient in those noble qualities which had raised him to the height of an accomplished man, he would as much remember you. There's no doubt of that, replied Berelisa, but I principally interest myself in this Unknown, because there's some resemblance between him and my Brother; for Telesis is nigh of his age, he is (as you know) well proportioned, he hath given some evident testimonies of his courage, he hath spirit; and in fine (if I dare say it) as gallant as the Prisoner seems to be. As Berelisa thus spoke, she was interrupted by the Agrigentine Prince, who told her the Chase would not permit a long discourse, and that they should not transpose the pleasures of it; so that Berelisa gallantly answering the Agrigentine Prince, the rest of the Chase passed in an agreeable manner, and at night the Prince made a magnificent Feast to all the Ladies, which had enjoyed the benefit of this Princely sport; Artemidorus, who was lodged in a Chamber, which looked upon the garden of the Agrigentine Castle, had seen them return from the Chase; for though his Chamber was but a foot higher than the Garden, it was built on such a rising ground, that it discovered all the Country which environed the City; the sight of a company where joy seemed to be so universal, gave some addition to his melancholy; for he imagined what would be Clidimiras grief, if she knew he was Prisoner to an enemy of the Leontine Prince; he even thought that his absence alone would cause her an incredible affliction, and when he remembered all those demonstrations of affection, which had passed between them, he doubted not but she should employ all the moments of her life to think of him, and regret his absence; and he felt not only his own grief, but he suffered that which he presupposed Clidimira would endure for his consideration. In the mean time, his Guards reported divers things to Afranor, which persuaded him that this Prisoner was of a greater condition than he said; he was kept very exactly, though treated with much civility, he had the liberty in the day time to be alone is his Chamber, and those which had taken, had not risled him, because his Valour claimed their respect, he had divers Letters of Clidimira, which he often perused to consolate himself; for when he departed from Messina, he thought that desiring to pass for a simple Cavalier, 'twas not convenient for him to carry that precious Casket, which was depositary of all the secrets of his heart, but contented himself to take the Letters of Clidimira, to give him some consolation during his voyage: Artemidorus living in this manner, spent whole days in ruminating on Clidimira: and Berelisa a resentment of inclination, pity, generosity, and tenderness for her absent Brother, was very solicirous to render this Prisoner all those things she conceived might sweeten the rigour of his imprisonment: But if in the beginning she believed herself obliged by the prementioned reasons, she found herself afterwards engaged by a more puissant motive: You may remember (as I have already told you) that the Chamber of Artemidorus was a foot higher than the Garden, from whence the prospect is very delicate; for it had two Windows, the one facing the Campagn, the other the end of a Walk, which looked upon a Garden-knot, so enameled with the choicest of Flora's treasures, and beautified by Art in such ingenious manner, that Art and Nature did contend therein for mastery. This Walk being very agreeable when the Sun doth not gild it with its radiant Beams, Berelisa towards the Evening often repaired thither, and there being two seats at the ends, and in the middle of this Walk to repose on, commodiously to enjoy the fair prospect, there was a seat against the Window of Artemidorus so contrived, that though the Window was grated, it admitted the conveniency of discourse with those which were seated on this side the Walk. It often happened, that Artemidorus, which was obliged to Berelisa for the good opinion she had testified of him, saluted her with much respect, when his Window was found open; and Berelisa, who was civil and courteous, and who had a secret unknown reason, which rendered her more affable than ordinary, did often entertain discourse with Artemidorus; but as 'twas not possible for her to harbour an ill opinion of him; the more she saw, the more she esteemed him; and seeing melancholy enthroned in his face, compassion so invaded her heart, that seeing every day the charming Princess of Agrigentine more usually than before; the Prince her Father being gone to the War, she often spoke to her of her Prisoner, for she sometimes used that term, she having such a special care of him, and she did it principally to give Berelisa the curiosity to converse with him, to the end that acknowledging his merit; she might at the Prince her Father's return, endeavour to obtain his liberty, and Philonice, who is compassionate and generous, and who seeks occasions to render any one any courteous office, told Berelisa, that the first fair day she would go to the Castle of Agrigentine, to see if she had reason to give such encomiums of her Prisoner's spirit, as 'twas then the fairest season in the year: the next being serene and calm, correspondent to the desires of this Princess, and she being willing to perform her promise made to Berelisa, went to the Castle with this amiable Virgin, accompanied with many Ladies, carrying likewise with her one that had relation to her, whom the Prince of Agrigentine had sent to certify her of a considerable advantage he had gained over his enemies; for he was one of Berelisas' Friends, and was of a pleasant disposition, she believed he would render their recreation more delightful, and it succeeded as she imagined; Berelisas' humour being at this time tuned to the highest pitch of mirth; but in fine (without trespassing on your patience, by relating those things which have no reference to the life of Artemidorus) I shall tell you, that the hour being come when they might take a commodious walk in the place, I have already mentioned, Philonice, and all the company went thither; but as Berelisae told her, she would not expose her Prisoner to speak before so many persons; the Princess only (followed by Berelisa) went towards the Window of Artemidorus; who seeing the Princess approach, saluted her with a profound reverence; after which (through respect) he would have withdrawn himself from the Window; but Philonice recalled him, Return valiant Unknown, said she to him, return, and do not fly those who seek you. I am, Madam, so unworthy of this honour, replied he, that you ought not to think it strange, if I would have deprived myself of a pleasure that I am incapable to merit. All honest unhappy persons, replied the generous Philonice, merit every one's compassion; and if you should be but what you pretend, you would deserve the protection I offer you; but to speak sincerely to you, I desire you precisely to tell me whence and who you are? If I would, Madam, replied Artemidorus, I might easily invent a lie, which you cannot presently disprove; but as I profess sincerity, I believe I had better ingeniously confess unto you, that I have reasons which depend on none but myself, which both obstruct me from telling you the place of my Birth, and from inventing any fabulous narration. But at least confess, replied she, that you are of a quality proportionable to your spirit, and that as you have neither the language nor heart, you have not the Birth of a simple Soldier; for in fine, I assure you Berelisa is very much your friend, and I should be as much, would you have this sincerity for me; you may confide your secret to us, without fearing to be betrayed. The secrets of an unhappy person, Madam, replied he, are so little worthy knowledge, that if I should be what you think I am, I should not acquaint you with mine, for I should appear very ungrateful to recompense your generosity by a long recital of melancholy adventures; therefore, Madam, if you please, do not command a thing that I cannot nor ought not to perform; and be certain, that I am so sensible of the honour you have done me, that if my misfortunes were of that nature to admit of any diminution, the honour you vouchsafe me, by conversing with me, would give a cessation to my miseries. Ah Berelisa, you have reason, said the Prince to her, and your Prisoner is not what he would make us believe. I pray, Madam, (said then Artemidorus) acquaint me whether the Prince of Agrigentine hath given me to the fair Berelisa. No, replied Philonice, but she so much interesses herself in your affairs, that she is insensiby accustomed to entitle you her Prisoner, and to oblige others to use that denomination; for as you will not discover your name, you ought to be known by some remarkable Title. I am very happy in my misfortune (replied he) to be the Prisoner of so fair and generous a person. In truth, said Berelisa blushing, you have thereby no great advantage; for though I call you my Prisoner, 'tis not in my power to break your chains. As she had thus said, all the company approached, so that Philonice being seated, and having commanded all the Ladies to take their seats, and Clisias likewise, whom the Prince of Agrigentine had sent to bring news of his Victory: The conversation began in this place, Artemidorus believing he was exempted, would have retired; but as Philonice had found the grandeur of his spirit, which had given her much curiosity, and being persuaded he was a person of quality, she commanded him to stay, and at least to give attention to what they said, if he would not have any conference with them: Artemidorus returned thanks to the Princess for the excessive bounty she had demonstrated to him, and remained, leaning against the bars of his Window, which looked upon the seat where this company were; hardly were they seated, but Clisias said, 'Twas more happier for one to be a Prisoner of War than Love. If one being a Prisoner of War could not be a Prisoner of Love (replied Philonice) you would have reason to speak as you do, but in my opinion, they are not incompatible chains, and one may have them both. In this case (replied Clisias) a man should be very unhappy. As he thus spoke, Berelisa casually looking on Artemidorus, saw he changed colour, and presupposing he might be both a Prisoner of War and Love, she had both a desire to say something to him, and to make Philonice note the change of his countenance; but a little after, repenting herself of this first thought, not knowing wherefore, she blushed, and held her peace, permitting Clisias to continue his discourse; who answered Philonice, he would ever maintain, that a Prisoner of War without Love, was less unhappy than a Prisoner of Love in Liberty. It seems to me agreeable, then said Philonice, that as there is no man here, but this valiant Unknown, which can know the weightiness of those divers chains, 'tis for him to give his opinion; for my part, who have ever had my heart free, who have never been a Prisoner, and who according to all appearance never shall be; I cannot give you a satisfactory answer, therefore I request Berelisa to command her Prisoner to answer you. As Love reigns in all Countries (replied Artemidorus) and it is found in all sorts of Persons, without any distinction of conditions, I will not say I do not know Love; therefore, Madam, without expecting the command of the fair Berelisa, I will obey you, and on the contrary maintain, that how unhappy soever a Prisoneu of Love is, he had better be so, than a Prisoner of War; 'tis not that the chains of a Lover are less weighty than those the fortune of War imposes on any man; but there are a thousand and a thousand pleasures which accompany the first, and which are not found in the second. But after all, said Clisias, a Prisoner of War, how carefully soever he may be kept, hath his heart and spirit free, and is certain one day to be freed from his restraint; whereas a Prisoner of Love in an apparent liberty, is in a continual slavery; for he not only doth not what he would, but doth not think what seems good to him; he knows not when his imprisonment will finish, nor can he wish the conclusion of it. That which you say, replied Artemidorus, seems to make against you; for since a Prisoner of War continually desires to recover his Liberty, and that a Prisoner of Love doth not desire it, it follows that the chains of Love are more pleasing than the others; in effect, there's no punition in Love, which hath not been preceded or followed by a pleasure, and desperation often comes after one hath tasted the sweetness of hope, without which there can never be any violent Love: for is it not true, that the grief of absence comes not, and cannot come till after one hath had the pleasure to enjoy the presence of a person one regrets? And fear likewise doth not possess a Lover's heart, till hope hath first led the way; and Jealousy is never altogether violent, if it is not in the heart of a beloved Lover, or who at least believes himself to be; 'tis not that other Lovers can be infected with Jealousy, but 'tis not so cruel as that I have before spoken of; moreover, those who have the infelicity to find Mistresses, whose Inconstancy renders them unhappy, have at least had the satisfaction to be beloved: and I in fine maintain (as I have already said) that all the punishments of Love are either preceded, or followed by most great pleasures; I likewise confidently say (added he) that a part of those pains, which make so many groan, sigh, and emit forth many dolorous exclamations, hath something more pleasing than that Liberty you mentioned, when you affirmed that a Prisoner of War without Love, is less miserable than an amorous man in Liberty. I subscribe to your opinion (replied Clisias) that there's no torments in Love, but are either preceded or followed by some pleasures; but to speak sincerely, those pleasures are dangerous, since they render the privation more sensible, and imprint all the subsequent misfortunes in a more lively character; for 'tis certain, that sometimes a favourable regard causes many displeasing hours; because one imagines, that if he was continually nigh the person he loved, and obtained nothing more than the only pleasure to see, and to be seen of her, he should be crowned with happiness; and nevertheless it often arrives, that after one hath tried a hundred inventions to attain but a sight of the beloved object; It happens, I say, she is found in a humorous temper, and that which he believed would have elevated him to the supreme top of felicity, often precipitates him into the gulf of despair; on the contrary, when one finds her affable, he is but a little more happy; for that Lover, who thinks he should be content, when he should be prostrate on his knees before his Mistress, at that time is deficient in many things, which should complete his happiness; likewise instead of praising that favour, she accords to him he hath so much desired, he requests an hundred other things, and believes himself as unfortunate, as if he had obtained nothing: I even affirm, that 'tis not in the power of the fairest person in the World, to make an ●norous man confess (during the space of six Months) that he is content; so true it is, that Love is uncapable of power to render one happy. I confess (replied Artemidorus) 'tis difficult to find a Lover which desires nothing, and who always says he is content; but I sustain, that that which frames one part of his pleasure, is, that there's always something wanting to his felicity, that he hath a certain species of an amorous inquietude, which is the most pleasing and agreeable pain imaginable, and that one of the most sensible pleasures is, to hope with an ardent desire. 'Tis true (replied Clisias) you have reason to speak so much of the advantage of hope; at least I know (pursued he) that I have noted an hundred, and an hundred times in my life, in divers occasions, that not only a Lover without hope hath no great pleasure, but that usually he merits no more to be happy, as soon as he is content; no sooner is he assured to be beloved, but the fire of his former love grows extinct, at least he is not so sensible, so solicitous, so exact, so complaisant, and so respectful as before, and the certainty he conceives to have pleased his Mistress, taking from him the desire to please, he comes sometimes to please no more. Ah Clisias, replied Berelisa, I would hate a Lover, if he would take as much care to preserve my heart, as he hath done to acquire it. You have reason, Madam (replied Artemidorus) for I believe a man which is negligent when beloved, deserves to be hated, and that it is as just to desert the love of those negligent Lovers, as those which are unfaithful: I know not (added he) if the procedure of those persons, whom good fortune buries in a certain Lethargy of heart, where they lose all the sensibility of love, have not something more outrageous than that of those inconstant Lovers, which are charmed with novelty; at least I know, that if I was a Lady in such an adventure, I should be more displeased, that my own charms destroy love in the heart of a Lover, than if others should deprive me of it. You discourse so well of this (replied Philonice, rising from her seat) that I die for fear you should not be at one time a Prisoner of War and Love. I am very rederable to you for such an obliging fear (replied Artemidorus) I therefore presuppose, Madam, that it only proceeds from a conceit you have, that I have not merit enough to entitle me a happy Lover. As Love is as blind as Fortune (replied Philonice) you know it never favours merit, and I confess to you, my thoughts did not proceed from that cause your modesty dictated to you: In fine, Philonice said something to Artemidorus, to intimate to him, she did not believe that which he said of himself; and to assure him, that she would serve in all occasions: After which she began to take a Walk; but whilst it lasted, Berelisas' Prisoner was the subject of their conversation: Philonice likewise prayed Clisias to entreat the Agrigentine Prince on her part, that this Prisoner might have liberty to take the Air, his Guards accompanying him; and few days were added to the age of time after Clisias return to the Camp, but Afranor had order to permit Artemidorus to go forth with his Guards, and that they should show him those things worthy of note in the City, which invite the curiosity of strangers: They presented to his sight the magnificent ruins of a great Palace, called the Palace of the Giants, where were Columns of such a prodigious immensity, that it evidently appeared the first Inhabitants in this Isle were of a larger proportion than other men; he likewise saw admirable Aqueducts, which are at Agrigentine; he visited the Temples of Aesculapius, of Vulcan, of Hercules, of Jupiter, of Concord, of Juno, and of Pudicity, that stately Structure being erected by the Princess of Philonice, to evidence the immaculate purity of her Soul; he saw many magnificent Tombs, built as Memorials for many Horses; for you must know, that those of the Agrigentine Land in particular, are of such admirable strength and beauty, that they are every where famous, and they are so excellently good, that their Masters have raised for them several magnificent Tombs, so great hath superfluity been at Agrigentine, since it increased in Riches; at first it was a City of small importance, but when Phalaris swayed the Sceptre, there were numbered nine hundred thousand Inhabitants. But to return to Artemidorus, since he had the permission to walk, he more often saw Berelisa, for in the design he had to acquire her friendship, to the end he might by her assistance more facilely recover his liberty: The more he saw her, the more Berelisa found him amiable; and this puissant inclination became so predominant, that she could not doubt but love did insensibly steal her heart; and as her Virtue was eminent, she blushed at this weak resistance, and would have made some opposition (thus correcting herself, as she hath since told me) What's become of my Reason? I despise Terillus who adores me, who is of a proportionate condition to mine, and resign my heart to an unknown Prisoner, who hath no affection for me, and who it may be hath placed his Love on another Object: But, said she, can I doubt of the condition of this Prisoner? His Spirit confirms me that his Birth is Noble, and all those groundless suspicions, which my imagination suggests to me of the pre-engagement of his heart; his civility to me disperses those airy vapours, and confirms me, that Love hath not yet triumphed over him, and that his heart is at my devotion? No Berelisa (added this amiable Virgin) flatter not thyself, and believe if he were in love, he would acquaint thee with it; and perhaps, if thou shouldst disclose thy affection to him, he would not credit it; resolve then to repel this dangerous inclination thou feelest ready to force thy heart; resist the merit of this Unknown, and wove not the web of thine own destruction, thou dar'st not commit this secret to the fidelity of any person, though it should crack the Organs of thy Vital Faculties. This was her last resolution, and during some time, she believed she had eradicated this affection from her heart, there happening an accident, which diverted herself from the contemplation of this object; for Telesis her Brother returned from Travel, and as they tenderly loved one another, their joy swelled to such an neight by the sight of each other, that all former occurrences were now buried in oblivion; he related to her all those adventures which happened in his voyage; he acquainted her with all the Achievements of gallantry he had performed in those places he had passed, and desiring to go to the Camp, though the Trees now began to be periwigged with Snow, he lest with her divers Letters. and the pourtracture of a person whom he then loved, and of whom he made a pleasing relation: Berelisa having her spirit thus busied, felt not for some days her usual inquietude; as her soul was in this tranquillity, she one Morning repaired to the aforesaid Walk, where she had hardly taken two turns, but she heard one speak very high in Artemidorus his Chamber: Berelisa hearing this noise, and not being able to comprehend the occasion of it, approaching thither, and heard the Prisoner earnestly entreat his Guard to redeliver what he had taken from him; and he answering in insolent terms, he would not, but that he would carry it to Afranor, to the end he should transmit it to the Agrigentine Prince: She had scarce heard this, when the Prisoner reiterated his entreaties with so much earnestness, that she conceived what had been taken from him, was of too great a concernment to be seen; so that tenderness engaging her heart, and curiosity her spirit, she called him by his name, who so much contested with Artemidorus: This man hearing himself called by his Master's Daughter, went to the Window, requesting her to inform him what she desired: I would have you tell me (said she to him) why you give such uncivil language to a Prisoner, whom you ought to treat with civility, and from whence proceeds the grounds of this Contestation? Madam, (replied this man, his eyes sparkling with anger) this Prisoner hath suborned some of my Companies, for having taken from him a Letter, with intention to carry it to my Master, he so much pressed me to render it him, that I was transported with anger, by reason he thought me capable to betray my fidelity. I pray, Madam, (said then Artemidorus, speaking to Berelisa) if you repent not of your excessive goodness towards me, do me the favour, I conjure you, to use your power over this man, as that Letter I have written may not be seen by any person. You see, Madam, (said he who had spoken to Artemidorus) this Letter must consequently be of importance, and that I should have injured the Trust reposed in me, if I had rendered it to him. I protest unto you, replied Artemidorus, that it neither concerns the Prince of Agrigentine, nor Afranor, but hath only reference to myself. To find a mean to reconcile you (replied Berelisa) permit me to survey your Letter, and rely on my discretion, and if I find that neither the Prince, nor my Father have any interest in it, I will redeliver it to you, and oblige him, who hath taken it from you, not to disclose any thing, neither will I ever speak of it; without this I am assured your Keeper will not render it to you: but on this occasion (added she) I believe I can easily obtain it, sure he imagines I will neither betray the Prince nor my Father. This man consenting to Berelisas' Proposition, Artemidorus was constrained to suffer this Virgin to peruse what he had written, imagining after she had perused it, she would permit him the favour to write another, or to send this to Clidimira, for 'twas to that fair person, to whom this this Letter w●● addressed: After he had consented to what 〈◊〉 proposed, and when his Keeper had given the Letter to Berelisa, she found it contained these words,  
IF I only tell you I am the unhappiest Prince in 〈◊〉 World, I should not sufficiently inform you of 〈◊〉 grandeur of my Misfortune;  
At these words Berelisa stayed, and a joyful 〈◊〉 motion seized her spirits, seeing that secret inclination which had taken possession of her So●● had a more noble foundation than she imagined so that this resentment renewing the tenderness of her heart, she often read these three or four lines, as if she had there desired to limit her curiosity; but at last rebeginning the Letter, she found the contents framed after this manner.  
IF I only tell you I am the unhappiest Prince in the World, I shall not sufficiently inform you of the grandeur of my Misfortune; but assuring you I 〈◊〉 the unhappiest Lover that e'er submitted to the 〈◊〉 of Love, my infelicity cannot be paralleled; for in 〈◊〉, my Liberty is restrained, I know not whether you 〈◊〉 free, nor whether till this time you have retained you affection inviolable; I am only ascertained that I ●●●cy your Idea continually present before my eyes; 〈◊〉 all the compassion of two of the most exquisite 〈◊〉 Nature e'er made for wonder, cannot sweeten the rigour of those miseries I endure: Behold to a Chaning—  
As this Letter was not fully finished, Berelisa could know no more, but she knew enough to disturb her repose; since if the beginning flattered her with joy, the conclusion sadded her heart with grief: for if she had learned this Prisoner was a Prince, she had likewise learned he was a Lover, and that he believed he was beloved: and as she learned it with some agitation of spirit, her Cheeks were planted with a roseate tincture, insomuch that she turned her head to conceal her blushing from Artomidorus. In this disturbance of her heart, grief produced the same effect, as joy had done before, giving an additional renovation to that esteem she conceived his merits might command; for there is nothing fitter to augment a newborn inclination in the hearts of most women, than to learn that those they love have already gained the affections of others. Berelisa was in a strange perplexity, time not permitting her so much leisure as to consult her reason in this occasion; but at last generosity and tenderness being the more prevalent, she told his Keeper, that this Letter neither concerned the Prince of Agrigentine, nor Afranor, expressly commanding him not to speak of it; and being induced by a jealous resentment, she commanded his Keeper to endeavour the discovery of him, whom Artemidorus had suborned, to the end he should be dismissed his place; afterwards she desired him to leave the Prisoner at liberty, to speak with her in the Garden, that she might render his Letter to him; and this man obeying her, Artemidorus came to render her thanks, and to spend some time in walking with her, whilst two of her attendants spoke to him, who commanded Artemidorus his Guards at the end of this Walk. How shall I methodize my language, Madam, said he to her, to thank you for your last signal favour, and what may I do to testify unto you my recognition? You will cancel that obligation (said Berelisa, the blood leaping into her face) by wholly confiding yourself to my discretion, for though your Letter acquaints me you are of Royal extraction, that you are amorous, and that your Love is reciprocal, it doth neither inform me of your name, nor hers you Love, nor of the place of your Nativity; and I desire satisfaction in those things before I redeliver your Letter. Ah, Madam, said he to her, if you knew the importance of your demand, you would, it may be, not persist in requesting it; for you are so generous, that I am confident you would not prejudice me in any thing. On the contrary (replied Berelisa) 'tis principally to generous persons, to whom it appertains to be in power to prejudice, because they have no good will to act it; therefore without repenting what I have said, I redemand satisfaction in those three things. For my Name and Country (replied Artemidorus) I can tell you, not being ashamed of either, though I cannot do it, both without danger and prudence; but for the name of the person I love, since my Letter hath not declared it to you, I suppose I ought not to do it, and you aught less to persevere in that demand, added he, you are so obliged to that charming person; for, Madam, if she had not enslaved my heart, and had I been free, when I came to Agrigentine, I should assuredly have been amorous of you, and doubtless much importuned you with my complaints; for as I love with an immeasurable ardour, I should have caused you more displeasure than Terillus; therefore, Madam, since you have this obligation to the person whom I love, constrain me not to violate my discretion, and remain satisfied that I expose myself to sufficient danger, by telling you that I am Brother to the Enemy of the Agrigentine Prince. What? (replied Berelisa) Are you Artemidorus, Brother to the Leontine Prince, who departed from this place about six months since? Yes, Madam, I am that Artemidorus, who would not, it may be, have been so civilly treated, as he is by the Agrigentine Prince, and the charming Philonice, had they known his true condition; I therefore declare to you, Madam, (said he) that the only interest of my love hath obliged me to to fear a long imprisonment, and hath detained me from discovering my quality. Whilst Artemidorus thus spoke, Berelisas' spirit was much disturbed; for you must know, that Telesis her Brother, who had related to her all the adventures of his Voyage, had told her, that he was amorous and beloved by a Leontine Virgin, whom the Prince Artemidorus (absent from thence) formerly affected, and that he had left in her custody at his going to the Camp, a Pourtraicture, and many Letters; but as she had given but slight attention to his relation, she not imagining to have any particular interest therein, she had forgot the name of that person, and not knowing, if it were her, to whom Artemidorus had begun to write, she had both an extreme desire to acquaint him with her Brother's recital; and to peruse those Letters he had left with her, to see whether she could gather any satisfaction from them: As her imagination fancied divers things, the irresolution of her spirit was visible in her eyes; which Artemidorus nothing, believed her inquietude proceeded from her not being resolved whether she should discover his quality to her Father, that he might declare it to the Agrigentine Prince: But this opinion soon vanished, for Berelisa devining his thoughts, and not willing he should believe her capable to reveal a secret he had confided to her, thus said, looking attentively on him; Think not I examine whether I ought to discover your Name, I declare to you I am not resolved to reveal it, on condition you will promise me two things, the one not to enterprise any thing against the Agrigentine Prince, the other positively to tell me all your love; for it may be I know many particulars in your Fortune, of which you yourself are ignorant. As they were on these terms, and that Artemidorus demanded of Berelisa the beginning of his Letter, Philonice arrived; Berelisa therefore not being willing neither to answer nor to deliver him his Letter, went to the Princess, who made her a thousand caresses, and told her she came to bring her good news; for in fine, said this charming Princess, the Prince my Father will return in four days, having finished the War with Honour; and having forced his Enemies to make Peace, and till 'tis concluded, Clisias hath obtained that your Prisoner should be on his Parole, and that he may walk where he pleases without his Guards, on condition every night he repairs to his Lodging in the Castle; the conversation Clisias had with him, having imprinted such a good opinion of him in his mind, that he thought himself bound to perform this civil courtesy, and if you believe it requisite, he shall accompany us when we go to meet the Prince of Agrigentine at Carisalis, which, as you know, is about eight miles hence; for it seems just to me you should permit your Prisoner to go, to the end he not appears ingrateful: Berelisa, whose spirit was prepossessed with many different things, did not give a regular answer to that which Philonice propounded; she therefore made a sign to Artemidorus, who remained behind, to approach; telling him he was obliged to the Prince of Agrigentine, and explaining to him of what nature was this obligation. Artemidorus receiving much joy at this news, gave many thanks to the Princess: But I pray, said she to him, do not thank me yet, for it may be Peace may not be easily concluded, and many Months may be expired e'er you recover your Liberty; but your Guards being dismissed (added she) be more cheerful, and expect the end of the War with more tranquillity. Artemidorus answered to this discourse with much spirit and civility; and Berelisa being in a profound melancholy study, Philonice jested with her, demanding the cause it; for, said she, you are less subject than any Virgin to those absences of spirit, which reproach so many amiable persons, your heart is ever amongst those with whom you are, you divide not yourself betwixt your present and absent Friends, and it must necessarily be, there's something which pleases, or extraordinarily displeases you: In the mean time, you have need that the gaiety of your humour appears in its greatest lustre the day we go to Carisalis, since I intent all the Ladies shall go thither on Horse, decked in their most gorgeous attire: Berelisa then endeavouring to replant the banished joy in her face, told the Princess that she was somewhat indisposed, but she hoped her indisposition would diminish ere the day she intended to meet the Agrigentine Prince; but whatsoever she did, 'twas impossible for her to remit in her eyes their ordinary tranquillity; and Philonice returned; not being able to penetrate into the secret of her heart. Before her departure, she made known to Afranor the Order of the Prince of Agrigentine, whose Letter she showed him, so that Artemidorus was not obliged to suffer the inutility of his Guards: But though it effectively gave him joy, he could not hinder himself from being afflicted, that this Order came not one day sooner, because he should not have been exposed to that adventure he had been, nor engaged to discover his secret to Berclisa: He infinitely esteemed, and had much amity for her, but in case of love, he affected not to discover it to any one, if necessity did not thereunto compel him. This grief was nothing in comparison of Berelisas, when she was alone in her Chamber; for that violence and puissant inclination she had for Artemidorus, which she thought she had overcome, suddenly assaulted her Soul; and the knowledge of his condition and love, placed both a resentment of glory and jealousy in her heart, which augmented her tenderness: As soon as she was in her Chamber, she had a design to look on all those things T●lesis had left in her custody; but one of her Maids who had shut the door, not thinking of it, remaining yet in the Garden, she must have patience till she could be called; but expecting her coming, What did she not think? What said this amiable Virgin to herself? Have I surmounted my heart, when I did not know Artemidorus? and can I not be Mistress of it, when I know he is amorous, and is beloved? But if it chance (replied she) that the Person my Brother loves at Leontine is the same who hath inflamed Artemidorus; would it not be possible to banish her from his heart, by displaying her infidelity? for by that means I shall render a courtesy to my Brother, by taking from him such a Rival, and it may be to myself, if I can acquire such a Lover. But what do I say, Fool as I am (replied she, as she hath since told me) have I lost my Reason? or am I so inglorious as to desire to love one who doth not affect me? No, no, added she, I have not doubtless such degenerate thoughts, as to love Artemidorus, but I at least imagine that the desire to gain his love is not criminal, whilst it neither makes me say or do any thing repugnant to the exact rule of decency; the desire to please in general is not esteemed a crime, wherefore then should it be one to desire to please a great Prince in particular, without any other design than to be preferred by him before all other persons in the World. As she had thus said, her Maid arrived, and opened the Cabinet, where she presently entered; and visiting all the Letters her Brother had left, she was clearly convinced that the person who had writ them, was the same of whom Artemidorus imagined he was faithfully beloved; she looked on the Pourtraicture; but though her Mirror spoke her Beauty superior to Clidimiras, she found a certain Air in the Physiognomy of her Rival, which much displeased her, it seeming very agreeable, and she even dispaired, finding so much spite in Clidimiras Letters, because she feared the sight of this Pourtraicture, and those Letters would only introduce jealousies into Artemidorus his heart, without chase Love from thence, and that she should give an Enemy to her Brother, without acquiring a lover, yet had she some pleasure to think she should acquaint him, whose heart she would conquer, that his Mistress was unfaithful; for, said she, as soon as he shall be informed what had passed at Leontine, he shall know the very next day after he departed, there arrived a stranger who presently gained the estimation of Clidimira; and perhaps, if I pre-acquaint him with her infidelity, he will esteem himself obliged to retribute to me my courtesy I desire: But presently suppressing the imagination, she could not resolve to do it, and doubtless she would never have performed it, had she not received the next Morning a Letter from her Brother, intimating to her that the Prince of Agrigentine had sent him to Syracuse, to negotiate some important Affair, and that from thence he would go to Leontine, to have some private conference with Clidimira. Berelisa then seeing her Brother absent, conceived it the best time to prosecute her intended resolution: Though this thought did seem to settle the emotion of her spirit, sleep did not this night close the casements of her eyes, and the Sun did no sooner gild the fringes of the Clouds with his luminous radiations, but she took an exact survey of Clidimiras Pourtraicture, and reperused her Letters: She would have reserved some Letters from Artemidorus, they being flourished with too much Eloquence; but it happened that in those which were most Rethorical, her affection to Telesis was painted in such lively Colours, that they conduced most to eraze Clidimiras love from the heart of Artemidorus; Pity likewise invader her heart, when she read those affectionate lines this Prince began to write to this Leontine Virgin, considering ●● what height his grief would swell, when he learned his love was requited with such ingratitude; but when she remembered he had told her, that if his heart had not been pre-engaged, she should have been the Saint, to whom he would have paid his devotions; and the Letter he began to write to Clidimira, evidencing this verity, her modesty could not hinder her from wishing his love to Clidimira, was now buried in oblivion, though she was resolved not to testify any affection to Artemidorus, nor to act any thing which might in the least blemish her reputation, unless he first by his amorous, yet real expressions, confessed Clidimiras inconstancy had stopped the progress of his love; and that he made to her a total resignation of his heart: But not knowing how to compass the discovery of this design, Artemidorus presented her with an opportunity to effect it; for after he had visited Afranor, and the Princess Philonice, he thought himself so obliged to Berelisa, that she might justly challenge the next visit; he therefore went to her Chamber, and found her in her Cabinet, there being nigh her on a little Jasper Table, the Pourtraicture of Clidimira (the case whereof was shut) her Letters were likewise there, he not knowing whose they were, by reason he could not see the Writing; Her eye no sooner reached him, but Berelisa blushed, and would have treated him with more ceremony than ordinary; but Artemidorus opposed it with much address: I pray, Madam, (said he, in a low voice approaching to her) remember that 'tis but for you I am Artemidorus at Agrigentine, and that in what estate soever I may be, I should have more glory by respecting you, than by receiving so many inutile demonstrations of your Bounty. After that she desired Artemidorus to take a seat, which having done, he earnestly entreated her to render him that Letter he had begun to write to the person whom he loved. That Person, replied Berelisa blushing, is so unworthy to receive, that I believe myself bound not to restore it to you. Ah, Madam (cried Artemidorus) it appears you do not know her, for I can assure you, if you knew her. I know not (replied she, her Cheeks being stained with Blushes) what I should do, if I knew her by myself, but I am very well assured I hate her for the love of you; for not to veil truth with artificial conceits, you love an unfaithful person, who certainly is very affectionate to them she loves, but who contracts an irreconcilable hatred against those whose affections she hath deserved. But, Madam, (cried Artemidorus, much astonished at those words) I have not told you the Persons name whom I love, and I believe 'tis impossible since yesterday you should have notice of it. To demonstrate to you what I know (replied she, opening the case where Clidimiras Pourtraicture was enclosed) see if you know this Picture. Ah, Madam, (cried Artemidorus) I know it too well, if 'tis true, Clidimira should be unfaithful; but, Madam, (added he, changing colour) who gave you this Pourtraicture, which was at first intended for me, and which had not received the last hand of the Painter before my departure? Hath not Clidimira sent it me to bring me some consolation during my imprisonment? And hath not this charming person, heving notice of the place of my residence, by some way unknown to me, thought by this means to obstruct my death? You will see by this Letter (replied Berelisa) giving him one her Brother had left her; and Artemidorus taking that she offered to him, suddenly opened it, and knowing the Characters were framed by Clidimiras hand, he read these words,  
Clidimira to Telesis.  
I Confess to you Artemidorus hath given me many testimonies of affection, and likewise assure you this Picture was at first designed for him; but the mutability of my Fortune intruding many intimable obstacles to impede the progression of this love, my reason did at last free me from it; and as I doubt not but absence will be a sufficient remedy to cure the affection of Artemidorus, I freely engage myself to permit yours; and promise you (as you desire) that if his love receives no variation; it will not in the least alter my intent, of having no Commerce with him, and of loving Telesis, whilst he perseveres in his love to Clidimira.  
Whilst Artemidorus read this Letter, Berelisa attentively fixed her eyes upon him, and noting the change of his countenance, expressed some emotion of joy; which Artemidorus taking notice: What, Madam, (said he to her) have you the cruelty (though you exceed in all excellent qualities any person in the World) to acquaint me with such doleful news? For in fine, there's nothing more cruel than to know Clidimira is inconstant, and that my Rival is the Brother of the generous Berelisa, to whom my obligations are innumerable: But, Madam, (added he) how can I so soon deface Clidimiras Image engraven in my heart, for whom I have acted those things which deserve a larger compensation; for her alone I have contracted the anger of the Prince my Brother, for her I have destroyed my Fortune, and rejected Glory; can it be then possible that Clidimira, from whom I have received so many amorous testimonies, should resign her love to another? Speak, generous Berelisa speak, for though I have accused you of cruelty, you can bind me in no stricter obligation, than to discover all you know of Clidimiras infidelity, and to suffer me to peruse all her Letters which serve to the confirmation of it. I will voluntarily do it, replied Berelisa, on condition you promise me not to be my Brother's Enemy, who hath not injured you, since he knows you not, and that he believes you did not in the least pretend to her, when she engaged herself to him. Ah, Madam, replied Artemidorus, 'tis not possible for me to promise you not to hate a Rival, crowned with the Title of Happiness; and all that I can promise you is, That your amity shall retain the effects of my hatred against Telesis: Speak then, Madam, speak, but do not speak yet, and let me first see all Clidimiras Letters; and she having given him one, he opened it, which contained these words,  
Clidimira to Telesis.  
IF Joy is a favourable Disposition to Love, you will sometimes find me the pleasantest person alive; I know not whence it proceedeth, whether from the simple effect of my Temperament, or from the Conquest of your heart; and neither you nor Fortune can ruin this serene humour, unless you banish my love from thence.  
Ah Clidimira (said Artemidorus, casting this Letter on the Table) 'tis your gaiety will channel my Cheeks with tears, but 'tis requisite for me to know how far your perfidiousness hath transported you; and opening another Letter, he was much surprised to see 'twas one he had formerly wrote to Clidimira; which he would have sacrificed to his anger, had not Berelisa hindered him. Ah Artemidorus (said she to him) what intent you to do? I am but the depositary of these things I show you, I ought to render them to my Brother, with whom I should have great contestation, had I lost that he confided to my care. But, Madam, said Artemidorus, can I suffer a Letter I heretofore wrote to Clidimira, to be in my Rivals hands? Look on another (said she) and let me view that: and Berelisa by an amorous curiosity being disposed to read that Letter, Artemidorus desired to hear it read, conceiving it would be a means to heighten his intended hatred against Clidimira; and Berelisa opening it, it spoke these words.  
Artemidorus to Clidimira.  
I Shall have this day, Madam, the honour to visit you, but 'twill be only in Ceremony, and with as much care to smother my passion, as I should have had in the Declaration of it: Pity me, I pray you, and whether my spirit suffers an Eclipse or not, assure yourself, that the sole love of the admirable Clidimira, can either give or deprive me of it, and that neither my words or silence serve but to evidence your dominion over me.  
I spoke this, Madam, said Artemidorus, when I believed Clidimiras heart was moulded in the same frame as mine; but alas, her thoughts now stream in another current! After this he opened one of Clidimiras Letters, charactered in this manner.  
Clidimira to Telesis.  
I Think you aught to be assured of my affection, when I tell you I love you; and that I voluntarily resolve (without my Parent's consent) to desert my Country, and run your Fortune. But since you require new assurances of my Love, I declare to you, that if I ever violate my promise, I willingly consent you should blot me out of your remembrance, as I have Artemidorus out of mine.  
Ah! 'tis too much, cried this afflicted Lover, and I should degenerate from all men, if I should still retain the same affection for Clidimira: But alas (added he) I cannot hate her when I would! I crave your pardon, said Berelisa to him, for occasioning this distemper; for I imagined myself obliged (Clidimira being soon to be titled my Sister) to incense you against her, that you might sequester a Passion from your Spirit, which would infallibly rob it of all repose. I am bound to you Madam, (replied Artemidorus) for your good intention; but my obligation would be extreme, if you would so far honour me, to condescend to permit my love, to the end my heart might be imprinted with an indelible hatred against Clidimira. Berelisa blushed at this discourse, and had not power to shape a reply: 'Tis true, Artemidorus took notice of it; for his grief did so exceed the limits of moderation, that he scarce knew in what language he had expressed himself to her: And having entreated Berelisa to relate to him the commencement of the love of Telesis for Clidimira, she told him, the same day he departed from Leontine, Telesis there arrived; and seeing Clidimira come forth of the Temple of Ceres, where she had been enclosed, lest she should see Artemidorus, he at first sight found her so amiable, that he sought her acquaintance; and having the happiness to please her, she had so much joy to find herself free, after she had endured such a long imprisonment, that she was resolved to deliver herself from a Pareille persecution, by forgetting her first Love; and to suffer that of Telesis, who engaged himself to her at his departure, to return to espouse her, as soon as he should have obtained Afranor's consent. But, said Artemidorus to her, is not this a delusion of Clidimira, to acquire some tranquillity during my absence? No, replied Berelisa, my Brother hath told me, that what you allege being suspected, Clidimira submitted herself to the proof of that famous and sacred Lake, which (as you know) clears all dubious conjectures. But as we are not acquainted with the operations of it, said Amilcar interrupting Zenocrates, and that the reports which are framed thereof do not give us a plenary satisfaction, we entreat you (as far as you know) to content our desires. As I am no Leontine, replied Zenocrates, I cannot give you so full an instruction as others; I only know 'tis a general opinion, that when one assures any thing as true, and that he swears it on the brink of a Lake nigh Leontine, if he writes his name on a little Table of Wood, destined to that purpose, and that he casts it into the middle of that Lake, it floats at the top, if what he says is true; but if false, it descends to the bottom: It is likewise ascertained, that he which is perjured, is at the same time seized with a kind of a slow consuming Fever, which pines him to death. And this opinion is so received at Leontine, that when a person puts himself to the Trial of Dela, for so 'tis called, the verity of the words are unquestionable. Berelisa having told Artemidorus, Clidimiras affection to Telesis was experimented in this manner, his affliction was so unconfined, that Berelisa repented herself for having reduced him to such extreme misfortune: He was not transported with anger against Telesis, but complained of none but Clidimira, all whose Letters he severally perused; but the more he read, the fuller evidence he had of her infidelity: At length Berelisa smoothed his grief with such obliging words, that he rescued part of that consolation his affection had put to flight; for, said she to him, it grieves me that my Brother should occasion your displeasure: 'Tis not (added she) since Clidimira was capable of change, she would not have changed, if my Brother had never seen her; for I believe inconstancy doth not so much proceed from one who particularly delights those which are capable of infidelity, but because their pleasures are generally swayed by novelty: therefore generous Artemidorus, seek to consolate yourself, till your good fortune presents you with a Person more constant than Clidimira, to recompense that fidelity you have wasted on an unfaithful person. Ah, Madam, said he to her, were it possible for me to unchain my heart from Clidimiras love, and levelly it at another object, would you counsel me to expose myself to suffer such unparallelled affliction, as I now endure? If I believed (replied Berelisa blushing) that all women were as unfaithful as Clidimira, I would not insinuate such dangerous counsel; but, Sir, I cannot harbour such an ill opinion of my Sex, as to believe it impossible to find a constant Virgin; I know there are many that deserve that Title. Alas, Madam, said he to her, I fear I shall not be so happy to disenchant myself from this passion; I would now act the most difficult things imaginable to force my hatred against Clidimira; I would willingly resign my affection to another, though a thousand dangers attended it; but I feel in my heart such a grand confusion of Jealousy, Grief, Anger and Love, that I know not which of them will be the most predominant. In the mean time, Madam, added he, the friendship and respect you command from me, retains me from expressing any anger against that happy Rival, which triumphs in my miseries; and believe that except the unfaithful Clidimira, never any person could claim the like esteem as you; Dispense therefore (Madam) with so much goodness, as to alleviate my affliction, and let me find more stability in your friendship, than the love of that inconstant person hath denied me. I assure you (replied Berelisa) that if it lay in my power, I would soon period your misfortune; but as that depends more on Artemidorus than Berelisa, disquiet not your thoughts, but yield to reason, which will soon remedy this unjust grief. Ah, Madam (replied he) this Disease destroys the cure of reason. After this Artemidorus incited by an irresistible motion, would have opened the case of Clidimiras Portraiture; but Berelisa who feared the sight of this Picture would rather increase than decrease his Passion, took it from him, and told him he ought now to contemplate nothing but the infidelity of his Mistress. You have reason Madam, said he to her, I would hate Clidimira, and I would have your friendship be my sole consolation. But generous Berelisa (added he) why do you not endeavour to heal the passion of Telesis? for as Clidimira hath left me for him, she will perhaps desert him for another; do him this courtesy, and by this means you will act my Revenge. For what concerns my Brother (replied Berelisa) I have no desire to blot out his affection, it being not so easy to cure a Beloved as a Deserted Lover; and for what concerns you, I would rather gain Clidimira twenty lovers, than deprive her of one, that your hatred might extend so far as never to permit any reconcilement. After this Artemidorus expressed many obliging words to Berelisa, but they were so interweaved with others which glanced on his former affections to Clidimira, that she harkened to them with different resentments; when he was returned to his apartment, he esteemed himself so unhappy, that he wished his death had anticipated that day in which he lost his liberty; for he was at variance with his Brother, he had destroyed his Fortune, he was a Prince's Prisoner enemy to him from whom he derived his extraction, he saw himself cashiered by that person, who had wounded his heart, he had a Rival, which generosity and gratitude forbid him to destroy, being a Virgin's Brother to whom he owed the favourable treatment he received in his restraint, and who knew him to be the Prince of Leontine's Brother; not knowing then how to direct his thoughts, his sole consolation was Berelisas' friendship. On the other side this amiable Virgin was not exempted from inquietude; for though her joy exceeded the ordinary limits of moderation, she having introduced Anger and Jealousy into a Lover's heart, from whence she would have banished love; yet she feared his despite would not ascend to such a degree, as utterly to extirpate this love, and that if this first should be extinct, his heart would remain incapable of a second Passion: The words of Philonice tending to the conclusion of the War, did in some measure heighten her grief, because she imagined Peace should no sooner be composed, but Artemidorus would receive his liberty, and that secret love, which had scaled the Fortress of her heart, even forced her to wish the declaration of the true quality of Artemidorus, to the end his liberty should not be so soon licenced, she conceiving his life would not thereby be exposed to any danger: But generosity soon strangled these unjust thoughts which Love would have imprinted in her mind.  
In the mean time the charming Philonice, who thought of nothing but how to manage the reception of the Agrigentine Prince with most magnificency, sent out her Orders to that purpose, so that all the Ladies were wholly employed in providing those things, which might most advantage their perfections; the Princess was like wise advertised by a Letter from Clisias, that the day the Agrigentine Prince should come to Carisalis, she should receive a Letter from the Syraousan Princess, who is a Person embellished with all those Graces which complete a perfect Beauty: Her Body shaped with such exact Symmetry, that Nature hath here shown how far she transcends the Art of the most curious Pencil: For the Prince of Syracuse having sent me to the Agrigentine Prince at that time as he sent Telesis to him, the Princess of Syracuse entrusted me with a Letter for the Princess Philonice; and having told Clisias, when I arrived at the Camp, he gave her notice of it; and when I delivered her Letter, she parted with so much goodness, as to receive me with an extraordinary civility, bringing a Testimony of the Friendship of such an exquisite Person.  
But before I relate to you what passed that day the Prince of Agrigentine returned, 'tis expedient for me to acquaint you with three things, to the end the Narration of this Festival might prove more delightful to you: The first, that I had been a long time one of the principal friends of Artemidorus. The second, that I believed he had undertaken a long Voyage, not in the least suspecting he was a Prisoner at Agrigentine. The third, That 'tis necessary to describe the Situation of that place the amiable Philonice had selected to receive the Prince her Father; for I ought to render justice to this Beautiful Princess, to demonstrate to you that there appeared both Spirit and Judgement in all her actions; and there happened in this place so many things depending on this History, that I believe I shall not traverse my reason by describing a place which hath given me so much delight, both by its natural Beauty, and by the merit of him who resides there: For Cleodamas to whom Carisalis belongs, is a Person of eminent desert, whether one considers the grandezza of his Spirit, or the solidity of his judgement, his capacity, politeness, integrity, gallantry, or generosity; But to execute my Design, Carisalis is a place so framed for pleasure that 'tis impossible to give you a perfect description of it; 'Tis not one of those whose Beauty appears by the opposition of the circumjacent places; for you no sooner come from Agrigeutine, but fair objects salute your eyes; the way lies in a direct line, a river with its silver streams travelling along with you this pleasant Voyage, the diversity in all places where you pass, and the only pleasure of the beautiful prospect, seems to cheat the length of the way; 'tis even so singular, and the ascension so inperceptible, that you receive no incommodity by it, though 'tis situated on a mountain; this mountain is crowned with a great Plain, it having nothing ordinary but the commodity to discover all the Beauties of the adjoining fields, to limn out in lively colours this amiable Country in general, 'tis sufficient in particular to character Carisalis; Imagine as if you were now in a Court of a proportionate grandeur to a Building your eyes at your entrance survey on the left hand, the symmetry whereof framed to breed delight; on the Superficies is a Balustrade, beyond which is a kind of a Rustic Vestibulum, the Columns whereof are Cyprus; This Vestibulum is bounded by a row of great Trees, placed on purpose there to hinder at first sight the pleasure which doth compose this place; on the top Madam of the prementioned mountain, there is a grand Parterre, like a Terass, along which is contrived a Walk, flanked with fair Trees, you ascend this Walk by two stately steps, between which are two Balconies erected, fixed to a marble Balustrade, from whence one might discover so many different objects, that I fear I shall be taxed either of equivocation or exaggeration, if I only represent a part of them unto you; for in fine, Madam, there is to be seen all those which frame a delightful prospect, you may see many remote and cacuminous mountains, embroidered with spreading Trees of a famous Forest, which without coustraining the sight, confine it to an agreeable arrest; but before your eyes meet with these Mountains and Forest, a great and pleasant River for some while detains them, which to show itself with a better grace, forms a Crescent, whose horns of Silver, (if this term is not in Prose inconsistent) bury themselves in the grass of two delicate Meadows; but as if 'twas not sufficient to see this fair and great River, there is a less, which not daring to appear so nigh the other, presents but a little Rivulet, which divers times shows, and then again hides itself; for sometimes its Maeanders deludes the eyes, and sometimes one may see its Argentine Streams shine through the Willows, and run into a little Valley expressly made for modest Ladies to bathe their naked Limbs: This fair Valley is at the foot of a little hill, so pleasantly seated; that no words can reach the full description of it: For, Madam, there is a thousand agreeable inequalities: You may see Groves with little Rustic Houses, a small Village where an Hill almost denies the sight of the eye, a little Temple, and several other things which have now slipped my memory; on this side between the great and little River, there's divers Meadows enclosed with Willows, as if they were several Halls destined for rural Sports: This Country is so spacious, directly opposite to the Parterre, that you may see all that which the industry of Agriculture hath taught men for the preservation of life, and Nature hath so stored the Fields with diversity of Flowers, shaded with such exquisite colours, that all others serve but as foils to set forth the lustre of this amiable place. I may likewise very well say, this Country hath all the tranquillity of a solitude, though not so dismal as Deserts, for the great River hath boats of all sorts, the less hath sometimes Shepherdesses, which in their Bathing sport themselves in this watery Element; and all these Meadows are as it were sown with flocks of Sheep and Pastures: This is not all the beauty of Carisalis, for behind this high Ally from whence you may discover so many things, is an agreeable Wood, the beauty whereof cannot be limited to any praise; 'tis of no great extent, there is eight principal Alleys, in the middle of which is a Statue of Venus, they are divided into several little paths and solitary retirements, which so often cross one another, that one may weary themselves and not find the place where they first entered: There are seven Cabinets, every one carved a several way, the Trees are so fair, the Ground is so plushed with verdant Grass, and the Shade so charming, that my eyes never met with a fairer object: The Air is so pure, and the sight of two Rivers so sweetly seduces the imagination, that it dispels those melancholy cares which oppresses a Lover's breast; the situation of this place doth admit of several prospects, the eight great Alleys of the Wood have different objects which limit the sight; one faces a Balcony insculpt with divers curiosities of Art, another a pleasant Grove, there's one which looks on the Plain, another from whence your eye cannot reach heaven; in fine, there's such an alluring diversity in this place, that none can come in competition with it. This variety of objects runs through all the parts of the Building, but especially from an high Hall you may take a full survey of this delightful place; there's round about Carisalis many Structures which have consumed inestimable Treasure, and if they are advantaged by Art and Magnificence, yet Nature is deficient, which lively shows itself in Carisalis. This Building being then adorned with singular advantages, 'twas a fit place to receive a Prince who returned plumed with victory.  
The Princess Philonice forgot nothing which might contribute to the honour of the Prince her Father; Afranor went at the head of all the Agrigentine men of quality; to meet the Prince six miles beyond Carisalis, and from thence to Agrigentine; the Inhabitants of the City which used to bear Arms, ranked themselves in a Warlike posture, the Princess followed by Berelisa and the fairest Beauties of the Court, habited alike; in magnificent Chariots went to Carisalis, where Cleodomas received her with his accustomed Civility. But before I acquaint you with the reception of the Agrigentine Prince, you must know that every Lady was accompanied by a person of quality, when she mounted on horseback to meet the Prince, for Philonice had retained as many Men as Ladies, which in sumptuous Apparel should illustrate the glory of this day: She desired Artemidorus to wait on Berelisa, telling him that since he was her Prisoner, 'twas fit he should supply that Office: Artemidorus whose melancholy had altered his disposition, excused himself, fearing to be known in such a confluence of people; but Philonice and Berelisa added so many persuasive entreaties, that he at last complied with their desires: As all men ought to be invested in the richest attire in this occasion, Asranor offered to supply Artemidorus with all things necessary, but he refused to accept his courtesy. To return to Carisalis, no sooner had Philonice notice that the Prince her Father was four miles distant from thence, but she mounted on her Horse, followed by twenty Ladies of Quality: These Ladies were habited as Diana's Nymphs are painted, they had a Bow in one hand and a Quiver on their Shoulder; their heads were shadowed with Coifs of Plumes, mixed with such lively and different colours, that they composed the fairest and imaginable object: In this Plain I have before mentioned, which is on the top of the Mountain, on the right hand from Carisalis, Philonice amongst the others, seemed Diana herself, she had such a noble air, and such an innate modesty appeared in her face, but as a mark of distinction, her Bow and Quiver were enameled with precious Stones, the Tower of Plumes which form her Coif, had a knot of Diamonds, which represented that demi-Crescent placed on Diana; head, every Lady was attended by a person of quality, proudly mounted and richly habited, who seemed to be there to serve and defend her, and every one had two slaves clothed in her colours, with Collars of Silver, who marched on both sides her Horse, to stay him if need should require: And to signify the arrival of this gallant Troop, there was an Harmony part Pacifick and part Warlike, which infinitely pleased; and after all these Ladies came all the Officers of the house of the Princess, and after them two hundred Archers on Horseback, which equally divided themselves both before and behind: The day was fair, and the way so commodious, that every Knight entertained his Lady with what discourse he best imagined would conduce to her delight. Artemidorus being nigh Berelisa, the secrets of whose heart lay open to her knowledge, turned towards her, and casting forth a sigh, thus said: I could wish, Madam, the unfaithful Clidimira did behold me this day, for you are so attractive and amiable, and this dress so becomes you, that certainly she would believe you are the Goddess who sways my thoughts, and I am so acquainted wiah her humour, that I am confident she would be highly displeased. Your expressions savour too much of flattery, replied Berelisa, yet to recompense you, I willingly consent to be the immediate cause of your revenge; and though I fancy not the reality of your words, I should be extremely satisfied should Clidimira credit this persuasion. Madam, replied he, you are composed of too much goodness, to interess yourself in my revenge, but to render it effectual, I must submit to love you, and you may not contract any hatred against me. Truly, replied Berelisa smiling, which of these two things believe you the most impossible? It seems to me a sufficient difficulty to oblige a person who never affected any thing to begin to love, and there's as much to relinquish one, and assume another love. Ah! Madam, replied Artemidorus, I am not in a condition to reason on that question you have proposed to me; all that I can answer, is, that sometimes I hate Clidimira, and am transported by an earnest desire to love another, but I dare not pronounce your name. As Artemidorus thus spoke, he was interrupted by a Lady marching behind Berelisa, who jestingly told him, He was so attentive to his Discourse, that he noted not the appearing of the Agrigentine Prince: These two Troops following their received Orders, made a stand at an equal distance, from a great triumphant Arch erected in the middle of the way which traverseth this Plain, the Prince of Agrigentine was preceded by those who made a warlike harmony, who were followed by five hundred men on Horseback with Javelins in their hands: Next came the Officers of the Prince's household, who led many stately Horses, the Guards of the Agrigentine Prince came after them, and next came the Prince himself at the head of many Officers of the Army, and men of Quality: Though this Prince had outpassed his juvenile years, yet he appeared on Horseback with more grace and vigour than any of the Courtiers, he was this day richly habited, and his Deportment alone spoke him Master of his Followers. As I was a stranger, and had been sent to him by a Prince whom he highly esteemed, he vouchsafed me all imaginable honour, retaining me always high him: For Terillus who was a great adorer of Berelisas' beauty, and who desired the first advantage of her sight, he was in the first rank: 'Tis true his condition claimed that place, but his Love proved the more forcible inducement; as some days were filled on the Register of time since my arrival at the Camp, I had heard there was an unknown Prisoner at Agrigentine, whom Terillus had taken when the Trees began to shoot forth their vernal blossoms, whose Spirit and Behaviour commanded respect from all. No sooner did these two Troops come in sight of one another, but those who made the harmony hastened their pace to join at the Triumphant Arch erected in the Plain, where they made a kind of Military Consort, which in its irregularity seemed agreeable: After that those which preceded the Prince and Princess, ranked themselves on the right and left hand; these two Troops slowly marching towards one another, the Prince of Agrigentine (who is an accomplished Gallant) remained at the head of his Troop twelve paces from the Arch, saying it appertained to none but the Ladies to pass under the Triumphant Arch: He therefore caused them one after another, followed by their Knights and Slaves, to go under this Arch; after which they went towards him, wheeling on the right hand, to resume the way of Carisalis: Then the Prince and those which were with him, saluted all the Ladies with much civility, which they repaid with an obsequious flexure: This Prince noting every Lady had but one Knight, commanded some of those which attended him to supply the vacant place; for which purpose he elected the chiefest of his Train, except me, whom he only chose as a Stranger, and instead of giving every Lady him who had the greatest desire to wait on her person, he separated all those which he conceived had any familiarity with one another: He did it principally to please Berelisa, who did not affect Terillus, though he wasted his time in courting her affection. For the Princess, she had with her the young Prince of Messina who was then in this Court, and the Prince of Ericine who is one of her alliance; but when Berelisa approached accompanied with her Prisoner, I was surprised at the sight of Artemidorus, but I expressed no mark of my astonishment; for knowing the contestation between the Agrigentine aed Leontine Prince, I imagined he was not known; the Prince of Agrigentine willing I should accompany Berelisa as the most amiable person in the Court, and as favourite of the Princess his Daughter, declared to me so many things of this unknown Prisoner, that it confirmed my belief 'twas the same whose Character I had received in the Camp; for when Berelisa passed by, whose perfections did this day shine forth in their greatest splendour; Go Zenocrates, go, said he to me, lend us your assistance to discover this Unknown Prisoner; make love to Berelisa, more easily to effect it, whom I presuppose he now loves; for 'twould be a shame for him to have remained so long Prisoner of War in a Castle where she resides, and not become Prisoner of Love: Go then Zenocrates, go, added he, and endeavour the discovery of your Rival. I receive, Sir, so much advantage by your commands, replied I to him, that I am sorry time will not give me leave to return you thanks for such an unexpressible favour. But Madam, if I was surprised to see Artemidorus, he was no less at the sight of me, for I feared I had discovered him; and remembering he had seen me at Leontine when he made his addresses to Clidimira, my sight excited a commotion in his heart, which I taking notice of, and imagining from whence it proceeded, to resettle his troubled thoughts; ranking myself on th' other side of Berelisa, with a respective observance, thus said: Madam, the Prince of Agrigentine whose curiosity can be confined in the discovery only of this valiant Unknown, hath sent me to you, that I might share his happiness by attending your person: But Madam, added I, my infelicity would be extreme, should you deny your consent. You have so little knowledge of your pretended Mistress (replied Berelisa) that I would advise you not to obey the Agrigentine Prince. If you knew him who speaks to you, replied Artemidorus to her, you would know that several passions in his heart do at one time receive both their life and death: But I pray, added he, disguising my knowledge of him, forbid him to discover me, though he should happen to be one of my intimate acquaintance. We marched in this order to a place where we made a stand, because the Prince of Agrigentine desired the Ladies should arrive last at Carisalis, he therefore passed before them with all his Troop, that the fairest show might conclude the Triumph. For my part, I confess my heart was wounded with the perfections of all those twenty Ladies, who accompanied the Princess Philonice; for as I am an universal Lover of all those objects which delight my eye, even at the first sight, and these twenty Ladies dressed in this Nymph-like habit appeared, graced with the accession of such charming features; that my amorous heart could not resist those piercing beams shot from their conquering Twins of light. In fine, we arrived at Carisalis, where Cleodamas welcomed the Prince with an eloquent Oration, penned in such concise terms, that it far transcended the capacity of vulgar Intellects: The Prince not desiring to return to Agrigentine till the darkness of the night began to ruin the days splendour, Cleodamas treated him with a magnificent Collation: But whilst things were preparing more ceremoniously to invite his stay, the Ladies by the assistance of their Knights dismounted from their horses, and went to breath out the fourth part of an hour in that high Walk I have before mentioned: For my part (I confess) never any sight did so much please my eyes, as these twenty Ladies and forty Knights: To avoid confusion, the Prince of Agrigentine had commanded all his other followers not to enter into the house of Cleodamas, but that they should be entertained in the fairest houses of the same Village, and not seeing in this Alley and the prementioned Wood none but persons exactly proportioned in all the dimensions of their Bodies, and beholding their waving plumes and glittering habits through the levy Boughs, I may confidently say, never any object did more deserve my attention, as the pleasantness of the place inspired joy; all the company were so fashioned to delude time with amorous discourses, that they perceived not the melancholy which denied mirth to Artemidorus and the jealous Terillus: In the mean time Artemidorus had an urgent desire to confer with me, and on the first presented occasion, he briefly acquainted me with his adventures, demanding of me what I had heard concerning Clidimira, he not being ignorant that all memorable accidents which passed at Leontine were obvious to me. I know, said I to him, she is both ingrateful and unfaithful; and imagining she should be constrained, if she made not a public recantation of your love, she engaged her affection to a deserving person, and submitted to the trial of the Lake of Dela, to assure him of her fidelity: Therefore if you credit my words, I would advise you, by another love to banish this passion from your heart. Ah Zenocrates, said he to me, none can renounce love so soon as you. Time would not permit us longer discourse, for one came to advertise the Ladies that Dinner was now prepared: They were conducted into the fair Hall I have before mentioned, where they were served with all magnificence befitting persons of their condition; and the Prince of Agrigentine dined with some of his Nobility in a low Hall, a foot higher than the Garden. The Ladies after this Repast entered into a fair Chamber, directly opposite against the Hall, with a part of the most accomplished Gallants, the rest remaining with the Agrigentine Prince, who related to Cleodamas divers things concerning the last Campagne: But entering there, Philonice whose curiosity extended to all delightful objects, cast her eye on a Picture hanging on the way to this Chamber, it being designed by a Virgin allied to Cleodamas; and as this Picture merited some observation, Philonice called Berelisa to see it: This Picture is framed with ingenious Art; one may see there a pleasant Country, with a fair Tree, at the foot whereof is a beautiful young person sumptuously attired, and behind her three Women, she holds a Distaff in her right hand, presenting it to Hercules, whom a young Cupid holds chained in a golden Chain, and drawing it with her left hand, she forces him to cast away his Club, and to take the offered Distaff; but better to explicate this Picture, the little Cupid holds in his right hand a Torch, and with the other retains the Fillet that blinds his Eyes, which seems to be fanned by the gentle Breizes of the Wind; underneath are some Greek words, which speak thus in our Language,  
From my Fire proceeds my Force.  
After Philonice had considered the explication of this Picture, she said (turning herself to Berelisa) That for her part she believed the power of Love proceeded not but from the debility of those whom it assaulted. But, Madam, (replied she blushing) do not you see Hereules, who appears far superior in strength to that young Child, forced by him to embrace what he desires. Ah, Berelisa, replied she, there's a certain weakness of heart commonly found in men, which is not incompatible with the force of the Body, nor with the greatest Valour: Philonice had hardly pronounced these words, but all maintained Love's Party: The Prince of Ericine amongst the rest, said, He could not admit Love to pass for Debility, unless in the hearts of those who persevere in loving an unfaithful person. Artemidorus, who felt himself touched with the expressions of the Prince of Ericine, changed colour, and could not frame an answer: Whereupon Terillus thus replied, that it argued not so much weakness to continue to love a person, though she had changed affection, as to persist in loving a person, whose affection 'twas almost impossible to acquire; for (added he) 'tis the greatest subject of complaint one can imagine, to court a Person without hope to attain her love. 'Tis doubtless a great unhappiness (replied the Prince of Ericine) but the inconstancy of a Mistress is far greater. Ah, Sir, (replied Terillus) 'tis more in jurious not to be beloved, than to be deserted by a Mistress. After this, every one took the part either of the Ericine Prince, or Terillus, except Artemidorus and Berelisa, whose interest were engaged in this question; for if Artemidorus yet affected the inconstant Clidimira, Berelisa treated Terillus, with so much cruelty, that she saw he spoke against himself, to have occasion to speak against her; but as the conversation seemed curious to Philonice, she seated herself, and caused the other Ladies to take their places, the men standing before them, except some, who kneeled upon Cushions, more conveniently to entertain their Ladies, whilst the Prince of Ericine and Terillus disputed nigh Philonice and Berelisa, on the precedent subject: For my part, replied the Prince of Ericine, I find no comparison between these two things; for as 'tis not impossible that a Woman who loves you not should esteem you, I find that in ceasing to love her, you are not obliged to hate her, that 'tis sufficient to render indifferency for indifferency, that you are even bound to express Civility to her, when you happen to meet her; and if you disesteem her, and unchain your heart, you sufficiently punish her for her injustice and insensibility, without adding hatred and despisal, but for an inconstant person: Ah, Terillus (pursued he) you cannot too much hate; nor too much despise her: I likewise assert, that if a man hath been very amorous, and hath believed his affection hath been requited, he cannot limit his hatred to an unfaithful person; and I believe 'tis very easy to cure his passion, by balancing the grandeur of her love and her inconstancy; for by remembering that his anger will be screwed up to such an height, that he will think it punishment sufficient to requite her wavering nature, which should not be expressed to a person which hath contemned your affection, either through aversion or indifferency.  
Ah, Sir, replied Terillus, our resentments are different, for I believe 'tis more easy and more just to despise a woman which hath slighted his love, than one from whom you have received many demonstrations of affection, though she retains those testimonies, and varies in her former thoughts; for 'tis the greatest injustice one can offer to an amorous man, who is permanent in his love, to reject his Passion; 'tis so natural to love them who affect us, that when a man is so happy to persuade his love to any person whom he adores, if this woman doth not correspond in her affection, disesteems the Lover, is averse to his Passion, or hath entertained another; if she loves another, she is criminal for permitting a new Lover to engage to serve her; if she doth but a little esteem him, the Lover should be very unjust to esteem her much; and if she is averse to him, he ought to retribute the like to her; and in what manner soever it should be, a generous Lover, which hath wasted many days, and not gained the affection of his Mistress, aught to hate and contemn her, who hath with such pertinacy resisted his love, since 'tis certain that ingratitude is a capital crime; and there is nothing more ingrateful than not to love those which loves us: For I have already told you 'tis so natural, that love produces love; that if this passion is not produced in a woman's heart, which is ardently loved, it either proceeds from the small desert of the Lover, the capriciousness of the Mistress, or from the abovesaid reasons; nothing seems to me more just, or aught more easily to be done, than not to have any esteem or complacency for an insensible person, I say one ought to requite her with all the civility a discreet person can be capable of: And if it was possible there should be any matter of indiscretion, between a neglected Lover and his Mistress, I think I should permit him to be indiscreet; for in fine, as he should have no indiscretion, which might make him be suspected of vanity, or which might injure the reputation of an unsensible person, it would be a sweet and innocent revenge; if I did not generally hold that Persons of Quality ought not to revenge themselves of their Ladies in the same manner as they would revenge themselves of their Enemies. I am of your opinion, replies the Ericine Prince, that an insensible person, to whom one hath given many testimonies of Love, if she ungratefully requites him, she merits the same ingratitude; but that which I maintain, is, that 'tis more easy to hate an inconstant than an insensible person, and that the revenge appears more just. On the contrary, replied Terillus, I assert 'tis more difficult to relinquish the love of an unconstant, than an insensible person, and that if a man hath been once favoured and affected by a Lady, he is indispensably obliged, not to be desicient in his discretion to her, though she hath changed her thoughts; but one should not so act with an insensible Mistress, of whom he might more innocently revenge himself, because her insultation is greater by beginning not to love her than the other, by deserving the affection of his Lady, nor can he be obliged to any discretion. But separately to speak of these two things, I will at first make you to see, that 'tis more easy for an abused Lover to dispel love from his heart, than for a Lover which hath been favoured; there is in the memory of a Lover obstinately despised, nothing which can or aught to retain love in his Soul; since that, if he called to remembrance the person whom he had served, he sees her cold, insensible, and always indifferent, if she remembers to have written to her, he will likewise remember that she hath not answered to him; or if she hath, her answers have contained no affectionate expressions; if he remembers his eyes have saluted hers, his memory will tell him, that he turned her face from him with contempt; or that she beheld him with a kind of stupid indifferency, which is insupportable in love; if he thinks what actions he hath performed to please her, he remembers either she hath slightly received, or scornfully disdained them, perhaps he hath praised her Beauty, but it often appears he hath thereby betrayed his judgement; for it often happens love entitles those fair which deserve not to be placed in that number: Moreover, a Lover hath no obligation to a person whom he loves without the same requital; so that his heart raising no opposition against his resentment it seems easy to me, even by his anger to cure his love; honour likewise might do it with much facility; since there is nothing more fit to banish love, than the remembrance that one hath lavished much time in courting a person, which despises him, and who hath distinguished him from the rest of men by a secret aversion; but for a woman which hath once loved you, it is not so, for she hath esteemed you, and preferred you before all men; she hath chosen and confided in you; but 'tis not so in the other; for there's nothing in his memory but indifferency, which might retain affection; there is a thousand and a thousand thoughts in a Lover's heart which hath been beloved, which may retain his love in despite of the inconstancy of the beloved person, he may see tender and passionate Letters, not respecting the person who hath wrote them; she being unfaithful, he may behold her Portrait, no acknowledgement retaining his resentment, and even the possibility to revenge one's self, arrests a part of ones revenge, and every time one remembers so many amorous regards, so many obliging assignations, so many favourable discourses, and so many innocent favours, there's means enough to destroy the desire to reconquer the heart one hath lost, and likewise to destroy the hope thereof; for after he is assured he hath done all he can imagine to please her, since he hath pleased her; he thinks he is wanting in something, that in demanding pardon, he may recover the treasure he hath lost; and even supposes if he can accuse himself of nothing, but lay the whole accusation on her, 'tis a capricious humour which will soon vanish, and that then he shall receive more affectionate assurances than he did before; therefore hope may subsist in a Lover's heart, whose affection hath been entertained with a correspondency, though his Mistress hath proved inconstant, and there is much difficulty to disengage his Passion: To speak with sincerity, there's nothing so puissant to retain love, in an heart composed of tenderness, than to hope a pleasure he had before enjoyed; one will sometimes recede from Glory to preserve his Conquest, and to hinder his Rival from gaining any profit by it; Jealousy which boasts itself to be the most puissantest Enemy of Love, retains it often in a Lover's heart deserted by his Mistress, when he is devoid of hope: Judge then (I pray you) if an indifferent Mistress, which gives you neither hope nor jealousy, can or aught to be difficult to forget, for the remembrance of the passed cannot render it amiable to you; the present exasperate you, or the future slatter you with success: But if you consent (replied the Ericine Prince) that 'tis more easy, and even more just to hate a person of whom one cannot be beloved, than one of whom one hath been favoured, though she hath now cancelled all favours, consent likewise that a Lover is confined to a stricter limit with her, which hath always despised him, than with her which hath betrayed him; for she which hath never loved you, having promised you nothing, she hath not injured you so much as that person, who after she had sworn to you an eternal affection violated her word; and I conclude you aught to be more reserved to one than to another. I am of your opinion (replied Terillus) but 'tis not according to your Method; for I maintain that a man, who hath been uncivilly dealt withal by a woman, owes no more civility to her than to all women in general; I know not whether he can dispense with it in some occasions; but for a woman which hath once loved, I affirm, that if she at length hates him, he ought to respect her, and is obliged to discretion, though his love seems extinct; and as it is just that an abused Lover should ever perpetually keep in his heart the resentment of the ingratitude and indifferency of his Mistress, so a deserted Lover should ever preserve a kind of acknowledgement for his Precedent favours; and this recognition must even oblige him not to be so far transported, as to injure the reputation of his Mistress, from whom he once received favours, which might still deserve his love. I believe it (replied the Prince of Ericine, yielding to Terillus) for as all the favours of Lady's stream from pure Fountains; I am of opinion they may retract them when they please, without being termed indiscreet, principally when they practise no Gallantry; as I never fathomed the resentments of a forsaken Lover, and believe that I never shall be exposed to try those of an injured Lover; 'tis not strange I never attained to the knowledge of those excellent things you have so judiciously discoursed of; I have (it may be) less experience than you, in the Estate of a Lover forsaken by his Mistress (replied Terillus) and have more interest than you imagine (added he, looking on Berelisa) in the condition of a Lover whose Mistress slights all those favours he offers to acquire her esteem; but to take my choice in these two things, I had rather continue in the same resentments I now am, to have been once affected by the person I love, though she should vary in her affection, than to believe I shall never arrive to that happiness: The event is so dubious (replied the Ericine Prince) that we ought never to admit of despair; we commonly use those expressions to an unhappy person, replied Philonice, but there is some things we may confidently say will never happen, you have reason, Madam (replied Berelisa, on purpose to anger Terillus) for by Example, when one hath a natural aversion against any person; how is it possible to vanquish it; but if it is not possible to surmount a natural aversion (replied Artemidorus) is there any way to subdue a violent inclination? In truth, answered the Ericine Prince, I believe there's much equality in these two things; and that if it is not easy to expel hatred from his heart; 'tis very difficult to banish love from thence. Ah, Sir, (replied Berelisa, who would not have Artemidorus entertain this resentment) I assure you there's divers occasions, to which our hatred may not extend, and yet they blot out our love. Who will not say (replied Philonice) that Berelisa hath had many Lovers and many Enemies, which hath experimentally taught her to frame these distinctions? and how can't be true she hath never yet had either love or hatred. Ah, Madam, replied she, her cheeks being died with a modest blush, if you had remembered my true sentiments, your language would not have so far exceeded— I pray (said Terillus, interrupting her, speaking to her in a low voice) do not give a clearer explication of your thoughts; for the person to whom you speak, too well knows what she hath said: Berelisa had answered him, had not the Prince of Agrigentine entered, which caused all to rise from their seats; but every one was surprised to see the Prince so soon as he was entered go directly to Artemidorus, and looking upon Berelisa, know (said he, to her) your Prisoner is a Prisoner of importance, and that if you have profited of the Counsel I heretofore gave you, when I desired you to inflame his heart with an amorous affection, you have gained an illustrious conquest. As I believe I have not done it, replied she blushing, I think, Sir, I may say for my honour I never had any design to effect it; Conquests of this nature being more often performed when one hath the least suspicion of them, replied the Agrigentine Prince, 'tis therefore impossible for me to give any direct answer, but expecting till you resolve my question; let me complain of the diffidence the Prince Artemidorus conceived of my generosity, by concealing his true condition; at these words, every one cast their eyes on this Illustrious Prisoner, who was plunged in a deep perplexity; for he knew not whether it was Berelisa, or I who had made this discovery; Berelisa, who suspected the thoughts of Artemidorus, sought by her eyes to justify her innocency; and I likewise by some private signs evidenced to him, I was not conscious of this action.  
In the mean time, as his heart is great and noble, he did not much study for an answer, for seeing he was known, he did not deny the truth, but ingeniously confessed it, and addressing himself to the Agrigentine Prince, Sir (said he to him) I entreat you to believe you are not the cause of my disguise, and those who have declared my quality, have perhaps told you that I have departed from Leontine, but for an interest of State. I know it very well, replied the Agrigentine Prince, for the Parents of fair Clidimira, having sent hither a man express to inform of them Telesis, who is to espouse her; it happened that this man being born at Agrigentine, though he resided at Leontine; and coming hither with a desire to see this solemnity, knew you; and being born my Subject, he thought himself bound by Allegiance to discover you to me: but when he acquainted me with it (added he) it seemed he had no design, but that you should live in splendour proportionable to your Quality; for he highly exaggerated the injustice of the Leontine Prince, and your own Merit; neither am I resolved to use you otherwise, nor to change any thing of your Fortune, but to give order you should be treated like a Prince: for though the Treaty of Heraclea be not concluded, you shall receive your liberty as if your condition was not known; I offer you likewise my Court as an Asylum, till the Prince your Brother remits his anger, and resolves to respect you according to your merit. Your expressions are so generous (replied Artemidorus) that I can frame no language to reach the grandeur of your excessive Favours, immeritedly bestowed upon me, nor can I requite your generosity, but by assuring you I will unsluce the azure Conduits of my Veins for your service, whilst Honour permits me to expose my life for your Interests.  
After these words the Prince of Agrigentine saying, 'twas time to depart, the Princess thereto disposed herself, but not till she had made an obliging compliment to Artemidorus, to whom all the Ladies, and the rest of the company did the like; Terillus did likewise salute him, but with a kind of compulsive civility; for remembering all those courtesies Berelisa had performed to this Prisoner, he believed it may be she knew him; and had more suspicion of it, because she expressed a great emotion of joy at the generosity of the Agrigentine Prince, when Cleodamas, who came with this Prince approached her, she could not restrain herself from testifying her satisfaction. Sage Cleodamas, said she to him, what say you of this adventure? You who can set a just price on heroic actions, how do you esteem this action of the Agrigentine Prince? and how do you like the reception of it by the Prince Artemidorus? I find (replied Cleodamas) you have your part in the glory of this day, since Aetemidorus is your Prisoner, and that you were the first who knew his merit. As Terillus had attentively harkened to the words of Berelisa, his heart was enslaved with such a jealous passion, that swaying all his rational faculties, it retained Love, which was ready to for sake its residence. But not to intrude on your patience by reciting several things not material to this History, I shall retrench them, and only tell you, that the Ladies having remounted on their Horses, returned to Agrigentine; where the Prince was received with all the Ceremonies usual in such occasions: before he departed from Carisalis, he caressed in a singular manner the sage Cleodamas, highly commending his sumptuous entertainment: for the amiable Philonice, she was so pleased with the delectable Situation of his House, that she promised to retire thither ere Cynthia had once repaired her wained Horns, to pass away some few days with more pleasure and delight. I shall, Madam, tire your attention by the recital of the Feast in the Prince's Palace, or the Masques and Balls, which lasted the space of eight days: but shall only tell you, that the Agrigentine Prince incited by his natural generosity, forced Artemidorus to accept an equipage correspodent to his condition; this Prince then appeared without constraint the most amiable of men, though his melancholy did eclipse his humour; and esteeming Berelisa in a high degree, 'twas not easy for to vanquish her puissant inclination: As Berelisa was the first Lady in the Court, to whom I had spoken, and who favoured Artemidorus, being my particular friend, she testified unto me so much goodness, that I became wholly obliged to her; and sometimes I imagined if my heart had not been already engaged, I had disposed myself to love her: Judging than Artemidorus by myself, I counselled him what I could to love Berelisa. Alas, said he to me, when I spoke to him of it, my heart is framed to love her, there's nothing I would not do to content her; and I esteem her a thousand times more than Clidimira: but I cannot raze that unfaithful person from my heart, & in despite of my anger, jealousy and grief, my soul is disturbed; when I suddenly hear her name pronounced, my imagination represents her to me, and my heart desires her; and if my words may not be construed in a degenerate sense, my heart yet affects her, though she is inconstant: I am likewise resolved (replied he) to re-enflame, or cure my passion, to write once more to Clidimira, to see if she'll have the confidence to forbid me to love her, and always to deny love. I would have diverted him from his intention, because I feared this person would flatter him with uncertain hope; but as his Design was absolute, I assisted him therein, commanding one of my men to carry his Letter, which contained these expressions, if my memory prove not treacherous.  
The Faithful Artemidorus to the Inconstant Clidimira.  
YOur variable Nature (Madam) is the subject of all Discourse; and though the Title of my Letter doth seem to evidence my Belief, yet I confess to you my doubts are not fully resolved, till your own hand clear my suspicion: I know you have given all my Letters to my Rival, that your Lines to him demonstrate the Reality of your Affection, and that you have given him the Pourtracture designed for me: Though these things may be convincing, your Writing only can render me happy, or undeceive me. I am persuaded you fancy Love to acquire your repose during my absence: For my part I shall not declare to you what affection sways my heart, before you have resolved my question; Inform me then whether your Perfections are still graced with a permanent Love, or whether your Inconstancy hath deformed your Beauty.  
Artemidorus somewhat scrupled to send this Letter before he had showed it to Berelisa, but as she was the Sister of Telesis, he thought if he spoke to her of it, she would not permit him to send it; at last he did not insist on this consideration, whereupon I gave it to one of my men, who went to Leontine, I having other Interests which obliged me to send thither: I know not (Madam) whether you remember I told you, that when Telesis departed from the Camp to go to Syracuse, where he was sent by the Agrigentine Prince, who wrote to Berelisa, he would go privately to Leontine, desiring her to tell no person of it: It happened that when Clidimira received the Letter of Artemidorus, Telesis was there; you may judge then what answer she returned to oblige the last, and to introduce despair into the first Lover's heart, she wrote to him but these words, which doubtless were framed on purpose to banish love from the faithfullest Lover Nature ever produced.  
Clidimira to Artemidorus.  
AS we ought never to engage to Love, without the Hope to be crowned with Felicity, I hold we may desert that Love, to the end we should not be plunged in misery; therefore, Sir, Knowing the state of your Fortune and mine hath distanced our Happiness, I have changed my Affection, to change my Destiny: Forget, I pray you, all that which hath passed between us, as I am resolved to bury it in Oblivion.  
You may judge, Madam, this Letter quickened the anger of Artemidorus; for my part, I never saw any man more enraged after he perused it: What Zenocrates said he to me, Clidimira! the ingrateful Clidimira, hath she wrote unto me a Letter of this Nature, after she hath buoyed up my Love with Lines both tender and engaging! Can I still preserve an inviolate affection? Ah no, no, added he, I can hate her, I will hate her, and I already hate her, I will love another, or expire. Your thoughts are so various (replied I to him) that I fear you can resolve on nothing. Ah! to hate Clidimira (replied he) I feel myself already disposed, and the difficulty is to know whether I shall persevere in this hatred. If I was in your place (said I to him) instead of perplexing myself with hatred, which is an unquiet passion. I would assume love, Ah Zenocrates! (replied he) when one seeks it, 'tis not so easily found, for it commonly steals on you on a sudden; and after this adventure, I fear any more to enter the List against it; for I confess I never in the least apprehended that infelicity which hath happened; I loved, I was loved; I acted many things to please Clidimira, and I received from her the same demonstrations: In this condition my passion was glorious to me; I alienated myself from her to compass her repose; I never had any suspicion she would change her resentment; yet I was no sooner benighted from her piercing eyes, which had fired my soul with a beam of their mingled lustre; but she deserted my love, and embraced another, thereby becoming the most unjust and unconstant Person in the World. Cannot you do by reason what she hath done by Inconstancy? replied I. Ah Zenocrates, said he to him, 'tis easy for you to counsel me, but 'tis not for me to pursue your counsel. Thus you see, Madam, how the spirit of Artemidorus was seated. As for Berelisa, her thoughts were divers, her aversion still reigning against Terillus, she had a violent inclination to Artemidorus of whose affections she had some expectant glimpse of hope; but her heart was confusedly disturbed at her involuntary weakness. Terillus had both Love and Jealousy; 'tis true, he had heard Artemidorus was amorous at Leonine, but he saw him daily pay so many devoirs to Berelisa, which she accepted with so much satisfaction, that he repented himself for having presented this Prisoner to the Agrigentine Prince, not having left him concealed as he desired, he repented that he had took him; and though all his actions were noble, yet he repented for not depriving him of his life: Artemidorus always civility acknowledged that courtesy he had received from him; and since his condition was discovered, he repaid him in generous and obliging terms.  
In the mean time, the Treaty of Peace which appeared so nigh conclusion, was quite dissolved, so that the liberty of Artemidorus was as far distant as ever; 'tis true, he was not the more confined, for the Prince of Agrigentine suffered him to go on his Parol, highly esteeming and affecting him, though he was Brother to his Enemy; his esteem was augmented by the information he had, that the Prince of Leontine, having notice how Artemidorus was treated at Agrigentine, was so displeased, that he intended to declare him criminal; as if 'twas an effectual crime civility to use a Prisoner of War; and if the Princess of Leontine (his Sister) had not retained a part of his violence, he had accused Artemidorus of complotting with his Enemies, and proceeded against him as a rebellious Prince. But to enlarge his injustice, he sancied Telesis being at Leontine, and Artemidorus in this Court, the love of Telesis was but a fictive invention to carry Clidimira to the Prince his Brother, that 'twas but a feigned love, and specious Nuptials, and that Clidimira did yet affect Artemidorus: Being advertised Telesis was unknown at Leontine, he would have arrested him, and would have re-entombed Clidimira in the Temple of Cores; as for Telesis, he could not have him in his power, by reason a faithful friend who concealed him, gave him notice of it, and advised him to return to Syracuse, where he had been sent by the Agrigentine Prince: For Clidimira she alleged her love was now extinct, but he would not credit it, neither would he believe the Trial of the Lake of Dela; therefore to repose his Spirit, he designed to espouse Clidimira to some other; as she is opulent in riches, he found a person of Quality, who not being able to maintain himself in that garb his condition required, resolved to espouse her: But Clidimira was much afflicted at this new persecution, because she utterly disliked that person which was proposed to her.  
In the mean time as this news was soon known at Agrigentine, the joy of Artemidorus was extreme, when he had first notice of it. But Berelisas' breast harboured inquietude; for she feared that the persecution this Virgin suffered for the consideration of this Prince, would foment his love; her fears proved not vain: The first emotion of joy being passed, Artemidorus became very passionate, being much afflicted because she was persecuted for the love of him; so that pity now changed that design, he had conceived to hate her: The Sun had not eight times measured this Terrestrial Globe, when there was an alteration in his thoughts; for we were informed at Agrigentine, Telesis had been secretly at Leontine, that Clidimira had invented a way to escape from the place where she was enclosed; that she was at Syracuse with Telesis, from whence he had sent to Agrigentine to demand permission of his Father to espouse this Virgin, and to bring her to his House, representing to him that he had already consented to the Marriage, and that the goods of Clidimira were of such a Nature, they might easily be transported thither.  
Artemidorus hearing what Clidimira had done for Telesis, form a resolution to banish her his heart, appearing somewhat displeased at the intended coming of Clidimira to Agrigentine: Afranor at first seemed highly incensed against Telesis; but as the Prince of Agrigentine is always favourable to Lovers, he strait allayed the fury of his anger; for Berelisa she could not imagine what to desire; for it imported, her Brother should espouse Clidimira, but she wished not her company at Agrigentine, for fear her sight would revive love in the heart of Artemidorus, there was no means to obstruct it, because Clidimira being amiable, gained the esteem of the Syracusian Princess, whilst she resided there, for though this Virgin was stole away from Leontine, it appeared not so to every one, it being generally conjectured her Kindred had carried her from thence to free her from an injust persecution; one of her Aunts, coming with her from Leontine, therefore the Princess of Syracuse, who esteemed and loved her, wrote concerning her with so much affection to Philonice, that she obtained of her Father and Afranor what Telesis desired: Berelisa on the other side, durst not openly display the secret thoughts of her heart, and Artemidorus by the grandeur of his Soul, would not oppose the return of Telesis, since he could not solemnize his Marriage with Clidimira, neither did he believe in the estate he was now, he could render with honour any discourteous office to the Brother of Berelisa, and Afranor's Son, by whom he had been so civility treated during his imprisonment, he imagined how apprehensive his grief would be when he should see Clidimira in the arms of Telesis, who had already contracted his hatred though he had never seen him: Telesis in the mean time, knowing his affection for Clidimira, would not come back to Agrigentine, till Hymen had tied that indissoluble knot, which none but death can dissolve: During this negotiation, Artemidorus was continually with Berelisa, for he always lodged in the Castle, and as she is a most charming person; the more he saw her, the more he esteemed and loved her; he did not imagine his heart was betrayed to her perfections, but conceived his spirit would still retain his love to Clidimira; Berelisa on her part did too well perceive, that if she did not yet affect Artemidorus, she might easily thereto dispose herself.  
In fine, the Spring hod no sooner clothed the Trees in their verdant Liveries, when Telesis after he had espoused Clidimira at Syracuse brought her to Agrigentine, the Troops being then ready to begin the Campagne, Artemidorus whose grief had impaired his health, was ordered by the Physicians for change of air to go to a pleasant house in the Precinct of Carisalis, at the same time, as Telesis brought Clidimira to Agrigentine. It likewise happened that Philonice after the departure of her father, went to the house of Cleodamas to dissipate that melancholy his absence had contracted, accompanied by Berelisa and four or five other amiable persons; amongst which was one called Lysicoris, to whom Berelisa confided her most secret thoughts, she had not yet declared to her, her inclination for Artemidorus; but she had acquainted her with her aversion for Terillus, his unhappiness could receive no addition, he being jealous, his affection slighted, and being forced to go to the Army, and to leave Artemidorus with Berelisa.  
Things were on those terms when Telesis and Clidimira arrived at Agrigentine, as she had Letters from the Princess of Syracuse to Philonice, she went the next day to Carisalis, where she saw her Sister in Law, she having a noble and sprightly air, extremely pleased Philonice who admitted her into her Chamber, and after some discourse went with her to Berelisa, who secretly wished she might not appear amiable to her; but she was constrained to alter her desire, and to confess she was endowed with some charming features; Philonice thinking to please Berelisa, entreated her to stay at Carisalis; and Berelisa not willing to oppose her was forced to thank the Princess for a civility which would conduce to her affliction: Artemidorus who was prescribed some remedies to disperse his disease went not for some days to the house of Cleodamas, and being very melancholy he had rather not see Berelisa, who was his sole consolation, then to see so many other persons; so that 'twas his only divertisement to breathe his languishing thoughts, when night began to mantle the sky with a gloomy shade, nigh that little River I formerly mentioned, which traveled with its silver streams through a delightful vale; for as heat did at this time usurp the most part of the day, the evening and morning were only commodious to invite our recreations; Artemidorus then every night repairing to this amiable place, commonly left his men a remote distance from thence, he one time descended, his melancholy not permitting him to note his way, into a little Grove, o'erspread with close compacted bushes, not far from a place where this little River form a Demi-circle between two Meadows; but as he was ready to leave this little Wood, he spied through the bushes many women at the brink of this pleasant River, and it seemed to him his ears were invaded by Clidimira's voice; for you must know this night all the Ladies who were with the Princess Philonice amongst whom were Berelisa and Clidimira, had designed to bathe themselves in this delightful place. When Artemidorus first perceived them, they began to reinvest themselves with their apparel, 'tis not easy to divine his thoughts when he heard Clidimira's voice, since anger and hatred with some interval of pleasure, mixed with curiosity did then surprise him, seeing he might make a nigher approach, he softly stole between those bushes, till he had attained one which might shelter him from the Lady's sight, and from whence he might overhear their discourse, when he was there, he looked upon the Ladies, who though newly come out of the Bath, were in such a modest manner, they might not fear the sight of the most curious eye, amongst those Ladies Artemidorus spied Clidimira: hardly had he given passage to his regards, when he saw Berelisa nigh her, but in a different nature, all the Charms of Clidimira being Epitomised in her face, her hands lean and squalid, her breast deformed, and not any part matching the agreement of her eyes, Berelisa's hands are shaped with exact proportion, her breast white as snow, and all her other parts correspondent, the beauty of the one displaying the defects in the other, Artemidorus was highly pleased at this sight, imagining Berelisa's husband would receive a far greater happiness tben Clidimira's. In fine, Madam these Ideas were so strongly imprinted in his spirit, that when the fear of being seen commanded his retirement, he contemplated the remainder of the night, the ones beauty, and the others defect, remembering the infidelity of Clidimira, and all those courtesies Berelisa had conferred upon him, his person likewise did wholly employ their thoughts whilst darkness blinded the World, they not imagining themselves the objects which kept unsealed the enclosure of his eyes, for though Clidimira had the confidence to justify her actions, she fled the sight of Artemidorus, and 'twas not possible for her to remember so many testimonies of affection she had bestowed upon him, without being confused at her inconstancy: Berelisa both feared and desired this interview; for if Artemidorus should never submit his heart to her love, she would have some satisfaction if he deserted Clidimira, in these thoughts she wished the conclusion of this dangerous occasion, fearing there might happen something which might cloud her propitious fortune; for she had acquired so much esteem with Artemidorus, that to her his thoughts wore no cover; but as she would not be too curious in prying into his Actions, she entreated her dear Lisicoris to observe with a vigilant eye the Passages betwixt Clidimira and this Prince, she did not relate to her the cause of her curiosity, though she was one of her dearest friends, colouring it over with her Brother's interest; for 'tis more difficult for a woman adorned both with spirit and virtue to confess a violent inclination to any person, who doth not express his love to her, then to avow she favours a Lover's passion, as the last adventure had armed Artemidorus against the charming force of Clidimira's eyes, knowing that if he went not to visit the Princess at Cleodomas his house, she would prevent him by coming to him, he determined to wait on her after dinner, which surprised the company, they not imagining the state of his health had yet licenced him to leave his Chamber. When Philonice was informed of his arrival, she was in the great Hall, I have formerly mentioned, no sooner did Clidimira and Berelisa cast their eyes on this Prince, but their faces were shaded with a crimson colour, which even planted his Cheeks with blushes; he could not conjecture whether this agitation proceeded from his new or ancient love, confusion did at this time so distract his senses. In fine, after he had saluted Philonice, she presented Clidimira to this Prince, and knowing what accidents had formerly happened between them, she did not engage them in any long discourse, but spoke to Artemidorus, who seeing now only the beauties of Clidimira, was glad he had discovered the dissimilitude of her other parts, she being so discreet that her hands never lay open to the sight of any person, her breast was masqued with a pleated scarf, which barred the eye from descrying her deformed features, so that if any one had seen her dressed after this mode, would have judged the whole composure of her body proportionable to the splendour of her eyes; but Artemidorus contraryed this opinion, her defects being now as apparent to him, as if they had been visible; for Berelisa, he knowing the pure whiteness of her breast, and the perfect shape of her hands, admired her modesty for not disclosing those things, which Clidimira concealed through affectation; and concluding it an effect of her virtue, began to feel his heart retreating from Clidimira's love, to be stormed with Berelisa's perfections: as Clidimira's spirit was a little disquieted, it stopped the Organs of her speech, which incited Berelisa's desire to wing away the time in pleasant discourses; 'tis true her spirit was not yet re-stated in its former tranquillity; but knowing how far her beauty surpassed Clidimira's, her joy framed her to this agreeable humour; Philonice after a little stay in the Hall, went into the Wood followed by Cleodamas and all this company; at first they discoursed of the beauty of the place, and clearness of the day, but the company being strayed into these divers alleys; fortune placed Artemidorus between Berelisa and Clidimira, all three were surprised to hear no words break from each others lips; the unfaithful Mistress durst not speak to Artemidorus before her sister, to appease the distemper of his spirit, caused by the levity of her former actions; and Berelisa willing to see to whom Artemidorus would address his speech, did not unlock the silence of her harmonious voice: this Prince not knowing in what language to express himself, in the presence of these two persons, expected one of their tongues to supply its office; in this manner they arrived to a Balcony at the end of this Ally, where Philonice, Cleodamas and Lysicoris stayed his coming; the Princess seeing them walk in this mute posture, scarce taking notice of her, demanded of Artemidorus on what subject he entertained the attention of these two amiable persons. I assure you (replied Berelisa not giving this Prince leisure to shape an answer) my sister and I are not jealous of what Artemidorus hath said, for he hath been so sparing of his words, that he hath spoken no more to one then to another. I had more to say to one than another, replied he, but I did not think it convenient to declare my thoughts; for my part (added Clidimira) being a stranger here, I did not imagine myself obliged to begin any discourse; for my particular (added Berelisa) I am so pleased with my own idle fancies, that my words would have been a penance to me for interrupting my sweet repose: it seems to me (replied Cleodamas) that the fancies of such an excellent person (as Berelisa) if she declared the subject of them, would produce much delight; for it only appertains to those who have tender hearts, to be skilled in the pleasures of a certain pleasing deliberation, which diverts the spirit, and so sweetly seduces reason, that one cannot desine its enticing allurements: 'Tis true (replied Berelisa) all men's humours do not comply with this delightful dotage, and there's many speak of it, who believe it only consists in licensing their Spirits rather to the motions of their hearts, then to the conduct of this imperious reason, to enjoy our pleasant fancies we must let our spirits wander up and down, confine them no where, we must have something in our souls which whispers no disturbance, our temper must be inclining to Melancholy, we must think on something which pleases us, and we must be capable of a certain Lethargy of the senses, which imprints belief in all our thoughts, and the use of reason must be for some time suspended; I say, we must but confusedly hearken to the singing of the Birds, or the murmuring of the Springs, neither must our eyes distinguish the diversity of colours. Ah Berelisa, cried Cleodamas, you describe these fancies too clearly to be ignorant of them. If idle Imaginations were a crime (replied she) I would subscribe to your opinion, but as they are the most innocent pleasures, I confess I know them, and that I sometimes prefer them before all company whatsoever. But you do not dream (replied Philonice) that you have said, to draw these fancies to the life, there must be something in our hearts which doth not displease us. Pardon me Madam (replied Berelisa) but that something I have named, is not that something you imagine. I assure you (replied Artemidorus) that if one mention something that you have done, it will admit of no other explication then that of the Princess. Whatever it should be (said Cleodamas) I should think that man happy which should insinuate into Berelisas' heart, that she hath called something, which in a vulgar expression is termed Love. Berelisa blushed at this discourse, and fortune conducting Terillus to this place, they changed the subject of their conversation: on the contrary, Philonice finding herself on a square Base of stone on the right hand from the house as one ascends the high alley, Cleodamas sent for several embroidered Cushions for the Ladies, who seated themselves in divers ranks on the two sides of this Marble stone, leaving the middle void, lest any person should hinder the sight of the Princess Philonice; as a mark of distinction from the rest, Cleodamas placed the Cushions destined for this Princess, at the foot of a fair Tree, whose distended branches served as an Umbrella to shadow her from the Sun's heat. All the company being seated, 'twas the fortune of Terillus to be next Clidimira, and of Artemidorus to be next Berelisa; for Lysicoris, she was next Cleodomas Philonice seeing these two dear friends separated, asked Berelisa if she was not jealous to see Lysicoris leave her for Cleodamas? Ah Madam (said Terillus, whose Jealousy even consumed his vital spirits) Do not so much injure Jealousy, as to believe it can be found in friendship, and do not deprive love of that thing wherein its power is effectually seen. Berelisa who knew what consequence he would draw from his own words, opposed him, demanding (in an angry voice) on what reason he built his conjectures, that he durst affirm Jealousy belonged more to Love then Friendship? For my part said Artemidorus, as I never had but the Jealousy of Love, because my friends have always proved constant, I cannot give any satisfactory answer to this question. For my particular (added Clidimira, not seeming to take notice of what the Prince had said) I believe that as there is not a long love without Jealousy, so there is no Jealousy without Love; and that it cannot be admitted in friendship. For my part, said Philonice, I am such an enemy to Jealousy, that I dare not give my Judgement of it: I therefore constitute the sage Cleodamas to be the Sovereign Judge when Berelisa and Terillus have alleged all they can to assert their opinions. I consent to't said Berelisa: and I likewise said Terillus; whose Jealousy pressing him to speak, and he beginning to attaque Berelisa, she declared she would not be denied from interrupting Terillus when her fancy prompted her to do it. I consent thereto said he, on condition you will grant me the same liberty; but to speak ingenuously, added he, I think you will have sufficient difficulty to confute my reasons, without desiring that permission. There's none so ignorant said he, but knows Love produces Jealousy, and that they are inseparable concomitants; and that that which is called Jealousy in Friendship, resembles not the true Jealousy. Is it not certain that Jealousy is the violentest of Passions? That 'tis more sensible than Love which produces it? 'tis restless, cloudy, and sometimes furious? That 'tis capable to inspire all crimes, that it transports one to revenge, and that it often excites a man to die his hands in blood? It admitting then this definition, can we believe it may proceed from Friendship, and that such a tumultuous Passion can spring from such a pleasing and peaceful Mother? To speak truth, Jealousy is an effect so necessary in Love, that one cannot be wounded with the Darts of Love, without being poisoned with the stings of Jealousy: For, if one hath no Rival, it receives production from several other things: By a Jealous resentment one envies the glory of the beloved object; one desires always to be with her, to entertain her alone, to admire and adore her, one would have sometimes so much Jealousy essentially attached to Love, that the Beloved person should not love none of her acquaintance, that she should have no manner of attachment for sensible things; and I know not whether one would have her love herself, unless for the love of another; I know there's some injustice in these fantastic thoughts, but I likewise know that a prudent love is no love; and that the disorders of this passion which are blemished by no crime, compose the most sensible pleasures. Judge then if Jealousy which is the greatest irregularity of love, and from whence proceeds the most various subjects, can be found in friendship: For if you are not ignorant that this kind of affection is ordinarily produced more by reason than inclination, and that if the proper effects of things were ascribed to their right causes, Friendship would be termed a necessary effect of merit and virtue, since Friendship sways men to love all those who deserve esteem; but if it should not be so, 'tis true, there's friendship for many persons, and if one should yield to your opinion, there would be many jealousies which would be the terriblest things imaginable: All the world should then be filled with crimes, and as there's none but either love many, or one particular person, it would follow all the world should be jealous, and every one would seek to destroy or hate each other; and it may be a man would be so unhappy to have resentments of Jealousy mixed with the friendship of his Father, Mother, Brothers, Sisters, Kindred, Friends, Wife, Slaves, and Mistress. You exaggerated this so pleasantly (replied Berelisa) that I am much pleased at it, for when one is constrained to insert agreeable things, when solid reasons are necessary, 'tis an infallible sign one maintains a wrong part. What (replied Terillus) do you believe that by explaining to you 'tis possible to have many friendships and many Jealousies, my reasons are more pleasant than solid? If you could prove your words (replied Berelisa) I would not have said that which I have done, but far from consenting to that opinion, I pretend one cannot love nothing of which one might not be jealous: For without examining if there's reason to te●● jealousy a passion, or if one ought to consider it as a simple effect of the tenderness of our heart; let's look upon't in its self, Jealousy is not to speak properly, but a violent desire to preserve that we either affect or possess, and to hinder another from the enjoyment of that we would attain the possession: From whence I conclude, we may be jealous of all that we love, and that we cannot love nothing without Jealousy. I know this resentment is sometimes so weak, that those which have it have no perception of it, but when 'tis so, 'tis doubtless that the attachment we have, which gives such a feeble Jealousy, is not great, and that those which have it, have a confiding Spirit, which makes them repose so much trust on their own Fortune, that they believe no power able to destroy that which they have once gained. But after all, whosoever loves any thing, wishes the possession of it, and desires to possess it when he hath acquired it, he hath even an inquietude to preserve it, proportionable to the inclination and reason which hath fixed it in his thoughts; so that the jealousy is stronger or weaker, according to the power of the attachment, and 'tis that which without doubt makes the difference between those effects the jealousy of love inspires, and those which are produced by friendship; but the difference which is seen between these two jealousies, are sometimes found in jealousies caused by the same passion: For Lovers are not equally jealous, the diversity of their Temperament and Fortune altering their resentments; and though they all have jealousy, yet perhaps in theirs is as much difference as between that of Love and Friendship: There's jealous persons who evaporate their sighs, complaints, and tears, in amorous verses; there's some whom Jealousy makes to compose a Song, and there's others whom it deprives of reason and virtue, who have recourse to Steel and Poison, to carve out their revenge on the person they love; but this diversity doth not hinder that the jealous Lover, who only makes a Song to testify his Jealousy, should not be effectively jealous, since 'tis true one cannot otherwise name a certain resentment which is produced in our heart, with the desire to acquire something of what nature soever: But to speak of Friendship, I affirm that though 'tis prudent, it cannot be tender, unless it be infected with a little Jealousy; I know that the jealousy of Friendship doth not take from us the light of our reason, and that it doth not make us act such fantastical things as the jealousy of Love; but Friendship is not tender, if we do not desire to be preferred before others, if we do not do all things we can imagine to effect it, if we have not some despite when we believe we have not attained our desires, if we are not displeased at those who we see preferred before us, and if we take neither care nor inquietude to preserve what we have gained; you will it may be tell me we may see a thousand and a thousand which have no sensibility of what you have alleged: To that I will answer, there are many persons who believe they love when they have no affection, and who call Friendship a kind of Society, or necessary commerce of life; but when I speak of Friendship, I mean an effective Friendship both tender and solid, of a Friendship where there is a commutation of hearts and secrets: Every one is not jealous according to the proportion of his Friendship, neither doth every one seat it in its right place; but to speak sincerely these lukewarm friendships do not produce violent Jealousies, no more than that love which tunes our Spirits to a musical harmony: But that doth not show that Friendship doth not produce jealousy, at least I know I have sustained it for Lysicoris, for I remember when she once went into the Country without bidding me adieu, I was extremely grieved at it; 'tis not but that I am an enemy of all constraint and ceremony, but because she gave her farewell to another of her friends that she ought not to respect so much as me: I was extremely displeased; and I complained a thousand times of her, and even hated her whom she had visited. But it may be (replied Terillus looking on her) you have sometimes Love, not thinking you have any: No, replied she blushing, for I assure you I know so well how to distinguish Friendship, Hatred, and Jealousy, that if I had love it were difficult to deceive me. But is it possible (said Terillus) you can call Jealousy all those light despites that a resentment of glory produces in friendship, when that one renders you not the Justice you think to merit? But is it possible (replied Berelisa) that you doubt Friendship hath not its Jealousies as well as Love? That which makes me doubt of it (replied Terillus) is, that I am persuaded Jealousy is not but an effect of the irregularity of Love; and that Friendship cannot have the same irregularity, neither can it have Jealousy. But Friendship (replied Berelisa) hath it not all that which is found in love? It hath little cares and great services, it contains the desire to please, complacency is always thereto annexed, there is likewise of the favours of Friendship effective confidences, and of trifling secrets; one esteems the letters of his friend's absence is not rude, Presence is sweet, and in fine, there is found in a tender Friendship all that one can attribute to a tender Love. But, replied Terillus, Do not you comprehend that one cannot be jealous but of that one possesses, or may possess? And that being so, one cannot have Jealousy in Friendship; sure 'tis true that our friends cannot be absolutely ours; for take the perfectest friend in the world, if he hath a Mistress, he will be oftener with his Mistress than Friend; so that Friendship giving nothing which might solely depend on us, it is impossible to be as jealous as if one had a Mistress: But as solid Friendship is too little divertising, Love is robbed of divers things which have dependence only on it; so that those little cares, and all those things of which you have spoken, are become its mode by Usurpation: But for Jealousy, believe me Berelisa, it hath ever appertained to Love, neither can it be admitted to any passion but this. But how call you that I felt for Lysicoris, replied Berelisa? for I would be more loved by her than another: I should be angry if I was less, I would know her thoughts, I would have her if she is in love with any one, to declare it to me; and I should never suffer her without much distemper to write to any of her friends, without showing me the Letter: And I very well know the commotion of my Spirit proceeds from Jealousy; I even hold (added she) that the Jealousy of Friendship is more Jealousy, if I may so say, than the Jealousy of Love; for as it retains Reason still entire, the least effects it produceth in a friend's heart, aught to be more considered than those it produceth in a Lovers: But in what place may we see jealous Friends, (replied Terillus) who have their eyes wand'ring, their tincture pale, their humour melancholy, and their spirits disquieted through excess of their Jealousy? But in what place, replied Berelisa, have you seen Friends which receive contempts without grief, which patiently suffer tepedity, oblivion, indifferency, and irregularity when they believe they are neglected by a new Friendship. I confess it would be difficult for me (replied Terillus) to show you a friend so patient to suffer all those things you have named without resentment; but I call it despite, and not jealousy: And for my part (replied Berelisa) I will call revenge all the resentments of a jealous person after your mode, but to speak rationally, as Love and Friendship derive their Original from the heart, and that we know not how to love nothing but by a certain universal cause, which forms all Loves and Friendships in the world, there is likewise in the heart of all men, as well a jealous as an amorous disposition, and this disposition acts doubtless more or less violently (as I have told you) according to the form of the affection which causes it, according to the subjects one hath to entertain Jealousy, and according to the temper of men which are capable of it: To speak truly, Friendship being no other thing than an imperfect Love, it would be strange if the inseparable concomitant of Love doth not follow it, though not with all those torments and punishments it trails often after it in a Lover's heart. Therefore I entreat the sage Cleodomas, who ought to be our Judge, to condemn you to have an eternal Jealousy in all manners imaginable, and to execute his arrest. I offer myself (added she with a malicious smile) to solicit all the persons you the most love to give you cause to be jealous: Terillus would have answered Berelisa, but the last thing she said having framed the company to laughter, he had an extreme despite, and could not have retained himself; if the Princess, who noted his grief, had not turned towards Cleodamas to tell him he should pronounce his sentence on this question in which so many were interessed. As universal as Jealousy should be (replied Cleodamas) it appears Madam, that you are not a little jealous of your authority, by commanding me to speak before you, but at least (added he) do me the honour to give me your advice, and permit me to take the opinion of all the Company: No, no, replied Philonice, I would know your pure resentments in this occasion, before I declare mine. Since 'tis so, replied he, permit me to render exact justice, and to begin by the Elogium of Terillus, for he without doubt so ingeniously sustained. Jealousy appertains not but to love, that if Berelisa had less spirit and eloquence, I should have been exposed to have given an injust arrest: But to speak sincerely, she hath so courageously defended the part of truth, that 'tis to no purpose I should declare their jealousy in Friendship as well as jealousy in Love, and that if there are found friends without Jealousy when they have cause to have it, there are friends without tenderness, which unjustly usurp a quality they do not merit, since 'tis absolute impossible to have a durable love without some stains of jealousy. Nevertheless to clear up the spirits of Terillus for asserting a grand error; I believe as he hath more love than friendship, he knows not but one kind of jealousy, and judging others by himself, he hath believed there would be no jealous friends: On the contrary, Berelisa who knows by her own experience that Friendship gives Jealousy, and who perhaps hath lovers to whom she hath given it, hath been better instructed than Terillus, and hath so admirably maintained her part, that I am forced to pronounce my arrest, and Crown her with the Victory. In effect, I declare none can better sustain the truth, than Berelisa hath defended hers, she having acquired the sole advantage of the dispute. I therefore entreat her (added Cleodamas) to moderate her resentment, and not to wish that Terillus who knows so ingeniously to defend a bad cause, should have at one time so many different jealousies; for the jealousy of friendship if there is any, replied Terillus, I do not fear to have it, but for the jealousy of Love if I have it, I shall be very much deceived if Berelisa takes it from me: She is doubtless more fit to give than to take away, replied Philonice rising from her Seat: I assure you Madam, replied Berelisa, that I know not how to do neither the one nor the other; but inthe choice of these two, I had rather give this evil to whom I would than desire to heal it, for the power to give replied Terillus, one must have given it another before, and for to cure, one must take the first one hath given.  
As I know not how to divine Enigmas, replied Berelisa, I cannot answer to what you say; if you desire said Terillus, I will more clearly explain it to you: It is better (replied Philonice, beginning to walk for fear Berelisa would give him too severe an answer) at this time no farther to insist on it, for Berelisa is now in such an humour, she will not understand what she desires not to hear: After this all the company began to direct their steps towards the house, for Artemidorus he was so melancholy, that he scarce knew the subject of their disputation, and his passion for Berelisa did so much possess his Spirit that his former love for Clidimira seemed almost extinct, his soul was likewise so suspended between love and hatred, that he would not speak to Clidimira for to complain of her, nor to Berelisa for to tell her he feared she had too much cured his love for her Sister: Berelisa and Clidimira explained his melancholy in the same manner, for Berelisa thought Artemidorus was buried in this anxiety because he yet loved Clidimira, and Clidimira imagined that this Prince yet loved her, so that maugre her inconstancy she had some slight compassion; but for Berelisa she had a strange despite to see Artemidorus should be so little sensible of the outrage he had received, that he should yet affect Clidimira, though her affection lay not open to the discovery of every person, she could not ore-canopy her grief from Lysicoris who perceived it, and demanded one night from whence it proceeded, as they were leaning over a Balcony at the end of the high Alley. When Cynthia with her borrowed light repaired the essence of her Brother's lamp, and silence so reigned in this fair solitude not troubled by the agitation of the leaves, that Lysicoris and Berelisa cast forth two or three sighs, and desiring to know the reason of them, I pray said she to her, tell me what makes you sigh? For I confess I am ignorant of the cause thereof: Your fortune is happy, the Princess prefers you before her other attendants, you are beautiful and in the flower of your age, you have naturally both spirit and virtue, and you command the affection of all: Ah Lysicoris, replied she, a sigh stealing from her heart, you are a flatterer: Truly, replied she, I do not flatter you; it is certain I know men whose affections are changed to you, but none who desire not your love, yet you are melancholy, you flee company and sigh, not willing to declare the subject of them; do not you repent your rigour to Terillus, and dare you not through pride publicly confess it? No, replied Berelisa, and I can assure you the more Terillus loves me, the more he becomes insupportable to me: I know he is magnanimous, and is advantaged by a great spirit yet he hath many other things which displease me. 'Tis true, replied Lysicoris, his body is not of so perfect a composure as that of Artemidorus, but it seems to me love should not solely submit to beauty; and if I am not deceived there are other qualities more essential than this: 'Tis true, added she, if this Prince was the Rival of Terillus, I should think you had reason to prefer him, for he hath not only a more graceful deportment; but more affability and virtue, but as you know if he is yet amorous, it is certainly of your Sister, and Terillus being the completest of our Court, you act too much injustice by treating him with such severity: It is needless to know whether it is justice or injustice, replied Berelisa, but I confess to you, I would have you discover if Berelisa loves my sister, and if you desire to be informed what thoughts possess my heart when I sigh, they only spring from my Brother's interest, and from the apprehension I have that Artemidorus and Clidimira renew their former gallantry; the face of Artemidorus appears masked with so much melancholy since the arrival of my Sister. I have noted it as well as you, replied Lysicoris, but others sigh not in such a manner for a Brother's interest, and your words varied from true sincerity, when you invented the precedent expressions. What would you have me tell you, replied Berelisa: I would know, replied Lysicoris, from whence proceeds these sighs: Really, replied she, I think Artemidorus hath occasioned them: If so, you are captive to your Prisoner, replied Lysicoris, for I am assured when one breaths forth such heart-breaking sighs as yours, they must of necessity proceed from an amorous tenderness You are so knowing in sighs, replied Berelisa, that one may imagine your life hath been but a continual suspiration. If I have not sighed, replied she, I have seen many sigh, but the sighs of love differ from others, and if you will speak sincerely, confess to me those sighs I have heard were not produced by domestic affairs or ordinary accidents: If they were sighs of Jealousy, replied Berelisa, what would you say of them? I should much murmur, replied she, for they must then proceed from a concealed passion which precedes it. Murmur then, answered Berelisa turning her head, since 'tis too true for my misfortune, that my heart is infected with a terrible jealousy, though I have no violent affection: Ah Berelisa, replied Lysicoris, that cannot be, and if you are very jealous, you must doubtless have much love; in truth replied she, I feel nothing but jealousy, if so replied Lysicoris, you feel more grief than pleasure; 'tis not so replied Berelisa, but 'tis that I dare not tell you, for the confusion of it hath almost prescribed limits to my life; but it may be there's something more contemptuous, replied Lysicoris, then to confess one hath jealousy; yes replied Berelisa, and if 'twas not that I conceive it expedient for me, you should know the secret of my heart, to endeavour to know that of another's, and the more easily to conceal mine from the rest of the world, I should never tell it you, though you have ever been the confident of all my secrets; you have then a strange secret replied Lysicoris, more strange than you can imagine replied Berelisa, since in word my dear Lysicoris, I swear I have a simple desire in my heart to be affected by Artemidorus, in the mean time it gives me such a violent jealousy, that I fear I cannot conceal it, for since my sister-in-law came hither, such melancholy cogitations so benight his pleasing humour, that I doubt not but he yet loves her; believe me Berelisa, replied Lysicoris, when one ardently desires the love of any person, there must needs be a strong affection to the desired party. In truth replied she, I do not believe I love Artemidorus, but I would not have him love Clidimira; he hath so much friendship for you replied Lysicoris, that I believe if he loves her, and you demand satisfaction in that point, he will not deny it; if I was not the sister of Telesis answered she, I should ere this have demanded it: 'Tis not added this fair Virgin rather than to remain in this incertitude; I resolve in the end to speak to him of it, but as I fear he'll divine 'tis not the interest of Telesis which frames my curiosity; I should be much perplexed to execute my design, though hitherto I have had sufficient power over myself not to perform any action, or speak any word, which might give any occasion to Artemidorus to suspect I had any particular inclination for him, for in sine I love glory, and I so much wish the estimation of this Prince, that if I should not be severe by my own virtue, I should be cruel for the love of him; those Madam were the resentments of Berelisa, those of Clidimira were of another nature, for when she thought Artemidorus yet affected her, she was more confused at her infidelity, than ever she had been before; 'tis not that she would renovate her affection with this Prince, for she hath virtue, but she at least would not have been displeased if she could have excused herself to him. As she considered she could not easily effect it, she avoided him as much as possible she could; for Artemidorus he fled every one, his grief was so extreme to find himself amorous of Berelisa; 'tis not but he wished he might be in love with Berelisa in the first transports of his anger, but he wished it when he did not think 'twould arrive, so that now feeling himself in a different estate, he contraryed his former wishes, but they proved ineffectual, for the defects of Clidimira and her infidelity were so recent in his memory, that they banished from his heart his precedent love; on the contrary, Berelisa appeared to him both amiable and charming. The great care Clidimira used to hide her deformity, and the little care of Berelisa to show her excelling features, did produce such a strange operation in his thoughts that Artemidorus despised the one, and esteemed the other; but after all, he saw he had better not engage himself to love Berelisa: if there had been no other reason but that this fair Virgin was a Princess, whose Father was enemy to the Leontine Prince his Brother, who would doubtless say when he had notice of it, that he thought only to love his enemies. As his reason was already accustomed to yield to his love, his greatest grief was, to think that perhaps he might not be loved, for Terillus seemed to him a discreet man, and he feared to share his fortune, he knew Berelisa had more friendship for him then Terillus, but his friendship ever disquieted him, and he thought 'twas an easy matter to compass the love of any person which had but indifferency for him, than a Virgin who was already of his intimate acquaintance; for Terillus he was altogether unhappy, he was a lover, his love was rejected, he was Jealous, and not without cause, he must go to the Camp and leave his Rival with his Mistress, but maugre so many melancholy thoughts; the charming Philonice made the society at Carisalis appear very agreeable; the sage Cleodamas likewise desirous to ever use the memory of her residence there, parted all the Alleys and Cabinets of the wood, between ten or twelve persons who composed the pleasures of this illustrious Princess and fixed inscriptions at the end of every Alley, consonant to the humours of those persons from whom they derived their names; he gave likewise names to the little paths which crossed this amiable wood, and he called one the Alley of sighs, because it seemed a fit place to cast forth a secret sigh: 'twas in this that Berelisa not thinking him to be there, having found Artemidorus alone whilst the rest of the company were in the great Alleys, heard this Prince sigh; he had not yet any design to tell her he loved her, neither had she any intention to speak to him in particular, but a casual accident making them meet in this Alley, presented them with an opportunity, they little expected; as they both sought this place of the wood to fly all discourse, they blushed when they saw one another, they explained not the change of their colour as they ought; for Artemidorus believed the modesty of Berelisa made her blush, and Berelisa imagined the alteration of his countenance proceeded from his being surprised in an amorous deliration for Clidimira, whom he ought to blot out of his remembrance, she having stained her virtue by her unfaithful levity, and the curiosity she had in her soul becoming more strong; confess the truth said she to him, her cheeks being replanted with blushes. You are not so vindicative as you imagine, and you yet permitted the inconstant Clidimira a firmer seat in your heart then her mutable affection might claim: Nevertheless added she, I will believe you constrain yourself for the love of me, for I presuppose it's because Clidimira is my Sister that you fly her, that you do not speak to her, and that you see not the occasion to essay to revenge yourself of her infidelity. I ingeniously confess replied Artemidorus, (looking on her with an amorous eye) you are the cause that I fly Clidimira, but charming Berelisa, 'tis not by the reason you imagine; No, no, replied Berelisa, invent not a deluding sincerity to punish me for my raillery; for in fine, since the first instant you have reviewed Clidimira, you are not the same as before, and the change of your humour is so great every one takes notice of it. I confess to you I am surprised at it, for 'tis true, Clidimira hath performed such unworthy actions, that I conceive not how you should yet retain your love: ah if I have any for Clidimira cried he; I entreat the Gods Berelisa should never have any for Artemidorus, though he cannot hope to be happy unless he is once honoured with Berelisa's affection. I pray, replied this Virgin with much astonishment, do not answer in this manner, a person who speaks to you seriously as a faithful friend. I pray Madam, replied he, do not thus answer a person who speaks to you with sincerity, and as a faithful Lover restrain me from the sentiments of Terillus; and do not crucify me more by your rigour, than Clidimira hath done by her inconstancy.  
Whilst Artemidorus thus spoke, Berelisa's spirit was in a deep disquietude, for she knew not with what temper to receive these expressions of the Prince: She saw doubtless in his eyes and visage all the signs of an ardent love, and the tone of his voice justified his sincerity; but fearing Artemidorus would deceive her, to have a pretext more easily to see Clidimira, her spirit was enraged, and not to expose herself to such an adventure, she thus spoke to him: Sir, said she, a serious gravity being seated in her face, though it is not my custom to remember any persons of those courtesies they have received from me, yet I entreat you to recall into your memory the intention I ever had to render your restraint more pleasing. I pray Madam, said he interrupting her, change not your thoughts I conjure you, and act as favourably for a Prince, who will be always fettered in your Chains, as you have acted for your unknown Prisoner: But to begin to do it (added he) believe (if you please) I am sincere, that I love you a thousand times more than I ever loved Clidimira: Yes, charming Berelisa, I have learned to love by serving her, and you alone have taught me to hate her; for I confess unto you my imbecility and stupidity, if you had not chased her from my heart, she would have maugre her inconstancy, still triumphed in my misfortune: Commiserate then a Lover, who is so well skilled in the tenderness of love; for if you do not, I know not what will become of me. That which you say is so surprising (replied Berelisa) that I know not what to think of it; for in fine, Sir, if I could believe you loved me, if I should desire it, how should I be persuaded your affection is real? Is it not true that the day which preceded Clidimiras arrival, you yet loved her? I very well know (said he) that I would not have loved her more, and that I wished my heart was submitted to your Love; but as I am sincere, I confess if I am not deceived, I had then some love for Clidimira; and admiration and friendship only for the charming Berelisa; but alas things have now assumed a new face; for I love Berelisa, and so contemn Clidimira, that I resolve to upbraid her with her infidelity: Let Telesis peaceably possess her, added he, I will not emulate him; and if he bestows on me his amiable Sister, I will voluntarily resign to him my ancient Mistress. But Sir (replied Berelisa) how can Love so suddenly die, and soon revive? Do you desire Madam I should tell you, said he to her, that it may be I am as unfaithful as Clidimira? And that I did not love you, when I believe I loved her? But I know I love you more than ever I did any, and there's nothing I should not be capable to do to convince you of it; I know (pursued he) you use to give love without receiving any, and that Terillus hath a cruel experience of it: But Madam, since he hath the unhappiness of your hatred, and that it seems you sport yourself with his misfortune, use the occasion I offer you, to torment him, and love me by a cruel resentment for him; if you will not love me by a resentment of tenderness for myself. But yet replied Berelisa, how shall I know how this pretended Love hath entered into your heart? By the treacherous window of my Body, replied he. But you do not consider what you say, replied she, for I am not graced with more perfections than I was three months since; and Clidimira (as my Brother hath said) is more beautiful than ever. 'Tis true, said Artemidorus, but Clidimiras Beauty is lessened in my esteem, and and yours is heightened by the opposition of her defects, demand therefore (Madam) no more satisfaction of me, and rest satisfied, that I love both your spirit and person with an equal ardour, and that I am persuaded whosoever takes from Clidimira the splendour of her eyes, the freshness of her tincture, the carnation of her lips, and a certain gallant air in her face, will deplume her of her attractive features; for her Spirit as 'tis inconstant, it admits of no praise. Berelisa hearing Artemidorus speak in this manner, was surprised at it, for as the perfections of a Rival picture a strong impression in the spirit, she remembered Clidimira had no charms to allure the eye but her visage, and the proportion of her body, and she was not ignorant that she was embellished with all those graces which are required in the composure of a perfect Beauty; and this imagination spreading her face with a scarlet colour, she shadowed it with her vail to conceal her blushes: But as she was shaping an answer, she saw Terillus and Clidimira appear, who not seeking them, accidentally found them in this place, this sight confused all parties, but as there was no way to fly their company, they joined them in the middle of this alley, regarding one another with a different aspect; for Artemidorus, who desired to persuade Berelisa, Clidimira was now banished his heart, looked only on his new Mistress: Terillus being jealous, looked both on Berelisa and Artemidorus; Clidimira, who thought she might yet challenge some affection in this Prince, blushed at her infidelity, looking on the curious weaving of the leavy branches; for Berelisa she sometimes looked on Artemidorus, and sometimes on her Sister, to the end to discover what imaginations swayed their Souls: The conversation of these four persons was very reserved, and I assure you, their words did not countervail their thoughts, and what they said, dissented from their resentments; in fine, after they had shared an hour in discourse, other persons coming thither parting this company, Artemidorus was necessitated to join with Clidimira or Terillus: In the choice of these two, he had rather speak to his Rival than his inconstant Mistress, since he could not entertain Berelisa, with whom a Lady had some private conference: As Terillus was jealous, and prepared for his martial expedition, and that he knew Artemidorus was generous, he resolved to speak to him of his love; and singling him from the rest, Sir, said he to him, you will perhaps tax me of audacity and injustice, for demanding of you if you are but a Prisoner of War, and for entreating you to call to mind, that if I had not retained those whom your valour had incensed, your death only could have ransomed the rashness of your courage; I say not this, Sir, added he, to reproach you, you are indebted to me for your life; but only to demand of you whether you are but a Prisoner of War, or whether you are become Prisoner of Love; for in fine, if you are amorous, your heart is chaned to Berelisas' Beauty. Before I give a precise responsion to your demand, replied Artemidorus, I confess to you your generosity hath preserved my life; but Terillus, I sell my liberty dear enough, if I tell you I should have died without shame in that occasion, and as I was not too happy, but am yet very miserable in giving me life, you have not given me so much as you imagine; and it belongs only to me to accuse you of all the misfortunes of my captivity: But Terillus, I am more just, and too generous for to tell you, your preservation of my life reflected more from the Prince of Agrigentines' interest than mine; I look on you as my Conqueror, but Terillus, added he, you must know Mars and Love are not at variance, and that I am not obliged to tell you, whether I do or do not love Berelisa; if I should be amorous, I should not be conscious of any injustice to you, for your love is disesteemed, and I should deprive you of nothing, if I should be so happy to gain her love; but Terillus, things are not yet come to this point, and if I love Bererisa, she hath yet no knowledge of it. Ah, Sir, replied Terillus, if 'tis so, let her never know it, and disengage yourself from the service of that person; I know your quality hath seated you above me, but since the Fortune of Arms licenses me a freer liberty of speech than another, resist the charms of her tempting Beauty, and let not my Prisoner become my Rival. I pray Terillus (replied Artemidorus) if you well understand your Interests, press me no more; for Love is such a capricious passion, that difficulties augment it; and to consider it in a rational manner, as Love is not a voluntary thing, they are even unjust which would constrain it; act then what you can to compass Berelisas' love, and if I love, permit me likewise to conquer an heart; she hath refused you, and for the life I owe you (pursued he) I will put myself in estate to render it you when you require it. Terillus, who is fierce by nature, gave a sharp answer to Artemidorus; and if some men had not interposed, seeing them heated with anger, some misfortune would have put a period to their incensed minds; but as the agitation of their spirits was visible in their faces, Philonice was advertised of it, who following the counsel of the sage Cleodamas, made them seeming friends, not diving into their secret thoughts: Since this time both Artemidorus and Terillus canceled their former obligations, he after a little time returning to the Camp; for Artemidorus, he accompanied the Princess to Agrigentine, where he performed so many things, that Berelisa was persuaded he loved her; but though she had a strong inclination for him, and that she wished his love, yet her actions were so reserved, that he was a long time ignorant of his felicity; and they so prudently managed their affections, that their loves was not yet divulged: 'tis true, Terillus declared them, but as he was known to be jealous, none made reflection on his words; and Clidimira believing Artemidorus yet loved her, though he did not speak to her of it, acquainted several of her friends with her resentments, so that his love for Berelisa was not in the least suspected. But in sine, not to disoblige your patience, in the time that Artemidorus was favoured by Berelisa, news came that the Fates had exiled the life of Telesis, which afflicted both Berelisa and Clidimira; but grief reigned with a fuller power over Berelisa than Clidimira, she having a spirit which easily admits of consolation; on the other side, Berelisa seeing her Sister at her own dispose to make a free election, feared, that after her tears were banished, she would reconquer the Prince's heart, who was obliged to share his visits betwixt these two fair afflicted persons; 'tis true, when he repaired to Clidimiras Chamber, he always chose a time when others were there, to the end he should not be engaged to make a long compliment, entertaining her with some consolatory discourses, according to the custom of such visits. In fine, when time hath calmed the displeasure of this fair Widow, and that she believed herself in a capacity to make an innocent conquest, she perceived Artemidorus loved her Sister, so that jealousy remitting in her heart her former love for Artemidorus, she repented her inconstancy, and designed by all enticing allurements to gain what she had lost: Being returned to Agrigentine, my eyes presented her to me with such an accessional lustre of perfections, that knowing Artemidorus had renounced her love, I was caught in those snares laid to reentrap his heart; I gave her assiduous visits, and some amorous expressions slipped from my tongue, but as soon as she perceived I was engaged in her service, she used this occasion to justify her to Artemidorus, with whom she had had no particular discourse since she came to Agrigentine; for knowing the intimate familiarity between us, she did not doubt but what she declared to me, I would make to him a full declaration of it; and I ingeniously confess, she overreached me with subtlety of her wit: As I then one day spoke to her of my pretended passion, being alone in her Chamber, she cut off very short, but in an obliging manner: I pray Zenocrates (said she to me) silence your passion; and to testify unto you how infinitely I esteem you, I will not treat you as I ordinarily treat those who are so prided with their imaginary fancies, as to declare their affections to me; if you will therefore disclaim your love, I will embrace your friendship, and confide to you the whole secret of my life: You know (pursued he) we have been of long acquaintance; and I know that when you went to Leontine, you were linked to Artemidorus in such a strict bond of amity, that you cannot be ignorant of what passages happened between us; but Zenocrates I will discover that to you, which neither you nor Artemidorus knows, and which perhaps he may never know. But, Madam, said I to her, Artemidorus doth not love you, and you ought to have no more affection for him, which is the reason hath engaged me to serve you. I knew, replied she, Artemidorus hath wound himself out of the labyrinth of his love; but Zenocrates (added this artificious person, seeming to have some confusion) Artemidorus is unjust, for he hath believed me more inconstant than I have been; and if I dare say it, I have been more unfaithful to Telesis than Artemidorus. I say not this to you (pursued she) that you should declare it to him, but only to the end to unlock to you the secret Cabinet of my heart, and to merit your esteem and friendship, since I am not in estate to receive your love: Know that when Artemidorus departed from Leontine, my Parents persuaded me that this Prince estranged himself, to the end that during his absence, the Prince his Brother might marry me by his authority to whom he pleased, so that despite possessing my spirit, I resolved to obey those who proposed Telesis to me, seeing I could not be free but in marrying myself, and I thought I could not better revenge myself of Artemidorus, than to engage myself to Telesis, whom I chose rather than another, because he was no Leontine, and that if I could not forget the love of Artemidorus, I at least hoped I should never see him; for I did not foresee any likelihood I should find him at Agrigentine; but for my misfortune Fortune hath disposed it otherwise, and I see myself exposed to the most cruel adventure in the World; every one knows I have lived so well with Telesis, that I have not spoken to Artemidorus, that I am neither justified nor excused to him, and that I have acted as a person which cares not to be esteemed unfaithful; but Zenocrates maugre all this, I have preserved in my heart such a great esteem for Artemidorus, and such an obliging tenderness, that I should be sorry if he knew it. I tell you this, lest you should accuse me of ingratitude; for as you see me young, I do not refuse your affection but to accept another's; But not to tell you a lie, I will not engage myself in all my life to suffer the constraint in which I have lived; and since I cannot destroy the remembrance of Artemidorus, I will at least in not pretending more to his love, never suffer any others; 'tis not that he merits the tenderness I have for him, for he hath received my infidelity in such a manner, which makes me see it had been difficult for him to have been unfaithful: he hath done me the favour to hate both Telesis and me, but is resolved to destroy me with so much tranquillity, that I am not astonished to see him engaged in a new affection: But in fine Zenocrates, I esteem you a too discreet man to receive you in a divided heart; content yourself to be my Friend, never speak to him of what I have told you, and believe I could not have given you a greater testimony of esteem, than to open to you the secrets of my heart. Clidimira framed this Discourse with such ingenuity, that I believed it; and though at first Love was the Theme on which I discoursed, I at last was contented to be her Confident; as I knew the engagement of Artemidorus, I told her, that I would not counsel her to think of reconquering his heart; for, said I to her, if one hath at any time committed any infidelity to her, I do not believe one ought to renew love with him, who hath done it, because I believe confidence can never be reestablished; all other subjects of complaints which may be between two persons which love, are nothing, which may be presently reconciled; but for infidelity, Madam, (replied I) it is not so; and 'tis much better to make a new affection with me who am not scrupulous. No, no, Zenocrates (replied she) I will not follow your counsel, for I will love nothing; I do not think to regain the love of Artemidorus, who hath blotted me out of his thoughts; but Zenocrates, added she, I conjure you never to speak to me of your pretended love, if you will not aggrandise my affliction. Can I hearken to that you tell me, without thinking you tell it me, if 'twas not that you knew by an infallibly certainty, that I am absolutely indifferent to Artemidorus? I entreat you do not multiply my grief; and be certain that if I was disposed to a new engagement, I should prefer you before all my acquaintance. Clidimira had doubtless stretched her Discourse to a further length, had not some Ladies interrupted us. In the mean time I was so astonished at her words, that I knew not where I was, and as I was assured that Artemidorus did no more think of Clidimira, and that she was already expelled his thoughts, I did not fear he would reentertain her love, I went therefore to seek him, to tell him he had completed his revenge on Clidimira, since she yet loved him: My expressions did so surprise him, that he believed I did but jest with him; but I at last spoke to him so seriously, that he knew I invented not any fiction; and though he loved Berelisa with an extreme passion, that which I told him of Clidimira made him change colour; for he then remembered divers things which made him imagine this person had a design to recall him; anger was solely seated in his breast, and if Berelisa had seen that which passed in his heart in this occasion, she would have had no subject of jealousy: He did not believe he ought to make known to her this adventure, because he held that a wise man ought never to tell (without an absolute necessity) that a woman loves him, nor whether he loves her, or loves her not; he did not testify to me that he believed he was loved; on the contrary he counselled me not to shake off my Love, and I followed his directions, but I found a strong resistance, that ere the Sun had fifteen times run its diurnal course, my passion was buried in its own ruins. Though Artemidorus had defended me from telling Clidimira, I had acquainted him with what she had told me; and though he constrained himself as much as possibly he could, yet she saw by his eyes he knew it, hoping then that in continuance of time there might happen some slight quarrel between Berelisa and him, which might tend to her advantage, she acted many things to effect her design; for when she was with any friends of Artemidorus, she would be lavish in his praise, she always frequented those places where he went, she oppressed Berelisa with visits and testimonies of friendship, and when she encountered the eyes of this Prince, she made, as if she would shun them, though she carefully sought them, likewise making him see in her a certain emotion accompanied with confusion and modesty, she excited some kind of trouble in the heart of Artemidorus, which obliged him to fly her; 'tis not that he did not feel himself faithful to Berelisa, that he should always be so, and that the infidelity of Clidimira would yet much anger him; but after all, Clidimira acted in such a manner, which both grieved and perplexed him: This fair person therefore to attain her desires, contracted a particular friendship with Terillus, she told him she was touched with his merit, that she would protect him nigh her Sister, and she effectually become the confident of his love, and his jealousy of Artemidorus; she even gained one of the Maids which waited on Berelisa, she entertained likewise some commerce with me, and in this manner, whether by Terillus, by the Maid which she gained, or by me, she knew all which passed between Berelisa and Artemidorus; 'tis not that I told her any thing in particular, only as I well knew Artemidorus desired she should believe he would love her no more, and that he desired not her affection; I would confess her he was very amorous of Berelisa; but to tell you the truth, she knew all things both by jealous Terillus, and the aforesaid person: so that a furious anger possessing her spirit, she plotted all her designs to sow division between these two persons. As she hath a subtle spirit, she judged that 'twould not be easy for her at first to put any difference between Artemidorus and Berelisa; for 'tis a person who hath a tender heart, a regulated spirit, who thinks not but of that she loves, who believes there aught to be as much probity in love as any other thing, and who doth not give the least subject of jealousy to Artemidorus; but she thought 'twould not be so difficult to put distrust in Berelisas' spirit; therefore after she had been acquainted by the prementioned ways in several particulars, reflecting on the affection of Berelisa for Artemidorus, she wrote a Letter to her Sister by an unknown hand, and another to Artemidorus, under the name of one of his friends who was in the Army; she put them both in one Packet, and by a secret way sent it to Artemidorus, he knowing not from whence it came, and unripping the Seal, he found a little Note directed to him, which contained these words.  
I Demand your pardon for not writing to you myself, but having received a slight hurt in my right hand, I have employed another, to entreat you to deliver this enclosed Letter to Berelisa; I assure you it comes from a Person who hath much interest in her affairs, and who so far engaged me to render it safe to her hands, that I believe I could not better cancel my Engagements, than directing it to you: I shall not excuse myself for the trouble I impose upon you, since you will be fully recompensed by the sight of that beautiful person.  
Artemidorus having read this Note, did not suspect there was any deception in it, for he knew the name they had subscribed to this Letter, whose name I cannot at this time remember, and 'twas true, that this man had been hurt in the right hand, so that Artemidorus being impatient to perform this service to Berelisa, went to carry the Letter to her, and as Clidimira had a design to be an ocular witness of the effect of this deceit, she went to Berelisa's Chamber, where Artemidorus came; and imagining this Letter was not of much consequence, he gave it her before Clidimira, telling her in what manner he had received it. Though Berelisas' curiosity incited her to peruse it, principally because she could not imagine who writ it, she would have by a resentment of civility put it in her pocket; but Clidimira, who saw Artemidorus take notice of it, said to him; Do not you think my Sister renders you a respect, which is the most difficult in the World, for my part I know nothing so weighty to carry as a sealed Letter, when one dares not open it by reason of Ceremony? Artemidorus being now roused from that Lethargic slumber in which he was buried by Clidimiras sight, told her, he would dismiss himself from her company, if she would not read this Letter; so that being constrained to open it, she found it poisoned with these dangerous words.  
I Pray, Madam, receive with a favourable eye the advice I intent to give you, and do not think strange if the person subscribes not her name; for your Friendship is so dear to her, that not knowing how you will receive this advice, she dares not expose herself to your hatred. Know then, Madam, he which renders you my Letter, doth not possess your affection without the knowledge of divers persons; I know not whether 'tis his fault or yours, but many know you loved him first, and may yet love him last; for as he hath not been too strongly touched with Clidimiras change, he is not perhaps so faithful to you as he ought to be; every one knows you love him, that you receive his Letters, and return him affectionate answers, that he wholly sways your soul, and that you vouchsafe him many favours, which he doth not receive with such transport of love as Terillus would, did you please so far to honour him: Every one knows Clidimira doth not hate him, that he hath not sealed her justification, and that his extinct slames may be reascended, if they are not already: You would therefore attract much more glory, to recompense the inconstancy of Terillus, to leave Artemidorus to Clidimira, and by this means you will free yourself from that obloquy which doubtless will blemish your Reputation, if you do not regulate yourself by my Counsel.  
As soon as Berelisa began to read this Letter, she blushed, and blushed with so many signs of anger imprinted in her face, that Artemidorus who looked attentively on her, knew it contained something which displeased her, and had much vexation, because he had delivered to her: Clidimira on the contrary had an extreme joy to see the inquietude of Berelisa, she testified her notice of it, to the end to give more curiosity to Artemidorus, for she believed Berelisa would not show it him. She had no sooner perused the Letter, but she said to her, I entreat you Sister to tell me, if the news you have from the Army, acquaints you with the death of any of your Friends, for I see so many marks of grief in your countenance, that I already seek to divine who we have lost. For my part, added Artemidorus, looking on Berelisa, I shall esteem myself very unhappy, if I have brought unto you any doleful news; but if so, I can at least assure you, I know not who writ it. Berelisa seeing herself pressed to show this Letter, told him, that there was nothing considerable in it, and that it contained certain Domestic Affairs. You have not a soul so interessed (replied Clidimira with much confidence) to be sensible of things of this nature. I blush sometimes so easily (replied Berelisa, cloistering this Letter in her Pocket) that one must never judge of the resentments of my heart, by the emotion of my face; but though Berelisa made a great effort to constrain herself, Artemidorus knew some disturbance had entered her spirit; in effect, so soon as Clidimira was gone, she thought on nothing but this cruel Letter, and she imagined it had been wrote by the contrivance of Terillus; but though her spirit was incensed, she did not believe she ought to show this Letter to Artemidorus, for fear he did not credit what she believed, and lest he should be transported against Terillus, to whom they had both obligations; and her ancient jealousy beating an alarm to her heart in this instant, she had intention for some time to observe Clidimira and Artemidorus. In the mean time Clidimira, who secretly triumphed at this deceit, was in hope this Letter would prove effectual; for if Berelisa did not show it to Artemidorus, 'twas an evident sign this Artifice had made some impression in her heart, which might in some time breed a difference between them; and if she showed it him, Clidimira drew from thence at least this advantage, to make known to Artemidorus she yet loved him; for though she imagined I had told him, she was not certain of it. So soon as she was departed, Artemidorus pressed Berelisa to show him this Letter; but as Clidimira when she went away saluted this Prince in a manner which augmented her suspicions, she confirmed herself in her intended resolution not to show it him: Artemidorus who could not suffer she should conceal any secret from him, thus complained of her injustice: Do you then believe Madam, said he to her, that it is permitted you to hide any secret from me, who have made an entire resignation of my heart to you, and who tells you without any reservation all you desire? Is it thus, Madam, you requite my Tenderness, my Fidelity, and my Respect? You know (added he) that you have refused me a thousand and a thousand favours, and that I have promised never to breathe forth any dislike of your actions, whilst I am assured to possess your heart: Speak then, Madam, I entreat you, and tell me if this is to be the master of it, not to know what passes there? Do you think, Madam, that one cannot be unfaithful but in ceasing to love any person? Or that one cannot love others more than Clidimira? And believe you not that it should be a kind of Infidelity to trust more to ones self than to the person one loves, and conceal any thing from him. I believe at least (replied Berelisa blushing) that when one faithfully loves a person, one ought never to mention a woman one hath loved, if he is not constrained to it; but you do not so: For I am assured you speak an hundred and an hundred times of Clidimira without necessity; I have even heard you mention her name for another's, there being no resemblance betwixt them: If you would speak of some quarter of Agrigentine, the street where Clidimira remains; if one asks you the time when you were freed from close restraint, you say it was a little before Clidimira came to Agrigentine, and Clidimira is yet so strong in your memory, that you speak not so much to me of others, as you do of Clidimira to me. But Madam, replied he, I have mentioned her an hundred times to you, to declare her unworthy actions. You would have done me more pleasure never to speak to me of her (replied she) to dis-accustom your mouth from pronouncing her name: For in fine, it is a general maxim, not to mention the first Mistress to the second, unless (as I have formerly said) one is constrained; and I had rather hear you call Clidimira Berelisa, than Lysicoris Clidimira: But Madam, said Artemidorus to her, Do not you think hatred presents persons one hates to the memory, as well as Love those which one loves? And do you think it should be possible I might ever love Clidimira if I should not love you? No, no, Madam, added he, I cannot love an unfaithful Mistress: 'Tis true, I am not so much transported as another, but it is because I believe discretion ought to reside in the hearts both of happy and unhappy Lovers, and that they should retain a kind of civility for the Female Sex: But after all I hate and despise Clidimira, and I despise her it may be more than you can imagine. Time will demonstrate it to us, replied she: What? Madam, replied he, do you believe time is necessary to assure the fidelity of a man to whom you have promised your affection? And can you conceal a secret from me? Ah Madam if it is so, Terillus is less unfortunate than I am, for at least he can ground his happiness on no future hope; but for my part, Madam, who think to be happy, I find myself plunged in misery. In the mean time added he, there is it may be several things within these few days happened to me, which merit a more favourable treatment. But if there is happened things I know not (replied she with precipitation) you ought not to think it strange if I declare not a secret to you, since you have one I know not. Artemidorus seeing his own words had betrayed him, and not willing by generosity to acquaint Berelisa that her Sister yet loved him, would have explained it otherwise than he had said; but as he is naturally very sincere, he could not frame himself to tell a lie. Berelisa then knowing by the manner of his speech he had something he would not tell her, had such a strong curiosity, that she earnestly pressed him to tell her what had happened to him, which made him desist from desiring to know the contents of the Letter: So that both having a strong curiosity, and this curiosity augmenting by their resistance, in the end Berelisa's being the stronger, it obliged her to tell Artemidorus, that if he promised her not to be transported with any resentment against the party (whom she imagined) had wrote the Letter she received, she would show it him. And he likewise told her, that if she engaged herself not to speak of what he said to her, she should see that she had much injured him in speaking to him of Clidimira in that manner as she had done. In fine, Berelisa gave to Artemidorus the Letter he had given her; which so surprised him, that the fountain of his utterance was a long time sealed, before he could perform his Word to Berelisa, for they at first so sympathized in their thoughts, that there was doubtless a transmigration of their souls: For he likewise believing Terillus had invented this fallacy, he then began to exaggerate his misfortune, for having a Rival to whom he had many obligations, and to seek by what way Terillus had known what he had wrote in his Letter: For, said he to Berelisa, if there was nothing there but my Love for you, and your goodness for me, I should say Jealousy had dictated it to him; since there is no better spy than the spirit of a jealous Lover: But Madam, I am surprised of what he relates concerning Clidimira, since that (in fine) if I must tell you all things, it is true that this unfaithful person would without doubt once more deceive me. Berelisa hearing Artemidorus speak in this manner, pressed him to retail to her that which he had said; and this Prince willing to obey her, recounted unto her that which I had told him: But though she might remain satisfied, yet she was angry he had concealed that from her so long time. Nevertheless (added she by a motion of Jealousy) do not you imagine Clidimira would reconquer your heart by a resentment of hatred for me; and if another had deprived you of your Love, she would have resigned to her a peaceable possession, but as I am unhappy, I would not swear you will not become unfaithful. Ah Madam (interrupted Artemidorus) you are the injustest person in the world to use those words. As they were on these terms, the amiable Philonice entered acccompanied by the Prince of Messina, who came to Agrigentum during a suspension of Arms: I came likewise to Berelisa's house a little after; and as I was taxed of inconstancy, Lysicoris who was come with the Princess Philonice, having something to tell me called me, whilst Philonice spoke to Berelisa towards the windows: But as I answered not; I pray, said she to a Lady which was nigh me, tell that unfaithful person who is by you, that I would entertain him. Hardly had Lysicoris said this, but turning towards her; I pray, said he to her, call me not unfaithful; yet for Inconstant (pursued I) I endure it; but for unfaithful I cannot suffer it: I have not such a delicate Spirit as you (replied Lysicoris) and I know not too well between Inconstancy and Infidelity. As Lysicoris said that, the Princess Philonice who had heard her, turned and seated herself, and making one in this discourse, she demanded who could doubt there was no distinction to be made between an unfaithful and inconstant person. In truth (replied Lysicoris) I think in case of Love, these two things very much resemble. For my part, replied I, I am not of that opinion, that one cannot sometimes be inconstant without shame, and that one cannot be unfaithful without baseness. Berelisa seeing then such a fair occasion to insult over Clidimira, and to darken her esteem with Artemidorus, engaged so discreetly this conversation, that she saw herself obliged to make the distinction; and she did it more easily than any part of the Company, and the Prince of Messina, as others without exact examination said; that inconstancy and infidelity might easily be confounded. For my part said then the Princess Philonice, I am of the opinion of Berelisa and Zenocrates, for I believe one cannot say there is a kind of inconstancy without infidelity; or fidelity without inconstancy; and if it was not that I am now in a melancholy humour, I might very well bring my thoughts to trial; but since Zenocrates and Berelisa are of my opinion, I give them Commission to declare my resentments; for I imagine they know them: But said then Lysicoris smiling, is he not an unfaithful man which changeth love? And an inconstant Lover is he not likewise who changes his Mistress? A liberal man who makes a present without choice (replied Berelisa) gives something which is to him, and a prodigal man which casts without choice, gives likewise that which appertains to him; the one practiseth a virtue and the other makes to see he hath a vice; this which is well more estranged the one from the other, than inconstancy and infidelity; for I say not that inconstancy should be a virtue, but I say that an honest man when he is young, may sometimes be inconstant without dishonouring himself, and that in some times, in some age, and in pretext that this should be, no person can be unfaithful without baseness and infamy: I sustain likewise that infidelity and inconstancy are yet more horrible in women than men. Berelisa said this with so much emotion, that I knew well that I might do her the greatest pleasure in the world to remit my cause in her hands, and that she was not sorry to speak on this subject, finding likewise much more fit to oblige her to defend me, than to defend herself; I left her at least to begin this innocent war. But then, said the Prince of Messina, I would know precisely what is that delicate distinction you make of inconstancy and infidelity? I call inconstancy (replied Berelisa) a certain incertitude of heart and spirit, where young men are more subject than others, since there is without doubt two or three years of life; where those which are naturally of an inconstant inclination, find nothing which pleases them which attaches them not successively. For by example, if Zenocrates would say the truth, he will confess that a great number of women have pleased him, that he hath fair brown, and fair yellow, he hath many times felt in his heart enough disposition to have love, he will even confess I assure you that he hath begun to tell it to many fair persons; and that there's likewise some others for whom he hath changed his thoughts before he had occasion to speak to him of his passion. I ingeniously confess, replied he, but above all I believe not to be unfaithful. You have reason, replied Berelisa, and one cannot without doubt accuse you but of a simple inconstancy which hath even nothing which resembles infidelity; for as I have already said it, to speak of this kind of inconstancy in general, it comes from this, that those which are capable of of it, are sensible to all that which appears fair to them, of all which is new to their eyes and to their spirits, of that which they seek to please without difficulty, of that which they have any irresolution in the spirit, which hinders them from choosing of that that the first youth of inconstancy have some resemblance: But after all, those men there which see pleasures from quarter to quarter, from street to street, and from house to house, do not assuredly betray the person, because no person trusts to them; and to speak truly, the inconstant's of this kind only vex themselves, since they have pain to attaque an hundred hearts without gaining one; one hearkens to their pleasures without believing them, one receives their incense without vanity, one leaves them without pain, one destroys them without regret, and they come through the world as Butterflies on Flowers, without resting on any thing and without leaving any sign of their passage, likewise not doing any discourtefie to a person, there would be much injustice to confound those inconstant's with the unfaithful I have spoken of; sure their inconstancy is without perfidiousness and superchery; it is not but to say the truth it should be desired this inconstancy was banished from the heart of young persons; for if it is not very criminal it is not at least laudable; I will likewise confess with sincerity is not yet altogether a true inconstant, and he hath only a simple disposition to be so. I am obliged to you (replied I) for enrolling me in the number of the inconstant persons, and not placing me among those which are unfaithful, for it is certain I cannot suffer it. But, said the Prince of Messina, I comprehend not wherefore those which vary in their thoughts have not infidelity. You will easily be satisfied therein (replied Berelisa) if you consider that to make a Lover truly merit the quality of unfaithful, one must suffer his affection, one must hearken to him, one must give him hope, one must love him; if a man on the contrary loves a woman without being beloved, and that he hath served a long time without attaining her love he leaves her; one loves another, one cannot in this case place him in the number of the unfaithful, nor that of the inconstant; for as one loves not but for to be loved, as soon as one destroys the hope, Love may diein a Lover's heart, without being culpable of any crime; and to speak truth, it is not even possible that it dies not there: 'Tis therefore not doing that but which one might hinder themselves from doing; one leaves love without inconstancy, and one cannot love otherwise without infidelity; but the most odious and the most degenerate crime in the world is, when there's a concatenation of affection between two persons, and that it happens one breaks the Chain; for in this case there it is not a simple inconstancy, it is an infidelity, where inconstancy, perfidiousness, and baseness are found: And it is in fine, as I have said, the greatest of all crimes in this point, before you engage yourself you consider not what you do, you examine not your thoughts, and do not well know the heart you give nor the heart you receive. 'Tis true, said Philonice, I find something very strange to see men of spirit suddenly change their thoughts: But, said then Lysicoris, when one hath this misfortune what shall one do? I will, replied Berelisa, one should continue to love by generosity, when one cannot by inclination; that in fine, when one is promised an eternal affection, no reason can dispense with it but the infidelity of the person one loves: And in this case we must not only love her any more, but hate her, despise her, slay from her as from a Monster, and revenge ourselves though ne'er thereby prejudiced: For if it is a man which is unfaithful, no person should force him to go to say to a woman he loves her, and to tell her it often to make her love him; therefore when he changes he hath no excuse in effect: Probity, Sincerity, and Fidelity, aught to be in love as all other things, and more than in other things; because the consequences are more dangerous, being certained there is no exchange more important than the hearts of two persons which love one another. But if a man is criminal of being unfaithful, at least confess, replied the Prince of Messina, that a woman hath the same injury as a man. I say, replied Berelisa, and I'll maintain she hath more, for as cruelty befits women in love, they might take him to examine themselves, ere they engage to love any one; but after you have considered of it, a woman accepts the heart is offered to her, and that she gives hers, she cannot change without insamy; and truly a woman at least in my opinion, cannot innocently love but once in her life; besides baseness and perfidiousness, which is common to her with an unfaithful man, neither can one yet accuse her of imprudence or little modesty: For for my part, I conceive not how a woman who hath virtue and good judgement to resolve her, should voluntarily renounce the love of a man, to whom she hath given many testimonies of affection, when she feels her love decay.  
Nevertheless, replied Philonice, one sees they make no difficult to do it. I am of your opinion, replied Berelisa, but if I was a man, I should have an horrible aversion for those women. But I pray, said the Prince of Messina, in what rank do you place those men who make a seeming love, when they love not, and sometimes obtain love? I put them in the rank of deceivers, replied she. But amongst the unfaithful, replied I, it seems to me there are many sorts; for there are some which become so, because they find defects in the person they love, that they noted not before; and there's others which cease to love, because their own good fortune destroys their love. For the first (said Berelisa) I sustain that when one hath solidly contracted an affection with some one, there is but one only defect of love, which might be a legitimate cause to break it, and the loss of beauty, youth, change of fortune and health, aught to change nothing in the hearts of two persons which have promised an eternal love; but for those whose love destroys itself, I find them so criminal and so odious, that I boldly say 'tis impossible their spirits are seasoned with any good qualities, or that their heart is noble; and the change of thoughts without any strange cause, is the greatest sign of imbecility, and desining of judgement, and that in the end, the infidelity in love from whence soever it proceedeth, is the basest and criminallest thing in the World; all other duties of life approach not the engagement of this, because one is born subject to all the others, and this is by a voluntary subjection one makes it a law to himself, which ought to be as much more inviolable as one imposes it, and one cannot infringe it without condemning himself, without destroying his own pleasures, without blemishing his Honour, without trampling Justice and Virtue under his feet. All that which you say, is admirably well said, replied the Prince of Messina, but above all, if in despite one hath of it, one feels one loves no more, what shall one do then? I will, as I have already told you, that one loves by generosity, when one cannot love more by inclination; and I will, if one can no more love, that one constrains himself therefore to act, as if one loves not; yet since that it is in this occasion only, that it permits to deceive innocently, and that it is even good to do it; at least I know well, that if one act otherwise, one must resolve to be hated and despised of all persons, which have Virtue and Reason; for I confess to you, that I know not how one hath boldness to show himself in the World, after a perfidiousness of this nature; nevertheless there is found women which show themselves, replied I. And there is likewise sound men, added Philonice, which leaves not to love them. Ah for these men there, said then Berelisa, it is assuredly they should not be too delicate in love, nor in generosity; for, for my part, if I was a man, it would be impossible for me to love a person which should act any infidelity. But yet, said the Prince of Messina, without knowing the Interest she had in this Question, which excuse you more sooner, whether a man who should love a woman, which should have made an infidelity to another, or of a Lover a Lady should have betrayed, and which would renew affection with her? In my opinion, replied Berelisa blushing, I cannot balance these two things, for he which should have suffered infidelity, would be more condemnable than another that at least might flatter himself with the opinion to have more merit, than he which should have been abandoned. Nevertheless, added she, to make Artemidorus speak, I should be glad but for this Article, one demands that he seemeth of it to all men in the company. You are so equitable in all things, said then Artemidorus, who had not yet spoken, that your thoughts should be those of all honest persons; and for my part, I declare, I approve all that you have said, and even all that which you think.  
For my part replied I, I am not so complaisant, for I find both have an equal wrong: And I, added the Prince of Messina, I think that a Lover who hath conquered the heart of a woman, ought (if he can) reconquer it, when he hath lost it; for what knows he, but he will find it better: But, it may be, he may find it worse, said Berelisa. Though it should be so, replied Philonice, I find Berelisa hath very well made the distinction between Inconstancy and Infidelity: I confess to you Madam, (replied she) I have not said the third part of what I think, for better to understand it, one must after to have separated the inconstant from the faithful; one must I say divide the unfaithful between them and the inconstant, there are unfaithful persons by weakness, by interest, by capriciousness, and by impiety, and there is likewise inconstant persons of temperament, of occasion, of vanity, of little judgement, of debility, of wantonness, and of idleness. If you will examine these divers things, said I to her, 'twould require doubtless much time. As one accuses to be a demy-inconstant, replied Philonice, I see well you fear that one puts you not in the rank of those, of which Berelisa would speak; but since you take no interest to infidelity, and that you have never loved long enough to be unfaithful, I would willingly demand of you, which of the two a woman should love best, in the necessity to suffer infidelity? Ah, Madam, interrupted Berelisa, always thinking on Artemidorus, I put no comparison between these two things? for a man which leaves one woman to love another, or a woman which breaks with a lover for a new engagement, commits a more outrageous action, than if a lover diminishes by little and little. For my part, replied Lysicoris, I am not of your opinion, and I know nothing more cruel or more ouragious, than when without any strange cause, one sees the fire extinct; for in this estate, one knows not what to do to retain such a lover; I have had a friend to whom this adventure was happened, who told me the fantastical things in the World to exaggerate to me her grief; for, said she one day to me, I am the same I was, when he of whom I complain, was deeply in love with me; my mirror and my eyes speak the same, and all those who approach me, confirm me by their flatteries; I am not deceived, I am likewise pleasant, and as faithful as ever, I have no less spirit, and he is not the same he was; yet added she, if any amiable Person hath deprived me of him, I should have the consolation to hate her, I should find a hundred inventions to displease her; I should even think her adulation had attracted him, that novelty had charmed him; and in continuance of time, he would repent himself of his infidelity, and return to me; but ye think being, as it is, one would say he hath forgotten to love, and that he remembers not to have loved: I know not likewise what to do, neither to remit love in his heart, nor to hate him, though I know there's nothing more outrageous, than to cease to love in this manner, because it must of necessity be supposed I have no puissant charms, since I cannot keep an heart I had conquered, that no person deprives me of it. After this (pursued Lysicoris) I have nothing more to tell you to assert my opinion, since the complaints of my friends I have reported, sum up all my reasons. If you have no better (replied Berelisa) it will be easy to vanquish you, since 'tis certain there's no comparison to make between these two sorts of Infidelities; one cannot imagine but he ceases to love without making any new love, doth it not but because a certain scrupulous sagacity persuades him this passion is a weakness; or that being of those men who can stay long in any place, he is troubled at his own conquest; so that to reason well one may say, that a Lover of this nature renders himself worthy of the despisal of her whom he abandons, without one may positively say that he despises her; for in ceasing to love a person without loving another, one sees he despises love in general, and not in particular, the person whom he deserts; but for a Lover who makes a new Love, there's nothing more injurious, more cruel, nor more sensible; the tenderness of the heart is thereby wounded, Honour is thereby engaged; and in fine, one suffers all that he can. I am of your opinion that this other kind of Infidelity is rude, that one sees no remedy, and that its very just, and very natural to hate whosoever denies his love, I boldly confess that one ought more to hate one of those Lovers, than a true Enemy, who hates you as you hate him, and who not having never loved you, hath not at least betrayed you; but after all you may not have in your heart in this occasion, hatred against him, and against yourself; on the contrary, an infidelity of the other manner, seats in your heart not only hatred against yourself, and against your Lover; but that which is the most cruel of jealousy, of fury, and even sometimes of injustice and cruelty; for the means to see one's self to attain between the hands and heart which is very dear, without hating not only him which gives it to another, but her to whom it was given; at least, I know I have seen women, who have hated all brown Beauties, because that some Lady who had black eyes and brown hairs, had robbed them of their Lovers; and in effect it is altogether hard to see that one prefers another person before you, and rhat one leaves assured for incertain favours. Moreover, what grief is it to think this Lover sacrifices you to his last Mistress, and that he tells what obliging courtesies you have bestowed upon him, to the end to oblige to bestow more; for my part, I believe that this kind of grief so much troubles reason, that though it would be more shame in appearance that one prefers another person without merit before you, one therefore had rather the thing should be so; to the end that at least one hath the consolation, that if this adventure is known every one blames her, which hath made such a bad choice. But, replied Lysicoris, can you yet hope that this unfaithful, which is not become insensible to love, will recover reason, and will return to you; instead that if 'tis one of those Lovers, whereof the fire is extinct, what do you, and what can you do to refire him. Nothing, replied Berelisa, for I declare to you, that whosoever should cease to love me, should never be loved of me; but had you rather love an unfaithful, which becomes so by ambition, replied Philonice. In truth, replied Berelisa, it is of infidelity as of death; for in any manner that one dies, it's very rigorous to die, I think nevertheless that I should rather forget an ambitious unfaithful, than an unfaithful, as I have spoken of, I would therefore despise him very much, added she, but as I should not fear so much, that he would go to recount my favours to Fortune, than another to his Mistress, I should have less grief. But, replied I, do you think it fit one should leave you for glory? By no means, replied she, for the love of glory is not inconsistent with that of a virtuous person, and not to trouble you further with any frivolous discourse concerning infidelity, assure yourself I should never think well of him that should for sake me, though it were even to save his own life. The fair Berelisa says right, replied Artemidorus, for when all's done, there can be no excuse for infidelity. You speak but light of it, for one that hath experienced it, replied she blushing, for, for my part, I declare, that I cannot imagine any thing, more unjust, more base, more ungrateful, more unworthy, a gallant Soul, nor more incompatible with Virtue. However, said I to her, smiling, give not so cruel a verdict against such as are inconstant without any evil design, whom you ere while so pertinently compared to Butterflies. I acknowledge it, said she, but that I may neither flatter nor surprise you, I think that if people do not in time recover themselves out of that harmless inconstancy which you speak of, it may prove a disposition which may arrive to the habit of infidelity. I therefore think it much concerns any one, to shake hands with it as soon as may be; for to be plain with you, inconstancy, though never so little, is a crime. But, I pray, replied Philonice, of the inconstant, what kind are you most pleased with? Those which are such out of affection, replied Berelisa. But are there any such, replied I? For my part, I assure you, if I am guilty of any inconstancy, I mean no hurt by it, I think not of it, even when I am seized by it; and if there happen a change in my Love, the true reason is, that which did please me, pleases me no more, or that there is something else, I am more taken with.  
The whole Company having laughed at this extravagant sally of mine; Berelisa maintained against me, that there were some that were inconstant out of affectation, who only to show themselves Gallantillo's, Wits; and Sparks, pretended one while to love such a one, another some other, without any other design, than in a short time to beat a many bushes, and to raise talk of themselves in divers places: But take it from me, added she, very pleasantly, that as there are some young Gallants who conceive themselves obliged in reputation, to pick up the little news that are sown up and down; to sing tolerably well, the songs that are most new and most in vogue; and to treasure up in their Pockets such compositions in Verse or Prose (good or bad it matters not) as are new, there are also others so vain as to make it their business to compliment all those, whose perfections may indeed challenge it; and though neither guilty of inconstancy nor love, perpetually wander into those places, where they have nothing to do, nay where indeed they are as slightly entertained. And whereas such people would seem to be what they are not, I abhor them beyond the inconstant, and can afford them no other predicament than that of the faithless. But, replied I, if all manner of inconstancy were banished the World, it would follow, that a man must never speak to above one woman in all his life, and must commend none but her, which in my opinion would to many people be a thing insupportable. Ah Zenocrates, replied Berelisa, you screw up the Peg too high; for there is a certain complimental civility allowed in conversation, which permits you to commend all beauties, which keeps you from being savage or brutish, and you may sometimes celebrate the brown, sometimes the fair, in as much as beauty is every where commendable, what dress soever it be in. But there is a great distance between a general civility and inconstancy, for a person generally civil begets in all hearts an inclination of love and esteem for him; but a man professedly inconstant, such as I know some, spends his whole life in saying what is never believed, in praising those which dispraise him, in snatching at every thing though he fasten on nothing; to fight without victory, and to love without any return. Thus it happens at length, that men of this humour feel all the afflictions of love, and never come to be acquainted with the pleasures, and after they have shifted their hearts from hand to hand, they are forced to take them home withered, because they can meet none that will be troubled with them. This expression of Berelisa causing a great laughter in the company, I publicly declared that I would reform that careless inconstancy whereof I stood accused, and made a vow either to become a constant Lover or insensible. Whereupon Philonice said pleasantly, that she believed I should rather prove the latter than the former, and that she should be as glad of it as myself; which said, she rose up, and the company being dissolved Berelisa was extremely troubled: For though she had said many things handsomely, yet came they from her, rather out of that concealed interest which she had in what was discoursed of, than any freedom of humour, insomuch that being left alone, she was excessively melancholy. She read over the cruel Letter she had received, and found in it so much matter of grief, that she could not sleep all night. That which disturbed her most in all this adventure was, that Artemidorus had told her, as a secret, of the recommencement of Clidimira's love to him; for as to what was said, of the affection which she herself had for that Prince, as it was very innocent, so was she not much troubled at it. She was also much incensed against Terillus, as believing it was he who had directed the packet which Artemidorus had received, nor could she but fear the business might have some unhappy consequence; but all considered, she feared nothing so much as that Clidimira might recover the heart she had lost. On the other side, Clidimira was in doubt whether she should gain her ancient Servant from Berelisa; but withal had this considerable satisfaction, to think that she caused a disturbance in her Rival. As for Artemidorus, he was extremely perplexed and out of tune; for in the imagination he had that Terillus had sent him the terrible Letter he had delivered to Berelisa, he was almost out of himself that he was in debt for it, and that he was withal obliged in point of generosity, to pretend not to believe it was he had put that trick upon him. Besides, the jealousy he observed in Berelisa, made him fear the consequences of it; nor was he less disordered by the affection of Clidimira. Yet was he not without some intervals wherein he was not much displeased, to think that it was now her turn to feel what punishment it is to love, and not to be loved again.  
But to hasten as much as I can to an end of this long Relation, Artemidorus returned the next day to Berelisa's, to ask her what she would have him do. In the first place, said she to him, I would have you not pretend to believe that it was Terillus who directed that Packet to you; in the next, I would have you without doing her any violence; put some public affront upon Clidimira, which may serve you as a pretence never to go to her house more, nor speak to her any where else. That I should never more see her at home (replied he) nor speak to her again, I gladly submit to you, but to do her any affront publicly, is a command you cannot justly lay upon me, insomuch that common civility will not allow a virtuous man to do any such thing. I know not (replied Berelisa) whether civility will permit it, but I am certain Love will, since I would have it so: For in fine, what confidence can I have in your affection, if you obey me not in this business? You know (added she) that it is with much reluctancy you have resolved to hate the unfaithful Clidimira, how then can I be assured that you will persist in this disaffection, since she still behaves herself as if she loved you? But Madam, answered Artemidorus, if I have been so much troubled to cease loving the faithless Clidimira, how do you conceive I can possibly cease to love the faithful Berelisa? However it be (said she) I must have this expression of your affection. But Madam, replied he, I do not absolutely deny you, but entreat you to take some days to consider, whether you do not yourself an injury by engaging me upon such a business; for Terillus and Clidimira who have of late seemed very kind together, will be sure to lay it at your door, if I do what you would have me: If therefore you will take my advice, you will be satisfied with that security I give you, never to see Clidimira at her house, to avoid her elsewhere, never to speak to her, and to love you eternally. Ah! Artemidorus, replied Berelisa blushing with vexation, you are too discreet to be a Lover, and if the humour takes me to be discreet also in my turn, you shall find that Love and Discretion hold not so good correspondence, and that they are more likely to destroy than support one another in the same heart. But Madam, replied this Prince, what have I said which might incense you? What have I done which might deserve your indignation? You husband yourself too much between Clidimira and Me, replied she, and that I am not able to endure; whereas if I were as cautious not to displease Terillus as you are Clidimira, either you would renounce all love for me, or be very angry. But Madam, replied Artemidorus, are you not confident of my affection? And can you suspect that I still love the faithless Clidimira? I do absolutely believe you love her, replied she, but if there should happen some little difference between you and I, I should not think it impossible you might love her again: My desire therefore is, that you were at such a distance with her, that you should never be reconciled, and consequently never give me the grief to see you in your ancient fetters: Not (added she) but that if I were to hate you, I should wish you that misfortune; for I know nothing more unhappy, more poor, nor more unworthy a man of a great and noble soul, than to be matched with a faithless one, and put himself into a condition to be overreached the second time. I assure you Madam, replied Artemidorus, that I am not likely to meet with this sad misfortune, and that I cannot be unhappy by the means of any faithless person if you do not become such. But why then (replied she) do you not raise me out of the weakness you see I am in, since that while you restore me, you should withal be revenged of Clidimira? If I could do it without your being concerned therein as well as myself, replied he, I should gladly obey you: But Madam, I beseech you consider what commands you lay on me, and assure yourself I shall ever love you, Clidimira never, even though she should have a greater affection for me than ever I had for her. Artemidorus (replied she) you are too tedious in debating a thing pleases me not.  
While she said this, Clidimira comes into the room, which caused a fatal interruption of the conference. In the mean time Artemidorus thinking to oblige Berelisa, took his leave; but not being able to quit the room without passing by Clidimira, he had not the power to do it without a civil salute; which Berelisa took very heinously: Not but that she knew well enough that he could not avoid saluting her; but she conceived it but just, after the discourse she had entertained him with, he should have acquitted himself with more neglect and less Civility. Nor was it in her power to dissemble the disturbance of her mind; which Clidimira perceiving, and looking on it as a consequence of the Letter she had caused to be written to her, began maliciously to press her to tell the reason of it. When you shall have told me that of the Joy I see in your countenance, replied Berelisa coldly, I shall happily give you that of the melancholy which seems to be in mine. Truly, replied Clidimira, if my eyes do discover any joy, they betray me; for since the loss of Telesis I have had no great reason to be joyful. To deal as truly with you, replied Berelisa I also assure you that if mine express any melancholy, they are impostors and deceive you. But Sister, replied Clidimira, it were more unlikely that I should arrive to any joy after the loss of Telesis, than it is that you should be sad. There are so many things likely to be true which are not true, replied Berelisa; and so many true things which seem not to be so, that I think it not fit to measure your joy by the account you give me of it: Not but that (added she) after the loss of such a Husband as you had, it would be thought very strange that you should so soon have overcome all grief; but it seems youth, and a greatness of mind and beauty will not suffer affliction to be long lived. If it be so, replied Clidimira, since you have so great a Wit, since you are so Young and Handsome, and have only lost a Brother where I have lost a Husband, it is likely you should be much more light-hearted than I. As I have not lost a Brother, but I have withal lost a friend, replied Berelisa, I have haply thought myself more concerned in this loss than you have: For to speak generally, when one loses a Husband one loses a Master, who many times disturbs our pleasures; and therefore it is not impossible but that the loss of Telesis may cause me a greater affliction than it does you. Not to examine whether it be impossible or not, replied Clidimira blushing for madness, I am certain Telesis is nothing concerned in the melancholy which is now legible in your eyes. And not to examine, replied Berelisa, whether you have reason to speak as you do; I am certain that the gladness which may be read in yours ought not to be there, there being no great reason it should. You may be satisfied, replied she, that if I am glad I have reason to be so. And I for my part tell you, replied Berelisa, that if I am troubled, I will be revenged on those that are the causers of my trouble. As angry as you are, replied Clidimira, I should willingly contribute to your revenge: And so you shall, replied Berelisa in a malicious tone, for being related as we are, our interest cannot be without some relation, and so not to be divided. Tell me then, who are your enemies of either Sex, replied Clidimira? You see them every day, replied Berelisa, I need not name them to you, and it shall go very hard but—  
As Berelisa would have continued what she was saying, Aphranor comes into her Chamber, to acquaint her that the valiant Prince of Agrigentum, who had defeated his enemies, had at length forced them to Petition for Peace, which was signed; adding withal, and directing his speech to both her and Clidimira that they must needs go immediately to the Princess Philonice's. Which said, he acquainted them with some of the Articles of the Treaty, they not offering to interrupt him as having their several expectations, that he would not forget that which concerned the Prisoners. But Aphranor conceived they were not to learn, that in all Treaties of Peace, the prisoners of War are set at liberty, and therefore said nothing to them as to that point. Insomuch that having both an equal curiosity as to one Article, wherein yet they were not equally concerned, they spoke both at the same time, to ask the same thing. But having received their answer, they blushed, they became more jealous one of another, they hated one another more than before; and to consummate their affliction, Aphranor told them that all the Prisoners were set at liberty; 'Tis true (added he) that the Prince of Agrigentum had ordered him who had brought him this news, to tell Prince Artemidorus, that his Court should be his Sanctuary, as he had offered it sometime before, and conjured him to remain there, till such time as he had made his peace with the Prince of Leontum. But when he had quieted them a little with this weak hope, he added, that it was thought this Prince would not accept of the proffer, because of the misintelligence which was between the Princess of Agrigentum and Leontum So that Berelisa and Clidimira perceiving that Artemidorus would be obliged to remove, were both extremely troubled, which trouble yet had a mixture of some reflections of joy, which either of them raised from this consideration, that this absence of his would afflict her Rival. But to speak truly, it was a joy was neither serene, nor of long continuance.  
In the mean time, Aphranor pressing them to go immediately to Philonice, and they not thinking it civil to discover they were not so loving one to another, as to make a visit together, were forced to obey him. But all the way as they went to this Princess, they spoke not one to another till they were come near her Palace. Clidimira, purposely to vex Berelisa, and to sift out her thoughts, asked her whether she thought it not fit that she sent to congratulate Artemidorus: For, added she, with a seeming simplicity, since he was pleased to give me a visit in my affliction, I conceive it but fitting I should return this civility. If there be a necessity that he depart and leave us, it were fit you did what you say; but if he remain, I should conceive you did well, if you had no more to do with him, considering what hath passed between you. I assure you, replied Clidimira maliciously, that were it not that I found him constantly in your Chamber, I should be very indifferent whether I returned him this civility or not; but since there is a decorum obliges me not to refrain visiting you, there is no great fear I should receive any incivility from such a Prince as Artemidorus. I know not whether I advise you well or not, replied Berelisa, but I conceive it were better you received an incivility, then expose yourself to Calumny. As for Calumny, replied Clidimira, I fear it not much; for when one is conscious that he deserves it not, he need not trouble his thoughts with it. You are very happy, replied Berelisa, to have such a serenity in your thoughts; which said, they entered into Philonicas, where all was filled with joy. But they had not been there an hour, ere Artemidorus came to that illustrious Princess, to express his gladness of the satisfaction, which the so glorious success of the Prince of Agrigentum had caused to her; and withal to acknowledge how much he conceived himself obliged to the generosity of that Prince. Philonica answered Artemidorus with her ordinary Prudence and Civility; which done, the sage Cleodamas being come in, began to whisper something to Philonica. For being a man of the most ancient and most honourable House of any in Agrigentum, and had withal the recommendation of a great Understanding, Virtue and Honesty, he was more than any other concerned in the Peace which his Country was now to enjoy; so that having acquainted Philonica with many things, which it concerned her to know, he began openly to commend the Prince of Agrigentum, who had now satisfied the World, that he had not raised a War but to settle Peace, and not out of any Sally of Ambition, adding that he was truly a Father to his Subjects, since he preferred their quiet before the carrying on of a War, which it had been more to his glory to have continued, had he not preferred the public good before his particular advantages. It is true, continued Cleodamas, that to speak rationally, it is much more glorious for a Prince to have preserved Plenty in his Dominions then to have ruined his neighbours; and is more noble out of a consideration of Justice and Humanity to be thrifty of the blood of his Subjects, than out of a Punctillo of glory and ambition, to be prodigal of his enemies. All approving what Cleodamas said, and acknowledging the praises he gave the Prince of Agrigentum to be just, they congratulated Philonica, and afterwards, Artemidorus. For there being some or other continually, coming in, and going out of Philonica's Chamber, the company stood, and every one was at liberty to go from one place to another. So that there was not any either man or woman, which did not compliment Artemidorus, except Berelisa and Clidimira, who had not the courage to go and tell him that they were glad of a thing which indeed caused all their affliction. But Berelisa desirous to conceal her trouble from her sister in-law, and being withal, almost out of herself to put her into some disturbance, came to her, and speaking softly; for one who thought herself so much concerned to send congratulations to Artemidorus, said she to her, methinks you make not much haste to tell him that you are glad he is at liberty, I expected you should have shown me the way, replied Clidimira; for I believe you think yourself as deep in the concernments of that Prince, as I do; but since haply you conceive, that by reason of the relation I have to you, I ought to speak first, I shall do it: Whereupon Clidimira without expecting any answer from Berelisa, drew near to Artemidorus, who was not far from her, and made a very handsome and obliging compliment to him, Artemidorus thinking it in a manner barbarous not to return a civil answer before so many people, gave her thanks for her good wishes. But persisting in the desire of tormenting her sister, she behaved herself so, that though he had for a good while endeavoured to avoid discourse with her, yet she forced him to answer her divers times: Whereat Berelisa, who heard not what passed between them, was extremely vexed, Artemidorus who was not ignorant of the ticklishness of her humour, would have gone to her as soon as he was dis-engaged from Clidimira, but she avoided all discourse with him, and gave him such a lesson of vexation to read in her eyes, that he was infinitely troubled at it. He nevertheless continued following her, and pursued her from place to place, insomuch that at last taking her leaning on a Window which looked into the garden, he went to that next it, and taking hold of a corner of her garment to stay her from going away: Well, cruel Berelisa, said he to her, will you eternally avoid me? And when all the World congratulate me though for a thing which afflicts me, do you think it a trouble to comfort me? You are then already resolved, replied she roundly, to take Clidimira along with you to Leontum? I am resolved to die, cruel Berelisa, if you prove not more favourable to me; and I am resolved to hate and be revenged of you, replied Berelisa, if you prove unfaithful. I am content you shall do both, replied he, if I do prove such; but if I am both constant and unfortunate, pity me, and love me at least as much as you have promised. Philonica hereupon, calling Berelisa to her, Artemidorus had not the opportunity to speak to her any more all that day; nor could he sleep all the night following, such a distraction did the humourousness of Berelisa, and the insinuations of Clidimira raise in his thoughts. Not as I have already acquainted you, that he had any design to engage himself any further to Clidimira, and had an excessive affection for Berelisa; but he had a conceit that it were a kind of aspersion to a person of honour, uncivilly to shake off the love of a woman, whether she have forsaken him or not; so that not finding any mean between these two things, he was in a strange perplexity. His liberty, which he now was Master of, contributed to his disturbance, for if it favoured him to be rid of Clidimira, it also removed him from Berelisa, without whom it was impossible for him to be happy. On the other side, as to what concerned his fortunes, he easily foresaw that if he remained at Agrigentum, now that he had obtained his liberty, he should be proclaimed Traitor to Leontum. So that which way soever he looked, whether on what concerned Berelisa, or Clidimira, or on himself, his mind was still in the same disturbance. That which further augmented his disquiet, was the arrival of Terillus; for being persuaded it was he had sent him the cruel Letter which he had delivered to Berelisa, he was no longer able to endure the affront; and if Berelisa had not charged him to keep the business secret, he could not have forborn expressing the resentments he had of it.  
In the mean time, Clidimira having understood by the Gentleman whom she had corrupted, that Berelisa and Artemidorus had had some little contestation, failed not to make her advantage of it, and was so diligent in finding an opportunity to talk with him at Philonica's, that indeed he could not with civility avoid her. To acquaint you, Madam, with what discourse passed between them, were no easy task for me; for neither Artemidorus nor Clidimira could yet be persuaded to give an exact acount of it. Yet thus much hath been gotten out of Clidimira, that Artemidorus entertained he with the bitterest reproaches, which, without a visible affront, and an abjuration of that civility which is due from man to womankind, he could imagine; and Artemidorus hath discovered so much, as that Clidimira without telling him plainly, I love thee, had entertained him with the greatest tenderness and passion, in the excuses she made, that she had married Telesis. To be short, the very same day I saw this Prince, but so clouded with sadness, as I had never seen him before. Not but that he loved Berelisa with the greatest affection imanigable; but believing withal, that Clidimira loved him as much, he looked on it, as what would raise a Tempest between him and Berelisa. Nor indeed was it unlikely, for there cannot happen a greater disturbance to a virtuous man, then to be loved of two women that hate one another, and yet are obliged to be almost perpetually together.  
But Berelisa having understood what discourse had passed between Artemidorus and Clidimira, by one of Philonicas women, who had overheard some part of it, was so troubled that Artemidorus had said nothing to her, that without discovering her affliction either to Lysicoris or me, or yet to Artemidorus; she (to be revenged of the disloyalty of this Prince, as she interpreted it) resolved to be more kind than ordinary to Terillus. But to tell you the truth, these two Lovers were equally surprised at her carriage: for if it was matter of wonder to Artemidorus, to see a remission of her affection to him; it was no less to Terillus, to find from her that little kindness she was pleased to show him. He at first imagined, that she foreseeing that Artemidorus was shortly to leave Agrigentum, thought fit to make sure of him; and having a subtle and piercing wit, and that sharpened by his jealousy, he soon discovered that this kindness and compliance of Berelisa was but personated and artificial, such as wherein her heart was nothing concerned; so that it caused him to be more jealous than ever. As for Artemidorus, though he doubted not but that Berelisa still loved him, and that it was only for his sake that she was so kind to Terillus; yet all considered, he could not avoid some reflections of jealousy, which obliged him to hate this Rival. For Berelisa, though she was satisfied that Artemidorus had a tender affection for her, yet being not assured but that the flatteries of Clidimira might have some influence on him, she was seized by a jealousy which distracted her beyond all imagination: and as concerning Clidimira, though she then could without any return of love, and in a manner without hope of any, yet was she subject to jealousy: So that it may be said, that jealousy never had such an Empire in any amorous transaction, and was withal so ill grounded, as in this. For Terillus was jealous, though he could never hope for any love from Berelisa. Artemidorus was jealous of Terillus, whom Berelisa hated; Berelisa was jealous of Clidimira, whom Artemidorus loved not; and Clidimira was jealous, though there was not any rational likelihood she should ever regain the heart she had once lost. Nor could it otherwise be, but that the consequences of these several scenes of jealousy must be sad and tragical, and such as hindered these persons from those enjoyments of Peace, which the Prince of Agrigentum brought along with him, who was now come burdened with glory to receive the acclamations of his people. But I should tyre you with a second relation of the honours were done him, and withal I must remember, it is the History of Artemidorus, and not his, which I relate to you. I shall therefore only tell you, that things being in this posture, there happened to be a consort of Music in the Gardens of the Palace of Giants, whereof I told you the ruins were so magnificent. For though this Palace be ruined, yet the Gardens remain, and they are so well ordered, that it is the general Walk of all persons of Quality, of either Sex, especially in the Summer, when we court the fresh Air, to avoid the inconveniences of the heat. The Prince of Agrigentum therefore desirous to hear some Music in this Garden, wherein there are a many Walks with Trees on both sides, which cross one another, had it after an excellent manner: For the Moon not shining that night, and that it is neither pleasant nor handsome to be in the dark, especially in a place where so many people meet, he caused Lamps of Crystal to be fastened to all the Trees of the principal Walk; as for the rest, they were only at the places where they crossed, to the end that those might be humoured who delight to walk in dark shady places, and are desirous of recollection, or would confer of something which cannot be spoken without a change of colour: So that it being noised abroad that there would be a Consort in the Garden, which is called the Cyclops Garden, abundance of people came thither that evening. Among others came Artemidorus, Berelisa, Clidimira, Lysicoris and Terillus. For my part, I was never taken with any thing so much as that nights walk: For those lights made a strange show through the thickness of the Trees and the darkness, and that multitude of excellent persons, whereof one had but a glimpse, made a delightful confusion, and caused a many advantures. Some walked one way, some another; some walked up and down, as those that looked for what they were nor likely to find; others having met those they looked for, possessed themselves of those seats, which are in didvers places of the Garden, and without any regard to the Music, nor those that passed to and fro, they discoursed freely, having their minds so far disburdened of all things, as if there had been no other people in the world. There were others on the contrary who continually removed from one place to another, pretending they had much to do in every place, where indeed they had not any. There were also some who having quite forgotten the Company, harkened only to the Music and were wholly taken up with that: on the contrary there were others, who not minding the Music at all, acted the parts of public spies, and seemed to have no other business there, then to observe what was done, that so they might have something to discourse of the next day. There wanted not those, who pretending they had some design in hand, and some business to do, seemed to be much troubled, which made them quit the company they were engaged in, to go into the Walks, as if they had appointed to meet some body there, though they knew there was nothing to entertain them but obscurity. There were also some, who neither discoursing with any body nor hearing the Music, nor giving themselves to any recollection; walked up and down, singing as if they had been alone in some solitary place. In fine, I saw so many pleasant spectacles that night, that I never spent any with greater delight. 'Tis true, it was the mother of one unhappy accident; for you are to know that Lysicoris having observed Berelisa to be very melancholy, and that she minded not the Music, took her aside, and conducting her to a seat which is near the Cypress Labyrinth, importuned her to tell the reason of her sadness. Berelisa who felt herself almost overburdened with it, told her all her mind, heightening and aggravating the affliction it was to her to be more favourable than ordinary to Terillus, purposely to vex Artemidorus. But (added she, her soul being dissolved into tenderness and passion) if this Prince depart, as I believe he will, I will be revenged upon Terillus, both for the disloyalty of Artemidorus, and the Letter he caused to be sent me; as also for the jealousy which Clidimira causes me, and the correspondence that is between him and her; for I am confident it is he hath distilled into her those inclinations which she hath, or pretends to have for Artemidorus.  
Lysicoris hearing her speak so violently, told her she was very much too blame in all things; that for Terillus he was unfortunate enough in that he was not loved, abating the cruelty she had used in abusing him for some time; that as for Artemidorus, she might assure herself of his affection, and therefore should not entertain a jealousy that he would be so unworthy, as ever to return into the fetters of the faithless Clidimira: So that there remained only her Sister-in-law, for whom she might have any just aversion. And therefore, said she to her, you need not think it strange now that Telesis is dead, that she should endeavour to repair her disloyalty past, by a future fidelity. Ah Lysicoris, replied Berelisa, she would not certainly have renewed her love to Artemidorus, were it not to rob me of him, and indeed it is only envy, that hath let love into her heart. It happens in the mean time, that I who had resolved not to love any thing, had broken my resolution, to oblige a Prince whose affection I thought I might innocently entertain, and of whose heart I thought to have been possessed for my life, whereas now I am in a strange disturbance, and a fear he should be guilty of an infidelity to me, to satisfy the most faithless, and consequently the most detestable person in the world. But, said Lysicoris to her, you torment yourself without any reason; for I am confident that Artemidorus loves you, that you love him, and that Clidimira will love without any return of her love. To what end then do you trouble thoughts to hate Clidimira, to entertain jealousy, and to pretend kindness to Terillus, since you hate him? I hate Clidimira, replied she, because I cannot help it; I am jealous for the same reason, and I am kind to Terillus, purposely to vex Artemidorus, to put a worm of jealousy into his brain, and to make him quit all thoughts of Clidimira, and oblige him to love me better. Alas, 'tis too much, cruel Berelisa (crieth out Terillus, who stood behind a Cypress near Lysicoris) and I should be the basest of man kind, if having heard all this, I revenge not myself on you in all the ways and circumstances that a person of honour may be revenged of a woman. Now, Madam, to represent unto you the amazement of Berelisa, were not easy for me, for she had not so much as suspected, when she left the company with her dear Lysicoris, that Terillus had followed them. Nevertheless how angry soever she might then be with Artemidorus, her first reflection in this accident was, a fear that Terillus might attempt something against him. Whereupon doing her inclinations the greatest violence could be, she earnestly entreated him, to give her the hearing out of a consideration of generosity. But the more she entreated, the further was he from satisfying her, and suddenly stealing away, she soon, by reason of the thickness of the Trees, and the obscurity, lost sight of him. However, she imagined not that Terillus should take such a violent resolution as he did, or or that it should be taken and executed in so short a space. She and Lysicoris thought to find me out, to acquaint me how things stood, that without interessing her in the adventure, I might have a care of Artemidorus. But there being an infinite number of people in the place, and that women cannot shift places so easily as men, they saw me not. Besides that, the Princess Philonica, seeing them pass by, called to them, and obliged them to stay with her, which they did, but with little ease, as being extremely troubled at what had happened. For Berelisa thought not fit to acquaint Philonica with the disturbance she was in, since she could not do it without discovering the mutual love which was between her and Artemidorus. That which yet increased her disquiet, was, that this Prince was neither with Philonica, nor with the Prince of Agrigentum; however, hoping to meet with me before the night were passed, she said not a word, and only charged divers people, in case they saw me, to tell me, that she would gladly speak with me about a business that required great haste. So that in fine, one of Berelisa's friends having found me among some women told me of it; but it happening to be just at the time that the music gave over, and that all people were departing, I could not by reason of the throng get from among those Ladies with whom I was in discourse, nor yet come near Berelisa. Besides that, not able to conceive what she was so hasty to acquaint me with, I resolved to put it off till betimes next day. By this means she went away without seeing me, and I went my ways, without any thought of Artemidorus, to whom there had happened what is indeed to be admired. For you are to know, Madam, that Terillus having over heard what Berelisa had said, took a resolution in the first transport of his indignation, either to destroy himself or Artemidorus. To which end, it being ordinary for men to take their swords with them, in such evening walks as these, because it is very late ere they retire, and that in regard they are obliged to convey the Ladies, it seems fit they should be in posture to defend themselves; Terillus found it an easy matter to execute his design, yet so, as that it might not be discovered. He had no sooner left Berelisa and Lysicoris, but he went to find out Artemidorus, whom he soon found; for as a jealous Lover is very observant of what his Rival does, he knew the place where he had left him. Finding him accordingly, and taking him aside unperceived by any, he led him into one of those cross walks, which I told you had only Lamps at the places where they crossed. He was no sooner in it, but Terillus broke forth thus, My Lord, said he to him, you will haply think me very bold, if I presume to ask you whether you remember not a certain thing you said to me in the Wood of Carisalis; further, if I desire to know whether you will make good your word; for since you cannot bestow Berelisa on me, though you would, there is a necessity you should deprive him of his life, who once saved yours, according to your promise, so dispose of yourself, that you may return me the life which I have preserved for you, Terillus at these words having drawn, Artemidorus saw it was no time to consider what he had to do, he retreated two or three steps to put himself into a posture of defence, and moved by a resentment of generosity and gratitude, I beseech you, cried he to him, force me not to your ruin, since it is no fault of mine that you are not loved by Berelisa. But Terillus in stead of returning any answer to Artemidorus, made such a thrust at him, that this Prince was satisfied, that if he did not look to himself, he who sometimes had saved his life, would now take it away. However, for some time he stood only upon the defensive; but at length, finding himself hurt on the left side, he became more prodigal of his Valour, And now looking on Terillus as a furious Rival, there happened between these two Lovers, a most terrible Combat; for being at good distance from those Lamps which were in the cross walks, all they could do was to see the glistering of their swords, not perceiving one another distinctly. But in fine, not to trouble you with the description of a Combat, which was not seen by any body: I shall only tell you, that it proved so bloody and so obstinate, that Terillus fell dead at Artemidorus' feet, after he had received four great wounds. 'Tis true, Artemidorus had received three, whereby he was disabled to walk, as having one of them in his thigh; and being got into one of the most remote Walks, they had not haply been found out, if by chance Berelisa, who was to lie with Lysicoris that night, so to avoid the opening of the Castle gate of Agrigentum at an unseasonable hour, had not slunk away from Philonica, to go out at a back gate of the Garden which was nearest to that Quarter where her friend lived. Berelisa therefore following her, and being conducted by a Brother of Lysicoris, and some others, they passed through that Walk where Artemidorus and Terillus had fought, and where they yet were in a most sad condition. The slaves who went before them, with a kind of Torch made of the Bark of Pine trees, which they use in that Isle, to light them in the night, spied Terillus laid along on the ground all bloody, and Artemidorus leaning against a Tree, as hardly able to keep on his feet, and having his own Sword in his right hand, held that of his adversary in his left, to help to bear himself up. These slaves making a great exclamation at it, Lysicoris, Berelisa, and the Gentlemen who waited on them, came near, and found these Rivals bloody all over. To tell you what impression it made in Berelisa, were a thing would trouble me much. As for Artemidorus, he spoke so, as that it was soon seen his wisdom and discretion had not left him; for he bemoaned his misfortune, in that he had been forced to fight with a man to whom he was obliged; and concealing the occasion of their quarrel, to preserve the reputation of Berelisa, he only acquainted them that he was not the beginner. But while Lysicoris, her brother and the other Gentlemen went to find out Chirurgeons and people, to have a care of, and remove the persons hurt, Artemidorus turning to Berelisa, All the suit I make to you, Madam, is, that if I die, you will believe I die with all fidelity to you, and that if I live, you assure yourself it shall be only for your sake. These words having softened the heart of this great Beauty, it soon dissolved into tears in her eyes, so that she was not able to return him any other answer, than these three words, I wish it; as being partly hindered by the arrival of a multitude of people in an instant, which obliged them to provide for the wounded, whom for the present they carried to Lysicoris' house as being the nearest.  
They were no sooner gotten thither, but the Prince of Agrigentum, who had been acquainted with this accident before he had reached his own Palace, was there also; where he had not been long ere Terillus dies in the hands of the Chirurgeons who dressed him. Whereupon the Prince of Agrigentum, who knew how powerful the Family of Terillus was, caused the Corpse of this unhappy Lover to be immediately carried to his own Palace, so to divert his friends from coming where Artemidorus was, whose wounds were very dangerous. But that Berelisa might not grieve for this misfortune, with that freedom she wished, Clidimira going homewards in her Chariot, passed by Lysicoris' house, and so came to understand what had happened; pretending a tenderness for the health of her Sister in Law, by reason of the fright she had received, she would needs see what condition that Prince was in, for whom she had so infinite affection: I leave you to imagine what resentments these two Rivals might have, as also what might be those of Artemidorus, who when he had been dressed, saw all people came freely into the Chamber where Lysicoris had disposed him, and found these two women about him. 'Tis true, this disturbance lasted not long; for Lysicoris having observed what trouble he was in, as also what Berelisa suffered, caused the Chirurgeons to give order that the Company should quit the Prince's Chamber. By this means Clidimira was forced to depart, and to allow Berelisa the liberty of bemoaning this unfortunate adventure, which she was more sensible of than can be well imagined, for she was not only troubled for him whom she loved, but was also afflicted for his death whom she loved not. This done, the Prince of Agrigentum fearing the friends of Terillus, who was descended of a House to which courage and boldness was hereditary, should commit some violence, left part of his Guard at Lysicoris', and returned to his Palace. For my part, I heard nothing of this accident till the next morning, no more did Philonice, but at the first noise of it, I was more surprised than ever I was at any thing in my life. This day the friends of Terillus making a great stir about his death, Artemidorus was secretly brought into the Castle of Agrigentum; for the Illustrious Prince, who is Master of it, would not, out of considerations as much of Generosity as Policy, expose Artemidorus to the violence of his Enemies; so that now it was Berelisas' charge to have a care of this Illustrious wounded person. 'Tis true Clidimira kept her company much, for it having happened that a house stood next to hers falling down, had brought with it part of the Walls of her Lodgings: Upon this pretence she desired to be entertained at her Fathers-in-law, who not considering the consequence of it, received her; so that Artemidorus, notwithstanding his aversion, was obliged to see her, and Berelisa could not blame him for it, nor indeed durst take it ill. Now Clidimira being very subtle, behaved herself so, as that she really persuaded Artemidorus that she had never loved him with that tenderness as she did then. On the other side Berelisa, notwithstanding all the secret discontents which she had gone through, and those she struggled with, assured him, that never any woman was inspired with a more violent, and withal a more virtuous passion, than that she then had for him; and what was most remarkable, was, that these two Rivals, out of a fear of disturbing the Illustrious Patient, as also to conceal their loves from the world; and lastly, for fear of losing the happiness which it was to them, to see what they loved, seemed to live in an absolute Peace, though they really hated one the other as much as might be.  
But Artemidorus beginning to recover, and having past all danger, fell into an incredible disquiet. For though he faithfully and fervently loved Berelisa, yet could he not without incivility reject the applications of Clidimira: so that it was a perpetual trouble to him, for to entertain them but coldly, he could not without some violence to his own inclinations; if he received them with any satisfaction, he must expect to find in the eyes of Berelisa, those characters of affliction which brought him infinite trouble. But in fine, to put a period to my relation, you are to know that this private combat proved of public concernment. For Artemidorus, being Brother to the Prince of Leontum, and there being no probable account given of this quarrel, the friends of Terillus were so ill satisfied with the Prince of Agrigentum, for giving Sanctuary to him who had killed him, that the people being engaged in it, and the Magistrates taking notice of it, he was forced to acquaint Artemidorus, that, though he were quite recovered of his wounds, it were hard for him to carry the business so, as that he might promise himself safety in his Court, as he had hoped he might, by reason of the difference that then was between the Prince of Leontum and himself. But at length that the business might be carried on with as much generosity as might be, the Prince of Agrigentum assured him of a safe Retreat with the Prince of Syracuse, and withal forced him to submit to be put into an equipage suitable to his condition, and that he might continue it to him at Syracuse, till such time as he had made his peace with the Prince his Brother; assuring him, that if the friends of Terillus might be reduced to hear any reason, he would send for him back to Agrigentum. Philonice, for her part, expressed a thousand civilities to him; and it may be said, that never man had so much cause both to commend and complain of his Fortune, as Artemidorus then had: For as he was infinitely obliged to the Prince of Agrigentum, so was he equally unhappy in that he was forced to leave Berelisa. It added some grains to his unhappiness, that he was loved by Clidimira; these three Persons suffering no mean afflictions; yet such as were not alike in all. For Berelisa was excessively afflicted at the absence of a Prince whom she loved, and of whose affection she was assured, though she was not without some jealousies he might prove false to her. Clidimira was for her part as highly troubled, in that she lost both the hope of regaining him, and that of seeing him of a long time. They had accordingly each of them to express their several passions, a conference in private with this Prince the night before his departure. Although it be the most terrible thing in the world to a woman to love, and not be loved (said Clidimira to him) yet (my Lord) I am of opinion, that rule ought not to be so general, and that a person whom only the malice of her Fortune hath made seem unfaithful, may and aught to repair the crime whereof she stands accused, and persist in her affection, even though she be not loved any longer. And therefore (my Lord, added she) permit the unfortunate Clidimira to assure you, that into what part soever of the Earth Fortune shall dispose you, she shall have those sentiments of affection for you, which she shall never for any other. I quarrel not with you (continued she) that you have quitted the affection you had for me, and have directed it to Berelisa; for when you began to love her, it was because you believed me unconstant: I was then at the disposal of a Husband, and could not love you any longer with innocence. But be you withal so favourable, as not to accuse me of a crime, which my ill fortune forced me to commit: I do not certainly deserve you should have that consideration of my love, as to make you disengage yourself from Berelisa, but you may haply think me worthy to look on the heart that she possesses as a jewel, which it is possible I may enjoy, in case she either neglect or lose it. All then that I crave, is, that if by some accident, yet unforeseen, you should withdraw your affection from her, you would promise to bestow it on me, and forget my weakness past. Ah, Madam, (said Artemidorus to her) you propose to me things impossible, for Berelisa will not lose me, and though she should, I shall be thought certainly at a loss of all reason, if I should ever be induced to resign myself to a person who had so unmercifully forsaken me before. All therefore I can say to you, is, that as I have endured your infidelity without any disturbance or revenge, so I shall without indiscretion admit those obligations you shall lay upon me, and shall so entertain them, as not to be deceived by them a second time.  
This conference had certainly put Artemidorus into some disorder, had I not interrupted; but as to the discourse this Prince had with Berelisa, it was longer and fuller of passion, for the tenderness of it was reciprocal. However, Artemidorus could not absolutely force all jealousy out of Berelisas' heart, though in those things he said to her, he discovered the greatest passion in the World. I am easily persuaded (said she to him) to believe that you love me; nay further, I am confident you love not Clidimira; but I am withal certain, that you are satisfied she loves you, and I doubt not but that if there should happen any difference between us, you would renew your affection to her.  
In the mean time, this consideration is no small torment to me, and if you desire I should not die of grief, you must promise me in case absence should consume the affection you bear me, or that some other unhappy accident divorce me from your heart, or that my death make an eternal separation between us, that you will never love Clidimira; for I perceive that when you shall be returned to Leontum, there may happen such a turn of Fortune, as may bring her thither also. But can I give you a greater assurance of my affection, answered Artemidorus, than by promising to love you eternally, and to love none but you? You may, my Lord, replied this powerful Beauty, for amidst those fantastic apprehensions I am now engaged with, I should be more satisfied to hear you once say, that you will never love Clidimira, then that you should swear you will ever love Berelisa. But when I protest that I shall love you as long as I live, replied he, does it not signify as much, as if I said I shall never love her? No (my Lord) it does not (replied she) and if you were sufficiently read in love, you would not think this distinction so extravagant, nor would make so much difficulty to humour my affection. Hereupon Artemidorus was obliged to promise her all she desired; and moreover, assured her, that as soon as he could, he would return to Agrigentum, that it should be only for her sake that he did return; and that if Afranor would but give his consent, he would marry her. He had once intended to have proposed it to Afranor, before his departure, but in regard it would have proved very unseasonable, Berelisa would not permit him. She also made him promise he would not write to Clidimira, though she should write to him; to be short, she made all the provisoes which the nicest jealousy could suggest against this dangerous Rival.  
This posture were Affairs in, when Artemidorus left Agrigentum. He loved Berelisa, and she him: He had renounced all love to Clidimira, yet she still loved him, and though he could not guests what might be his fortune, he immediately went to Syracuse, whither I accompanied him. He was no sooner gone from Agrigentum, but Clidimira did two things, one was, she entered into Combination with one of the friends of Terillus, purposely to oblige him to use all means to engage the rest to oppose the return of Artemidorus; the other was, that she got leave to return to Leontum, where she hath managed her affairs with so much policy, that at the present she is so powerful in that Court, that Artemidorus cannot hope ever to come into his Country, but through her means.  
On the other side, Berelisa left no stone unmoved to hasten his return to Agrigentum; but those with whom Clidimira held correspondence opposed it so stiffly, that the Prince of Agrigentum thought himself obliged, out of considerations of his own interest, not to send for him. But there fell out another accident in the Court of Syracuse, which obliged Artemidorus, and me, to leave it. There happened also other alterations at Leontine, which forced thence a Princess, who is at the present at Clusium, and we were by divers motives induced to come into Italy with Amilcar, with whom we took shipping together in Sicily, after we had entered into a solemn friendship. But I forget to tell you, that since Clidimiras coming to Leontum, and that she hath gained great reputation there: Artemidorus is much more unfortunate than ever he was; for being still passionately devoted to Berelisa, and standing upon a punctilio of fidelity, he was so far from entreating his former Mistress to continue her favours and good offices, that he vouchsafes not to answer the obliging Letters, which she writes to him. On the other side, he understands that the Prince of Ericium, is fallen deeply in love with Berelisa, and that he is joined with the Friends of Terillus to hinder his return to Agrigentum, and that he might be absolutely unhappy, he durst not have any correspondence with the Princess his Sister, lest he might offend the Prince his Brother. But when all is done, the afflictions of Artemidorus, proceeding from no other cause than the excessive affection towards him of two of the greatest Beauties in the World. I cannot retract what I said in the beginning of this relation; but on the contrary maintain that this Prince is too blame for taking so much trouble upon him, since what occasions his trouble might felicifie any two the greatest persons in the World.  
For my part (said Amilcar, perceiving Zenocrates had ended his relation) I think you are in the right, and that it is properly of such things, that it may be said a man cannot have too much. I assure you (replied Hermilia) I am not of your mind; for I believe a virtuous man thinks it a great affliction, to be loved by one woman, of merit and quality, having bestowed his affections on another. For what concerns me, said Valeria, I think a woman who is so unhappy as to love, and not be loved again, deserves more pity than a virtuous man who is loved, and yet cannot himself love. However it be, said Brutus, I think Artemidorus condition very sad; for he hath loved a faithless woman, whom it is unlikely he will ever hate, since she hath such an infinite affection for him; he now loves a person whom he cannot come near; he hath a powerful Rival, and this Rival is absent; his love is an obstacle to his Ambition; he can neither be among his friends, nor yet among his enemies, and he knows he were happy, if he were not where he is: All which certainly is the greatest punishment that absence and love put together can inflict on him. It is but too certain, says Herminius, and I am of opinion that a Lover who is loved, when he is forced to be at a distance from the person he loves, and is subject to a fear of losing her, is in a far greater torment, than a Lover who simply fears that he may not be loved. I do believe indeed it is the greater torment, said Zenocrates; but yet there is a great pleasure in the very thought of being loved, and it is as great an affliction to be assured that one is not. I agree with you (replied Herminius) and yet the fear of losing a good which one is possessed of, and the impossibility of enjoying, signify, haply, something as hard to be endured, as the bare distrust of not being able to attain that good which one desires. But it is certainly too late to begin the disposition of a thing of this nature, especially in the Chamber of one that is sick, and that a fair one too. For fairness (replied Hermilia) I must decline it, and for sickness it is not so great, as that such pleasant company should be any inconvenience to me; but certainly it proceeds from the impatience you are in to return to Aronces and Artemidorus. They are certainly (says Amilcar) too much subject to melancholy, to be left for so long time alone; besides that to deal truly (added he smiling) it is already so late, that it is fit all address themselves to that God, who alone is equally propitious to the fortunate and the unfortunate, without any alteration in their fortunes, and that I have already observed some effects of his power, in the fair eyes of Valeria. Hereupon the whole company rising, the entertainment was concluded, though Valeria would not acknowledge what Amilcar said, and that so many honourable persons were very unwilling to part.   
The End of the Second Book of the Second Part.   

CLELIA: The Second Part. BOOK III.  
BEing come out of Hermilias' Chamber, Brutus, Amilcar, Herminius, Zenocrates and Celeres, went to Aronces and Artemidorus, whom every one (according to his humour) comforted after the best manner he could. That done, they fell into discourse about what their minds was taken up with: The Liberty of Rome and of Clelia, was the business in debate, as being the main scope of all their Designs. And whereas it was only in the night, that the secret friends of Herminius, Brutus and Valerius, had the opportunities of Conference, as soon as they had quitted Aronces' Chamber, Brutus went to Valerius', to resolve on several things with him: but all the way he thought of nothing but Lucretia. Alas! said he to himself, how much more happy are all other Lovers, whose adventures I am entertained with, than I am? For those who are not loved, hope, or at least may hope to be; and those which are, receive those expressions of it, which come not without pleasure. But for my part, I am much more miserable, for the over-vertuous Lucretia, would not so much as that I should know she hath not forgotten me: so that I am forced to suffer all the malice of a cross fortune, without the least diversion of comfort. Instead of one, I am seized by a many passions; since I am obliged to entertain hatred, jealousy and ambition as well as love: and besides all these extremities, I must chain up my reason, and make it a slave to the cruelest Tyrant that earth affords.  
But whilst Brutus talked thus to himself, as he went to Valerius, and that Rome seemed to be a depopulated City, the Inhabitants of it being buried in their rest, the implacable Tullia, whose heart was upon the rack of an ambitious jealousy, which is much more cruel than that which ordinary love inspires, had secretly sent for him who was Clelias' keeper, out of a design to corrupt him if she could. You know, said she to him, all that I have done for Tarquin, as also what he hath done to raise himself above all others; and after all; he is not ashamed to submit himself to a Slave, the Daughter of his Enemy. Nor are you ignorant how often he hath endeavoured to take away Clelius' life; consider then what an exorbitance of passion this Prince is hurried into, to descend to love Clelia, who hates him above all others; who yet might in time haply pretend to love him, that her Father may be restored, and put into a condition to revenge himself, and, in his turn, banish those by whom he was banished. You may assure yourself, added she, that if Clelius were once in power, you would not be one of the last banished; and you may easily conjecture by what is past, that he would never be quiet till Tarquin were turned out of the Throne, and till I were possessed of my grave. Serve me then courageously in the Design I have to take away Clelia from Tarquin, and doubt not of a reward proportionable to so great a service; for into what place soever you would repair for Sanctuary till Tarquin were appeased, I will take order you shall have no cause to complain of your Fortune. Besides that, all the employments which Tarquin hath put you upon, have raised you so many Enemies here, that it were not amiss if you removed: and that Tarquin hath so poorly rewarded all those confident executions you have done for him, that you cannot expect any future advantage by them. Let me then by my entreaties, by my reasons, and by the hopes I give you of making you happy in what place of the World you please, persuade you to do what I will have you. You know that I can do almost any thing that I desire to do; submit therefore to my will, if you would not rather disoblige the Woman of all the World, who hates to extremity what she is once displeased with, and can most easily destroy what opposes her; but withal, who most magnificently rewards those who serve her with cheerfulness and confidence.  
The fellow whom she spoke to being subtle, and standing in fear of her, and knowing her to be the most revengeful Woman in the World, saw it was no time to contest with her; for he considered, that having discovered herself so far to him as she had, he were a lost man if he denied her. Besides, reflecting how ill he had been rewarded for all the crimes he had committed in executing these unjust Orders of Tarquin, he concluded, that the dangerous conjuncture he was in, he could not do better than entertain the propositions which Tullia made to him. He therefore answered her as one absolutely engaged in her interests, and only demanded some few days to dispose of his affairs, that he might with safety obey her: For Madam, said he to her, I must first make sure of some of the Guard which I command, I must give other Orders to those that are upon the Guard at present, and I must put all things into such a posture, as that nothing may hinder the execution of this noble design of yours, of delivering the King from a person which might really prejudice you, and haply prove his ruin. Tullia agreeing to what he said, dismissed him; and slept the rest of the night with more quiet, than a person so cruel deserved to find.  
According to this design, Amilcar having been with her the next morning, she told him that within eight days at farthest, she would put Clelia into his disposal; so that burdened with this great news, he came to acquaint Aronces with it, who certainly received it with no small joy; though he was not so sensible of it as he thought he ought to have been. 'Tis to be feared (said he to Amilcar) I am so accustomed to misfortunes, that I cannot be otherwise than unfortunate. But however it be (says Amilcar) you are to blame not to give Hope a place in your heart; for if Tullia do not what she intends, we shall execute our other resolutions, and you shall find that the same persons who are employed to restore Rome to her liberty, are also engaged to restore Clelia to hers. You have moreover this advantage, that your Rival is one whom all true Romans wish destroyed, and all virtuous people abhor. You speak reason indeed (replied Aronces) but when all is done, Clelia is still in captivity under an unmerciful Tyrant who is in love with her: I live concealed in Rome not being able to do any thing but bemoan myself and give orders; Clelia's liberty is uncertain, the effect of the conspiracy is very doubtful, and supposing Clelia were out of Rome, we were still equally miserable, for what part of the earth would afford us Sanctuary, since we neither know where Clelius is, nor where Sulpitius may be, and that the Prince of Numidia who could inform us, continues still in his madness? But all things considered might it please the Gods, I could but see Clelia once out of Tarquin's power, for could I but see her at liberty, and might but once more cast myself at her feet, and protest that I die for love of her, I should render fortune thanks and acknowledge myself more obliged to you than ever I was to any man.  
But while Aronces was thus distracted between hope and fear; while Amilcar employed all his wits to serve him, while the Prince of Numidia was in some danger of death; while Brutus, Herminius, Valerius, and their friends plotted secretly in Rome to make some insurrection which might Usher in the liberty of their Country; while Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres were ready to hazard their persons in any thing wherein they might serve Aronces, while Mutius who still continued his addresses to Valeria, divided his heart between the love of her, and that of glory; Horatius was in an incredible disturbance at Ardea, having understood by some spies that Clelia was in Tarquin's power, that this Tyrant was fallen in love with her, that the Prince of Numidia had endeavoured to deliver her, and that it was not known where Aronces was. If he had durst he would have come disguised out of Ardea as Herminius did, to see if he could have delivered Clelia; but he knew he was so much looked on by the besieged, that there was no possibility to do any thing of that nature; and all he could do, was to carry things so, as to oblige the Ardeans to persist in demanding the liberty of the Captives. But being withal a person of conduct and experience, he easily conceived it was not very likely Tarquin should deliver them up, as being one that was obstinate in all his resolutions. He therefore could do no more than what he did, unless it were to bemoan his fortune, whose pleasure it was, that at the same time he should be in exile in love, ill entreated and obliged to his Rival.  
As for Tarquin, he was astonished to hear that it was the Prince of Numidia who had attempted the delivery of Clelia; for it was easy to infer thence that this African Prince must needs have a considerable party in Rome, to carry on such a design as that. However he doubted not when the Siege were over to discover the truth of the business; and so for the present spent not his thoughts on any thing so much, as how to gain the place by some treaty, or if that could not be done, take it by storm, which way they had not yet attempted. For Titus and the Prince of Pometia, their minds were rather employed in Love than War, and Herminia and Collatina were yet absolute Empresses over their Souls. But as concerning Sextus, Lucretia was the continual object of his imagination, he always saw her, even when he saw her not; he thought of nothing but her, he talked of nothing else, he conceived a hope though he knew not what should oblige him to it; and his apprehensions were so violent and so distracted, that never since it was love's employment to put the senses into rebellion against the mind, did he inspire into any one a passion more exorbitant, more tyrannical, and more fit to overturn all reason than that which had seized his soul. Thence it proceeded that he troubled himself not much, either at what was done in Rome or passed in the Camp, and it took up all his wits to find out means to see Lucretia again.  
While these things were in agitation, the Envoy of the King of Clusium, stayed in expectation, though to no purpose, to hear some news of Aronces; for though there were many persons, who could, if they had so pleased, have acquainted Tarquin where that Prince was, as also with the true worth of Brutus, and all the Plots that were afoot in Rome; nay, though there were two women who understood this whole secret, and two Maids that knew the greatest part of it, yet did it not take the least air that could be. For the Interest of the Country being thought at Rome of equal concernment with that Religion, there was a greater observance of faith and secrecy in such emergencies than there is elsewhere. And for the women, who were trusted with the knowledge of a business of so great importance, they were not ordinary persons; for Racilia, Brutus' Aunt, she carried about her that generosity which was (as it were) hereditary to the Family, whence she was descended, and Sivilia doubtless wanted not those perfections, and that greatness of Courage as were requisite to qualify her for the trust of a thing of such consequence. Nor could it otherwise be, but that the illustrious Herminius was so well acquainted with her worth, that had she not been his Mother, he would have made her his Friend. For Valeria there need be no more said to give her the greatest commendation that may be, than that she was Valerius Daughter, Lucretia's friend, and Herminius' Mistress; and for Hermilia there needed no more to distinguish her from the Commonalty of women who can keep nothing secret, than to say she was Brutus' Sister, Racilias Niece, and Valeria's intimate friend. 'Tis true, she was as yet very young, and for that reason was she not acquainted with all that was designed against Tarquin; and for what she knew besides, there was no fear she might discover any thing, since she could not have done it without hazarding the life of her Brother.  
Thus was this great business carried on so secretly amongst these illustrious persons, that there was not any thing discovered that might prejudice either Aronces, Brutus, or Herminius; nor was there any thing suspected abroad of the great design wherein the illustrious Lover of Lucretia had been engaged ever since his coming from Metapont; nay, this year he had two sons were received into the service; who were so far from knowing any thing of the design of their generous Father, that they were sufficiently engaged in his Son's Interest, whom Brutus was designed to ruin; and besides were entered into a Cabal opposite to that of those young men, with whom the subtle Amilcar held a secret correspondence against, if there were occasion to make use of them. Besides all this, there passed neither day nor night, but there were secret meetings in Rome, either at Racilias, or at Valeria's, or at Sivilias. The Salii, and the Vestals wanted not their concernment in these negotiations, all which related only to the liberty of Rome. They caused divers reports to be scattered among the people, prejudicial to Tarquin, either relating to the Siege, or of his refusal to deliver up the prisoners, or of the loss of his Army, which grew weaker every day; or his past Crimes, his present Tyranny, or his future exorbitance. Care was also taken to possess the multitude, that if Tarquin took in Ardea, Rome would be reduced under a more cruel subjection than ever; thus to infuse into the minds of the inhabitants of that famous City, a general inclination which might engage them to a rising, when there should be occasion. It is certain there needed no more than the violences of Tarquin and crimes of Tullia, to dispose the Romans into a desire of shaking off the yoke of so unjust a Tyranny; for there were none but knew, that Tarquin was no lawful King of Rome, and that instead of having been chosen according to the Fundamental Laws of that State, he had caused to be murdered one of the most virtuous Kings in the World, so to possess himself of the power he enjoyed, so that it may be said he acquired it through the blackest of all crimes, and conserved it through the most insupportable tyranny that ever was. But though this Prince understood by some of his creatures that the people was discontented, yet contrary to his custom, he slighted the information; as having his heart at that time wholly taken up by love and detestation. Clelias' resistance had filled his soul with those two passions, after so strange a manner, that they afforded him not the least quiet, and his mind was hurried by such violent agitations, that it was perpetually taken up with one of these two thoughts, either that he should enjoy Clelia or destroy her. Troubled therefore with a perpetual imagination; either of forcing her to love him, or putting her to death, his mind could not admit much quiet; nay, Aronces and Clelia, as unfortunate as they were, were less disquieted than he, it being the property of virtue to fill with serenity those hearts it is possessed of. Not but that even the most virtuous people are sometimes most unfortunate, and most sensible of their being such, but it never happens that their hearts are tossed with those impetuous disturbances whereby the souls of wicked persons are shaken through the conscience of their crimes, and if those are forced to complain of some other, they have withal the happiness to have no cause of complaint against themselves, which is no small advantage. For as it would trouble a man more to have any thing to object against a neighbour, than against a stranger, against a kinsman than against a neighbour, against a friend than a kinsman, against a mistress than a friend, so it must be most troublesome for a man to have any thing to object against himself above all others. But there being nothing that Aronces and Clelia could reproach to themselves, they endured their misfortunes with an admirable constancy, though the sense they had of them were as deep as their affection was great.  
There happened in the mean time a very strange accident which might in all likelihood have proved the mother of a world of mischief. Valerius being come one night to Racilias to confer with Herminius, who was within three days to return to Ardea, the Slave whose charge it was to open the gate having over-watched himself before, forgot to put out a Lamp, which set the house on fire, at a time when all in it were so securely a sleep, that the first notice they had of it, was by the cries of those that passed by the next morning who perceiving great flakes and eruptions of fire, soon noised it all about by knocking at the adjoining houses, and making horrible outcries. Of all those that were lodged at Racilia's, Aronces was the first took the Alarm, and could not be much surprised at such a confused noise, but must needs be much more, when, having gotten hastily out of his bed, he found his Chamber full of smoke, and whole roof opposite to his windows, so all of a fire, that it was not imaginable how it could be quenched, Awaking hereupon the slave that attended him, he sent him to do the like to all those of that side where the fire had not yet taken, and went himself and knocked at the several Chambers of Racilia, Hermilia, Brutus and Herminius, the Stairs being as yet free, in regard the Slave who had been the occasion of this disaster, lying in the highest room in the house, the fire began at the roof. That which was most sad in this accident, was that it was broad day; by which means an infinite multitude of people being gotten about the house, were pressing to get in, to endeavour to keep the fire from spreading to the next houses. This put Aronces and Herminius into a strange disturbance, for it was impossible but that among such a crowd of people, there might be some one that knew them, and consequently might cause them to be taken. Aronces whose thoughts were wholly taken up with the deliverance of Clelia; was now in danger to be taken himself, and Herminius was now within the reach of Tarquin's cruelty, and not unlikely to lose his life; insomuch that those two illustrious but unfortunate persons were in some doubt whether it were better for them to expose themselves to the flames than fall into the hands of such an enemy, were it not that in hazarding their lives in that manner, they had also brought Racilia, Hermilia, Brutus and divers other persons that were in the house into imminent danger. When therefore they understood that it was absolutely impossible to stop the violence of the fire without assistance from without, they were the first who opened the Gates to the multitude of people, who demanded entrance, telling Racilia and Hermilia, that they chose rather to be the Victims of the Tyrant then expose the lives of two such considerable persons to the cruelty of the flames.  
But that there might be a combination of generosity and prudence, and that whilst they endeavoured the preservation of others, they might not be thought absolutely negligent of their own, they disguised themselves as much as they could, and their design was, as they opened the gates, to follow Racilia and Hermilia with burdens of Purple, Tapestry, and other things of that nature, pretending they were employed to carry them to Sivelias, whose house was not very far thence. But to the end they might also defend themselves if occasion were, they took every man a sword. As for Brutus it was his business to conduct his Aunt and Sister, who had left in the house such as they thought able to hinder the disorders which are done upon such occasions. For Brutus not daring to make any discovery of his understanding, it was not thought sitting he should give any directions in an accident, wherein it is but requisite a man had his judgement at liberty, to act as he ought; Besides that desiring to be in a condition to serve his friends in case they were set upon, he chose rather to go out of the house with them. To be short, this unfortunate company had fortunately made a shift to break throw that throng of people which was knotted together before Racilias door, and was gotten within twenty paces of that of the virtuous mother of Herminius, when this illustrious Roman was discovered by the Captain of Tarquin's Guard, who was going to visit a friend of his in that quarter. The man thinking it a fair occasion to gain a considerable reward from the Tyrant and Tullia, by putting into their hands a person whose destruction they had so long endeavoured to bring about, cried out to the people, charging them in the King's name to secure a traitor who was there present, whom he showed to those whom he spoke to: And that they might take heart by his example, he immediately drew his Sword, and was seconded by two of his companions who did the like.  
Herminius had scarce perceived that they made at him, but casting away the Purple Tapestry he had on his back, he put himself into a posture of defence, and indeed behaved himself so valiantly, that he made his way through the crowd that was about him. Aronces who went before him, had almost reached Sivelias, where he doubted not to have found Sanctuary, but turning about, he finds his friend engaged; Disburthening himself therefore of what he carried, instead of providing for his own safety, he came to relieve Herminius, Brutus seconded him, having conducted Racilia, and Hermilia into Sivelias. The danger they was in was more than ordinary, for what was most remarkable in this adventure was, that though Tarquin were infinitely hated, yet the charge that man made for the securing of Herminius proved effectual. It is true, that as that infinite conflux of people which throng to such unfortunate disasters, brings along with it a many persons apt enough to commit any disorders, so is it not much to be wondered at, that there were those that promoted this injust design. But Herminius, seeing Aronces and Brutus engaged in his relief, was so far from being encouraged at it, that it very much displeased him, and he made a shift to tell them so much as might acquaint them, that they should not have hazarded themselves for him. But they were deaf to such advice, on the contrary they were more eager in his defence than they had been in their own, though they were set upon and kept in by abundance of people. Those who were spectators of this action, were astonished to see Brutus fight as he did, for the Captain of the Guard spoke to much purpose, when he told them that the business now was to take an enemy of Tarquin's, the other heard him not. 'Tis true, that having gained among the people the reputation of one out of his senses, the people looked on his valour in this encounter as an effect of his madness, and therefore consigned their respect to him as Nephew to Tarquin. For Aronces, his valour made him be observed, though not discovered, for he who would have taken Herminius, would fain have had him alive, and have dispatched Aronces, who defended with such a courage, that never was there seen any thing like it. On the other side Herminius, to reward his generosity by another worthy eternal memory, knowing him who would have taken him to be the same who had promised Clelia within a few days, would not by any means kill him, and was content only to ward off his blows, lest he might ruin that design. But by unhappy accident, Aronces not knowing that to be the man who should have delivered Clelia, played upon him so effectually, that having dispatched three or four of those that seconded him, he run him with his sword quite through the body, so that he fell dead at his feet. Herminius who saw the beginning of the business, cried out purposely to hinder Aronces from making that thrust, yet his generosity proved ineffectual, for his voice was not heard till after the blow was passed. But if it came not soon enough to hinder his death who was to give Clelia liberty, yet came it time enough to discover to Aronces what he had done, for in the instant the man fell, he remembered his Physiognomy, and perceived that he took away his life who was to deliver his Mistress, which proved the greatest affliction of any that ever had happened to him. The horrid apprehension of despair which in that instant seized his spirits, yet could not suspend his valour; on the contrary it inflamed it, and desirous at least to save his friend's life, he did things so prodigious, that he astonished the multitude that encompassed him: Brutus and Herminius for their parts did what (truly represented) would exceed probability, insomuch that the Captain, and two of his Guard being dispatched, they were not so much pressed upon as before.  
Nevertheless, they must needs have fallen at last, had they not been relieved by the prudence of the generous Sivelia; for as soon as Brutus' Aunt was gotten into her house, and had acquainted her how things stood, she immediately sent to the place where lodged Amilcar, Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres, to acquaint them, and demand their assistance. But it happened that the first was gone to visit Clelia, by order from Tarquin, from whom he had to that purpose received a Letter, for it was ordinarily in the morning that he went to see this fair Prisoner, so to have all the other part of the day free to do other things wherein he was obliged to serve his friends. Besides that Clelia was in a condition that she awaked very betimes, and was so negligent as to matter of dressing, that Amilcar had admittance as soon as he pleased, without any disturbance; for it having been long ere they could force open Racilias gate, to quench the fire, as having not yet the assistance of those that were without, it was far days. But in fine, Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres being acquainted with what passed, came immediately to Sivelias followed by all the people they had. In this posture entering at one gate of this virtuous Matron's house, and going out at that, where Aronces, Herminius and Brutus were, they came in to their relief; and their arrival was so seasonable, that the multitude seeing so many armed people come out of the house, was easily persuaded there were a many more within; so that running away, they left those whom they would have taken, at liberty to enter into Sivelias. They were no sooner in it, but they thought it the best course to dislodge; for they easily imagined, that as soon as Tullia were informed of the business, she would be-set the house. Without any stay therefore, they only passed through the House, and went to that where Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres lodged, where taking their Horses, they mounted Aronces on Amilcar's; which done, Brutus having found them a guide, directed them to a House which Valerius had near Collatia, there to lie concealed, till such time as they had more leisure to consider what they had to do. For his part, he would not depart, telling them, that his apparent stupidity would excuse him in this adventure, and bidding them not trouble themselves about him. There being no other course to take, they went where Brutus directed them, and were there gladly received; for Valerius who had left Rome at the break of day to go thither, was there two hours before.  
But as they went, what did not the unfortunate Aronces think on? If he had followed his own inclination, he could not have been prevailed with to quit Rome, but as it had been madness not to have done it, considering what was past, so was it his concernment to leave it, which yet he could not without so much regret and reluctancy, that never was there any Lover so miserable. Ah! said he to himself, How unfortunate art thou! Canst thou express no valour but what must be prejudicial to Clelia? Is it possible thou shouldst destroy him, who was to deliver her? Is it possible, after such a cruel and monstrous disaster hath happened to thee, thou canst doubt thy own destruction, or conceive the least hope? No, no, it were more rational to despair, and that thou shouldst by an inconsiderate death put a period to so unhappy a life.  
While Aronces entertained himself in this sad manner, Herminius, who was extremely troubled at the accident, came up to him, and demanded his pardon, as if he had been guilty of his death. Alas, dearest Herminius, said he to him, what do you mean? It is I should rather demand your pardon, as the cause of your misfortunes, for I am persuaded that my single unhappiness causes that of all my friends, and that Fortune, who is resolved to make me the most miserable of all, thinking it not sufficient I should be such through my own misfortunes, is pleased I should have no friends but what are unhappy. It is indeed easy to discover that my unhappiness is particular to me, and waits on me every where, for it happens, as it were, by appointment, since when it so much concerns Clelia, that I should remain undiscovered at Rome, the particular house wherein I lay concealed must needs take fire, which must force me out of it, in the sight of two thousand persons; and the malice and inconstancy of my Destiny must needs have it so, that of the infinite number of people, who made it their business either to kill or take us; I, who would have been content to die a thousand, and a thousands times for Clelias' Liberty, must precisely kill that man who should have delivered her. It is certain, my Lord, replied Herminius, this unhappy accident hath in it something more insupportable than were the loss of a Battle, or something else of that nature; but all considered, I find in myself a certain confidence, that something will happen which we expect not; for, in fine, there hath not been in Rome since Tarquin's assuming the power, so general an inclination to some great turn of affairs, as I have observed within these few days. Ah Herminius, replied Aronces, was there any thing more certain in appearance than Clelias' Liberty? and yet by a strange shifting of Fortune, I must needs kill him who was to deliver her. If you then take my advice, let us not hope any thing, added he, but let us rather prepare ourselves, either to endure all misfortunes imaginable, or by death to accord them.  
Whilst Aronces and Herminius was thus engaged, and that Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres bemoaned their friends, and their own misfortunes, and were upon their way altogether to Valerius' house, divers things passed at Rome. For Brutus, whose great heart admitted not the least fear, went to Tullia, to acquaint her, with his ordinary simplicity, that he was present when the Captain of Tarquin's guard was killed, who, he said, came by his death among a great multitude of people, by setting upon certain men who endeavoured to quench the fire at his Aunt's house, exaggerating, according to his affected stupidity, how much he was to blame for disturbing such as were burdened with her goods, which they were carrying to the house of a certain friend of Racilias. Tullia, who had already understood the death of the Captain of the Guard, and was extremely troubled at it, took no heed to what was told her by a man, whom she thought no great master of his senses. On the contrary, without any further discourse with him: Did not your stupidity excuse you, said she to him, I should teach you how those are to be treated who presume to make use of their Swords against his Majesty's Officers. But since your madness secures you, get you gone out of my sight, lest in the transportation I am now in, I treat you for your stupidity, as your Brother was for his too much prudence.  
Brutus hearing Tullia threatening him so insolently with death, had almost broke forth, and at once discovered his reason, his indignation, hatred, and his revenge: But at length mastering his resentments, he withdrew, as if he had not heard what Tullia said, and repaired to Racilia, who was at her illustrious friends house. In the mean time the fire being quenched, the streets were clear of people; and that which was most observable, was, that though abundance of people had been spectators of this accident, yet could not Tullia have any punctual account of it. For the Captain being dead without discovering any thing, or so much as naming Herminius, and his companions being also out of the way, all that could be made of it, was, that they had been killed, endeavouring to secure an enemy of Tarquins. The people knew not Herminius from another man, because he was disguised; and for Sivilia, the reputation of her virtue was so great, that none durst inform against her, nor tell Tullia that those armed people, who had rescued the other two, came out of her house. As concerning Aronces, there was mention made of him; and indeed the business was handled in such a confusion, that nothing could be made of it, there being an hundred several relations of the same thing.  
But while these things were in agitation, Amilcar was gently entertaining Clelia and Plotina, who were so transported with the hopes of Liberty, that their conversation that morning was as free, as if they had really been at Liberty. For though Amilcar had received a Letter from Tarquin, wherein he easily discovered what a Tyranny Love and Hatred exercised over him, yet he showed it not to Clelia, but entertained her altother with discourse concerning Aronces, telling her what satisfaction it would be to him to see her at liberty, what it would be to her to receive new assurances of his affection, and the joy that attends a happiness which succeeds a misery. He gave her also a Letter from Aronces, wherewith she was extremely satisfied, as containing the greatest tenderness and passion; nay, so much was she pleased, that having perused it, she gave it Plotina, who reading it aloud, found therein these words.  
Aronces to the Incomparable Clelia.  
THe bare hope of seeing you once at Liberty, causes so great, yet so pleasant a disturbance in my soul, that fearing to die for joy when I see you again, I conceive myself obliged to assure you, that I am still the most amorous of Men, and the most faithful Lover upon Earth. I know I should be somewhat ashamed that I can survive my grief, and withal fear I may die for joy; but all considered, if you well examine the apprehensions of my soul, you will find that a Lover, who hath been accustomed to misery, may rationally doubt his ability to bear the most sensible of all pleasures: However it happen, I shall think myself obliged to my Destiny, and esteem it such as may move envy, if I but die at your feet, after I have once more said, I love you.  
Plotina having read this Letter, told Clelia, that there was something more to be done, that she was obliged to return some answer thereto, and let her see it. Accordingly this excellent person, who had an extraordinary command of her Pen, was pleased to do what Plotina and Amilcar desired, and answered it in these words.  
Clelia to the Generous Aronces.  
SInce you have survived your grief, you shall not need fear dying for joy, this being more properly the Messenger of Life than Death. But that I may be absolutely happy in my Liberty, remember you have promised never to break those chains which I have put you in; for according to those passionate resentments I have for you, I believe I should choose rather never to quit my Prison, than that you should get out of the Fetters you are in. Excuse me then, if while you make Vows for my Liberty, mine are, that you may be my perpetual Captive. Farewell, I crave your pardon, if writing to you, I have offered at any Wit; for where there is either Love or Misery, it suffices if there be but Passion.  
Clelia having done, Plotina and Amilcar, who were discoursing at the Window, while she was writing, drew near her, and read what she had written. Whereupon Amilcar assuming the discourse: Ah, Madam, said he to her, how extremely am I pleased at your demanding pardon of Aronces, for being too witty in your Letter. There should not certainly be too much wit in Missive and Love Letters, which is the reason that it is so hard to find any Letters or Addresses of this Nature composed as they should; for there must be neither artifice nor negligence; it must not express too much Wit, yet it must speak a certain Gallantry and Passion: In fine, it is so hard to write well in Love, that there cannot be any thing more. But for my part, says Plotina, I cannot conceive there should be more difficulty to write of one thing than of another; for I think that, in point of Letters, all one hath to do, is simply to express one's thoughts. For where there is a conjunction of Fancy and Judgement, one for the most part hath reflection on every thing which he ought to have, and consequently writes what is fit to write of it. For instance, when I am to write of a business of consequence, I shall not so express it, as if I were only to acquit myself of a simple Compliment: If I am to write something of News, I shall not trouble myself about Compliments: If I write a Letter of Friendship, I must not labour for any high Style: If a Love-Letter, I have no more to do than to consult my own heart. I cannot therefore well apprehend why you conceive it so great a difficulty to write Letters of this nature. To deadly truly (says Clelia), I think it not so easy to write any kind of Letters, and that there are but very few persons absolute masters in it. I am of your opinion, replied Amilcar, but of all Letters, those of Love are the hardest to write, as being such, whereof there are very few that are able to judge. Yet Plotina speaks (replied Clelia) as if she thought all sorts very easy, whereas I think, as I have already told you, of all things in the world, it is that requires most judgement. But to show you I am somewhat versed in it, replied Plotina, and that I know somewhat what belongs to the composing of a Letter, is it not granted that Letters containing business of consequence, aught to be apposite and exact; that they require a foundness of Judgement rather than Eloquence; that they admit not any superfluity or expression, and are completed by what is pertinent; and that it be especially considered, that there be order and perspicuity? Yet I told you there must be withal, added she, a certain dress of Civility, which is that which puts a difference between the Letters of consequence, written by persons of Honour, and those of others: and in fine, it is necessary that the person who writes, understand well himself, what he would express to another; for I know not any thing more insufferable, than to write a Letter that shall need an Expositor, and confounds things instead of explaining them. And yet there are a many people (replied Clelia) who think they understand themselves when they do not. But Plotina is none of those (replied Amilcar) for I assure you she knows very well what she says, and therefore I should take it as an infinite obligation, if she would show me how Letters of consolation are to be written; and whereas there happen frequent occasions to write such, I should take her directions in five or six, which I would preserve as patterns, to imitate when need were; for truly, I find nothing so contrary to my inclination as this kind of Letters. For when ever I intent any such, instead of any condoling or sympathising with such as are afflicted, I find myself more inclined to divert than bemoan them; and I am so far to seek what ought to be said, and what not, that I can never complete a Letter of this nature, without writing it several times over; nay when all is done, cannot dismiss it without some blots and scratches; and therefore the fair Plotina would extremely oblige me to show me how to write them. Could you but see my apprehensions of it (replied Plotina) you would certainly do it with great ease, for I can by no means admit these tedious consolatory Letters, as proving always fruitless; whereas, it might be said or some people, they write, as if their Letters should have in them some Magical force against affliction, and that they who read them, ought from thence forward abjure all regret for what they have lost. But I am to wish withal (added she) that people would be persuaded once for all, that only time is the comforter of such afflictions, and that it is not the proper office of Eloquence. Moreover, what measure of consolation is to be applied to such as are not over afflicted. The safest course a man can take in such cases, is to let his consolatory Letters be very short; for to observe a certain moderation therein, he is only to acquaint the person he writes to, how much he is concerned in his affliction, without digressing into tedious Lamentations, or high Eulogies, not engaging the numerous forces of Moral Philosophy and Eloquence to no purpose. It is very true (says Amilcar) and you are questionless much in the right. For how many Women are comforted for the death of their Husbands, when, indeed, they neither need nor care for it? Nay, how many persons are there of all relations, who should people accommodate themselves to their secret thoughts, were rather to be congratulated than bemoaned, since they are not sorry, that they are heirs to those for whose deaths they are complemented. I therefore resolve amiable Plotina (added Amilcar) never to write any Letters of consolation, but such as shall be short; not to disturb Morality and Eloquence on these occasions; to make no more those long exaggerations against the cruelty of death, as some do; as also not to study high Commendations, or spins out long Panegyric, and in a word, absolutely to conform myself to your directions. I shall not trouble you to tell me, how a man ought to behave himself in congratulating another's good fortune, 'tis an Art I am absolute Master of, and I can furnish you with ten or a dozen beginnings of Letters of that kind, abating those that start out thus, I congratulate your— I conceive myself so much concerned in your— and the like, which are too low for persons who would be thought Masters of Wit. But I should take it as a transcendent courtesy, if you would show me how I might acquit myself well of those Letters of Recommendation, which are given unsealed to those whom one thinks fit to commend; and particularly how those to whom one writes may understand, whether it be his earnest desire they should do the business proposed, or is indifferent whether they do it, or not; for when I am at Carthage, I am in a manner persecuted with such emergencies.  
For my part (replied Plotina) when I commend a business which relates to such as for whom I have no great esteem, I write a short dry Letter, yet not wanting as to Civility, nay you shall find in it the word Entreat, but it stands so alone, that it is not fastened to any thing. On the contrary, when I effectually desire a thing might be done, I first of all make appear that what I desire is just, I give a good character of the person whom I recommend; I express what friendship or esteem I have for him, I put the obligation is done in his favour upon my own account: I engage the person to whom I write in point of honour to do him some good office, and to make all secure, I write by some other hand, whereby I confirm all I had written before. For what concerns me (said Clelia) I would gladly learn how to write to a sort of people, with whom only Civility obliges me to hold a certain correspondence, who yet are such as you would not favour with your friendship, nor take any pleasure to oblige. In the first place (replied Plotina) I should advise to write to them as seldom as might be, for I can by no means away with that sort of people, that write to no other end but to write, who so readily charge themselves without any necessity, with the receiving of hundreds of Letters from persons whom they care not for; and are for the most part pleased when they send or receive without any choice. And in the second, I should wish, when one is obliged upon the account you speak of, a man would not express in his Letters either too great wit, or too much friendship; for certainly a man injures himself, who writes a high and over obliging Letter to a person of ordinary parts; wherefore there must begotten a kind of colder civility, which is soon found when looked for, which is used towards those for whom we have no great love nor esteem, when by some considerations of acquaintance, we are obliged to write to them, and it is in such emergencies as these that we are to make use of those Letters, which are called Letters of Compliment, wherein there is not any thing particular, nothing either good or bad, containing a parcel of words and little sense, not obliging either those who write them, or those to whom they are directed, to any thing, as being dressed in such general terms, that they may be directed to all sorts of persons, without any particular address to any. Judgement, certainly, is requisite in all (replied Clelia) as for instance it might be said there is nothing easier than the writing of news, and yet there are some who write it most fantastically. They are such (replied Amilcar) who write news often, though they know not any, who believe all is said to them, write without order or choice, who trouble themselves to write things, that either none regards, or are displeasing in themselves, or have lost all the grace and insinuation of Novelty. For certainly, it is not more necessary that a woman to be a beauty, be also young, than that news be fresh and sudden, to please; there being nothing more unseasonable than a long relation of an old adventure. Yet it must be confessed (replied Clelia) that there are certain disastrous accidents, which some make it their business to renew the stories of, and spread abroad, as if they were lately happened, which certainly, is very troublesome to those who knew them before they were written to them. But in my judgement, when one writes a Letter wherein he would relate what had happened, he is to consider what kind of news the persons to whom he writes are most taken with; for I am confident there are some who are only pleased with those general narrations wherewith Fame itself comes for the most part burdened, and would hear of nothing but Victories or Defeats, the Sieges of Cities, Conflagrations, Deluges, Insurrections and the like. There are also those who matter not the general Occurrences of the World, so they are but acquainted with what passes in their own Quarter; whence it is but necessary we should sift their humours to whom we write, when we are to send any thing of intelligence.  
You speak very much reason, Madam (replied Amilcar) but that which I would particularly learn from the fair Plotina, since she seems to be so much exercised in it, is to know in what Letters a man is permitted to display all his perfections, and after what manner he is to discover his wit. That certainly, is a thing you know better than I (replied she) but that you may be satisfied that I am able to judge of the excellencies of your Gallant-Letters, if ever you shall write any to me, I declare to you, that it is only in them that I pretend to be skilled, and that for those which are called Serious-Letters, I meddle not with them. In these out of all doubt (replied Amilcar) a man is permitted a high stile. For instance, if Valerius or Lucretius were to write to Tarquin concerning some affair of great consequence, or if some great Clerks held an Epistolary correspondence, they might pertinently make use of History, Morality, Policy, and in a manner all the assistances of Eloquence. Be it as it will (says Plotina) I understood it not, but for your Gallant-Letters, I am the greatest Critic in the World. It is properly in these, that the Wit hath all liberty imaginable; here the fancy is not limited by any severity of judgement, which is so far dispensed with, that the more serious things may be checkered with pleasant digressions of extravagance. They admit Satire if somewhat corrected with ingenuity; commendations and flatteries have here their several stations; a man may speak of friendship, in terms of love; all novelty is pardonable, even lying, if innocent, is excusable; if one knows no news he may make some; one may pass from one thing to another without disorder; for this kind of Letters, to speak properly being a conversation between persons that are absent, there is nothing so much to be avoided as a certain kind of reservedness of deep learning, that smells of Books and Study, and hath no acquaintance with Gallantry, which may by called the Soul of this kind of Letters. As to the stile of them, it must be plain, natural, and noble altogether, which yet hinders not, but that there may be a certain Art, by the means thereof, there is nothing which may not pertinently be brought into letters of this nature, there being not any thing from the threadbare Proverb, to the sybil's Prophecies, which a good wit may not make use of. But there must be an especial care had in such occurrences, to decline that swelling Eloquence which properly belongs to Orations, and here must be applied another kind, which with less noise proves more effectual, especially among women; for in a word, the Art of telling trivial stories handsomely, is not known to all sorts of people. You may be confident of it (replied Amilcar) and I can further assure you, that it is not proper to all to desire to know it. But, amiable Plotina, make your obligation absolute, and tell us precisely how you would have Love Letters written.  
Since I never either writ, or received any (answered she) I know not very what I shall say, but being now in good humour to speak I shall not deny you. But I must in the first place tell you, there are a many more excellent Love-Letters than its conceived. I am of your mind (replied Amilcar.) Yet it is not to be admired (answered she) if the Gallant Letters make a great noise, and those of Love very little; the former being written to be shown to all the World, the other to be concealed. Those who receive a handsome Letter of Friendship, gain much reputation by showing it; but for those who receive a well-couched Letter of Love, it were a dishonour to communicate it; so that it is not to be thought very strange, if we meet with so good few ones of the latter sort. To come yet nearer the business, since there are an infinite number of people, who may be said to have a great wit, in respect of those who are guilty of a great love; it is not to be wondered at, if there are fewer excellent Letters of this kind than of any; it being indisputably certain, that to write punctually of things of this nature, a man besides an ardent importunate love, must be endued with a certain tenderness of heart and intellectuals, which is that wherein consists all the Beatitude of Love, either as to Conversation or Letters. But (replies Clelia) did you not just now maintain, that in such cases too much Wit was to be avoided? I confess it (answered Plotina) but do you not think there is necessary a great deal of Wit to discover little? In so much, that though it may be said, that though Love Letters require not the fire of Wit, which should sparkle in Gallant Letters, yet must there be some instead of it, and the fire of Love possess the place of that Wit, whereof I speak. I conceive therefore the true Character of a Love-Letter, aught to be neat and passionate; and that if there be any thing of gallantry, spirit, yea even diversion in these Letters, it must be moderated with passion and respect. The expressions of them ought to be forcible and piercing, and among those things which divert the mind, there must be others that shall offer a kind of violence to the heart. It is requisite also, if I mistake not, there should be a little disquiet, for Love cannot by any means admit Letters of Felicity. Not but that there may be a certain degree of joy, yet it must be such as is not certainly serene, nay though there were no cause of complaint, yet ought a man to imagine something to himself whereof he may complain. You speak so admirably well (replied Amilcar) that if you had studied Love all your life, you could not have delivered yourself better. If I have known no love myself (replied she smiling) I have those Friends of my own Sex, who have, and have taught me how to speak of it. In a word then, in a Love Letter, Fancy must be predominant over Wit, and the Style of it must be natural, full of respect and passion; nay, I dare maintain there is nothing more likely to make a Letter of this nature less effectual, than its being over witty. Hence also doth it proceed, there are so few that can judge well of Love Letters, for to be critical in it, a man must imagine himself in the place of those that love; he must suppose what they say comes immediately from their hearts; he must discover a many little circumstances that are only known to those who write, not to others; and in fine, he must be able to distinguish very nicely, between that Gallantry which is required in Letters of Friendship, and what is admitted in those of Love. Moreover (added she) I have it from a very virtuous person, that ordinarily women are more exquisite at Love-Letters than men, and for my part I think he was not mistaken. For when a Lover is once resolved to make a full discovery of his passion, there is no need of Art, to say, I am still under the Martyrdom of your Love; but for a woman, in regard she never absolutely acknowledges her love, but doth all things with a greater Mystery, this Love, whereof there can only be had a glimpse, causes a greater pleasure than that which is apparent, and without ceremony. But, it seem, says Clelia, there must be a difference between the Letters of a Servant, and those of a Mistress. No question of it, replied Plotina; for in the Letters of a Servant, affection and respect must be predominant; those of a Mistress should speak modesty, and fear in aspect to tenderness.  
But excellent Plotina, replied Amilcar, since you are so learned, you are yet to tell me whether length be excusable in Love Letters, for I have a friend conceives they should be short. To speak in general terms of all sorts of Letters, replied Plotina, I think they should not be overlong; but it were very pleasant indeed, if it should be thought ill, that two persons, who love one another infinitely, who have not the opportunities of speaking one to another, and meet with many difficulties to convey their thoughts one to another, should not be permitted to write what they cannot speak; and that Love which is an exaggerating passion, and magnifies and multiplies all things, had not the privilege sometimes to dilate itself into long Letters. For, how can a great passion be swathed in a few words? How can a short Letter contain a great jealousy, and transport all the apprehensions of one amorous heart into another in three or four words? As for those who write the gallant sort of Addresses, added she, it is easy for them to abbreviate, and yet lose nothing of Wit, since their reason being absolutely free, they make choice of the things they say, and reject those suggestions which please them not: But for a poor Lover whose reason is disturbed, he takes nothing up by choice, he writes down the dictates of his Fancy; nor indeed should he choose any thing, since that in point of Love, neither can there be too much said, nor is it believed there hath been enough. Thus I maintain, there is no prohibition of long Letters, onally they be in no other dress than what love adorns them with; and to speak ingeniously, there's nothing deserves so great commendation as a handsome Love Letter: For all considered, notwithstanding what I said before, I believe that when one writes such a one, the mind is so taken up, and so distracted, that it is much more difficult to write well in this, than in any other case. Not but, as I said before, that the heart is that which is principally concerned in it, but that sometimes the heart is so disturbed, that itself is ignorant of what it feels. But I pray, says Amilcar, who are these Female Friends of yours; who have taught you to speak so learnedly of Love? She hath been entrusted with the secrets of so noble a Passion, replied Clelia, that if you knew all she knows, you would not wonder to hear her speak as she does. It shall be her fault, replied Amilcar, if I do not, for it would be the greatest pleasure in the World to me, to hear her relate an amorous adventure; besides that, added he, you cannot force me hence, though you were ever so desirous, for the Captain of your Guards went out when I came in, and you know the doors of your Lodgings are never opened but when he is here: Nay he told me, he should not return very suddenly, by which means you have as much leisure as you could wish. But what should oblige me, replied Plotina, to relate to you the adventure of one of my Friends, when there is no necessity for it? How! replied Amilcar, Do you think it a matter unnecessary, to let me know in what School you have learned to speak so well of Love? Assure yourself, if you refuse, I shall be persuaded you have run through three or four several Loves in your Life. If it be so, replies that excellent Virgin, I shall rather submit to entertain you with the adventures of Caesonia, whereof I had this day promised Clelia the relation; not but that she knows something in general of what hath happened to this admirable woman, but since she will have the particulars thereof, I am content you should also participate, conditionally you use all the means you can for her deliverance as well as ours. Ah Plotina, replied Amilcar, if the fair Clelia will have it so, it will be an infinite pleasure to me; for I know not any thing of greater delight, than to understand that a person of a great Wit, and withal serious, can admit Love. I therefore promise you to do all that lies in my power, to oblige Tullia to set all the Captives at Liberty: and to persuade her to it, I will tell her, that Tarquin will be less incensed at that, then if she only delivered Clelia. Hereupon Plotina, being confident that Amilcar would more readily employ all his interest for Caesonia, if he were informed what had happened to her, and Clelia having added her entreaties to those of this accomplished African, began her Relation in these words.  

THE HISTORY OF CAESONIA.  
SInce you lay your commands on me, fair and generous Clelia, I shall relate unto you the adventures of this admirable woman who hath had the happiness of your good opinion; and I am also content Amilcar participate the pleasure of the Relation. But he must give me leave, as learned as he is, to acquaint him with divers things relating to our City, and particularly concerning its original, which an African cannot in any likelihood know, that so he may the less wonder if he find so many tracts of magnificence amongst the Rutuli, and indeed so much gallantry and wit. For to deal truly with you, the Original of Ardea is more noble than that of Rome, and it cannot be objected to us, as it may be to the Romans, that our Fathers were Criminals and Outlaws; and in a word, the Rutuli are reckoned amongst the most ancient people of Italy; Ardea, which is their Metropolis, being built by the fair and famous Danae, the Daughter of Acrisius, and mother of Perseus, whose History is so celebrated, that I think it unnecessary to relate it.  
You do very well, interrupted Amilcar smiling, for though an African, and as Ignorant as you conceive me, I am not to learn, that Jupiter fell in love with Danae, that he was put to his shifts for that invention of the precious Golden Shower; that he turned Bull to Ravish Europa, and put on the form of a Swan to surprise the Mother of Castor and Pollux. I know further, that Danae's Father understanding his daughter was near her time of Lying in (notwithstanding all the care he had taken to cause her to be kept in a Tower, to elude the effect of an Oracle, which threatened he should lose his life by the hands of a Son of that Princess) caused this fair Lady to be shut into a Chest of Cedar, which he gave order should be cast into the Sea; and that the gods providing for her safety, directed the waves to cast it on the Coasts of Italy. I know further, that having been found by a Fisherman, who was taken with her extraordinary Beauty, he presented her to the Prince whose Subject he was; who grew so deeply enamoured of her, that he married her. Nay I have heard it reported, though that be not so easily credible, that Danae, though enclosed in the chest, and that tossed up and down in the Sea, was safely delivered therein of young Perseus, and that the Fisherman made a present both of Mother and Child to the forementioned Prince.  
Ah Amilcar, cried Plotina very pleasantly, you know too much, and I should be easily persuaded you know all I have to tell you. And yet, methinks you should have miss what some related, viz. that Danae was not the foundress of Ardea, but a Son of Ulysses and Circe; but the story is not true, as being grounded only on this, that Ulysses being a very eloquent person, and Circe an excellent Herbalist, the people of Ardea speak more politely than those of any other City, and have a greater knowledge of the names and qualities of Plants, than there is elsewhere. But it is out of Controversy, that the fair Danae built our City, for the conslagration, though very great, leaving behind it certain magnificent Temples, there is to be seen the History of Danae, excellently represented in certain Pictures, though done before the Foundation of Rome. She is to be seen also in a sumptuous Palace, drawn by a famous Painter, called Cleophantus, who followed Demaratus of Corinth, Father to the first of the Tarquins, when he came into Italy to avoid the persecution of Cypsalus, King at that time of the Country; so that it is agreed on all sides: And to confirm it further, there are a hundred particulars to evince the truth; for we have women bear the name of Danae; and that of Persander, which is an ordinary name, seems to be derived from Perseus; and there is to be seen a Cypress Chest, which is said to be the same wherein Danae came to land in Italy, and was miraculously preserved when our City was burnt. Moreover, in memory of the Golden shower you spoke of, there is a yearly feast celebrated at Ardea, wherein all Lovers are obliged to some liberality towards their Mistress, wherein there must be something of Gold: For there is a certain Superstition spread whereby many are persuaded, that a man cannot be faithfully loved at Ardea, if he find not some means to convey to his Mistress something consisting of that Metal. But if the men employ all their wits to do it, the women on the contrary, unless it be on the Feast-day I spoke of, think themselves obliged in point of honour to avoid the receiving of any thing wherein there is gold, unless it be done by some ingenious surprisal; which gives occasion to a many gallant adventures.  
But not to trouble you longer with things frivolous, it suffices you know, that there is a great profession of Arts, more magnificence, and more ingenuity at Ardea, then there is in Rome, as famous as it is: Even Poesy is there no stranger; for that in divers Temples may be found Inscriptions in verse, in praise of divers persons. There is one to be seen in Juno's Temple, very excellent, and very ingenious, though the subject of it be only to celebrate a certain Painter of Aetolia, who for his Art and acquaintance with all Sciences, obtained the freedom of our City. Ardea therefore being a place more polite than the name of the Rutuli would make it be thought, wonder not at what I am going to tell you, and charge me not with too much partiality to my own Country.  
But having spoken to you of Ardea, I am now to speak of Caesonia. For her Person I shall say nothing, for you know she is infinitely pleasing, that she hath the air itself of Beauty, that she hath a Majestic graceful aspect, that she is of a proper slature, hath an excellent eye, and her countenance full of freedom and modesty. You know further, she is infinitely ingenious, of a gentle and constant nature, and her conversation hugely inviting, and that the earth (affords not a woman that hath a heart more noble and sincere, or inclinations more generous. Being a person of the greatest quality in our City, her education was proportionable; Her Father indeed she lost, while she was yet very young, but her Mother (whose name is Ersilia) omitted nothing which she thought might contribute to her perfection, and treated her with such compliance and obligation when she was grown up to her reason, that she seemed rather to look on her as a Sister then a Daughter, and would rather entreat her advice, then enjoin her by command. 'Tis true, Caesonia did not abuse this tenderness, but the more indulgent Ersilia was to her, the greater was her respect and duty; so that it might be said the mother was absolute mistress of the daughter, and that the daughter had the same power of the Mother, for there was never observed the least contestation between them. Caesonia having thus a great beauty, a great wit, a great goodness, and a great fortune, it is not very strange if she had a many Suitors. For my part, though I am two years younger than she, and of an humour less reserved and more free, yet hath she given me the first place among her friends; for I dare presume to affirm thus much of myself that among the most serious Confidents in the World, I will not be outvied by any as to Fidelity and Secrecy. It happened moreover that Caesonias house, and that wherein I lived, joined, and that her mother and mine were allied; by which means we were in a manner always together, and there was such a reciprocation in our pleasures, that we took not any when we were not together in the same place. We had some other friends of our own sex; but to tell you truly, there was a great distance between those apprehensions of friendship which we had for them, and those we had one for another. Yet was there a strange difference between Caesonias humour and mine; but withal, such as had the same effect in our hearts, as divers sounds have in Music, when it is well understood; for my freedom of disposition diverted Caesonia, and I was no less pleased with her mildness, complaisance and ingenuity. She is even guilty sometimes of a certain languishing melancholy, with which I was much taken; in a word, we made such harmony, that there never happened the least discordant note between us. Not that we could be always of the same opinion, but when we were not, we disputed without bitterness; as soon as we apprehended truth, we submitted thereto; nay, even when each persisted in her opinion, it was without indignation or any discovery of fullenness or obstinacy. Nor did our friendship make a small noise in the City; insomuch, that when people spoke of us, without naming us, we were commonly called, The two friends.  
Caesonia in the mean time having no great inclination of herself to marry, and taking no encouragement from my humour, which hath ever been much addicted to liberty, to change her opinion, slighted many propositions were made to her, though very advantageous; so that she had slipped over the eighteenth year of her age, before her heart was sensible of any disposition to fix her choice upon any one of all those that were her servants. It was certainly not trouble to her that she was esteemed by all of quality in our City, beyond all the Beauties of Ardea; but she withal thought it so hard a matter to meet with a man that knew well how to love, and that it was the greatest unhappiness to be obliged to one by whom she were absolutely beloved, that she would have been glad of Ersilias' consent she might not marry at all. For when she had a mind to aggravate the aversion she had to marry a man by whom she could not think herself beloved, she spoke the pleasantest things in the world, though naturally she is very serious. But (said to her one day, when there was very great company at her house, and that all were pressing her upon her shiness, and over-reservedness in things of that nature) according to the humour I conceive you to be of, it were a hard matter to persuade you, that you might be perfectly beloved; for though you be sincerity itself, I have heard you say, in the business of love you distrust all things. You may very well have heard me say so (replied she) and it shall be your fault if you hear it not again; for there are not only a sort of men in love, who tell you they feel more than they do; but there are others who though absolutely insensible, will yet entertain you with their incredible sufferings. There is also a sort of Liars who are sensible they are such, and because they know not well what Love is, think they are in Love, when the most can be said of them, is that they are simply disposed to be so. By that argument (replied an excellent person, whose name was Persander) it were not sufficient for a man that were in love with you, to render you those services which another might, but he must find out some new way to convince you of his affection. Very right (replied she) for I am not very credulous, and to prevail any thing with my great mind, there must be something extraordinary, especially if the first birth of the affection should be directed to me, that I might no longer doubt of the conquest I had made. But (said another to her, a person of great merit, named Turnus) I would gladly know what that were that should absolutely convince you of the power of your charms. Since I have not so exactly examined what apprehensions I should have of a thing, wherein I am not concerned (replied she) I know not well how to answer you; but for the present, what would assure me of a man's affection, were to see him express it by a neglect of what he were most naturally and most strongly inclined to. For, if (for example) I should oblige an ambitious man to renounce his ambition for the love he bore me; if I should force a covetous man to become liberal; if I should cause a choleric person to banish that Passion out of his soul, merely because I was displeased with it; if a fickle man should prove constant merely for my sake; or if an obstinate Lover should quit some other Mistress purposely to serve me, I think I should believe I were possessed of the Empire of their hearts who should do such things upon my account. And to deal sincerely with you, I do not think those who conquer any heart, aught to use their Conquests as ordinary Conquerors do, who to insinuate into their new Subjects, alter not the Laws of those Countries they have subdued. On the contrary, I maintain, that it is lawful for those who conquer any heart, to govern it by such laws as they shall think fit; and that it is the noblest expression of a Mistress' Authority, absolutely to dispose of whatever acknowledges her Supremacy. If therefore I should have made a faithful Lover of a fickle, or a fickle of a constant, I should think myself more confirmed in my power, than I should by all the ordinary discoveries which men do make of their Passion.  
Caesonia had no sooner said this, but Turnus smiled, and Persander changed colour, as if they were secretly concerned in what that fair Lady spoke. And indeed, you are to know, that Turnus was naturally inconstant, and Persander loved without any return of his love, and had been a long time a Suitor to a Lady of our City, who certainly deserved not the love of a person of his quality; so that having been both smitten by what Caesonia had said, it caused a little agitation in their hearts, for they had both an infinite esteem for this admirable person. But for her part, when she spoke it, she thought not of either, and was minded only to disburden herself of an opinion, wherein she thought herself singular; and indeed it proved the Text of all that days discourse; all being obliged to dispute whether a woman were more obliged to an inconstant Lover that should prove constant by loving only her, or to a faithful Lover that should prove inconstant to a former Mistress, as being forced to it by the charms he met with in a second. I shall not trouble you with a repetition of that discourse, because I must repeat another in the sequel of my story, whereby I should be obliged to relate the same twice.  
But I must needs more particularly tell you thus much, that Persander and Turnus were of the best of quality in Ardea, that they were both very proper as to their persons, and were both infinitely discreet and virtuous. 'Tis true, they were of very different natures; for Persander is a man of a more pleasant, more free, and more general conversation, and excellently good at those little things, which indeed are the State-affairs of Love. Turnus was of a serene, mild, and complaisant disposition, and if the love of ease had not disputed the Empire of his heart with that of glory, and his Mistresses, he had made one of the most exquisite Lovers in the World: For he had something of Gallantry, something of Delicacy, and insinuation of Affection, which was infinitely taking, and withal, notwithstanding his inclination to ease, certain Sallies of violence, which fortified people in the persuasion they had of his love. But for Persander his ingenuity and cunning contrivances were his best Agents; and it may be said of these two Conquerous, one was fitter for the gaining of a battle, the other more excellent at a siege.  
Turnus was at this time, instead of one, engaged in divers Love-designs; for there were in Ardea three excellent persons, by whom it may be presumed he might have been loved; if he could have been content to love but one, and direct all his affection to her. Persander on the other side, could admit but of one passion, but as I told you before, Love had otherwise prevented him; and certainly she to whom he had then designed his heart, was not worthy to receive it. But indeed, she was not only so far from knowing the value of it, that she refused to accept it On the contrary, she had treated Persander with so much indignity and neglect, that the Clouds under which he lay began to disperse, when Caesonia without any design, held the discourse I have related to you, which was pertinently directed both to him and Turnus, if they could have resolved then to love her. For, if you remember. I told you that Caesonia acknowledged herself equally satisfied of the affection of an inconstant person, if he became constant, and of that of a constant Lover if he proved inconstant for her sake. That which was most observable in this accident, was, that Persander and Turnus who were friends, applied to one another what Caesonia had said, though they were satisfied that she had spoke without any reflection on them, though indeed the application was not serious on either side.  
But departing the house together, and being both equally surprised with the beauty and perfections of Caesonia, they fell a praising of her, and spoke a many things in her commendation. From which discourse, Persander took occasion to tell Turnus, that since he was so much taken with Caesonia, he should do well to address his services to her, and quit that indifference in love, wherein he had continued all his life. For in fine, said he to him, while you wander from one beauty to another, you will not advance much; and since that all those from whom you receive favours, please you not so well as absolutely to engage you to them; and that you are this day more taken with Caesonia then all your former acquaintances, I would advise you to sacrifice all your other Mistresses at her Altar. I promise you (replied he) that if I thought the sacrifice would prove acceptable, I should do it with all my heart; but you know, it is not only requisite that the victims should be such as might please the Gods but they also must be acceptable who offer them. Being assured therefore (continued he) that you are more in Caesonias favour than I am, I should advise you to undertake the adventure; for if she said that she was confident of the affection of an inconstant Lover that should prove constant for her sake, she also said she would be satisfied with the love of a constant one that should prove unconstant, to serve her. If therefore you will take my advice, you will forsake your ancient Mistress and make choice of this; for not to flatter you, it will be more advantageous for you to alter your resolutions then for me. There are, you know well, three persons, all excellently handsome, of whose affections I might presume, could I but love them, and who find me employment and diversion sufficient, though all that is between us, be no more than a sense of mirth and gallantry, which may haply grow up to something, if we please, and may also come as easily to nothing, if we are disposed. But you, without any reciprocation of affection, love a person that seems only amiable to yourself; and you put your friends upon a necessity of wishing that she may never prove favourable to you; for if you conquer the indisposition of your love by marriage, you were the unhappiest of all men in that it were to exchange one whom you thought a worthy Mistress into a troublesome Wife. if therefore you value my advice any thing, you will this day renounce her, and address your love to Caesonia, with a confidence of the approbation of all people. For by this means, you will reform an error which all the Tyranny ascribed to Love could not excuse; Reason would approve your change; and though you should not be loved, yet were your condition better, than it is now; since it is more supportable to be slighted by a person of great merit than by another that hath not any.  
I cannot but acknowledge (replied Persander) that notwithstanding the violence of my Passion, I ever knew that the person for whom I have had for so long time a fruitless love, was guilty of some imperfections, nay that she was dis-acceptable to all rational men. But if I am too favourable, the others are unjust, since she wants not such good endowments, and that ..... For her good ones interrupted Turnus, I know not what she may have; but for those that relate to civility; I'll answer for her, she has not any; for she's of an unsettled and perverse disposition; she is ungraceful, both as to behaviour and countenance; she is nothing acquainted with the world; she always takes things in the worst sense, she sometimes commends what is to be discommended, and dispraises that which deserves praise, nothing obliges her, she is moved without occasion, and she understands not the greatness of your mind, and consequently not that of your affection. Fasten therefore on the occasion which Fortune presents you with, make a hearty sacrifice of this miserable Victim; for I am of opinion, when the sacrificer is accepted, they look not so directly on what he offers; besides that none can be more liberal than he that bestows all.  
You have certainly a strange confidence in my Friendship, replied Persander (blushing through the disorder of his thoughts) to speak to my Mistress as you do. I am so confident of the truth of what I say, that I fear not your displeasure. Not but that I know you now look otherwise on the person you love, than you will do one day; but you are so accustomed to be troubled that others are not so much taken with her as yourself, that I do you no more injury than you have endured a hundred times before. Nay I am sufficiently satisfied continued he, that I have seen you blush for very shame, upon several occasions, at some things which that creature either did or said; and therefore it were very unjust you should bear me any ill will, because I cannot speak well of her, since you may easily perceive it is only your own concernment that could have obliged me to speak after this rate, you being the only Suitor to this Wench, who certainly is very indiscreet to slight you, in regard there is nothing so certain, as that if she miss you, she will never meet with such another. Cease then at length, cruel friend, to persecute me, replied Persander, if you expect not I should also take my turn and fall upon you, and tell you, that if I deserve to be blamed for loving a person defective, as to those perfections which Love should aim at, you deserve to be much more, who are indifferent whether you are loved by any one of three the most accomplished women the Earth affords, Hereupon the two friends parted, not thinking what might be the consequence of what they said one to another.  
On the other side Caesonia and I, not knowing any thing of what had passed between Persander and Turnus, fell to discourse upon what had been spoken in the Company; for, our houses adjoining, we were seldom asunder but at night; nay sometimes it happened, that I stayed at Caesonias, or she at our house. Being therefore at liberty, as to company, we took a Walk into Ersilias' Garden, but reflecting on whatever had been said, I represented to Caesonia that she had said one thing which Persander and Turnus might severally apply to themselves, for their stories were known to all the world. I had no sooner said it, but she blushed, as having no thought of them when she spoke as she did, and fearing they might imagine it directed to them, she was much troubled in her mind. I should be extremely afflicted, said she to me, that two persons of their Quality should suspect me of any design to engage them to love me. Since they are the only two of all the City, replied I laughing, that are not fallen into your chains, what great crime were it if you should spread your chains for them? How great a crime it were I know not, replied she, but it would certainly argue a great weakness, and much indiscretion; but that which gives me some ease; added she, is, that Turnus is so well known for his Inconstancy, and Persander for his obstinate fidelity, that I shall not be easily suspected of having any intention to alter their resolutions. But that also which is equally true, is, that they are the two men of all the City whom I most esteem, and for whom certainly I should have the greatest inclination; and consequently added I, they are the two persons of all the City who were the most likely to make you happy, if so be you resolve to marry any one. According to the humour I now am in, said she, I should not be satisfied to have only an inclination for him I would take to be my Husband, for I conceive my felicity consists rather in the resentments which others have for me, then in what I have for them: and if I had met with any one among those who have endeavoured to gain me, that could have put me into a strong persuasion that he had a great and violent affection for me, I should without doubt have looked on him, so as from him to have derived my happiness, for certainly there is a greater pleasure in being loved, then in loving.  
Ah Caesonia cried I, you are extremely mistaken if you believe what you say, since 'tis only the Love which is in one's own heart that can make one happy, and that to speak sincerely, there is no pleasure in being loved, but by that which one loves. Every one hath his particular humour (replied Caesonia) and that is none of mine; for if I had two Lovers of equal merit, and my inclination led me to favour him whom I thought the less amorous, I should prefer before him the other whom I conceived to have greater affection for me, though I loved him the less. Ah Caesonia, replied I, how great a fault would you do in so doing! Ah Plotina, replied she, how dangerous a one should I be guilty of, did I make any other choice? for all considered, it is not true that the end of loving is to be loved again, and that it is the greatest torment to love beyond what one is beloved? I agree with you, replied I, that it is insufferable to be sensible of having more love than one causes; yet I hold there can be no sensible pleasure in loving any further than it relates to that which one loves; and that all the devoirs, all the services, all the addresses of a person whom one loves not, give no great satisfaction in comparison of those are rendered by one for whom we have a certain respect.  
But Plotina, answered Caesonia, you consider not what you say when you speak thus; for it is so natural to love, to the end one should be loved again, and to imagine a certain pleasure therein, that to speak generally of it, one desires to be loved as well by those whom one loves, as those whom one loves not. There is also a certain satisfaction in receiving acknowledgements of esteem from those we are not in a manner acquainted with; and the reason is, that as often as one receives such expression of affection, one seems to take it as a certain argument of his own merit; besides that, if there be any charms in love, I think they consist in an absolute Empire over the heart of a virtuous man. I can also very easily imagine, that it is as it were a degree of felicity, for a woman to see a person of a great reason and understanding, renounce part of his Reason to serve her; that he raises to himself an hundred sensible pleasures from her most inconsiderable favours; that he betrays a thousand obliging weaknesses, which he himself is not sensible of; that his colour changes when he sees her, that many times he knows not what he says, even when it is his design to speak the best he can; that he sees her in all places; that he seeks none but her; that he resigns himself absolutely to her will, and altogether renounces his own. But on the contrary, when one loves, instead of commanding, he obeys and must expect all the inconveniences of love, and never be acquainted with the enjoyments of it.  
Ah Caesonia, replied I, I could not have imagined a serious person could possibly have said what you have! And I should never have thought, replied she, that a person of a free and gallant humour could have held what you hold, which certainly should rather be the Tenet of Melancholy and Distraction. But said I to her, what do you think on when you imagine it is a greater pleasure to be loved then to love? Do you think I cannot name you a hundred several men whom you should esteem strangely troublesome, if they were but once encouraged to follow you every where, and to pretend an infinite love to you? But when I say so, replied she, I do not mean that I would be loved of those people of no worth, who are not to be admitted in the quality of lovers, nor yet of friends; and all that I say amounts to no more than this, that a woman who hath a great esteem for a virtuous man, by whom she is faithfully and ardently loved, shall be more happy than if she herself had a strong love for another virtuous man, who were less amorous than the former. And I hold on the contrary, replied I, that there is no enjoyment in being loved, but in as much as it proceeds from those we love; that all those weaknesses which you say it would be pleasant to observe in a person of a great mind, would not seem such to you, if you were not capable of having the like; and to apprehend aright what Love is, there is no question but the most inconsiderable services rendered by a person whom we love, far exceed the greatest we receive from another, for whom we have not that sympathy. And in a word Caesonia said I to her laughing, the case is not the same with love as at a Ball, where many times those who dance not, have a greater pleasure than those who do; for certainly, whoever would find a great satisfaction in being loved must himself love, and that to the greatest extent of passion; and for my part, I am so far from imagining any pleasure in marrying an amorous Husband if I loved not him, that I think it no small torment, by reason of the continual reservedness wherein I should conceive myself obliged to live. If therefore you will take my advice, make choice of him whom you yourself shall best love, and not him who hath no more to say for himself; then that he hath a greater love for you. I should willingly grant (added I) it were a great unhappiness, and a great madness to love and not be loved again; but as long as I live, I shall persist in this opinion, that there can be no true delight in being loved, if one also loves not; and certainly, the heart must be extremely prepossessed for to raise this one pleasure above all others, and imagine it such as whereby all sorts of afflictions were alleviated, and might effectually put us into a condition of indifference for all things else.  
But is it not also certain (replied she) that as soon as one is strongly possessed with love, there inevitably follows a number of cares and disturbances. There do so (replied I) but I believe withal there are thousands of pleasures, which cannot be consequent to any thing but by the residence of that passion in the Soul. For when all is done, all those things which we say are very pleasing when one loves, are not so considerable in themselves, as to make a superstructure of Felicity, were it not that the heart is prepossessed. So that to be absolutely happy, we must, if I may presume to say it, enter with sincere intentions into this correspondence and consonancy of affections, we must retain in ourselves, so much love as we cause in others, and expect to find our particular satisfaction, in our own tendernese rather than in that of another: For were it not so, one might take an equal pleasure in being loved, by a hundred several people at a time; whereas, I am confident that a woman who hath three or four Lovers, will find no true pleasure but with him whom she particularly loves.  
I do not tell you (replied Caesonia) that those whose hearts are designed to love, find no satisfaction in loving; but that which I maintain is, that one who would marry, should find herself in a more firm posture of happiness, by marrying a man who extremely loves her, then if she married one whom she herself were infinitely in love with. But (replied I) you mind not what you say, for it frequently happens that these amorous Husbands grow soon cold in their affection; so that if you are satisfied in being loved, though you loved not yourself, it must needs follow, that as that love evaporates and consumes, your pleasure also determines. On the contrary, if you love him whom you have married, he is always the same pleasant object he was to you, even though he should give you some slight cause of discontent; Not to flatter you therefore any longer, I think there never was any woman (Cockneys excepted) besides yourself, who thought there was any great pleasure in being loved, without loving herself. Be it as it will be (said she) since I press you not to change your opinion, neither shall I change mine for your sake; but it may come to pass that while I shall be content to be loved, though I love not, you shall love, and not be loved again. For that matter (replied I) I fear not what may happen to me; for one never loves, but what seems worthy to be loved, and I should not look upon the most virtuous man in the world, as such as should oblige me to love him, if he did not first love me.  
These were at that time the apprehensions of Caesonia; but not to spend time in the relation of many little accidents consequent thereunto, I shall only tell you, that from that day, Persander and Turnus took some by occasions to see and know more of Caesonia, and became more studious Disciples of our Cabal, which certainly was the most ingenious and most gallant of any in the City; and if I may presume to affirm it, that which had the greatest reputation of Virtue. 'Tis true, it stood not with our constitutions to admit indifferently all sorts of people, and that we stood much upon the choice of our friends of either sex, when we were commonly called abroad, The fair Solitaries. Our solitude indeed hath nothing that might affright, for we admitted the visits of all virtuous persons, without any regard had to the rest. Not that we would be charged with any incivility; but it happened either by artifice or good fortune, that we were not pleasing to those whom we liked not, So that some stood in fear of us, others not knowing what to say to us, and some for the most part not apprehending what are said to them, we lived without any disturbance; for to tell you truly, we minded not much what they thought of our Consistory; and when we were informed of what foolish things they said of The fair Solitaries, we only made sport of it, and then took occasion thence to think ourselves happy in that we were dissociated from such people.  
But for Persander and Turnus we gladly entertained them when they pressed the favour of seeing us more particularly then ordinary; for they were both persons of so much worth, that to do them respect was to receive it. However it was not their design at first to profess any love to Caesonia; but certain it is, that Persander being still slighted by the person whom he loved, took this occasion to divert and employ his thoughts, so to endeavour his recovery. Nor indeed did he dissemble it, saying, when we sometimes asked him, whence it came he so much honoured us with his company, that his business was to find out some pleasant friend that should make him forget a too cruel Mistress. As for Turnus, since he pursued only what most pleased him, and that Caesonia wanted not any thing he could have wished; he easily dis-engaged himself from those three Beauties, whereof there was not any whose heart he might not have gained, if he could have served but her alone with perseverance. It happened also that Persander's Mistress went into the Country, and that a new difference fell out betwixt them at parting; for she put such a fantastic trick upon him, that he was extremely troubled at it. It came to pass afterwards, that he saw divers of her Letters, which were such as seemed not fit to be written by the Mistress of Persander, for he himself writes admirable well; he also came to the sight of several Letters of Caesonias, wherewith he was taken even to admiration. Insomuch, that absence, vexation, and reason clearing up Persander's heart of its former pre-possession, put him into a condition sensible of the Charms of Caesonia. As for Turnus he was so accustomed to the sense of merit and beauty; that it would have been very strange, if he should have had none reserved for one of the most accomplished persons in the World.  
These two friends thought not, in the mean time, that they were become Rivals, for they professed themselves equally friends to Caesonia, who entertained them accordingly. So that not behaving themselves, as Lovers, they soon gained with us that liberty which friendship affords. They writ Letters to us, and we answered them; we had a hundred appointed walkings together; and we carried ourselves towards them, rather as if they were friends of our own sex then the other: For being both of them circumspect, respectful, and discreet, we sticked not to say before them a many things which might be thought somewhat extravagant. But at length, I one day perceived it was not impossible they might have some resentments of love for Caesonia; for being one afternoon all four together in Ersilia's Chamber, we fell a talking of a certain Lover of our City, who as it was reported, had parted very fairly from his Mistress, to go and travel; and that though there happened no difference between them, he was absolutely cured of his Passion, and was returned without any Love. For my part, says Turnus, I do not think it impossible; for I know those, who without the remedy of absence can overcome two or three Passions, much more, one. And for my part (replied Persander) I do not think a man can be cured by absence only; and I am absolutely persuaded, that to be eased of one's Passion, a man must necessarily entertain another. There may no doubt (continued he) be a sort of people, who are not so sensible as many others, and into whose souls it might infuse a certain coldness, which signifies rather indifference than Love; but afterwards restored to the sight of the person whom they had loved, they would reassume their love; for I cannot conceive that absence alone is able to destroy love. I hold therefore, that whoever ceases to love, upon no other account than absence, must be guilty of infidelity, and have taken another Mistress. But if there be a necessity a man enter into a new love, before he can be said to give over loving a former Mistress, in case of absence, replied Turnus, the same conclusion holds against a Lover who should at once disengage himself from two or three. By no means, replied Persander, for it may happen that these Mistresses might do a many things conducing to his cure, which a person that is absent cannot. But if on the contrary replied Turnus, these two or three Mistresses were more favourable than ordinary, what would you say? I should say, replied Caesonia laughing, you would be thought ungrateful, if you forsook them for another. But Madam, replied Turnus, I put not the question to you, but to Persander, who will needs maintain that a man cannot cease loving a person that is absent, without entering into a new love; and thinks it not possible a man may quit three fair Mistresses, without finding another; Nay I conceive, added he, he pretends that a woman ought to think herself more obliged to him, if he loved her in the absence of his Mistress, than she should to me, though I should in the presence of three suffer myself to be wrought upon by the charms of this fourth. There is no question of it replied Persander, and for instance, if making profession of constancy as I do, it should happen that the admirable Caesonia could make me inconstant, and fasten her love upon me, I should do a greater action for her sake, than you should do by forsaking all your Mistresses to serve her; for change being natural to you, you did no more in loving her, then comply with your own inclination, But if I should persevere to love her for a long time, replied he, shall I not have done much more for her than you, who are naturally fastened to one place, and should not deserve any great reward, though you loved ever so faithfully? It must certainly be a very long time, replied Persander, before you can recover your reputation. I beseech you, replied Caesonia, make not these fruitless suppositions, and if you have any quarrel, let not me be concerned in it.  
But if that which they say be real (replied I laughing, not thinking it had been so) you were finely catched. I had no sooner said so, but I saw Persander's colour change, and Turnus was not without some disturbance. I assure you replied Caesonia, I should hardly believe it, though they should endeavour to persuade me to it, You do not then believe Madam such an accident as this impossible, replied coldly Persander; for if you remember, you said one day when Turnus and I were present, that to give you a remarkable testimony of his affection, a Lover must do something absolutely disconsonant to his natural inclination, and among those you expected that an unconstant man should prove constant for your sake, or that a constant Lover quit his perseverance purposely to serve you. And Madam, added Turnus, we were so far persuaded to follow your directions, that I advised Persander to quit his Mistress, to love you, and he afterwards gave me the like counsel to forsake all mine, to apply myself only to you. He was pleased it seems to requite your ill advice with as bad, replied Caesonia blushing. On the contrary, replied Persander, I gave him that counsel out of mere friendship, but he was not disposed to follow it. 'Twas because at that time, I was so wedded to your judgement, that I would not do what you refused. Certainly replied Casonia laughing, you are both very admirable persons, to tell me so truly what passed between you that day. They are much more, replied I, laughing with her for company, if they dealt so really with you as to acquaint you with their present thoughts; for I am clearly of opinion, though I should not swear it, that in Persander you have made an inconstant Lover of a constant, and in Turnus you have exchanged inconstancy into a perseverance. You speak so indiscreetly replied Caesonia, that I think not fit to answer you. But if it be so, replied Persander, what do you expect Turnus and I should do? Must we hate one another, must we cease to love you, must we fear, or must we hope? And that you may complete your obligation upon us, be pleased to declare which of us two may with more confidence presume to have given you the greater testimony of his affection, he who is become constant, or he who has quitted his constancy? I beseech you, Madam, added Turnus, be pleased to give Persander a punctual answer. Did he speak to me seriously, replied she, I would answer him; but since he proposes nothing but trifles, having not the least relation to truth, I shall not trouble myself to give him any return. But supposing they said not any thing that were real, replied I, why make you such ado to satisfy their curiosity? And if what they say have some ground, tell them sincerely, though by way of jest, what they may think of their several fortunes. In troth Plotina, said she to me, you give me very pleasant advice: Truly, replied I, you have my very thoughts; for Persander and Turnus are as yet Friends; but if they are Rivals, I wish it may be without quarrel, and that you impose on them as an expression of their love to you, to live always in Friendship. If they were my Lovers, replied she, I should be glad they were such without hating one another; but since they are not, and that I should be sorry they should, I have nothing to say to them. For your being sorry, said I, I cannot so easily believe it: For in fine, continued I jestingly, this adventure hath in it something so particular, that you would be much troubled to repent your having been the occasion of it. Besides, that having so much generosity as you have, you should be glad to have put so great an obligation on two the most eminent persons in the world; for all that can be objected to Persander is, that he loves a woman that deserves not his love; and all that Turnus can be charged with, is the inconstancy of his Love.  
For this good Office Turnus and Persander gave me many thanks, and began again to press Caesonia to resolve them, but she would not: So that the discourse was concluded in such a manner, as satisfied Caesonia and me, that there was something of truth in what we suspected; and withal convinced Turnus and Persander, that they had both followed the advice they had given one another. However they went away together, but burdened with thoughts and melancholy, as being each of them troubled in their minds, that he had a Rival instead of a Friend. But at last Persander, as being the more discreet, desirous to sift the resentments of his Friend; Tell me truly, said he to him, are you not at this present more taken with Caesonia than with all the world besides, and if it were possible you could reform your inconstancy, you would do it only for her sake? Before I tell you my thoughts, replied Turnus, do you acknowledge that you are this day more pleased with Caesonia than ever you were with your former Mistress, and that if you could prove inconstant, you would do it only for the love of Caesonia? For inconstancy, replied Persander, I cannot be reproached with it, though I forsook the person you mean, and should in consequence love Caesonia, since it is granted there is no obligation to love where one is not loved. And whereas you are pleased to tell me that I am more taken with this excellent person than my former Mistress I am to tell you, that how far soever you may have thought me prepossessed, I have always known, that the one had imperfections, the other none. But that which hath caused this change in my resolutions is, that the person in whom I then had only a glimpse of certain imperfections, and in whom I imagined there were some excellent good qualities, seems now to me some other creature; for I find not any thing in her I am pleased with, her Company is troublesome, all that I saw in her formerly is vanished, and I am so much ashamed, nay indeed so much amazed, that I have thought her so excellent and loved her so much, that my thoughts of it far exceed my expressions.  
Ah Persander, cried out Turnus, you are in love with Caesonia: And you, replied the other, who thought it your felicity to divide yourself among all the Beauties, never think yourself well now, but when near Caesonia. I acknowledge it, replied Turnus, for wherever I am, I ever wish myself with her; and there is certainly something of enchantment, whereby I am so carried away, that her House is in my way, in what quarter soever of Ardea my business lies. It seems then, replied Persander smiling, if we are not yet Rivals, we soon shall be: I am of your mind, replied Turnus, and I am troubled at it beyond expression: For certainly (added he) I must needs be very unhappy, that the most perseverant of all men, hath resolved to cease to be such, purposely to become my Rival. It is rather I who have cause to complain (replied Persander) in that the most inconstant Lover in the World, will needs be other than he was, merely to cross my designs. Ah! Persander (replied Turnus) I am the more unhappy of the two, for certainly Caesonia had a greater inclination for you than for me. I know not on what you ground that conjecture, (replied Persander) but it should rather be inferred, that a man who could not gain the love of the least amiable person in the World, should not be over confident of gaining that of the most accomplished, and therefore his Rivalship is not to be looked on as very formidable. But Turnus, if I am slighted as inconsiderable, you are (on the contrary) much to be feared; for can a man possibly have a more dangerous Rival, than one who, though guilty of no love, or at best but little, could yet in a manner command all the greatest beauties of Ardea. Howe'er that may be (replied Turnus) I am confident Caesonia hath naturally a stronger inclination, and a greater esteem for you than me. I know you are a greater Gallant, more vigilant, and more ingenious than I am, and consequently have reason to fear you may be more fortunate than I. Since you are infinitely more amiable than I can ever possibly be (replied Persander) and that I have a very great opinion of Caesonia's judgement, I am easily persuaded not to expect any love to your prejudice. But to do something more than ordinary in the World, (added he) let us endeavour from this day forward, so to manage our Love, that it destroy not our Friendship; for as yet there is not aught done wherewith we may reproach one the other. You advised me to love Caesonia, and I gave you the same advice, so that we cannot be charged with any defect of Friendship in the original of our Love: And therefore since I might be thought unreasonable, to press you to quit your pretensions for my sake; it were also unjust in you, to oblige me to stifle my Passion for yours. Not but that if I thought I could do it I would, both out of considerations of Friendship and Reason, though you pressed me not to it; but since it is impossible, and that I cannot conceive you can be so suddenly weary of a thing you are so much taken with, we must regulate those apprehensions we have one of another; while we love the accomplished Caesonia.  
To observe the Rules of Generosity (replied Turnus) we must promise not to attempt any thing one against another, and have the same love one for another, as if we were not Rivals; but since that cannot be, the contrary course must be taken: And therefore (for my part) you have from me all liberty to say and do any thing, which you think may gain the love of Caesonia, conditionally you give me the same. I am very well content (replied Persander) but this shall not hinder what means I shall use otherways, as being still your friend. And I shall do the like if I can (replied Turnus) but I should be glad one of the Articles of our Treaty were, that in case Caesonia make choice of either of us, and thereby cut off all the pretensions of her other Lovers, the other shall have nothing to object against him, but shall continue in friendship with him. Be it so (replied Persander) though I can never hope to make any great advantage of this proviso.  
In this manner, Madam, did these two Rivals acknowledge to one another the love they had for Caesonia, so that from that day they omitted nothing, whereby they thought to gain the favour of this excellent person. But this happening near the time that they celebrate the Feast of the Golden Shower, to honour the memory of Danae, and that it is then the custom, as I have already told you, that all Lovers bestow on their Mistresses something wherein there must be Gold, Turnus proved the subject of our abuses for a whole Afternoon together at Caesonias house: For all people believing he was in love with three or four of the City at a time; one woman who knew nothing of the change of his humour, said, that day would undo him, he was obliged to make so many magnificent Presents, if so be he presented all his Mistresses. If you are one of them (replied he) you shall see what will be done: For my part (says Caesonia) I think this custom so ill grounded, that I am almost minded to pretend myself sick on the Feast day, for though there cannot be made so ill a construction of receiving Gold at this as at other times, yet it is against my humour to accept such magnificent Presents. As for those inconsiderable things, whereby they are neither enriched who receive them, nor they impoverished who bestow them: I should permit they passed between friends, especially when they are equally able to return them; but I am a professed Enemy to those women are taken with magnificent Presents. It seems than you are of the opinion (says a person of quality whose name was Pallas) of those who believe that since Jupiter invented the Golden Shower, there hath remained in that Metal, a certain Magical Force, that sostens the rigours of all those Beauties which receive of it, and that the best receipt, and the most advantageous for a slighted Lover, is to oblige his Mistress to take a good quantity of Gold. Since there are no universal Medicines (replied Caesonia) I do not think that, as Sovereign as you take it, absolutely effectual, unless it be on some interessed women, with whom merit signifies nothing, Gold all things. For my part, replied I, 'tis a thing I cannot easily apprehend, how any women can be so base as to sell their affection, and am as far to seek how there can be men that will buy them: For if I were a Gallant I should imagine something so dishonourable in this kind of Commerce, that I should never prove a Merchant in it. I should no sooner discover in the heart of a woman any thing reflecting on her own interest, but I should contemn, avoid, and hate her; and in my opinion an interessed woman is so far abominable, that I take her not to be good for any thing; for I should neither admit her in the quality of a Mistress, nor of a Wife, nor a Friend, nor a Kinswoman, nor yet a Neighbour, so much do I abhor this kind of unworthiness. It seems then (said Pallas) you have no great devotion for the Feast of the Golden Shower? I observe it out of curiosity (replied I) but if it happen any thing is presented to me, I leave it in the Temple, that people may see I go not thither to come thence ever the richer: And for my part, replied Caesonia, I think fitter not to go thither at all.  
Persander and Turnus who were present at this discourse, did what they could to oblige her to change her opinion, but she could not be prevailed with to make an obsolute promise to go to the Temple: For in fine, said she to them, I have lived hitherto, and never received Present wherein there was any Gold; and I will not begin now. Not but that I am of opinion (added she) this superstition of Ardea hath some rational ground; but I have such an aversion from that Metal, which makes so many of my Sex commit such horrid enormities, that I will not receive any of it. For my part (added she) I make no comparison between a woman moved by the sense of merit, and haply subject withal to some weakness, and one whose Soul is only open to avarice, and who bestows her heart on him that bids most for it. I agree to what you say (replied Persander) but after all, Madam, (added he) Liberality is a Virtue, and more to be practised by a Lover than any other. Ah Persander (cried I) is it so easy to reconcile these two things? for I take it as granted that the most disinteressed woman in the World, is she who expects the greatest liberality from her Lover; but with this provision, that he suspect her not of an imperfection she is not guilty of, and endeavour to express his Liberality, which virtue hath such an easy way to discover itself, that even those who have nothing to give, find means to show they are not covetous: For a Lady shows sometimes that she is of a liberal nature, as well in not seeking and avoiding the occasions of receiving Presents, as in making such herself. To deal truly with you, replied I, all women are not of that disposition; for I know one who hath such an excellent gist of receiving, that it may be said she never hath any thing, and is desirous of all that others have without any exception: For she takes occasion to commend whatever she sees, if there be the least hopes it may be offered her: She asks those who are not of Ardea, what is most rare in their Country, that she may afterwards beg it, she permits such things to be sent into her house, as she intends not to pay for; and if she betray herself in some little liberality in her life, it is on some occasions, wherein she is infallibly assured for the little she bestows, to receive much: And for my part, I am so far persuaded she can refuse nothing that's proffered her, that if she had a Lover were so fastantick, as instead of Perfumes, Flowers, Fruits, and such accommodations, which may be received without any imputation of Avarice, to send her Arms; I believe she would take them rather than it should be said she refused any thing.  
This Jest having put the Company into a laughter, they fell afresh to persecute Turnus with the number of his Mistresses, and the Feast of the Golden Shower: But he answered so ambiguously, as might convince them they were deceived who thought he had so many Presents to make. To be short, Turnus and Persander not speaking any thing to one another, were both resolved to surprise Caesonia by most magnificent Presents, if she came to the Feast: But they were spared the trouble, for pretending some indisposition she would not go. For my part, I, according to my wont curiosity, went, and failed not to find there Persander and Turnus: But that you may know what is done in that place, I am to acquaint you in few words with part of the Ceremonies of this celebrious Feast.  
You are then to know, that for the performance of these Ceremonies, there is a Temple designed, wherein is to be seen represented the History of Danae, and where the greatest part of those of quality of either Sex are present: I shall not trouble you with the Sacrifice which is there offered, for it signifies nothing to my purpose; but I shall tell you, that the Ladies that come thither are dressed to the greatest curiosity and expense, that they are all on one side of the Temple and the men on the other; and to show that Liberality ought to be the inseparable attendant of Love, there is a Cupid represented on the Altar, who hath in one hand his Bow and Torch, and in the other a horn of Abundance inverted, out of which may be seen falling down, Gold, Pearls, and precious Stones. In the mean time the Ladies who are on one side of the Temple, have each of them in their hands, Myrtle-Crowns, and are, for a certain time, obliged to stand: For the men who would show their Gallantry, they are on the other side, holding every one what they have to bestow on their Mistresses, in case they come to the Ceremony. Having proceeded thus far, he who offered the Sacrifice makes a large diseourse in the commendation of Liberality: Which done, all the Ladies one after another pass before the Image of Love, which they call Love Liberal, and having made a low reverence, they walk gently before those men who have the gallant and precious things, which they intent to bestow on their Mistresses; and when any Lady comes over against him who would make a Present to her, he very submissively stays her, and with one knee on the ground, offers her what it was his design to bestow on her. This civility obliges to accept, but if he who makes the Present be such a Lover as she would wish were not such, she only receives his Present, and makes him a low reverence. On the contrary, if he be one whose Service she is pleased with, she puts the little Myrtle Crown she had upon his head; and for the Present she hath accepted; it is at her discretion either to carry it away with her, or bestow it on the Temple: If she choose the latter, she lays what she had received on a spacious Altar near the door. But that whatever proceeds from Love may return to Love, all that is laid on the Altar is employed to promote the fortunes of such as love one another; and have not wealth enough to live happily together without some assistance.  
In the mean time, it is an affliction to some Beauties to go to this Feast, and receive nothing, whereas on the contrary there are others, on whom too much is bestowed, for among us, it is in a manner as disgraceful to have too many Lovers, as to have none; it being believed that five or six pretending to a woman, cannot subsist without hope, which it were a shameful thing for any Woman to keep so many in.  
But to return to my story, you are to know, that on this Feast-day Turnus came thither, with gold Chains in his hand, whereof the workmanship was indeed admirable, and his design was to present them to Caesonia, and to do it so as if he should entreat her to chain him up. For Persander, he held a kind of Crown of Gold, beset with precious stones, which he intended also to present her with, as it were in acknowledgement of the Supreme Power she had over his heart. But they were both much surprised not to find Caesonia there, and indeed the whole Assembly was much amazed to see they bestowed not what they had on any; so that there being no young Lady of quality of all Ardea who was not there, Caesonia excepted, it was easy to judge they designed their Presents to her.  
But what was most remarkable was, to see that day Turnus' three, and Persander's former Mistress; for the former were all in expectation of those Chains of Gold, and the latter was more than confident of the Crown. But, in regard they would not carry away their presents, these two Lovers went and laid them at the feet of that God of love I mentioned before: I had forgot to tell you, that when I passed by Turnus, he stayed me and would have obliged me to take his chains, and deliver them to Caesonia; telling me very freely, that that fair Lady and I were but one and the same thing, and that consequently he might well trust me with what he had to present to her. Ah Turnus, said I to him, you are in a great error; for since it cannot be understood by all what you say to me, it would be thought (if I received what you offer me) that I were one of your Mistresses. Having so said I passed by him, not giving him time to make any answer: But Persander having observed that he had spoke to me, he would also needs stay me, to ask whence it came that Caesonia was not there? To which I answered, that the reason of her not being there was, that she would not receive any thing wherein there were gold, whereupon I left him.  
From the Temple I went to Caesonia's, to acquaint her with what had passed, and particularly that Persander and Turnus had made such discoveries of their inclinations to her, as she should acknowledge infallible. For, added I laughing, Persander, the faithful Persander, had that power over himself, as to see his ancient Mistress pass by, not only without offering her the Crown he had in his hands; but without so much as taking any notice of her; and Turnus, the inconstant Turnus, was pleased to see passing by all his Mistresses one after another, without so much as answering their looks: So that all that now remains to be done, is to consider whether you are more obliged to him who is become inconstant for your sake, or to him who ceases to be so, that he might constantly love you.  
Caesonia desirous not to take what I said in good earnest, answered me smiling, that haply these two Lovers had done this rather out of Revenge than Love, whereupon she asked me divers other things. Nevertheless I perceived she was not displeased at what I told her, nay indeed it pleased her so well, that she kept me with her all that day: That which was yet more particular in this adventure was, that all those who came to see her, congratulated her for her new conquests, for seeing that Persander and Turnus bestowed not their presents, and that she was the only young Lady of Quality, as I told you before, wanting in the Assembly, it was generally conceived it was to her they intended to present things of that magnificence; and it may be thence presumed this rising love had not by its lustre raised so much noise if she had been in the Temple as it had by her absence. Besides, it was looked on as a thing so pleasant, that she should gain the hearts of a constant and an inconstant Lover, that the talk of it multiplied extremely.  
In the mean time, Persander, whom I had told that Caesonia could never be prevailed with to accept any thing wherein there were Gold, though divers of her Lovers had endeavoured to surprise her, was so far obliged to his imagination, that it prompted him to do a thing which all the rest had attempted in vain, and withal, such as gave him a happy advantage over Turnus. Musing therefore how he might surprise Caesonia, he at last thought (it being then the proper season for Flowers) he had found it out; and employing therein a certain woman in whom he might confide, who was infinitely subtle, he debated the business with her, and used her assistance in the execution of it. She took a small, but strong Gold Wire, which she neatly drew through one of those great Bulrushes which grow near Lakes, so as it might not be perceived: Which done, folding the Wire and the Rush both together, she bent it into a Circle, on which having fastened abundance of excellent Flowers, she made a kind of Crown which seemed very pretty and delightful. But that Caesonia might not suspect there was any Gold, there were certain distances wherein the Rush was visible all about, so that it was almost impossible to discover this innocent Cheat. The Crown being thus finished, Persander bestowed it into a very handsome Basket and sent it into Caesonia, together with a Letter which she received when there was none present but myself. At the first, as it is natural to people to be afraid of being overreached, she well viewed this Crown of Flowers, but not perceiving any thing that had any resemblance to Gold, she accepted it, and reading the Letter aloud, she found it as full of Gallantry as the Present: But that you may the better judge of it, it was very much, if not altogether to this effect.  
Persander to the Admirable Caesonia.  
EXpect not from me, Madam, in these days, when the same things proceed from Ambition as from Love, any thing that is rare or precious: That which I take the presumption to send you is so trivial and ordinary, that it dares hardly own the name of a Present: Yet, Madam, be pleased to remember it may be allowed that of an Offering, and that a Goddess might condescend to accept it from a heart so disposed as mine is. For in fine, Madam, to think all the Crowns in the World so far below you as this is, to envy even those Flowers because designed to your service, and to esteem them too too happy though they die to morrow, if they do but please to day: These (Madam) ought to be the sincere apprehensions which men should have when they do you homage. How glad should I be, Madam, if you should not receive it simply out of Civility, as I do it not simply out of Custom; and if but one favourable glance, or a single agitation of your heart distinguish it from so many others more sumptuous and more magnificent. This favour once obtained, what tradition soever we have received from our Fathers, I should study no other way to deceive you, as Jupiter did Danae; and you would be freed from the perpetual trouble of avoiding it. Grant it me then, Madam, for your own quiets sake: But assure yourself withal, I beseech you, that it is beyond all comparison more necessary for mine.  
Caesonia and I having both read this Letter and commended it, she asked me whether it were fit I answered it; for in fine (said she to me smiling, and looking on that flowery Crown) I think there is no Snake hid under these Flowers; or to speak without Figure, Persander hath put no trick upon me. As for Gold, said I to her, it is not likely there should be any amongst these Flowers, but for Love, I am confident Persander's heart is well furnished. If Persander be in Love with me, replied she, I am not obliged to answer him: Ah Caesonia, said I to her, while a Lover discovers himself no otherwise than as a Friend, one is not obliged to guests at what he hath in his heart, if one would not have it so; therefore if you take my advice, you will not guests at what Persander thinks, but write to him: Whereto Caesonia condescending, answered him in these words.  
Caesonia to Persander.  
THe Crown which you have sent me, I am infinitely more taken with then if it were of Gold and Diamonds; and indeed, it comes in a most fortunate conjuncture of time, for I receive it with joy, whereas certainly I should have refused a more precious if you had proffered it me. But believe not however, that I cannot distinguish your favours from your Flowers, for if these please my sight, those put me into disorder. Nevertheless, I shall not put the trouble it is to me that I deserve them not upon your account, since it were not so just I should quarrel with your flatteries, as my own Imperfections.  
When this Letter was finished and that I told Caesonia it was well, she called for the Slave who had brought the Crown of Flowers, and gave it him; which done I told her, it was but just she should for the rest of that day wear the Present, had been made her. But Plotina, said she to me must I crown myself with Flowers, as if I were to be a Victim? No said I to her, but to disguise the business somewhat of a Crown I will make a Garland. Whereupon I went to break asunder that Circle of Bulrush on which the Flowers were fastened; But I found it a harder matter to do then I thought. But at last, the place where the gold-wyre met giving way, and the Rush broken in divers places through the force I used, the gold-wyre appeared, so that breaking forth into a loud laughter, that my Friend had been overreached, ah Caesonia, said I to her you were mistaken when you said there was no Snake under these Flowers, for I have found one, which is very pleasant, and yet withal very terrible,  
While I said this, Turnus enters the Room, so that Caesonia made a sign to me that I should hide the Crown of Flowers, and say nothing of it. But there being abundance of obligation in these kinds of surprises, and being myself merrily disposed at that time, I obeyed her not. On the contrary, assoon as I perceived Turnus, I began to abuse him, and told him he had a Friend who far outvied him, as to wit: For, added I, Caesonia who would not go to the Temple on Danae's Feast-day, to avoid the receiving of Presents, and fears the shower of Gold, more than the thunder of Jupiter, hath been deceived by Persander after the gallantest manner in the world. Whereupon I showed both Caesonia and Turnus that ring of gold-wire which was drawn through the Rush whereon the Flowers were fastened, and presently after I perceived they both blushed. There being only we three in the room, and that I was very familiar with Caesonia and Turnus, I asked them why they blushed. For my part, says Caesonia, it may be easily conceived I take it not well that I am surprised: And for my part added Turnus, it may be as easily guessed I am not pleased to see my Rival more witty and more fortunate than I. A Rival replied roundly Caesonia! Right Madam, a Rival, replied he, for though I think Persander hath not openly professed love to you, I have chosen rather to tell you he is my Rival, that you may thence conclude I am his, then live any longer, and you not understand that I love you. And to the end I may nor retract what I say, added he, I tell it you before Plotina, whom I stand much in fear of.  
Turnus speaking this smiling, Caesonia seemed to take it as not spoken seriously, and accordingly at the beginning put off the business very handsomely. But Turnus having a confidence more than ordinary, would not be satisfied: No, no, Madam, said he to her, since I doubt not but you are acquainted with my love, bestow not your wit to no purpose. Though it were so, replied she laughing, it were no greater matter, for you have loved divers others. I confess it, said he, but I declare to you, I now love none but Caesonia. How said I to him, have you forsaken your three last Mistresses? I have replied he hastily; nay I have renounced all Female acquaintance, and if there be any love left in me for you, it is because Caesonia loves you, so infallible is it that Caesonia hath the absolute disposal of my heart. Your heart, replied Caesonia, is so accustomed to change of affection, that if you love me to day, it is to be expected you should give over to morrow. Ah, Madam, replied he, think me not the same inconstant man of whom you have heard related such stories, as haply you have thought somewhat fantastic; for I am so altered from what I have been, that I hardly know myself.  
While Turnus spoke thus, I was dressing up the Garland of Flowers, for to put on Caesonias head, but she would not have it, whereat Turnus was very glad: But his joy lasted not long; for Caesonia desirous he should not take any advantage of it, she said some things to him, whence he might infer, that it was not impossible for her to have some inclinations for Persander, though she looked on this surprisal rather as an argument of his Invention, than any Design he therein had to express his Affection. In fine, said she to Turnus, I look on what Persander hath done, with the same consideration as I hear what you say. Ah Madam, replied Turnus, though there be an equality in the resentments of Persander and mine, yet I beseech you, do not you treat us equally. I shall treat you both as you deserve, replied she, and, to begin with you, Let us hear no more of your pretended Love, for I should be sorry to be one day numbered among your cast Mistresses. Ah I beseech you Madam, replied he, be pleased to be my new Inclinations, and I promise you never to have any other. If you were Persander, replied I, you could say no more. Persander is now proved faithless, replied he, and I am become constant. But if Persander have proved faithless, answered Caesonia, you say it is for my sake: and therefore it will be no advantage to you to reproach him with that in my presence. But Madam, replied he, if it be any advantage to Persander to have proved inconstant for your sake, shall I merit nothing to have proved constant upon the same account? That you stand so much upon your Reformation, as to Constancy, replied she, granting it true, it signifies no more than that we expect your love for five or six hours longer. Ah Madam, replied he, I shall love you to the last gasp. I should be sorry you were so near your end, replied she, were it only to satisfy a curiosity I have, to see into whose hands you will commend your heart, when it is out of mine, if so it be true it is there, which to tell you truly, I have no great confidence of. Ah Madam, cries out Turnus, you are very unjust so cruelly to persecute a man who offers you the greatest Sacrifice that any Lover could. And I am clearly of opinion, replied I laughing, that if you had kept a fair reckoning of all your Mistresses, you might have summed up as many as there need Victims to make up a Hecatomb.  
As we were thus engaged, comes in Persander, who thought Caesonia had not yet found out the cheat he had put upon her. But seeing as he came in the Crown taken asunder, he inferred the plot was discovered. 'Tis true, he was further confirmed in it, by what Caesonia said to him: for she no sooner had cast her eye on him, but speaking to him. You are very confident, said she to him blushing, to give me a visit after you have thus abused be. Ah Madam I am indeed very unfortunate in it, since you are displeased with it; nor can I believe that secret force, which they say Jupiter infused into Gold, when he found out the precious shower whereby he himself was felicified, to be very effectual, since I find you incensed against me for so small a matter. If I had surprised her as you have, replied Turnus, I should not think it strange she took it ill; It is true added I, no body loves to be abused, but when all's done, I am glad Caesonia hath been, to teach her that she should not boast it could not be done, as she did yesterday. And further, not to dissemble, said Caesonia, I give so little credit to this imaginary power of Gold, that I do not fear I shall overlove Persander for the Present he hath made me. Ah Madam, replied Turnus, if he had only bestowed on you this little circle of Gold, I should not much fear him, but I am afraid in this competition of our hearts, you may prefer his before mine. I perceive then, replied Persander, you have spoke many things to Caesonia, too many, by the one half I assure you (replied she) and I am so little satisfied of the truth of any thing he says, that of all he hath so confidently advanced, I believe nothing. How, Madam (replied Turnus somewhat hastily) are you not satisfied that Persander and I love you so much, that we begin already to love one another the less? Ah Turnus (replied Persander) I must confess your Generosity is greater than mine; for I should not have been so free as with my own, to discover the love of my Rival. I am fully satisfied (says Caesonia) you are both in some want of your senses.  
And truly (replied I) this adventure seems to me so pleasant, that I condemn you to her good sport for the rest of this day. I must indeed needs do so (replied Caesonia) or be offended in good earnest with two men, for whom of all the World I have the greatest esteem. Alas Madam, I beseech you be not offended, and not to examine things too strictly; be pleased since Turnus hath spoke so much to you, to allow me the same liberty. That you may not deceive yourself (replied Turnus) I have only mentioned your affection to make way for my own. However it be (says Caesonia) I shall believe nothing but what I think sit, and shall not think but what I ought; for it were little less than madness for me to imagine, that I should in one day make two Lovers quit, the one his fidelity, the other his inconstancy. But though it were not true (replied I) it may be supposed, were it only to raise some pleasant discourse. Conditionally it last no longer than this evening (replied Caesonia) and that my two pretended Lovers, will to morrow content themselves to be only my friends, it shall be so. We shall be to morrow what we can be (replied Persander) but in the mean time, give me the liberty to tell you, what I thought not to have told you this day. Say what you please (replied she) so I be not obliged to believe you. For my part (replied Turnus laughing) I defy your incredulity, as to what I shall say. Be it as it will (replied I) only say what you have a mind, and leave the sequel to the Conduct of Fortune. I say then (replied Turnus) that if the fair Caesonia be not the most unjust woman in the World, she will acknowledge her beauty never ceased any affection could more express its power, then by subduing the heart of an unconstant man. And I say (on the contrary, replied Persander) that there is no beauty so mean, which might not pretend to the Conquest of an inconstant man, and that the greatest acknowledgement which Caesonia ever received for the force of her Charms, is to have forced me to a change of apprehensions. But (replied Turnus) you consider not what you say: The truth is, Madam (continued he, directing his speech to Caesonia) there is no comparison betwixt these two. For before I began to love you, I led a most happy life; all places were equally delightful to me; I either loved, or thought I loved a many excellent Beauties; I was happy in their esteem and I might haply, have without vanity pretended to their affections, could I but have resolved to fix mine on any one of them. The enjoyments of my life knew not the least disturbance; I had no acquaintance with jealousy, or my thoughts with disorder; I only desired those things which were easily obtained; and in a word, such a serenity was there in the Conduct of my life, that I could not be in any impatience to change my condition. But notwithstanding all this indulgence of Fortune and that natural inconstancy, I have quitted all these undisturbed pleasures, and forsaken three or four Mistresses by whom I was esteemed, to confine my love to one, by whom I shall haply be slighted. But for Persander (added he) I do not much wonder at his change of life; for being first blinded by love, he must needs be perpetually unfortunate. So that to speak rationally, his change is so much advantageous to himself, that I suppose you are not much obliged to him for it.  
To answer what you object against me (replied Persander) I must also speak something against you which is not very hard to find. For as I have already said, Madam (added he, speaking to Caesonia) change of affection is so natural to an inconstant man that it is much more to be wondered that Turnus should have known you so long before he loved you, then that he loves you now. And for those undisturbed pleasures he speaks so much of, since it is certain there never proceed any such from love, and that what he felt may be called only a passionate enjoyment of himself, if I may so express it, he should be ashamed to quote them. It is not therefore very strange, Madam, that a person accustomed to court divers Beauties at the same time, should at length take you in his turn, since you are alone furnished with greater Charms, than all he hath ever loved. But for my part, Madam, I do a thing much more extraordinary. I confess (added he) my love was blinded, and that I have loved that which was not amiable, and what I ought not to have loved, but as I doubt not but you have heard, errors of this nature are more excusable than any other; for the judgement upon the first admission of love, losing its liberty, it were unjust, to expect a Lover should judge as truly of his Mistress as others do. However, I was never so far blinded, but that I was convinced you were a thousand degrees above what I loved, even when I loved you not. But in fine, I confess my love was greater than it ought to have been, nay, I know I was not loved, and yet I suffered all the afflictions of love: Notwithstanding all which, I maintain that a Lover who is unfortunate, yet constant, is the hardest to be lured into a new love of any man in the World: For certainly, it is no easy matter for him to cross his own experience, and to jump out of one love into another, when he found no satisfaction in the former. I conclude therefore that loving you, I do something far more extraordinary than what Tnrnus hath done.  
The truth is (replied Casonia) I do not conceive either of you hath done any great matter; for Turnus loves me, because he hath haply made a vow to love all; and you love me because you are of a passionate and tender nature, and that not being able to fasten love where you desired, you will try your fortune elsewhere, and address yourself to some person from whose favour you may derive this advantage to make the World believe, that if you had not been loved, it was rather through want of knowledge in her whom you loved, than merit in yourself. I therefore think you both very happy, that I take not what you say spoken seriously: For if it were, you would haply both repent it, and if I were in an humour to satisfy you, I should be much troubled to choose either, and be obliged to entertain his affection. How, Madam, (replied Persander) can you any longer doubt what you have to do? How, Madam, (added Turnus) are you not yet fully satisfied in the business? For my part (replied I) methinks I should not be so much troubled: And what, I pray, would you do (replied Caesonia) I would, replied I, have them both serve me for a long time, not engaging me to any thing so to be assured, that the inconstant Lover were really become constant, and that the constant had absolutely forgotten his former error: But during this space, I would observe them very narrowly, and if I found them both equally constant, I would choose him for whom I had a greater inclination. I should not haply do what you would (replied Caesonia) for were I to make the choice, I should choose the more amorous of the two. Ah Madam, (cries out Persander) how happy shall I be if you take that course! Ah (excellent Caesonia) how much shall I be satisfied, replied Turnus, if you make that word good! It suits very well indeed, added he, with a man who never loved but once in all his life; to be confident he knows better how to love than any other. 'Tis too true, replied Persander coldly, it is only a constant Lover who knows how to love well, but an inconstant man is not fit so much as to speak of Constancy. Time shall convince you what I am fit to do, answered Turnus, and Time and Love, replied Persander, shall convince the fair Caesonia, that a man who hath loved constantly what was not worthy to be loved, can eternally adore her with as much Respect as Passion. Whatever comes of it (replied Caesonia rising up) let it suffice that you have spoken contrary to your thoughts, let us continue what we now are I beseech you, and be my constant friends if you expect any friendship from me. It is a great pity (replied I, looking on Turnus and Persander) you did not fall in love with me rather than Caesonia, for I think this Adventure so particular, that I should have been infinitely pleased to continue the humour. I assure you amiable Plotina, replied Persander, that for what concerns me it shall last as long as I live, though the fair Caesonia contribute nothing thereto.  
Turnus could not hear this without saying something to it, whereupon Caesonia for bad them all further discourse, and dismissed them; telling them very seriously, that the next day they should not be permitted to entertain her with such extravagancies. Accordingly, for some time after, neither Persander nor Turnus made any progress in their Loves, and he from whom Caesonia had received Gold, was no more esteemed than the other.  
In the mean time, these two Friends omitted nothing of what they thought might please Caesonia, and assure her of their affection; for Turnus could enjoy himself no where but when he was near her, all his old Mistresses were indifferent to him, all the love he had reserved he bestowed among those friends of hers whom he loved. Persander also for his part, made it his only business to visit Caesonia, he would see no more her whom he had loved, and he did all he could to insinuate himself into this charming beauty, but to his unhappiness and haply Caesonias also, Fortune was pleased to favour Turnus with divers occasions to serve his Mistress. For this latter being of a nature very eager and inventive, though otherwise a lover of his ease, he acquitted himself of these services with so much obligation, that it begat in Caesonia a belief that he loved her beyond Persander, for whom she certainly had a greater inclination. Not but that Persander did a many things both to divert and entertain her; and consequently gave her ground to think, that he would have rendered her the same good Offices as Turnus if he had had the opportunities, but it was not the pleasure of fortune so to favour him with them: And Turnus had this advantage over him, that he had obliged Caesonia in divers things of concernment, and in such manner as might induce her to believe that he had a greater affection for her than any man had had. Besides all which, Ersilia having been concerned in some of those good Offices he had done her daughter, and that a certain Sympathy of humour led her to favour this man, he had Caesonia's Mother of his side. Not but that she had an infinite esteem for Persander, but imagining to herself a more absolute power over Turnus than him, she was the more inclined to bestow her daughter on him, and to speak truly, she would rather have had a Son such a one as Persander, rather than as Turnus, but she wished such a Son-in-Law as Turnus, rather than Persander. As for Caesonia, she was more inclined to the latter, but believing herself better beloved by the other, her reason or rather her error forced her to do some violence to her inclination, out of that opinion that it is a greater pleasure to be loved than to love. For my part, being both my Friends, I was much troubled between them: But my friendship with Caesonia being more ancient than with them, I considered only her interest, so that after a strict examination of the business, I took part with Persander, whom I was so much for, that I told Turnus that if Caesonia asked my advice, I should tell her it were better for her to marry Persander than him. And accordingly some few days after, being pressed by Ersilia to take some final resolution, she asked me my opinion. I was not ignorant that though she entertained these two Lovers with an equal Civility, she had a greater affection for Persander, and therefore advised her to prefer him before his Rival. Ah Plotina (said she to me) Turnus certainly loves me better than Persander, though haply I love Persander better than Turnus. But, said I to her, how are you so particularly confident that Turnus loves you better than Persander? For it happens many times, that one is so far from knowing precisely their own apprehensions, that I know not how you can have the confidence to judge of those of others. That you should put the value on the services Turnus hath done, as to prejudice Persander, is that I cannot by any means endure, since that if Fortune had favoured him with the same opportunities, he had done the like. I doubt it not (replied Caesonia) but when all is done, the services of Turnus are very considerable. They are so, said I, but since the business is to know whether hath the greater love for you, and that you acknowledge Persander would have done the same things that Turnus hath, methinks you should not prefer Turnus before Persander, especially considering your inclination leads you to favour the latter rather than the former. But you consider not (replied she) that I am not of your belief, that a woman, to be happy must love, and that I believe quite contrary, that her satisfaction consists in being loved. But whence is it that you imagine (said I to her) that Persander loves you less than Turnus? In the first place (said she) I apprehend, that Turnus proving constant for my sake, hath made a greater discovery of love than Persander: I find also a greater eagerness in the one than in the other; Turnus hath always a hundred things to entertain me withal, but when Persander hath any opportunity to speak to me, he hath much ado to find any thing to say, though certainly he have a great Wit. Ah Caesonia (said I to her) how sorry am I to hear you speak as you do, and to see that you know not, that that which you look on as an imperfection in love, is an infallible effect of an extraordinary passion: For whence proceeds that disturbance of mind in Persander when he speaks to you, but that overwhelmed with Passion, he is troubled and is not able to speak? And whence comes it that Turnus entertains you with a hundred extravagancies wherewith you are diverted, but that he is not of such a tenderness of nature, as that Love should put his Reason into any disorder? But will you not at least acknowledge (said I to her) that the Letters of Persander are fuller of Passion than those of Turnus? For though you look on their Letters only as Letters of Friendship, yet may they well pass for those of Love. For Letters (replied she) they are things of so ambiguous a nature, that nothing can be safely grounded on them: For I know a man, who during the space of a long absence, writ a many Letters to a Kinswoman of mine, which spoke all the tenderness imaginable, nor indeed could there be any thing more seemingly obliging, or more insinuating. Being after all this returned, he carried himself towards her, as if he had never writ any thing to her that signified so much as ordinary Courtship. What you say (replied I) is so fantastic, that I think you have invented it to confirm your own apprehension: For how can a virtuous man belly himself, since that when he does it the disproportion of his reflections injures only himself, and takes nothing away from the merit of those people on whom he so reflects? But in fine, not to spend words vainly on a thing which cannot fall out often, do you acknowledge that Persander writes as passionately as Turnus, and give me leave immediately to convince you of this Truth, by comparing those Letters you have of theirs. Since I have by chance two in my Pocket at this very present, (replied she) it will not be hard for me to satisfy you: Whereupon I taking her at her word, she gave me a Letter she had received from Turnus some two days before, wherein I found these words.  
Turnus to the Fair Caesonia.  
IF you thought not on me the last night, Madam, I am unhappy; for I never had so many thoughts of you, nor indeed did I ever think on you with so much tenderness as then. To acquaint you with them were hard for me to do; but in a word, they always amounted to this, that you were the most adorable Person in the World, and that I should be the happiest of men, if you were so favourable as to give me leave to disburden my heart to you. Will you ever, Madam, oppose the felicity of a man who adores you, and will not pay his adoration to any thing else? Resolve me, Madam (I beseech you) for after the loss of Hope, I should take the loss of Life but as a Courtesy.  
Now (says Caesonia to me) do you think this Letter so indifferent? When I have seen that of Persander (replied I) I shall give you my opinion of Turnus'; whereupon opening it I therein read these words.  
Persander to the Attractive Caesonia.  
TO have infinite Love for you Madam, not to see you, to want the opportunities of both hearing from you and sending to you, make up altogether too great a punishment, and it is impossible I should be able long to endure it. Your own cruel Prohibitions hindered me from Writing to you Yesterday; my cross Fortune, and I know not what ridiculous Prudence kept me from coming where you were, but you were perpetually present to my thoughts, and to speak truly, I was not in any of those places where I was. I contribute so much to my own unhappiness, as to think you did not the like, and that the Unfortunate Persander came not once into your mind, unless by some accident or through Civility, you were obliged to speak of him, or that you had not any thing to say of him in that excellent good Company wherein you were. Be pleased to let me know so much, Divine Caesonia, I beseech you, for though I wish you greater satisfaction and enjoyment in all things than I do myself, I should entertain even death itself kindly, if you cannot have any true pleasure without me, as I cannot nor will without you.  
Now, said I to her in my turn, Do you not think this Letter as passionate as the other? But if I should think so, replied she, I should infer nothing thence; for it is not to be doubted but Turnus loves me more eagerly than Persander. And I on the contrary, replied I, am confident Persander loves you as much as man can love: Nay, I question not but that you love Persander somewhat better than Turnus, and therefore you would commit a great error if you preferred Turnus before Persander. For is it not true, that there cannot be a greater Wit than his, that he hath a mind excellently endued with all gallantry and perfection; that you esteem him above all those of your acquaintance, and in a word, that there is not a more virtuous person in the world? I confess it, says she, but being of opinion, that if I should marry him, I should love him more than he me; and on the contrary, that Turnus will love me more than I shall him, and more than Persander doth, I am resolved no longer to disobey the command my Mother hath laid on me, to prefer Turnus before Persander. But Ersilia said I to her, makes this choice out of policy as you do out of humour; and therefore I now foretell, that you will be both deceived in it. But, replied she blushing, were not Turnus worthy to be chosen without any dispute, of all the virtuous persons of Ardea, if Persander were laid aside? He were, replied I, but with all his wit, all his merit, all his good parts, nay and all his goodness, I would not marry an inconstant man newly become a Proselyte; for not to dissemble, the conquest you have made of him, you are indebted for to his Inconconstancy.  
This I seconded with an hundred other things, but what ere was said to Caesonia was said in vain; for she thought the Inclination she had for Persander, would make her unhappy if she married him, and that he loved her not sufficiently; and Turnus had so dazzled her with the greatness of his love, by a thousand little flatteries and many real services, which Fortune favoured him with the opportunities to render her, that she was absolutely persuaded she was more loved by him than Persander, whom yet she could object nothing against, and who on the contrary had a thousand ways obliged her: So that Ersilia who doubtless was more desirous she should marry Turnus than Persander, having pressed her to resolve on something, and told her she should do well to conform herself to the intention she had to bestow her on Turnus; she inconsiderately consents, and persuaded she bestowed herself on the more amorous, she herself delivered this sad news to Persander: For he coming one day to see her, and finding her more cold to him than ordinary, he asked her the reason of it, which she told him without much ceremony. I beseech you now (said she to him, after she had acquainted him with the command Ersilia had laid on her) trouble not yourself to make fruitless complaints to me, and consider you may yet be accounted among my Friends if you please. Ah Madam, replied he, if you cannot entertain my Love, I shall little value your friendship: But Madam, have you quite forgotten that you said, you would look on love above all things, and that you would bestow yourself rather on the more amorous, than the more amiable. It is for that reason, replied she, that I do your merit some injustice. No, no, Madam, disguise not the truth, acknowledge that your mind is changed, and that instead of disposing yourself to him who loves you most, you bestow yourself on him you love best. Yet Madam, added he, to give you an extraordinary expression of love, I declare to you, that if I thought that Turnus could but love you all his life as he doth now, I should never charge you with my misfortune; though I am confident that I love you a thousand times more than he does. But Madam, since I am intimately acquainted with him, expect what I now foretell you, that as soon as you shall have made him happy, you will begin to be miserable yourself. Not but that there is in Turnus a sufficiency of virtue and goodness, but take in also all the Generosity of his Soul, I dare affirm Love will soon be dislodged out of his heart, when he shall once have no more to hope. Nay, I dare tell you Madam, that for Turnus' constancy you are partly obliged to me; since it is certain that if I had not been his Rival, he had loved you less, and would have changed his resolution ere this time: For not to flattter you, it is only emulation hath increased his love, and his Ambition hath been as great to outdo his friend, as to overcome his Mistress: But when you shall have put him into a condition, wherein he shall not have any thing either to hope or fear, you will find that of a Lover whom you thought constant, you have made an inconstant Husband. I know Turnus hath done you those services which I could not: But Madam, have I omitted any thing which I could have done? Or can you reproach me with any want of duty? I cannot, replied she, but I am so fully persuaded that Turnus loves me better than you do; that I shall never change my mind unless he force me to it: And therefore trouble not yourself, nor say any thing to me to his prejudice. For his merit, Madam, I shall acknowledge whatever you conceive may be thought to his advantage; but for his affection, give me leave to tell you, that you are not well acquainted with it: For in a word, Turnus is but an inconstant man somewhat disguised, yet I do not accuse him of having purposely deceived you. On the contrary, I assure you he is deceived himself, and believes he shall always love you as he doth now: But time will show you if you alter not your resolution, that his mind is still the same; and you shall find on the contrary, that the unfortunate Persander will have a constancy for you, which all the World shall reproach him with, and that he shall condemn himself for; for I perceive, that how unjust soever you may be to me, I shall love you eternally.  
After this, Persander said a thousand other obliging things to Caesonia, but she had already consented to what her Mother had proposed; and know that Ersilia had acquainted Turnus with it. So that not any ways relenting, she only set herself to entreat Persander, not to bear any ill will to his friend for the choice she had made. But, Madam, you shall then promise that if Turnus' love die and mine outlive it, notwithstanding your injustice, you will give me leave to reproach you with it. If that happen, replied she, I should so well deserve it from you, that I make no great difficulty to give you leave.  
Hereupon Persander made his last assault on Caesonias mind, but was as before repulsed; for she considered what Persander said to her, rather as an effect of the greatness of his Wit than of his Love; and Turnus by a thousand little flatteries, such as cannot be expressed, had so strangely persuaded her that he infinitely loved her, that she had not the least doubt of it; so that though she had an infinite esteem for Persander, yet she continued firm to her design. Persander (in the mean time) may be said to be much more miserable, than Turnus was happy, though at the beginning he thought his happiness excessive: For my part, I was so angry with Caesonia, that I could do nothing but chide her for her injustice, and that not so privately but that Turnus knew of it. Nay one day, I would needs persuade him to resign Caesonia to his Friend, but being incensed by my opposition, I saw his Passion increased by what I said to him, insomuch that my business was to keep these two friends falling out; and indeed I managed things so fortunately, that though Persander was tempted to break the promise he had made to Turnus in the beginning of their love, yet I prevailed with him to endure a misfortune which could not be remedied, without using any violence.  
But that which was most remarkable was, that three days after Turnus was married he went to visit Persander, who was fallen sick through grief, and spoke to him the most obligingly he could, to wish him to a continuance of Friendship: Adding particularly, that he should think the possession of Caesonia too dear, if it cost him the loss of his affection. Ah Turnus (cries out Persander) were I in your place I should not say so: For I assure you, I should easily part with all your friendship for Caesonias affection. To this Turnus, in stead of some bitter answer, continued his mildness, and put Persander into such a trouble, that he knew not what return to make him; for he entreated him to come and see him as he was wont, he assured him he should not be jealous, that he knew his Wife infinitely esteemed him, and he promised him his friendship. But the more he spoke, the more was Persander's vexation increased: Nevertheless, he answered him very discreetly, neither accepting nor refusing his offers, as not knowing whether he should do, such a disturbance had love caused in him: Which done, he dismissed him without any incivility, or any particular expression of Friendship.  
In the mean time, Caesonia, though she seemed to be satisfied, yet was somewhat troubled in her mind at Persander's indisposition, which proved so dangerous that it was feared he might die of it: But at length he overcame it, though not that Passion which had seized his soul. On the contrary, it became so violent, that not being able to live without the sight of Caesonia; he resolved withal to endure that of his Rival, and to accept the proffer Turnus had made to him to continue friends. He therefore went to visit him, which visit Turnus took with much kindness; he brought him into Caesonias Chamber, before she had any notice of his coming, and entreated her to receive him as his friend; which done, having conducted Persander into the Garden, he began to tell him he had a design to Travel. Persander at first, conceived Turnus had some extraordinary occasion that obliged him thereto, not being able to apprehend that one whom Caesonia had chosen for the most amorous, could be persuaded to leave her, to go and Travel without any necessity, within a month after he had married her. He therefore asked him if he had any business of importance that obliged him to that resolution: None at all (replied Turnus) but to tell you the truth, it is long since I have had an inclination to travel, and now there is nothing to engage my stay at Ardea; and that I fear not you should take away Caesonia from me in my absence, I am resolved to satisfy my Curiosity.  
Persander hearing Turnus speak in this manner, was so astonished that he could not tell what enswer to make him, nor indeed had he returned him any, had it not been that he had pressed him to accompany him in his Travels. So that being obliged to speak, he told him, he had business required his stay at Ardea; whereupon he took his leave of him.  
On the other side, Turnus whose head was full of this humour of Travelling, spoke of nothing else, and that with so much impatience, as to his departure, as if he had had a Mistress in every one of those places whither he pretended to go, and had never loved any thing at Ardea. Persander said nothing at all to him of it, and only asked what caused him to take such a sudden resolution. To which Turnus answered, that two friends of his, having acquainted him with their intentions to travel, they had stirred up in him those he sometime had, so that he had resolved to go with them.  
Not long after, Persander came to see me, to see what I should say of Turnus his design of Travelling; and if I knew not what Caesonia thought of it: For me thinks (said he) that having made choice of Turnus for the more amorous, she should take his departure somewhat unkindly. Caesonia (said I to him) hath more wit then to make her complaint to me; but I can read in her eyes, that she takes it most heinously: And for my part, if it were my own case, I should think it very hard measure that Turnus should marry me, only to forsake me, being not obliged thereto by any rational ground. But what says Ersilia, replied Persander? Ersilia (replied I) repines secretly at it; but for Caesonia, that which confirms me that she is absolutely enraged at it, s● that I have understood by a Maid that waits on her, that unless it was the first day that Turnus acquainted her with his design, that she endeavoured to oppose it, she hath not spoke one word since to divert him from it. Ah Plotina (cries out Persander) the amorous Turnus is no longer such, and the unfortunate Persander, notwithstanding his misfortunes is more amorous than he. For in fine (continued he, showing me a Letter he had received from a Kinsman) you may see by what is written to me, that it were for my advantage to leave Ardea, and that I am promised a very considerable employment elsewhere. But notwithstanding my being slighted by Caesonia, I cannot be induced to quit the place where she resides, and deprive myself of all sight of her. I assure you (replied I) you are almost as much to be blamed as Turnus; for I do not think that Caesonia deserves you should so much as think of her. Besides (said I to him) all your love to her will be to no purpose, for she is virtuous; and though it should happen she lost all love for Turnus, and should repent she had preferred him before you, your happiness will be never the greater. Ah Plotina (replied he) you know not how ingenuous Love is in finding out Pleasures; for it is to me a very sensible one, the very thought that Turnus is now to leave Caesonia. Nay, it is no small delight to me to imagine the Tears she sheds the day of his departure, will be rather the tears of indignation than Sorrow; And though I expect not ever to be happy, yet there is a certain kind of Hope which stands Centinel about my heart and keeps in my love, But what (replied I) if you have not lost your discretion, can you hope? I have no hope to be loved of Caesonia (replied he) but I hope that Caesonia will love Turnus no longer, and will haply regret the unfortunate Persander.  
We said one to another a many things of this kind, whence I apprehended that Persander had still an infinite love for Caesonia, and that she mistook herself much that she had not made choice of him. To be short, all were so surprised at Turnus' departure, that a many things were reported of him, which were not true; but at last, notwithstanding all Ersilia could say to him, he took his leave. So that she then saw she was deceived, when she imagined to herself the absolute disposal of Turnus; for this humour of Travelling having taken him in the head, as soon as the Passion he had for Caesonia was satisfied, all the Charms of that excellent person were not strong enough to divert him. 'Tis true, his flatteries to her at parting were extraordinary, but they proceeded not from any great regret he had to leave her, though he was to be absent almost a whole year. Caesonia however at first, bore this departure with constancy enough, and out of a consideration of glory, betrayed not any the least dis-satisfaction at this voyage. Nay she had not the confidence to speak to me of it; and so discreetly avoided all discourse thereof, that I could not take it ill that she was so reserved. Besides that, for my part, I sought not the occasions to reproach her that she had not believed me, because I could take no pleasure in afflicting her to no purpose.  
In the mean time, the whole City came to visit her, and comfort her for the absence of Turnus, and among the rest came Perfander: for I had forgot to tell you, that Turnus at his departure had been to take his leave of his friend; that he had spoke very obligingly to him; that he had entreated him to continue his friendship to his Wife, and had desired Caesonia to admit the visits of Persander as those of any other, lest he should imagine he had forbidden him out of jealousy. Accordingly Caesonia disposed herself to receive the visits of Persander, conditionally they were not too frequent, and that he should say nothing to her, she might be offended at; resolving, in case he presumed to entertain her with the affection he had for her, not to see him any more; for Turnus had so far enjoined her to see him, that he could take no other resolution. Upon these terms, Persander, who had still an extreme affection for her, visited her sometimes, and behaved himself with so much respect to her, and such acknowledgement of her Virtue, that he betrayed not his Passion in his discourse; but if Caesonia had examined his looks, they would have acquainted her with the most violent love in the World, 'Tis true a certain secret melancholy took up her spirits so much, that she would not seek what she was not desirous to find.  
Hence it also proceeded, that Caesonia during Turnus' absence, avoided as much as might be, coming to great Feasts, and carried herself as a Woman of great Virtue, and love to her Husband, and tender of his reputation should have done, especially, being young and handsome, having a Husband absent, and divers Lovers in the places where she resides.  
But whiles Caesonia lived after this rate, and was extremely troubled in her mind at Turnus' absence, when two months were passed ere she had received any tidings of him, he sent a man express to Ardea, with divers orders. Caesonia was much amazed to understand that her Husband who she thought had taken shipping long before, was still at Rhegium, which place he spoke not of leaving for some time; whereat being much surprised, she thought fit cunningly to sift out what stayed Turnus there, and put her off with such an unlikely account of it, as much increased her Curiosity. But that which was most mysterious to her, was, that she came to understand that the man had brought a Letter from Turnus to Persander, that he had spoken with him divers times, and that he could not return to his Master, till he were dispatched by Persander. So that being infinitely desirous to know what might be in the Wind, she was in an extraordinary disquiet, for she would not have any private discourse with Persander, though she had for him the greatest esteem in the World. Nor could she easily condescend to give me any order to find it out, as conceiving that if she had made that request to me, I should fall a chiding of her. But at last she applied herself to me, and having made me promise I would not quarrel with her, she told me what she had so much mind to know. But (added she) I would not have Persander imagine that you ask him any thing for my satisfaction; for I would not give him any pretence or occasion of discourse concerning Turnus. I promised Caesonia to obey her directions, and kept my word in not charging her with any thing. 'Tis true, I did not forbear it so much in performance of my promise, as out of compassion, observing in her eyes, that she said to herself all that I could have said to her.  
As soon as she had left me, I sent to Persander to come to me; which when he had done, without any mention of Caesonia, I asked him what business he had with Turnus. He at first was loath to tell me the truth, but being well acquainted with his humour, ah Persander (said I to him) if you satisfy not my desire, as to what I would now know, I shall never permit you to speak of Caesonia. You know that I am the only person with whom you can rationally discourse of her, and that I am your only comfort in this case. Persander not able to deny me any longer, showed me a Letter he had received from Turnus, wherein putting him in mind of their ancient Friendship, he entreated of him an extraordinary courtesy in doing that for him which he should understand by the Bearer of the Letter. Whereupon Persander told me, that Turnus desirous that his family should not know the vast expenses he pretended to be at in this voyage, entreated him to write to a Kinsman of his at Rhegium, to furnish him with such things as he stood in need of: That further, he desired to have sent him, divers rarities which are made at Ardea, such as are only fit to be presented to Women, pretending a design he had to pass through divers Courts, where he might make his advantage of them. And in a word (added Persander) without diving any further into his intentions, I do for Turnus all he desires of me, though he hath ruined my Felicity without establishing his own; and within these two days, I dismiss him he hath sent to me, with all those things he desires.  
This done, Persander spoke many thinks very honourable and obligingly of Caesonia, yet without any desire made to me to tell her of it, as knowing it would have been to no purpose, though I am confident his love to her was guided by innocence itself.  
Having thus understood Turnus' business with Persander, I thought not to have acquainted Caesonia with it, lest it should afflict her. But I must confess, reflecting on her obstinacy in opposing me, I was not very sorry, I could convince her, I was in the right. Besides that, it being fit she knew what expenses Turnus was at, that in case he should send for wherewithal to continue his extravagancies, she might take some course to remedy it, I resolved to tell her the truth. But when I had acquainted her with all Passages, she suspected something beyond what I had, which was, that Turnus had no other reason to send for all those things, than his being fallen in love at Rhegium. To be short, she immediately sent for the man who was come from Turnus to Ardea, and pretending that she knew what she was before desirous he should have told her, she managed the business with so much discretion, that the man who had a great respect to Caesonia, and thought his Master was much to blame, confessed at last (thinking she might remedy it) that he was indeed fallen in love at Rhegium, that his expenses there were excessive, and that if she took not some course to get him back to Ardea, he would continue there some time. To tell you what effect this new inconstancy of Turnus had both on Caesonia and myself were not easy for me. But for Caesonia, when she had dismissed the man, she fixes her eyes swelled with tears on me, and remembering what I had sometime said to her. Ah Plotina (cried she) you had great reason to tell me that Turnus was but an inconstant man disguised, and that I had done better to have preferred Persander before Turnus, than Turnus before Persander. But alas (added she) it is now no time to complain, it was the cruelty of my Fortune, when I thought to have chosen him who loved me most to have taken him who loved me least, to his prejudice who loved me more, and haply better. The word haply is not well placed where you put it (said I to her) for it is not to be doubted but Persander will love you while he lives. Ah Plotina (said she tome with a high indignation) if there were any means to repent, I would repent me of the injustice I have done Persander: But alas I must not for my own sake admit any thought of repentance, and I must live so with Turnus, as if he were constant, and so with Persander, as if I were indifferent to him. Divers other things came from Caesonia wherewith I was extremely moved.  
Notwithstanding all this, she wrote to her Husband with all the respect and mildness in the World, and having discovered her affliction to her Mother, it was resolved she should pretend to be sick, that divers of Turnus' friends should be entreated to write to him, to endeavour to bring him home again, and that she herself would also invite him with the greatest insinuation she could use. To be short, some days after, she was so much Mistress of her own thoughts, that she writ to him a Letter infinitely passionate: But he being at that time much taken with his loves at Rhegium; and understanding from some friends at Ardea, that Caesonia was not very sick, he returned not to Ardea, but remained two months onger at Rhegium that is to say, as long as his Passion lasted. He then went to Syracuse, whence he was to go into Greece, but he was no sooner come to Syracuse, but he fell in love with a Princess of that place, which is one of the greatest Beauties in the World.  
Besidos' all this, Turnus having with him two friends who were of Ardea, and were very compliant with his humour, much of what he did came to be known by that means, for one of these two was Brother to one of Turnus' former Mistresses, when he first fell in love with Caesonia. She being acquainted by her brother's Letters with all the new loves of Turnus, was very glad to find that the charms of Caesonia had been no stronger than hers to confine Turnus' affections, and maliciously divulged what her Brother had written to her concerning the Loves of this unfaithful Husband. By this means the business came to be so generally known, that there was none but might without any breach of civility speak to Caesonia of it, either as to blame Turnus, or pity her. She in the mean time had observed so much reservedness in her carriage, that Persander had never met with any occasion to speak to her without witnesses. But one day Ersilia having employed him with some business of consequence, and Persander being come to give her an account of it he found her not at home, but met with Caesonia, with whom he was obliged to stay, expecting the return of Ersilia but he found her in so melancholy a posture, that she hardly knew how to entertain him. Persander on the other side having so favourable an opportunity to speak to her, had not the power to tell her what he was desirous she should know; but at last the love he had in his soul making him more confident: It is long since Madam, said he to her, that I vainly seek what I have this day found; yet I beseech you Madam, added he, imagine not it is my purpose to say any thing to you whereat you may be offended, and therefore forbid me not to speak, for I shall only bemoan you, and but once accuse me in my life; all I have to say is, to conjure you to believe that as Turnus hath not been able to quit his inconstancy, Persander shall never be otherwise then constant, and shall love you while he lives. Ah Persander, said Caesonia to him, triumph not over my misfortunes, for it is enough to have an inconstant husband, without having a Friend defective as to respect. I beseech you therefore say not any thing to me which I shall not be satisfied to hear. No, no, Madam, said he to her, fear not any thing from the unfortunate Persander, he desires nothing of you, he hopes for nothing from you, and the sum of all he would have, amounts to no more than the favour of one single audience from you, that I may have the satisfaction of your own confession, that you were mistaken when you had bestowed yourself on the most amorous; for Madam you need no further experience than that of this day, to make the comparison. To be short, added he, this Lover that was so eager, so constant in appearance, for sakes you as soon as he was possessed of you, and falls in Love with divers others as soon as he is out of your sight; But the unfortunate Persander, though treated with insupportable injustice, loves you still, without hope of ever being loved by you, and shall love you while he lives. Turnus hath left you without any cause, and I, whom affairs of consequence call hence, remain only to see you, though I am confident you bestow not a thought on me, that you would have me quit all love to you, and that I can pretend to no other advantage then that of pitying you, and doing you those services you can expect from a generous Friend. But I beseech you, deny me not this favour, trust me with the burden of an affliction you cannot conceal from me. Speak not any thing of favour to me, nothing of obligation, nothing that may discover that you so much as think I love you; but tell me only as a discreet and faithful friend, that you are dissatisfied with Turnus, that you are sensible of his Injustice and his Inconstancy, and are at last convinced that you have made an ill choice. I therefore expect no other reward of the respectful passion I have for you, then to see you does satisfied with my Rival; and to give you an infallible expression of the greatness and purity of my inclinations, I protest to you, that, if I could change his heart, and make him constant to you, I would do it, so to make you happy, though I doubt not but I should be much more miserable than I am, if you were satisfied with Turnus.  
I beseech you, Persander, said she to him, content yourself that I tell you in general terms, that I have done you an injustice, and expect not I should trust one with the knowledge of my afflictions, who is Rival to him that causes them. Besides, imagine not that the inconstancy of Turnus shall ever make me do any thing against Innocence; for I am virtuous for my own sake, not for his: and therefore flatter not yourself with a groundless hope, if you are not disposed to affront me: You might indeed sometime have hoped without doing me any injury; but now the case is altered, and indeed I take it not well, that when you speak to me, you bemoan me. Do that secretly, if you have so much generosity, as to pity my misfortunes, and increase them not by giving me so much cause to quarrel at your constancy, as I have to complain of Turnus' inconstancy.  
After this Persander said a many other things which nearly concerned Caesonia, but she continued firm in her resolution, not to permit him to entertain her with his passion, how innocent soever it might be. She would also have needs forbidden him to visit her; but he made it so much appear to her that it would find all the Town discourse, that at last she consented he should see her sometimes, conditionally he would never speak to her of his affection. She would further make him promise her, not to speak at all of Turnus; and in fine, she said not any thing to him, which though a jealous husband should over hear, he could be displeased with. But Persander being a very discreet person, had a greater esteem for Caesonia then before, and his Love, instead of diminishing any thing by the loss of Hope, was much augmented; in a word, he was screwed into a higher love to Caesonia, than any man could have been.  
Caesonia on the other side, understanding from time to time. that Turnus continued not eight days in any place ere he had found out a new Mistress, was extremely exasperated against him. But that which increased her misery, was, to see Persanders' constancy to her, though she did nothing for him. For though he said nothing to her concerning his Love, and did none of those heroic actions, which are the ordinary marks of a great passion, he did a many others, which Caesonia and I took notice of, and which satisfied as, that he was infinitely passionate in his Love, though he said nothing of it. He was even blinded into a compliance to Ersilia, by whom he was very much loved; he never came to Caesonias when there was any company there: If any one commended her in his presence, there was such a visible satisfaction in his eyes, as if he were concerned in her reputation; if any one endeavoured to excuse Turnus, he could not but discover his indignation. If Caesonia chanced to be sick, he could not be at rest any where; he loved what she was taken with, even to things insensible; he conformed all his apprehensions to her; he saw her as often as he could; he loved me for her sake, as much as if I had been her Sister; and when he and I were alone, she was the constant subject of our discourse; he looked not on any women with any delight, but Caesonia; and in a word, Caesonia was the sole object of all his pleasures, and all his affection. Notwithstanding all this, he mastered this violent passion, through the awe he stood in of the person who caused it; and indeed, so far did she conceive herself obliged thereby, that insensibly, contrary to Caesonias first intentions, she trusted him with the knowledge of her discontents. But I must needs give her this testimony, that she never either did, or said any thing that Persander could take any advantage of: so that it may be said he was her Lover, and that she was only his Friend: Those good thoughts which she had for him, were so innocent, that it was the reason she made not that provision against a many little inconsiderable circumstances, which how innocent soever they might be, yet proved the occasions of all ill reports: For it was talked abroad, that Caesonia cheered herself up for the inconstancy of Turnus, by the constancy of Persander: and that which raised many strange reports, was, that he whom Turnus had sent to Ardea, to bring with him what he had sent to Persander for, having told it some body at his departure, who soon after divulged it, it was known that Persander had sent Turnus such things, as should detain him some time out of his Country. And as Calumny sucks Poison out of the best actions, so it was reported about Ardea, that what was done, was with the privity of his Wife, and that Persander had not done him that good office, but to keep him at a distance from Caesonia. Besides, her Beauty and her Virtue raising her to the enmity of her own Sex, the business was so strangely glossed upon, that I thought myself obliged to acquaint her with what was said of her, for I knew her innocence, and that it was easy for her to remedy this evil, and put envy and calumny to silence, by taking away those pretences they make use of. That which gave the greatest colour to these unhappy reports, was, that the Friends of Persander pressing him to marry, he so roughly rejected all Propositions of that nature, that it was easily perceived there was some secret considerations that obliged him to be so backward. There was also another thing that made a great noise; for you are to know, that Persander, who besides a great Wit, hath other excellent good parts, and particularly Poetry; and it being impossible but that a Lover who is endued with that quality, must write something, though Persander durst not show any Verses directed to Caesonia, as purposely made for her, yet could he not avoid the writing of some. But to the end, in case they might be gotten some way from him, she might not receive any injury for whom they were made, he called her by a name which had no resemblance to hers; for instead of Caesonia, he called her Dorinica. He showed me divers Copies, and (if I am not mistaken) presented her sometimes with them, yet not acknowledging they were made for her, but only to have her judgement of them, for certainly Caesonia is very good at such things. It unfortunately happened one day, that Persander having made a Paper of Verses, and left them on the Table in his Closet, thinking he had locked the Door, there came one of his acquaintance to see him, who finding the Doors of his Lodgings open, enters without speaking to any body into Persander's Chamber, and thence into his Closet, where he had often seen him. But not finding him, spying the Verses on the Table, which he thought very amorous, he read them twice over, and got them by heart, without any other reflection thereon at that time, than that he was taken with them; which done, understanding that Persander was not within, he went his ways, not saying any thing to any body. From thence he went to give a visit to a Lady he was in love with, who had an ill opinion of the Cabal of the Fair Solitaries in general, by reason of a particular disaffection she had to Caesonia, who was one of them. He repeated to her the Verses he had learned, which she had no sooner heard, but she said, that certainly they were made for Caesonia. She also got them by heart, and being one that talks much, one that goes fast, and whose Fancy far outruns her Judgement, without considering what might be the consequences of it, she dispersed divers Copies of them. But that you may the better know what the business came to, I must repeat them to you: They were these,  

For Dorinica.  
I In her Presence fain would die,  
That her Fair hand might close my Eye;  
And when my soul in sighs expires,  
This is my Martyr she might say,  
I would by some sublimer way.  
But behold! Be silent my Desires,  
We Dorinica must obey.   
You may easily judge, that these Verses contain nothing that could with reason prejudice Caesonia, yet made they no small noise abroad; nay, such as whence were drawn very unhappy consequences. It happened also that the last Verse falling in very pertinently, as simple as it is, in regard there is something amorous in the very cadence, it became a certain frolic to quote it upon divers occasions, so that it was a general humour to say, how pertinently or impertinently, it mattered not.  
We Dorinica must obey.  
Though there were no other reason for it, than that it was become an expression a-la-mode. But at last, the business growing very common, I spoke to Caesonia of it, with all the sincerity of a faithful Friend. I had no sooner acquainted her with what was said of her, but she blushed, and was extremely troubled. However she was not much to seek what to do. I must need confess (said she to me) that Persander hath so carried himself towards me, since I fell into misfortune, and hath so much obliged me, that I cannot but have for him the tenderest friendship in the World; nay, I must acknowledge that unless it be when I am with you, my disturbances admit no remission, but by acquainting him therewith. But it seems I must be deprived of that satisfaction, and I shall do it in such a manner as shall silence all the Calumny that persecutes me. This Caesonia spoke with so much trouble in her countenance, that I easily perceived she took some strange resolution: So that I thought to have told her it was enough, if she were more circumspect in some little Occurrence, and that it were not discreetly done absolutely to break off with Persander. No, no, Plotina (said she to me) say nothing to me, for I shall do what I have resolved; but only pity the unhappy destiny I have to struggle with. And that you may the better know how to pity me, I must acquaint you, my dear Plotina, with the true state of my Soul, that fully understanding my frailty, you may accordingly commend me for the power I have to conceal it. Know then that I have ever had a violent inclination for Persander, and only an ordinary esteem for Turnus, and that if I had not believed the latter loved me incomparably beyond the other, and that it was greater pleasure to be loved than to love, I had never married him. But that which makes up my present punishment, is that Turnus' inconstancy hath raised in me a detestation of him, and the constancy of Persander hath raised in me a love of him. The Gods know (added she, blushing) whether I have not equally resisted both the hatred I have for Turnus, and the affection I have for Persander, and notwithstanding these two Passions, made a strong resolution to live contentedly with him whom I hate, and by all means possible to conceal my affections from him whom I love. But all considered, I cannot but so far resent the injury Turnus hath done me in ceasing to love me, as soon as he was assured of me, and am so sensible of the obligation Persander hath put upon me, by continuing his affection, when he can hope to receive no visible expression of mine, that I easily foresee that through these two opposite apprehensions, I shall lead the most wretched life in the World, especially since I must wrestle with them as long as I live.  
I should never have done, if I should acquaint you with all Caesonia said to me, and what answers I made her: But as we were thus engaged. Persander comes into the house; and one of Caesonias women being come into her Closet (where we were, to give her notice of it) she gave order he should be brought in. He was no sooner entered, but she seeing there was none but we three, and fixing her eyes full of sadness and melancholy upon him, I beseech you Persander (said she to him) do me the favour to think never the worse of me, when you shall understand a certain request I have to make to you.  
Ah Madam (said he to her) though you desired my death, I should not take it ill at your hands, and therefore you may assure yourself you cannot make any request to me that shall oblige me to hate you. But, Madam, (added he) What strange request is it you have to make to me? I am first to entreat you (replied she) to be confident that I have for you the greatest esteem imaginable, and acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to you. But that done, I a● to entreat you, to tell me whether it be true or no that you have for the unfortunate Caesonia, a most tender and a most disinterested Friendship. For Friendship, Madam, (said he to her) I know not whether I have any; but for affection, I dare assure you, never had any man so much as I have for you, and that if I were to lose my life to make good this truth, I should do it cheerfully. No Persander (replied she) you shall not need to do anything of that nature, and without losing your life, it shall suffice only that you hence forward lose all sight of me. Ah, Madam, how cruel is that word only, and how little does it oblige me? For I think it more insupportable to be ever deprived of your sight than my life. But, Madam, do you speak to me in good earnest? I do Persander (said she to him) and Plotina shall tell you the reason of it. Whereupon I told Persander what scandalous reports were scattered up and down, whereof he had not heard any thing before; for being of a nature very sensible as to reputation, his friends durst not tell him any thing. I had no sooner acquainted him therewith, but Persander casting himself on his knees at Caesonias feet; Alas, Madam, (said he to her) can you lay this misfortune to my charge; to mine, I say, who love you without acquainting you so much, and have that power over myself, as to conceal the most eager, and most violent Passion that ever was? However, divine Caesonia (continued this afflicted Lover) I shall willingly not be innocent, and to make me guilty, there shall need no more than that my love hath caused you the least disquiet. But, Madam, all criminals are not banished, there are more kinds of punishment than one. No, no Persander (replied Caesonia) forcing him to rise up, I wish not your banishment as a punishment, but as a remedy for the evil I suffer; for certainly it is not just, that I believe at the same time unfortunate and innocent should be thought guilty, when I am not. If therefore it be true that you love me, resolve to choose one of these two things. Ah, Madam, (cries he) how difficult do I think the choice you put me to, though I know not yet what you would say to me: However it be (said Caesonia) there is no other expedient left. But once more, Madam, (replied he) what choice is it you put me to? That you would either quit Ardea (replied she) and never come into it, or at least not of a long time, or that you would marry, and never see me after, but when you cannot possibly avoid it. Ah, Madam, (cries he) into what a strange extremity have you reduced me? Ah Persander (replied she) what an unhappy conjuncture am I in for your sake? Reputation I value above all things, and though I have done nothing whereby mine should be prejudiced, yet am I in a fair likelihood to lose it; if therefore you love me, and own any true Generosity, assist me to preserve that, which once lost you cannot restore. I give you two days to take your choice of these two things I have proposed to you; and if you do it not, I shall be more dissatisfied with you than with Turnus.  
Hereupon Persander made a thousand fruitless expostulations, and propositions, and proposed a many several expedients; for, he was content not to see Caesonia any more at her house, conditionally he might see her sometimes at my Chamber; nay, he at last came so low, as that he would not speak to her any where, provided he might write to her; but there being in things of this nature a certain mystery & obligation, Caesonia would not by any means engage herself. She told him he must obey, that he loved her not, if he preferred not her Reputation before all things; and that she would absolutely hate him, if he resolved not either to marry, or absent himself for ever.  
To tell you all they said one to another, and what I said to both, were to presume too much upon your patience. But I shall tell you, that since there have been Lovers, there were not any that passed two such long and cruel days, as those Persander spent in making this dreadful choice. For when he thought on this perpetual, or at best very long absence, he was no longer Master of his own thoughts, nor indeed of his words: Never to see Caesonia, seemed to him a thing so cruel, that he thought death itself more supportable. On the other side, when he thought of marrying, he had such a horrid aversion thereto, that he could hardly admit any Treaty of it: he thought he could not in honour marry one he should not love; and love inspired him with apprehensions so opposite to those of Marriage, that he could not take any resolution that way. Not but that it was some ease for him to think that he might at least remain by that means in Ardea, that he might see Caesonia in the Temples whether she would or not, and flattered himself with a hope that she might change her mind. But for this eternal absence, that which troubled him most in it, was, that he believed Caesonia would forget him: So that how great soever his aversion to marriage might be, yet he thought it spoke something more amorous, not to leave Caesonia, than eternally to forsake her: Nevertheless he could not resolve in the time Caesonia appointed him, but spent eight days in bemoaning himself, and doing nothing but writing Lettert to me, to entreat me to get an arrest of that cruel Judgement: Caesonia avoiding all Interviews in that time. But at last Caesonia understanding there was divers reports abroad, which gave people occasion to think there was some secret correspondence between her and Persander, sent him word, that it was her absolute Will he should take his choice: So that this unfortunate Lover looking on this Removal as absolutely insupportable, and thinking it would be conceived extravagant, was content to Marry, conditionally Caesonia made choice of a Wife for him; for there were three or four Ladies whereof his Friends proposed to him the choice. But if Persander was much troubled to choose, Caesonia was no less to advise him: yet at last finding that she who had the greatest Fortune, had the least Beauty, she gave me order to name her to Persander, who was very much pleased with an imagination, that Caesonia pitching on a Wife for him that was not over handsome, might do it out of some considerations of kindness to him. But Caesonia's design took not, for the Friends of that Lady having heard the reports of the loves of Persander and Caesonia changed their minds, and answered him, that they thought not their Daughter handsome enough to cure Persander of so violent a Passion. This unhappy Lover therefore was forced to address himself to another, who certainly was as indifferent to him as the former, but was questionless much the handsomer; and to be short, the Marriage was talked of as a thing absolutely concluded.  
No sooner were all parties agreed, but Caesonia was infinitely troubled at it, and was so much incensed against Persander, that she could not be more exasperated against Turnus, than she was against him. Nevertheless she durst not at first discover her apprehensions of it, but I soon observing she was fallen into a new discontent, tormented at last into a confession, that she was extremely vexed that Persander had chosen rather to marry, than to depart. For in fine, said she, if he loved me so much as he would make me believe, he could never have consented to marry, especially with so great a Beauty, as he is now to have: but certainly the reason of that is, that I am destined to the experience of all kinds of Inconstancy: Turnus as soon as he became my Husband, ceased to be my Lover, and Persander, who pretends so much obstinacy in love, will certainly become a Lover of his Wife, as soon as he shall have married one. But, said I to her, what concerns it you, whether he loves her, or loves her not, since you will never see him more, and are absolutely resolved never to receive a gallant Letter from Persander? I know I am much to blame, said she to me, and I am so disordered to see my own weakness, and the humourousness of my apprehensions, that I blush at it; for certainly I shall never see Persander, I shall never receive either Verse or Prose from him, that shall mention his Love; and Turnus, how inconstant soever he may be, shall, if ever he return, find me faithful to him. But when all is done, I cannot but be troubled that Persander marries, and marries one he can love. But said I to her, you have put the choice upon him: I confess it, replied she, but I expected not he should have made the choice he hath. It is not yet too late, replied I, for I am confident Persander hath so much aversion from marrying, that if you but let him know your dislike of it, he will give over all thoughts thereof. No, no Plotina, replied she, it is now too late, for I wished Persander might not marry, and since he thinks it sit to do so, there is no remedy; and if you acquaint him with the strangeness of my resentments, I should never endure the sight of you. This Caesonia spoke with so much earnestness, that I durst not disobey her; so that Persander thinking he did a thing at least acceptable to Caesonia, married. But the day before his Wedding, I saw him so pensive, and found Caesonia so melancholy, that it may be said, never any Marriage caused so much heaviness. In the mean time, Persander being a person of much honour, he had for his wife all possible Civility, and somewhat the more, in regard he considered it as a means to stifle the rumours which had been so prejudicial to Caesonia. So that gaining hereby the reputation of a good husband in Ardea, he soon got that of an ill Lover with Caesonia. Thus having two Infidelities to deal with at the same time, she fell into a hatred of all men in general. She would never meet with Persander in any place where he might take any occasion to speak to her; and she so carefully avoided him, that though he was very desirous to acquaint her with what he suffered for her sake, he could never have the opportunity. And indeed it is certain, there never was a man more unhappy than he was at that time, for though his wife were excellently handsome, yet was she an insupportable burden to him, and his imagination was so full of Caesonia, that he could not think of any thing else. But at last it chanced that a Chariot of Caesonias happening to break two miles from Ardea, Persander passing by casually in another, found her in that perplexity. Being very glad of so favourable an opportunity, he comes out, and entreats her to make use of his; nay, offers not to come in himself, and to take a horse from one of his servants that followed the Chariot. Caesonia at first would by no means be entreated, but I being with her, told her it was no time to stand upon punctilios, that it was better to accept the proffer Persander made, then to lie in the fields all night, that the affectation of not receiving such an office, would questionless be ill intrepreted, and that it were not fit he got on horseback, whereupon she took my advice.  
Now Caesonia and Persander having not spoken one to another since that days conversation whereof I told you before, they were both in no small disturbance. But at last Persander whispering broke forth first: Well Madam, said he to her, you would needs be obeyed, and might it please the Gods you knew what I suffer in obeying you and how dearly I purchase your reputation. You have made so good a choice replied she blushing, that I think you are rewarded for the services you have done me, by the very doing of them, and consequently, I am not so much as to give you thanks; for when all's done, it is a greater pleasure to be husband to a handsome wife whom a man loves, then to be banished. Caesonia spoke this with a certain accent, which satisfied Persander that there was some resentment of displeasure and jealousy in the heart of this excellent Beauty, whereat being both much surprised, and much troubled, he entreated her to express her thoughts more clearly, but she would not hear of it; and all he could get from her was, that she forbade him ever to see her. Persander who loved her now better than he had ever, having left Caesonia at home brought me also to my chamber; and being very importunate to know the true thoughts of my Friend, I told him something of what I knew; for I thought the condition those two Lovers were in, so strange that I could not but speak of it: I shall not repeat to you all he said to me, but shall only tell you, he seemed to be so afflicted that Caesonia should imagine he loved his wife, and that he had not made such a choice as satisfied her of the greatness of his affection, that it much pitied me. But at last taking a resolution to cure Caesonia of this jealousy, though he knew he was not to expect any thing from her, he took the pretence his affairs furnished him with, to go to travel. By this means he left Ardea soon after his marriage, as Turnus had, though for different reasons. But at his departure from Ardea, he writ a letter to Caesonia, so passionate, and so full of respect and tenderness, that I think Love never dictated such another; and indeed it was received by Caesonia with a very sensible sorrow, though chequered with a certain joy to see Persander more constant than she had thought him. But presently after she condemned herself for it, and was so far from being satisfied, that she would often say to me, that she thought herself so highly blamable, how virtuous soever she might be, that she durst not examine her true apprehensions.  
In the mean time Turnus after a years travel, returns who being a man virtuous, though very inconstant, he complemented Caesonia with the greatest kindness in the world: but his kindness was without eagerness, without transport, and without Love, and that which was most strange of all, was that assoon as he was returned, he fell in love with Persander's wife; and having met with one of those pickthanks who are always the messengers of ill news, that gave him some particulars of what had been said of Caesonia, he became jealous of his own wife at the same time when he fell in love with his Friends. Thus was the unfortunate Caesonia o'erwhelmed with all kinds of disgraces; for she had a husband that was both jealous and in love at the same time; she was herself guilty of both love and jealousy; the presence of her Husband was burdensome to her, the absence of Persander she was not able to bear, though she would not have him recalled; and for Persander, he only was absolutely miserable, as being void of all hope of ever being otherwise.  
In the mean time Persander's wife being a virtuous woman, gave Turnus but very cold entertainment, but love being commonly exasperated by opposition, his passion grew so violent, that conceiving it might make much for him, he told her that Persander was still in love with Casonia. But she answered him, that since Caesonia was true to him after all his Inconstancies, she would be the like to Persander, though he should not have changed his passion when he married her.  
On the other side, some body having written to Persander that Turnus was fallen in love with his wife (who was called Danae) and that not very privately, he thought it the less dangerous if he pretended to be in love with his, nay conceived he should not much offend Caesonia thereby; whereupon he returns to Ardea. He was no sooner arrived, but Turnus came to see him, with all the eagerness of a Lover who would be well thought of by a man whose Wife he is in love with: Not but that he considered the Visits he then gave Persander opened Persander the way to his House; but being above all things confident of his Wife's Virtue, he chose rather to give Persander occasion to see Caesonia, then miss his opportunities of seeing Danae: So that the beginning of this Society had in it something infinitely pleasant: But at length the apprehensions of these four persons were so disordered, that there never was heard any thing of the like nature: For not only Persander and Turnus broke all to pieces, but it withal made a division of the whole City; and there are in this adventure an hundred remarkable particles, which were too long to relate. Twice they took up Arms upon the account of these two Factions, whereof the Loves of Persander and Turnus were the cause or the pretence: Divers Duels were sought, very fatal to some; it was an ordinary question in all companies, whether one were Persander or Turnus, for these two Lovers had derived their names to all of their party. They had also their different colours, and things came at last to that height, that people were in a general expectation of an Insurrection in Ardea; for there wanted not those who would gladly have fastened on such an occasion to compass their own ends and possess themselves of Authority. On the contrary, all discreet and well affected persons, vainly troubled themselves to find out some expedients to give check to so great a disorder. But at last, when all the world could not imagine any remedy for so great a mischief, I found out a way adventurous 'tis true, but withal necessary; which was to propose to Persander and Turnus to make a public and legitimate exchange. For there having happened among us within some times divers examples of reputation, I found that both Religion and the Laws, authorized by Custom, permitting that Persander might forsake Danae, and marry Caesonia, and Turnus quit Caesonia, and marry Danae; I found I say, that neither of both having any children, and their Fortunes being equal, there needed no more, to reconcile these two Families, and restore and establist Peace in Ardea, by taking away all pretences from the factious, who aimed only at the public disturbance, then that these two women should shift houses.  
But though Persander and Turnus easily saw their own happiness by the expedient I proposed to them, yet a fantastic reflection of hatred hindered them at first to consent to one another's happiness; insomuch that Turnus to hinder Persander from marrying Caesonia, would choose rather not to marry Danae, and Persander to hinder Turnus from the possession of Danae, would never meddle with Caesonia. But at last Love growing predominant, their eyes were opened to see Reason in what I proposed, and jointly entreated my meditation in a business which they thought not very difficult to bring to effect, for it had the verdict of the Laws; what had lately happened, confirmed the Law by Custom; their Friends should in all likelihood easily consent thereto, and the two women should not probably hinder it. It was not impossible, but that Danae being convinced that her husband never had any affection for her, but an infinite love for Caesonia, would think it an advantage to lose a Husband that loved her not, to gain another who died for love of her. As for Caesonia, it might be thought she should be glad to exchange an inconstant man for one who had ever faithfully loved her, and whom she dearly affected, though she had with much care concealed it.  
But these two women made all the difficulty that was; for Caesonia held that love expired when marriage was admitted, and for that reason she would sit down with the loss of one Lover by marrying Turnus, and would not expose herself to the loss of another by marrying Persander, that consequently she chose rather to be miserable all her life in the manner she now was, then to fall into some way of misfortune, more insupportable than the other. But Danae was much more hard to be prevailed with: I beseech you, (said she to me, when I pressed her to follow my advice) force me not to acquaint you with all my thoughts, since they are much different from yours. I confess (added she) I have a Husband that hath a violent passion for Caesonia, but since he is a discreet and moderate person I am confident he will never slight me the more for it, and that I shall never have any other cause to complain of him: Nor can I charge him with having deceived me, for I have married him before he ever told me that he loved me: But for Turnus, as inviting as he is, he would make me absolutely miserable; for when he married Caesonia, he infinitely loved her; I am not so great a Beauty as she, and therefore since he hath been inconstant to that divine person, he must needs prove so to me: by which means I should be the Victim of Persander and Caesonia, and he be much more miserable than I am already. But you consider not (said I to her) that if you further not this design, you will incur the hatred of Persander, for it is impossible a Lover should not hate whatever hinders him from possessing his Mistress.  
For Caesonia I used no other argument to her then the constancy of Persander, to bring her to reason: yet these two Women had much ado to be brought to this exchange, particularly out of the considerations of Modesty; and if their Friends had not forced them, and made it appear how far it concerned their Country, the business had never been done. But at last, this private being become a public Interest, and the chief Pillars of Religion and Civil Magistracy interposing therein, the exchange was made in the Temple of Concord, but without much ceremony, because Caesonia and Danae would have it so. I shall not trouble you with what passed between these four persons at this meeting, nor acquaint you with the joy of Persander and Turnus, or the satisfaction of Caesonia to see herself rid of an inconstant Husband, and in the power of a faithful Lover: But I shall tell you that Danae, who certainly was not a little taken with Turnus, was not mistaken in her conjectures; and that this lovely, but inconstant person, soon after his marriage, began anew his Love sallies, which continued till death put a period to them; for he was killed, expressing a great and high Courage, when Tarquin made his approaches to Ardea. But that which was most observable, was that it hath been discovered since his death, that he was fallen in love again with Caesonia, merely through his humour of Inconstancy; for he had confessed as much to one of his Friends. As for Persander, he hath continued the most constant Lover in the world; and indeed, he was loath Caesonia should be exposed to the inconveniences of a long siege, though she was desirous not to forsake him; and it was upon that account, as you know, that we went along with you out of Ardea, when we were taken by some of Tarquin's Troops, notwithstanding all the Valour of Aronces, Herminius, and Celeres. I would also particularly tell Amilcar, that Persander, after the death of Turnus, took Danae into his care, and sent her out of the City with us. I have further understood this very morning by one of her Guards, that Persander is as importunate for the deliverance of Danae, as of the other Captives, and that he is not only constantly faithful in his love, but withal constantly Generous and Just.  
Plotina had no sooner given over speaking, but Amilcar began to thank her that she had killed Turnus in her Relation; for in fine, said he, I have a very good friend called Zenocrates, who pretends something as well as I, to the pleasure and reputation which infallibly attend those who are ingeniously and fortunately inconstant; and yet he would be forced to confess, that Turnus was a thousand times more inconstant than we. Now you know (added he with that seriousness which he sometimes affects when he is minded to act a Vice) when a man would do any thing, he is very proud to be perfect, and the best at it: I am therefore much obliged to you for Turnus' death, who had far outrun Zenocrates and me in Inconstancy. Not but that he hath received much injustice; for when all is done they should not have summed up amongst his inconstancies, the changes of his Love to Caesonia and Danae when he had married them; for as you know, it is not much the mode that Husbands should be in love with their Wives. I assure you, replied Plotina, Persander is still with his, will be as long as he lives, and there is no other difference between what he hath been and what he now is, but that he is not so great a Gallant in public as he was wont; but for the resentments of his Soul, they are as full of tenderness, passion, and respect, as they were when he was but Rival to Turnus. And for my part, I know nothing so unjust as the procedure of those people who spend five or six years in sighing and groaning, and doing whatever lies in their power to gain a woman they love, and having married her, slight her the next day.  
As Plotina was speaking thus, a great noise was heard in the Court, insomuch that Clelia being frighted with it, as being in a condition of always fearing some new misfortune, Plotina went into a little withdrawing Room, which had a little grate that looked into the Court whence the noise was heard. Opening it hastily to see what the matter was, she saw people bring in his body, who had promised to deliver Clelia: Whereupon returning into the Chamber, Ah Madam, cried she, you are not yet come to the period of your misfortunes, for he who should have terminated them is dead. At these words Clelia and Amilcar were extremely surprised, and could not well apprehend what she should say: But having expressed herself more clearly, and Amilcar not knowing how to believe her, he went into the place where she had seen what she spoke of, and saw the body of this pretended Deliverer of Clelia, which they had newly brought in, and an infinite number of people harkening to those that brought it, who related to such as knew it not, how the misfortune happened: So that Amilcar returning into Clelias' Chamber with much sadness in his countenance, she doubted not but what Plotina had said was true, and was extremely troubled at it: Yet could see not for the present comprehend all the malice of her fortune, and little suspected as well as Amilcar, that Aronces had killed this man, whose death happened in so unfortunate a conjuncture.  
In the mean time Amilcar conceiving it necessary he saw Tullia, to persuade her to take this occasion to deliver Clelia before Tarquin should dispose the Guard into another hand, was extremely troubled that he could not get out, for that he who commanded in the absence of the Captain of the Guard who was dead, was so employed about knowing how it had happened, that there was no possibility of speaking to him. It was therefore to no purpose that Amilcar should call to the Guard which was in Clelias' out-chamber to get out, he was forced to stay above four hours ere he could get the door open: But at last he got out, having put Clelia and Plotina into the best hopes he could, though he conceived not much himself.  
As soon as he got out, he went to Tullia's, who discovered an extraordinary trouble at this accident. But Madam, said Amilcar to her; I humbly conceive, that before the King send any new Orders for the guarding of the Captives, it were fit you set them at liberty. Ah Amilcar, said she to him, it is a thing now absolutely impossible; for the Lieutenant to him that is dead, who is now in full power and pretends to his place, is so faithful to Tarquin, that there is no likelihood of corrupting him; and I am but too much given to believe by reason of this accident, that good Fortune begins to shake hands with me, for it hath happened very strangely. To be short (added she) I cannot so much as know who hath killed this man, whose life contributed so much to my quiet; and all that I can say of it is, that the fire began at Brutus' Aunts, that it is said there were some secret enemies of Tarquin's seen in the same street disguised; that they endeavoured to secure them, and that this man was killed by some one whose name cannot be learned: and it hath happened that the stupid Brutus drew his Sword against the King's Officers: But he hath withal so little sense, that he hath been here, as if he had done nothing amiss, and were confident his stupidity should free him from the punishment he deserves. So that considering by what an adventure my design is crossed, and satisfied there must be some plot which I cannot discover, I must needs (if Tarquin change not his mind) take some extraordinary resolution: For if I were to set Rome on fire, to avoid being slighted by a daughter of Clelius', I will rather begin with the Palace where she is imprisoned, than suffer myself to be made the slave of a slave, though I should perish myself in the fire I had kindled. The cruel Tullia spoke this with so much expression of Fury in her looks, that Amilcar was in some doubt that she who had made no conscience to pass through her Father's body to get into the Throne, might easily be drawn into some extravagant resolution. He therefore told her it were not amiss to stay till the end of the Treaty or of the Siege, before she resolved on any thing, and that in the mean time, he would do her what service he could with Tarquin.  
Upon this Spurius Lucretius (who was then Governor of Rome) came to acquaint her, that certainly there must be some secret conspiracy in the City, inregard he had been advertised of some nightmeetings in divers places, and that it was requisite some end were put to the Siege of Ardea, lest the absence of Tarquin might occasion some rising. 'Tis true Lucretius spoke not this aloud; insomuch that Amilcar seeing he whispered, departed, and came to Racilias. But he was much surprised to see the house half burnt, and not to find there neither Aronces, Brutus, Herminius, Racilia, nor Hermilia. Not knowing what to think, he went to Sivelias, where he learned the truth, and where Brutus came soon after, with whom he conferred about what was most fit to be done, for considering how things stood, it seemed necessary they knew what passed in the Camp, and yet it was withal requisite Amilcar remained with Tullia. Whereupon Brutus offered to go to Tarquin, for though nothing were communicated to him, yet was he fitter to observe what was done, than any other, as being not mistrusted by any. Besides that having been made Tribune of the Celeres (which was a kind of Horse-guard first raised by Romulus) he had then some pretence to go to the King about something that related to his employment, which should signify no more then to confirm Tarquin in the opinion of his incapacity: and to speak truly, Tarquin had not bestowed it on him, had it not been to disappoint another of more ability to discharge it; there being at that time no employment gotten by election, but all being at the sole disposal of the Tyrant.  
Brutus therefore took a resolution to go to the Camp, to discover what passed there, that so he might acquaint those who were employed about the deliverance of Rome, the liberty of Clelia, and safety of Aronces. But in his way thither he took that house of Valerius' where Aronces was, to whom he delivered Clelias' letter, which he had received from Amilcar, and withal acquainted him, that he was not charged with any thing had passed, as also neither Herminius, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, nor Celeres. He told them however, it was not fit they returned to Rome before this Tumult were appeased, and that it were known what Tarquin said of it.  
Herminius in the mean time whose purpose it was to get into Ardea, was detained by Aronces till the very last day of the Cessation. But Tarquin having some suspicion of Valerius, Brutus told them he thought it not safe for them to stay in that place, so that he advised them to go along with him as soon as it were night, assuring them he would bring them to a certain house of Collatia where they should be more secure. But (replied Herminius) you consider not that Collatine is Lord of Collatia: Pardon me (replied he) but I know Collatine is in the Camp, and that he sees Lucretia but very seldom; besides the house to which I would bring you to, stands alone far from any other; the Master of it is one that hath neither Wife nor Children, one that hath a dependence on me, and may be trusted. This said, Brutus was no further opposed; and Valerius who was present, being of the same mind, they went away that evening together, and Brutus conducted his friends to that man's house where he himself had lodged, when he saw Lueretia in the Garden, which was the last time that ever he spoke to her. For from that time he had not so much as the sight of her, so carefully had she avoided all interviews with him, and endeavoured to live a retired and solitary life. The Moon shining very bright, as this illustrious Troop came near Collatia, Brutus discovered the house where Lucretia lived; whereupon not being able to keep from sighing, Aronces who was next him, overheard it, and asked him the reason of it. Alas (said he to him) can I possible see the house where the attractive Lucretia lives, and not sigh. Ah my dear Brutus (said Aronces to him) though your grief be just, yet is it not so well grounded as mine; for as to Lucretia, you fear neither her death nor the exorbitance of a Tyrant. 'Tis true, the punishment of my love consists not in fear (replied he) but I feel something worse than the most horrid fear, since I am certain never to have any society with the Divine Lucretia, and having at the same time a love for her, and a hatred for Tarquin, my soul struggles with two violent Passions, without any hope to satisfy them; for though I am continually plotting against this cruel Tyrant, yet my reason tells me, I shall never destroy him; so that I rather contrive my own destruction, and am busied to deceive myself, then to do any advantageous service to my Country: Aronces answered Brutus as might be expected from an unfortunate Lover, that is, as a man who thought himself the most miserable of all Lovers; for as we think not the misfortunes past, less than those we suffer; but in as much as the sense of them is passed; so does not any man believe the misfortunes o another less than his own, but because he is not sensible of them.  
But at length Brutus having disposed his friends into the man's house who was so faithful to him, took his way to the Camp, where he arrived just upon the departure of Sextus, who was gone no body knew whither. As soon he came, he went to see Tarquin, the Prince of Pometia and Titus, who having already heard of the burning of Racilias house, the death of the Captain of the Guard, and the tumult which followed in Rome, asked him what news he brought; but he much wondered that they knew not what he had done in the adventure, and it seems Tullia, and those who had sent Tarquin the account of it, gave so little heed to what Brutus had done, that they had quite forgot to acquaint this Prince that he was any way concerned in the disorder. He was also very glad to see that Aronces, Herminius, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres, were not at all accused.  
But the Prince of Pometia, who had an infinite affection for Hermilia, was more inquisitive into the accident of the fire, so to be satisfied what was become of her. 'Tis true, Brutus answered so impertinently to what was asked him, that this Prince was not much more satisfied than before; nor indeed had Brutus any other business there, than to hear what was said. He therefore understood that the Treaty of Ardea was still in the same Posture, and that there was no great hope of any alteration; Tarquin being willing to deliver up all the Captives but Clelia, but would by no means hear of dismissing her. But Horatius who was grown very powerful in Ardea, obliged the people of that City to demand the liberty of Clelia, as well as Caesonia, Plotina, Danae, and their friends. The Envoy of the King of Clusium made a great stir that there was no news of Aronces, and employed all the interest he could to hinder Clelia from coming into the hands of those of Ardea. But he might have spared both his fear and his pains, for Tarquin's passion was obstacle enough.  
Things being in this posture, Tullia and Lucretius sent severally to Tarquin, and those who were sent by them, came into his Tent while Brutu: was there, which the Tyrant took no notice of. Brutus by this means hearing what was said to Tarquin, as being not bidden by any one to withdraw, he understood that the Messenger from Tullia told him, that she had at last discovered that Herminius lay concealed in Rome; that it was he whom the Captain of the Guard would have secured; that Aronces with three other friends had relieved Herminius, that they had left Rome; and therefore it lay upon him to find them out. On the other side, Lucretius particularly acquainted Tarquin, that he had discovered that Tullia endeavoured to get the Captives into her own power, though he knew not the reason of it; and that he had understood that some persons had lain concealed at Valerius' Country house, who were gone thence towards Collatia. But within two hours after Lucretius himself arrives, to acquaint Tarquin that since he had sent to him, he had been credibly informed that those who had lain hid at Valeria's, were for certain at Collatia, or at least had been there: So that Tarquin being exasperated at so many unlucky reports, gave out divers unjust and violent orders. And Clelia being that which at that time found his mind most employment, he resolved to have her brought to the Camp, that so she might not be at the disposal of Tullia, saying aloud to one of those Creatures who promoted his Passions, that she should absolutely either satisfy his Love or his Revenge. For Herminius, his purpose was to promise extraordinary rewards to those that should bring him either dead or alive: He resolved to make the same promises to those that should bring Aronces to him; and for Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres, he was extremely incensed at what they had done.  
Brutus' understanding so many things of so great consequence together, none having the least fear or suspicion of him, thought fit his Friends at Collatia had notice thereof: But not knowing well how to trust any other with what he knew, he resolved to go himself to the place where he had left them, to bid them depart thence: Yet could he not go till the next morning, lest his departure might be suspected. But as he was ready to depart, the Prince of Pometia and Titus, who were going to Rome to see Hormilia and Collatina, asked him whether he would follow them, supposing he was also bound for Rome: Besides that they were much taken with Brutus' affected simplicity, especially ever since he had accompanied them in their journey to Delphi, when Tarquin frighted by a prodigy, had sent these two Princes to the Oracle at Delphi to know the meaning of it, though till that time they always sent upon such occasions into Tuscany. Now Brutus had behaved himself so ingeniously in this voyage, that without discovering his understanding, he had diverted them very much: But he had carried himself more cunningly than they thought, for he had brought an offering to Delphi, though they perceived it not, which was in some measure a representation of his understanding; for he had caused a kind of Golden Sceptre to be enclosed in one of those staves which men carry rather out of grave Custom or as a badge of Authority, than for necessity; to intimate to Posterity at least, that his understanding lay concealed under a gross stupidity, as that precious offering was enclosed within a piece of Wood of little value. Nay Brutus had better understood, than those Princes, the answer of the Oracle which they consulted: For they having demanded who should Reign after Tarquin, the Oracle answered, He who should first kiss his Mother. The Prince of Pometia and Titus (as witty as they were) had understood it according to the literal sense, and had put it to the chance between themselves, whether of them should first salute the cruel Tullia, hoping thereby to exclude Prince Sextus their Brother, though the first born of the Family. But Brutus not acquainting them with their error, found out another meaning of the words of the Oracle; for imagining, that the Earth is the common Mother of all men, he pretended to fall down, and kissing the ground, he thanked the Gods that had put him in some hopes he should one day put a period to the Reign of so cruel a Tyrant. This hope yet was but very weak when the Prince of Pometia and Titus, asked him to go along with them to Rome, as being in no small fear of Tarquin's cruelty, towards those persons for whom of all the world he had the greatest esteem.  
But that he might omit nothing that lay in his power for their preservation, he excused himself to those who would have carried him to Rome, not but that it was his intention to go thither, as soon as he had been at Collatia, for he thought it necessary that Amilcar should employ his interest with Tullia for the welfare of that admirable person, without whom Aronces could not be happy. To make therefore the best advantage of his time, he departed, purposing to go attended only by one slave: But Fortune was pleased to dispose otherwise of him, for Tarquin who was impatient to have in his power those who he was informed lay hid at Valerius', and who were or had been at Collatia, entreated Collatine and his Father-in-Law Lucretius, to go thither immediately, and if they were there to cause them to be secured, if not, to be pursued. Now it happened so fortunately that they overtook Brutus in a cross Road, where one way led to Rome the other to Collatia. Brutus no question was not a little troubled at their arrival; for he easily imagined that Collatine and Lucretius went not without some reason to Collatia.  
But though he could give them no good account of his taking that way with them, yet he bore them company, they never ask why he did it; for taking no great heed to him, they fell a discoursing as freely as if he had not been there, and permitted him to follow them without so much as speaking to him. He in the mean time desirous to dive into their design, harkened very attentively to what they said. Lucretius was engaged to Tarquin out of considerations of Ambition, and Collatine of Kindred, for they were both virtuous, and detested the cruelty of that Prince: So that falling into discourse about their present employment, I know not, says Lucretius to Collatine, whether we should be glad to find what we are going to look for; for though I was heretofore the cause of Herminius' banishment, I would not have him now fall into the hands of Tarquin. But was it not you (replied Collatine) that informed the King that some people lay concealed at Valerius'? 'Tis true (replied Lucretius) but if I had not done it, I must have concealed myself; for the cruel Tullia knowing that I had understood so much, I was no longer Master of it: I am now satisfied, but too late, that Lucretia's Mother had much reason when she would have dissuaded me from engaging myself too far into the Interests of Tarquin; for to measure things according to his nature, there is nothing so certain, as that he is a professed enemy to all that are any way ambitious, or have any love of Glory; and indeed it was the constant saying of my wife, that Tarquin would be the only ambitious man in the State, that those who lived under him must not be his Subjects but his Slaves; that he would ever be an enemy to all persons of honour, and that I should one day be o'er whelmed with the ruins of his house, if I disintangled not myself out of his concernments. I assure you (replied Collatine) that Lucretia continues in the resentments of her Mother, for though she leads a very retired life, and seems to be nothing concerned in those things that are done in the World, she hath Tarquin in the greatest detestation that may be. She never meets with any occasion to say something which might disengage me from the interests of Tarquin, but she doth it with such earnestness, as I find her not subject to in any thing else. She remembers all the exorbitances of Tarquin, and all the cruelties of Tullia: She hath not forgotten even those little expressions of Generosity, in words which fell from all those whom they have either banished or put to death, and from the constancy of so many illustrious but unfortunate persons; she draws those infallible consequences, which convince her that Tarquin will be ruined; so that she is perpetually telling me it were better to live quietly at Collatia, than to be so much about the King. It is long since (replied coldly Lucretius, reflecting on the Letter he had some time found) my daughter hath had a horrid aversion for Tarquin, though she could not well tell the reason of it, for people of her age are not ordinarily much concerned in State affairs.  
Brutus hearing what Lucretius said, was much troubled at it, and felt in his heart a certain redintegration of Love which filled it with joy, out of an imagination he had, that he was somewhat concerned in the hatred which Lucretia had for Tarquin, and that when she would oblige Collatine to disengage himself from his interest, and endeavoured to persuade him that the Tyrant would be destroyed, she called to mind the design which he told her he should have as long as he lived to ruin him. So that entertaining himself with this reflection; Alas, infinitely amiable Lucretia, said he, is it possible that I am not banished out of your memory, and that the love of the unfortunate Brutus, contributes somewhat to the hatred you have for Tarquin? Can I yet be happy enough to deserve the reflection of your thoughts in the midst of your solitude? But why should I doubt it, resumed he, doth not the innocency of our affection assure me, that Lucretia remembers it without any disturbance of mind, and that it is the object of her most pleasant imaginations?  
As Brutus entertained himself in this manner, he heard Collatine say to Lucretius, but is not that Sextus who crosses the Road, and who followed only by one Slave, seems to avoid meeting with us? 'Tis he without doubt (answered Lucretius) but since he will not be seen, let us not see him; for he is young, insolent, and fantastic; and certainly it were not civility to pretend to see him since he endeavours so much to avoid it. But whence should he come now, added Lucretius? Princes of his humour (replied Collatine) do things so obscurely, that it must never be asked whence they come.  
While Lucretius and Collatine were thus engaged in discourse, and kept on their way not pretending to see Sextus, who crossed the fields purposely to avoid them; Brutus felt somewhat in his heart which cannot admit expression; for looking on Sextus as a Lover of Lucretia, he was tempted to put his feigned stupidity in practice, and to follow and lay hold on him as a Rival, whom he abominably hated, and indeed he might easily have quitted Lucretius and Collatine, who would not have hindered him, and have pursued Sextus who had but one slave about him no more than he. But thinking withal, that when he should have killed Sextus, Rome were not delivered, and that he must quit the design of delivering it, the love of his Country stifled in him that violent eruption of jealousy which had stirred him, when he saw Prince Sextus, who riding very fast, soon got out of their sight, whose meeting he so much avoided.  
But they had scarce rid on half an hour, ere Collatine spies one of the Slaves that belonged to his wife coming towards them, running as fast as he could possible, thereby discovering there was something extraordinary that obliged him to make such haste: So that Collatine coming up to him, What's the reason, (said he to him) that thou makest such haste? Hath Lucretia sent thee about some business that requires it? Right my Lord, (replied the Slave) and I am commanded from her, to tell you and Spurius Lucretius, that it concerns her very much to see you both as soon as may be possible. She further desires you if it may be, to bring some of her intimate friends with you: But knowest thou not (replied Collatine) what hath obliged Lucretia to send thee? No my Lord (replied he) and I have no more to say to you than what you have heard.  
Lucretius and Collatine not able to imagine what should oblige Lucretia to send for them, began to put on somewhat faster than before, not saying any thing to Brutus, who having a greater Curiosity to know what the matter was than they, followed them, they not offering to forbid him: For besides that, he was never mistrusted by any; he had also endeavoured as much as his stupidity permitted him, to hold a fair correspondence with Collatine, out of a hope that it might one day procure him the happiness to see Lucretia. They therefore rid all three faster than they had done before, and that without speaking to one another, every one imagining to himself what might be the occasion of this message. But for Brutus, his mind was in a greater disturbance than either of the two; for it coming into his thoughts that he was to see his dear Lucretia, whom he had not seen since he had had with her the most passionate, and most ravishing discourse that ever was, he had a certain trouble in his mind, which yet had something in it that was pleasant.  
But at length they came to Collatia, where they were no sooner arrived, but they met Valerius, who having had notice that he was suspected, was going to a certain friends house; so that Lucretia having desired her Father and Husband to bring some of their friends with them, they stayed him; for though Valerius was not engaged in the concernments of Tarquin, yet was he no enemy either to Lucretius or Collatine. Taking him therefore along with them, they passed by the house where Aronces, Herminius, Artemidorus and Celeres were. But Brutus did not so much as look that way; and for Lucretius and Collatine, they almost forgot they were sent to Collatia from Tarquin, so much were there minds taken up with the message they had received. Having therefore alighted, they were going into the house, and were hardly gotten to the stone walk which you come into, when you have passed through the Court, but they spy Lucretia, who was on the other side in an Entry at the bottom of the Stairs, but they perceived her to be ruffled, pale and melancholy, and they saw in her looks, grief, indignation, and disorder. 'Tis true, she blushed extremely, when intending to lift up her eyes, and to speak, she met those of Brutus. That sight put her into such disturbance, that she stepped back, turned her head aside, and was not able to bring forth that she was about to say. But at length having lifted up her eyes to Heaven, she turned herself towards her Father and her Husband, who seeing in what trouble his Wife was, was very earnest with her to know the cause. Ah Collatine (said she to him) lifting up her eyes a second time to Heaven (as it were to beg its protection) if the misfortune which hath happened to me could be expressed, it were not so great as it is; but all that modesty permits me to tell you, is, that the infamous Sextus came into my Chamber, that he is both, the most criminal, and the most insolent of men; and I am the most unfortunate person of my Sex, though the most innocent. This known (continued she, with tears in her eyes) ask me no more, but be so generous, as to promise I shall be revenged, that you will exterminate even the whole Family of the Tarquins, that you will die rather than suffer them to live; and in a word, that none hereafter may know the violence I have received, but shall withal, know the revenge that followed it. As she delivered these words, Lucretia certainly not out of any design, met again the looks of Brutus; 'tis true, she presently turned aside, but not till he could have received certain motions which seemed to demand his particular revenge on Prince Sextus. Whereupon her Husband coming near her, began to cheer up, and promised to revenge her, while a faithful woman-slave, that belonged to this afflicted Beauty, gave Lucretius a short account of Sextus' Crime, and this terrible accident, which all the World hath been acquainted with; upon which, Lucretius, as well as Collatine and Valerius, promised Lucretia to revenge her. For Brutus he promised no otherwise than by his looks, and certain threatening gestures, which he could not abstain from; for though he was desirous to speak, yet could he not possibly do it on this first apprehension, such a storm had grief, rage, indignation, love, and jealousy raised in him.  
But these four Illustrious Romans having promised Lucretia to revenge her, Valerius, who loved her extremely for her virtue, besides the relation of an ancient friend of his illustrious daughters, desired her not to afflict herself so much, and that she should live for the pleasure sake of seeing herself revenged. No, no Valerius (replied this generous person) it shall never be said that Lucretia hath taught the Romans by her Example, that a Woman can outlive her Reputation. With these words, the virtuous Lucretia appearing more fair and resolute than before, drew a Poniard, which she had hid about her, and lifting up her hand and arm, and looking up towards Heaven, as it were, to offer herself a sacrifice to those Gods whom she invoked, she thrust it into her breast, and fell down with her bosom all bloody, at the feet of the unfortunate Brutus, who had the fatal advantage to have the last of her looks, and to hear the last of her sighs. For while Lucretia, Collatine and Valerius were making horrid out-cries to express their astonishment and their sorrow, this unhappy Lover cast himself on the ground, snatches the Poniard out of Lucretia's breast, and seeing her resigning up her last breath, in a manner as if she yet knew him, and begging his revenge, his mind was seized by a certain heroic fury, which when he saw that this admirable Woman was dead, raised him up, with the Poniard all bloody in his hand, and enabled him to speak with such Eloquence as the Gods seemed to have inspired into him. Insomuch, that all those who in an instant were come from all parts of the Town, to see so sad a spectacle, were strangely surprised to hear Brutus, who still held up the bloody Poniard: For he spoke the noblest things in the World, to engage Lucretia, Collatine, Valerius, and all that heard him, to revenge the injury done to Lucretia, and expel out of Rome the Family of the Tarquins. So that prevailing with all those who heard him, both by reason of the admiration they had of him, and by the sight of so fair and so sad an object, as also those great things he said unto them, he derived the fury of his own spirit into those who heard him.  
This done, he delivered the Poniard into the hands of Collatine, and thence into those of Lucretius and Valerius, and afterwards into those of all that were present, and made them all swear by the chaste blood of Lucretia, to revenge her death, to follow and be guided by him: Whereupon, not to spend time in fruitless tears, he sent for Aronces, Herminius, Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres, and having given them the same Oath with the same Ceremony, he commanded Lucretia's Chariot to be made ready, and assisted by Aronces, his dear friend Herminius, and divers others, he puts into it the fair Corpse of that virtuous person, laid on rich Cushions, and causing the Chariot to be covered with a Mourning Cloth, he himself gets on Horseback, commands all the people to follow him, and riding up and down the City of Collatia with this Poniard in his hand, he presently took his way towards Rome. But he was followed thither by all the the people of Collatia, that were able to follow him; for as the virtue of Lucretia, while she lived, raised her into the adoration of all; so being dead, did it engage them to revenge her death; and for more security, Valerius set Guards at the Gates of Collatia, to hinder any thing to be carried to Tarquin. Brutus therefore comes to the Gates of Rome with a considerable number of armed people about him, every one having what he could get, before any notice of his coming was brought. For his part, he rid behind the Chariot of Lucretia, so that having that sad object still in his sight, and the Poniard wherewith Lucretia had killed herself in his hand, he thought what cannot well be imagined, and what it was impossible he could have expressed himself, love, grief, jealousy and rage, had put his reason into so much disorder. He hath indeed since said, to express the greatness of his disturbance, that in this emergency he minded not the Liberty of Rome, but in order to revenge the death of the innocent Lucretia, and made use of the Interest of his Country, which was so dear to him, only to satisfy his Passion. Nor did he then think of revenging the death of his Father and Brother, and so much was his mind taken up with this sad accident, that Lucretia was the only cause of this great and dangerous attempt. Nor was this design so inconsiderate as it seemed to be: For brutus, Aronces, Valerius, Herminius, Zenocrates, Artemidorus and Celeres knew that there was in Rome so great an inclination to a Revolt, and were so well informed of the great number of those who were secret Enemies to Tarquin, that they entertained some hopes the people might be drawn into an insurrection. Aronces hoping the deliverance of Rome might procure Clelias' liberty, was as zealous to break its chains, as if he had been a Roman, and was as earnest in the revenge of Lucretia, as if he had been her Brother. Herminius for his part, had been always so exasperated against the violences of Tarquin, was so sensible of this adventure of his friend, and so moved at the affliction of Brutus, that he was as forward to revenge Lucretia, as if Valeria had received the same injury. For Artemidorus, Zenocrates and Celeres, they being all virtuous and gallant souls, were easily drawn in to engage in this noble attempt; and for Valerius it was so long since he wished the destruction of Tarquin, and the Liberty of Rome, that he was easily concerned in the revenge of Lucretia. But that which was most strange, was that Lucretius and Collatine, who were sent from the Camp to exercise the Orders of the Tyrant at Collatia, and who had permitted Brutus to follow them without saying any thing to him, acknowledged him for their Leader, and came along with those, whom had not this sad accident happened, they should have secured, and conducted into the Prisons of Tarquin; such a change of resolutions did this strange adventure work in them, and so much respect had the great worth of Brutus, discovering itself so unexpectedly inspired into them.  
On the other side, Aronces, Herminius, and his friends, who had quitted Rome disguised, were now resolved to appear there openly. 'Tis true, they were attended by a strange multitude of people from Collatia, who by reason of their discontents were fit instruments to raise a Commotion in Rome. Besides, Aronces, Herminius, and Valerius having conferred together, had thought fit their friends had notice to be ready, for their force could not march very fast, by reason of the Chariot which carried the Corpse of Lucretia. They therefore sent Celeres before, who receiving instructions from these three excellent persons, made haste to give Amilcar notice to get together all their friends in the most spacious place of Rome, and that they should come thither armed. He was also to advertise the Salii and the Vestals, with whom they held intelligence, that there might be nothing wanting, which might contribute to the enterprise. Lucretius for his part, being then Governor of Rome, sent Orders to those who were under him, to be ready for some expedition, bidding him whom he sent not to mention, what had happened to Lucretia. To be short, the Chariot that brought the Corpse of that admirable person came to Rome, before any thing was suspected.  
Being come to the Gates, Brutus who doubted not but the sight of so sad a spectacle would move to pity, and exasperate the hearts of the people, and consequently engage them to a rising, went himself and took off the great mourning Cloth that covered that excellent body; but as he drew it off, he turned his head aside to hide his trouble from Collatine. Whereupon, the Chariot entered uncovered into the City followed by Brutus, who held the bloody Poniard in his hand, and by the Father and Husband of Lucretia with their eyes full of tears, and by the multitude of the people that came from Collatia, bewailing the death of Lucretia. Curiosity and amazement soon seized the minds of all those who were spectators of so strange a spectacle, and the same beauty of Lucretia which made her subject to receive the violence, contributed also to her revenge: For being but newly dead, she appeared so admirably handsome, that the people of Rome who had heard so much of her Beauty, and hardly ever seen her by reason of the solitary life she led, was extremely moved at the sight of so many Charms; hut seeing her dead, was desirous to know the cause of her death and the rather from that multitude of people who followed the Chariot, and wept as they went.  
This obliged almost all those who saw Lucretia's body, to follow it, and so augmented the number of those that accompanied it, insomuch that he who conducted the Chariot, being hindered by the crowd of people, was forced to go more softly. Brutus, thought fit the people had time to come together, to soften and be moved of itself before the design absolutely broke forth, and that it were not amiss to expect till they were come to that place where they were to find their friends met together. He therefore said not a word, and riding close to Lucretia's Chariot, he only showed the people by some gesture of his hand and eyes that object. But being come to that spacious place, which is between the Capitol and the Palatine Hill, where they were resolved to rest, Brutus caused the Chariot to be stayed before the Gate of the Temple of Jupiter Stator, which Romulus had built in accomplishment of a vow, which he had made in the time of the war with the Sabins.  
This done, Brutus alighted, and got up on a place two steps high, whence, as being at that time Tribune of the Celeres, he had the privilege to speak in public on divers occasions. At first sight, in regard he was accustomed to make known the Orders of Tarquin, with much simplicity to those that were under his charge, there was no body troubled himself much to hearken to what he said, all thronging to get near Lucretia's Chariot, and to understand the circumstances of her death. But Amilcar coming in, followed by a great number of Valerius, Herminius and Collatine's friends, and those who had before heard Brutus speak at Collatia, making it their business to impose silence on the rest of the multitude; at length, the illustrious, and too too unfortunate Lover, with a fierceness in his countenance that challenged respect, lifted up his eyes to Heaven, and showing to the people the Poniard he had in his hand.  
BEhold Generous Romans (said he to them with a certain accent of Authority) this is the very Poniard which the fair Lucretia thrust into her own heart, though as far from any crime as innocence itself. I show it you, O ye Romans, to obtain your permission to use it against the most cruel enemy you have. 'Tis for that, that the illustrious Father of the virtuous Lucretia, and her unfortunate Husband are come with tears in their eyes to demand justice of you: But that you see so many gallant men with their arms in their hands, is not so much to revenge the death of this generous Roman Lady, as to deliver you out of Slavery. This is the day, generous Romans, that you must shake off the the Yoke of the outrageous Tarquin, and the cruel Tullia. The blood of Lucretia hath made Heaven propitious to you, and the injury she hath received from the eldest Son of your Tyrant, engageth all the Gods so far to revenge her death, that though you should not concern yourselves in it, I am confident the same Gods who have inspired into me the attempt of turning him out of the Throne which he hath usurped, will take vengeance of his presumption, and will also punish you for your baseness, if you join not with so many gallant men, who are resolved to die this day, and be sacrificed near the body of the chaste Lucretia, rather than continue their subjection to the most abominable Tyrant in the World.  
Brutus pronounced these words with such a noble confidence, that the people of Rome astonished to hear him speak after this manner, was really persuaded the Gods had done a miracle on him, that the great understanding he then expressed was inspired into him; that they ought to look on him as a Messenger from Heaven; that they should hearken to him with respect, and follow his directions; so easy a matter it is, to dispose of the minds of the people, when one knows how to make use of those things whereby they are surprised. So that after a great noise of acclamations, every one crying silence, the whole multitude became so strangely quiet, that Brutus drawing a happy Presage from the attention they gave him, continued in these words.  
I Have already told you, generous Romans, continued he, that this was the day designed for your Liberty, and I tell it you oncemore. This certainly is the day that you shall recover your own just Authority, since that it is of you that Lucretius and Collatine demand justice for the violence the chaste Lucretia hath received from the insolent Sextus. But alas, who can say he ever saw a crime equal to this of his? For suppose this injury of Sextus had been done to one of your Slaves, it were capital according to our Laws. But, generous Romans, you are not to learn that Lucretia was of a very noble blood, descended of a Family very considerable in Rome, even before the first of the Tarquins had so much as thought of leaving Greece to come into Italy. You know further, that she was admired for virtue; that she was Daughter to the Governor of Rome, and wife to a near Kinsman of Tarquin. But it seems neither the consideration of blood, nor that of Hospitality, nor the obligations of humane or divine Laws, nor any respect of the Penatial Gods, witnesses of the presumptuous fury of Sextus, had the power to divert him from committing a crime so abominable, that it can hardly be expressed, and such as the virtuous Lucretia, though she contributed nothing thereto, could endure to outlive, and hath chosen rather to die than to be in a condition to be guilty, though but of the memory of it. But if the innocent Lucretia hath perished through the crime of Sextus, it is but just that Sextus be destroyed to satisfy the death of the innocent Lucretia. It is therefore of you, generous Romans, that Lucretius demands justice for the death of his only daughter: And it is of you that Collatine demands the same justice for the outrage he hath received from a Prince that should have been his Protector. For to whom can these illustrious, but unfortunate persons address themselves to be revenged of their Enemy? To the cruel Tullia, Mother to this unjust Prince? To her, I say, who made no conscience to poison her former Husband, though the most virtuous Prince in the World, who contrived her Sister's death, a woman infinitely virtuous; who saw her Father massacred, though the greatest and wisest of all our Kings, and caused her Chariot to pass over the body of that unfortunate Prince, to get into the Throne she is now possessed of with so much injustice: You know, Romans, that I tell you nothing but what is true, and that I add nothing thereto. How then can we hope for any protection from the wickedest woman in the world, to revenge the most virtuous? Nor is there any probability of obtaining any justice of the Husband of such a Wife, a worthy Father of the Executioner of the innocent Lucretia. For besides that, he hath contributed to all the crimes of Tullia, that he poisoned his former Wife, put to death a Brother and a Father-in-law, what hath he not done to yourselves? and what hath he not done to all Romans in general, and to every one in particular? He hath thrust Slaves into the Senate, he hath impoverished the rich, oppressed the poor, banished or put to death all of quality, who have not dissembled their virtue to save their lives; he hath undertaken a War only to keep you under, he hath imputed false crimes to hook in the fortunes of those ●e did accuse; and hath even built Temples, though a despiser of the Gods, as much as of men, only to amuse and employ the common people, that so he might the more Tyranically exercise the Authority he hath acquired through thousands of crimes. By this means is it come pass, that the same Romans, (who according to sacred Presages, were looked on as Conquerors of the World) are turned wretched Mechanics, and are fitter to handle a Rule and Chisel, than a Sword or a Buckler. Nevertheless, as wicked and abominable as he is, if he were but your lawful King, Lucretius and Collatine would submit to his injustice, without troubling you with their revenge, and would content themselves to seek it only of the Gods. For my own part, I should also apply myself to them for that of my Father and Brother's death, who, as you know, increased the number of his innocent Victims. But generous Romans, you know that Tarquin is not your lawful King, nor ever can be. This unjust Prince is crept into the Throne, contrary to the Fundamental Laws of our State; he was chosen neither by the Senate, nor by the people; he laughed at the Augurs, and their Presages, which are observed upon these occasions, and slighted all Ceremonies of Religion, which he hath always made a stalking-horse to the Interests of his Ambition. You should therefore be so far from acknowledging him to be your King, that you should think yourselves obliged by the fidelity you owe your last lawful King to revenge his death. Revenge it then, Romans, by revenging that of Lucretia, and to give you another motive to induce you thereto, know that the Daughter of the virtuous Clelius, your fellow-Citizen, whose life the Tyrant, after he had banished him, hath so often endeavoured to take away, is one of his Captives, and that haply she will be exposed to all the misfortunes of Lucretia, if we do not suddenly deliver her. But what do I say? Your business is not only to revenge your late King, your Fellow-Citizens dead or hanished, nor to deliver the Daughter of virtuous Clelius, and Niece of the Grand Vestal, but it lies upon you to revenge yourselves, and to keep your Wives, your Daughters and Sisters from falling into the same inconveniences. Consider, O ye Romans, what kind of Successor Tarquin will leave you, if you take not a generous resolution to root out the whole Family; consider what presumption Sextus will arise to, if this crime escape unpunished; how great the insolence will be of a new Tyrant, born and brought up in Tyranny; and whom we shall encourage to be more cruel through our own shameful cowardice. Let us then take this generous resolution, which the whole World shall one day celebrate with infinite praises; all we have to do, to be free, is to will it, we need no more than shut our Gates against a Tyrant, to become Masters of Rome, and to drive away a mischievous Woman, to banish hence all Vices. When we have once put in execution so noble a design, I am confident Tarquin's own Soldiers will prove his most implacable Enemies. They are all your Brethren, your Children, or your Friends, they are subject to the same tyranny as you are; you are all engaged in the same interests, they acknowledge the same Laws, they adore the same Gods; and certainly, we shall no sooner have shown them so great an Example of Virtue, but they will cheerfully imitate us. The most difficult part of the attempt is past, in that we have taken the boldness to speak so freely, and break that infamous silence, which made us the Complices of Tarquin by conniving at so many outrages, so many villainies, so many crimes. But since we have this day begun to bemoan ourselves, I doubt not but our lamentations will stir up the virtue of all Romans, and that what was privately resolved, will be publicly put in execution. Tell me, I beseech you, Generous Romans, is there any one among you, who hath not secretly repined at the injustice of Tarquin, and hath not made vows and imprecations against him? And have I not reason to believe that all Romans will be of our side? Nay, I dare presume to tell you, that you are no longer in a condition to deliberate what you have to do; for since you have heard my Remonstrances, it concerns your welfare, that you carry the business on to the utmost extremity: Tarquin, as you well know, being so little accustomed to make any difference between the innocent and the guilty, that he would rather sacrifice all the Romans to his vengeance, than suffer one particular Roman to escape his revenge. Be therefore no longer in suspense, since you are already Traitors to him; and that you may defy his injustice, resign yourselves to the conduct of the Gods. I therefore conjure you in the name of Romulus, our illustrious Founder, not to suffer Sextus to come into the number of his Successors; I conjure you further in the name of Numa, the most religious of all our Kings; and I conjure you once more, in the name of Servius Tullus, the wisest and most virtuous Prince that ever was. But I particularly demand your revenge for the admirable Lucretia, and the liberty of Clelia, in the name of the virtuous Tanaquil, whose memory will never be lost among us. Consider therefore once more, that since we have no lawful King, you have the disposal of the Supreme Power. Consider, I say, that you will be guilty of all the crimes your Tyrants shall hereafter commit, if you lay not hold of this opportunity, that Fortune sources upon you. The day I now speak to you on, is a fortunate day, it is neither that of the Calends, nor that of the Nones, nor yet that of the Ides, all which are fatal to great Enterprises; all Presages favour us; and in a word, as I have told you already, we have no more to do to be free, than to desire it. Let us therefore courageously take up arms for the Liberty of our Country; but let it be with that Heroic Confidence, which is always precedent to all great and fortunate emergencies. I have already told you, that this attempt is easy, and I tell it you once more; but supposing it were not, and that we must struggle with a Civil War within our Walls, such as might arm Citizens against Citizens; that we must see the same Forces that now besiege Ardea before Rome, and that the Temple of Janus were to be eternally open, should this oblige us to quit the design of destroying so unjust a Tyrant? Were it not more noble to see our Country engaged in a perpetual War, than forced to a perpetual Slavery? Romulus, who is now in the number of the Immortal, waged a War against the Sabines as soon as he had laid the Foundations of Rome, but upon much slighter grounds than we have to war against Tarquin, since that he continued it to justify the carrying away the Sabine Virgins; and we have to deal with the Ravisher of Lucretia. Numa the Second of our Kings, but the first for Piety, allowed by his Laws, that there might be just Wars, though he met not with any occasion to raise any during all his Reign. Tullus Hostilius did not only carry on that so famous War of Alba; but was also engaged against the Fidenates and the Veientes. Ancus Martius had to do with the Inhabitants of Latium, with the Sabines, the Veientes, and the Volsci. The former of the Tarquins of whose virtues the latter have not any, had he not War with divers Nations, especially the Tuscans? And Servius Tullus, a person of much Virtue and Moderation, did he make any difficulty to War against the Tuscans, though out of no other considerations than those of Glory? Judge then, Romans, from hence what these great Princes would have done, if the public Liberty had been in any danger, ●● that it had been to revenge so horrida crime as that of Sextus ' s. Have not we been engaged in a War for Tarquin? And are we not still engaged in one against our Neighbours to make him the more powerful? Why then may we not as well be engaged against him? It cannot be said we want any thing to raise it; for if we are for ourselves, there is nothing against us, Rome having within its own Walls, Soldiers, Captains, Armies, and wherewithal to subsist, without the assistance of any thing but its own strength, and its own virtue. Let us then resolve to undergo the miseries of an eternal War, rather than sign a Peace with our Tyrants; for even the certainty of death should not fright us from doing our duty, since a glorious death is to be preferred before an ignominious life. Besides, imagine not there is any among us, that expects or pretends to be your King; for we absolutely declare to you, that our design aims only at the destruction of the Tyrant, and that we act upon no other Principles than those of the Public Good, Justice and Glory. Let us then courageously take up arms; for, as I have already told you, it were henceforth more dangerous to continue in Peace, than to begin a War. Let us revenge the innocent Lucretia: Let us maintain the privileges of the Vestals, which Tarquin hath violated by detaining the Captives of Ardea: Let us recall Virtue into Rome, and to execute the first act of Authority: Let us expel Tullia out of our City: Let us shut the Gates of Rome against our Tyrants: Let us make good our Walls, if they assault us: And in a word, let us rather die like true Romans, than live any longer like infamous Slaves. And now, O ye just Gods (added Brutus, looking up to Heaven) who are the disposers of this World, and the Protectors of Rome, infuse a true desire of glory into the hearts of the people that hears me, and suffer not your Altars to be any longer profaned by the unworthy Offerings of our Tyrants. And you, illustrious Founder of our City, whom Virtue hath ranked amongst the Immortal, suffer not your work to be destroyed; and let not Rome, which must one day be Mistress of the World, be any longer subject to the humours of the most cruel of Mankind, and suffer not virtue to be at such a distance from the Throne, as not to be secured against Vice, even in the houses of private persons. Divine Egeria, who inspired wise Numa with such holy Laws, infuse into all those that hear me, an ardent desire to destroy him, who hath so slightly observed them. Diana, Goddess of Chastity, to whom our late King hath built a sumptuous Temple, suffer not the chaste Lucretia to be unrevenged. Ye sacred Guardians of our Houses, for whom we pretend to have a particular adoration, forsake us not, but resign up our enemies to our just vengeance. And finally, thou great Jupiter, Master of all the Gods, to whom the abominable Tarquin hath built a Temple, out of sacrilegious motives, kerb this insupportable Tyrant, whose Pride is such as only Thunder can pull down. Revenge so many unfortunate men unjustly oppressed; hinder Rome from being destroyed, inflict the severest punishment on me that may be, if the love of my Country be not the only resentment of my heart; and as far as it is possible, infuse into all Romans the same resentments of treated for their Tyrants, as the heart of Brutus is at this time seized with, that Rome may be delivered, and all Romans put into a condition of happiness. Let us proceed (generous Romans) this is the last day of your Slavery; if you follow me, Victory expects us, and I see her already stretching out her Arms to us. Speak, that I may know whether your apprehensions are the same with mine, or at least satisfy me by certain signs, what you would, or would not have. For if it be true, that I and my friends are the only true Romans, and such as only deserve so glorious a name; and that nevertheless we must quit all hope of delivering our Country: This Poniard (added he, lifting up his arm) that hath pierced the heart of Lucretia, and which I preserve to pierce that of the Tyrant, if opportunity befriend me, shall presently run through my own, and ease me of life, which I cannot any longer preserve with pleasure or reputation.  
At these words the friends of Brutus, Aronces, Valerius, Herminius, Lucretius and Collatine, beginning to cry out all together, Liherty, Liberty, all that infinite multitude made the same cry, and expressed itself by a thousand tumultuous voices, that it was absolutely resolved to shake off the the yoke of Tyranny. But Brutus, whom the love of Lucretia made then more active than that of his Conntry, caused the Body of this admirable Woman to be laid at the entrance into the Temple, placing some of the Inhabitants of Collatine to guard it; which done, conferring with Aronces, Lucretius, Collatine, Valerius, Herminius, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, Amilcar, Celeres, Mutius, and divers others, who offered their services to him, it was resolved, that the first thing was to be done, was to secure the Gates. But the Liberty of Clelia being the main business of Aronces in this deliverance of Rome, he was of opinion, that while Brutus went to seize himself of the Gates of the City, it were fit another party of such as took up Arms for them, should be sent to take in Tarquin's Palace, so to secure Tullia, and to hinder the illustrious daughter of Clelia from being exposed (during this Tumult) either to the insolences of his Guards, or the cruelty of the abominable Tullia. This Proposal of Aronces seeming not unnecessary, a Party was assigned him for that purpose; nay, they permitted Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Celeres to follow him: and Brutus getting into the head of all those who had already taken up Arms, went to possess himself of the Gates.  
The first Gate he came to, was that which they called the Carmental gate, which was between the Tarpeion Rock of the Tiber: Next he went to that which is near Janus' Temple, and the Viminal Hill: then to Romulus' gate, towards the Palatine Hill: and lastly, to that which is called Pendana, or otherwise Romulida: But as he went he made a strange alteration in this great City. In a short hours time all the Temples were opened, all Shops shut up, the whole People were in Arms, all the Women went to their Devotions, and there was nothing to be heard through all the streets of Rome, but Imprecations against Tarquin and Tullia, Complaints for the deplorable death of Lucretia, and the Praises of Brutus. The Salii began to sing in their Temples, to demand the liberty of Rome, and doubled their care for the preservation of that miraculous Buckler, which was confounded amongst eleven others like it, lest it should be stolen. The Vestals came all about their sacred Fire to beg the same thing of the Goddess Vesta; the great High Priest sacrificed for the same purpose: So that these examples of Piety authorising the Insurrection, had no small influence over the minds of the People.  
In the mean time, the creatures of Tarquin, those whom like so many slaves to him he had thrust into the Senate, or the executioners of his Cruelties, were at a strange loss; for the rising proved so sudden and so general, that they had only time to slay to Tullia, who was now in such a condition as she was never in before. Now as it happens that in all popular insurrections there is ever a third party that minds only Plunder; and endeavours to enrich itself by another's loss: Herminius who much feared the disorder, desired Valerius' leave to place a Guard at his house, lest the excellent Valeria should be exposed to any affronts; as also to dispose another at Sivelias, where Racilia, Hermilia, and Collatina then were, with the Prince of Pometia and Prince Titus, who yet knew not any thing of the Tumult, in regard this House was in a street somewhat distant from the place where it began. But it happened that Mutius, Herminius' Rival (who had been one of the first that joined with Brutus) was come, out of the same apprehension, to Valerius' door, with the same design as Herminius: So that these two Rivals ask one the other what brought them thither, they very roundly satisfied one another. But Herminius being at the same time both generous and discreet, though naturally of a fiery nature, broke not forth into any violence upon this accident; but speaking to Mutius, I beseech you, said he to him, let our difference remain undecided, till we have delivered Rome; and if you will take my advice, let us endeavour to deserve Valeria by the destruction of Tarquin, for our valour this day is only due to our Country. I am content (replied Mutius) but I think not fit to depart hence, if you allow me not to leave here as many of my people, as you do of yours; which being accordingly done, Mutius returned to Brutus, and Herminius went to his virtuous Mothers to place also a Guard there. But before he came, the noise of what had happened to Lucretia, and the rising of the City was gotten thither, so that the Prince of Pometia, who was then entertaining his dear Hermilia, and Titus who was talking with Collatina, were extremely disordered; for being both very virtuous, Sextus' crime caused in them a certain horror. The Tumult in the mean time still increased, and they were not ignorant that Racilia and Sivelia loved not Tarquin, and that they could not in honour forsake their Mother, how wicked soever she might be; wherefore there was a necessity they should part with Hermilia and Collatina, but after the most cruel manner in the World, since they had not the liberty to speak any thing to them in particular: 'Tis true, their eyes bid them a sad and sensible adieu. But the Prince of Pometia was somewhat happier than Titus, for he had the time to tell his dear Hermilia in few words, that he was extremely afflicted to leave her. Alas, Madam, said he to her with a low voice, if what is reported of Sextus be true, I fear the Gods will henceforth forsake all the Tarquins, and that I must take my last leave of you; for I look on his crimes as so horrid, that I think it but just to be punished for it, for no other reason, than that I am his Brother. If this unhappiness befall me, added he, pity my sad destiny: But though my Father lose his Kingdom for it, I shall have some comfort, if I lose not your affection.  
Having said this, he was forced to accompany the Prince his Brother, and they were hardly come to the stair-foot, but Herminius, who had a great esteem for them, meets them, followed by those whom he intended to place as a Guard at Sivelias, till the Tumult were over. This meeting surprised them very much; for the Prince of Pometia and Titus seeing Herminius followed by people in Arms, easily apprehended from his being in Rome in that posture, that the danger was greater than they had thought it. Herminius on the other side, who infinitely esteemed them, and was indeed much obliged to them, in that divers times they had opposed the King their Father in his behalf, who knew that it was for his sake they affected not Mutius, and met them thus in his Mother's house, was extremely troubled what to do; for it was unquestionably fit they should be secured, had he only considered the design he was upon: but thinking with himself, that Honour, Generosity, and the very consideration of Hospitality permitted him not to do it, he chose the more noble side, and speaking to them: How sorry am I for your sake, my Lords (saith he) that you are Brothers to Sextus, and are obliged to be entangled in his ruin; and how sorrow am I for my own, that I am forced to be of a party contrary to yours: Yet to assure you that I have a respect for Virtue wherever I find it, and will do you all the favour lies in my power, and haply somewhat more than I ought; I offer you a Guard to the Gate of the City which is now nearest; nor indeed can you take any other resolution. You are without Arms; you have none with you but slaves, the whole City is risen, there is nothing can oppose us, and deliberate a minute longer, I shall not haply be in a capacity to protect you. The Prince of Pometia and Titus hearing Herminius speak in this manner, were much surprised at it, for they knew his reality, and doubted not the certainty of what he said: Notwithstanding they stuck a little at the resolution they were to take: but hearing a great noise in the street opposite to that through which they were to pass, and seeing there was no choice to be stood upon, they accepted Herminius' proffer, but with intention to go out of the City, and to get into the Palace, where Tullia was, by a secret door that Herminius knew not of, in regard it was built in his absence from Rome. To be short, having acknowledged Herminius' generosity, and regretted their own misfortune, they were brought to a Gate of the City which Brutus had not as yet possessed himself of, conducted thither by Herminius himself, who having upon his return placed a Guard at Sivelias, drew up to Brutus, who presently came to that Gate, at which the Prince of Pometia and Titus went out.  
It happened in the mean time, that this generous action of Herminius was so far from being prejudicial to the common cause, that it advantaged it; for these two Princes being gallant and withal virtuous persons, their presence might haply have cooled the zeal of those who took up Arms against Tarquin. He did not therefore conceal from Brutus what he had done, assoon as he was come up to him. But as it is impossible to preserve any Order amongst a multitude of people that takes up Arms on a sudden, Rome was in a most deplorable condition; for though the whole City were up, yet every quarter not satisfied it was so, busied itself in making Barricadoes against the others. Those of the Capitol fortified themselves apart, lest some one of the Tarquins should possess himself of the Asyle that was on that Hill. Those of the Palatine hill did the like; and those of the Aventine cut down almost all the old Laurels, wherewith their Hill was in a manner covered, to block up the ways. They also guarded both ends of the Sublician Bridge by which Ancus Martius had joined the Hill of Janiculum to Rome. Those also of the Quirinal Hill fortified themselves, as did also all the quarters of that famous City. There was also a Guard at the Circus, lest it might have been made a certain Fort: Those of the Sacred street barricadoed themselves: Those of the great street of Apollo did the like: that called Eros did the like: the street of the three Ways which was very populous divided itself, and was the only part of Rome where the Inhabitants disagreed. But for those that lived in the Cyprian street, never was there such fury heard of as they expressed against their Tyrants, for it having happened that it was in that street the cruel Tullia caused her Chariot to pass over the corpse of her Father, they conceived themselves obliged above all the rest, to signalise their animosity against her: And indeed these were they who contrary to Brutus' intention, plundered certain Houses that belonged to some Creatures of Tarquin, and killed some that fled from them, though they made no opposition.  
Brutus having thus possessed himself of the Gates; and desirous to know what success Aronces had in his enterprise, he was for some time in no small disquiet, for he was informed that all those places I have named were barricadoed: So that not being able at first to infer any thing thence but that the City was divided, he had some reason to fear, that his Design would not prove effectual, that Lucretia should not be revenged, and Rome not delivered from her Tyrants; yet did not his great Heart fail him, but without any further debate he went from quarter to quarter, from Hill to Hill, from one place to another, and was extremely satisfied to find that all the Romans were of the same party. So that having acquainted them all that they were guided by the same Genius, such an infinite number of people followed him, that the multitude proved a hindrance to him.  
Having therefore given Orders every where, he went to see what posture Aronces was in, who had it seems met with a greater resistance than he had expected. For all Tarquin's creatures being tumultuously gotten about Tullia she had a many hands with her, such as being by their own Interests obliged to defend themselves, did it very obstinately. 'Tis true Aronces behaved himself extraordinarily in this adventure. As for the cruel Tullia, when they told her of the first beginning of the Commotion, she laughed at it, and thought it would come to nothing; and when they acquainted her with her Son's crime, and Lucretia's death, this detestable woman said, that if Sextus had caused Collatine to be poisoned out of the way, before he had made any love to his wife, she had never killed herself. But when she understood for earnest that the whole City was risen; and that they were coming to seize her in her Palace, she was hurried into the greatest fury and rage possible. She would needs go up into a Fort which looked into the spacious place before the Palace, but the people who were already gotten together there in Arms had no sooner seen her, but they gave her all the abusive language she deserved; So that not seeing any safety in exposing herself to the violence of an incensed multitude, she thought it her best course to make good the Palace, and to send to Tarquin, hoping he might come time enough to hinder this Tumult from proving his destruction. But at the same time as she was sending to Tarquin she commanded a poniard to be brought, poison to be prepared, and that the Palace might be set on fire, if she were forced to fly at the Sally-port which was in the Moat; which done, being desirous to have the sole disposal of Clelia, she sent for her Keeper, to entreat him to translate her into that part of the Palace where she was, that so (said she to him) she may be more secure during the Tumult. But this man being sufficiently acquainted with the intentions of Tullia, answered her, that he durst not remove that Captive out of the palace where she was; that he had sent to Tarquin assoon as the rising broke forth, and expected his Orders concerning her; whereupon he withdrew, and putting himself in the head of his Companions, would not return any more to Tullia, though she sent for him divers times.  
On the other side, the Prince of Pometia and Titus, compassing the Walls of the City to reach the Sally-port, whereat they hoped to get into the Palace, walked with an incredible disturbance; for being discreet and virtuous, they detested their Brother's crime, and easily foresaw how dangerous the consequences of that Insurection might be. But when they reflected on the concernment they had in this unjust action, they were almost persuaded to return into Rome, and put themselves at the head of those who endeavoured to revenge Lucretia; for Titus was in love with the Sister in Law of the Illustrious deceased, and the Prince of Pometia with Hermilia, who was an intimate friend of Lucretia's. 'Tis true, he would have been much more afflicted if he had known her to be Brutus' sister, and that Brutus was the the Leader of that exasperated multitude which had taken up Arms.  
Things being in this posture, Aronces, followed by Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, Celeres, and those whom Brutus had commanded to obey him, was gone to set upon the Palace where Tullia was, hoping either to take it, or force her from Rome, but principally to deliver Clelia. And indeed this Illustrious (but unhappy Prince) did prodigious things in this business; and having broke open the outer-gate, he was the first with his Sword in his hand to assault those who made it good, and indeed did it with extraordinary resolution; for the Prince of Pometia and Prince Titus (who were at last got into the Palace at the afore said Port were in person in this outer Court, both giving Orders, and fight themselves. What was most observable in this engagement, was, that the cruel Tullia, who saw all from her chamber window, and the admirable Clelia, who with Plotina was gotten to that little grate, whence she had seen the Body of him who should have delivered her, when Amilcar was with her, were both Spectators of it: So that when the valiant Aronces, seconded by his Illustrious Friends, had at length caused those to retreat who made good the gate he had broke open, he spies the cruel Tullia at the Window before him, and the admirable Clelia at another on his left hand, so that having before him at the same time, the only object of his love, and one of the greatest objects of his hatred, it much augmented his Valour; especially finding the Prince of Pometia and Titus at the head of theirs, it seemed to him a matter of great Reputation. The fight that happened in this outer Court, was long and resolute on both sides; for it being fortified with a certain Rail two steps from the ground, and that there was an ascent of certain stairs to come into it, it was a great advantage to Aronces' enemies. However Aronces forced them so far twenty times, and was himself as often forced back to the Gate.  
But while this Combat lasted, Clelia suffered something beyond all imagination, for she saw every minute her dear Aronces in a possibility to be dispatched; She had divers reasons why she should fear she might prove the cause of his death: For observing that Aronces in the very heat of that tumultuous Engagement, turned his head divers times towards the window where she was, she was so much afraid it might prejudice him, that she would have been glad to have been thence. But all considered, her curiosity to see what should happen to her dear Protector being the stronger, she stayed to behold that furious Combat, which certainly had something of more violence than is ordinarily observed in any engagements of War. For the Romans who followed Aronces were so enraged and so impatient to become Masters of the Tyrant's Palace, where there was excellent good Plunder, that of what humour soever they were, none wanted motives to fight, The Covetous considered the riches of the Booty; the Generous the destruction of Tarquin; Aronces' friends, the liberty of Clelia, the Virtuous generally on the chastisement of Tullia, and revenge of Lucretia.  
There wanted not also on the other side divers causes of an extraordinary Valour: For as to the Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus, though they had a horror for the Crimes of their Father, Mother, and Brother, yet a Throne lying at stake, all they could pretend to was in hazard; and for those who accompanied them, they were so far persuaded that if they were taken, the people would tear them to pieces, that they made an incredible opposition; insomuch that there was not any thing of this nature heard of before, there being so many people killed in this Encounter, that the place where they fought was covered over with dead Bodies.  
But that which had in likelihood proved the ruin of Aronces, was, that while he fought and forced the Valiant Princes, he had before him, up to a certain Lodge, Tullia sent out others by a gate that was on the right hand, who shut Aronces in, and immediately thereupon Barricadoed the Gate which he had broke open, by which means he was shut into the outer Court of the Palace, and could not be relieved from without. There was indeed some opposition made against those who executed the Orders of Tullia, but at last they were effected, Aronces being at that same time particularly engaged with the Prince of Pometia. For Zenocrates, he dealt with Prince Titus; and for Amilcar and Celeres, they endeavoured to get within the Rail, to make way for some of their men, and declined forcing the Lodge, which was so obstinately maintained.  
But when Aronces understood by the cries of those that fought behind him, that the Orders he had given for the guarding of the Gate which he had forced, had not been observed, he gave himself in a manner for lost, for he could not fight in two places, having not so great a Force as that he could any way divide it. Upon this the greater part of his men were more troubled how to force a passage out of the Court, then desirous to take in the Lodge. But this being not the design of Aronces, who would have chosen rather to die then to retreat, and quit his resolution of delivering Clelia; No, no (said he to those who minded only the forcing of the Gate) it is not there that we must fight; for Persons truly Valiant never go out at the same places by which they came in: Follow me therefore Romans, for that way that you would go, there is nothing to be expected but slavery, and the way I bring you into, leads you into Liberty.  
Aronces pronounced these words as if he had been really assured of Victory; so that all drawing up to him, he made a fresh attempt; but did it with so much courage, and was so well seconded by all his friends, and particularly Zenocrates, that the Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus were found to give ground. Aronces forced them to quit the Lodge, and all they could do, was to sacrifice part of their people for a safe Retreat into the Palace, with much ado to keep out their enemies from coming along with them.  
Those in the mean time who sallied out by the Orders of Tullia, to possess themselves of the outer-gate, no sooner perceived that the Princes their Masters had quitted the Lodge which they maintained, but they also forsook the gate they were to keep, and entered into the Palace the same way they came out; by which means Aronces and his Friends became absolute Masters of the Court. But being further desirous to force the Palace-gate, the cruel Tullia commanded to be cast on them a certain artificial Fire which Tarquin had made use of some time on the Tiber, in the time of the Sabine war: For there being some of that composition still left, Tullia caused it be employed to the great discommodity of the Combatants, in regard the fire fastened so on any thing it touched, that it could not be gotten off, nor put out, but with much difficulty. Besides, she caused to be thrown out at the windows whatever was proper to crush down her enemies; nay she pulled down a certain row of Pillars, which stood on a Model on the top of her Palace, to overwhelm those who should endeavour to become Masters of it. Thus though Aronces had no more enemies with swords in their hands, yet was he in greater danger than before; for from all the windows in the Palace they shot arrows, cast this artificial fire, or threw something to press down those that it light upon.  
In the mean time the valiant Aronces, not moved at the greatness of the danger, and thinking himself over-happy that his dear Clelia saw what danger he was in for her Liberty, notwithstanding that tempest with Darts, Stones, and Fires, made use of the same Engine, which he had before employed to break open the outer gate: for Lucretius being Governor of Rome, had furnished him with it, when he first set upon the Palace.  
Things being in this Posture, Brutus who was become Master of Rome without any resistance, comes to the place, having given order for all things elsewhere. But he comes thither followed by Valerius, Herminius, Lucretius, Collatine, Mutius, and an infinite multitude of armed people: So that Tullia and the Princes her Sons seeing that the Inner-gate of the Palace would be forced, and that it was impossible for them to hold out till the arrival of Tarquin, took a very strange resolution; for the Gate being broken open, and falling, Aronces spies in a great Entry a many combustible things heaped together, which Tullia had caused to be brought thither on a sudden, and which she had set on fire when she went away: so that instead of finding armed People to make good that Gate, Aronces and his Friends saw only a great eruption of flames which denied them entrance after a very strange manner. This Illustrious Prince therefore being forced to retreat, turned his eyes towards the window whence he had observed Clelia, and where he than saw her; but he now sees her in such a posture as pierced his heart; for he perceived her clinging to the Grate, to avoid going with certain men who would have forced her thence, and looking towards him to demand his assistance: Soon after he lost sight both of her and Plotina, nor could he any more see the cruel Tullia; so that imagining in all likelihood that this unjust Princess had translated Clelia somewhere else, and that she was in her power, he felt something it is impossible to express. Coming therefore up to Brutus and Herminius, he told them what a confusion he was in. He had no sooner acquainted them with it, but Brutus having told them there was a secret door to the Palace, he doubted not but that Tullia and her people had resolved on an escape. In a word, though there were divers things thrown out at the Windows, it was not with such violence as before; so that it might easily be perceived the Palace was in a manner forsaken. Had there been no other concernments than those of Rome and Brutus, it had been but necessary to let those escape who endeavoured it, and render their God's thanks that they were gone, not taking the trouble to pursue them. But the Liberty of Clelia being at the stake, though Brutus' soul was fully taken up with the grief and revenge he took, and was to take of the death of Lucretia, and the Liberty of his Country, yet he told Aronces he should have what force he pleased for to overtake Tullia, before she should join with Tarquin, who in all appearance would soon leave the Camp to come to Rome. But that nothing might be done but upon sure grounds, whilst they endeavoured by the help of Ladders to get in at the Windows, which were now forsaken: Herminius sent immediately to the Walls to discover what people were flying in the fields, while, that no time should be lost, they sent orders to those who kept the Horses whereon they came from Collatina to Rome, to bring them where they were.  
In the mean time those whom Herminius had sent upon the Walls, returning said the Fields were full of people running away, some with Arms, others without; some loaden with luggage, others not quite clothed: some on horseback, others afoot; and that amongst the rest, there were a many women. But that Aronces might no longer doubt whether Clelia were within the Palace, it happened that those whom Tullia had left to hold the Assailatts in some play for a while, fearing they might be surprised if they stayed too long, soon followed her: so that it being now easy to get in at some Windows, whence they had taken away the grates, they found the Palace absolutely dis-inhabited, there being left only the Prince of Numidia, who was still very sick, and some few other wretches, who having been hurt in the first Combat in the Court, were got in with the Princes, when the Lodge had been forced, and had stayed (though much against their Wills) in that forsaken Palace. Whilst therefore Lucretius did what he could to quench the fire, Aronces having gotten into the Palace, went to Clelias' Chamber, where he found her not. But what was most horrid of all, was, that he understood by some of the wounded, that Tullia had caused that Illustrious Roman to be taken away, against his Will, in whose custody she was, who yet would needs follow her. He understood further, that this cruel woman went thence, having Clelia in one hand, and a poniard in the other: and that she said as she went out, that if she were pursued, and likely to be overtaken, she would first kill Clelia with it, and afterward herself. No sooner had she heard these cruel expressions, but he is filled with fury, and he was no less disturbed at the fear of Clelias' death, than Brutus was at that of Lucretia. In the mean time he was at a loss what to do in such an unhappy conjuncture, in as much as he was forced to stay for Horses ere he could pursue Tullia, though he was much in doubt whether he should do it or not; for if he followed her too weak, it would come to nothing: if he went with great force, he feared the cruel Tulla might really do what she had threatened. Yet was he infinitely desirous to follow her, and was in an extraordinary discomposure, that he could not do it assoon as he wished.  
On the other side Amilcar sought all the Palace over for the other Captives, but he could not learn any thing either of Caesonia or Danae, or any of the rest of their friends, only Plotina he understood had voluntarily followed Clelia.  
But at last the fire being quenched, and those who were gone for the Horses having brought them, Brutus and Aronces consulted with all their Friends, and having well considered the state of affairs, and understood from the wounded Soldiers that remained in the Palace, that Tullia had sent for Tarquin, and that when she went thence, she thought him far on his way to Rome; it was resolved, that Lucretius and Valerius should remain at Rome, to take all necessary orders there, and to shut the Gates against the Tyrant, if he should offer to enter in; for it might be easily imagined, that in an occasion of such importance as this was, Tarquin would not bring with him too great Force, in regard it would take up too much time; besides, that it was likely enough he might think it no hard matter to appease this Tumult. It was also conceived that Sextus would be retired into some place, that so he might not incense the people by his presence: So that Brutus resigning himself to the justice of heaven, to his own great heart and conduct, undertook to put the Camp into the same disorder as he had done Rome. To that end, he told them, he would take such a way, as that in all likelihood he should not meet Tarquin, and, that Clelia might not be neglected, a Force should be assigned Aronces, wherewith to follow Tullia, and do what he thought conducing to the safety of that admirable person. The Design of Brutus seemed at first somewhat too high, but he so far satisfied his friends, that it were vain to make a rising in Rome, if Tarquin continued Master of the Army; and in fine, he spoke to them with so much authority, that, they could not but comply with him. However it was not thought sit he should go without any Guard; wherefore having found that they could presently send out two hundred Horse, Brutus took fifty of them, and assigned the rest to Aronces. But the difficulty was to get out of Rome; for the Romans who then looked on Brutus as their Tutelary Deity, opposed it with so much earnestness, that it was like to cause a general disorder throughout the City; and there were above two hours spent ere they could be persuaded, that it was for their Interest that Brutus went out of Rome.  
Aronces on the other side, had as much ado to get out as he, and they were both encompassed by such a multitude of people, that though they were the deliverers of Rome, they were not Masters of themselves: So that it was almost night ere Brutus and Aronces could get out of the City, which was no small affliction to this disconsolate Lover, whose business was to seek out his Mistress  
But when these two unfortunate Lovers were gotten out of Rome, their friends were divided, Herminius and Mutius stood for Brutus, conceiving themselves more obliged to him, as being Romans, and Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates and Celeres, were of Aronces side. But though they were divided as to Interests, yet did they jointly wish the prosperity of their several designs. For Aronces, he took the way that he was told Tullia had taken, who he understood had taken up two Chariots at a house she had within two miles of Rome, for she went from the Palace on horseback. But for Brutus, he wheeled about another way into the Camp with out meeting Tarquin, and he was so fortunate, as to reach it just at the break of day. Nay, it happened so critically, that by the same time that Tarquin had got to Rome, Brutus came to the Camp, where he no sooner arrived, but he understood that Sextus was gone out of the way, as soon as the report of the insurrection at Rome was brought thither.  
In the mean time, how sensible soever Brutus might be of the death of Lucretia, the design he had to revenge it, was the reason that he spoke of nothing but joy, triumph, and liberty. In a word, this illustrious Roman going from Tent to Tent assembled all the Officers; but while he gets them together, he speaks to all the Soldiers he meets, he tells them all that Rome is free, that Tullia had left it, that all the adherents of Tyranny were sent out of the City; he assures them that Tarquin should find the Gates shut against him, and entertains them with peace, reward, glory, and rest. He represents to them the fruitless inconveniences they had suffered during the time of the Siege of Ardea, he calls them the true deliverers of their Country, if they have but the courage to declare themselves, he entreats them, he importunes them, nay sometimes he threatens them; he takes Herminius to witness of all he says, whose integrity he knew was well known; to their interests he adds those of the Gods, and he speaks to them after so confident and heroic a manner, that the prodigious change which they found in him, produced the same effect in the Camp as it had done in Rome and Collatia, and raised in them admiration and respect for him: So that the name of Brutus, and the word Liberty passing from mouth to mouth, the whole Camp fell into disorder, and both Officers and Soldiers unanimously submitting to Brutus, acknowledge him for their chief, and the deliverer of their Country. Whereupon sending hastily to acquaint those of Ardea, that he restored them to that peace which Tarquin would take away from them, provided they would join with Rome against Tarquin, he raises the Siege and begins his march towards Rome, bestowing the pillage of the Tyrant's Tents upon the Soldiers, so to engage them by that act of hostility to persist in their revolt.  
But while Brutus seconded by his friends manages the affairs of the Camp with so much success for the Liberty of his Country, and the revenge of Lucretia. Tarquin arrives at Rome, confident that his presence would establish his Authority there: But he was much mistaken, when he saw the gates shut against him, and that some told him from the Walls, that the people of Rome banished him for ever with all his Family, and declared him unworthy the name of a King, which he had with so much injustice usurped. Tarquin having not with him at this time above four hundred horse, was forced to retreat; but could not do it without horrid threats to those who had denied him entrance; for he knew nothing of what was happened in the Camp, and thought he had no more to do to chastise Rome, than to raise the Siege of Ardea. But when in his return he understood by the King of Clusium's Envoy whom he met, as also by some of his own creatures, that his Army was coming against him under the command of Brutus, whom all obeyed and acknowledged for one of the greatest men in the World, and by this means found himself without any assistances, between a City risen against him and a revolted Army; he had certainly need to summon up all his Courage, to support so great and so sudden a Revolution. Upon the first relation of this strange accident, he made a halt; then he asked whether they knew where Tullia was, and what was become of the Captives; for those who came from the Camp told him they were gone from Rome. But being told that the Captives were in Tullia's disposal, and that she had taken the way to Tarquinia, he also took the same and that with much diligence, commanding secretly two of his creatures whom he had employed in thousands of Crimes, that if his enemies should pursue him, and set on him with a party stronger than his own, they should keep close to his person, and if they saw him in any likelihood to be taken, kill him: For though I have a heart great enough to hinder me from falling into the hands of my enemies, said he to them with his eyes full of fury, yet I fear my arm will prove too weak to dispatch myself, or shall miss the first attempt I shall make on myself, if I am forced to it. Hereupon he began to march, and this unjust Prince who saw himself overwhelmed with all kinds of misfortunes in an instant, and that through the crimes of his Son, or Wives, or his own, was so abominable, as not to have the least remorse; but employed his Wits to be revenged of those whom Heaven used as instruments to punish him for usurping a Kingdom, and ruling with so much cruelty and injustice.  
Brutus in the mean time, though crowned with the glory of freeing two Cities at the same time, and being the deliverer of his Country, and the revenger of his dear Lucretia, was the most unfortunate man in the world, when it came into his mind that Lucretia was dead and Sextus alive. And indeed, though Brutus was of a nature gallant, mild, and the most obliging in the world, yet after the death of Lucretia he seemed to have changed his humour and temperament, and all his life after affected a certain austere virtue, wherein there seemed to be something of roughness; nay, sometimes something of cruelty, to those who were not informed of the secret of his heart, and could not guests at the true cause of his melancholy; and that insatiable Ambition which though Rome were delivered, he had to root out the race of the Tarquins. Yet had he withal an admirable command of himself in this great occurrence, wherein it concerned him to confirm his Victory by his Presence. For when he had disposed his Troops about the Gates of Rome, he made his entrance, which was with extraordinary acclamations, and without any further delay, having returned the God's thanks in Janus' Temple, which he caused to be shut the more to assure the people, he called a Council of all the persons of Quality in Hostilius' Court, as being the most convenient place of any for great Assembly. They were no sooner got together, but the people by an unanimous consent, having no lawful King, conferred all Authority on Brutus with this Title of Consul, only for one year. Which done, this new Consul ordained the Senate to consist of three hundred, which he chose with so little contestation that all the Citizens were satisfied.  
But while Brutus, Collatine, Valerius, Lucretius, Herminius and Mutius were busied about the regulation of their City, so to perpetuate the liberty they had acquired, Aronces, the unfortunate Aronces met with a contrary destiny: For having parted from Brutus and been informed which way Tullia took, when she left the house where she had taken up the two Chariots; he followed it till he came to a place, where he understood that the multitude of people that followed Tullia was divided. In this place was he at a great loss, not knowing what resolution to take: He imagined indeed that his business being only to find out Clelia, it was more likely she was rather in that party where there were Chariots, than where there were only Horses, and he was not much mistaken; for he conceived that Tullia seeing herself far enough from Rome, had sent the Princes her Sons to the Camp, and kept on her way. And indeed it happened so, that this cruel Princess seeing herself in that extremity, would not take Clelia with her to the Camp, but thought better to carry her to Tarquinia: But she being in one Chariot, and having disposed the Captives into another, he who had the conduct of the latter being faithful to Tarquin, whose misfortune he had not yet understood, and making it his business to deliver Clelia out of the power of that cruel Princess; carried his business so handsomely, that he caused him who conducted the Chariot of the Captives to go somewhat slowly, so to be at a distance from that of Tullia, who having her mind persecuted with the memory of her Crimes, and the representation of the miseries would fall upon her, thought not on Clelia, as not suspecting any could be guilty of so great a presumption as to offer to take her away from her. She thought indeed at first to have taken her into her own Chariot, but the very sight of her being troublesome to her, she disposed her into the other, which going more slowly stayed somewhat behind. This man therefore in order to his secret design, having caused the Axletree of the Chariot of the Captives to be broken, when it was taken up at the house by which Tullia had passed, told him who conducted it that he must overtake Tullia, and therefore must put on a little faster. But he had scarce gone a hundred paces ere the Axletree flew asunder, so that there was no going any further. Upon this accident he said they must needs leave the Chariot there, and that every one of his Companions should take one of the Captives behind him: So that these unfortunate Beauties not knowing what to do, and seeing that it was to no purpose to make any resistance, submitted, thinking they were all to follow Tullia. He who was the Author of the design, took Clelia into his charge; one of his Companions took Plotina behind him, another Casonia, another Danae; and so some or other the rest of the Captives.  
Now while these Captives were together, they had resolved to endeavour each to persuade him who carried her to bring them to Rome or Ardea, and the more to engage them to promise great rewards. Accordingly, Clelia was no sooner on horseback, but she began to entreat him who carried her to do an act of virtue, and carry her to Rome; promising him extraordinary rewards if he did it. She prevailed so far, that the fellow, who as I told you had his secret design in it, seemed to condescend; and making a little halt, he took the first way he came to on the right hand. But Clelia not desirous to be alone with him, entreated him to persuade his Companions, who had the charge of her friends to follow them; or at least that Plotina might accompany them: He answered, that if the business were communicated to so many, she would be discovered; but at length calling to him who carried Plotina, pretending he had broken something about his Bridle, he made him stay a little behind the rest: So that turning out of the way, and taking advantage of a little hill, they put on a good pace. But coming to a certain passage which Plotina knew, as being of the Country, she perceived the fellow instead of carrying them to Rome, drove towards Ardea: So that acquainting Clelia with it, that afflicted Beauty told him that he was out of his way, and that his design was to ruin them. By no means (replied he) for I deliver you out of the hands of a Princess who hates you, to put you into the power of a Prince who loves you.  
At these words was Clelia extremely disquieted, for she chose much rather to be exposed to the cruelty of Tullia than the passion of Tarquin. And not knowing that that Prince was gone from before Ardea, and that he had neither Kingdom nor Army, Clelia was in an incredible disturbance: Insomuch that without any further deliberation she casts herself of the horse, the fellow not being able to hinder her, and calls Plotina to her assistance, who could not do as much, as being held fast by him who carried her. Not that Clelia had any hopes to save herself, but hoped only by making a little stay there, that the Gods whom she invoked would send her some relief.  
In the mean time, Tullia having observed that the Chariot of the Captives followed not, caused her own to be stayed, to know whence the disorder happened: But at last understanding that it was broke, she commanded 〈◊〉 to be brought into hers, not out of any motive of goodness, but out of a consideration of the most cruel jealousy in the World: So that some that were about her putting themselves in order to satisfy her, they called him who was charged with the conduct of that Beauty. But not finding him and acquainting Tullia with as much, she commanded twelve of her people to pursue them, and to bring Clelia back or never to see her again. These proving successful in their search, were come almost to the place where Clelia cast herself to the ground, and where she yet was obstinately refusing to get up again: So that he who was to have brought her to Tarquinia, seeing these twelve Horse approaching whom he presently knew, he saw it was not his best course to return any more to Tullia, but to seek protection from Tarquin. He therefore attempted once more to persuade Clelia, really thinking he did her a good Office: But Madam (said he to her) you consider not that Tullia would not have you in her power, but to put you to death. It matters not (answered the generous Clelia) I would rather suffer death, than the love of your unjust Prince.  
She had no sooner said this, but she perceives a great body of Horse towards Ardea, and imagining they were some of Tarquin's Troops, she began to run cross a Meadow, before those whom Tullia had sent to take her, though she doubted not much but that she sought her own death. She had not gone twenty paces, but turning about to see whether she was followed, she perceives twenty horse drawn off from the Body she had seen, making towards her as fast as they could ride: So that conceiving they would easily overtake her, she stood still, seeing indeed she could do no otherwise; for those twelve horse discovering that they whom they saw, were not of Tarquin's Forces ran away; and he who would have carried Clelia to the Tyrant perceiving it also, got up on Horseback, and provided for himself, and his companion to disburden himself of Plotina, set her down and followed him.  
Hereupon these two Beauties being met again, and resolving to die together, were much surprised to see Horatius riding before those twenty Horse, which were drawn off from their Body: But though Clelia loved him not, nay might indeed charge him with all the misfortunes of her life, as having hindered her to marry Aronces near Capua, and knew that he did hate that illustrious Prince, and was by him reciprocally hated; yet in regard he was a virtuous man, and had a respect for her, besides an infinite love, it was some joy to her to see that she was not any longer subject to the violences of Tarquin. Horatius on the other side, being come in the head of these twenty Horse, out of no other consideration than that of Humanity, to relieve women whose condition he saw was such as needed relief, was no less amazed to find the admirable Clelia. He presently alights, and coming towards her with infinite respect; Well, Madam, (said he to her) shall I obtain pardon for having carried you away from Capua, by bringing you to Rome; now that it is delivered from that cruel Tyrant, who hath so often sought the life of the Generous Clelius.  
I know not (replied she) whether the crime you speak of is of such a nature as may be absolutey pardoned; but I am certain you will put an extraordinary obligation on me if you bring me to Rome, since Tarquin hath no more to do there. But Horatius (added she) may I trust you? You may Madam (replied he) and if I bring you not immediateiy to Rome, account me the most infamous of Mankind: For in a word, (I profess to you) considering the obligations which it hath pleased my destiny my Rivals should cast on me, I will never prejudice him by any other ways than those of my addresses, my services, and my own Virtue. But Madam, (added he) we must lose no time, for there have happened so great changes in one day, that methinks all should change again in one day: Therefore give me leave to set you on a Horse which you shall guide yourself, that so you may not suspect I have any design to force you any where, and may the more willingly permit me to be your Conductor.  
Notwithstanding all this, Clelia would needs be assured by a new Engagement, that Horatius would bring her to Rome; which done, this illustrious Roman choosing out a Horse among those that followed him, caused one of his people to attend and conduct Clelia, and another to take Plotina behind him; and so without any further stay he took his way to Rome, followed by the whole Body which had overtaken him.  
But Clelia being extremely desirous to know the State of affairs, whereof she had not heard any thing, since she had seen her dear Aronces exposed to so great danger (for her sake) in the Palace Court, entreated Horatius to acquaint her with what he knew. He therefore told her, that Brutus had wrought a revolt in the Camp; that he had sent word to Ardea that Rome would have peace with her, adding that for his own particular, to come as soon as he could to her, he had got together two hundred Horse, with intention to cast himself into Rome, having not been certainly informed that. Tullia had carried her with her. Horatius had scarce told her thus much, but he understood from some of his men who went before, that there was seen in the Plain into which they were entering, a very desperate Fight between two parties very unequal in number, for there might very well be on one side, three or four hundred Horse, and there seemed not to be on the other much above an hundred. This intelligence put Horatius into some disorder, for he must needs think it could be no other than Tarquin, who he knew had taken with him from the Camp three or four hundred Horse, and conceived he must have met with some of those who had revolted from him: So that his heart being divided between Love and Honour, he knew not whether he should go and relieve those who stood in need of his assistance, or make it his business to conduct Clelia safely to Rome, But to make a mean between both, and to know at least more certainly what the matter was, he sent some of his men to make discovery, and lay close behind a little hill.  
Clelia, who little imagined that the Illustrious Aronces was engaged in a dangerous fight against Tarquin, and thought he had been in Rome, or with Brutus, was very importunate with Horatius, not to trouble himself about any thing, but to bring her into some place of safety. And indeed, her insinuations were so prevalent, that he seeing those whom he had sent out, returned not so soon as he expected, he could no longer endure that Clelia should be in any fear of falling into the hands of Tarquin. So that he turned out of the way he would have gone, leaving only two of his men, to bid those whom he had sent, when they were returned, to follow him the way he should lead them, which was the nearest to go to Rome. But these two waited to no purpose, for those who had been sent out to discover the Parties that were engaged, had been forced to fight themselves, Tarquin, who had soon perceived them, having ordered thirty of his men to engage them, out of a fear of being surprised by some fresh supplies; and accordingly, they had been either taken Prisoners, or cut to pieces: Besides, that Tarquin having been informed by those who had been taken, that Horatius was not far from him with two hundred Horse, and easily inferring that if he joined with Aronces, he were utterly lost, since that valiant Prince found him so much work with so small a handful of men, he commanded his people to make one final attempt to overcome him; for till then, in regard he was Son to a King, who was his Ally, from whom he expected Protection, he had given Order that he should not be killed. But considering the importunity of his present condition, he was obliged not to debate the business any longer: So that Aronces was in an extreme danger; for he had about an hundred Horse left, and had almost four hundred to deal with.  
Besides all this, the Prince of Pometia and Prince Titus had joined their Father, and being obliged to fight for their Father how wicked soever he might be, they engaged Aronces with an incredible Courage, though they had an infinite esteem for him. 'Tis true, the Valour this Prince expressed that day was so prodigious, that there never was seen any thing like it; for he was several times surrounded by his enemies, yet could they neither take him Prisoner, nor hurt him. He killed (in a manner at Tarquin's Elbow) that valiant Hellius, with whom he had some time fought near Ardea: and if Tarquin had not used a subtle shift, he might have been overcome by him, so signal was his Valour, and so worthily was it seconded by that of Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates and Celeres.  
To this may be added, that the Romans whom he had with him, were in so much fear of falling into the power of Tarquin, that they behaved themselves so much the more gallantly. But at last Tarquin having caused some of his people to make out-cries, as if Rome were returned to its Duty to him, and that his Army had changed their resolutions; those who were with Aronces taking Alarm at this false report, though he did all that lay in his power to hinder them from believing it, ran away; so that he was left alone with his four Friends, amidst so great a number of Enemies; yet would he not yield, till that there was no other remedy, after he had received a wound in his right Arm; but at last he was forced to submit to the multitude by which he was surrounded, and become the Prisoner of a King, who had lost both his Kingdom and his Army.  
But that this adventure might prove yet more insupportable to him, it happened that Tarquin, whom it concerned to treat him, had indeed an extraordinary care of him, out of some considerations of Policy only, though he hated him most horridly, both as a Lover of Clelia, and that he found him in Arms against him; so that after he had put a Guard upon him, and those Friends of his who met with the same Fortune, except Amilcar, who made a shift to escape after he had been taken, it happened that Tarquin causing Aronces to be dressed at the first House he met in his way, one of Horatius' men, who had been taken by some of Tarquin's, standing near him when he was dressed, knew him, and made acquaintance with him. Aronces who could not want a curiosity for such a Rival, asked him by what adventure he came thither, and where his Master was? To which this man, being of the humour of those, who when they relate things, love to circumstantiate, answered, That Horatius recovering at length of his wounds, found himself in a condition to cast himself into Rome; then told him how he had found Clelia, highly expressing the satisfaction that Beauty had in meeting him so seasonably, assuring him that he was to carry her to Rome, and that they would be there very suddenly. The first apprehensions of Aronces, were extremely confused and entangled; for after a long fear that Clelia might perish through the cruelty of the implacable Tullia, he arrived to a slender comfort, when he understood that she was not in her power. He was not also dissatisfied that she went to Rome, as also that she was quite out of the reach of Tarquin's violence, and Sextus'; but when after all he considered, that she was fallen into the hands of a Rival, a person of so great worth as Horatius, one who had such an advantage over him, as to render him so considerable a service; and withal saw himself wounded, and Prisoner to a Prince, who he knew loved Clelia, and who would not fail to return him to the King his Father, and to engage him into his Interests, he thought himself the most unfortunate man in the world, for he foresaw what in reason should be the consequence of so cross an accident. Accordingly when he was on Horseback, and forced to follow a Prince, whom Fortune had forsaken, and who went for refuge to Ceres, intending to send thence to Treat with Porsenna's, he entertained himself after the saddest manner that could be. For when he called to mind with what eagerness he wished Rome's Liberty, and Tarquin's Ruin, and considered that the Misfortune of that Prince was the only cause that he was his Prisoner, he acknowledged in himself, that men were guilty of great rashness, when they presumed to desire any thing precisely of the Gods; since that many times what they desire, proves more prejudicial to them than what they fear: So that not daring in a manner to wish any thing, for fear of making any wishes against himself, he was extremely afflicted, especially when he considered that Clelia was in a place where he had two very considerable Rivals; that himself in all likehood should be turned over a Prisoner to the King his Father, and saw not any thing from whence he might derive the least comfort; but the hopes he had in the Friendships of the Illustrious Brutus, and the generous Herminius.    
The End of the Second Part of CLELIA.   

CLELIA, AN EXCELLENT NEW ROMANCE: DEDICATED TO MADEMOISELLE de LONGUEVILLE.  
The THIRD PART.  
Written in French by the Exquisite Pen of Monsieur de Scudery, Governor of Notre dame de la Gard.  
LONDON, Printed for Dorman Newman and Thomas Cockerel. 1678.   

TO THE ACCOMPLISHED LADY, THE LADY Constance Enyon.  
MADAM,  
THE Opinion I have of your Goodness must needs be very great, when I think the presumption I am guilty of, in this address so innocent and justifiable, that I do not much doubt your pardon. It is certainly no small one in me, to make use of your name, to do that, which of all things, I take the greatest pride and pleasure in; that is, confidence to let the World know, I cannot receive a favour with half as much freedom and satisfactino, as I can acknowledge it. To those I have received from Yourself, I cannot but add the many extraordinary Obligations, I am indebted to your noble Relations, and particularly those at Cumberlow; and among those, to that accomplished Person, whom the World justly admires, to find, at so few years, soaring in a Flame so high, as that of the Author of the History of Philosophy. These Madam, are so great, and consequently, press so much upon my memory and resentments, that, since the greatest acknowledgements I can make of them, are in my apprehension, much below the advantages I have made thereby, it is no miraculous effect of Gratitude, if I grasp at any occasion to do it.  
For, what I now present you with, Madam, I need say no more by way of recommendation of it, than that it is a third Volume of that excellent Romance, whereof you were pleased with so much kindness to receive the two former; with the same fate too, that is, that it hath gone through more hands than one. The advantages you are to make of it, I am not to press, since it is, among your other perfections, not the most inconsiderable, that you can discern the excellencies, and discover the defaults of things of greater consequence, than those of this nature. But when I reflect on your Sex, I cannot but do my Author this right, that as no man hath put greater obligations on It, than he, by the noble and generous characters he hath honoured it withal; so is it but just, you have the esteem and affection for him, which you have not for any other.  
Thus, Madam, having given you an account of this address to yourself, and presumed your pardon for it, I have a far greater confidence to obtain it for another I make to Heaven; which is, that you may meet with that indulgency of fortune and happiness, which so much good nature, so noble an education, such a virtuous inclination, and excellent endowments, as yours are, may justly expect. And this, Madam, shall be the perpetual wish of,  
MADAM, Your most humble and most obliged Servant J. Davies.   

CLELIA: The Third Part.  

BOOK I.  
ARonces was doubtless a very miserable man, in being a Prisoner unto a Prince whom fortune had forsaken, and one that was his Rival too; but the thought of Horatius' carrying Clelia unto Rome, made him more miserable than either; not but that he was very glad of her being out of the tyranny of Tarquin, and power of terrible Tullia; yet nothing did so much sting his soul, as to think that Horatius should be him that restores liberty unto Clelia: Indeed, could he have seen into the soul of that fair one, his own soul had been better satisfied; for though she had good reason to be glad of going to Rome, yet it went much against the hair, to see that Horatius should be her Conductor thither; she apprehended both Aronces and herself to be in a very had condition, though Horatius was infinitely obliged unto Aronces: And when she bethought herself how she was going to see, at the same time both Aronces, Horatius, and the Prince of Numidia, she apprehended a million of miseries: for after she had seen her dear Aronces fight so valiantly in the Court of Tullia's Palace, she could not imagine he could be out of Rome: sometimes her fear was that he was wounded, and sometimes that he was dead, so as these thorns in her thoughts would not suffer her to enjoy those sweets which her own liberty, and the liberty of her Country, might have procured unto her.  
As for Horatius, his joys to see Tarquin ruined, Rome delivered, and his Mistress in his own possession, did so much take up his whole heart, as for a while he never bethought himself, how his Rival was the party loved, and not he. At last, turning his eyes upon Clelia's fair face, who at that time was in a deep study, and such a study as spoke much sadness, he imagined that Aronces was the subject of her study; so as calling to memory all those testimonies of tenderness which that fair one had expressed towards his Rival upon several occasions, and all those bitter expressions towards himself, the tide turned, and what was joy but a minute before, was now sadness: Indeed, when he came to bethink himself, that in carrying Clelia to Rome, he carried her unto a place where he expected to find Aronces, unto whom he owed his life, his heart was most sensibly afflicted; he was then within a little of altering his design, and falling into the same thoughts which he harboured when he carried away Clelia in the great Earthquake, and defended her against the Prince of Numidia, upon the Lake of Thrasimenes: But when he remembered how that violence got him the aversion of Clelia; how since then, he was more miserable than before; and how Aronces won the heart of this fair one, only by the grandeur of his virtue, he kept himself firm to the resolution which he had taken, of overcoming Aronces, by no other way, but by endeavouring to excel him (if it were possible) in virtue. Thus did both Clelia and Horatius think upon Aronces, though by motives very different: and Aronces entertained thoughts of Horatius and Clelia, which were as unresemblant as the two passions from whence they sprung; though certain it is, they sprung from one and the same cause: for if Aronces had not been in love with Clelia, he had never hated Horatius: Horatius on his side, had most tenderly loved Aronces, if Aronces had not loved Clelia; and Clelia had been good friends with Horatius, had she not been so sensible of Aronces his love. But, which was most admirable, the Prince of Numidia was less hated by his Rivals, than they were by one another, because they thought he had the least share in the affection of Clelia.  
As for Tarquin, his heart was swelled with as much Cruelty and Revenge, as ambition could infuse, and with all that a slighted love and pale jealousy could prompt him unto: but in the midst of all, he retained the arrogance and grandeur of his courage; and it may be said, that in falling from a Throne, he yet kept footing upon it; for in the midst of all disasters, he still thought upon such remedies as might conduce to the cure of them; and he found it some sweetness, to have in his power the only beloved Lover of Clelia: He hoped also, that this would help him to remount the Throne; so as this unfortunate Prince, whose crimes might well make him fear his future condition would be worse than the present, did not for all that despair, but went to Tarquinia with such an undaunted resolution and boldness, as Aronces could not choose but admire at. But whilst this proud Tyrant, and this illustrious Prisoner went to Tarquinia, Horatius with his men conducted Clelia and Plotina to Rome, as I told you before.  
In their way thither, they espied a very handsome woman by the side of a little wood, who perceiving so many horsemen, desired to conceal herself, having none with her but an old shepherd for her guide, whose condition they knew by the Sheephook which he had in his hand. This object begetting a curiosity in Clelia, and her own misfortunes teaching her to pity the condition of others, she looked very attentively upon this woman, who desired to slink away out of sight, at the seeing such a number of men: but when she had well viewed this woman, and showed her unto Plotina, they both thought her to be Cesonia. Clelia then crying out, and calling upon Horatius: Oh good sir, (said she to him,) I beseech you let yonder woman be carried with me to Rome; certainly she cannot discern me amongst so many. But to oblige you unto the satisfaction of my desire, know that she is one of the Prisoners of Ardes, her name is Cesonia; and my love unto her is such, as you would do a most high favour if you could bring her to me. Clelia had no sooner said so, but Horatius commanding some of his chief men to eye her, he set spurs to his horse, and being followed by four men of quality, who heard not what Clelia said, they went towards the place where this woman and this old shepherd were. The Wood not being very thick, they were quickly found out, for both being on foot, they were quickly overtaken: Horatius was no sooner come within hearing of this woman, but he said, I beseech you fair Cesonia, do not fly from Clelia who hath sent me to you, nor shun a man who knows your merit, though not you, and who is ambitious to serve you.  
Upon these words, Cesonia turning about, she stopped, and knew her dear Persander, who was one of those which accompanied Horatius. As she was beyond expression joyed, so Persander on his side, who came out of Ardes only to hear what was become of her, he was so surprised at the sight of her in that place, as he had much ado to speak: for Horace had so many things in his mind, as he never told it was Cesonia: and Plotina had not time enough to tell him; so hasty he was in following Horatius, so as Persander had much ado to recover himself out of his astonishment. Whilst Horatius was advancing towards Cesonia, and she not knowing whether or no she should believe a man whom she knew not, the old man who was her guide, turning about, and knowing Horatius, he stepped nearer that valiant Roman, and looking fiercely upon him, shaked his sheephook at him: Oh villain (said he) is not Clelia this second time in thy power, and does not that suffice thee?  
This language causing Horatius to look attentively upon him, that spoke thus angrily unto him, he knew him to be Clelius the Father of Clelia; He no sooner knew him, but he alighted from his horse, and advanced to him in a very humble manner: Oh generous Clelius, (said he unto him) I think myself most happy in that I am in a condition to repair my crime, and in being able to restore unto you that most excellent woman, whom I ravished from you in the heat of a most violent passion: For now know, that though I still have, and ever shall have the same affection unto your most admirable Daughter, yet I do not entertain all the same thoughts; the truth is, in lieu of carrying her away, my only thoughts are of carrying her to Rome; and my only aims are to get her out of Tarquin and Tullia's power, as you may understand from her own mouth, she being within two hundred paces of this place. Moreover, you cannot question the good intention of my heart; for I am in the head of two hundred horse, and consequently able to dispose of Clelia's liberty: but so far am I from any thoughts of carrying her away, as I do offer to put her in your power, and guard you both unto Rome, without ask any other recompense, but only to forget what's past, and not to deny me the seeing of her whom I adore.  
Clelius hearing Horatius speak so submissively, and looking then upon him, as upon the Son of that woman whom once he dearly loved, his anger was a little appeased, so as Cesonia taking heart, and being much joyed to see her dear Husband, also to find that her guide was Father to her friend, though she could not well conceive, why he should be in that equipage wherein she found him; yet she spoke unto them all, and advised them to go presently unto Clelia, since she was so near. After this, Horatius used many generous and kind expressions; Persander, he took Cesonia behind him▪ and one of Horatius his men lent Clelius his 〈◊〉: This done, they all went to the place where Cl●●●● stayed in expectation of her dear Cesonia, wh●●, she no sooner saw with Persander, but she galloped to meet them with Plotina; but all this while Clelia never thought to meet with more consolation than she could hope for; yet Horatius, desiring to make use of such a favourable occasion, he advanced towards her, and showing Clelius unto her, The Gods having some pity upon me (said he unto her) and doubtless being desirous I should obtain some rank in your esteem, though not in your affection, have given me the happy opportunity, Madam, of restoring unto you the generous Clelius.  
Upon these words, Clelia looking upon him whom Horatius showed unto her, she cried out for joy, and would have cast herself upon the ground at her Father's feet; but Clelius would not permit her, saying, That they could not make too much haste to Rome, since Tarquin was not in it; For my part (said Plotina with a pleasant air) I am perfectly of your opinion, for I am so full of fears, a● you would do me the greatest pleasure in the world, if you would speedily carry me unto any place where I might be in safety; for though I cannot tell from whence Clelias came, nor why he is disguised in the habit of a shepherd, nor how Cesonia escaped; yet I had rather be going speedily thither, than stay a minute to know all these things: But yet (added this pleasant Lady) we may do two things at once, for we may be going and talk too as we go; for it is but singling such as should hear, from those which should not. The counsel of Plotina seeming good, after Clelius had expressed unto his Daughter his joys of finding her again, and that Clelia, Plotina, and Cesonia had caressed each other as much as they could in that place, Clelius placed himself betwixt the two first of them; as for Horatius, he got himself on the other hand of Clelia, and Persander on the other hand of Cesonia; the way being large, they might easily walk a front, and might unheard talk to each other, for all the rest kept at a handsome distance; so as disposing of themselves in this order, Clelia asked her Father from whence he came; for truly (said she) I never knew any thing of you since I was a Prisoner unto the Tyrant, unless that the Prince of Numidia told me that you were in a place which he could not name: for being very dangerously wounded in endeavouring to deliver me, he grew so much distracted, that Amilcar, whose name doubtless you know, and to whom I am infinitely obliged, could not understand where you were, though he imagined you could not be far from Rome. Truth is, replied Clelius, I being at the end of my exile, and not being able to endure that you should be the slave of him that was the Tyrant of my Country, and my mortal enemy, I resolved for Rome, where I understood by some intimate friends, there was a disposition to revolt. But do what I could, it was impossible to hinder Sulpitia from following me; so as we came from Capua together, mean while, fortune brought us to meet with the Prince of Numidia, by coming to Ameriola, who knowing us, treated us most generously; but that not being the place of finding you, let it suffice you to know that he is worthy of your esteem, and of my friendship; that it was I who sent him to Rome with Letters for a friend of mine, who was to facilitate the enterprise which failed; for not knowing then where Aronces was, and knowing that Horatius was in Ardes, I thought they took care for your liberty. Mean ●●●e, I understanding from Ameriola, that the Prince of Numidia's enterprise had failed; that the report was, Aronces was at Rome, and that there was great Tumult, I disguised myself as now you see me, to get into Rome, not then knowing the truth of things. So as having sent back my horses, I began to foot it; when I espied this fair one (said he unto Clelia, and pointed at Cesonia) who not knowing which way she went, came unto me, and asked where she was, and desired me to direct her either unto Rome or Ardes: The memory of your misfortunes making me compassionate of hers, I asked her by what adventure she came to be alone, and so out of her way; unto which she answering very handsomely, she acquainted me in few words with the flight of Tarquin, and all passages in Rome since his departure. I not yet telling her that I was your Father, because that could not advantage her, but might prejudice me, she is still ignorant of it.  
All my care was of conducting her speedily unto Rome, when we espied the Cavalry which is your guard: For my part, said Cesonia unto Clelia, I have no great matters to relate unto you, for all I have to tell you, is, That he who conducted me, understanding from a friend of his, how angry Tullia was at your flight, and having no mind to see her again, though he was no cause of it, he resolved to quit the incensed Queen, and carrying me under a Tree, he left me there: I, not knowing what to do, and utterly disliking to be under the power of the most wicked woman in the whole world; I took a way opposite to that from whence I came, and walking I knew not whither, I came at last unto this little wood, where I was most glad to find the generous Clelius, whose age and Physiognomy invited me to ask his protection, and that he would conduct me either unto Rome or Ardes; for in that dismay I knew not well where I would be. After this, Clelius enquired of Clelia, concerning Aronces, who told him in short all she knew; but though he spoke very low unto her, yet Horatius heard, and knew by Clelia's countenance that she spoke with a feeling tenderness of his Rival, so as it damped him with unexpressable sadness: Yet hope did a little underprop his heart, and the state of things made him think, that happily some adventure might fall which might be advantageous unto him; for when he remembered the lamentable condition wherein he was, when his Rival found him wounded in a Wood, and how he was beholding unto him for his life, he thought himself much less miserable, than at that time, so as his mind was very free to entertain Clelius all the way with discourse of all that was memorable at the siege of Ardes, not omitting how Persander had there signalised himself upon several occasions. But in conclusion, Clelius being the first of the Company that discovered Rome, he was possessed with a most extreme joy at the sight of it, after so long an exile from it: he never thought how he was in a habit unfit to appear therein: Clelia indeed did put him in mind of it, but he made answer, That as long as he had a heart becoming a true Senator of Rome, he cared not for the habit: yet they met with an expedient for this; for as they came into Rome, stood a house which belonged unto one that was an ancient acquaintance or friend unto Clelius, where they stayed, and where he was furnished with a habit suitable to his quality: after which, they went unto the Gates of the Town; but a very strict Guard being kept, they were stopped until such time as Brutus, who then was sole Master of Rome, was informed who they were that asked entrance: he no sooner heard of them, but he sent Herminius to receive Clelius, Horatius, and Persander, not knowing that Clelia was with them, giving order afterwards, to quarter the Cavalry which Horatius brought. So as when Herminius went to receive them, and conduct them unto Brutus, he was most pleasingly surprised to see Clelia, Cesonia, and Plotina; for he thought that Clelia was with the cruel Tullia, and could not imagine what was become of the other Captives: for he knew very well, That when Tullia forsook her Palace, Clelia was only mentioned unto Aronces, and where the rest were, was not known. Thus Herminius now wanting nothing but to see the return of Aronces, he received all these illustrious persons with abundance of joy, and did all manner of imaginable honours unto Clelius in particular; he beseeched him to take a lodging in the house of the virtuous Sivelia his Mother, who would take all possible care of Clelia, until Sulpitia came, and until his own house was made ready. The way in going to Brutus, being to pass by this house, Clelius presently espied the virtuous Sivelia, who was his ancient friend, and leaving Clelia, Cesonia, and Plotina with her, who received them with that generous civility whereof she ever made profession, Clelius, Horatius, Persander, and some principal men of Ardes, were conducted unto Brutus by Herminius: This interview passed tumultuously enough, for Lucretius, Valerius, Colatin, Mutius, and many others, were then with Brutus, advising upon several necessary affairs concerning the establishment of Rome's liberty; Brutus yet did highly appland the valour of Horace at the siege of Ardes; and the sight of Clelius gave much satisfaction unto so many illustrious Romans, for he was known to be always a most irreconcilable enemy of Tyranny and the Tyrant; Brutus also, did him all imaginable honours: Clelius again returned a million of applauses. But as he styled him the Liberator of his Country: No, no, generous Clelius (said he unto him) never bestow any such glorious titles upon me: for a right Roman ought not to assume any above the rest of the Romans; let us therefore only render thanks unto the Gods for our deliverance from servitude in which we were, and to take away all likelihood of ever being under the power of one single person, I do declare that I will not be Consul alone, but will put into the hands of the Senate and People, all that Authority which they gave me, unless they will appoint one to be my Partner: For indeed (said he most generously) I dare not trust my own virtue in such a business. Brutus had no sooner done speaking, but all that heard him were opposite to his design: yet he standing firm to his principle, told them plainly, that he would propound it the next morning in the public Assembly: however, he being ever a man most regular in all points of civility, he went towards the evening unto Sivelia, to see Clelia there, unto whom he seemed much troubled for Aronces, and told her in short, how he went out of Rome with a design of delivering her. Alas (said she with a sad sigh, and looked upon Plotina) certainly it was that unfortunate Prince which was in Combat with those Troops which we saw when Horatius brought us away. She had no sooner said so, but Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres, came to Sivelia's house, who confirmed Clelia in her thought, and told all the Company that Aronces was Tarquin's Prisoner; also how they all made a retreat after they had seen their illustrious but unfortunate friend taken. Yet they did not fear that he would be ill used, because as the case stood with Tarquin, it was no policy for him to show any odium against the Son of such a great King, who only was able to relieve him in his misfortune; but still they conceived that he would not set him at liberty, so as all the company apprehended this adventure with abundance of sorrow. Brutus' resented it as the friend of Aronces; and foreseeing the sad consequences as a true Roman; and especially out of compassion upon an unfortunate Lover, who is more sensible than any other of any thing that disturbs the love of his friends. As for Clelius, he having almost always loved Aronces as his own son, ever since he saved his life in his Cradle, and keeping him from perishing after his shipwreck, he was exceedingly troubled: Sivelia out of tenderness and generosity, did pity him: Herminius was ready to run desperate: Horatius, out of grandeur of soul, and to merit the esteem of Clelia, he commended him, and said, That a Prince so virtuous as he was, deserved a far better destiny, than to be the Prisoner of the most vicious man upon earth: Cesonia and Plotina could not keep their eyes from gushing out into tears: as for Artemidorus, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and Celeres, they pitied Aronces, pitied Clelia, pitied Brutus, pitied Herminius, they pitied Rome, they pitied themselves: As for Clelia, she was sensible more than thought can reach unto; yet she durst not show all her sorrow, though the example of her friends might well have authorized hers; nor would she too much smother her sadness, lest she should infuse some false hopes into Horatius: but she kept such an even and just temper in her affliction, that she could not be accused, either of excessive prudence, or of too much carelessness. That which made her the more mistress of her spirit, was, because she believed the life of Aronces was in no danger; for she knew not that he was wounded, but she conceived the cruel consequences of his imprisonment; the least of which was, that she should be separated from Aronces for a long time, and be exposed unto the passion of Horatius, who having made his peace with Clelius, would become more confident; so as this sage Lady, in restraining the violence of her sorrow, did deserve much commendations. Mean while, as one subject of compassion doth easily renew the remembrance of another, so Clelius asked Brutus concerning the Prince of Numidia, and understood that in visiting the Palace of Tarquin after Tullia was gone out, they found him upon his bed, who never caring for the disorder and noise which he heard, looked calmly upon those that run from Chamber to Chamber with naked swords, not knowing whether there were any men so desperate as to defend him. Clelius understood further, how since that, the care which was taken of that Prince, had something restored him unto the freedom of his spirit, Alas, alas, (added Brutus, and sighed) I cannot tell whether or no it be a good office to restore a miserable man unto his wits, since certainly it makes all men in the world the more miserable. Brutus' expressed this in such a sad manner, as made all those pity him who knew the distemper of his soul, and were not ignorant that the death of Lucretia did more grieve him, than the liberty of Rome rejoiced him; for notwithstanding all his zeal to his Country, could he but revive Lucretia, he would do it with abundance of joy, though at the rate of erecting that Throne which he had pulled down. Doubtless he would have died a hundred deaths, rather than live in the servitude wherein he did: but he would have lived a slave all the days of his life, rather than never to see Lucretia but in her Tomb. This sad adventure had so much changed him, that he was scarcely knowable; such of his friends as were not admitted unto the secrets of his soul, did believe that this alteration proceeded from the weight of his cares which hung heavy upon him; but those of his Cabinet counsel, who knew the grandeur of his soul, they thought it to be love only which loadned him; his conversation was only upon such things as were necessary for the public good, unless he spoke of his sorrows and passion unto such as knew of them. He was not only always more serious, but also more haughty; and he could not flatter any but the people of whom he stood in need to revenge Lucretia, and to maintain the liberty of Rome; So as after so much good language as he thought fit to comfort Clelia, he retired himself to think upon other matters, but especially to give that great example of moderation, of which he had made such profession unto his Friends: Mean while, Clelius went to see the Grand Vestal his Sister, and received visits from all his Friends: Clelia was visited by all the Ladies of quality in Rome; amongst the rest, by Racilia, by Hermilia, by Colatina, by a Lady of quality called Flavia, and another named Salonina. Hermilia, and the sister of Collatine, being compounded of such a secret Melancholy, as would not suffer them to rejoice in the Liberty of their Country, so much as others; they kept always together. Valeria also went to visit Clelia, who gave such a reception unto all these Ladies, with so much obliging Civility, though with a little tincture of melancholy, as she won their Loves, the very first day.  
Mean while, Brutus according to his design, harangued the Senate and people, as he said he would; And with so much Eloquence, and Authority, as it may well be said, that their suffrages were not free, because he left none at liberty to be of any opinion contrary to his: He did so urgently aggravate the danger of making but one Consul, as the Image of Tyranny working upon the spirits of those to whom he spoke, they all obeyed his will, and consented that the Sovereign power which he had, should be divided. But when it came to the vote, who should be his Copartner; the dispute was greater than was imagined: For, as all new establishments meet with many difficulties; So such a murmur did arise, as made it evident, there would be Contrariety of opinions in this Choice: The multitude did not aim at choosing one that was the most able, the most wise, and the most valiant; but only such a one as was the most irreconcilable enemy of Tarquin. For, had they aimed at the most able, they would have looked upon Valerius, whose Prudence was admirable, whose honesty was known to all the world, and who had generously seconded Brutus in delivering Rome: They would then have thought upon Clelius, whose experience was great, and virtue high: They would have chosen Lucretius, they would have thought upon the wise Herminius, though he was a little too young to be Consul, though his high soul and heart rendered him worthy of any thing: they might have pitched upon many other illustrious Romans. But, as I said before, thinking only upon such a one, whom they thought most obliged to hate Tarquin; they all concurred in their Votes, and no name could be heard but Collatine's, whom the multitude thought more engaged to ruin Tarquin than any other, by reason of Lucretia's death, and wrongs received from him: such popular deliberations are commonly tumultuous, inconsiderate, and derogatory to right reason, so as they never considered that Collatine himself was of the Race of Tarquins. Brutus, who heartily wished Valerius to be chosen, and hoped he would; he was much surprised to see Collatine the man: for he could not endure him, but hated him as much, as if he were his Rival; also he looked upon him as a party cause of Lucretia's death, by infusing Love into the heart of Sextus, when he inconsiderately carried him to see that fair and unfortunate Lady: He looked upon him as a person whom she ever hated, though out of Nuptial conscience, lived well with him: and he looked upon him as a man, who bore the name of Tyrant; but to speak ingenuously, he did not look upon him through all these Considerations, but because he ever looked upon him as his Rival; so as it grieved his Soul to have him for his partner in Authority: Yet since it concerned the safety of Rome, that no division should appear betwixt them, in that new establishment; and since also it concerned the glory of Lucretia, that he should give no ground of guessing why he hated Collatine; therefore he constrained himself in this Rencontre: he thought again, that if he should oppose what the multitude propounded, it would breed a great Combustion; For, now there was not one single Roman, who hoped not for some little share of the Royal Authority: So as Brutus, whose piercing eye saw things as they were, and foresaw the consequences of this affair; he dissembled his thoughts, and told Valerius in secret, how angry he was that he was not Consul. But in conclusion, the mind of the multitude must be satisfied, and Brutus seemed not to take it ill; complying therefore with the Times, he himself was the first that saluted Collatine as Consul, unto whom from that time, the people began to render all honours which that dignity required: Brutus offered him the first place, but he would not accept it, nor indeed the people consent unto it: so as it was resolved, that there should be but one Consul before whom the twelve Lictors should walk, and before whom the Hatchet and bundle of Rods should be carried, lest it should incense the people, who do not love those emblems of Authority should be doubled, which may punish them when they deserve: Not that the Authority of the prime Consul was greater than the other's; for Brutus would not permit it, for fear of such consequences as might ensue: But as for these bare emblems of honour, they belonged unto Brutus only.  
Howsoever, after that Collatine was chosen, Brutus would have his Colleague confirm all those who the day before were tumultuously made Senators, Censors, Praetors, Aediles, Questors, or Tribunes: after which, Brutus caused a public Oration to be made, never to suffer any to reign in Rome, nor that any should ever be brought to consent unto it, either by menaces or promises. They did establish as a Law, that the Consulship, should last but one year; that for the future, none should be Consuls under forty three years of age; none Praetors under forty, none Aediles under thirty seven, none Tribune under thirty, and no Quaestor under twenty seven. Brutus would also have it, That the Consuls should be of the most illustrious Races; and that the three hundred Senators should be Noblemen.  
After which, the Senate being regularly assembled, they voted to regulate the Power and authority of those who had the conduct of things sacred; for it being the custom, that the Kings should offer some sacrifices in person, to show that they had an absolute authority in these Dominions, and that they had no dependency of any but the Gods, Brutus would not have the Consuls do as the Kings used to do: But he made a Royal Sacrificer for that Ceremony only, and that they should submit unto him that was the chief in matters of Religion. After which, the means of making war against Tarquin, was taken into consideration: They provided for the Guard of the Town; they consulted how to keep their Neighbours from joining with the Tyrant; they swore a solemn league betwixt Ardes and Rome; they resolved to keep the Cavalry which Horatius had brought, and to send Deputies unto Ardes, to thank that Town for the resistance which they made against the Tyrant. And Brutus omitted nothing that might conduce to the public good, to the ruin of Tarquin, and to the revenge of Lucretia, after which every one returned to his house. Mean time, Clelius with Amilcar, went to see the Prince of Numidia, who knew him at first, and asked for Clelia. This Prince being much joyed to hear that Clelia was escaped, he beseeched Clelius to give him no occasion of hatred, protesting unto him, that he should die with some contentment, if he could be but assured of his indifferency. Clelius, who was generous, and saw him in that pitiful condition, by endeavouring to deliver his daughter; he assured him, that she should be full of acknowledgement to him, provided he would be reasonable. Ah generous Clelius (cried he out) I will be any thing that will keep me from being hated by Clelia, and from being unjust unto Aronces; but yet I would adore your divine daughter for ever. Yet sir, my demand that she would not hate me, is because I would die more contentedly, for I know that I cannot live long. Oh Sir, (replied Amilcar, after his usual way of freedom) If you do not die of your wounds, as I hope you will not, and wish you may not, you will die either of love or grief: time will undoubtedly cure those two kinds of maladies; Death will not triumph over Lovers, and unfortunate persons, without the help of a Fever, or some disastrous accident: But to advance your cure (added he) I will answer, for the esteem of your Mistress, and for your Rival; I will also answer for their friendship, if you could but surmount your love. Oh Amilcar (cried he out) were my heart like unto yours, I should quickly surmount it, but to my misery we do not resemble. Afterwards, this Prince, who was naturally of a violent temper, began to fret and grieve inwardly, so as Clelius seeing him in a condition not to be long conversed withal, he left him, and went to take order for the repair of his house, which Brutus caused to be restored unto him, to the end he might receive Sulpitia, who was to arrive the next day. As for Amilcar, unto whom Clelius was much obliged, he went unto Sivelia's to see Clelia; for having had no discourse in particular with her, he accounted it as if he had not yet seen her; yet he could not have any private discourse with her at that time, because Plotina, Valeria and Herminius were there: But being all persons of strong reason, discourse was almost as free, as if they had all been intimate and particular friends: Herminius having spoken much of Clelia unto Valeria, she did not so much constrain herself, but both discoursed of their sorrows as freely as if they had been ancient friends: After a while of discourse, Valeria might easily be found a person of no common rank: her Physiognomy was so full of spirit, she spoke so well, and to the purpose; her tone was so charming, and her discourse so genuine and free, that of all those illustrious Romans which came to see Clelia, there was none pleased her more than Valeria; so as having a strong inclination to love her, she received all the civilities which the charming mistress of Herminius did her, with extraordinary kindness.  
I beseech you (said Clelia, in answer to some applauds which Valeria gave her) do not judge of me by what you see now, but trust unto what Herminius and Amilcar shall tell you of me, for they are my ancient friends and know me. I am not to day in my right humour, and my face is so much altered, that did I care for it I should grieve extremely, not but that I have a thousand subjects of joy: For I see my Father again, I see him in Rome, I see the power of Tarquin demolished, and I see my Country delivered: But for all that, the clouds of displeasure will not dissipate, and the miserable condition of the most virtuous Prince upon earth, makes me that I cannot gust any joys without ingratitude: You see with what freedom I talk unto you, and you easily perceive that I reckon our acquaintance from the first day I was acquainted with Herminius. You honour me abundantly, (replied Valeria and blushed) but believe it, Madam, I will not die ungrateful, but in my humour do requite you in a most extraordinary manner: For to discover my heart unto you, I confess that I have ever believed, a person of any solidity ought not to contract amity so lightly, as to close with them at the first sight, for appearances are very fallacious: there are many who do please the first hour, yet when they are better known, will displease for ever after: And I assure you, that since the fair and unfortunate Lucretia betook herself to a course of solitude, I never entertained any friend whom I could name particular; not but that Hermilia, whom every one knows to be the sister of illustrious Brutus, is a person whom I love and esteem; and that another named Flavia, has a great share in my heart. But Madam, it is not after such a manner as I loved that most excellent Lady, whose death would certainly have caused mine, if her solitude had not accustomed me to living without seeing her: yet Madam, I must tell you, that I do find such inclination in my heart toward you, as I never found for any, but for virtuous Lucretia. Madam, replied Clelia, I am infinitely obliged to you, for ranking me with her who cannot be paralleled by any without injustice; but to retaliate confidence for confidence, I must acquaint you that I do more for you, than you for me; For I must confess unto you, that except Plotina and Cesonia, unto whom averse fortune has devoted me; I have no friends whom I love so well, as to trust them with any of my secrecies: True indeed, friends I have; Herminius and Amilcar are so, and will be as long as I live; but as for feminine friends, I have found so few a number of such as are capable of solid friendship, as I content myself only with their society. But towards you, added Clelia, I do find a strong disposition to love you, and it shall stick of you, if I be not at this very day perfectly your friend. Whilst these two fair ones were talking thus, Cesonia, Plotina, Amilcar and Herminius, were talking of the late Revolutions: But Amilcar not affecting over-serious discourse, and hearing Clelia name him, he interrupted those two illustrious Romans, and asked them, what they talked of; We talk of a business so important (replied Valeria) as will mar all my felicity, and of a thing which neither Clelia nor I ever did before: for, though we have not known one another yet half a day; yet we intent to begin a league of friendship which must last as long as we live. Both of you, replied Herminius, are able to move love eternally, and the more you know, the more you'll esteem and love each other. For my particular, said Plotina, I see nothing extraordinary that you have done: what wonder is it, that two so fair as you, both flowing in wit, and knowing each other long by reports of friends whom you dare trust, should contract friendship so soon? For, this I am sure of, that if you contract amity with one whom afterwards you find not answerable to your fancy, it is an easy matter to break off: Though perhaps I am one (said Amilcar) who makes and breaks these kind of affections which they call friendships, though they deserve not that title; yet I am clearly of Valeria's opinion, and maintain that it is very frivolous to make these imaginary friendships so much talked of in the World.  
For my part, said Herminius, I must confess, that I do not well understand what friendships you mean. I have heard of a great Friendship, and tender friendship, and a solid, ardent, and inviolable friendship: but as for an imaginary friendship, it is new to me; and I believe it is forged in your imagination: I cannot tell, replied he, whether or no I did forge it in my fancy; but I think that I did not err in calling it so; But, I believe (added he and smiled) you are not well acquainted with all kinds of friendships, because you do not apply yourself to know that by which Clelia taught you all secrets at Capua, by giving you that ingenious paper, which hath made such a noise in the world: Also, I believe you are ignorant, how there are friendships by occasion, friendships by fashion, friendships by humour, friendships by judgement, friendships by wit, friendships by Interest, friendships of Compliment, friendships of Love; and of many other kinds, not reckoning that friendship of imagination so unknown to you, and which so many use: For my particular, (replied Cesonia) you would do me a favour, if you would tell me how it ariseth in the hearts of those that have it; It ariseth (replied he) between persons whose spirits are near alike, as Plotina and I should, if we had no judgement. Five or six foolish Proverbs uttered with a good grace, and taken into an imagination, is sufficient to beget one of these whimsy friendships; all the pleasure whereof, that can be hoped for, is the age of an afternoon: I speak this by experience, for I remember how I got myself eight or ten friends in a quarter of an hour, by making a handsome description of a woman that had a mind to be very fine, and yet knew not how to dress herself; but indeed, they were all nothing beholding to me if they had considered it. For, I vented this Railerie before two of their near kindred: Truth is, it was rather an error of memory than discretion; but I am sure, if I had not been in a very merry mood that day, or had spoke nothing but good sense and judgement, these eight or ten fond women had never been my friends. Thus Fancy and Imagination is a thing that begets these fading friendships, which are like mushrooms, grow up in an instant, and die as soon. You have paraphrased so learnedly upon this kind of friendship (said Herminius) as I believe it would be very acceptable to all the Company, if you would explain all those kinds which you have named. For my part, (said Plotina) I profess he shall lose mine, of what nature soever it be, if he do describe them all, one after another. I beseech you all (said Amilcar, then seeing Clelia and Plotina about to make the same request) command me nothing, for I would have the fair Plotina know, that her menace does affright me, and forces me to satisfy her Fancy.  
Begin then presently, replied she; yet (added she) I will dispense with you, for omitting those friendships by occasion; for I have made many of that kind in my life. Some friends only at the Temple; others, friends only of my friends, and others at Balls. For, there we agreed very well to laugh and jeer at those that danced ill: there we took out one another to dance, and talked very obligingly together; and yet we never saw one another, unless at some Feast, or by accident: But, I happened to be so well informed of any thing that related to them, that I knew them as well as themselves: but I have said enough of this kind, and I had better let Amilcar speak concerning friendship in fashion. As to that (said Herminius) I can speak as well as Amilcar: For, in my travels, I knew a woman, who indeed had many excellent qualities; who yet cloistered up herself as it were, and would not permit the world to crowd her with Courtships, but would be known only unto those whom she esteemed; but upon a sudden, having taken a fancy to three or four persons of the highest rank where she lived, and to come and see her, and extol her; presently it became the mode to love her, to talk of her in all places, to applaud her, and write unto her. Some would say, they knew her, though they never saw her in their lives; because they thought it a disgrace to say, they never saw her: so as she might well say, that their friendship unto her, was a friendship of fashion. I beseech you (said Amilcar then) give me leave to tell you, what friendship of humour is: I know a man (said Cesonia) who does love so fantastically, as I believe, I may well interrupt you from speaking: He is a man of wit, and understanding enough, and yet one, who never loves any but Fools and ignorant persons: Because, as I think, he had rather be admired by brutes, and adored by dolts, than to have friends as able as himself: Yet some days, the same whimsy which makes him love these kind of men, makes him abhor them, and ingenuously confess, that he knows not why he loved them. You may be sure (said Amilcar) that I dare not add any thing unto what the fair Cesonia hath said: but I hope, I may speak of the friendships by judgement: I beseech you, (said Clelia then) be not too hasty, but give me leave to speak of that friendship, of which only, I am able to discourse with delight and experience, if I may without vanity say it. For, I call it Friendship by Judgement, when one takes time to know the person whom one would love: when one is chosen that is virtuous, good, and wise: when one inquires who are his friends, when one observes of what temper and humour he is, and when one is assured that Love will be reciprocal: for without all these qualifications, it is not any Friendship of Judgement: when I see a woman that pleaseth me; when I hear her name many persons as her particular friends; that afterwards she has received many kind offices from them; if after all this I hear her rail and backbite them, would it be an argument of judgement to love such a person, how amiable soever she may be otherwise? But, if on the contrary, I find a woman of an ingenious spirit, who zealously defends her absent, or unfortunate, or dead friends: It were an argument of a sound judgement, to Court the affection of such a generous person. Now, (said Amilcar) I hope for a room to speak, since the discourse is to be, friendship that comes by wit and ingenuity: For, having a good wit myself, it belongs to me to talk of that which I have so often caused. Not, but that Herminius (added he, and smiled) has as good a wit as I, and better: but that he thinks it a kind of crime to show it: Therefore, since I am a wit by open profession, I know better than any how little we are obliged unto those, who care not for seeing us, but only to hear some pieces of wit flash from us, or to tell us some impertinences themselves. These are a sort of men, who are ready to break their buttons with laughing, or are ravished with admiration as often as they see you: they have always about them some Copies of Letters, or verses a la mode, new songs, biting Satyrs against their best friends, and many other conceits which often themselves understand not a line of: They will show you wit in one hand, and folly in another. They will ordinarily mistake wit for nonsense, and repeat some good lines, as things of no conceit: And again, will out with some pitiful stuff in such a passionate tone, as if they were repeating some sapphick Verses. I remember a woman, who to show the bravery of her wit, had always in her Pocket or memory, all the good and the bad Verses that were made in the Neighbourhood where she lived: she told me one day, she would show me some lines which were much cried up for good, but for her part, she found no great matter in them. But (said she) I have some others that are most admirable: But I not trusting much to the judgement of this Lady, had a mind to see those Verses which she discommended, rather than those she reported to be so rare: so as after a few entreaties, she was persuaded to repeat both: But truly those which she said she was ashamed to remember, were a most admirable composure, the measure and numbers were so natural and genuine, as spoke both passion and wit, and such as touched the heart, and moved to tenderness, more than to please and divert. When she had done these good lines; you see, said she, that these are not worth so much pains as to remember; but there are others of an excellent strain, the expressions are admirable, and the conceit delicate.  
Oh Madam (said I) you are a most incomparable wit, I beseech you make good your promise: I will, answered she, upon condition that in recompense you will show me some Verses of your own. Then she began to spit out a number of big fustian words which made a mighty sound, but signified nothing. A Gallimafry of Gibberish, which wrought highly upon the fancy of this Lady that repeated them. Well (said she, with an Air suitable to her capacity) are not these strong lines? Do you think I do not know what is wit? Come, Let me hear some of your lines: Ah, Madam, (answered I) mine will sound very ill after such as you have repeated; but being much pressed by her importunity, I made two or three Verses of a Song upon a sudden, stuffed with nothing but nonsense in it, which passed her approbation better than if they had been witty; but in conclusion, I waited upon her to her house, with a resolution never to come at it again: But the truth is, this humour of hers is rife every where; but my greatest wonder is, that people should be so inquisitive and desirous of things which they understand not, nor are pleased with, but only to show unto others of as mean capacities as themselves; yet they will often venture at Verse themselves, and vent lame crippled Copies which have neither reason nor rhyme in them; a whole sheet sometimes of nonsense, one Verse a foot too short, another two feet too long, and all but so much labour and Paper spent: These kind of people will out of a fond vanity, be contracting friendship with wits, and hang upon them as their dear friends, and lovers: yet the world is full of such simplicians, and many women will be extremely ambitious in obliging a good wit to come and see them, as if they had some real business of high concernment with them; and if he do come, but prove not of an humour to flatter the Lady, she will study revenge, she will scandal him, she will hate all he loves. I could say much more upon this subject, but there are other friendships which must be discoursed upon. As I remember (said Plotina,) there was a friendship of interest mentioned: As for that (said Amilcar) all the world knows it; for there is an interest (of pleasure at the least) in all the friendships that are. For eight days together, I visited one of my friends every day, but did not receive the least sign of any friendship: the ninth day understanding accidentally, That a man who had power to do her much harm, did love me very well: Then her cheek was smiles, and nothing but love and fayour flowed from her; she endeavoured all she could to captivate my heart if possible: so as what all are wit and endeavour was not able to do, this interest did it in a moment; for ever since I found her so sweet, so kind and affable, as I believe, if I had put her to the trial, I should have found her but too kind.  
Thus matter of interest, can make friends, I beseech you, (said Plotina) give me leave to speak of walking friendship; for I know many women in the world, who are good for nothing but to walk with their friends in Gardens, and gadding abroad only to show their dress, or their fine Coach: their discourse is only of Clothes, Weddings, and Burials; and talk of any thing else, they are most impertinently tedious. I know one, whom I have never seen all winter long, but as soon as summer appeared, she would come and carry me to walk; and but for that, she would never have seen me; but I will speak no more of them, because I would hear Amilcar discourse upon friendship of Love: As to that (replied Herminius) there is not any well accomplished man in the world, but is able to speak something of it: And I suppose Amilcar intends to speak of those, who having a passion in their souls, do endeavour to make friendship with all those women of their Mistress' acquaintance, whether they like them or no. You have hit so right upon my meaning, said Amilcar, that I desire to stand silent, and you to speak: Amilcar, replied Herminius, the company will be losers by that; and besides, you are more experienced in such kinds of friendships than I am. Indeed (said Amilcar) should I reckon up all the simple friendships which Love has moved me to make, you would then say, I were a man of large experience in such matters: for should I number up the million of Mothers, Aunts, Cousins, Friends, Neighbours, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, and such like, to whom I have been complaisant, only because I was in love, I should never come to an end: Truth is, the knowledge I have gotten by these kind of friendships, has been much merry diversion unto me; for I have by them made many an odd discovery: whensoever I saw a man of ingenuity give a visit unto any simple woman, I presently enquired whether she had not some fine kinswoman, some fair Neighbour, or some gallant friend: And when I saw any witty woman frequent the society of any foolish fellow, I never questioned but she courted him for some other kind of conversation; so as in a short time I grew so cunning, as I knew all secrets without ever being told them: for I concluded this as a necessary consequence, that when any woman seems to love such a one whom it is impossible she should ever love, either in justice, or for any profitable interest; this seeming Love serves her only as an umbrage, under which she may see one whom she really loves, though she do not show it. Appearances are so deceitful, (replied Clelia) as it is often very unjust to make conclusions by circumstances so doubtful: For who, that sees the apparent stupidity of illustrious Brutus, would think him a man of the highest soul, and that he should be Rome's deliverer? It is most certain (said Herminius) that it is very dangerous to judge of things by conjectures, be they never so seeming: As for example (said he, and whispered with Amilcar) who would ever imagine that Brutus, who is all glory, and who has done the highest action that ever was, should not esteem himself very happy? and yet I am persuaded he is more miserable than ever he was. After this, two Ladies came unto Clelia's house, and Valeria going away, Herminius went also within a quarter of an hour after, and went unto Brutus whom he found alone, and as melancholy as he thought to find him. But though Herminius knew Brutus had good cause for his sadness, yet he resolved to divert him from it as much as he could, and to oppose the love of his Country against the effects of that love which still he retained to the unfortunate Lucretia. For Sir, said he unto him, your sorrows are no other than such as a thousand Lovers have as well as you: but then, Sir, you have such a consolation, as no other Lover ever had besides yourself, since never another Lover found the liberty of his Country by the death of his Mistress. Oh Herminius, (cried he) That which you propound as a consolation, makes me infinitely more sad: For is it not the height of cruelty, that the same which hath saved Rome, and which I have so much wished, should make me eternally miserable? Yes, yes, Herminius, added he, should I live a thousand ages, I should take delight in nothing but Revenge, and should daily renew my grief for the death of incomparable Lucretia. But, Sir, answered Herminius, you know, that revenge is counted the highest of all delights, and therefore having carved out your revenge upon Tarquin, in the most noble way that ever was, you have great reason and just cause to comfort yourself. Revenge is sweet, I confess, replied Brutus, but it gives me no calm delight, nor ever will. Common injuries indeed, which may be repaid by revenge, may find a satisfaction and quietness of mind to the wronged party: But alas, mine is none of those, for all my revenge can never restore me Lucretia. I have driven Tarquin out of Rome, I forced proud Tullia to fly away: Infamous Sextus dares not show his head, the virtue of his Brothers cannot secure him from the fury of the people: All Romans do enjoy their liberty, and reverence me as receiving it from my hand; but for all that, Lucretia is dead, and I am more grieved at her being in her Tomb, than I am joyed at the Tyrants being out of his Throne: And as an addition to my misery, Collatine shares in the sovereign Authority with me: yes, my dear Herminius, he is so insupportable to me, that without extreme violence upon myself, I cannot endure him: for first, he is of Tarquin's name, which is a horror to me; He was my Rival, he married Lucretia, his shallow merits made her miserable; he, and his indiscretion, was the cause of that horrid accident which happened, and consequently the cause of her death. I hate him, because he does not lament her death enough; for the Consulship which the silly people has conferred upon him, has almost made him forget the loss of that rare woman. You are so ingenious to torment yourself, replied Herminius, that the more one strives to comfort you, the more one afflicts you, and therefore 'tis better never to talk of your grief, but of your revenge. No, no, replied Brutus, all's in vain; for where so ere I am, what so ere I say, or do, I have still Lucretia in my mind, and to my great torment do always see her striking a Poniard into her breast, and look upon me as if she bade me revenge her death. No, Herminius, her Ghost never leaves me, nor never will; and therefore, never fear renewing my griefs, since I myself renew it every minute; she is infinitely dear and precious unto me, and I were a most perfidious villain, if I could be any ways comforted.  
After this, Herminius, to turn the discourse handsomely, began to speak of Aronces and his misfortunes, and the advantage which Tarquin might have by keeping that Prince in his custody: For, said he, he will thereby oblige Porsenna to arm in his behalf: Common policy also invites that King to assist Tarquin; and when that league is made, honour will not suffer Aronces to be against his Father; so as if that happen, as most probably it will, I shall look upon him as one of the most miserable Princes upon earth: For he will be constrained to fight for his Rivals, in fight for Tarquin and Sextus: He will be forced to take the unjust side, he will strike at his dearest friends, and which is hardest of all, against the Father of his Mistress. 'Tis true replied Brutus, but this will be his consolation, that he will be against Horatius, and the Prince of Numidia. However it be, said Herminius, that grert Prince will be exposed to abundance of misery; and therefore for the interest of Rome, for the interest of Clelia, for the interest of Aronces, for the revenge of Lucretia; it is good to hinder Porsenna from arming on Tarquin's side, since there is none but he whom we need to fear. Indeed (said Brutus) all the neighbouring Estates have not power enough to protect him: nor is it so easy a matter to persuade little Republics to assist a King tumbled down from his Throne, as it is to inspire that design into a great and Potent King, who by the consequence of the thing, has indirectly interest in the re-establishment of Tarquin. Not that he can ever have any Right to Protect a Tyrant: but, you know, Policy does change the names of things according to the several interests of those that act in them: so, it may be, that Tarquin who is disclaimed at Rome as a Tyrant, will be looked upon at Clusium, as a legitimate and unfortunate King, driven out of his Kingdom by his Rebellious subjects. So as to prevent that, I conceive it expedient to negotiate with Porsenna; but the difficulty will be to know, how: Sir, replied Herminius, I conceive it good to consult with the Prince Artemidorus and Zenocrates about it: you know that the Princess of the Leontines, is sister unto the first of them; that she is with the Queen Galerita, the Mother of Aronces; and that she has a great reputation and interest in that Court, so as it were a good expedient, if you could oblige Artemidorus and Zenocrates to go unknown unto Clusium, and acquaint that Princess with the true interest and condition of Aronces, to the end she may do him such service as he desires. But, replied Brutus, Aronces is in the hands of Tarquin, who certainly will never part with him, unless Porsenna promise to assist him. But, replied Herminius, if Porsenna will not assist him, he will be so far from being able to keep Aronces, that he will not know how to keep himself. There is some reason in what you say, answered Brutus, but you never consider that Porsenna, who would not have Aronces to marry Clelia, will not treat with Rome, now Clelius is returned, but upon condition, that match shall never be; yet you know that Aronces will not consent unto that treaty. I know it very well (replied Herminius) but I know withal that however it be, it is very requisite to have one in the King of Clusium's Court, though only to know how things pass there. I grant it (answered Brutus) and accordingly Herminius took upon him to propound the business unto Artemidorus and Zenocrates.  
Mean time, Sulpitia arrived the next morning, who was so highly joyed to see Clelia there, that it pleased her more than to see herself in Rome and Tarquin out on't; or to see Sivelia, Racilia, Hermilia, Collatina, Valeria, Cesonia, Plotina, Flavia, Salonina, and all the rest of the illustrious Romans, who came in Troops to visit her. On the other side, Clelia, whom Sivelia then restored unto Sulpitia, had a double joy in being again so near her virtuous Mother. For, besides her affectionate tenderness towards her, she looked upon her as one who loved Aronces, and did not love Horatius. She had also the satisfaction to see, that though Clelius had enjoined her to forget what was past, and to receive that illustrious Roman very well; yet she gave him but a very faint entertainment: but she enquired very affectionately of the Numidian Prince, and of Aronces as a man whom she most esteemed. Clelia received also that day a most sensible joy; For, Aronces having suborned his Guard, procured one to go unto Rome with one letter unto Herminius, and another unto Clelia.  
The messenger addressing himself unto Herminius, according to his directions, he presented the two Letters unto him: And Herminius after he had read his own, went immediately to carry both unto Clelia, who, without making any secret of the matter, showed them unto Sulpitia: The letter unto Herminius was thus writ.  
Aronces unto Herminius.  
FOr God's sake, dear Herminius, pity my misfortune, and bid all our illustrious friends pity me also. But above all, oblige my Divine Clelia not to change her thoughts of a miserable man, who, whether in Fetters or on a Throne, will still be the same to her; For, as it is not in the power of virtue itself to make no happy, unless fortune consent, so it is not in the power of Fortune to make me forsake Virtue, in forsaking Clelia. Negotiate therefore for me, as I would for you, if you were in my stead; And speak unto that most admirable person whom I adore, as you would have ●● speak unto Valeria, if your misfortune were equd unto mine. Tell Brutus that Tarquin hopes to be able for a war, and that I will do all I can to hinder the King my Father from embracing his Interests.  
After Clelia had read this letter, she opened her own, and found these words.  
The unfortunate Aronces to the most Divine Clelia.  
THough, Madam, my Rival had the advantage of carrying you back unto Rome; yet I am Tarquin's Prisoner for endeavouring to set you at liberty: when you consider of the good office which Horace has done you, consider also that the unfortunate Aronces would gladly die to do you service: But above all, never forget your promise, unless you would have me die desperate.  
The reading of this Letter did exceedingly more Sulpitia, and her admirable daughter; who concluded with Herminius, that Clelius should see it. Mean time, they informed themselves from the messenger of Aronces and his wounds, who told them, that in all likelihood, they were not dangerous: They also understood by him, that Aronces was guarded very strictly: They learned further, that the interview of Tarquin and Tullia was with much bitterness, and yet their bad fortunes had united them: He told them also that they had sent unto Ceres, which was close by them, to engage that Prince unto their side: And that the report went, Tarquin intended to go unto Veies that great and potent City, whose neighbourhood might much encumber Rome, if it should declare for him. After they had satisfied their curiosities, as far as the messenger was able to inform them; Herminius carried him unto Brutus, that he also might know the state of things; and, to the end, he should not repent quitting the Tyrant, he gave him a round sum of money, and promised employment, if any wars were.  
After which, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, Amilcar, and Celeres coming in, Herminius, who according to his resolution, had spoken unto the two first, told Brutus, that they both of them offered to go unto Clusium, with a design not to be known unto any, but the Princess of the Leontines. So, as it was resolved, that they should depart within few days. As for Celeres, his affection unto Aronces, moved him unto a design of going unto Tarquinia, to hear news, and also the more easily to receive such orders as he would give, either for the Court of the King his Father, or for Clelia.  
As for Amilcar; he resolved to see out the destiny of Rome, since it might be advantageous unto his Master, to Aronces, to Clelia, to Brutus, and to Herminius: and since it was pleasing unto Plotina, unto whom he was as officious as unto any whom he called Mistress. Mean time, Hermilia and Collatina, who suffered both under the same kind of affliction; they grew to love each other most tenderly through this equality of misfortune: For, if one grieved for the absence of the Prince of Pometia, the other did the like for the absence of Titus. So as often mixing their Tears and Complaints together; they therefore confined themselves to their Chambers, it not being permitted at that time, to appear sad in Rome: For indeed, if any was seen without joy and mirth in his eyes, he was presently censured for one of Tarquin's friends; And according to the natural injustice and insolence of a people newly set at liberty, they would have a Law which should inflict most terrible tortures upon such as looked melancholy at such a time when Rome was enfranchised: So as now, it was not permitted any to grieve for the death of any kindred or friend, unless they would run the danger of being taken for some of Tarquin's Creatures, and be thrown down headlong from the Tarpeian Rock. Brutus did as much as he could to restrain the fury of the people: But, lest they should cool in their hatred of the Tyrant, out of policy he suffered their murmur. As for Collatine, though he had more cause to hate Sextus, than any other; yet in his heart, he did not wish the establishment of a Commonwealth. For, being of a Family whence two Kings issued, perhaps he had some squint hopes of being chosen.  
Upon divers occasions, he was observed to act very faintly, especially in regulating matters of Religion: Brutus would have a King of the sacrificers created, being unwilling the Consuls should attribute this honour unto themselves, lest it should too much smell of Royalty, and rub up the memories of such as were well affected to that kind of Government. This business being a matter of great importance, and which Brutus thought fit to communicate unto the people as well as the Senate, it was taken into consideration: And (as a thing very observable) the same people who so universally had cried up Collatine for a Consul, having observed him opposite to the opinion of Brutus, they were bitterly incensed against him, and cried him down as loud as they had cried him up.  
The multitude made a mighty murmur against him, some said they were much to blame in thinking upon any for a Consul, that bore the name of Tarquin, since that only was cause sufficient to banish him Rome: others added, That he appeared more a Tarquin in heart than name, since he was contrary to the opinion of Brutus, who was the true deliverer of Rome: some said, he held intelligence with Tarquin: others, that his aim was to make himself King, and all generally concluded, that there was a necessity not only of a dismission from his authority, but of his packing out of Rome. At the first, he behaved himself as Consul, and commanded silence: but thinking to appease the multitude, he incensed them: Afterwards, seeing his power not obeyed, he begun to Cajole the people; but the more submi●s he was, the more insolent were they: some argued him culpable, because he would keep the Authority against the intentions of those who conferred it upon him. Brutus seeing so great a Tumult, and being unwilling to oppose Collatine directly, though the public good required that Valerius should be in his place, and though his secret hatred against him wished it, yet he went another way to compass his end. For after he had excused Collatine in those accusations wherein he was charged, he said it was a thing impossible his heart should adhere to the interest of Tarquin, who had so much wronged him.  
But for all that (said he most subtly) were I so unfortunate as ever to be suspected by the people, I profess I would not keep the authority one quarter of an hour after, and I do now at this instant offer it up, if it be thought that the public good requires it. Brutus had no sooner said so, but the people applauded him to the Skies, after which he seemed more animated against Collatine: so as Lucretius who had more resolution than his Son in law, who also knew that he was not fit for that place; who hated Tarquin more than Collatine did; who had the heart of a true Roman; who knew that Lucretia left no children, and who dearly loved Brutus; he turned towards his Son in Law, and spoke thus unto him; Why, Collatine, will you not lay hold of a noble occasion, of doing a great action, in voluntary surrendering the Consulship, since it is not pleasing unto the people? Make it appear Collatine, by this free dismission, that you quit an authority which you have no mind to keep, since you do so easily part from it: if you would be ruled by me, I would advise you to put yourself in a capacity of being recalled unto Rome, by banishing yourself freely to day. For my part, I protest unto you, that though you married my Daughter, yet I think myself more obliged to take Rome's part than yours; so as seeing the people incensed against you, and ill persuaded of your good intentions concerning the liberty of your Country, I think myself obliged both in honour and reason to advise you as I do: Then (added he in a low voice) It is in vain to keep that Authority which will be taken from you. Collatine now found himself at a pitiful nonplus: but, in conclusion, seeing all the people against him, knowing Brutus no friend, and finding Lucretius also his opposite, he surrendered that power which was given him into the hands of Valerius, who by the contrivance of Brutus and Herminius, was chosen with one voice; Lucretius, who pretended to it, not being offended at it, so cunningly was the business carried. Mean time, to show Collatine how pleasing the generous counsel he had given Collatine, was unto the people; they permitted Collatine to transport all his estate out of Rome, with Collatina, whom he would not carry with him, because he knew more than the people did, to wit, the league 'twixt Titus and her. So as thinking that if he carried her where he was, that Prince perhaps would come and see her, and this would render him suspected at Rome, to which he hoped ere long to be recalled: he left her with Racilia, for Collatina's Mother was dead long before. Thus this fair Lady, who hoped that the misfortune of her Brother would be advantageous to her, she found herself more miserable, though being with Hermilia, was a great consolation to her. Mean time, according to the course of all the world, which will have some sigh whilst others sing, whilst Collatina mourned with Hermilia, all true Romans rejoiced to see the illustrious Brutus, and sage Valerius, masters of the sovereign Authority, for both of them were able, both courageous, both professed enemies of the Tyrant, both reverenced by all Romans, and both friends. So as it was the general hopes of all to see the liberty of Rome solidly established, since two men of such noted virtue sat at the helm of affairs: Indeed this great City, reposing themselves upon the prudence of these two great Men, as men in a ship upon a skilful Pilot, all was calm, every one was quiet, and for a few days, not a word of any false news flew about, no politic disputes troubled the tranquillity of the Town; not but that it was well known there was a Cabal of young men, and of high quality, who wished well to the dominion of Tarquin, because they shared in the debaucheries of Prince Sextus: but yet they durst not speak out their thoughts: And Rome was all peace, when the guards at the Gates came to tell the Consuls in open Senate, that there were some Envoyes from Tarquin, who demanded entrance. At first, the opinions of Brutus, of Valerius, of the illustrious father of Clelia, Lucretius, and of many others, was, not to hearken unto them, or permit them entrance; but their opinions altered, when they heard that they whom Tarquin sent, were two of those Priests called Fecialians, of which there was twenty in Rome, whose office was to declare War and Peace, to be spectators of Combats, and executed the Function of Heralds, and sometimes of Envoyes, or Mediators. These men were held in such great veneration at Rome as the superstition had persuaded the people, that if they did not give respect unto the propositions they brought, they should pull down vengeance upon themselves: so although Brutus and Valerius did believe that such men as had quitted Rome to follow the Tyrant, and came from him, would never find protection from the Gods; yet knowing how the multitude stood affected, they thought it prudence to give them their satisfaction in observing their old customs. Brutus also added, that it was expedient to manifest unto all their Neighbour States, that they had all right reason to maintain that liberty which they had recovered by force, and that they should hearken unto these Envoyes from Tarquin, whose propositions would be so apparently unjust, that they would incense the people more when they heard them.  
The opinions of Brutus and Valerius being followed, they sent a man of Authority to receive these Envoys, and bring them to the Senate, and not suffer them to speak unto any as they passed through the Town: mean time, these Envoyes, or Heralds fearing the violence of the people, they attired themselves in such a Garb as might best set out their qualities, and beget respect. So as according to the custom on such occasions, they wore Crowns of Laurel upon their heads, two darts in their hands; the one, half burned, to use them as their propositions were answered; for they used divers ceremonies when they declared War. Mean time they perceived by this encounter, how powerful Religion is in the minds of the people: for notwithstanding the inveterate hatred which the Romans had against Tarquin, these Envoyes passed through Rome without the least violence offered unto them; yet many were heard to murmur, which made it apparent, they were not welcome; but having several designs in hand, they were not out of hopes of well serving him that sent them. They were men of able parts, they were instructed by Tarquin and Tullia, they were Romans; they had many kindred in the Town, and they had divers Letters from Tarquin, to many young men of Quality: they had also some from Sextus, for his old friends, so as the main matter of their negotiation, was only to speak unto the Senate, as an umbrage to plot something in Rome, which might advantage the Tyrant. Yet they kept their design very close and were conducted to the Senate, unto whom, in few words, they delivered the cause of their coming. At first, the Consuls, and Senators expected that the Heralds would ask no less than the Sovereign Power for Tarquin, and that they would recall him: But in lieu of that, they only said, that Tarquin to show, he had more moderation than those who drove him from Rome, demanded only a restitution of all that was his own proper estate, and that it might be transported unto the place where he was. This feigned moderation surprised the Senate, and puzzled them more than if the Envoyes had demanded the Crown for the Tyrant, who sent them. However this being a business which could not be determined in their presence, they withdrew; and to further their close design, they desired leave, to go amongst those that were of their own Function, who stayed in Rome: which was granted, and they conducted thither. Yet Brutus and Valerius, commanded to observe them narrowly, and not to stir from them.  
But after they were retired, and the matter put to the vote, the opinions of the Senators were strangely divided, and which way soever they considered the thing, they found it a peevish business: should they deny Tarquin, what was his own, though he had never reigned in Rome, were such a piece of Injustice, as would give him a just pretence for a War: should they consent to his demand, they should enable him to make it. So as the thing being very Controversial, and the Senate so newly established, as those of which it was composed were hardly acquainted with each other; it was impossible for Brutus and Valerius as able as they were, to determine the business that day, nor the next; no, nor the next following that: Mean time, they durst not take upon themselves the absolute Authority, lest the people should say, they expelled the Tyrant, only to become Tyrants themselves. So as they were forced to submit the matter unto Time, and stay till those that were of a contrary opinion, did yield unto theirs; or else so united all those that were of their judgement, as they might be able to oppose them that contradicted them: But whilst the Senate was debating the business, without coming to any result, Tarquin's Envoys did unperceivedly and cunningly transact their business: For, seeing they had no answer the first day, they desired leave to send unto those that employed them, which in Common Justice could not be denied.  
True it is, they were always accompanied by one that observed them, but yet they made a shift to blind his eyes; for they being two, whilst the one of them was talking unto any one whom they thought fit to employ, the other entertained their spy with discourse: Now, such as were well affected either unto Sextus, or the Princes his Brothers, they sought out for such occasions as might bring them to the speech with those men that were of their interests: of which number were the two young Aquilians, and two others of the illustrions' Family of the Vitellians, who got to speech with one of these Envoys, and received Letters of him from Tarquin: The Envoy also gave him a sealed Packet for the two Sons of Brutus, not telling them from whom they came: After which, it being agreed amongst themselves, that they should meet when it was dark in a Garden which belonged to the house, they parted. These four young Romans failed not to meet accordingly, and one of Tarquin's Envoys began to persuade them unto a Restitution of Tarquin to the Throne, and to make a Confederacy in the Town, to let him in by night with such Troops as still remained with him; promising unto them Mountains of Recompenses, if they could do him so great a service: Alas, (said the Envoy) what good can you expect from this Alteration of Government? You see, even now, that though the two Consuls be as able men as are in the whole world; yet they cannot get a result upon a business, which would be resolved in an hour, if the Authority were in one single person: Tell therefore, all the young Gallantry, your friends, that all their Glory and advantage consists in the re-establishment of Tarquin, though he should be a Tyrant: For, the Court of a Prince has Grandeur and magnificence in it: Tell them that all pleasures and delights are for ever banished from Rome, if Tarquin be: Make them understand that Kings, be they as rigorous as they are, yet sometimes they pardon and recompense: But the Laws are inexorable, and punish severely without mercy: they are always more favourable to the poor, than to the rich; to the common people, than to men of Rank. Represent unto them, what a heartburning it will be, when they shall see themselves subjected to a multitude, to Cringe and Court those whom naturally they ought to command.  
Tell them, that Kings being elective at Rome, it were a gross baseness in the Nobility to sit still, and lose their hopes to a Crown: In short, tell them, whatsoever you shall think best to prompt them on unto so great a design. These young Romans unto whom this discourse was addressed, and who of themselves were apt to embrace what was desired of them, they promised Tarquin's Envoy as much as could be required: and this discourse being in the night only by Moonshine, and in a Garden, they had as good an opportunity as could be, to argue upon the enterterprise: For, the Envoy had gained the slave, who had the charge of shutting the doors of the house: He that was appointed to keep an eye over their Actions, fell asleep: And all Rome was in a profound calm, whilst a business was consulting which might captivate them all.  
Mean while, Tarquin's Envoy ask the young Romans, what they had done with the Packet, which he gave them for the two Sons of Brutus, they told him that as yet they had not met with them; but in the morning they would go unto them, and in the evening at the same place, they would give them an account of all things; After which they went away. In their way home, he who had the Packet directed to the two Sons of Brutus, asked the rest what they thought of that Packet: For my part, (said one of the three, whose name was Aquilius) I am much mistaken, if it be not letters from two fair Ladies, who were brought up under Tullia: the one of which is a Slave of a Noble extraction called Teraminta: And I am sure, that Titus and Tiberius (so were the two Sons of Brutus called) are deeply in love with them. This induceth me to think, that Tullia has a design, by this means to draw Titus and Tiberius unto their Party. But (replied one of those who had not yet spoken) I wonder these Loves should make no greater a noise in the World, and that I should never hear a word of it. The reason is (answered he) because the War of Ardes employed every one so much, that they had no leisure to talk of amorous discourses as in idle times of peace. But (said the other) though Titus and Tiberius should be in love with Ocrisia, and the young Teraminta, do you think they would ever desert the interest of Brutus? Yes, yes, answered he, for Love is stronger than Nature: And I know, there is no great tenderness in the hearts of these young men towards their Father: For, Brutus affecting a strange kind of lumpish stupidity, the young men have been extremely ashamed of being his Sons: 'Tis true, they were so (said one of them.) But now, since Brutus is known to be one of the most glorious persons in the world, and performed such high Actions, doubtless Titus and Tiberius are changed in their opinions of a Father. I grant (answered Aquilius) that now they esteem him whom within a few days before they slighted: But for all that, if they be really in Love, they cannot love a Father, who in expelling a Prince which loved them, exiled also their Mistresses: besides, they being brought up in great Liberty and Freedom, they will much insist upon obedience to the commands of a Father: Well, well, (said Aquilius) to morrow will tell us more: And indeed, as soon as it was day, Aquilius, who had the Packet, went unto Titus and Tiberius: And the other three went every one severally to their particular friends, whom they thought most apt to adhere unto their opinions: Mean time, Aquilius was no sooner alone with Titus and Tiberius, but he gave them the Packet which was directed unto them: They had no sooner opened it, but they found two letters, the Characters of which they knew: For, that directed unto Titus, was from the fair Ocrisia whom he loved: and the other to Tiberius, was from the young slave Teraminta, whom he affected with a most violent passion. So as these two Lovers being infinitely impatient to see these Letters, they opened them, and read them in private, though they knew the secrets of each other, and though their friend was also acquainted with their Loves. But after they had read them to themselves, they read them aloud to Aquilius, who found that from Ocrisia to be thus indicted.  
Ocrisia unto Titus.  
YOur destiny, Generous Titus, is in your own dispose, and it is only long of yourself if you be not happy: you have told me ten thousand times, that you would do any thing in the world, to win my love: which if you will make good, and if you will reign in my heart, do what you can to make Tarquin reign in Rome: For, if you do not, you shall be for ever banished from any heart of mine.  
After the young Aquilius had heard this Letter, Tiberius read his, which was in these terms,  
Teraminta unto Tiberius.  
IF the unfortunate Teraminta be not out of your memory, as she is out of Rome, you will still remember how heavy the chains are which she wears. It is in your power to set me at Liberty: For, it is promised unto me, if you will take the King's side. You know that in the condition wherein I am, I have nothing to dispose of but my affection. And that I do most faithfully promise unto you; if you will but do as I desire, and as you ought: Brutus was not so much obliged to deliver Rome, as you are to deliver me, since I do give you the means: Either unslave me, or resolve never to be mine.  
Well (said Aquilius unto these two Lovers) what answer you to these two Letters, and what do you resolve upon? For my part, (said Titus) I cannot tell what to do: For I do love Ocrisia as well as is possible for any to love, but withal, I love my honour also: and indeed, what can I do for Tarquin, against my Father, and all Rome? If you will but employ your Courage, (replied Aquilius) you will shortly find it no such difficulty as you think, to put Rome again under the Power of a Prince, who is so near akin to you, as it is but just to put that Crown again upon his head, which Brutus pulled off.  
Oh ye good Gods (cried out Tiberius) into what a confused Labyrinth am I brought? For truly, I must ingenuously confess, that I am as enemy unto all Republics: I had much rather obey a Tyrant, than be a slave unto the rude people, and to see my Fortune depend upon the humour of the giddy multitude. I know my Father has done a most high Action, and it were against Nature and Reason so much as to question, whether I being his Son, ought, or ought not to take his part. But then, ought I not to deliver a Mistress when it is in my power? and must I deny her any thing unto whom I have promised all things? But, Aquilius (said he) suppose I should overcome my repugnancy unto the Law of Nature, and follow such motions as Love inspires me withal, all would be in vain: For, my Father is Master of Rome: Tarquin is hated, and the same cruelty which made him reign so long, will doubtless debar him from ever reigning again in Rome: because all Romans knowing how revengeful he is, will never trust him: Therefore though the interest of a Father should not restrain me, the impossibility of the enterprise ought: For, it is a most gross folly to attempt a thing against all reason, when there is no manner of possibility to effect it. For my part, (said Titus then) I shall hardly think any thing impossible. For the people are so giddy and mutable, as one may expect, or one may fear any thing from them: How strangely violent they were in choosing Collatine a Consul, and with the same violence and breath, expelled him Rome? Therefore if a confederacy were on foot, I should not despair of its success, and would be one amongst them, provided they would save the life of my Father; for I must confess, I cannot lose Ocrisia and live. Perhaps (replied Tiberius) I love Teraminta more than you Ocrisia; but being not so great a hater of this new Government as you are, and seeing no possibility to alter it, I am not so hasty as you. However (said Aquilius) I promised the Envoys of Tarquin to bring you unto them: and indeed, they had earnestly entreated Aquilius to contrive it so, that they might speak with them, if it might be with safety. Aquilius did not fear his friends would reveala thing which would ruin him if it were known; and therefore he told them, that for his part, he was resolved to do all he could for Tarquin, although he did not love him; and that he would break off all friendship with them, if they would not go to morrow in the evening, into the Garden where they had already spoken with the Envoyes of that Prince. Thus the Sons of Brutus not well knowing what they would, or would not do, and not knowing whether Love should yield unto Nature and Honour, or whether Nature and Honour should surmount Love, they promised Aquilius to go whither he would.  
But whilst Brutus and Valerius were striving to unite the opinions of the Senate; whilst the Envoys of Tarquin were sowing seeds of confederacy; whilst the young Aquilians and their friends were plotting a confederacy against the deliverers of Rome; and whilst all the people of Rome expected with much impatience the resolution of the Senate; Horatius casting all his cares of the public good, upon the wisdom of those who then had the Authority, he thought upon nothing but how to make advantage of the absence and misfortune of his Rival: Herminius and Mutius, upon nothing but to please the charming Valeria; Artemidorus and Zenocrates, upon nothing but their own and their friend's business: The Prince of Numidia, nothing but complain he could not die, since he was not beloved: Hermilia and Collatina, in discoursing of their common misfortunes; Clelia, in grieving for the miseries of Aronces: and Amilcar, in diverting himself in all things, and in diverting Plotina in all manner of things that might afford her any delight. Mean while, Sulpitia being of the prime Quality, and a little disaccustomed at Carthage, and Capua, from the extreme severity of Rome, converse and discourse at her house was very free: Also at every alteration of Government, the people are for a while excused from the exact deportments of their Country. So as almost all Men and Women of any excellency of parts and ingenuity, did Rendezvouz every day at the house of Sulpitia. Clelia, doubtless did wish herself free to lament her misfortunes: but since she could not have her will, and being as wise as fair, she dissembled part of her grief, except when Horatius looked upon her; for then out of an obliging tenderness to Aronces, she found some sweetness in afflicting Horatius by showing her melancholy, which she knew he would interpret as she desired he should; but though she was very serious and sad, yet was she both civil and sociable.  
The same day that the Sons of Brutus received the two Letters, Clelia having observed in seeing Mutius and Herminius together, that they looked very coldly upon each other; she asked Valeria what the matter was betwixt those two brave men: Valeria, she blushed at the question, so as Clelia never staying for an answer, told her in a low voice, that she would never ask her any thing again, for I am much mistaken, if I do not see the cause of their Quarrel in your eyes: Truly, replied Valeria, you need not seek for any other cause, than the injustice of Mutius, who thinks it a shame to change a resolution which he had fixed upon. I am so apt to judge favourable of Herminius (replied Clelia) that I doubt not but Mutius is in the wrong, and his Rival in the right: but for all that, it is not impossible that two Rivals should hate one another, yet not be unjust. Whilst these two Ladies were talking thus, Herminius and Mutius, who were no good friends since Tarquin was expelled Rome, they looked very roughly upon each other, and conversed not together unless when some other broke the Ice; for though they had agreed to defer their difference until the liberty of their Country was established, yet they could not constrain themselves, and one might easily perceive they sought for an occasion of being contrary in opinions. Yet Mutius was much perplexed; for Amilcar and Plotina, talking with them and Cesonia, began unawares to speak of Aronces and Horatius, and to say afterwards in general, that it was the most unjust thing in the world, for two Rivals to hate each other upon no other ground, but loving the same person: For truly (said Plotina very pleasantly) He who hates his Rival because he loves his Mistress, must also expect to be hated himself by the same reason. What you do say, replied Herminius then, is very witty: but yet I am persuaded, that there are not so many Rivals unjust as you imagine. For my part (said Cesonia) I never knew any that loved. Doubtless, replied Mutius, there are some who esteem, but there can he none who do not hate: I never knew any, no more Cesonia, (said Amilcar) that loved their Rivals.  
The reason why all Rivals jar so (replied Herminius) is because it is a thing impossible that two men should pretend unto one and the same thing, but they must look upon each other as men that would make each other miserable, so as commonly one of the two is always unjust. For my part, said Plotina, I must maintain that it is rather envy than love, that causeth hatred in the hearts of two Rivals: Oh, I beseech you (said Herminius) do not attribute so vile a quality unto all Lovers; Well, well, said she, and laughed; I am not so much in the wrong as you think: For the same thought that so often makes two ambitious men hate each other; that two fair ones should not esteem; that two brave men should so easily quarrel; that two good wits should lash each other; does make two Rivals not to endure one another. For my part, said Herminius, I cannot consent unto that, because I cannot believe that Love can beget envy: But most true it is, that two Rivals can hardly be without the one, giving some cause of complaint against the other: so as it being not natural to endure a Rival, one does easily look upon the other as an enemy That (said Amilcar) may very well be, but it is very odd, that though the love which causeth this hatred do cease, yet it often happens that the hatred does not cease: and though two Rivals do agree to cease loving their mistress, yet they will be always enemies: And yet (replied Cesonia) I have seen two Rivals very well recounciled: That never happens, replied Mutius coldly, unless they: come to scorn the person whom they loved. Indeed, said Herminius then, scorn sometimes reunites what love divided: But when the person loved is such a one as must be for ever so, then doubtless it is hard for hatred to cease betwixt Rivals. Mutius would have answered, and answered sharply, when Clelius returned from the Senate, and put a period to this discourse. Mean time, Amilcar fearing lest Mutius and Herminius should quarrel at their going out, he went with Mutius as most apt for it, because most unfortunate: And being witty, stout, and pleasing withal; he began to speak freely unto him of his love to Valeria, and to tell him, that he was much to blame for agreeing no better with Herminius, were it for nothing but for his own interest. For, (said he) any woman of wisdom and virtue, cannot endure any quarrels should arise about her: but on the contrary, she loves a Lover that out of his respect to her, will put up petty injuries in her presence: You, Amilcar, replied Mutius, have a reputation of loving so slightly, as you are able to be a confident sometimes unto your Rival: But I who love unto such a height, that love often turns fury, I cannot do so; yet I must confess you speak reason, and I am resolved to endure the sight of Herminius for a while: After this, Amilcar sometimes humouring, and sometimes crossing his opinions, he became almost his confident, although he was the most particular friend of Herminius. On the other side, Clelia and Valeria, who were talking together whilst the discourse was general, they entertained themselves with a thousand obliging expressions; and Confidence being a most infallible sign of solid amity, they desired each other to relate their Adventures. Yours are so illustrious and extraordinary (said Valeria unto Clelia) as it is but a reasonable curiosity to desire the knowledge of them: But mine are so poor, as there is nothing in them that will divert you: for I cannot think it will be any pleasure unto you, to know that I was so unjust, as to hate you before I knew you: How? replied Clelia, did you ever hate me? Yes, Madam, replied she, I did; And though upon no other reason, but because I should too much blaze my injustice, I would not relate my adventures unto you. This Circumstance, replied Clelia, is enough to swell my curiosity, and invites me to conjure you unto it: but, by the way, added she; who obliged you to cease hating me? Aronces, replied Valeria. You speak such Riddles, replied Clelia, as I beseech you to unfold them. I beseech you, Madam (said Valeria) do not enjoin me to tell my own story, but let Herminius do it, for he knows my life as well as his own; and so it was resolved, but not executed accordingly: for so it happened, that Amilcar after he parted from Mutius, he went unto Herminius, whom he obliged to tell all his adventures. So as when Clelia told Herminius the next morning, what was resolved betwixt Valeria and her, he put it off himself, and beseeched that Amilcar might relate her life: With all my heart, said he, I am most obedient (said this pleasant African) but upon condition that Plotina and Cesonia be present at the Relation, for I would not deprive those two excellent Ladies of a delight so great: Amilcar said this in such a frolic air, as Herminius consented unto it, upon condition Valeria would consent also: so as Amilcar taking it upon him, and the hour being appointed when Cesonia and Plotina should meet at Clelias' Chamber, they all met accordingly, and Amilcar addressing himself unto Clelia, he began thus:  

The History of Herminius, and of Valeria.  
WEre I to speak of Herminius only unto you, Madam, I should tell you his Adventures, without mentioning the advantages of spirit: But since Cesonia and Plotina have but lately known him; and since Herminius is none of those who show all their Riches at the first sight; give me leave to tell them in few words, that this illustrious man, who sometimes speaks very little, yet can speak most elegantly when he will; and that he can speak with as much power and authority when any occasion requires it, as he can pleasantly and amorously at other times; His soul is Noble, Great, Tender and Generous; he is full of sincerity and goodness, he is naturally liberal and just, and to lap up all in this, Herminius has all the virtues without one vice. Some will sometimes upbraid him with wilfulness, and a little Choler; but for my particular, I never saw any obstinacy proceed from him, which might not in reason be termed Constancy and Resolution. So as it may be said, his obstinacy is a virtue, because he never is so, but when he is in the right: As for his Choler, the truth is, did he not a little bridle himself, it would appear sometimes a little too much. But as for his wit, it is unlimited; there is nothing which Herminius cannot do most admirably well: he writes both in Verse and Prose, both equally, incomparably: he is for works of Learning and height: he is also for Raillery and Gallantry: in all which he observes a smooth, genuine, and facetious decorum: He is also for matters of Love, and expresses himself in such passionate Characters, as one may plainly perceive, he is sensible of that passion whereof he treats: and which is most admirable, he never treads the steps of another, but on the contrary, has a way by himself, and wanders not a jot from the matter, as most do, who are given to filch from others: and having both wit and judgement of his own, all his Fancies and inventions are equally gallant and judicious. He is capable of any thing: I have heard him in one day make speeches, Letters of business, of Love and Gallantry, Songs, Heroic Verses, and Verses of Love; and all with such ease, that when the Fancy takes him, he does them extempore; he will write them in the tumult of a great company: He does them as if he never thought upon them: And if I may commend myself in commending him, I will tell you, without a lie, how one day he and I answered one another, so long in Verse amongst a company of Lady's a● Capua, as all that heard us were amazed, and thought it impossible to be done without enchantment. One shall meet with men sometimes of a high elevation of wit, Learning and Fancy; but they cannot hold it out: For after some facetious piece, they will fall off unto pitiful low and common conceits: their style is rough, and disgusts such palates as are any thing critical, or delicate. But Herminius is a man singular in Learning, Wit, Judgement, and Politeness: He is none of those who have knowledge and wit at will; yet want a smooth and pleasing humour: For, as wise, knowing, and serious as he seems, when occasion serves, he will be all mirth and diversion: Yet he is not much affected with all sorts of pleasures; for he delights not in hunting, Music, Painting, Feasts, and such like: but in Complacency he will be one at them all; and will do all he can to make men think he loves them as well as any. He will sometimes be so much taken up with a trifle, as if he were ignorant in any high things, sometimes he will apply himself to men of mean capacities, as if he were able to reach no higher; he could comply with all sorts; and never left any merry company: yet this man, who is able to inspire mirth into any company when he pleaseth, can live in solitude with as much content as any man living upon Earth.  
'Tis true, indeed, he loves his study so well, as if he affected the company of dead men better than living: And if the generous Sivelia did not sometimes divert him, he would bury himself is his study: I am confident, that should he lose Valeria and Sivelia, he would absolutely renounce all commerce with the World: And yet this earnest inclination he has to his study, cannot make him neglect any matter of business: As insensible as he seems, he has a heart most sensible of Glory, of Amity, and of Love: but he has these two last qualities in a very particular manner: For, where he is only a Friend, he will seem as if he were a Lover: and where he is a Lover, one would think he were only a friend. Yet this proceeds not from the weakness of his affection but from the generosity of his Soul, which makes him too little interested in his passion; As for example, had he a Mistress whom a King would marry, he would sacrifice his love, his joy and his life, to see her upon the Throne: For loving the virtue more than the Mistress, and thinking an interest of pleasure in Love no better than a mercenary interest in Friendship, he thinks only of doing what generosity requires: But whether he act the part of a Lover, or a Friend, he is always equally Liberal and Generous: and certainly, there is nothing but impossibilities which he would not do for such as he loves: he takes a part in all their misfortunes: he is an enemy to their enemies: he will maintain their glories, before his own: more sensible of any affronts to them than to himself: And generosity is so natural unto him, that it shines in all his actions: he will help his poor friends when he can, and when they would: he is in general, the most officious man living: he will often neglect his own business, to do another's: and does show his liberality in a thousand trifles, which many Gallants more able than he would never think upon. I have known some of his friends that are extremely afraid, and careful to commend any thing he has, lest he should give it unto them; He knows how to give a thing handsomely, as well as any man living: and if Fortune had done for him as she has for many others, there should not be any well qualified man of his acquaintance, miserable: Moreover, Herminius is a general Scholar, and a most Rare Poet: Hesiod, Homer, and Sapph are all his own, all the sages of Greece are his familiars: 'Tis true, he never affected those nice speculations which Thales the Milesian had upon the Stars, so much as he did that part of Philosophy which regulated Manners: Herminius is a man that is able to do any thing that he takes in hand; and he never did any thing ill favouredly: He would sometimes undertake to speak upon a matter in public, without any preparation for it: He has a most strange and vast memory: after once reading of a large Copy of verses, he would repeat them, and not miss a syllable: also he would do the like in Prose.  
Those who think that memory, wit and judgement cannot lodge together, are mistaken: for he had both: Though he was owner of all the virtues, yet he cared not for showing them; and will often strive to conceal them from such men with whom he is not familiar. And yet he affects glory: but he finds so few in the world, that are able to judge aright, that he cares not for the applauds of the multitude. Moreover, Herminius is so thankful and acknowledging, even for the least good offices that he repays them all with usury: and which is most rare; this man who is able for all things, who can make a History of the World as easily as a song, and who knows no limits unto his parts; yet is he modest beyond all thought.  
This excellent quality also he has, that he can keep a secret the best of any man alive: and which I highly esteem him for, he is absolutely incapable of any envy and slander: and is not severe unto any but himself. He suits with my humour principally in this, that he can use good fortune better than he can endure bad, because he is much more sensible of forrows than of joys. As to the Ladies, he holds them in a high degree of respect: I could say much more of this illustrious Roman; but I had better make him known unto you by his story, than by a description which will come short of his worth. As for Valeria, though Cesonia and Plotina do not know her so well as Herminius, yet I will not make any long description of her: As for you Madam, I observe you love her so well already, that I doubt not, but you do perfectly know her. But for my part, I must confess ingeniously unto you, that I never in all my life saw a more amiable person than Valeria, She is indeed but of a middle stature, yet so well made, as she need not envy any that are taller than herself: Her eyes, are not such as seem for bigness, as if they would look three or four ways at once: but hers are full of life and love, and able to conquer the hearts of such as they shine upon; Her complexion is a little pale: yet such a paleness as being mixed with a languishing and modest air does exceedingly well become her; And this Valeria: who has a million of charms more than I need mention, since you know them, has also a Soul so noble; a heart so tender, a wit so accurate, a spirit so gallant, and every way so rarely qualified, that she is worthy to be the Mistress of Herminius.  
Moreover Madam, never wonder, that this story which I am to relate, should be as full of Gallantry, as if she had been at Capua or Carthage: For, those amongst whom she has passed her time, are naturally so full of wit, as had they been born in deserts they would have invented Gallantry.  
Also Publius Valerius, the Father of Valeria, allowed such honest freedom in his house unto all men of merit, as it must not be thought strange if the Roman severity be not exactly found in the things which I am to relate unto you.  
I never need to tell you, that Herminius is of a Race illustrious; That his Father died an Exile: That the virtuous and generous Sivelia his mother is a most admirable woman: But let me tell you, that at her return to Rome, her principal care was that Herminius should be acquainted with men of best quality there: So as the house of Valerius being the common Rendezvous of all the wits and men of Rank; she entreated Valerius to admit Herminius amongst them. Valerius was the friend of Herminius his Father, and did highly esteem the virtue of his generous Mother; and therefore, he was very glad to see him oft at his house, and commanded Domitia his wife, and Valeria, to bid him kindly welcome: Herminius made such use of this liberty, as he got the esteem of all these illustrious Persons; he being of a sweet, civil, complaisant, liberal, and ingenious temper, he made the greatest divertisement of this gallant Cabal, of which was Collatina, a Lady called Flavia, who had wit and beauty in perfection; and another Lady called Salonina, who was very fair, and had many amiable qualities, though she harboured some unjust opinions. Howsoever, Herminius was officious, and always ready to do any thing they would have him, and was extremely civil and liberal to all the Ladies; he did not find in himself any other thoughts of Valeria, than such as esteem and admiration use to beget in the hearts of such men who value merit. Valeria on her side, she held Herminius in a rank of esteem and amity; not thinking he would ever be in love with her, since he was not at that time: so as there was betwixt them all the familiarity that virtue could permit. Things being upon these terms, and the great feast of the Salians approaching, which is highly celebrated at Rome, and whose Ceremonies are so magnificent, that all the world desires to see them, either out of curiosity or custom Valeria, Gollatina, Flavia, and Salonina, would go see this feast: Herminius promised to provide them windows in the sacred street, through which the Salians were wont to pass, the first day of Mars, which is the day of that Ceremony, which though I am no Roman, I do know as well as you, though I cannot relate, because I never saw it.  
Then said Plotina, and smiled, I am more knowing than you in matters belonging to the Salian Ceremony, for I was once at Rome upon that day. I beseech you Madam, replied Amilcar, let me hear the relation of it, and instruct an ignorant African, who had need have some leisure to think upon what he is to say. But if whilst I speak, you think upon what you are to say, replied Plotina, you will not mind what I say. Let not that hinder you from satisfying the curiosity of Amilcar (said Clelia) for he can sometimes think one thing and speak another: However, answered he, I require a relation of the Salian Ceremony from Plotina, otherwise, I will tell no more of Herminius. Your denial will cost us very dear (said Cesonia then unto her friend) and therefore I beseech you satisfy the curiosity of Amilcar quickly, that he may satisfy ours. Since it must be so, said Plotina, I must tell you that the Salians are twelve in number; that they must be of the Patrician Race; and that upon the first day of Mars, they Celebrate a feast unto all the Gods that govern Arms; so as all that is to be seen in this Ceremony, has some emblem of War in it: The Salians wear that day Coats of Arms embroidered with divers colours, with great Belts of gilded Leather studded, Murrians of polished Gold; they have also Swords hanging by their sides, Javelins in their right hand, and Bucklers on their left arms, like unto those which fell from heaven miraculously in the time of Numa.  
The Salians being thus habited, they dance and skip through the Town to the sound of Instruments, and sing songs to the honour of Mars, whose feast they celebrate. But that in dancing they may emblem War; in some places they draw their Swords, and strike upon the Bucklers according to the cadency of tune, and keep time without any confused noise or clashing: Those that dance and strike thus, do make an Idea of a Combat in their dance: sometimes they are all in order and figure; other while they seem to fight with one another: some assault, others retreat, and all in figure and time, according to the tune: But the rarest thing amongst these twelve Salians was, There were also twelve fair Salian Women, dressed after the Salian mode, except without Swords and Bucklers: Before them marched soft Music, suitable to the sweetness of their Sex. These also danced through the streets as the Salians did, seeming by their actions to incite the men to dance well, sing well, and fight well: Those who would give a reason why they bring women into this Ceremony, can find no other but this, That all Heroic Actions whatsoever, are principally inspired into men, only by a desire of pleasing women. I shall not mention all the streets through which the Salians passed, nor their sacrifices, because I will let Herminius bring his friends into the sacred street to see them. After this, Amilcar thanked Plotina for her relation, and returned to his own in this manner.  
Herminius having promised to provide windows for all the Company, he failed not of his word: the young Hermilia joined with this good Company. As for the men, besides Collatine and Mutius, there was one called Volesus, who certainly was a man of merit; and one Spurius Largius, who flowed in wit: the Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus, were there also.  
Herminius, delighting handsomely to surprise those whom he desired to please, he carried all the Company to the sacred street, but told them not of any other entertainment, but seeing the Salians pass: yet he had so ordered things, that these Ladies entered into a Chamber most richly furnished, and the floor strewed with all delicate variety of flowers the spring could afford, the smell of which far surpassed that of Roses or Violets. The Ladies having never seen the like before, thought themselves in a Garden, and stooped to gather flowers for Nosegays: but Herminius saved them the labour, for he presented unto them baskets full of Posies, of all sorts of flowers, tied up with Ribbons of various colours, so as the Ladies not thinking themselves able to commend Herminius enough foe his Gallantry, they thanked him a thousand times; after which, they found very rich Carpets laid in the windows for them to lean upon; Herminius thought it not enough, for all things to be handsome in the Chamber, but he had provided most rare Music in a Closet adjoining: and to complete the entertainment, he gave them a most sumptuous banquet.  
Now, that you may the better understand the sequel of this story, be pleased to know, that Volesus, who, as I told you already, was a man of merit, was in love with Salonina, who indeed was rarely handsome and fair, though she had some unjust opinions, and who was then one of the best friends of Valeria, who was not then in any great amity with Lucretia. So as Volesus being a Lover, and Lovers naturally are jealous, he imagined that Herminius was also in love, for making such treatments of Gallantry, but yet he was deceived, for Herminius did such things very oft, because they were Gallantries in themselves, not because ●e loved the persons whom he treated; yet Volesus measuring the minds of others by his own, he began to dispute with Herminius, hoping thereby to discover who the Lady was, to whom this Gallantry was intended, and wished with all his heart he might not have him for his Rival; so as seeing every one thank Herminius, for my part (said he and smiled) I will not thank him; for I am sure that I am beholding unto some Lady in the company for this feast, and that nothing but Love could inspire Herminius with a design of so much Gallantry: Truly (said the Prince of Pometia) if one should judge by appearances, there is some reason to be of Volesus his opinion. For my particular (said Titus) I have long thought Herminius to be in Love with some Lady in this company, for he visits them every day, he cannot endure to be any where else, and grumbles if any desire him to go and see some others: on the contrary, he is pleasant and merry when he is in the company of the Ladies that are here: he can invent a hundred diversions, write elegant Letters, make songs, and as now you see, very gallant Feasts. Very good, said Herminius, and smiled, you will persuade me that I am in love with every one in the company: for indeed I have the same inclination to all the company in general, which they say a Lover has to a Mistress in particular. But perhaps (replied Spurius) you do not love all the company in general, but only because you do love some one in particular.  
Since Herminius is my very good friend, said Valeria, I hope to make him in love with me. Since he is but indifferent to me (said Salonina) I am out of that hope: for my part (said Hermilia) I know Herminius does not love me: And I am sure (said Flavia) that I shall never win his heart; no, nor Collatina. Well, well, said Herminius, I love you all in general, and never yet asked myself, whom in all the company I loved best. Since so, replied Valeria, and innocently smiled, I beseech you observe yourself a while, and if you find that any one of these Ladies has captivated you, to tell me in secret as one of your best friends. But suppose (said Volesus) he should love you, most he tell you of it? I beseech you (said Herminius) do not question her upon that Article: for what know I, but I may love her more than I think? No, no, Herminius, replied Valeria, you answer I know, that you do not love me: but in case you be deceived, (answered Collatina) must Herminius tell me whom he loves? Ah Collatina, replied Valeria, should I be so unhappy as that Herminius should love me more than I would have him, I would not have him tell you; but since I can keep a secret better than any of my friends, I had rather Herminius should tell me, than you, or any else: So had I, replied Herminius, and I do solemnly promise, that as soon as ever I am in love, I will tell you, and discover the bottom of my heart unto you. But before I engage myself to hear you, answered Valeria, I will make my conditions with you. You need but name them, replied Herminius, and you shall be obeyed. I would then (answered she) that in case I be your Confident, not be a mere hearer, that must sit idle and do nothing to serve you, not so much as to give you counsel: but on the other side, I think nothing more horrible, than to be such a confident as will busy herself in a thousand things wherein she has no interest. But in case you be my Mistress, replied he, what should I do then? I would have you promise me, answered she, that you will never tell me any thing that shall anger me, and that if you do, never to see me again: I will engage myself, replied he, never to tell you any thing which ought to displease you, but not precisely that it shall not displease you, for all Ladies have their Capricious minutes, wherein they will be angry without any cause.  
As Valeria was going to answer, they heard a far off, the music which went before the Salians: And there being one place better for sight than any other, Herminius carried Valeria thither; which favour she received only as a simple testimony of his friendship: Afterwards every one beheld the Salians pass with great attention and delight, except Herminius, who fell into such a deep study, that all the Company observed him; and Collatina asked him what he thought upon. Truly (answered he) I am striving to know whom I love, for now I begin to think that I am in love with some body: Oh Herminius, (said the Prince of Pometia) if you be once in love, you will quickly know with whom it is: If so, replied Herminius, my Mistress should know it as soon as myself, for I was resolved to tell her as soon as I knew; nor is it reasonable to put a Mistress to so much pains, as to guests at that love which she herself caused. For my part, (said Salonina, and smiled) I should be gladder to guests at a thing of that nature, than to know it any other way: for when one guesses at it, one is not obliged to answer. Why do you busy yourself, said Valeria, in such impertinent discourse, in lieu of looking at the Ceremony, since we all came hither to see it? For my part, said Salonina, and laughed, I have seen the Ceremony two or three times before, and I care not for seeing it again; and the truth is, these kind of shows are good for nothing but a pretence for the meeting of such good company as here is; but the worst is, one shall not every year find an Herminius, and an Herminius in love. As for love, replied Valeria, the thing is yet doubtful: No, no, said Spurius, I will engage myself to be in love, if he be not; and if before a month be at an end, he be not much more miserable than he is now. For my part (said Herminius) I know not well what you say: but if it be so, one cannot be in love unless they be miserable, than I am not in Love; for I do find in myself a secret joy and satisfaction, without knowing any cause for it. Ah Herminius, replied the Prince of Pometia, most certainly you begin to be in love; for almost all beginnings of Love are pleasing: And most assuredly, when any man of soul is either merry or sad without a cause, he is in Love.  
After this, the ceremony being ended, all the company did stay a while in the Chamber, and then parted. But in parting, Herminius promised Valeria to tell her very shortly, whether or no he was in love, and with whom it was: And indeed, ever since this time, he became his own spy, and observed all the secret motions of his heart: So as in a short time he found that he loved Valeria much more than he did all the Ladies in the company: For, when he went to Domitia's house, and found not Valeria with her, he was vexed, though all the rest of the Ladies were there: And on the contrary, when he found her alone, he never miss any of the rest. So he found that he preferred Valeria before all the rest, but yet knew not whether this which he found in himself was Love: but on the contrary, would for a few days have persuaded himself that it was only Amity: For, because he had heard from all Lovers, that Love was a terrible Torment, and because he himself in his verses of Gallantry, expressed so many Fires and Fetters and Torments, and Sighs, and Tears, he could not believe he was in Love, because he was so far from being miserable, that he thought himself happy.  
He thought also, that he desired nothing: and that tenderness which he found in himself towards Valeria, was only tenderness of Friendship, which being proportionable to her merit, must needs be greater than an ordinary Amity. So as though he did not believe himself in Love, yet he loved Valeria: And which was strange, he shunned putting the company in memory of the conditions which he had made with that charming person: because he thought himself not Gallant enough to tell her that he was only upon terms of Friendship with her: Indeed the opportunity did not offer itself very soon; For, Valeria being very sick for fifteen days, all the company were very sad, and Herminius more than any, for he could not find any rest any where: he went many times in a day to ask how she did: he visited those that looked unto her to be the better informed, and he met none but he told them how ill Valeria was; But at last, this fair one mending upon it, her intimate friends had the liberty to go and see her: so as their company diverting her, she recovered her health, her beauty, and her good humour very fast. Salonina, Flavia, Hermilia, Spurius and Volesus going one day to her house with Herminius, they fell into talk of the Salian Feast, and to remember him of his engagement to tell Valeria whom he loved. And talking merrily, they told Valeria that it was her part to press Herminius unto the performance of his promise. But the most strange passage in this encounter was, that Herminius, as I told you before, would not tell Valeria what he thought, because he thought it not handsome to tell a fair Lady that he did not love her: And Valeria on the other side, who observed how much he was troubled at her sickness, and received every day a thousand Testimonies of esteem and tenderness from him, she did not desire him to keep his word, lest he should say, that he was in love with her: For, esteeming him very much, she was loath to change her way of behaviour unto so good a friend. So as the one not offering to speak, and the other not willing to hear, Flavia, Salonina, Hermilia, Spurius and Volesus, began to chide them, and to say, that certainly they knew each others minds without speaking: and they were so pressing upon them, that Valeria to justify herself, commanded Herminius to keep his word: He not daring to disobey, rose up, and carried Valeria to the other end of the Chamber, towards a Balcony which looked into a Garden.  
But when he was there, and that fair one ask him whom he loved, he found himself at a strange perplex. For he felt such a Qualm rise upon his heart, that he could not answer; and he was the worse, because at that very instant, he began to think himself in love: The fair eyes of Valeria meeting his at that instant, he was so charmed, that he changed colour: Valeria fearing the truth she durst not press Herminius any further; who seeing she asked him no more, he asked her, how it came to pass, that her curiosity ceased? It comes to pass (said she) from a Maxim of equity: For, as I have no mind to tell that which I would not have known: so, I would not have you press me to tell me that which I see you have no mind to tell: And therefore to testify unto you that I am discreet, I say no more: Yet offer, if it please you, to tell all the company, that you have told me, you are not in Love. Oh Madam (said he) I would not have you say so: Then I will say, that you are in Love, (replied Valeria and laughed) and after I have assured them that it is not with me, I will leave them to guests, whether it be Salonina, Flavia, Collatina, or Hermilia that you love.  
No, no, Madam, replied he, Never say that I am, or I am not, until you know certainly what I am But how should I know that, (replied she) unless you tell me? You may know it Madam, (answered he) if you will but know the thoughts of my heart. Do you think, replied Valeria, that I am so much in love, as to discern whether you be or be not in Love? For, that is a thing which I know not how to give or to take. Though all you say, Madam, be true, answered Herminius, yet you may know whether or no I be in love: for if you know that the thoughts of my heart be of any other nature than Friendship, you may easily conclude that I am in love: know therefore (added he, and would not give her time to answer) that upon a strict examination of my heart, I have discovered that there is one in this company, whom I do esteem and love above all the world, and who is so necessary unto my joy, as I have none if I be not with her. Well, well, (replied Valeria, and smiled) I will not keep you any longer with me, lest I weary you: And therefore without putting you to any further trouble in telling me your thoughts, I assure you that you are only my Friend.  
Oh Madam, replied he, I beseech you, do not judge so hastily of my affection, and never fear I can be weary of being with you: And therefore give me leave to tell you, That my tenderness to the person of whom I speak, is so great, that all her miseries are mine. I look upon her with delight; I admire her with abundance of joy; all she says pleases me; her beauty charms me; her goodness ravisheth me: and her wit strikes me with such a respective astonishment, as is above common admiration. But after all this, I am not jealous, I desire nothing; and all my thoughts are so pure and free from any interest, as I cannot think any one's affection like unto mine. I have already told you, replied Valeria cunningly, That all your thoughts of me proceed only from Friendship, and I am very glad of it: for as they talk of Love, one is never very happy by it.  
Since Madam you say, replied Herminius, that my thoughts of you are only Friendship, I hope there is no hurt if I tell you, that you are the rare person whom I prefer before all the world, and whose company I love so well, that I cannot endure to be any where else: Also, I beseech you give me leave to hope, I shall find affection for affection from you: For the same virtue, which they say allows Ladies to be ungrateful unto their Lovers, requires they should be reciprocally kind to their friends. But Madam, (added he, and would not give her leisure to speak) I had almost forgot to tell you, That you are not only the person whom I love best of all the World, but also to speak sincerely, you are the only person whom I love. For, when I examine myself well, the affection which I bear unto others, is nothing in comparison of that I bear unto you. And when I said that I would desire nothing, truly I know not what may happen hereafter: For, at this very Instant, there comes upon my heart such a violent desire of being loved by you, that if you leave me hopeless, I perceive I shall be the most miserable man in the whole World. You deceive yourself, in speaking as you do, replied Valeria, for Friendship never makes any miserable. But Madam, replied he, perhaps you do not know what thoughts my Soul has of you. What ere they be (said she, and would have gone away) I will go and tell the company that you are only upon terms of Friendship. With all my heart, answered he: For, if perchance I should be in love with you, as there is great likelihood I shall, it is best that none but you in all the World do know it. Nay, replied Valeria, if that misfortune ever happen, I wish I may never know it: After this, Valeria left Herminius, and blushed, not well knowing what she should say unto the company: Come Valeria, (said Salonina, as soon as she came) is Herminius a friend or a Lover? Is it you, or Flavia, or I, that is adored? does he love all the company in general, or any one person in particular? I must ingenuously confess (answered Valeria) that Herminius is not in love, and therefore we are all of us equally obliged unto him for his assiduous visits unto us; Oh, Madam, replied Herminius, I did not think you would have said so: If I be mistaken, answered she, I cry you mercy, my memory is so bad that I may be excused; and if I did not say aright, yet I am sure I said as things ought to be.  
After this, all the company fell upon Herminius and Valeria, and contested amongst themselves; some affirmed that he was in love, and others, that he was not; and all in general did divert themselves very pleasantly upon this matter all the rest of the day.  
Mean while, great alterations grew in the minds of Valeria and Herminius: for Valeria made more doubt of Herminius his affection, than she did before he spoke unto her: And Herminius on the contrary, did not doubt at all that he was in love, since the time Valeria told him his thoughts were only effects of friendship. When he came at home, he accused himself for speaking too faintly and coldly of his affection; he repented himself of his too much prudence; and he upbraided himself a thousand times with blockishness, in being so long before he knew that the thoughts of his soul were effects of love.  
As for Valeria, though she was as virtuous a person as ever lived, and though at that time she could not imagine she could ere endure any should love her, yet she could not choose but chide herself for harbouring some little belief that Herminius did love her, and could not choose but think upon Herminius whether she would or no.  
Things then being upon these terms, you must know that Volesus who loved Salonina unknown to any, and that Salonina did not hate him, they were full of joy: for Spurius falling deep in love with Salonina, Volesus had the satisfaction to see his Rival, most horribly ill treated by that fair one his Mistress: that Spurius was a man of many admirable qualities, and none ill, except that he was the most revengeful of any man living. Valeria and Salonina were then most particular friends; for Lucretia was not of their society: So as Valeria saw all the bitter affronts which Salonina put upon Spurius; yet it is not to be imagined; there was the same confidence between Valeria and Salonina, as there was since between Valeria and Lucretia: for they communicated such secrets only, as may be said, they made great mysteries of small trifles. But for all that, they loved, or at least thought so; and in their familiarity, Valeria would sometimes tell Salonina, that she treated Spurius too sharply: for truly (said that wise Lady) I conceive it fit to be severe with judgement: and when a man of good parts is in love with a well qualified woman, she ought to carry it so, as to let him know that his passion is displeasing unto her, without scorning or slighting the man: for it is very dangerous to procure the hatred of those who love you, and certainly it is much better to be hated by one, who never loved you, than by a slighted and contemned lover. For my part (replied Salonina) I think nothing more glorious for a woman, than that she can slight a very brave man, only because he is in love with her. Valeria replied upon Salonina, and Salonina answered her, but they did not alter one another's opinions: So as Spurius was treated by Salonina, worse than ever any poor lover was; and yet she made many advantages unto herself by it: for thereby the love of Volesus augmented, and she got such a Reputation of severity in the world, as gave her precedency before all other Ladies of her age.  
But whilst Salonina was favourable unto Volesus in despising Spurius, Valeria received from Herminius a thousand ingenious and innocent testimonies of his love: for not a day passed, but he gave some fresh delight by some pleasing surprise or other. He was assiduous, exact, officious, and full of respects towards her, and so very reserved in giving his testimonies of Love, that Valeria did often doubt of what nature his affection to her was. And yet she came insensibly to be out of all doubt, nay to fear that the same man whom she thought did not love her enough, would come to love her too much. Yet Valeria carried herself with that prudence, as she kept off Herminius a long time from telling her openly that he was in love with her. But I have often heard from Flavia, who was a particular friend unto Herminius, that she easily perceived he loved Valeria, and that Valeria was not sorry for it: for though she did not any thing to augment the love of Herminius, yet she did not all she might to extinguish his flames.  
Mean while Spurius who had a great heart, and was naturally proud, he grew so sensible of Salonina's scorn, as he resolved to drive her out of his heart; and accordingly he ceased from coming to see her, and went seldomer to Valeria and his other friends, lest he should meet her. But Salonina being gone into the Country, he visited all the company which she frequented; and to his misfortune, finding an inevitable charm in the sweet eyes of Valeria, he fell in love with her. And in lieu of opposing this growing passion, he himself blew the bellows that made it burn. For being of a proud temper, he fancied it a great pleasure to himself, if he could win the favour of a Lady whose merit was far above hers who had slighted him: so as he flattered his passion with hope, and the more because Valeria who in her heart would not be sharp to Herminius, and yet would not let it appear she had any extraordinary tenderness towards him; she was willing to entertain the courtship of Spurius, to the end that her kindness to Herminius might be attributed to sweetness of humour to all in general, and not any particular thoughts of any one. Spurius then seeing that his addresses were not repulsed, he became downright in love with Valeria, to whom yet he durst not speak openly of it. So as when Salonina returned from the Country, she found that this Lover whom she had so badly used, and whom she thought still fettered in her chains, that he had broken them, and assumed those of Valeria, who as I told you, was the chief of her friends. Though she never loved Spurius, though she loved another, though she loved Valeria as much as she could love; yet she was vexed to the soul that she lost this Lover; and her heart burned with anger against Valeria, for captivating a heart which she would not accept. Yet Salonina concealed her thoughts: But as there is a jealousy of Pride, as well as a jealousy of Love, hers of Valeria was so great, that hide it as well as she could, it was quickly perceived, that as often as she came unto her, there was a certain Air of constraint in her face, and that sweet and affable smile which she used to have in her cheeks did not at all appear: Yet she saw her often; but she hardly knew what to say unto Valeria when they were alone together. She was always disposed to find some fault or other; for whereas all young and fair Ladies that love one another, use a hundred pretty questions about their beauties, or about their dresses, yet Salonina almost never saw Valeria, especially if Spurius was present, but still something was amiss about her: And yet she spit her malice as if it had been a simple effect of friendship: For she would still be ask her whether or no she was sick, and whether she slept the last night, meaning thereby, that she looked very ill. She would pick a thousand quarrels with her Dress, and nothing about her but was out of order. When she talked with any envious persons, of which there are a number in the world, and with whom one may speak freely in disparagement of all fair ones: she suffered them very gladly to speak all the ill against Valeria, that the malignity of their envy could invent: and she herself would come out with many petty faults, which made it evident she would have been glad if they had been greater. For she said, though untruly, That Valeria had not the lustre and charms of a great beauty; and that her beauty had been very mean, if her wit had not helped it to a Reputation. Fortune (said she) is all in all; and it is as requisite to get a reputation of wit or beauty, as it is to get riches: For, (said she unto her envious Cabal) Valeria speaks no better, nor no more, than others can: and yet she has the reputation of a superlative wit, above all others: she is so fortunate, that her virtue costs her less than many of her friends: For, she passes for virtue itself, and yet she is not so holy, but Spurius and Herminius do pay her a thousand services which others perhaps would scruple to receive.  
Salonina would yet commend her, and say, that Valeria was her very good friend: and when she spoke any ill of her, it was with a zealous wish that she had all those faults which her jealousy made her believe she had. Mean time, Valeria could not imagine she should take it ill, that she should allow of the visits of Spurius as she did: for seeing her treat that Lover so harshly, she could not suspect she had any interest in him. Yet it was not long before she perceived the coldness of Salonina: So as Valeria being all sweetness, she asked her from whence this alteration in her humour proceeded. What have I done, what have I said, what have I thought (said this sweet Lady unto her, when they were alone together) that you do not smile upon me as you were wont to do? Believe (answered she very faintly) the alteration is in you, not in me: and you not seeing things as you were wont to see them, you accuse me of that change which is in your own mind.  
No, no, Salonina (replied Valeria) I am the very same that I was, and if my company do not please you, it is because there is something in your own mind which makes me so wearisome unto you: But Salonina take heed (added she and smiled) for I assure you, I do not weary people long, without extremely wearying myself: And, therefore to preserve the amity that is betwixt us, if you have any thing to accuse me of, do it sincerely, that if I do clear myself, you may repent of your coldness, and if I do not justify myself, that I may beg your pardon. Salonina seeing herself thus pressed by Valeria, she was vexed to the heart: and expounded all the goodness of this sweet Lady, unto a hidden interest which related unto Spurius. So as dissembling her real thoughts which she was ashamed to discover, she answered that she had nothing to accuse her of: but expressed feigned Caresses and protestations of Friendship; yet she did it in such a manner, as did not persuade Valeria that they were real: But it troubled this Charming Lady very much, that all the World should ask her what the matter was betwixt Salonina and her. Salonina on her side was put to't to pump for an answer unto those that asked her the same question: especially Volesus, whom she wished very well: for she was so free as to tell him, that she stomached Valeria because she entertained Spurius, and was angry that Spurius did not now love her, because he now loved Valeria: So, as she told Volesus such opposed causes of complaints against Valeria, as she thought good, enjoining him, not to speak of it. But though she might easily deceive Volesus, who loved her very well, yet it was impossible for her to deceive Flavia, who as I told you, was the friend of Herminius, and upon good terms with Salonina: For this Lady had a most particular faculty in discovering the most close interests of all the female Cabal.  
And indeed, she reasoned the matter upon just grounds: For (said she) when I see any young and fair ones quarrel and jar without any apparent cause, I certainly conclude, that it is either out of envy, or interest of Love, or jealousy. So without farther scrutiny into the profundity of right reasons, I look after such santastical motives as Love, Jealousy, and envy, may inspire, according to the quality of their fortune: and it happens very seldom, but I hit right upon such things as I am inquisitive of, when once I am a little acquainted with the Intrigues of a Cabal Flavia being so cunning in such things, she had a light suspicion of the Truth. So as walking one day with all the company in the Gardens of Numa, which were very fine and pleasant, she saw Salonina look very attentively upon Valeria, who then stood betwixt Herminius and Spurius, and she looked upon her with a kind of sourness and disdain, which she did not perceive in herself. So as Flavia, who had a subtle and penetrating wit, and would not be denied any thing; she took her aside, and carrying her from the rest of the company: I do not ask you as others do, said she unto her, what the matter is betwixt Valeria and you, for I know that she has cured Spurius of that Love which he bore unto you, and that you are not pleased with it. I think, replied Salonina and blushed, that after I have treated Spurius so sharply as I have done, I shall not much care who shows him any favour: I confess it, answered Flavia, and that's it which makes me wonder: for, I am not such a novist in things of the world, but that I know you wish Volesus well: that you never loved Spurius; That you loved Valeria before Spurius loved her; and that you never loved her since you thought he did. Moreover, Never tell me as you do others, that you ever loved Valeria; for you never see her but for formality and fashion sake: And did you but see yourself, when any one commends her, or when out of policy, you commend her yourself; you would plainly see that your eyes betray your heart, and that it is an easy matter to know, you have a secret hatred and grudge against Valeria, which you would not discover. You are very plain, replied Salonina; and shall be plainer yet, replied she; especially, when it is to reunite my friends, and make peace and quietness in the society wherein I am. Therefore, if you do not confess the truth unto me, and tell me the thoughts of your Soul, I will take the part of Valeria against you: I will condemn you every where: and may be I shall tell Volesus what I think. Perhaps, replied she, you will condemn me more when you know my true thoughts: not that they are such (added Salonina craftily) as you imagine. For indeed, since I must discover the bottom of my heart unto you, and that it is in vain to dissemble, and say, that I hate Volesus, I will confess unto you, I am very well pleased, and allow him to love me: and you may well think, I have no interest in Spurius, whom I have so sharply treated, as Valeria thinks I have been too severe: Nor, is it any interest I have in Spurius, which makes me take it ill from Valeria that she looks favourably upon him. But to tell you true, she knowing what aversion I have to him, methinks she should not endure him, nor in honour receive him so kindly whom I have so much scorned, nor so oft admit him into the Cabal, that I can hardly ever see her but see him also. Truly, replied Flavia and smiled, I did not think you so good a friend as you are: but that I may the better know your mind; Pray answer me directly to every Question I shall ask you. I will replied she. Then tell me (said Flavia) why have you such extreme aversion to Spurius, who is a man of a most t●●e wit? I cannot tell, answered Salonina, the right rhymology of the word aversion: but I am sure that my exceptions against Spurius proceed not from any particular cause, nor can I tell why I cannot endure him. Since so, said Flavia, why should Spurius be more offensive to you now he addresses himself unto Valeria, than when he made his addresses unto you? Because, replied she, if Valeria did not favour him, I should not see him so oft, and should not be vexed to see that he does not displease her, as he did me. But further, said Flavia, whether had you rather that Spurius should be always troubling you with testimonies of his affection; or that you should be rid of him, and see him love Valeria? Truly, replied she, and blushed, I had much rather he should love me than Valeria: for than I should have the satisfaction of treating him ill: I should not have the vexation to see him so happy as he is; and I should have the advantage to see Volesus more diligent, more exact, and more amorous: For, certainly nothing more sharpens a Lover, than to have a gallant Rival; and it is the greatest favour that comforts the heart of a Lover, to treat his Rivals ill: Doubtless, replied Flavia, there is much wit in what you say; but without any more questions, which if you do not answer sincerely, I must tell you, that all this perplexity in your heart, is nothing else but a vain jealousy which makes you not endure Valeria should rob you of a Lover; and that you think your beauty receives an injury, because Spurius looks now upon you with eyes of indifferency. Well, well, said Salonina then, I do confess it: Valeria does vex me in receiving Spurius so kindly; and if the fancy take me, I will recall him by some sweetness towards him, since it was that way she gained him.  
Valeria, replied Flavia, is not more sweet towards Spurius than towards Herminius, and all men of Rank that see her: But suppose she were a little complaisant towards him, what does that import you, that he displeaseth you, since you will not love him, and since you love Volesus? Since all my reasons cannot give any satisfaction (replied she in a fume) believe if you think good that I am unjust and fantastical: but since there are some fantastical humours which sometimes are delightful, I will give myself the diversion of taking Spurius from Valeria, as she has from me; for if I be not much mistaken, it will not cost me above half a dozen kind looks. Salonina spoke this with such a forced smile, as made Flavia judge, she might do as she said. So as since Flavia was much the Friend of Herminius, she thought after some consideration, that it was a good office to take a Rival from him; for she plainly perceived that he loved Valeria: So as falling into Raillery with Salonina, she told her, that she liked her humour very well, of reducing Spurius, though it were only to treat him ill; and that it would be a great glory unto her beauty, and the more innocent, because she did no harm unto her friend: Also the more extraordinary, because she would be fickle without being unfaithful. I see crafty Flavia (said Salonina) that you mock me for my fantastical humour: but if you keep secret, I will make you more sport than you imagine. Flavia, whose end was only to divert herself, did promise her all she desired, but did not perform all she promised: On the contrary, Herminius coming to see her the next morning, she made him her confident in all she had said unto Salonina, and was very merry with him at it, who thinking it fit Valeria should be acquainted with it, he went with Flavia to visit her, and to tell her what had passed betwixt Flavia and Salonina, to the end she might advise what was best to be done in the matter.  
But upon good consideration, this wise Lady thought it not expedient to alter any thing in her behaviour; for since she permitted the addresses of Spurius, only to receive the services of Herminius, without being thought she esteemed him above another, she conceived she might well continue as she did before, and all the alteration that was, was that she did not esteem Salonina so much, nor would ever love her; yet she would not quite break off with her: However, since that time, there was a greater league of amity betwixt Flavia and Valeria than before; and Herminius grew a little more bold with Valeria, than he used; yet he durst not tell her downright, that he was in love with her: he knew very well that she knew he was; and he saw it did not displease her: but she carried the matter so handsomely, that Herminius hating the word Amity, and not daring to use the word Love, he made use of the word tenderness to express his thoughts of her.  
But at last, finding a fit opportunity which fortune unexpectedly presented unto him, whilst Salonina, Flavia, Hermilia, and some other Ladies were in one walk, and he with Valeria in another, he engaged to speak freely: And Valeria having heard Herminius say, That he had so many disgusts against life, as made him almost desire to be rid of it, or at least, not to look upon death as any great evil; and seeing him in a deep study, she smilingly asked him, if his desire of death was upon him. No, Madam, said he unto her, nor I assure you ever was, since I was in love with you. In love? replied Valeria and blushed. Yes, Madam, in Love, answered he.  
But Herminius, replied she, you mean Amity: and you are in such a deep study, that you take one word for another: so as were I not disposed to interpret all that you say favourably, I should quarrel with you. Do then, Madam, replied he: for I assure you, I meant the word, Love; and there is no other in all our language, that can express those thoughts I have towards you. And since, Madam, (added he, and would not give her time to speak) I am fully persuaded that I tell you nothing that is new, but that all my actions have long told you, that I am most desperately in love with you; I cannot well tell whether you knew it before me; for I must confess, that the purity of my affection made me take it for amity: But to tell you truly, its fervency and ardour, makes me know what it is: Moreover, Madam, (continued he in a most humble posture) I have one favour to beg, which I beseech you not to deny me. If it be to forget your boldness, replied she, I will do it, provided you repent, and promise never to commit the like. No, Madam, replied he, But my humble suit is, That you will not too much follow the custom of the time: for I have not a heart like other Lovers: I know it is the fashion for all Ladies to be angry the first time they are told that they are loved: and that though they are resolved to entertain those that speak to them of love, yet they must fret and fume, and forbid any loving them, and put their Lovers to the necessity of blazing their passion; so as when they would entertain and hide it, they cannot. I beseech you therefore, Madam, to think seriously with yourself, whether you would have me to love you, or have me to die, for there is no medium betwixt these two extremes: And I do declare unto you, Madam, That if you do forbid me to love you, you do command me to die. Also let me tell you in all possible sincerity, that the boldness which I assume in loving you, has no ingredient in it which can displease you: for though I have a most tender passion towards you, yet I protest unto you, I do not desire any thing from you in my advantage, but only that you will give me leave to adore you. Moreover, you are not ignorant, that those who have the dispose of you, have much esteem of me: And should I attempt it, perhaps I might oblige the generous Valerius unto a consent of rendering me happy. But Madam, I will not derive my happiness from the Authority of a Father: And I do declare, that I shall never be content, unless you give me your heart freely and spontaneously: Think therefore, Madam, what answer you will return me, and consider I conjure you, that you cannot forbid me loving you, but you must command me to die. To prevent me from forbidding you to love me replied she, you must never tell me that you do love me: but now, since you have already told me, I can do nothing for you without doing something against myself. Do not murmur if I take my own part rather than yours, and so I most seriously entreat you to regulate your thoughts and your words; had I not a very great esteem for you I should speak in a worse dialect to you; but valuing you at a very high rate of esteem, I would have you continue, if it be possible, within the limits of friendship, and that you will not force me to lose you; I promise you to do all I can for you; and to attribute all your services unto your tenderness of friendship, so long as your tongue does not oppose the advantageous opinion which I would have of you. Oh Madam (cried out Herminius) I beseech you do not forbid me to use the sweetest and most pleasing word in the world, to those that have that passion in their hearts that it expresseth. For the word Love hath such a secret charm in it, as joyeth the heart of that lover that pronounceth it, and moves the heart of that person who heareth it, if she have any tenderness of soul; The word Affection, is a word ambiguous, and suits with Amity as well as Love: The word Tenderness, as obliging as it is, may be applied to them both: But the word Love needs no interpretation; it alone expresseth all that can be imagined sweet, most obliging, and most agreeable. Deprive me not therefore of a consolation which will not cost you any thing: And to put myself in possession of this sweet word, be pleased to know, That I have towards you the most tender, and most respectful love, that ever any had: and what treatment soever I have from you, I shall retain this pure and holy Love, till death. To show you my sincerity (replied Valeria) I will ingenuously confess, that if I could handsomely entertain any affection of this Nature, you are the only man I know upon earth, whom I would most desire should love me: For, you are transcendent in virtue, and of such a spirit, as most I love. But Herminius, it is not permitted unto any woman of virtue, either to love, or permit being loved: Upon this, all the rest of the company met them; so as they parted without resolving upon any thing.  
However, Herminius thought himself very happy, in daring to tell Valeria positively that he was in love: For, though she had not permitted him to love her, yet he flattered himself with some hope, her mind would bend: And yet he found more difficulty than he expected: For Valeria, who certainly was as virtuous a Lady as ever lived, did more strictly forbid him, than he thought she would, though she did it with much sweetness. But at last, Herminius was so full of obliging Courtship, that the heart of Valeria melted: For he prevented all her desires when he could guests at them: He contributed a thousand ways to her delights: he rendered good offices to all that she loved: he had no pleasure in any place where she was not: he was the most respective man upon Earth: he writ to her a thousand pleasing letters which could not any way offend her: and he behaved himself so, that none spoke of him before Valeria, but they spoke highly in his commendations, so generally was he esteemed.  
Thus Valeria, melting by little and little, she allowed Herminius to love her: but in allowing him, she expressly charged him to give no public testimonies of his passion, and would not of a long time permit him to use the word Love in his Letters: but Herminius found out an expedient for that: For, he Covenanted with Valeria, that the Word Amity, should betwixt them signify Love, both in speaking and writing to her. And accordingly, the thing being thus agreed upon, Herminius writ letters unto Valeria, which passed only for letters of friendship, though yet they were letters of Love. Herminius therefore, obeyed Valeria so well, that Spurius seemed to be much more in love with her than he: but hoping to hide his own Gallantry under the umbrage of Spurius, he went along with him in all he did; thus these two Rivals appeared to be very good friends. Spurius for his particular, was so persuaded, that Herminius was naturally Gallant, as he did not think him to have the least hidden design upon Valeria: So as he was well satisfied on that side, and thought upon nothing but how to please that fair one. Herminius went on with the more confidence, because 〈…〉 who was very glad of that universal civility to 〈…〉 the particular esteem she had of him, she did not treat him ill, though she did not allow him to speak openly of his passion: Also Spurius seeing how vexed Salonina was at his loving Valeria, he loved her both out of inclination, and out of revenge. Mean while, Salonina to execute her design of drawing Spurius from Valeria, who without intention drew him from her, she told Volesus that the world talked very loud of their affection, and to stop their mouths, she would seem as if she had a will to recall Spurius. But Madam (said Volesus unto her) had you rather the world should say, you permit Spurius to love you, than me? Yes, answered she, for in such things, truths only displease: and indeed, she was in the Right. For, because Valeria and she did not love Spurius, they showed him many favours, which they did not Herminius and Volesus.  
So as this became one of the most pleasant Passages that ere was heard of: For, Salonina did all she could to recall Spurius; Valeria, who quickly found out the design of Salonina, and took delight in returning one trick for another, she did all she could to retain him: So as Spurius, though loved by neither, yet was he most highly courted by two of the fairest Ladies in all Rome. He being in this condition, joying to be revenged of Salonina whom he loved not, and hoping to be loved by Valeria whom he did love, his spirit was swelled with such extraordinary jollity, as he thought of nothing but diverting all the company, as well as Herminius, and to vex Salonina. Not but that he always spoke unto her with much civility: but he affected to come out with a hundred trivial expressions which might drive her into despair. It happened one day that Herminius had made a Song which the Salians used in that ceremony which I mentioned before: Spurius not thinking that this Song was made upon Valeria, he told it unto all the Cabal, that it was the rarest song he ever heard: Salonina did ask it of him, but he answered, that it belonged unto him who made it, to give it. Herminius hearing what Spurius said, told her that the verses were not worth the giving, nor did deserve the glory to be sung by so sweet a mouth as Salonina's. For my part, (said Valeria then) without enquiring whose they are, I ask them of Herminius as of one most ready, when he is pleased, to oblige me. Should I lay that command upon one whom I know (said Salonina, and blushed for anger) I am sure I should find him lazy enough. I have heard you heretofore, so much commend Laziness, (replied Spurius coldly, seeing it was addressed unto him) as I think, that those who would please you, may do well to be Lazy in obeying you: But as for Valeria, added he, she is not of that humour, since she likes those best that obey her soon. Salonina being stung to the heart to see the difference which Spurius put betwixt Valeria and her; she entreated Herminius to repeat three or four lines of that song: Herminius being all civility, did so; and repeated those lines which afterwards you shall hear: But to the end you may understand them better, you must know, that Herminius did sometimes call his Mistress, Clarice, when he mentioned her in verses. And complaining one day, that she would show him no favour, but barely to let him love her; he had said in an angry Love-fit (which seldom lasts above a quarter of an hour, and does but more augment the passion which caused it) That if she did not grow a little kinder unto him, he would leave her. The lines were these, which Amilcar sung,  

Clarice, I will leave thee now,  
Though none so fair as thee I know:  
A little Love is charming sweet,  
But too much Love is torment great:  
What's this I say? I cannot find  
An alteration in my mind.   
Well (said Amilcar unto Plotina, after he had sung) have I revived the attention of the company by this Air, which suits so well to the witty words of Herminius? Yes, replied Plotina; but the interruption should be too long, and we lose the sequel of the story; we will not commend your verses, nor your song, though they deserve it: So Amilcar obeying Plotina, he assumed his discourse in these Terms.  
Herminius having repeated these lines which I sung, Valeria told him, that she should see ere long, whether he had any design to please her: after which, she went away: As for Salonina, her mind was miserably incensed: For she found it not so easy a matter as she believed, to bring into her Fetters the Revengeful Spurius, who went out with Herminius presently after Valeria was gone. In going together, Spurius obliged Herminius to pass that evening away with him at his house; whither they were no sooner come, but I desired Herminius to promise him a thing which he would ask, adding that it should be of such a nature as it would not any way be prejudicial unto him. If so, said Herminius, why do you not freely tell me, what your desire is? You know (answered Spurius) that sometimes one shall have odd scruples and Fancies, of which no reason can be given: I will not therefore tell you what I desire, until you promise me satisfaction: Herminius at last consenting, Spurius earnestly desired, to let him send those Verses unto Valeria which she asked of him: and (said he) since you have the honour of making them, let me have the honour of sending them before you. Did I think you in love with Valeria (added he) I would not make this request unto you: but since you are not, and I am, methinks you should not deny me. Herminius at the first, looked shy upon the matter, and was in half a mind to break promise; but after he had studied a while upon it, he told Spurius that he was willing he should send the verses that same night, and promised that he himself would not send to Valeria until the next morning: So as Spurius after a thousand thanks unto Herminius, he writ to Valeria in his presence, ask him pardon, if in writing unto that fair one, he mentioned something against him: after this, he showed the Letter to Herminius, who found in it these words.  
Spurius unto Valeria.  
Madam,  
I Humbly send you the verses you desired, and I send them unknown unto Herminius; I beseech you, in comparing my diligence with his laziness, make such conclusions as may be advantageous to me: and it's to be presumed, that he who satisfies your curiosity with most celerity, loves you with most ardour. Therefore if you be just, you are as much beholding to me for sending you these verses, though you did not honour me with your commands, as unto him who made them, since he did not send them unto you the first. And yet I consent you should esteem him more than me, upon condition only you will believe I love you better than he.  
After Herminius had read this Letter, he had much ado to let Spurius send it; but at last he consented, and stayed until the slave who carried it, returned, purposely to see what answer Valeria sent, which upon the slaves return, he found to be this,  
Valeria to Spurius.  
YOu are, Sir, without doubt, most officious and ●●ligent, and in recompense of your care to please me, I promise you to quarrel with your lazy friend, and to chide him as much as I thank you.  
Spurius upon reading of this Letter was extremely joyed: but as for Herminius, he seemed as if he were angry: After which he went home, still promising Spurius that he would not send his Verses until the next morning. And indeed, be kept his word, and to be perfectly punctual, he sent not to Valeria, till noon, and then he sent them with this Letter.  
Herminius unto Valeria.  
I Doubt not, Madam, but you who are the most punctual, the most regular, and the most perfect person that ere I knew in points of friendship, will not think you have any great cause of complaint ●● accusation of laziness against me. For I can safely swear and truly, fairest Valeria, that since there were any persons in the world which knew you, as much to say as, which honour you, admire you, and love you, there was never any over whom you had more sovereign power, than over me: but by a cross and cruel adventure so it chances, that I have not sent you these Verses so soon as I desired. When next I have the honour to see you, I hope to make my innocence better appear; and then certainly I shall make you confess, that appearances are fallacious, and that if one will be exactly just, one must never judge any thing upon uncertain conjectures, especially when Herminius is accused of negligence in obeying you.  
Herminius having writ this Letter, and enclosed the Verses, as if he knew not that Spurius had sent them to Valeria, and then dispatched them to that charming Lady, who was yet a little vexed at his supposed laziness; so as after she had read his Letter, which she looked upon as a bare excuse, she resolved to punish her lazy Lover by a dry answer, and writ not above two 〈…〉.  
It was this.  
Valeria unto Herminius.  
I Received those Verses yesterday, which you sent me not till to day, so as to return you laziness for laziness, I will not thank you till to morrow: Adieu.  
Herminius having received this short Letter, he smiled at the anger of Valeria in lieu of troubling himself, and hoped to appease her very shortly: and indeed, as soon as the hour of visits came, he went unto Domitia's house, the Mother of Valeria, but he found that Spurius was as diligent as he, and his hopes of receiving thanks from Valeria, had infused high joys into his spirit. Herminius to augment it, showed him the short Letter which he had received from Valeria, before they came to the house, for they met in the street: after which they went together unto that charming Lady, with whom Flavia and Salonina already were. These two Rivals no sooner appeared, but Valeria gave Spurius a thousand obliging thanks for the care he had to please her: after which she taunted Herminius with a thousand ingenious reproaches for his laziness. But Madam, (said the last of these) I writ a long Letter, beseeching you not to condemn me before you heard me. I confess it, (said she) but it was one of those voluminous Letters that contain much and signify nothing: for when one hath a good excuse, they need not write abundance of ambiguous stuff as you did.  
But the truth is, after you had slept very sound all night, without any memory of my request which I made unto you, and after you had spent all the morning, never so much as thinking I was in the world; at last it came into your memory, that I desired those Verses which you sent me, who never imagined that Spurius would have been more diligent than you. Whilst Valeria spoke thus, Herminius seemed as if he were in the wrong, and that he had nothing to say in his Justification: so as Valeria continued on her chiding: But Salonina seeing all this advantageous unto Spurius, she took the part of Herminius, affirming boldly, though she knew not why, that certainly he was employed in some business of extraordinary concernment. Flavia, who knew nothing of this adventure, she wondered that Herminius, who was the most punctual and careful man in the world, should let Spurius be before him. Well, well, said Valeria, were Herminius of a lazy nature, I should not wonder at this: but he is of a quick and compliant disposition, so as no woman in the world can ask any thing of him, but he is ready to obey her, though he have no esteem or amity for that woman. Spurius then seeing that Valeria was so angry with Herminius, he thought himself much obliged unto him, for suffering him to send those Verses first: so as out of gratitude, he offered to excuse him. Valeria seeing Spurius more careful to justify Herminius than he himself, she blushed for anger, and told him with a discontented smile, that till now she had thought herself worth the pains of an excuse, where one cannot justify himself to her●, Madam▪ said Herminius mildly unto her, if you will not please to justify me, it is none of my fault; for if you please to read my Letter aright, you will find I am not very culpable; or if I be a little, it is not against you. For my part, said Valeria, the more you talk, the less I understand you. But I beseech you (said Flavia then) show us the Letter which Herminius writ unto you, that we may see if we can find any thing in it more than you, to justify him. The better to justify me, replied Herminius, you must read the Letter which Spurius writ unto Valeria, before you read mine. Very well, (replied Valeria) I think you are out of your wits; for what use can you make of the Letter I received from Spurius, to argue your justification? For Spurius says, he sent me those Verses which you did not know he sent: It is by the very same words you speak, answered Herminius in a low voice, that I can justify myself: For take but the pains to join the first Letters of every line in my Letter together, and you shall see I know that Spurius sent you the Verses which you required of me; and though I did permit him to send them, it was only with an intention innocently to deceive you. Valeria hearing this, she took his Letter, and called out. the first Letter of every line; afterwards putting them together, she found these Words, I know it charming Valeria. Oh Herminius (cried she out) I must confess you are not so much to blame as I imagined: yet you are not altogether innocent, for I do not love to be deluded, and I am resolved upon revenge.  
Salonina, who had a liquorish curiosity to see what Valeria had found in the Letter, which justified Herminius, she desired it of Valeria, who gave it unto her, but she understood it not; Spurius took it after her, and found not the mystery; Flavia the like, and none could discover this subtlety of Herminius: For they could not imagine that he made use of the same invention which the Sibyl did, who sold her Books so dear unto Tarquin, which were all in Acrostic Verse. So as at first, none but Valeria knew of Herminius his justification and artifice; but every one was strangely surprised to see he had made his peace in their presence, and not know how: Spurius, Salonina, and Flavia, entreated Valeria to tell them by what enchantment she saw that which they could not see. Valeria fearing lest Salonina and Spurius should unite and imagine the truth of the kindness that was betwixt her and Herminius, she explained the Riddle to them: at first Spurius began to complain: but Herminius told him he had no reason, since he had kept the promise which he had made him, in letting him send those Verses to. Valeria first; adding withal, that it were to much injustice unto himself, to be out of Valeria's favour for his sake: after this, Spurius was contented. But as for Valeria, though her anger was now only a gloss, yet she protested unto Herminius, that she would be revenged upon him for this trick which he had put upon her: for as ingenious and as innocent as it is (said she) it is a deceit, and one does not love to be deceived; prepare yourself therefore to pay dear for the pleasure you have taken in juggling thus with me: I will prepare myself (replied Herminius) for any thing you shall please.  
Mean time, Spurius not dreaming that Herminius was his Rival, but thought as all the company did, that all his Courtship was Amity, and proceeded from his Humour, not Love, he made no reckoning of Valeria's against him, but commended the invention of Herminius. However, Valeria still resolved to be revenged upon Herminius, and the better to deceive him, she would take a little longer time for it: during which, Salonina and she stood upon the same terms, which was, That they did not love one another, though visits were frequent betwixt them; and both of them behaved themselves towards Spurius, as before; the one striving to recall him, and the other to keep him, though neither of them loved him; and though neither Volesus or Herminius were jealous: for Salonina and Valeria told them such things as kept them from it. As for Spurius, it was hard to say, whether he had more pleasure in his hopes of being loved by Valeria, or in seeing himself revenged of Salonina: But at length, she having some light suspicion that Herminius was a little far in Valeria's favour, she had an itching desire to see some of those Letters which he writ unto her; so as to be better satisfied whether they were any Love-Letters or no: she desired her one day to show one of them, and asked her before all the comapny, and in presence of Herminius and Spurius, hoping that Valeria would not show any, so as thereby she might make Spurius jealous. I beseech you, said she unto Valeria, let me obtain one favour from you: If I can, or may grant it (answered Valeria coldly) I will not deny you. I will not desire any thing unjust, or impossible, replied she: Be pleased to know, that ever since I saw the Acrostic letter, I have had a great desire to see some more of Herminius his letters unto you; for I am extremely in love with letters of wit, especially his. Madam (said Herminius) your curiosity is mistaken: For, my letters unto Valeria, are not letters of wit. Such as they are, replied Salonina, I should be much obliged if she would please to show me one of them: Valeria, who knew her fetch, and knew withal, that by reason of the Artifice which Herminius used in writing, she could never discover their intelligence, she gave him one of the letters from that illustrious Roman; which she read aloud, none apprehending it to be a letter of Love though it was, and that most tender. But since they knew not that the word Amity stood for the word Love betwixt them, they were all deceived: for Salonina knew very well, that when a man writes unto a woman, whom he dares not tell plainly that he loves her, and yet would have her understand his meaning, he useth to write certain words, which are applicative either unto Love or Amity: As affection, tenderness and such others. So as finding the word Amity so frequent in this Letter, Salonina repented of her Curiosity, and Spurius was confirmed in his opinion, that Herminius was not in love with Valeria: This letter being in my opinion very ingenious, I will repeat it unto you two ways: and methinks it to be the best metamorphosed, that ever I heard: The letter of Amity runs thus,  
Herminius unto Valeria.  
DId you know madam, how unexpressably I am joyed, to find that my thoughts of you are effects of a most sincere Amity, you would say that I have such thoughts in my heart, as are transcendently extraordinary. For upon a strict examination of myself, I find myself so highly happy in loving you as I do, as I would not for a World, love you after any other manner. Indeed Madam, when I consider of all those thoughts which my Amity does inspire me withal, I am so charmed, to know that they are worthy of you, as I infinitely rejoice in myself, that I can love you as you deserve to be loved: But that my happiness may be complete, Give me leave to hope, that when I have let you know how my apprehensions of you, are apprehensions of Amity, and of Amity the most pure and tender, that then you will retaliate unto me Amity for Amity; for if you do not, I shall be more miserable than you can imagine.  
Is not this letter, a perfect letter of Amity, and Amity only, in which there is nothing that in reason can cause any suspicion of a Love letter? And yet change but one word, and you will find it to be a most perfect letter of Love: And thus it is turned.  
Herminius unto Valeria.  
DId you know, Madam, how unexpressably, I am joyed to find that my thoughts of you, are effects of a most sincere Love, you would say that I have such thoughts in my heart, as are transcendently extraordinary. Upon a strict examination of myself, I find myself so highly happy in loving you as I do, as I would not for a world love you after any other manner. Indeed Madam, when I consider of all those thoughts which my Love does inspire me withal, I am so charmed to know, that they are worthy of you, as I do infinitely rejoice in myself, that I am able to love you, as you deserve to be loved. But that my happiness may be complete; Give me leave to hope, that when I have let you know, how my apprehensions of you are apprehensions of Love, that then you will retaliate unto me Love for Love: for if you do not so, I shall be more miserable than you can imagine.  
After this, it is easy to imagine what pleasure it was unto Herminius and Valeria, to see so many persons deluded, especially Valeria, who always charged Herminius to keep his Passion secret: And he so observant to content her, that he lived in a constant constraint.  
Mean while Valeria, still resolving upon revenge, she pretended to be very ill, and kept her Chamber two days, suffering none to see her: The third day she sent a letter unto Herminius, with orders to him that carried it, that he should deliver it unto one of his servants, and come immediately away without staying for any answer.  
This was the style of the letter,  
Valeria unto Herminius.  
IF I break off with you for ever, then accuse  
None but yourself of that cruel violence which only  
I do unto myself, justly to punish your  
Perfidy. Is it possible, that you should use any deceit  
Unto a person, who was ever ready to do any good effect for  
You? I strictly forbid you ever seeing me after this  
Unworthy proceeding: For, I know that you cannot be innocent;  
And will not trouble myself with any further Quest. of your Artifice.  
As bitter as this letter was, it did not trouble Herminius at first: for upon the first reading, his conceit was, that Valeria had returned him trick for trick, and that he should certainly find it out. Therefore he began to observe the Letter very exactly: for he thought Valeria to have more writ, than barely to write such reproaches, only to perplex him. He looked therefore upon the first Letters of every line; he examined also the last Letters: he turned them every way: and after he had tried all ways. he found nothing but bitterness against himself, and could not find any Artifice in the thing. Then he began to conceit, that either Salonina or Spurius, had done him some ill office: So as being pitifully perplexed, he went unto Flavia, to communicate his fears unto her: For, if Valeria was in good earnest, he concluded himself most miserable: and if she only juggled with him, it vexed him to be deceived, and that he, who was reputed so ingenious, should not find it out. But Valeria, who had a good mind her design should take, and who thought that Herminius would show the letter unto Flavia, she trusted her with the secret, and made her promise to be close and faithful, Imagining much delight in deceiving him, who had deceived her. So as Flavia straining courtesy upon such an occasion to be a little false unto Herminius, she set such a face upon the matter, as she seemed as much surprised as he was. Consider well with yourself, (said she unto him) whether you have not acquainted some or other, with your passion to Valeria: For, if you have, you know how nice she is upon that. No, no, no, replied he, you only are the confident of my Passion. Then, (replied she) is it not some spark of jealousy? For, truly Herminius, you flow so with an universal Gallantry, as would make me desperate were I your Mistress: when ere you write to a woman, be she what she will, you always use more charming, and tender expressions than come from your heart: when you Compose any verses extempore, they are as amorous, as if they were dedicated unto Valeria. And you use a hundred Courtships unto all women whom you love not, which you should use only unto such as you love: believe it, you ought to be more circumspect and wary in such trifles; especially when you love one of a nice and delicate spirit, and a heart sensible. Ha, no, no, replied Herminius, if Valeria be angry, it is at something else; for I have told her a hundred times, that I never writ any thing but of her, and that she has as many names in my Verses, as are attributed to Diana, only to delude such as read them. Upon this he was strangely perplexed, and desired Flavia to go unto his angry Mistress, and ask her from him, what her pleasure was: Then, checking himself; but if it be only a fallacy, (said he) she will laugh at me the more. But no matter, said he again, I had rather she should laugh at me, than to live in this incertainty. Then he looked upon Valeria's Letter again, but finding no manner of mysterious matter in it, he resolved to employ Flavia to discover what this charming Lady meant. She feigned therefore to go and ask her what the matter was, though she went only to laugh with her at the inquietude of Herminius. So as Flavia thinking to delude her friend, she did him a very good office; for Valeria was more glad that Herminius was so much afflicted at her anger, than that her fallacy had so well taken.  
But to be short, Herminius was three days in this cruel perplexity, and never saw Valerid; yet at last, this fair one, resolving to discover the truth unto him, she let him come into her Chamber, where none but Flavia and she was. When he entered, the picture of sorrow was in his eyes; he approached her with more reverence than ordinary, and beginning to speak; Oh Madam, (said he) what has unhappy Herminius done? He has deceived me (replied she, and smiled) and therefore he deserves all the inquietude I have caused in him, and something more: for having so sharp a wit as he has, and a wit able to deceive the most ingenious, he may be ashamed, not to find that in my Letter, which would undeceive him. Ah cruel woman (said he) your Letter contains nothing but injuries, and yet you mock me, and would make me believe there is some hidden mystery in your words: To shame you the more (said she unto him) give me my Letter, and if I do not make you blush, deceive me again if you can. Upon which he gave her the Letter, and she showing him the last word of every line, putting them together, he found them to signify,  
Accuse only your deceit for this innocent Artifice:  
Oh Madam (cried he out) you know how to deceive better than I do, and you can deceive the deceiver: after which, he commended her invention, blaming her inhumanity in letting him continue so long in such tormenting inquietude: but at last, Flavia made peace betwixt them, who were so inclined thereunto, that there needed no Articles of Agreement to be drawn between them: but naturally promised never to deceive each other again: And to love eternally.  
Their affections being very innocent, Valeria was the more free: and she who was most assured that she was never criminal, did more obligingly testify her tenderness unto Herminius, as if she had not been so well assured as she was of her own virtue. Mean while Salonina, who was most horribly vexed both at Valeria and Spurius, she knew not what resolution to take; for she began to be ashamed of the way which she took with Spurius to reclaim him: and she could hardly endure Valeria. Her pride inspired her with a most fantastical opinion: for she who told Volesus, that she complied with Spurius only to hide her affection unto him, began now on the contrary to comply less with Spurius and more with Volesus in public, in a thought that jealousy would draw Spurius unto her. And she did it with so much Art, that Volesus was pleased with it: for than he believed that the affection of this Lady to him, was stronger than her reason; so he left Salonina at liberty, to follow her own Capricious humour, without thinking any more upon it. But Spurius being more subtle than Volesus, he knew, that whatsoever Salonina did, she had a desire to re-engage him; so as he enjoyed, as I told you before, all the pleasures that hope and revenge could inspire him withal; and all the Cabal wherein he was, were all so gallant, so pleasant, and so full of spirit and wit, as it was impossible to live more pleasant lives, than all these illustrious persons lived. Not but that for all this, Herminius and Valeria had sometimes some petty quarrels; but since they sprung only from excess of tenderness, they quickly vanished, and their reconcilements were so sweet, as their quarrels might be called augmentations of Love and delight. Yet once there was a day whereon they had such a jarring, as put them both to much perplexity, the cause whereof was very particular.  
You may remember I told you, that Valeria charged Herminius above all things to keep the passion which he had to her very close and secret; so as being very exact and prudent, and careful to content her, he constrained himself very admirably well in all encounters. It happened one day, that he being with her, the Prince of Pometia came in, who having found Herminius the day before in a walk far distant from all company; he began to chide him, and to ask what was the cause of his solitary humour. Truly Sir, (said he unto him) I should pump very hard, if I should endeavour to tell you: For first, I am not in Love; and as for such things as I sometimes do in my foolery, I assure you, that I do them without invoking Apollo, or any of the Muses: I do them either out of ravishment of spirit, fancy, or humour, or out of a necessity to obey my friends: and yet it's none of all these that brought me yesterday into that melancholy walk: but I walked alone only because I had no other company. A man (said the Prince and smiled) who tells he is not in Love, when he is not necessitated to tell it, does argue that he is: Truly Sir, replied Herminius, It does so ill become a man of my age, not to be in Love, that since I said I was not, I dishonoured myself: but what I said was true; and it is not the custom to lie to ones own disadvantage. Whilst Herminius talked thus to the Prince of Pometia, Valeria seemed as if she took no notice of what they said, nor to think upon any thing but her Dress, though she listened very attentively. She heard therefore, that the Prince of Pometia continuing discourse, asked Herminius, who said he was not in Love, how it was possible he could hit upon such passionate expressions in his writing, if his heart were not amorously touched. Truly Sir, (said Herminius) Love verses are things very fallacious; for sometimes one may come out with very melting verses, yet never be in Love; for to do such things, it sufficeth if one be of a passionate temper, though he have no passion: I know a man of great merit, who composed a most rare Copy of verses upon Absence, even in the very presence of his Mistress; and complained most pitifully of her rigour, when he was highly in her favour. He whom you instance, replied the Prince of Pometia, was in Love, and, as I may say, did only transpose his Conceptions: but you, who say you are not in love, I cannot apprehend you. And yet it is so, (replied Herminius, still thinking he had done well) after which, the Mother of Valeria coming in, the discourse changed. Yet Valeria talked but a little all the day; and when any asked the cause, she answered, her head ached, which caused none to suspect that she had any thing in her mind which vexed her. The hour of retiring being come, the Prince of Pometia went away, and carried Herminius with him. The next morning betimes, this Lover failed not to send, and know how Valeria did, who sent him word back, that she was no better than she was the night before: After dinner, Valeria, who naturally did not affect any gadding abroad, and went to Tullia as seldom as possible she could, yet she went thither with one of her Cousins; but though she saw Herminius there, yet she never spoke unto him, but shunned him, and looked with an air of much anger in it, which so much disquieted Herminius, that he could not choose but go and make his complaints unto Flavia, whom he saw with the Queen, and who promised him to go out with Valeria, to ask her what the matter was. Valeria going out betimes, Flavia followed her, after she had whispered Herminius in the ear, and bade him come an hour after unto Valeria's where she would be, promising to tell him what crime he had committed. As soon as Valeria came home, she went unto her Chamber, Flavia followed her; but desiring to see whether Valeria would of herself say any thing unto her, it was a quarter of an hour before she seemed to take any notice of any perplexity in her mind, but talked of such things as they saw at Court. But as Flavia spoke pleasantly, Valeria answered her so solemnly, as it was easy to perceive her mind was troubled; so as Flavia not being able any longer to endure her perplexity without knowing the cause, she asked her what the matter was; you are so melancholy to day (said she unto her) as I cannot choose but ask you the cause. In the humour I am, replied Valeria, you would do me a pleasure if you would not ask it; for I can hardly tell you, and yet I do not love to refuse you any any thing. Yet you must either refuse me, replied Flavia, or else satisfy my curiosity: for you were not wont to be humorous: and yet I saw you to day look so coldly upon poor Herminius as you came from the Queen, that I think you have done him great injustice: at least I can assure you, that he thinks himself very innocent, and cannot imagine what crime you impute unto him. If the sense of his affection were tender and delicate, answered she sharply, he might easily imagine what it is that vexeth me: for to tell you sincerely, all his tenderness and delicacy is in his wit and tongue, and not at all in his heart. But I beseech you, (said Flavia) of what do you accuse him? Does he not love you well? is he unfaithful? is he not obsequious enough? is he indiscreet? or does he disobey you? On the contrary (replied she, and blushed for anger) he is the most discreet and obedient Lover that ever was. You speak this in such a tone, replied Flavia, and smiled, as if obedience and discretion were crimes; and as if in way to justify himself, he ought to disobey you in something, and brag of some favour you have showed him. Ah, answered she, he was never culpable of that crime; for he is so much afraid of it, as one cannot suspect him in love with me: and is so extremely careful to hide his affection, as one would think he hid it from himself. Good Madam, replied Flavia, did you not command him not to speak of his Love unto any but me, and to hide it from all the world beside? I confess it, replied Valeria: but did he love me as well as I would have him, it were impossible he should hide it so well as he does.  
I am sure he had friends who see him every day, and such as know all his inclinations, yet none of them has the least suspicion of his being in Love; and he has Rivals also which cannot perceive it; so as upon serious thoughts, I must needs conclude, that such an affection as one can so easily hide, cannot be great. But good Valeria (replied Flavia, and looked earnestly upon her) do you speak this in good and serious earnest, or is it only some light whimsy? No, Flavia, replied she, this thought which you may think to be some whimsy, is in my heart, and not without good Ground. But I beseech you, replied Flavia, if Herminius by any of his speeches or actions, had given any cause to discover the affection that is betwixt you and him, would you not have grumbled at him, and have punished him for it? I confess I should, answered Valeria, but it should have been only as an act of imprudence which I could have excused, because I should have attributed it unto an excess of Love: but this excessive discretion whereby Herminius deceives all his friends, his enemies and his Rivals, I cannot impute it unto any thing but faintness, and coldness in his affection. Then you would have the love betwixt you known, replied Flavia, and all your commands of discretion upon Herminius, to stand for cyphers. No, replied Valeria, and when I forbade Herminius to confess he loved me, I expected obedience from him: but to tell you truly, I did not believe he could do it so easily as he does, nor that any one of his Loves should betray him. Yet he is such a perfect Master of himself, that he never so much as looks upon me if any be present: he makes nothing of talking with his Rivals; and no longer since than yesterday, he had the power to say insolently before my face, that he was not in Love: which certainly is the hardest thing in the world for one that has a sensible spirit, and tender heart.  
As Valeria said so, Herminius entered, so as Flavia, who had a desire to give him an occasion of making his peace, she told him that he was very opportunely come to justify himself: Oh Flavia (said this incensed Lady) if you love me, do not tell Herminius any thing I said unto you. Since you have intimated, that it is dangerous to obey you too much, replied Flavia, and smiled, I do not fear disobeying you in this: And indeed, Flavia asked Herminius (maugre all that Valeria said) why he told the Prince of Pometia before his Mistress, that he was not in Love. Alas, replied he, and sighed, I said it in obedience to unjust Valeria, who commanded me a thousand times to hide my passion; and I said it with such extreme repugnancy, as she ought to be infinitely obliged unto me for it. No, no, Herminius, replied Valeria, and blushed, never deceive yourself: that which you said in my presence, can never be pleasing unto me. I beseech you (said Flavia) how came this to pass? Imagine, replied Valeria, that the Prince of Pometia should come hither, and ask Herminius what he did the day before in a walk towards the wood, where the Nymph Egeria inspired the wise Numa; and that Herminius when he had no need, should answer him, that he knew not what he did, but that he was very sure he was not in love, and repeated this unnecessarily at least four times. Judge I pray, whether a man, who makes these terrible words to ring in the ears of her he loves, without ever being forced unto it, does not deserve to be suspected of a shallowness in Love: For indeed it was stretching his prudence too far: and I should sooner pardon Herminius, if out of a rapture of affection, and unawares, he had said before any one, that he loved Valeria, than I should, if he had said before me with so much tranquillity and aggravation, that he did not love me. Then Madam (said Herminius unto her) give me leave to tell all the world that I do adore you; and than you shall see whether or no I be too prudent a Lover, and whether I shall not make it my greatest glory to wear your Chains. Take heed of that (said she to him) for it is not my intention you should publicly blaze your love. Oh Madam, replied he, what then would you have me do? I would (answered she) that you should bridle yourself so far, as not to say grossly before my face, that you do not love me. I assure you, Madam, replied Herminius, that if you had not been within hearing, I had not said so: but my hopes of doing a thing which I supposed would please you, did prompt me unto it.  
But charming Valeria, I am so far from retorting any of these reproaches which you have given me, that I thank you for them, and most humbly beseech you to tell me, how a perfect and respectful Lover ought to behave himself, when his Mistress forbids him to say any thing of his affection. I would not have a Lover (said she) give any occasion to make it thought he is loved: if it be suspected that he is in love, I would not have him say at any time, or to any person, that he loves his Mistress: and yet I would not have it such a horrible torment unto him, to hide the passion that is in his heart, as that he should think it the most terrible of all punishments. But above all, I would never have him able positively to say before his Mistress, that he is not in love: especially when he is not forced unto it by any necessity; for if he have a tender and passionate heart, it is a thing which he cannot imagine, much less brook: But then, Madam, replied Herminius, what will become of all those absolute commands which you laid upon me, not to discover my affection? would you have me still use the word Amity in my Letters, to express my passion? I would, replied she; but I would not have you say before my face, that you do not love me; for if you did love me fervently, you would not be able to pronounce those cruel words. Yet he (added she, and looked upon Flavia) did never so much startle at the sound of them, or give the least sign that he was loath to utter them, but spoke resolutely, and loud, and in such a tone, as seemed to speak his heart: Ah cruel Valeria (said he unto her) I can no longer endure your injustice: I beseech you (said Flavia then unto her) what should Herminius do to appease you? Would you have him go presently unto the Prince of Pometia, and tell him that he is ready to die for the love of you? For my part, I know not how Herminius can give you satisfaction any other way, to repair the great injury he has done you. I see, replied Valeria, that you mock me: but I will maintain that one, who knows how to love aright, will not condemn me, but confess with me, that what I now say will seem a little too nice, and perhaps fantastical to those that are not in love, but such as are will allow of it: Well Madam, said Herminius, I will confess myself to blame: But I beseech you, are no errors in Love pardonable? Yes, said Valeria, very many: but let me tell you, that coolness in affection is seldom pardoned.  
Oh I beseech you, replied he, do not give my supposed crime, a title so incongruent and unsuitable: for the truth is, I am not culpable but of too punctual obedience, and of prudence too excessive: and my crime (if it be one) is an excess, no defect in Love: for had I loved you less, I had not been so careful to obey you, and conceal my Passion.  
After this, Flavia having pressed Valeria to pardon Herminius, she was pleased to grant it. Yet it was two hours before the same sweetness, and joy, and the same tranquillity which used to shine in the eyes of Valeria, returned unto them: but at last, all Clouds being dissipated, Valeria appeared in her accustomed Lustre, and humour. As for Herminius, he was still a little troubled: For, he was afraid of showing either too much, or too little Love: knowing very well, that Valeria, what ere she said, would find as much fault, if he discovered his passion, as if he concealed it overmuch.  
Mean time, Salonina seeing none of her designs to prosper, she was in a strange perplexity: and the more, when she found the humour of Volesus, who being of such a Nature as could not love, but where he found some difficulties, and seeing Salonina did more overtly show her affection to him than ordinary, he grew glutted, and less respective and amorous than he used. So as after all her endeavours to recall Spurius, both by sweetness and jealousy, she found herself like to lose the only Lover which she had remaining, though she was fair, and witty. As for Spurius, he still thought himself very happy, although he had no reason.  
As for Herminius and Valeria, they were both well satisfied, and had good cause for it: But, as it is impossible to love long without some rub, a chance happened that vexed them both, and which might very well do so. For you must know, that the jealousy of Volesus being augmented, and Salonina fearing to lose him, she resolved to renounce her design of recalling Spurius. But in seeking to justify herself towards Volesus, she was not sorry to do any mischief unto Spurius, or unto Valeria also, whom she loved not: So as endeavouring all she could, to piece Spurius and Volesus together; the occasion presently offered itself. She met with't in Domitia's Chamber: it chanced that Salonina was sitting between Volesus and Spurius: And it chanced also that the company was very great that day: And that the Ladies which sat by Spurius and Volesus being gone, Salonina and they were separated a good space from the rest of the company.  
As for Herminius, though he did not often apply himself unto Valeria before company; yet since the approach of hiding his Love overmuch was laid to his charge, he Courted her this day more than ordinary. So as Spurius seeing his Rival with his Mistress, and could not leave Salonina without two apparent incivility, he kept his place. Salonina making use of this unexpected occasion, both to cure Volesus, to vex Spurius, and spite Valeria; she turned toward Spurius, and addressing her speech to him with a disdainful smile, Since I am naturally very pitiful (said she unto him) I think it an act of charity to comfort you for the ill success you have in all your enterprises of Gallantry. For truly, as full of merit as Herminius is, I think Valeria ought to prefer you before him, though upon no other reason; but because you love her more than he. All Ladies in general, (replied Spurius faintly) are so apt to be unjust, that if this misfortune do befall me, yet it is not the first time. Salonina understanding his meaning, was afraid lest Volesus should hear, and understand; So as beginning to speak again hastily, without answering to what he had said, she told him, that he was more beholding to her than he was aware of; For Volesus knows, that I being full of acknowledgement for all the services which heretofore you have done me, I was very sorry to see you engaged in the service of a Lady, whose heart is not in her own power: and perhaps I have endeavoured, to disengage you, without any other intention, but to break those chains which unless you do undeceive yourself, will grow more heavy upon you every day. For truly, (continued this crafty Lady) Volesus knows very well, that I had never endeavoured your Re-engagement to me, but only to disengage you from Valeria, as much my Friend, as she is: For, I being better able to penetrate into her heart, than you, I was sorry to see how she made use of you, only as a Cloak to hide the inclination she had unto Herminius. But since I perceive, you do ill interpret my meaning, I leave you to your own bad destiny, and declare, that I will never again endeavour to Re-engage you to my service, nor disengage you from the service of Valeria.  
Whilst Salonina was speaking this, Spurius unluckily looked at Valeria, as she was talking to Herminius, and had then in her eyes such a passionate and sweet obligingness, that he blushed: So as it might be said, that the looks of Valeria did more persuade Spurius to believe what Salonina said, than all the Language of that crafty Lady could. So as then, not rejecting what this envious friend said, as he had upon other occasions, and Volesus making one in this Conversation, it grew at last a Conversation of real confidence on Spurius his side, and false confidence of the side of Volesus and Salonina, whose aims yet were not alike: For Volesus talked with Spurius only to make him understand, that Salonina had no design of Love upon him: And Salonina had no other intention, but to keep him from being in love with Valeria: For, as envy doth prepossess the mind as well as Love; Salonina did not think, that in making Spurius jealous, she should augment his Love to Valeria: And indeed, Spurius at that instant growing jealous, he did become much more in Love than before: And chance also would have it, that the conversation of the day did augment this growing jealousy: For, be pleased to know, that Valeria after she had done talking with Herminius, when Spurius had observed the sweetness of her looks; she began to chide Salonina, for separating herself from the company with two such Gallants as Spurius and Volesus. So as being all joined together, and Prince Titus with Collatina being come, they fell insensibly to talk of Amity, and Love: Some said, that Amity ought to be preferred before Love, because the pleasures of it are more tranquil: And others, that Love ought to be preferred before Amity, because the sweets of it are infinitely more sensible. I conceive (said Herminius) it is not impossible to join these two kinds of Pleasures together: and I affirm that to make a Love durable, it is requisite, that a woman be both the Friend and the Mistress of her Lover: I say further, that if Amity do precede Love in the heart of a Lover, his Passion will be stronger, more durable, more respectful, and also more ardent. Spurius hearing Herminius say so, he made an application of what he said, as unto himself: So as out of those sparks of jealousy which began to grow in him; He began to contradict him, and to maintain, that Love and Amity cannot be both, in the heart of one and the same person. For said he, these two are so little resemblant, as it cannot be conceived they should at one instant, be together, without so confounding each other as they cannot both be discerned. They do confound themselves indeed (replied Herminius) but it is so, as two Rivers which meet and mingle: yet in mixing, (said Titus) these two Rivers make but one.  
I do confess it, (replied Herminius) yet the Waters of both the Rivers are there, though they cannot be separated; and that River which is the most famous, and altars the name of the other which it hath received, is the better, and more fit to bear great boats. If Tiber, which hath received forty and two Rivers into its Channel, had only the original water of its source, it would be but a petty brook. It is almost the very same in love: for to speak sincerely, to cause love barely, there needs no high spirit, great merit, great beauty, great generosity, nor any taking charms in conversation: there needs no more than youth and occasions of seeing: The order that Nature hath established, is sufficient to be get this simple bare Love, as well as in Birds that sing in their seasons: But then as for great and high passions, it is requisite to have all the ingredients that are necessary unto great and perfect amities. I do very well understand what you say, replied Spurius; but yet I understand it with this difference, That a constant love ought to be grounded upon esteem, whereas you conceive it ought to be upon Amity.  
Esteem and Amity are so oft together (replied Herminius) as it is easy to take the one for the other: For one can hardly have a very great esteem of any without loving them also: not but that I know one may sometimes esteem enemies, but that is such an esteem as has limits; and it may be said, they esteem their good qualities, but not them: for as I conceive, it is high injustice to hate any whom they highly esteem. I think then, I was not much amiss, when I said, that amongst persons who see each other every day, great esteem and amitymeet often together: and therefore since you agree, that a constant Love ought to be grounded upon esteem, you will easily confess, that it may also be grounded upon Amity.  
When one begins to have affection unto a person, with his reason free, and disengaged from all prejudice; he shall know all his good qualities: he will see them without illusion; and he will be assured that he can never see them otherwise: but on the contrary, when Love springs by the eyes in an instant, he does not see things as they are; so as upon the least disgust that happens, his prejudicated fancy diminishing, he sees his Mistress far otherwise than he saw her before: and seeing what he saw not before, his thoughts also change, and he thinks not what he thought before. But a Love that has amity mixed with it, there is almost nothing but death that can extinguish it. I do conceive indeed (said Spurius) that when a Mistress has all the necessary qualities requisite in a true and generous friend, Love is more strong; but I do not conceive how Amity can become Love: and though I should conceive it, yet I cannot agree that Love and Amity can subsist together, but think, that this affection does change into another Nature. I conceive (said Herminius) that a great esteem which begets a great and tender amity, may also easily become Love: But, replied Spurius, why should it not become love at the first? For a thousand different reasons, answered Herminius: and for a thousand reasons which we ourselves do not know, though they be hid in us: for the same natural reason and instinct which teacheth all Children to hold up their hands when they fall, lest they should hurt their heads, though they were never taught it; the same instinct, I say, makes a man who begins to look upon a woman of virtue, modesty, and wisdom, not to love her at the very first, because hope which often precedes this passion, or at least begins with it, does not stir any such motions in him as are apt to beget an ardent affection.  
It may be also, that this man who begins to be a friend unto any amiable woman, has then some wand'ring thoughts another way, which hinders his heart from being so pregnant of Love. But when esteem begets Amity, when familiarity augments it, and when the heart of a generous man is free and capable of passion; if an amiable woman become kind and tender towards such a friend, he easily becomes a lover. For certainly, it is easier for a heart already warmed with an ardent amity, to fall into ardent love, than a heart that is indifferent: and I affirm further, that the amity which a woman bears unto a man may make him more in love with her, than he would have been, had she not been at all tender towards him. For my part (said Valeria then,) had I a Lover, and should discover such a temper in him, I should dislike it: I would indeed have him in amity before he be in Love: but I would have it to be the knowledge of merits that should change the nature of his affection, and not the signs and symptoms of my amity. Madam, replied Herminius, in consenting that his love should arise from the knowledge of your merits, you consent also that the symptoms of your amity do contribute something unto it: for Amity, as I conceive, is part of the merit of a generous person: and for my particular, I should be sooner melted by the tenderness of a generous heart, than by her beauty only. But for all that, this does not detract any thing from the glory of a Lady who is loved upon that ground; for all her tenderness would not move, if she had not many excellent qualities besides, which render her so precious. So as when Amity becomes love in the heart of a lover, or to say better, this love mixeth itself with Amity without extinguishing it, there is nothing so sweet as this kind of love; for as violent as it is, yet it is always more regulated than ordinary love, it is more durable, more tender, more respectful, and more ardent, yet not subject to so many tumultuous whimsies as that love is, which is without amity. But still you must confess with me (said Spurius) that this Amity becomes Love, and does absolutely change its Nature.  
I have already told you upon this subject, (replied Herminius) That Love and Amity do mix together like two Rivers, the Nobler whereof carries away the name of the other. But for all that, the water of the lesser is as well there as that of the greater; so as though a friend which is become a Lover, does say always that he is in love, and not say that he is in Amity; yet certainly both of them are in his heart, though he can hardly discern them; And it is most constantly true, that a Love of this temper, is more perfect than the other: To show that Amity and Love are all one, (said Spurius) in the heart of a friend that is become a Lover, I need only to instance, that commonly when a man in love, ceases to be in love, there remains nothing in his heart but hatred, or indifferency: so as it must consequently follow, that amity is quite turned into love, or at least goes along with it. This happens sometimes (replied Herminius) but it happens very often, that Love cools, and Amity still remains. For my particular (said Valeria) I had rather one should be indifferent towards me, nay hate me, than to be no more than in amity, after he once loved me: For if one should hate me, I might believe, that perhaps he loved me though unknown, and that his hatred was a disguised Love.  
But as for Amity which remains after Love, I look upon it as a dead Love that has no heat in it, and good for nothing: I know very well (added she) that almost all the love of the best husbands becomes amity: But I know withal, that there are few good wives, but will confess that it were better to be the Mistresses of those they have married, than to be no more than the friends of their husbands: I mean, such friends to whom their husbands impart no more of their secrets, than domestic affairs, and with whom they never hold any sweet conversation. Yet there are some (said Collutina) who are both Lovers and Husbands all their lives, and live so kindly with their wives, that they do enjoy all the sweets both of love and friendship. I assure you, (said Valeria) it is a harder matter than you imagine, to be both at once a good husband, a respectful Lover, and a very well accomplished man; For to be a Lover is to be a slave; to be a Husband, is to be a Master; and to be a well accomplished man, is to be neither a Tyrant nor a slave to his wife.  
I affirm also, That it is the honour of such wives as have good Husbands to let them have such an authority as may appear to the world, though out of excess in love, or some other cause, they would not have it: And a good wife will never desire it should be said, that she is the Governor of her Husband; but only, that she has a good credit in his opinion, that he esteems her, believes her, and loves her; not that he obeys her, as if he were not able to govern himself. Nor do I allow, that a Husband should be continually showing himself a husband; An imperious husband, who looks upon his wife only as the first servant in the House, who trusts her with nothing, who never considers her, and who treats her as if she had not the use of Reason, as if he were not obliged to love her, and as if it were his Prerogative to love a hundred others, and she not to say Mum. Collatina hearing Valeria speak thus, began to twit her, and to say, that doubtless she would make the best wife, and the best husband in the world, since she was able to discourse so well upon the Laws of Marriage. After which, it being very late, the company parted.  
As for Spurius, he went home with a heartful of jealousy: As for Salonina, though she was glad to observe, that she was the cause of it; yet sometimes this jealousy which she saw increased, did vex her, because she saw plainly that Spurius had no affection at all unto her: But for all that, her hopes to take him off Valeria, did flatter her.  
As for Herminius, he went away well satisfied: But as for Valeria, she being of a most delicate and nice spirit, she took it much to heart that Herminius should so hotly affirm, that Amity and Love together was requisite. For from thence she argued, that the first thoughts which he had of her were no thoughts of Love: So as the first time she wrote unto him, she debated it with him: and for four or five days the subject of their Letters was upon nothing else.  
Mean time, Spurius was very unhappy: For, as jealousy increased every moment in his mind, so hope lessened, and Fears grew more strong, Is a few days therefore, he was grown all melancholy, sullen, mistrustful, pettish, and easily angered: He employed himself in nothing but observing all the actions of Herminius and Valeria: And the more he observed them, the more jealous he grew: Not that they lived any otherwise than they used together: But it is the Nature and Quality of jealousy, to prepossess, to change the objects, to seduce reason, and to force an interpretation of all things to the disadvantage of the Interpreter: It troubles the senses; and whereas the eyes do sometimes deceive the imagination, it happens very oft, that the Imagination of a jealous man deceives his eyes, and makes him believe he sees, what he sees not: So as Spurius, being possessed with a most violent jealousy, he imagined a thousand things that never were. And as a jealous man always finds more than he seeks for; and since Spurius sought continually how to afflict himself, in seeking for some comfort, he caused unto himself a fresh subject of inquietude by the way which I shall tell you. Imagine then, that to clear all his doubts, he thought no better way would do it, than to gain one of Valeria's Slaves, who was witty, subtle, and naturally a lover of herself: For he had heard that Valeria accused her of that fault: So as Spurius neglected no way to win her unto himself: when he met her, he saluted her very kindly; he commended her handsomeness, and always offered to give her money: At first she refused, and said, that her Lady had charged her to take nothing of any person; and seeing he offered to give her, only to try if she would take, and then tell her Lady, she would not accept of anything.  
Spurius, hearing this woman speak thus, and knowing that she tickled to be taking what he offered; he told her she was mistaken, and that he would not have Valeria know of any thing he gave her: So as this young wench, after some slight refusal, she began to accept of several things from Spurius, who after he had thus engaged her, he got her wholly unto him.  
However, though she was very trusty, yet she would not tell him any thing. but that Valeria received letters very often from Herminius. But as the mode of letters was in this Gallant Cabal, this gave him no satisfaction. This slave also told him, that Valeria was not very careful of those letters which she received from Herminius: and that till she put a great number of them together into her Cabinet, she always either carried them in her pocket, or left them upon the Table, not caring who saw them. So as Spurius pressing her to get one of them, she promised to do it upon the first opportunity: and accordingly, about two days after, she took from her Lady one of Herminius his letters, and gave it unto Spurius, who to have the better opportunity of speech with this slave, he went unto Valeria's, when he knew she was not at home, which happened then very often: For since Salonina and Valeria were out of League, there grew much Amity betwixt Valeria and Lucretia, who seldom stirring abroad, except to the Temple; was more visited by her new friend, than she returned visits. Spurius then going to Valeria's one day, when she was with Lucretia, he asked to speak with the slave, with whom he held intelligence under a pretence of delivering a message for her Lady. So as this wench gave him the letter which she had taken: but in giving it, she began to laugh, and told him, that she had given him as good as nothing. At first, Spurius thought, that though the wench was witty, yet perhaps she could not understand the letter, for he knew that Herminius could write but too well. When the wench saw that he made no reckoning of what she said, she laughed again, and said unto him, I perceive you think, I know not what I say, and that you think a poor slave cannot read; but for all that, I deserve a recompense from you: For, first I assure you, that it is no letter of Love: That never letter was fuller of Amity; and that if I can understand any thing there is no sense in the letter; Spurius being tickled with an itching curiosity, and knowing that Valeria would quickly return, he opened the letter and found these words,  
Herminius unto Valeria.  
I Confess Madam, that my Amity preceded my amity: And Amity and amity do sometimes resemble: but believe it Madam, when that happens, either the Amity must be very tender, or the amity not very great: And if you would have me speak without disguisement, your Amity is as far from resembling amity, as my amity is from resembling Amity.  
After Spurius had read this letter, he was much surprised: for he knew that Herminius used not to write Nonsense or Tautologies, or to put the word Amity so often in one letter without any sense.  
So as not knowing well what to think upon't he carried away the letter, not knowing well what to make of it: The wench would have had it again, but he was resolved to examine it better before he restored it: He carried it therefore home; and when he was in his chamber, he read it over a hundred times: but understood it no better at the last than the first time, for he could not imagine what to make of the word Amity. The worst for him was, he knew well that there was some hidden secret under it: For, had it been one of those Acrostic ingenuities which Herminius used, he should have understood it.  
On the other side, the little care that Valeria took in hiding these letters from Herminius, did give him some consolation: but for all that, this Gallimaufry of Amity puzzled him so much, that not being able to untie this knotty Riddle himself, he resolved out of an excess of jealousy to show it unto Salonina, hoping that her acute wit would help him to discover what he desired to know. He went therefore unto her, but did not acquaint her with his intelligence he had with Valeria's slave, but told her, that a friend of his found the letter, and entreated him to decipher it. Salonina took the letter, and was as much puzzled at the word Amity as Spurius was. She thought at the first that she had found out the trick, so as looking upon Spurius, she said unto him: you shall see that Herminius and Valeria are agreed to use the word Amity, in lieu of the word Love: if they had, replied Spurius, the Letter would be as much nonsense, for I will read it so, and you shall see it: and he read it thus.  
I confess Madam, that my love preceded my love, and love and love does sometimes resemble: but believe it Madam, when that happens, either the love must be very tender, or the love not very great: And if you will have me speak without disguisement, your love is as far from resembling love, as my love is from resembling love.  
Well, (replied Spurius, after he had read the Letter) Do you understand the word Love, better than you do the word Amity? No, replied she, but I am resolved I will. And indeed this Lady, whose heart was full of curiosity, of envy, of anger, of jealousy, of vanity, and who moreover wished heartily that Spurius might be jealous, she began to look very seriously upon this Letter of Herminius, so as having a sharp and penetrating wit, she observed that the word Amity was written several ways in the Letter, for it sometimes begun with a great letter, and sometimes with a little. So that as soon as she had observed this, she hoped to discover the trick on't: she judged also, that Herminius being so exact in his writing as he was, would not use sometimes great and sometimes little letters to no end: so as she thought that this different manner of writing the same word, might change the sense, and indeed she was not mistaken; for when they agreed that the word amity should signify Love, Valeria asked Herminius how they should do when they used the word Amity to signify barely Amity: Herminius, who was full of invention, he told her, that when the word amity was to signify Love, it was to begin with a little a, and when it was to signify amity only, it was to begin with a great A. So as Salonina having observed this difference in writing the same word, and imagining that it might change the sense, she began to try it after this rule, and then found that good sense followed: of which Spurius was as glad as she: Salonina also told Spurius, that certainly this Letter was a consequence of that discourse, wherein Herminius affirmed, that Amity ought to be mingled with Love. So as after Spurius had observed this rule which she directed him to follow he found these words.  
I confess, Madam, that my Amity preceded my love, and love and Amity do sometimes resemble: But believe it, Madam, when that happens, either the Amity must be very tender, or the love not very great: and if you will have me speak without disguisement, your Amity is as far from resembling love, as my love is from resembling Amity.  
Oh Madam, (cried out Spurius) you have but too much wit for my tranquillity: and the nonsense which I found in the Letter of Herminius, had been better for me, than the sense which you have found out. For truly, since Valeria holds any intelligence of this nature with him, he does her wrong to say, that her Amity does not resemble Love, for such artifice is needless for an affection of another nature: However, Madam, (added he in a transport of sorrow) I beseech you dispense with me, for not returning thanks unto you for the pains you have taken in unridling this Letter: for truly I have not power to do it. And to tell you truly, I see you so glad at your discovery, and at a thing which infinitely afflicts me, that I was not more grieved when you were the most rigorous unto me. If you would have me speak sincerely (replied Salonina) I think it something strange you should not bear me any good will for the pains I have taken in undeceiving you: for had you rather not know that Valeria loves Herminius? Doubtless I had, replied he, so I were never to know it. For my part, replied she, I am not so of your mind, but am very glad you find that I am not the only reasonable person who does not render justice unto your merit, and who cannot afford you any more than my esteem: for since the first time you loved me (added this crafty Lady) you thought me the only person in the world whom you loved, that would not love you again: but now you find by experience that it is not so. Ah cruel Salonina (cried he out) Do not torment me with the rigour of another, after you have so much tormented me with your own: but if you speak thus, because you repent of your former cruelty, I shall think you excusable. No, replied she with a subtle smile: but on the contrary I speak as I do, to justify my cruelty. As Salonina said so, Collatina and Flavia came into the Chamber, so as she having the Letter of Herminius in her hands, it was not possible for Spurius to get it from her. Yet he asked it in a low voice, but she would not restore it, but said to him in Raillery, that she had more right to it than he, after all the pains she had taken in expounding it: so as Spurius not being able to endure any longer in that place, he went out, and being extremely vexed both at Herminius and at Valeria he was not very sorry that this Letter remained in the hands of Salonina, imagining that she would do some mischief unto Valeria by it, against whom he was most horribly incensed. And not being able to contain his grief, he went unto one of his friends, to whom he related the state of his fortune. Did ever any find (said he unto him) a more cross and peevish fate than mine? for within this few days, I found myself the happiest man in the world, and now the most miserable: when Salonina endeavoured to re-engage me, I had all the delights of a sweet revenge; and when Valeria treated me kindly, I enjoyed all the pleasures which hope can give in love. But now; I know that Salonina cares not for me, further than to take me off from Valeria whom she loves not, Valeria cannot endure me, but only as a cloak to hide her affection unto Herminius: and whilst both Volesus and Herminius are happy, I am most miserable. I must confess (said his friend unto him) that your adventure is cruel; but you ought to take good heart; and were I in your case, I should be glad to lose a Mistress that should love any of my Rivals better than me: On the contrary, replied Spurius, I ought to be glad of the rigour of an insensible woman: For I look upon her as one incapable of affording any felicity unto any one no more than me: I look upon her, (I say) as an imperfect person, to whom the Gods have not given any sensibility or tenderness of heart, and one who is unworthy to be grieved for: But alas! when I think upon all the Char●s of Valeria, when I consider she is fair, witty, virtuous, pleasing in her humour, modest, and as I think, capable of tenderness, I am so afflicted at the happiness of Herminius, that I do most horribly hate him: And in this angry mood, I know no other consolation I can have, but to make him miserable, and to trouble all the delights of Valeria, of Herminius, of Volesus, and of Salonina. And indeed Spurius did nothing all that day, but plot how he might ruin these four persons whom he most horridly hated. Yet he dissembled with them, the more easily to harm them: But that he might the better prepare himself with a garb of constraint, he feigned himself sick for a while: after which he appeared in the company as ordinary, though a little more melancholy, and a little less troubled for Valeria. Mean time, Salonina, who kept not the Letter of Herminius for nothing, she made a visit unto Valeria, and drawing her aside, told her, that to testify how much she was her friend, she came to acquaint her how she had lost some of Herminius his Letters, because she heard one of her acquaintance say, that he had one of them in his hands.  
Valeria not thinking that any of Herminius his Letters could be ill interpreted, and did not think she had lost that wherein the word Amity was so often used, which was the only one that could raise any suspicion; she told Salonina that she was much obliged unto her for her good intention; but truly, (said she) If I have lost any of them, I am not much troubled at it, neither in relation to myself or Herminius: For all his Letters are so well penned, and so far from any suspicion of love, as I do not remember the word Love is so much as once mentioned in all that ere he wrote unto me: Then, replied Salonina, those who tell me they have one, are false Impostors: for here's the Copy of that which they say they have in keeping. Upon this, Salonina showed unto Valeria the Copy of Herminius his letter, with the words of Love and Amity in their right places.  
This fair and innocent Lady knowing the first line, she could not choose but blush: yet presently recollecting herself, and seeming to call up her memory, she told Salonina that this which may perhaps be thought some mystery, was nothing but some such trick as his Acrostic was, or some such fallacy, by which he had so often diverted the Cabal: And upon better memory, he did once write some such invention in my chamber, but I apprehended so little danger in showing it, that I left it lose upon my table: so as certainly some or other has found it, and put an interpretation upon it. Since it is so, (replied Salonina, and seemed to believe her) I will never trouble myself to get the Original out of their hands who have it: but I think it better to tell them the truth, and to let them show it as the invention of Herminius. If all people were rational (replied Valeria) it were not amiss to do as you advise: but since there is an ill disposition in most people to interpet the best things in the worst sense, you would do me a pleasure in procuring me this letter, and undeceiving those that have made any ill construction of it. Madam, replied Salonina, since it was never my faculty to flatter my friends, I must needs tell you, that I think the course you would take, it not good, but better to acknowledge it as a real letter, and let it pass as a common and indifferent trifle which you value not. Were there a middle course between these two (replied prudent Valeria) it were the best; and therefore it will be enough if you only tell those that have this letter, how that I do not value it at all: And if ere I meet with an occasion wherein I may do you any service of the like nature, I shall entertain it with joy: Alas Madam (replied Salonina) since I have no friend so Ingenious as Herminius, you are are never like to do me the like office. But, replied Valeria, since Volesus useth to write unto you sometimes, and since he loves you in another manner than Herminius loves me, It is not impossible but I may do more for you, than you shall do for me. However (said Salonina) I am glad that I can show the letter which Herminius wrote unto you; assuring you, what are you think of me, that I will act for you with the same thoughts that now I have. After this, Salonina went away: And this malicious woman so negotiated the matter, that within three days there were dispersed above a hundred Copies of the letter of Herminius: Yet Salonina had not all the pleasure which she expected from this malice: For Herminius was so often known to vent such pieces of wit as these, without any particular design; And Valeria had so great a Reputation of Prudence, that few or none believed it to be more than only a passage of wit, and no particular or applicative aim of any Gallantry in it. Herminius found this advantage by it, which now I am going to relate unto you.  
The perplexity that he saw in the spirit of Valeria, made him fear lest she should take resolution of seeing him no more, only to prevent scandal. For, though Valeria's heart was all innocency; yet she knew, that scandal seeks only a pretence to calumniate the most virtuous persons. So as Herminius, who knew that Valerius and Domitia loved him, resolved upon two things; The First, to acquaint Sivelia with his Love, and oblige her to consent unto his design, and help him. The second: To ask Valeria's leave to apply himself unto those who had the disposition of her, for their approbation of his affection. Herminius therefore, told his generous Mother of it, who commended his design, and assured him, that she would assist him in all that possibly she could: For she found in this alliance, all that she could wish for, especially Virtue, and Nobleness of blood. But when Herminius pressed Valeria to let him speak unto her Father, he found greater resistance than he imagined: For after he had woo●d her unto it, with a thousand tender and passionate expressions and prayers, he saw she changed colour; and beginning to speak, she would not give him any precise answer: So as troubled in mind, Oh most Divine Valeria (said he unto her) do not put my passion unto any further trial: you may know it; and to say more, do know it: And yet you speak unto me as faintly, as if you did not know I love you, and as if you had not permitted me to hope I should not be hated. Indeed, answered she, I do know that you love me sometimes: but how shall I be assured you will love me always? How Madam? (said Herminius and interrupted her) can you be so unjust as to say that I love you sometimes? I who have not a minute's rest in my passion: I, who love you more than ever any can; I (I say) who think upon none; nothing but you, who would not live but for you, who cannot live a minute without you. Though I should agree, that you do love me, replied she, yet I cannot, that you love me as I would be loved. But Herminius, do not deceive yourself: but know, that if you did love me always equally, you could not do as I have seen you: There are some minutes, some hours, and some days wherein you can so well hide your affection, even when you are not constrained unto it, as I have cause to fear how I do inseparably conjoin my Fortune with yours; Though you are the only man in the world, for whom I would without aversion obey my Father, if he should command me to marry. For, I do declare unto you, I had rather be the Wife of a man that hates me, and always has hated me, than of such a man as once zealously loved me, and afterwards does not. For, since the first of these ever hated me, I never loved him, and by consequence, his hatred never troubled me, as the indifference of him whom once I loved, would. But I beseech you Madam, replied Herminius, who should you presuppose, that I should change my mind? Did you ever see me inconstant unto any of my friends? Oh Herminius replied she, some men may be constant in Amity, that are not so in Love: And there are some men, who never have but one friend, who yet have many Mistresses. Madam, replied he, I am none of those: For, on the contrary, I have many friends, but you are my only Mistress, and I can safely say, that I have no other but you: For, if I did ever think myself in Love with any, I now see I was much mistaken when I thought so: For I never had such heart-burnings for any as for you. Do not fear than I shall ever change, when I cannot hope to be better: Nor think, that though time should offer any injury unto your fair face, I should yet alter my mind: No, no, Valeria; I do not love you for your beauty only: There are other excellencies in your soul and mind, which I prefer before the charms of your eyes, and all outward Lustre: you have a thousand, and a thousand beauties, over which time and age has no power: You have a thousand and a thousand Treasures which are not in the power of Fortune, and worth much more, than all those she is able to give: Fear not then, that my Passion will ere diminish as long as it is built upon so sure a foundation, and Cause so solid; I am nothing of the humour of those men, whose Loves are damped as soon as a little sickness has paled the Complexion of their Mistresses. I most humbly beseech you Madam, think better of Herminius, and deny him not that permission, which he asketh, unless you will have him think you never loved him, or that you never will love him, and that you would not have him love you any longer. Though I should (replied Valeria, with a demi-blush) you would not believe me: For indeed I do not refuse to consent unto what you desire, but lest in consenting, you should love me no longer, or love me less. After this, Herminius redoubled his prayers, and expressed his desires so tenderly, and full of passion, as she permitted him at last to speak unto Valerius her Father. So as Sivelia, who knew the virtue of Valeria, and much approved of this alliance, she moved it unto Valerius, who liked the proposition as well as she could desire.  
But though both sides carried the matter very secret, that it might not be known until all was consummated; yet the joys of Herminius did betray this important secret, and made Spurius partly guests at the truth, and fully discovered it by the intelligence of that wench which gave him the Letter of Herminius: so as entering into a new despair, it caused such a disturbance in his heart, as did confirm the opinion of such who say, That a violent passion is often stronger than virtue or reason. For Spurius, who till then, had done nothing for which he could blame himself, unless loving too long, after all hopes of being loved was gone, he took a course to hinder Herminius from being happy, which he would not have taken, if jealousy had not altered the constitution of his soul.  
The truth was, he was an enemy unto Tyranny; he hated Tarquin; and he heartily wished the liberty of Rome: yet in transport of passion, which then was Mistress of his heart, he thought it not impossible to hinder the marriage of Valeria with Herminius, by acquainting some that were of Tarquin's interest, how that in policy he ought to prevent this Alliance. Spurius then being acquainted with one that was kinsman unto Heslius, that was in favour with Tarquin, he went to see him; and seeming to talk of the marriage of Herminius and Valeria, as the news of the Town, he began to speak of the good fortune of Herminius. For truly (said he very subtly) if he had not good fortune, the King would never permit this marriage, which unites two of the most potent Families that are his enemies, and out of whom there are more exiles since Tarquin reigned, than any others in Rome. Spurius seemed to say this, not as if he desired him unto whom he spoke, to tell Heslius, and that Heslius should tell Tarquin, but only as wondering at the good fortune of Herminius. For he knew very well, that he to whom he spoke, would tell Heslius all he heard: And indeed, as soon as ever Spurius was gone, this man went to his Cousin, and told him all he knew. Heslius conceiving indeed, that this alliance between two Families, enemies of Tarquin, was to be prevented, he went unto that Prince to acquaint him with the business, and the consequences of it.  
Tarquin, who, except Horatius and Clelius, hated Valerius and Herminius, more than all the rest of his enemies, he resolved to prevent this marriage by his absolute authority: Thus when Herminius and Valeria thought to pass all their lives together in a most happy condition, Tarquin sent for Valerius, to tell him, that for some reasons which related unto the good of his service, he charged him not to marry his Daughter unto Herminius.  
Valerius out of his great and noble soul told Tarquin all that his generosity guided by prudence did dictate unto him, to oblige him not to constrain him in a thing which ought to be free. But Tarquin answered, That if Herminius married Valeria, he would banish them Rome the next day, and that they should never enter the City again.  
Valerius not being able to oppose force, he retired home, where he found Herminius, who impatiently expected his return; for as a Lover is always fuller of fears than any other, so he was more disquieted than Domitia, that Tarquin had sent for Valerius. But when he was returned, the sorrows of Domitia, of Valeria, and of Herminius, were extreme. Valerius related unto them word for word, all that the Tyrant had said unto him, and all that he answered: after which Valerius spoke unto them with abundance of wisdom: For after many other things worthy of his great heart and high spirit; To testify unto you (said he unto Herminius) how much I esteem your virtue, and how happy I think my Daughter would be in being your wife, I do declare unto you, that were it not I have some secret hopes to be one day profitable unto the liberty of my Country, I would exile myself, and I would advise you unto the same, that you might live with Valeria in some part of the world, where vice does not triumph over virtue; as it does at Rome. But generous Herminius, you having so much spirit, so much heart, and so much virtue as you have, you are a Debtor unto your Country as well as I am: Therefore I exhort you to stay here, and to overcome that innocent passion which you have in your soul.  
But to testify how much I value you, I do declare unto you, That if your virtue cannot overcome your love, and that you cannot live unless miserably, I do consent to give you my Daughter; to deprive myself of her and you for ever, and to permit you to go and dwell in some other part of Italy, where the power of Tarquin is not acknowledged, provided Valeria consent unto it. Oh Sir, replied this wise Lady, though I do esteem Herminius far above all other men, yet I do declare, that I am not able to abandon you to follow him: and I think him so generous, as he will not desire to take me from the best father in the world: but I hope he is so reasonable, as to be contented with that assurance which by your permission I shall give him of my affection; that though we cannot live together, yet I will with all the innocence, and all the tenderness of a sister, preserve it inviolably for him: Yes my Daughter (said Valerius) I do permit you to love Herminius as the only man worthy to be your Husband: and I would have Domitia also to love him, as if he were her son.  
Oh Sir, replied Herminius, you do set before me a most happy example of virtue for me to imitate; for I must ingenuously confess, that if you and Valeria did not give me so great an example of generosity, I cannot tell what answer I should have returned. But yet I see that I should be the most ungrateful, and most unjust man in the world, if I did not think myself happy in my misfortunes, though through the grandeur of my passion, and the Tyranny of Tarquin, I am the most unfortunate of men. As Herminius said this, one came to tell Valerius, that Spurius desired to speak with him: And indeed, that revengeful lover knowing that Tarquin had sent for Valerius, and being impatient to know whether his design prospered, he took a pretence of some business to speak with Valerius, purposely to see in what temper his spirit was. So that Valerius seeing tears in the eyes of Valeria, and despair painted in the face of Herminius, he went into another Chamber to receive the visit of Spurius. Valerius was no sooner gone, but word was brought Domitia, that some Ladies desired to speak with her; she seeing Valeria and Herminius in a condition unfit for visits, she put them into a Chamber within her own, and commanded the woman of Valeria to wait upon her Lady.  
Valeria and Herminius were no sooner at liberty, but excess of sorrow taking away their speech, they looked upon each other a while, and did not speak: afterwards they went and sat down in the further part of the Chamber, where the servant durst not approach out of respect, though she had an itching desire unto it, that she might report unto Spurius what she heard.  
But after this silence had lasted a while, Herminius was the first that broke it by a great and profound sigh, which was a preface unto the saddest words that ever afflicted lover pronounced. Alas, Madam, (said he unto her) Herminius now must never be happy in fair Valeria: it may be, I shall live a while after so sad a doom: But Madam, you that know how to love, do also know, that this word, Never, is a most fatal sound, if it be applied as I do. Yes Madam, to think that you must never be mine, does cast such a gloomy mist upon my spirit, that my reason is confounded; and I repent of what I said unto the generous Valerius and you, when I commended both your virtues: Yes Madam, I am so overwhelmed with sorrow, that I have not the use of my reason, so as I think it not a folly to hope that I shall see Rome delivered from the Tyrant that oppresseth it; and by consequence, that it were an act of generosity to get out of a place where a Tyrant reigns so tyrannically: yet I know, that what Valerius has done, is great and Noble: but yet Madam, the love of a Father is nothing like the love of a Lover: And to speak things as they are, it is unjust to refuse being happy, out of reasons which have only appearances of glory: Truth is, there is not much probability, that Tarquin may be destroyed, and were it not more generous to steal out of his Tyranny, than to endure it, out of an ill grounded hope that one day he may be destroyed? Voluntary exile has some Generosity in it, when the cause is of such a Nature as this which exileth us; And since (my dearest Valeria, if a miserable man may call you so) it is so, it is not banishment to live with the person whom one loves: Rome is a strange Country unto me, if we cannot live together in it: Asia or Africa shall be my Country, if I live there with you. But Herminius, replied Valeria and sighed, let us live still at Rome, and we shall always see each other as now we do.  
Oh Madam, (said he and took her hand) you love but little, I know, you can be contented with the present condition of our Fortune: I know we shall be both in the same Town; That Sivelia's house is not far from yours: that I shall see you every day, and that I shall sometimes speak with you when none understands us but ourselves: But all this will not make us happy, if you do not love me as I love you. For when love is ardent, the Lovers would be out of all danger ever to lose each other: they would be made as sure as possibly may be: They cannot without sorrow but they must sit together, if they be in company: And much less endure to be separated by whole streets, and a thousand obstacles which hinder them from seeing one another every minute: nor can they enjoy a thousand pleasures which the society of the person loved can give them. For my part, I am not of your opinion: I can think any Lover is able to say that he is happy, but when he has nothing to fear, nor hope for: Into what a lamentable condition am I reduced, who am in perpetual fears of losing you, and sees none but weak hopes of having what my affection merits: If Tarquin's Ruin be the ground of my felicity, I have no remedy but death, since it pleaseth the Gods for Reasons which are hid from us, that he should be happy, and continue still Master of Rome. Alas, was ever any misfortune equal unto mine? for I dare not say equal unto ours, not knowing whether you will share so far in my misery, as to make it properly spoken. Truly, Herminius (replied Valeria) it is impossible you should doubt of my mind; and not know that I am most sensible of our cruel destiny; And truly, there is nothing more insupportable than to consider the obstacles of our happiness: Nor any thing that makes it more apparent, that the secrets of the gods are impenetrable: For they do cross our happiness, as if it were a crime to be good, and because there are too many men of virtue in your Family, and mine. Were I daughter unto some of Tarquin's vicious Favourites, we should be happy: But because your Parents and mine are true Romans, we must be miserable.  
Oh Madam, replied Herminius, you show your abundance in goodness by speaking thus, and in not suffering me to bear the heavy burden of my misfortunes alone, but to share with me in calling them ours: But Madam, are all these misfortunes without any remedy? Can we not consummate a marriage secretly, and live happily in some corner of the World? is your love to me so small, that you can deny me in a thing that is innocent? Should I desire any thing from you that were criminal, I should be unjust. But Madam, I am none of those Lovers, who think the Grandeur of their Love can make unjust requests excusable: Your virtue does regulate my will, and keeps my desires within the limits of innocency: but for you I have some cause to think, that I have some right to obtain from you any thing that is no crime. Give me therefore leave to get the consent of Valerius, either that I may marry you secretly, or that we may live out of Rome. You heard him so generous as to offer it: and you will be the most cruel person in the world, if you oppose my happiness. Say rather the most reasonable, replied Valeria: For indeed, Herminius, we should be the height of imprudence if we should think to hide a thing which in all likelihood will come to be known, and which would expose us unto the cruelty of Tarquin. Besides, such a secret would be contrary to my fancy and humour: And as for quitting of Rome, and my Father for ever, I am so sure that I ought not to do it, as I will never think upon it: Oh Madam, (replied Herminius) you are too cruelly wise; what a sad Fate it is, I should be so deeply in love, and so miserable as to love one that will not do for me all that virtue permits her. Virtue, replied this wise Lady, does doubtless allow all that reason does: But Reason sometimes allows more than virtue: Therefore, since it is equally laudable to be virtuous and to be reasonable, be for my sake both the one and the other: Submit your mind unto your Fortune; and to oblige you unto it, Consider, that in quitting Rome, you quit the Interests of your Country, you quit the virtuous Sivelia, you quit Valerius, you quit all your Friends; and more than all this, you will see me most sadly mourn for the absence of Valerius, and Domitia: Yet do not think (added she most obligingly) that my tenderness to you is the less: For it is to be thought, that one who has so much affection for a Father and a Mother, has a most ardent affection for a Lover, and would have for a husband. But of what use are Reason and Virtue, if they be not employed upon such occasions as this? They will serve, Madam, replied he, to make the Grandeur of my Love to be seen: But Madam, if I must yield unto you, what comforts shall I have in my misery, and what assurance against my Rivals, the number of which, I see, does every day increase? You may trust unto the promise which I shall make (replied she) That as long as you love me, I will love you: And, since the persons, who have the disposition of me, consent unto it, I will love you without any scruple. But Madam, replied he, why do you say, that you will love me as long as I love you? Are you not able to say positively, that you will love me for ever, since you may be sure I shall love you as long as I live? When one does love, replied Valeria, he thinks that he shall Love always, and yet thousands of examples make it evident, that there are some Lovers, who cease to Love. Oh Madam, replied he, the heart of Herminius is not alike unto those Lovers that think so: Since so, replied she, The Term that our affections shall last, shall be equivalent, since if you love me as long as you live, I will love you until I die.  
Herminius was so charmed to hear these obliging words from the mouth of Valeria, that he resolved to submit his spirit unto the reason of this wise Lady. He therefore commended her, he asked pardon for his importunity, and beseeched her to pity his imbecility, and to comfort him in his misery, by her constant goodness.  
So as Valeria being very glad to see that the power she had upon the heart of Herminius was so great, she spoke unto him so obligingly, that when Domitia and Valerius returned, they found his Soul in such a temper, as they desired it to be. Being therefore both of them charmed at his virtue, they assured him that they would love him as their own Son, as long as they lived. And indeed, ever since that day, they did love Herminius better than before. Yet for fear of incensing the Tyrant, they agreed, that for a time, he should not come so frequently unto them as he used, nor, that he should hide any of his sorrows, to the end, that unjust Prince might know by his spies, that they had obeyed him.  
Things being thus, Herminius not acquainting Valerius nor Valeria, he went unto Prince Titus, and to the Prince of Pometia, and employed them to move Tarquin not to oppose his marriage. But though these Princes were very zealous in the service of Herminius; yet they could not do him any good: So as he grew so melancholy, that the splenitick Spurius was comforted in all his disgraces. He had also the pleasure to see, that Salonina did not marry Volesus: And some there was that suspected, he hindered the Parents of that Lover from consenting unto his marriage. So as though Spurius was not loved by neither Salonina, nor Valeria, yet he had the satisfaction to see they did not marry those whom they did love: and to break off the society of so many excellent persons, who were always together. But Herminius yet found out an invention to establish another Cabal: for the Amity between Valeria and Lucretia being very great, these two Ladies became inseparable. So as when Lucretius the Father of Lucretia permitted his Daughter to go unto Racilia in the Country; The Cabal grew as gallant as ever, Lucretia, Hermilia, Collatina, and Valeria, being of it.  
But the thing most particular in this adventure was, that Spurius, who now hated both Valeria and Salonina, and also Volesus and Herminius, especially the last of these, he took a fancy, that since he neither could, nor would be any longer his Rival, he would find him one that should. Endeavouring therefore how to bring such a fantastical design to pass, he bethought himself of Mutius, who till then never seemed to have any amorous inclination. For, as perhaps you have observed him, Mutius is naturally proud and ambitious, and the love of Glory takes up so much of his heart, as I believe Valeria with all her charms would not be so pleasing to him, as some dangerous occasion would be, if he were sure to come off with honour. So as Mutius having a heart full of nothing but Heroic designs, he never minded such trifles as are the delights of lovers: you should see him oftener with grave bearded Senators, discoursing upon the valour of Romulus, than with young Gallants. So as Spurius who was a friend unto an Uncle of Mutius, who had the Guardianship of him, he cast his eyes upon him for this fantastical design: And indeed he made no ill choice; for Mutius was handsome, he had wit and spirit; he was proud and haughty; and he was fit to court a Lady, and enrage a Rival. Spurius then finding Mutius as he was walking with one of the gravest Senators in the Capitol, he drew him aside upon pretence of some business with him. Sir (said he unto him) I beg your pardon for depriving you of a conversation which I know you preferred before all the young men of your own age, and before all the beauties in Rome: But, Sir, to speak sincerely, (added he, and smiled) I do aim at your honour in it.  
For to be free with you, I love you very well, and you have often told me, that you would follow my advice in all things. Mutius was a little surprised at this, for he knew not why he should be reprehended for preferring wise men before such as were not: Though he did not love any reprehensions, yet since his Uncle had often commanded him to follow the advice of Spurius; and since he had often promised that he would, he asked him wherein he had failed, beseeching him to tell him, what he would do to get honour and glory. Since you would know, replied Spurius, I would, that you should not cross the order of nature: I would not have you wise before your time, but to think there is a kind of folly which well becomes all young men; and that to arrive at Glory the sooner, you must do many things which may seem a retreat from it: For in lieu of applying yourself eternally unto these old, grave, and serious Sages, who are experienced in the conduct of affairs, and command of Armies, you should see all the Ladies in Rome, that have any beauty, wit, or handsomeness: you should make yourself some friends out of such as have spent five of six years in Gallantry, and are able by their example to teach you how to behave yourself in the world. You should be in society with all such as have any reputation of excellency, but not hang upon them too much: Never go where you are not wished for: nor imprudently molest the pleasures of others, when you are not diverted yourself; nor inconsiderately engage yourself in such foolish company as meet with any business, and where none desires you. But you should cunningly and handsomely make yourself desired: you should be sociable, you should love pleasures, you should court Ladies of merit: you should invent occasions to divert them: you should not be too merry nor too grave; but temperate with judgement: you must not be a Wit, nor Swordman, nor a Gallant of profession. I beseech you (said Mutius) Tell me what one should do to get esteem: you must fall in love, replied Spurius. But, said Mutius, Can one fall in love when one will? I assure you (answered Spurius) when one is of your age, it is harder to keep out than to fall in love; but as long as you keep company with none but grey bearded Senators, your heart cannot be so easily engaged in love. But yet, replied Mutius, when I am in company with those men, I think myself very well; and they commend my wisdom and virtue: but on the contrary, when I go amongst Ladies, I am so far to seek what to say unto them, that I perceive they laugh at me. Oh Mutius, said Spurius, all complete men must be exposed unto the Raillery of women, before their wits can be refined; ask any of the Senators whom now you see so grave and wise, whether they were always so: if they be sincere, complete, and ingenious men, they will tell you they were laughed at the first year they entered into the world; and that the second year they laughed at those who came after them: They will tell you that they loved amorous and gallant conversation and pleasures: That they had never been so complete and polite, but by a desire to please; and that they had never found any such desire, but by being in love: They will tell you also, that love made them more zealously affect glory: made them more liberal, more valiant, and that they were much beholding unto this passion. But you know, replied Mutius, that all Lovers are not happy: Most true, replied Spurius, However (answered he and smiled) they have more consideration than you: For a man that knows the world a little better than you do, would never upbraid me that I was never in love. But Mutius, take all well that I say: for you may think that I have no other interest in the counsel which I give, but only to save me the sorrows to see, that you who are handsome, of a good birth, of spirit, of wit, do yet not employ them as you should.  
Mutius hearing. Spurius speak in such obliging language, did thank him, and assured him that he would follow his advice in all things; yet being of a proud temper, he did a little stomach this reprehension: but having a strong affectation and desire of glory, he resolved to hearken unto Spurius, and to ask him what he should do. You must so behave yourself (said he) that it may be reported as news, you are in love with some person of merit: For though you be not so really, you ought out of prudence to behave yourself as if you were; and therefore, if you will follow my advice, you shall accustom yourself to see all the Ladies, who have highest reputation of beauty, wit and gallantry: Amongst the rest, Lucretia, Collatina, Hermilia, Flavia, Salonina, and Valeria: And to avoid that shame which your fear, of being reproached for not being loved, begin with one who is accustomed not to love those who court her, to the end you may not be the only man who shall be reproached, if your design do not take. And therefore apply yourself unto the service of Valeria; and if you prosper better than I, doubtless it will be glorious unto you; and if not, you have the consolation that you are not without company.  
But I beseech you, replied Mutius, is it not reported, that Herminius is much in her favour? Most true answered Spurius, and therefore it is that I advise you to undertake a design so brave: for an old Lover is sometimes easily driven out by a new Rival. Besides, you being young and brave, one that loves Glory and difficult enterprises; it will be a noble attempt to conquer a heart that is defended by a brave man, and much more glorious, than to assault one who will yield without resistance: The Mistress is fair, the Rival is owner of a thousand admirable qualities, and the enterprise is worthy of yourself: To be free with you, I shall be very much obliged unto you, if you attempt the conquest. For I assure you, I shall be as much joyed if you can obtain the love of Valeria, as I should have been heretofore, if I myself had been loved. After this, Spurius used several other inducements: so as Mutius, out of a pure appetite of glory, undertook to serve Valeria. Submitting himself then to the Counsels of Spurius, he quickly gave him the opportunity of being received in this Noble society; for Mutius was of quality to be received any where. Mutius, he had so deeply imprinted the love of Valeria in his fancy, that it became good earnest: so as after this he stood not in any need of counsel from Spurius, for his own passion advised him what to do: Not that he had so many Talents of Gallantry as Herminius had, whose spirit was even Gallantry itself; But it being the quality of Love to tame the fierceness of Lions, and cruelty of Tigers, Mutius, who till then had none but Heroic designs in his soul, was now capable of lesser thoughts of submission and complacency: So as he quitted the company of his old Signors, and a great part of his wisdom, to see Valeria and all her friends. Herminius, he was so assured of Valeria's heart, that at first, this new Rival never troubled him: but afterwards, it is so natural not to abide Rivals, and to fear lest they should make some progress in the heart of the person loved, that Herminius was disquieted at the passion of Mutius: so as upon divers occasions, they were very sharp upon one another, until fortune presented Herminius with a great occasion of glory in giving him an opportunity of saving the life of Mutius, when by the orders of Tarquin he was to be assassinated as he was going to the house of Racilia where Valeria was, and where Brutus and Herminius did that action which was so much spoken of at Rome, though Brutus was not known who he was. But as gratitude is often too weak to strive with hatred in the heart of a Lover; so, though Mutius was obliged unto Herminius, yet after that, he had many squables with him, wherein appeared much animosity: Spurius his Confident sided with him against Herminius: and being the most revengeful person on earth, you may be sure he never lost any occasion, great or little, that might make against Herminius: And indeed, I was told, that when the fair and unfortunate Lucretia lost that Letter which caused her marriage with Collatine, and made Herminius suspected of some confederacy which Tarquin could not discover, Spurius had a great hand in the banishment of Herminius. For knowing what suspicion was had of this illustrious Roman, he procured the Kinsman of Heslius to testify many things which moved Tarquin to be so incensed, That Herminius was constrained to fly from Rome to save his life, and to leave his dear Valeria, unto whom he could not bid Adieu, but only by Letter, which she durst not answer, or hear any news of him, lest it should be discovered where he was, and so she contribute to the ruin of that man whom she loved above all the world. And yet, at the last, she wrote unto him: for the generous Sivelia hearing by a slave which Herminius sent secretly unto Rome, that he would not go at a farther distance, though he was not above a day's journey from thence, she went unto Valerius, beseeching him that he would desire his daughter to command Herminius to quit Italy, until the face of things changed: so as Valeria, both out of obedience and tenderness, commanded her dear Herminius by Letter, to seek a sanctuary in some other place farther off, where he needed not to fear the injustice of Tarquin, and lest he should send some of his ministers of cruelty to assassinate him.  
And since Herminius was equally dear both unto Sivelia, Valerius, Domitia and Valeria, he received so many different Orders from all these persons, that he did resolve to go farther off: yet since there was an invisible Chain which tied him to Italy, he contented himself with going to Metapont, where he thought to meet with more consolation than any where else, because he should there find the sage Damo, and all the rest of those friends which he had made when he was there: And indeed, Herminius was ravished with the society of these excellent persons. But Sivelia hearing where he was, she sent him orders to be gone from thence, because the place of his retreat being known, she could not think him in safety: And to induce him to leave that place, she sent him a Letter from Valeria, written after her intention: so as this unfortunate Lover was more exiled by his friends and lovers, than by his enemies, which made his heart exceeding melancholy: And also it was a double sadness of soul to see, that Valeria's Letters were less obliging, than those he formerly received from her: For since they were to pass through the hands of Sivelia, this discreet Lady would not include all the tenderness of her soul in them: But Herminius, who knew not that to be the reason, he was extremely disquieted at it: however, he had received so many commands to get further off, that he resolved upon it. 'Tis true, he had for his companion in his travels, the Son of a generous Roman, who was born an exile, from whose Society he found much consolation. And indeed this Roman, whose name is Emilius, is a man of much soul and very handsome, of a sweet disposition, a sociable spirit, a passionate soul, and a courageous heart.  
Herminius and he then traveled together into Greece; after which they came to Capua, though Herminius was sure that if Sivelia did know he was there, she would think him too near Rome. But since Emilius fell sick, as soon as he came there, and since he had some reasons which kept him from making himself known in that place, he shared not with Herminius in many things which this pleasant City afforded. Nor did you see this friend of Herminius; who not being in a condition to stir abroad, he obliged his friends not to mention him. So as you knew only in general that Herminius was come to Capua with a stranger, who was fallen sick and lodged in the suburbs, not knowing precisely who he was.  
Meantime, although Herminius loved Emilius very tenderly, and though they mutually received from each other many generous testimonies of Amity, during their Travels; yet Herminius out of a resentment of Fidelity to Valeria, he never acquainted Emilius that he was in Love at Rome. For, sincehe never had been there, though he was the Son of an illustrious Roman, he could not know any there. But Madam, to come unto that share which you have in the adventure of Herminius, you may remember, that as soon as that illustrious Roman came to Capua, he got a great share in the Amity of Clelius and yourself: and that he was very much at your house: you know that he used to write unto you very often, and that you were wont to answer him: Also that he saw none but you with delight: That it was for him, you drew the Famous Map of Tender: and that those, who did not rightly know things, had some ground to think that Herminius was in love with you, though indeed, it was only pure Amity. In so much, as many at Capua did put Herminius in Rank with Aronces, or Horatius, and thought him to be your Lover. The thought was grown so public, that a young Physician, who had Emilius in cure, and who was one of those Gallant Physicians, who have much practice amongst Ladies, he brought a Copy of this Map unto Emilius, not knowing that he knew him for whom it was made: upon this Emilius, who saw Herminius seldomer of late than usual, he thought indeed Madam, that he was in love with you.  
Amilcar, said Clelia and interrupted, Consider well what you say, and do not mix Fable with true History.  
No Madam (replied Amilcar) but let me tell you, that your Fine wit had like to have had the life of poor Herminius: But to proceed, Emilius beginning to tax Herminius with the passion which he thought was in his soul, Herminius answered him in such a manner, as persuaded him he did not deny the thing, but only out of his discretion. Herminius yet did all he could to undeceive his friend, but all would not do, nay, rather confirmed him. And Madam, since you then used to write very often unto Herminius, he showed Emilius your letters, he showed him his own, and let him take Copies of them: thinking that this would better persuade him there was no mystery in this affection, and that there was no intimacy 'twixt him and you, but only a Gallant Amity without any tincture of Love. But since all these letters whereof he took Copies, were exceeding Gallant and sweet; and since Herminius had such a kind of passionate stile, as would deceive any that did not know him very well, Emilius took that for Love which was only Amity. He thought also that the Map of Tender was a Map of virtuous Love, and in short, made no doubt, but that he was deep in Love, and also, that he was not a little loved.  
Howsoever the Air of Capua being thought bad for his health, he was constrained to leave it, and was carried unto a little Town whose situation was more healthy. Herminius followed him, and had the joy to see him much mend in his health: But at the same time, he had the sorrows to lose his company: for Emilius understood that he might now dwell at Rome: so as these two friends parted, and Herminius returned to Capua. When Emilius was ready to depart, Herminius had a mind to trust him with the secret of his Love, and to give him a letter for Valeria: but knowing the humour of that wise Lady, he thought she would not take it well, that such a man as Emilius should be the Confident of his affection, she being so scrupulous, and so wise as she was.  
Therefore he only desired him, not to speak at Rome of his opinion, that he loved Clelia, lest such a report should unhappily come unto Valeria's ear: And for a colour, he told Emilius that the reason of this his desire was, lest Tarquin should hear such a false report and hate him the more, for endeavouring to make any alliance with his most mortal enemy. But though this reason had great appearance of probability, yet Emilius did not give much credit to it: but thought that Herminius spoke it, only to persuade him that he was not in Love. Yet he promised he would not speak of it: and after many kind embraces, he left him, and took the way towards Rome: yet he came not there so soon as he supposed; For Tarquin having changed advice, he stayed a long while at Lavinium, until his business was completed. During which time, Herminius was at Capua, and could not have Commerce with Emilius, nor durst he send to Rome, lest Sivelia and Valeria should command him into some Country further off.  
Things then being upon these Terms, it so fell out that as Emilius was ready to depart from Lavinium, the same Physician who knew him at Capua, and who was originally of Clusium, passed by the place where he was, and told him with much sorrow that Herminius was dead, and had been Assassinated.  
But Madam, that you may know the ground of this report I must tell you, that Clelius being to be assassinated by the cruel order of Tarquin, and that Herminius interposing himself in this adventure, one of the Assassinate's died of the wounds he had received, and the other died of Rage and despair. So as this sad accident being published with much confusion and incertainty: It was writ unto this Physician by a wrong informed man, who told him positively, that Herminius was dead, adding many circumstances which might confirm belief of it: So as his heart being much moved at it, he could not choose but tell unto Emilius, who grieved beyond measure, and so very much, that he went unto Rome without any delight; thinking the loss of his friend, greater than the loss of Liberty to live in his own Country. Emilius then, sighed as he entered into Rome, and appeared so melancholy unto all those that came to visit him, as every one asked him the Cause: for they saw that he was not melancholy by constitution, but by accident.  
The next day after he came to Rome, he went to visit Flavia, who was his near Cousin, and with whom he had Commerce by letters, though he had never seen her. This Lady with whom Valeria was, when he entered, finding him more melancholy than she imagined he had reason for, she began to chide him, and to tell him she thought it strange he should have the pensiveness of an exile in his face, when he ought to be all joy in his heart. Did you but know the cause of my pensiveness, replied Emilius, I am confident you would excuse me, and since I have not yet had the honour to be known unto you, I think I ought to acquaint you with it, to justify my sadness, to excuse my ill humour, and to oblige you to pity me. Flavia and I, are so naturally compassionate, replied Valeria then, That if compassion will comfort you, you shall not want it. Then Madam (said Emilius unto her) I beseech you pity me: For, I do not merit so great a misfortune as is fallen upon me: What is the misfortune? (said Flavia) The better to understand my bad, I must acquaint you with my good Fortune. During my Travels, I had got a friend, who had all the excellent qualities which a complete man could have, and who had unto me abundance of most tender Amity and affection; and yet I loved him better than he loved me; for I trusted him with my whole heart; but he had a passion in his soul which he would never trust unto me. But for all that, I looked upon his reservedness, as part of his discretion to his mistress, and not as a defect in his Amity to me: Herminius was so dear unto me, as I would most willingly give half my life that I could revive him, and restore him unto Clelia, with whom he was deeply in love at Capua.  
Upon these words, Valeria apprehended more than can be imagined, there being no sound so dismal, as to hear of the death and infidelity of a Lover. She had in her heart so great a Turbulence, as she could not retain her apprehensions, nor choose but testify her extreme desire of knowing whether it was true, that Herminius was inconstant; and whether Herminius was dead; but anger and grief meeting in her mind both at the same time, she had not leisure to expel love, only asked Emilius very seriously, whether he knew of a certainty that Herminius was dead: Emilius to move more compassion in the heart of these two fair ones, and pity to himself, he told them that it was but too true, and told them more than indeed he was sure of.  
After this, Valeria perceived that she could not be Mistress of herself, if she spoke any more; therefore she held her peace, with much ado to hold her tears. Anger was a help unto her in this encounter, for it kept her from lamenting the death of Herminius with despair. As for Flavia, she asked the same question Valeria did: but since she believed Emilius was much mistaken in saying, that Herminius loved a Lady in Capua, called Clelia, and desiring to justify her friend, that his memory might be more dear unto Valeria, she told Emilius that most certainly he was much mistaken, in thinking Herminius was in love, it not being possible a man who had been in Rome, where he had seen so many fair and charming beauties, should love any else. Oh Flavia (answered Emilius) had you heard him make a description of Clelia, who is the daughter of Clelius, whom Tarquin so unjustly hates, you would not doubt of his being in love with her: for he spoke of her with so much admiration and tenderness, that he himself did not perceive how he commended her with extraordinary devotion: And had you seen the Copies which I have of their Letters, you would see I have good reason to pity the admirable Clelia, and much more the unfortunate Herminius.  
Whilst Emilius talked thus, Valeria endured more torment than can be well expressed; Grief, Anger and Love, made such a disorder in her soul, that perceiving she was no longer mistress of herself, she arose up, and went out of Flavia's Chamber, who did not offer to stay her, because she thought that she went away only to hide her despair. As for Emilius, he was so taken up with his own sorrows, as he minded not the grief which appeared in the eyes of Valeria, that at the first, this Lady appeared unto him very amiable. But Valeria was no sooner out of Flavia's Chamber, but her face was swimming in tears, so not daring to walk the streets in that condition, nor return home until she had a little recollected herself, she pulled down her hood, and desired Flavia's servant to open her Lady's Closet, where she would stay until Emilius was gone, because she had forgot something, which she desired to say unto her before she went.  
The servant seeing Valeria very familiar with her Lady, she did as she was desired, so as Valeria after she had shut the door, had liberty to pour out her tears. Now, her imagination representing unto her both at once, Herminius unfaithful, and Herminius dead, she was sensible of as much sorrow, as love was able to inflict: This Lady having a most tender soul, and loving Herminius most ardently, her grief was stronger than her anger at the first. But when Emilius was gone, and Flavia came unto her Closer, this afflicted Lady changed her thoughts. For being one who had heard Herminius swear a thousand and a thousand times, that he would be eternally faithful, her anger grew stronger than her grief. Come Flavid (said Valeria unto her, with as many sighs as words) what say you now of perfidious Herminius? I cannot tell what to think of his perfidy (answered Flavia) because appearances are very uncertain and deceitful: But I am much afflicted at his death: and I must confess, I am much surprised to see you more moved at his inconstancy, than it.  
Oh Flavia (said she) I know not well which moves me most; for I am so full of grief, so full of anger, so full of confusion at my own weakness, so full of tenderness for unfaithful Herminius; so full of hatred for inconstant Herminius, and so full of confused thoughts, as I know not what I think, what I would have, or what I say. How can I think Herminius, whose thoughts I believed so generous, should be perfidious? he who I have heard say a hundred times, that honesty and sincerity ought to be in love, as well as in all other things of the world; He, I say, who promised to love me until death; he who swore unto me, that the loss of youth and beauty should not extinguish his love; he who protested unto me, that absence would augment his passion. And he who imagined, that he should be continually melancholy, as long as I was out of his sight: And yet he forgot all his Oaths: he diverted himself at Capua, he became unfaithful, and which is most strange, he did not only forsake me, but betray me: for the last time he wrote unto me, was with all imaginable tenderness. Judge then Flavia, if I be not the most silly person in the world, to lament the death of this ungrateful person, for whose sake I have so ill treated Mutius, during his absence. And I must confess to my shame, that maugre his inconstancy, maugre my anger, and maugre my reason, I would fain make a doubt of his perfidy, and lament his death. But what do I say (reprehending herself, and not giving Flavia time to speak) No, no, I will not lament him, but rather look upon his death as a just punishment of his perfidy: and I ought to taste all the pleasure that a sweet revenge can give a wronged heart. For God's sake (said Flavia unto her) resolve with yourself upon one of these thoughts which persecute you: either love Herminius, or else hate him; either only grieve, or be only angry; and do not pass so suddenly from one thought to another, lest this violent agitation should impair your health. No, no, Flavia (replied this afflicted fair one) I cannot do as you advise, nor at the present can I love, or can I hate Herminius; for as soon as I would hate him, my imagination represents him unto me, as he was when I was pleased with him, and in a minute after does show him unto me in his grave: so as seeing him in that condition, I know not what I should think, nor do know whether I should wish him living, and unfaithful. For if he lived, I might reclaim him from his infidelity; he might repent it, and I might hope to see him upon his knees ask pardon for his error, and swear new fidelity unto me. But alas, I cannot raise the dead, and lamentable destiny that has taken him from the earth, will never restore him neither unto Clelia nor me. But oh Heavens! (said she, and reprehended herself) can I pronounce the name of her whom the ungrateful Herminius preferred before me, and not hate him who is the cause of this injustice, and not rejoice at his death? for though this person were the fairest woman in the world; though she had all the wit upon earth, and though she possessed all the virtues without exception; yet Herminius were worthy of my hatred, if he should forsake me for her. And yet my imagination never represents his death unto me, but I grieve extremely for him, and wish I could raise him from death: But presently after, imagining, that if he were alive again, he would not wish to live, but to adore Clelia; then maugre all sorrows, I have not power to wish him alive again: but my only desire is, that I were dead as well as he.  
After this, Valeria was silent, for the excess of her grief would not permit her to complain any longer. Flavia then said as much unto her as wit and friendship could invent upon such an encounter. For sometimes she accused Herminius, to see whether that would lessen the affliction of her friend: another while, she would justify him, to make her grieve only without anger; but whatsoever she said, she cried tears as well as she, and for a quarter of an hour, she did comfort her more by her Tears than her Reasons. But love being a passion full of odd devices, to torment those that are possessed with it, Valeria would sometimes accuse those very tears which did comfort her, and take it ill that Flavia should so much lament Herminius. Oh Flavia (said she) never lament the loss of a man who perhaps was as perfidious a friend as a Lover: and let me have some share in loose tears which you so prodigally shed. Herminius is culpable, but I am innocent and miserable, and more miserable than ever any was, since at one and the same instant, I suffer under two of the greatest pains that one can be sensible of: Yes, yes, my dear Flavia (added this fair afflicted one) I defy the Tyrant Tarquin, and all the Tyrants upon earth, to invent torments equal unto mine: For though Herminius were alive, yet the apprehension of his perfidy is enough to make me the most miserable person in the world: And though on the contrary, Herminius should not be perfidious, yet should I be the most unfortunate of my Sex in losing all that I loved, all that I ever can love. Judge then, if in having both these torments upon me at once, I am not excusable in giving myself over to despair, and in desiring an end unto my life, as the only remedy against all my miseries. I should never end, Madam, if I should repeat all the complaints of Valeria, who did nothing but complain until night constrained her to go home: but when she was ready to go, and was upon the stairs, pulling down-her hood to hide her tears, a thought came into her mind, which made her go back into the Closet again, and beseeth Flavia to grant her one favour. If what you desire, replied Flavia, be in my power, I shall not deny it. Then use a means, said Valeria, to get from your kinsman, all the Copies of Letters which he hath of Clelia's, and the unfaithful Herminius, and also the Map of Tender which he mentioned: for to lessen my grief, I would do all I could to augment my anger. But (said Flavia unto her) you do not know what you ask; and if I should do as you desire me, you would repent it. No matter, answered she, for as I am, I cannot do or say any thing which I shall not repent of within a minute after. Flavia seeing it was in vain to contest with her, did promise, that when she saw Emilius again, she would use her best endeavours to get all that he had, which belonged to Herminius: after which she went home, and was no sooner there, but feigning herself sick she went to bed, speaking not a word of the cruel news which she had heard. For though Valerius and Domitia had commanded her to look upon Herminius, as a man who was to be her Husband, yet she would not show all the grandeur of that passion which was in her soul; so as she endured her misery to hide her tears. 'Tis true, she could not long hide and dissemble all her sorrow; for Emilius, who could not choose but lament his loss before every one, he published the death of Herminius. He told it also unto Valerius, who was most extremely troubled at it, and who made no question but the sickness of Valeria proceeded from the same news. As for Sivelia, when she heard of it, her grief was incredible; yet she comforted herself with a most Heroic courage; and had the consolation to see her illustrious Son lamented by all of any Rank in Rome, except the vindicative Spurius and Mutius, though it was then very dangerous to grieve for any whom Tarquin loved not: He also was strangely incensed at all the lamentation which every one made, and at those testimonies of esteem which every one gave of this illustrious Roman, whom they believed to be dead, and who was his enemy; so as all his hatred of him reviving in his heart, he said aloud, that he was more sorry for the death of Herminius, than they that lamented him most, because he was deprived of his hopes, of having him in his power, that he might see him die before his face, by the rigour of a torment which he had invented for him.  
This cruel expression of Tarquins, being horrid to all of any virtue, it was buzzed from one to another for some days, to make him hated; As for Valeria, none spoke unto her of Herminius, but Valerius and his wife, Sivelia and Flavia. But this sage Lady having a great soul, she did not show all her sorrow, and all her weakness, but unto the only person who knew the secrets of her heart.  
Mean time, she had not forgot her request unto Flavia, but so pressed her to satisfy her curiosity, that this officious friend seeing the sorrow of Valeria to increase, in lieu of diminishing, she thought it best to do any thing that would lessen her grief for Herminius. Therefore the first time Emilius came to visit her, she obliged him to lend her the Map of Tender, and all your Letters, Madam, also those of Herminius: After which, she went unto her friend, who knowing that she had brought them, caused the woman who waited upon her to withdraw: she shut the chamber door, and commanded that none should enter. She did not fear that Valerius would come and interrupt them, because Sivelia had entreated him to go unto her house. So as being safe on all sides, Flavia sat down by her, putting all that she had upon a little Table, Valeria began to take one of the Letters; and having much a do to save it from her tears, she began to read the Copy of a Letter which Herminius had writ unto you, Madam, whilst he was with Emilius at Capua; and which indeed was so tender, to be only a Letter of Amity, that Valeria may be pardoned if she took it for a Letter of Love; I would not read the Copy of it which I have, if none but you Madam, were to hear me. But Madam, since Cesonia and Plotina never saw it, give me leave to read these lines.  
Herminius unto Clelia.  
Madam,  
DO you ever think upon me? Do you love me as much as you promised? have you endured my absence with any sorrow? And to ask you many things in few words, is your Amity worthy the tenderness of mine?  
Valeria had no sooner read this Letter, but crying out most lamentably, and looking upon Flavia in such a manner, as would turn a heart of stone into pity; Is it possible (said she unto her) I should ever see a Letter from Herminius in a style so tender, and not writ unto me? And is it possible that I should not for ever grieve for his loss? or receive any comfort of this? But (said Flavia unto her, seeing her sorrow to increase, in lieu of diminishing) though Emilius be a man of much honour, yet this is but a Copy, not the hand of Herminius, for Emilius writ it, and therefore methinks, you should not absolutely conclude Herminius guilty. Ah Flavia, (replied she) I cannot be deceived in the Letters of Herminius; This indeed has not so much wit in it, as some which he writes unto his friends, but it has the same tenderness which he used when he was in love: And I heartily wish this Letter were more witty, and less tender.  
After this, she opened another; which Madam, proved to be your Answer, of which Herminius took a Copy to give unto his friend, hoping thereby to let him see that he was not in love with you. So as Valeria seeing this Letter, and seeing it written with the hand of Herminius, this circumstance troubled her more than all the tenderness she found in it.  
Pray Amilcar (said Clelia, and interrupted) do not read my answer unto Cesonia and Plotina: For it is not pertinent to the matter in hand; Yes, Madam, answered he, it augmented the jealousy of Valeria, and therefore it is so pertinent, as I conceive it necessary to the story: And therefore since it is short, I will read it distinctly unto you.  
Clelia unto Herminius.  
PErhaps I think upon you, more than you do of me; I do love you more than ere I told you: your absence troubles me more than you think: and if my affection be not worthy of the Tenderness of yours, you will never find whose is.  
Well Elavia (said Valeria to her) what think you of this Letter? Truly (answered she) I do so much wonder at what I see, as I think it prudence, never to trust any again. You are in the right, (replied Valeria) For this Herminius whom you thought a Saint, has doubtless, all the Faults of other Men: You see his perfidy towards me, and you may see his indiscretion towards his new Mistress, in giving Copies of her Letters, and under his own hand. And alas, I doubt he never values my honour: For it is more ordinary for a Lover to give the Letters of his first Mistress, unto his second, than for a man in Love to give Copies of his Mistress' letters unto a friend. Thus I have reason to think that he hath sacrificed me unto Clelia, and that whilst I am looking upon her letters with most horrid Anger, she is looking upon those I writ unto that unconstant Man as the most sensible marks of Love that ever were given.  
After this, Valeria never staying for Flavia's answer, began to look upon other Letters; and to afflict herself the more, she often saw the word Amity in the letters of Herminius unto you Madam: And she saw it writ after the same manner he was wont to write it unto her when it was to signify Love: For, Herminius by often use, had gotten such a habit of writing that word with a great Letter or a little, as it was to signify, that he writ it very often unto his friends without any manner of design. So as imagining that he used the same invention unto you, Madam, as he did unto her, her sorrows increased more, and she broke out into such lamentable expressions, as Flavia repented she had obeyed her. After she had read all the letters of this Gallant Amity, which unto miserable Valeria seemed Love, she opened the Map of Tender: But when she cast her eye upon that place, where at the departure from a new Amity, those that hold too much on the right hand, do go out of their way, and go unto Negligence, Inequality, Faintness, Levity, Oblivion, and to the Lake of Indifferency: See, said she, all the ways by which he has passed unto me, and by which I cannot pass unto him: And I wish I could be unfaithful unto his memory, and not be constant unto one that is dead, and was inconstant.  
Afterwards, looking upon the River of Inclination, by which one goes so swiftly unto Tender, she presently turned away her eyes, as if that object had upbraided the violent inclination which she had unto Herminius. Also finding some invention, and wit in this Map, maugre all her Grief and Anger, she had a spleen which augmented her jealousy, and consequently her despair: So as not being able to consider it any longer, she threw it away hastily, and turning to the other side, she seemed as if she would not any longer look upon the pretended marks of infidelity in Herminius. When Flavia would have taken the Map again, she would not suffer her; and not knowing herself whether she should restore it or no, or break in pieces, she took it out of the hands of Flavia: and after she had confusedly surveyed it, she threw it again unto her friend, who folded it up, with intention to restore it unto him that lent it. After this, she hearkened unto the complaints of Valeria, who did not find that Remedy which she looked for.  
Alas! said she, had I upon me but one of these two Torments, perhaps I should find out some kind of Consolation: For, if Herminius were not dead, but alive and unfaithful, than pity would not oppose itself against my hatred: I should have some kind of delight in hating him, or in being indifferent, if I could not hate him: I should do him some ill office to his Mistress, and be revenged some way or other. But what can I do unto a miserable Man, whom death only renders worthy of my Compassion? So as I can neither hate him, nor be revenged of his perfidy, since the Grave is an unavoidable sanctuary for all miserable people and Criminals. On the other side, had he not been inconstant, and I had nothing to lament but his death, there might be some consolation found in time, and one might hope to mourn more moderately. When the violence of Grief is grown a little more moderate by habitude, it is some kind of sweetness to talk of the person that is lost; one shall read his letters with a tenderness, which, as full of mourning memorandums as they are, yet there is some sweetness in it: one shall remember all the Testimonies of affection which ere they received; one shall imagine that they had a share in the last thoughts of him that is lost; and one may perhaps have some far fetched hopes of seeing him again, and that death will reunite that which it did separate. But alas! in the pitiful estate wherein I am, I can never think on Herminius without anger: the very sight of his letters incenses me: The past, the present, the future, all torment me and make me desperate. I know, my dear Flavia that I trouble you with my tears, and do tell you no more than what I have told you a hundred times: But alas, I hope you will think it just to pardon me, since it proceeds from the object of my sorrows.  
These Madam, were the thoughts of Valeria whilst Valerius was at Sivelia's house, who had sent for him, to know whether he had received any Packet from her Son: and consequently, whether all these reports of her Son death were true: by which it appeared, that all was false, because his Packet was of a very late date. Valerius was infinitely joyed to hear it, and commanded the news to be presently sent unto Domitia and Valeria. Generous Valerius, replied Sivelia; Let us consider seriously what we do in making this news too public: For, when the Tyrant heard of his pretended death, he broke into such cruel expressions against him, as I conceive it best to conceal his being alive from all the world, lest Tarquin should send some to Assassinate him: And to write unto Herminius that he go presently into Africa. This, replied Valerius, is a very good reason, but methinks not very just, to let Valeria lament him always. Valeria, replied Sivelia, is very dear unto me: But if you consider the unfortunate condition of my Son, you will find, that it is better for Valeria not to know that he is living. For, as long as Tarquin lives, there is no hopes of his return to Rome, and consequently of his marrying Valeria, is it not better then to let her remain in the error, wherein she is? For the greatest part of her grief is past, and Time will so well cure her of affliction, as she will be able to obey you, when you command her to marry some other: For, as I said before, it is not probable my Son can ever be her husband: and though you should not intend to marry her unto another, yet you ought not to tell her that Herminius is alive: for she that cannot hide her sorrows, cannot hide her joys, when she hears the truth. And though I know it will much grieve my Son when he hears of Valeria's marriage: yet if he be just, he cannot blame her, since she thought him dead. You know also that absence, when it is Long, is a great remedy against Love: and therefore, since it concerns the life of my Son and the welfare of your Daughter, methinks we ought to lay hold of this occasion which fortune gives us for their advantage. This which you say (replied Valerius) is so generous, and so prudent, as I cannot choose but admire your wisdom and virtue: For, 'tis true, I do not think Herminius can return to Rome as long as Tarquin lives. So as, it being not likely he will die this twenty years, there is no thinking of a marriage betwixt Valeria and Herminius, and consequently, it were better to cure them of a Fruitless passion, since we have so good an occasion for it. But I desire one promise from you, that if Herminius do return sooner than we expect, you will tell him that it was you who made this proposition unto me. I promise it, replied Sivelia: and to the end this may be kept the more secret, I beseech you, do not tell it unto Domitia, lest she, to cease the sorrows of Valeria, should spoil our plot. After this, Valerius and Sivelia agreed unto Herminius, to make him not think it strange if he received no Letters from Valeria, and to oblige him to go speedily in Africa.  
As for Valerius, he was very glad that Sivelia had given him liberty to provide a match for Valeria: For having none but her, he feared, that if he died she should then be left unto the disposition of Tarquin's Tyranny, who would seize upon all her estate, and marry her unto some whom he would recompense for some crimes which he had caused him to commit: so as consenting unto Sivelia's Proposition, he gave it out so that he was certain Herminius was dead: so as now none making any question of it, Mutius conceived new hopes, not to be denied if he asked Valeria in marriage. But Valerius thinking that Tarquin would as much dislike this match as with Herminius, he did not give Mutius so favourable an answer as he expected: nor did he like to bestow his daughter upon one that was enemy unto Herminius. Mean while, as great as Valeria's grief was, she apprehended that the excess of her melancholy might blemish her reputation, she did so strive against it, as she forced herself to appear in the world as she was wont. Truth is, this constraint was very troublesome unto her, but yet in a little time she was able to hide her real thoughts, and to be in company. So as Emilius seeing her as others did, he fell most desperately in love with her; he being of a sweet and complaisant temper, he pleased the humour of Valeria, better than Mutius, who was a little too haughty for a Lover: so as Valeria in a little time had less aversion unto him, than unto any that came to see her: yet her soul was unsatisfied, and far from tranquillity: for grief and anger did always torment her in their turns, and oftentimes both together. Sometimes she would say, she had rather die, than engage herself again in any new affection: otherwhiles she wished heartily, she could love some body to be revenged upon Herminius. And she could hardly ever tell what to have, unless to be able to revive Herminius, and revive him faithful.  
But whilst her soul was in this humour, whilst Mutius continued courting her; whilst Emilius was engaging himself, and whilst Flavia was a friend unto Emilius, Herminius was in a most miserable condition: For receiving no more Letters from Valeria, and understanding by Sivelia, that he was to go farther from her, and that Tarquin hated him more than ever, he suffered most incredible torment.  
However, Herminius highly respecting Sivelia, and knowing her to be very prudent, he thought it his duty to obey her, and go into Africa. Yet not being able to resolve upon it, before he heard from Valeria, he sent a man expressly unto Rome, with Orders to see none but Flavia, unto whom he directed a Letter for her friend. But Herminius did not receive so much satisfaction as he expected: For, be pleased to know, Madam, that he whom Herminius made choice of to go unto Rome, and who was a very able man, he fell sick at his Mothers, who lived not above six miles from Capua, and whither she was going to live in; he therefore resolved to send one of his Brothers to Rome, who was not so able as himself; and to send him without ever acquainting Herminius, lest he should lose the recompense which was promised unto him: for he thought Herminius would not trust his Brother as he did him, in such a business. However, hoping that his Brother would well acquit himself in the business, he thought that Herminius could never know, but that he was at Rome: for he resolved to stay at his Mothers until his Brother returned. Then be pleased to know further, that the man who carried the Letter of Herminius, losing his way, and night surprising him, he came to a house which belonged unto Spurius, within six miles of Rome, where he requested lodging for that night: for being a stranger in the Country, and the night dark, he was not able to go any further: As he was talking unto one of Spurius his servants, Spurius himself came and asked him what Countryman he was: But Capua was no sooner named, but Spurius being very desirous to hear all the particulars of Herminius his death, he asked him if he heard of a Roman called Herminius, that was lately killed at Capua. The man hearing Spurius ask this, was at a great nonplus: For, since Herminius did not know, that at Rome they thought him dead, he did not forbid the Messenger to say he was not living, in case any asked: and therefore he whom Herminius sent, never for bad his Brother; so as he answered Spurius, that Herminius was never killed: true it was, there was another Roman called Clelius, who was thought so; but as for Herminius, he was very well, and that he saw him so the day before he came from Capua. Spurius being surprised at this, asked the fellow a thousand questions, and yet the fellow being well instructed by his Brother, he would never confess what his business was at Rome. But Spurius imagining that Herminius had sent this fellow, and that perhaps he was plotting something in Rome, which moved Sivelia to say that her Son was dead, he therefore devised an expedient, to give himself better satisfaction: which was, to command his men to make very much of the man, and to promise him that in the morning, one of his men should conduct him to Rome: But to arrive at his end, he commanded one of his men to make a composition of the juice of Poppy, mixed in drink, and to give this fellow: Spurius, being obeyed, the messenger of Herminius slept so sound as if he would never wake; at least slept till noon the next day. Mean while, Spurius caused him to be searched for Letters: and they found in his Pocket one to Flavia, and another to Valeria: The first of these contained nothing but a desire to present the other unto Valeria, and to procure an answer: But the second contained these words.  
Herminius unto Valeria.  
HOw comes it to pass, Madam, that you do not answer me? Is it because my passion is troublesome unto you? Can you not love one that is absent? Do ye think it a shame to love one that's miserable? And must you hate me because the Tyrant does? I beseech you let me know my destiny; for I cannot go into Africa, though Sivelia has commanded me, unless the fair Valeria command it also: Tell me therefore, I beseech you, Madam; what you would have me to do; and what I must hope for: And in the midst of my miseries, let me have the consolation to hear, that I never need to fear the greatest loss of all, which is the loss of you.  
After Spurius had read this Letter, he made no doubt but Herminius was living: so as being as sorry for his life, as he was joyed at his pretended death, his old hatred revived in his heart; and he promised himself to do some mischief with this Letter. He sent therefore speedily to Mutius, who was at a friends house not above two miles from thence: Mutius imagining that Spurius had some earnest business with him, he went as hastily unto him: they no sooner met, but Spurius told him that Herminius was living: he told him what he had done, and showed him the Letter of this unfortunate Lover, which much afflicted Mutius. Do not think (said Spurius unto him) That I put you unto so much trouble in coming hither, to make you only lament. But, replied Mutius, what would you have me do? Any thing replied Spurius, that will set Valeria and Herminius at odds: and I am much mistaken if I do not bring it to pass, so you will follow my directions. Alas (answered Mutius) you may be certain I will do any thing that may hurt my Rival. Write then a Letter unto Valeria, replied Spurius, which may move her to give you a crabbed answer, and which may answer unto the Letter which Herminius writ; and leave all the rest unto me. Alas, Spurius, answered he, I conceive your invention to be very doubtful: for perhaps Valeria will not answer at all, and though she should, how should I make her answer suit unto the Letter which Herminius writ? Doubtless her answer unto you, will answer his also (said Spurius) if your letter be rightly writ: Do you then write it (said Mutius) for I cannot; I will, answered Spurius, so you will write it afterwards in your own hand: After this, Spurius began to write unto Valeria as from Mutius; and these were the words of that crafty letter.  
Madam,  
WIll you never answer my affection? but leave me still in a most cruel uncertainty? Oh Madam, let me know my Destiny; I have ever entertained some Flattering hopes that Tarquin's hatred would prefer me unto your favour: yet I was mistaken in my conjectures, and find myself so unfortunate, as I shall go unto the utmost parts of the World if I lose all my hopes of happiness in you. And yet I will not go until you command me, for you only have the absolute power to make my destiny: Tell me therefore in two words, whether I shall stay where I am, or unto what part of the World shall I go to forget your cruelty: I give you the choice of Asia, or Africa: For if you be not resolved to make me happy, it is no matter what part of the World be the place of my exile and death.  
After Spurius had writ this letter, he observed unto Mutius that he mentioned, Exile, Africa, departure, and command, as well as Herminius, and therefore her answer unto him would in all probability be an answer also unto Herminius: But replied Mutius, how shall she receive this letter: for as soon as the man awakes, he will go to Rome and carry his letter unto Valeria? Leave that to me, answered Spurius: So Mutius writ over this letter, and also another unto Flavia, desiring her favour in procuring an answer from Valeria.  
The Letter unto Flavia, was in these terms.  
FOr God's sake, sweet Flavia, have pity upon a miserable man, who at present desires no more but an answer from fair Valeria, which shall tell me whether I must depart from her, or die at her feet: Let me obtain this favour from you, I beseech you.  
After this, Mutius sent a servant with these two letters unto Flavia. Mean while, Spurius the better to stay the Messenger of Herminius, who slept so sound; he commanded his men, when he awakened to seem very busy and careful about him, and to tell him, that he had been above six hours in a swound: and accordingly when the cold vapours of the Poppy began to dissipate, and that the man began to give some signs of waking, Spurius his men, who had brought several things, which might make him think he had taken several medicines, they told him all confidently that he was very like to die; that he was still sick: that by no means he should rise: that it was to be feared he would relapse into the like fit again, and that Spurius had sent for a Physician. So as the Man, who was really a little dizzy in the head with sleeping so long, he believed all that was told him, thanked the men, kept his bed still, and took all the medicines which a pretended Physician prescribed unto him.  
Mean while, Spurius, to arrive at his intended end, he did not put the Packet of letters into his Pocket again: But whilst this man was persuaded unto a disease he never had, the servant of Mutius went to Rome, where he acquitted himself so well of his Commission, as he brought answers from Flavia and Valeria the same night.  
Valeria's answer was in these words.  
IT concerns me so very little in what part of the World you live, that so you will write no more unto me, nor ever let me hear from you any expressions of your affection; I will give you the choice either of Asia or Africa, for the place of your exile: Go therefore whither you will, so you will never trouble me again: for truly you will force me to hate you more than ever Tarquin did, if you will not let me alone in quietness.  
The letter from Flavia was in these words.  
I Beseech you send me no more letters to Valeria: For since you can never hope for any favourable answer from her, you will but augment your misery in writing to her: Try therefore if you can find more happiness in some other part of the world; For believe it, you can never be but most miserable here.  
You may imagine Madam, how welcome these two letters were unto those who expected them, especially Spurius, whose plot had so happily taken, and whose hatred unto Herminius was greater than that of Mutius, who naturally was not inclinable to hatred as he. After they had read these letters two or three times over, they read those from Herminius, and found them so punctually answered, as they doubted not but they would pass for currant. But for a better reception of them, it was requisite either to make the man that was to carry them unto Herminius, of the plot, or else to delude him. Hatred being sometimes as ingenious as Love. Spurius found out a way to bring that about: For, be pleased to know, that this Envoy from Herminius, thinking at last upon the Packet which he brought, he began to look for it in his pocket; where not finding it he seemed to be much troubled at it: But being commanded to keep it very secret, he durst not tell the cause of his trouble, but only asked the servants of Spurius, whether during his sickness they found a Packet which he had in his pocket. But they all answering no, he resolved to impart it unto Spurius, that he might command them to make restitution of it. He therefore desired of Spurius, leave to speak with him, and told him, he was sure that he had it when he came into his house, and beseeched him to take such order, that he might have it again; Spurius promised he would; but was not so good as his word: but on the contrary, told him, that all his men swore they had it not, and that certainly it was not lost in his house. The man then grieving excessively at it, he told him plainly, that he durst not return to Capua without it, but that he was a undone man. Spurius seeing him in such a sad condition, most began to comfort him, and ask him if the Packet was of any great importance: so as in hopes that perhaps Spurius would keep secret, he told him all the adventure, and how he had a brother whom Herminius ma●● choice of to carry a Packet secretly unto Rome to a Lady called Flavia: That this brother fell sick at his Mother's house, six miles from Capua, and that lest he should lose the Recompense which Herminius had promised unto him, he sent him in his room unknown to Herminius: adding further, that if he returned without any other answer but that he had lost it, his brother would never look upon him: his Mother would banish him her house, and Herminius would suspect he had betrayed him. Spurius then seemed to pity the fellow, and promised to make a more strict inquisition: And to be short, he tore the two letters of Herminius in pieces, and went with them to this afflicted fellow, and told him, that as he was walking in a Wood close by a Garden, he found those pieces of Paper under a bush, and that certainly some of his men had done it; but would not confess: the fellow was at first a little joyed, that they were the same pieces which he had lost; but presently after considering that he durst not carry them to Flavia as they were, he was as much afflicted as before; nay more, because the secret was known amongst the men. Spurius then seeing the man in such despair, and hoping to bring him unto his own desires, he bade him never trouble himself excessively: For, so he would promise never to tell Herminius, nor his brother of this accident, he would infallibly find a remedy against his disease. The man even ravished with joy to hear this, he promised any thing that Spurius desired. After this, Spurius told him, that he was intimately acquainted with Flavia and Valeria, and if any shift could be made, to read these torn pieces of the Letter, he would engage that they should never mention the accident unto Herminius; telling him also, that if he would rest himself at his house whilst he went to Rome, he would at his return get his business dispatched: The man finding so fair an opportunity, laid hold upon it; for the fellow not being so crafty as his Brother, he could not comprehend he had any further design, than only out of his goodness, to do him this good office: Therefore looking whether if the pieces of the Letters joined together again, would make the meaning of them appear, and seeing they imported only matter of love, he easily believed, that Spurius spoke sincerely unto him. Yet the fellow had a desire to see Flavia; so as Spurius conceiving that he was not to render an account of his voyage unto Herminius, but only unto his brother, who knew not Flavia, he offered to bring him to the speech of her, with intention to let him speak unto a sister he had in lieu of her. But at last, the man referred the whole business unto him; and Spurius going next day to Rome, he returned the day following, and gave him two Letters which were really from Flavia and Valeria, for his brother, to give them unto Herminius: for there being ordinarily no superscription upon such Letters, these were as applicative unto Herminius as Mutius, who though he was a Rival unto Herminius, yet had no mind to put this trick upon him: Not but that Mutius did naturally love Artifice; yet upon this occasion he had some repugnancy against what his friend did: But being, as I may say, the Father of his love, he 〈…〉 unto him. Spurius then gave the two Letters to the fellow; he described Flavia unto him, to the end that if his brother asked any questions concerning her, he might be able to answer him: so as the man went away very well pleased with Spurius, and with the Letters which he thought would be very welcome unto them, unto whom he carried them; and the thing most particular in this cheat of Spurius was, that this fellow for his own interest, was obliged to conceal all that might hinder the effects of the fallacy. The fellow then returned to his Brother, who impatiently expected him, because he had stayed beyond his time.  
But seeing him returned, and taking the Packet, he went to carry it unto Herminius, who was at Capua, after he had told him all that Flavia had said unto him. But I had forgot to tell you that Spurius being very subtle, told the fellow his lesson, and bade him say that Flavia received him very faintly, and spoke but only three words unto him: adding further, that she was the most reserved woman that ever he met with, and spoke the least. Not, Madam, that she was so, but that Spurius proportioned her behaviour and language to the Letter which Herminius was to receive from her: and indeed his plot did take; for this fellow who never stirred from Capua, being well instructed by his Brother, he went unto Herminius, who received him with a strange expectation: since he had not been to see Valeria, he asked him only how Flavia did, and whether she had written unto him. Sir, said he, here's a Packet which will give you an exact account that I have performed all your commands. Herminius then took the Packet and opened it, finding therein two Letters, the one from Flavia, the other from Valeria, whose hands he knew very well; so as the sight of them being much joy unto him, he began to read them. You may imagine his sorrow, to see with what rigour Valeria writ unto him, and how ●aintly Flavia answered, and yet he knew the hands, and that both Letters answered punctually unto what he had written, so as he had not the least suspicion of any cheat in the business; yet he knew not what to think, but he conceived the silence of Sivelia proceeded from pity, because she would not acquaint him with the inconstancy of Valeria: yet all Lovers being naturally full of curiosity, he asked the fellow that brought these cruel Letters, what Flavia said unto him: but he answered that he found her so cold, and spoke so little unto him, as this confirmed his opinion, that he was the most unfortunate Lover in the world: indeed at that instant he was so, for the cruel thought of being hated by Valeria, made him suffer more torment than I am able to express. How? cruel Valeria (said this afflicted Lover, after he had satisfied and dismissed the fellow) does it not concern you, in what part of the world I live, so you be not troubled with me? Are the testimonies of my passion troublesome unto you? and do you threaten to hate me more than the Tyrant doth, if I continue loving you? Ah Valeria, if you can think so, you have neither any reason nor goodness, nor virtue, and you could not lose your affection to me, without renouncing them all: And you, Flavia, can you tell me I must never be happy at Rome, and advise me to get further from it? Are you as cruel a Friend, as Valeria is a Mistress, and banish me without telling me any cause of my misfortunes? However (pursued he) I must depart, since Sivelia commands it, since Valeria tells me such things as are able to make me seek a death in the utmost parts of the world, and since Flavia adviseth me unto it. Yet, did I but know what makes me thus miserable, I should be something less unfortunate; but since it pleaseth my cruel destinies that I should be ignorant of it, I must die desperate.  
Herminius uttered a thousand such sad expressions, without being able to resolve upon any thing: But at last he resolved to write unto Sivelia, that he would go unto Africa, though his design was to go unknown unto Rome, and learn the true cause of his misfortune: And to make it the better believed, he embarked for Sicily, saying that from thence he would embark for Agrigente, or Lilybeus, and so continue his voyage. Indeed, he departed from Capua a little before Aronces. But when he was six leagues from Capua, the Commander of the Sip wherein he was, was a man who being resolved to make himself Master of all the merchandise in it, and which were none of his, he made sail toward the Ionian Sea; so as say what Herminius could, obey he must. My discourse would be too long, if I should relate the whole passage of this Sea voyage, though it would be glorious unto him, if you did know it: But I will only tell you, that Herminius being an enemy unto all injustice, and since the interest of his Love called him another way, he wrought so dexterously, as he sprung a faction in the Ship, wherein he was only a passenger: and telling some that they were going to be Pirates without any profit, and that the Captain would enrich himself with the merchandise they helped him to steal, they all became of his opinion. So as flattering them with fair promises, and the glory of doing a great Action, they began to seek occasion of quarrelling with their Commander, who not knowing how to dissemble with them handsomely, did begin to menace them. So as civil war beginning in the Ship, and Herminius seeing the Malcontents to be the stronger party, he placed himself in the head of them: some ranging themselves to one end of thd Ship, some to the other, they came to handy blows. In the beginning of the combat, Herminius having gained the Pilot, he caused him to sail about; and he that was chief of the other party not being able to endure it, the combat began with more fury, because none could run away, but must fight it out, either out of valour or despair.  
But at last, heaven assisting the juster side, Herminius vanquished, the chief of the other side was killed, the rest laid down their Arms, and all acknowledged Herminius for their Captain: who thinking upon nothing but Valeria, they all made towards Capua, to restore the Ship and the merchandise unto the owners. But Herminius being wounded in the fight, it happened that his wounds being dressed by an ignorant Chirurgeon, they became very dangerous. Truth is, his melancholy made them worse, so as he fell into a violent Fever; mean while, those whom he had incited unto this generous resolution, they took up a fresh one: For thinking that Herminius would die, they feared that if they should return unto Capua, they should be punished for their theft: so as they resolved to continue Pirates, and to divide amongst them all in the Ship, when they came unto any Port where they could make fale thereof. They altered therefore their course, and made towards Africa, for they were then near the the Cape of Lilybeus, being driven thither by the wind, but meeting there with a Bark of Sicilian Fishers, they resolved to put Herminius in it, and remove an object which might make them change opinion: The Fishermen at first were unwilling to receive Herminius: but being given something, and told that the man would recompense them very bountifully if he recovered of his wounds, at last they took him into their Boat with one servant only. As for Herminius, he was not able to dispose of himself, or oppose them: for he was fallen into a Lethargy, and knew not what was done until after the Fishermen had brought him unto their house. I need not tell you, how he was astonished, when he returned to himself, and in lieu of being in a ship, to see himself in a Fisher's Cabin, and to see, that he was on Land in lieu of Sea. But for all his melancholy he recovered, after a long sickness: Then he wrote into Campania for some relief. Yet since the thought of Valeria would not out of his mind, he designed himself for Rome, though time had made no alteration in his love. Accordingly he embarked, and came by Sea with Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and me, as perhaps you have heard in your passage to Italy. But, Madam, if you will be pleased to reflect your thoughts upon Rome, and remember the condition wherein I was when I left Valeria; you will also remember how sadly she took the news of the death and inconstancy of her Lover: you will also remember that Emilius was deep in love; that Emilius was amiable, sweet and complaisant: that Valerius and Sivelia, would have all the world believe Herminius was dead: and how the fair Valeria sometimes wished she could love some or other, only to be revenged of Herminius, and forget him. On the other side, Spurius and his friend seeing the report of Herminius his death continue, they knew not what to think upon the adventure, and were much joyed to observe, that Valeria when any occasion presented itself, did not mention him with the same tenderness she was wont. For in the time when she did love him most tenderly, and believed herself loved again, she took much delight in talking of him, and could not choose but so highly applaud him, as made it eminently apparent, what pleasure she took in the mention of him. Yet Mutius was not a jot the more happy: for having seen him in the time of Herminius, she could not now look upon Mutius, but she remembered him, and was so unjust as to wish him ill; and sometimes thought herself a little obliged unto Emilius, for being so much mistaken in Herminius. However, Emilius being of very good quality, and being both amiable and rich; Valerius, who observed the inclination he had unto his Daughter, was very glad of it, and wished heartily she were married unto him, lest if he should die she should be left to the disposition of the Tyrant Tarquin. So knowing no man but Herminius, upon whom he would more willingly bestow her, he bade him very kindly welcome to his house, and commanded Valeria to treat him very civilly: on the other side, the Parents of Emilius, who being desirous to keep him in Rome, and thinking to marry him, they bethought themselves of another very rich young Lady: but they altered that design, by reason of his love to Valeria, who maugre all the supposed inconstancy of Herminius, did continually lament him: and though when she imagined him to be unfaithful, she was extremely angry against him, yet she heartily wished he would revive constant, or at least repent of his inconstancy. For though it is usual for death to efface or diminish injuries, yet it happened otherwise with Valeria. Time did diminish her grief, but not her anger, and sometimes she thought, that since Herminius was inconstant, it was better for her that he was dead, than otherwise. At least (said she in talking of you Madam) my Rival has lost him as well as I; and I may well think that she is more afflicted than I am.  
You may judge Madam, by what I have said, that Valeria still loved Herminius, when she thought she did not. But for all that, the sweetness of Emilius was not displeasing unto her. As for Mutius, that which most hurt him, was, she knew he followed the Counsels of Spurius whom she loved not, and that he often saw Salonina, whom in her heart, she could not endure. But as for Emilius, knowing nothing but virtue in him; finding him to be sweet, civil complaisant, full of spirit, amorous, and very assiduous and officious about her, if she did not love him, she wished she could: and did believe she either did, or should love him. Yet she did not live with him as she was wont with Herminius: There was no secret or mystery made of this affection, but she permitted him to tell her that he loved her, yet not before Valerius had told her his mind.  
Mean while, Emilius was very well satisfied with her; she received him kindly, and harkened unto him, she did not answer him sharply, nor ever forbade him to hope for her Love. But the strangest thing was, that Emilius never heard there was any particular affection between Herminius and Valeria. The reason of it doubtless was, that falling in love with her, as soon as he came to Rome; and never making any secret of his Passion, none would so far trouble themselves as to tell him a thing that was to no purpose. Also, he being a mere stranger in his own Country, he had not any particular friend, to give him an account of former passages. However Valerius fearing lest Tarquin should forbid him to marry his Daughter unto Emilius, as he had unto Herminius, he therefore told Emilius, that if he would marry his Daughter, he desired it might be done speedily, lest Tarquin should forbid the banes: So as Emilius without more consideration told him, that he wished nothing more earnestly than to have all concluded: and was the more earnest in it, because his Parents were desirous he should marry the Rich Inheritrix whom they had proposed unto him: but his Parents being neither a Father or Mother, or any such near alliance whom he was obliged to obey, he rejected their Counsel, and would follow his own inclination: So as having the consents of Valerius and his wife, it was resolved that Emilius should marry Valeria within eight days, and that they should be married in the Country, at a house which Valeria had, lest Tarquin should have intelligence of it.  
Emilius was now as happy as a man could be, having no rubs in his Love, but the excess of his Passion. Valeria on her side, she was not much transported with any joy, nor was she very melancholy: and yet her converse with Flavia was very sad when she came unto the Country house where she was to marry Emilius the next day: For, beginning then to think upon the engagement unto which she was to enter, and calling to memory former passages, her heart was much disordered: they were both together alone in Valeria's Chamber: Emilius was not to come until night: So as they had free liberty of speech together. Alas, Flavia (said Valeria unto her) If any had heretofore told me that I should marry any but Herminius, I should never have believed them: but then I thought he would never have left me for any other whomsoever. I must confess, that had not Herminius been dead, I should never have thought upon any marriage: for my hopes of his hearty repentance, would have defended my heart against the passion of Emilius.  
But he being both inconstant and dead, I must confess to my shame, that I have some tenderness towards Emilius, and look upon him as a man is whom I may be happy, or at least not very miserable, if I can forget Herminius. Yet (added she and blushed) to be exactly virtuous, and also prudent, I ought before I marry him, to sacrifice unto my revenge all that remains of the perfidious Herminius. I never could do't till now: but now both virtue and reason command it, and notwithstanding all the elegantness of his letters, verses, and tenderness towards me, I must deprive myself of them for ever. Oh Valeria (said Flavia) do not offer to lose such excellent pieces, but rather trust them unto my discretion. If I should (replied Valeria) it should be upon condition, never to be reproached with them again: for to discover the bottom of my heart unto you, I shall merit your compassion: for upon examination of myself, I find, that when I would hate the memory of Herminius, I cannot; and when I would love Emilius, I cannot bring it to pass: Yet at some times I think that I do hate Herminius, and love Emilius: But for all that I never can find that tranquillity in my heart which is the effect of true joy, though I find not any thing to desire, but what I have. For Emilius is handsome, he has high blood, he has courage and wit, and a violent passion to me: He prefers me before the richest match in Rome: he is of a sweet disposition; and I know not what I can wish more in him to make myself happy. After this falling into talk of Herminius, Valeria with Tears in her eyes, took a little Cabiner, where she kept all his letters, and offered to tear in pieces all the Letters of her former Lover. But Flavia was so earnest with her, that at last she consented that she should have them, upon condition never to show them unto her. So as Flavia taking the Cabinet, and all in it, she carried it unto the Chamber which was allotted her. After which, these two Ladies went to walk by the side of a Rivulet, which was very pleasant, and from whence one might see all the way from Rome thither. And Emilius was to come that way.  
As for Valerius and Domitia, they thought upon nothing but taking all necessary orders for the next day: For, though the company was not to be great, yet would they have all things in handsome order and decency at this private Feast.  
Emilius for his part, his heart was so full of joy, that all the care he took, was to go be times unto the place where he was to be made happy: So as referring unto his servants the care of all things necessary for the marriage day, he departed with only one servant, to go unto his dear Valeria. In his going thither, he entertained himself with every thing that might flatter his passion; and his spirit thinking upon nothing but delights, he fancied the satisfaction Herminius would have to see him so happy, if he were alive; and also the pleasure he himself should have in seeing his friend. When this thought came upon him, he was not above two hundred paces from the house of Valerius. So as Valeria and Flavia, who were walking by the River side, might easily see him: entertaining himself in this manner at a place where two ways crossed; he heard the noise of a horse on his right hand which made him look that way. But as soon as ever he had turned his head, he espied Herminius; yet he never thought him whom he saw to be his friend: For his imagination being prepossessed with an opinion of his death, and being also at a good distance, he thought him only some man that resembled him. But Herminius, who had nothing in his mind which made him not credit his eyes, no sooner espied Emilius, but he went immediately unto him. Oh my dear Emilius (said he unto him) how happy am I to meet with you! Emilius was much surprised at these words: for believing two of his senses, he began to think that Herminius, was risen from the dead, since both his eyes and his ears told him so; they meet therefore each other, and lighting from their horses, which they left with their men, they embraced each other with abundance of joy and tenderness, for they loved one another most dearly. Is it possible (said Emilius unto his friend) I should have the happiness to embrace you, after all hopes of you were lost? and at the very same instant when I was thinking of you, and desiring your company, you should come to partake of my joys: For, truly my dear Herminius, if you still retain the same thoughts of your friend, doubtless you will be very glad to see me happy: Never doubt on't, replied Herminius; And to defer the pleasure of it no longer from me, pray tell me what happiness it is. You shall know it, replied Emilius, when you have told me by what miracle you are raised from the dead.  
Herminius, who knew not that all Rome thought him dead, did think Emilius meant the length of his exile: so as making no great matter of what he said, he only told him that the relation of his fortune would be too long for that place; and that all he would tell him was, that being come to the Court of Italy with an African, called Amilcar, and two of his friends, the one called Artemidorus, and the other Zenocrates; he left them upon a promise to meet again at the house of Valerius, where he was to go to hear how squares went at Rome, and where he had much other business of great importance. But after this (added he) pray tell me, whither are you going at present, and of what nature is the happiness which you are to enjoy, and in which I must share with you? The place whither I go (answered Emilius) is the very same to which you go, and not to conceal my good fortune any longer from you; know, my dear Herminius, that to morrow I am to marry the fair Valeria, with whom I fell desperately in love as soon as I came to Rome, after I left you at Capua. How Emilius? (replied Herminius very sternly) are you to marry Valeria to morrow; Valeria the daughter of Valerius, whom Spurius once loved, and afterwards Mutius, when I went from Rome? The very same (replied Emilius, much surprised to see the astonishment and sorrow of his friend) But what's the reason this news in lieu of rejoicing, does trouble you? Oh Emilius (said Herminius, and recoiled apace) what News have you told me? I have told you the truth, replied he, and a truth which I thought would have been joy unto you: and yet I am so unhappy as to see it trouble you, but cannot imagine the cause. For I am sure you loved Clelia when we were at Capua, and I never saw any appearance of your loving Valeria, or of her loving you: What then is the cause of this great alteration I find in your face, and this trouble which I see in your heart? For if my good fortune does any ways afflict you, I do declare unto you, that I cannot be happy.  
Ah Emilius (said Herminius:) Is it possible you should never hear in Rome that I loved Valeria? and that you cannot love her unless you become my Rival, my enemy, and unless you betray that Amity which you promised? I knew not that you loved Valeria, replied Emilius: And though I had known it, yet believing you to be dead, as all the rest of your friends did, nay Sivelia herself, I think I did you no wrong in loving her whom you loved. I never knew of your love to Valeria, for since I had no thoughts of it at Capua, I could not have at Rome; so as finding in this sweet and fair Lady, all the sweetness and complaisance that virtue would permit her to show, I had no reason to think she intended the happiness of any more than myself. Oh Emilius (replied Herminius, and sighed) Valeria is a perfidious woman, and may withdraw her affection from you, as well as from me: But since it is thus (added he) and that I am so unfortunate as to find a happy Rival in the person of a friend whom honour will not permit me to use as an enemy; and that I am also so miserable as to have a Mistress, who does not only cease loving me, but can love another; my journey is at an end, I need know no more, I came only for Valeria, and since Valeria is to be yours, I have nothing to do but to die. In saying so, Herminius with abundance of sorrow in his eyes, would have left Emilius, to go and take his horse. But Emilius, whose heart was divided between Amity and Love, between his Friend and his Mistress, and who perhaps had some sparks of jealousy which he knew not of, he was very desirous to know a little more: so as taking Herminius by the arm, and speaking unto him with much generosity and tenderness; I beseech you (said he unto him) do not offer to leave me thus cruelly, but consider, I conjure you, my innocency towards you. For you know, that during all the time of our travails together, you never acquainted me with your love to Valeria; you never so much as named her unto me: as I often told you, I thought you in love with Clelia: 'Tis true, you would never confess that unto me: yet I had good cause to think you were: And I had reason to think, that if you had had any Mistress in Rome, you would have employed me with some Letter or service to her when I came thither, where I met with the Physician of Capua, who showed me a Letter which imported your death: I published the news with incredible grief: It was confirmed by Sivelia, who also published the particulars of it to all the world: the Tyrant grieved you had escaped his cruelty; all your friends lamented you: I saw Valeria, I fell in love with her: I found her disposed to obey Valerius, who commanded her to entertain my affection: and I prepared myself to marry her by consent of all, even of your illustrious Mother who knew of it. What crime then have I committed? and wherein have I wronged you? In nothing, answered Herminius; but your innocence does only make me the more miserable: for indeed Emilius, if it had been any other but yourself, either he or I should have died, rather than endured he should take Valeria from me, who as ungrateful and unfaithful as she is, yet is she so dear unto me, as without death, I cannot suffer another should enjoy her; Therefore, since I cannot with honour be your enemy, and since it does not please my capricious fortune I should have such a Rival whom I may ruin; I will even go and die in some place or other, where my passion shall not force me to any thing against my duty, For, let me tell you, that considering the humour I am in, I dare not answer for myself if I see you long. Go therefore, happy Emilius, and gather the recompense of all my services: and if you will, never tell the inconstant Valeria that I am living, since the term I have to live is so short, as I shall quickly confirm the news of my death.  
Did I think the sight of me would afflict that ungrateful person, who is going to make you happy, and hath so long and so cruelly deluded me, I would go and upbraid her with inconstancy: But since now, she loves you better than ever she loved me, she will not startle at the sight of me, but rather triumph over my misfortune.  
After this, he offered to disengage himself from Emilius, who held him by force, and gave him most obliging language, though his mind was much disquieted, for he loved Herminius most tenderly: he was infinitely obliged unto him: and he understood that Valeria had loved him, and he knew not what to think. Love on one side tormented him; friendship raised a thousand scruples in his heart: jealousy did mix itself amongst all these several sentiments, and he was no less miserable than Herminius, who could not conceive how Sivelia could come to so many particulars of his supposed death; nor why Valeria should write unto him as she did; nor how she could love Emilius so soon; nor how Valerius, who was a man of great honour, could break his word with him: for he could not fully persuade himself that he was thought to be dead, though his friend told him so, because looking then upon him as a Rival, he suspected all he said: but during this long contest, Valeria and Flavia, who were walking by the River side, they could not imagine who it should be that was talking with Emilius whom they knew, because they knew he was to come that way: But as for Herminius, they never dreamt of him, nor thought him living; and therefore knew him not; and besides, his back was turned towards them: they were a little troubled at their long discourse, which was with that earnestness, as made it evident they talked of something which did not please them; so as imagining it might be Spurius or Mutius, they feared some disastrous adventure. Then spying Valerius, who was walking to see whether a Fountain was rightly ordered, these two Ladies told him the cause of their inquietude: Valerius turning about, and seeing them, he went unto the place where those two men were in such earnest discourse: he was come very near unto them, before they perceived him: for they were so intent upon their discourse, that they minded nothing else. But Valerius no sooner saw Herminius than he knew him, and was not in any such amaze as Emilius, because he knew that he was not dead: he therefore stepped nearer, and embraced Herminius, who was much surprised to see himself in the Arms of Valerius; but much more, when Valerius turned towards Emilius, and told him, that he must now revoke his word. For (said he) if my daughter's heart be not changed towards Herminius, and if the heart of Herminius be not changed towards my daughter, she cannot be yours, since now he is returned. Oh Sir, replied Emilius, do not force me to grieve at the life of a friend who is so dear unto me: No, no, replied Herminius faintly, never fear the generosity of Valerius: the heart of Valeria is changed, and I am not so happy as to render you miserable. Valerius finding himself betwixt two men whom he loved so dearly, and who found it so difficult to please both, he thought upon nothing then, but how to carry them both to his house, lest they should be exasperated against each other. At first, their spirits did so boil, and they knew so little what to do, that they would not go with him: For Herminius said he had no mind to see Valeria, since she loved him not: Emilius on his side said, that since Valerius revoked his word, in all probability Valeria would revoke her heart: and Valerius not knowing well what to answer them, he heartily beseeched them to follow him.  
Mean time, these two fair ones that were walking, seeing Valerius bring those he went unto, along with him, they went unto the door where Valerius was to enter, purposely to see who were with him: but in coming thither, they were strangely surprised to see Herminius whom they believed to be dead. Yet there was a great difference between Valeria and Flavia: for the last of these went to him with abundance of joy, and Valeria in lieu of joy, went back, and was constrained to sit down upon a seat of grass which was near the door, for she was so troubled and astonished at the sight, as she fell almost into a swoon; yet she had so much prudence to dissemble as well as she could: but being very pale, and not able to speak, they feared she was very sick; so as Herminius for all his anger, was the first that went to hold her up: 'Tis true, Emilius went presently after him; so as these two Lovers were equally officious in helping her; but she having her knowledge perfect, though she could not speak, she pushed them both away, and holding out her hand to Flavia; she looked so, as it was easy to see the disorder of her soul.  
Mean while, Domitia being advertised of it, she came and caused Valeria to be carried in a Chair to her Chamber, where Flavia who knew the secret of her heart, said, that it were convenient to leave her alone: so as Herminius and Emilius, as well as Valerius, they all retired and left her with Domitia and Flavia. Domitia also left her as soon as she was a little come to herself, and went to hear how it was possible Herminius should be alive. She was no sooner gone, but Valeria began to speak: Oh Flavia, (said she unto her) what think you of my odd fortune and imbecility? Do you think I will love Herminius and not Emilius? No, no, For I am resolved never to pardon the infidelity of the first, and never to forget my obligations unto the second: But truly it must needs be confessed, that I am very unfortunate. You have formerly wished so heartily, replied Flavia, only for one of those misfortunes which tormented you, in desiring that Herminius were not inconstant, or that he were dead, that methinks you have reason for what you say; for you said, in those days, that if Herminius were living, you should be glad of it, only to revenge yourself upon him, and upbraid him with his crime; so as if you be in the same mind still, you should be glad to see him, since now you are able to be revenged of his inconstancy, by marrying Emilius to morrow; and you may upbraid him with infidelity, since he is now in the same house with you. Oh Flavia (replied she) I was much in the wrong when I wished so: for certainly the sight of a perfidious Lover, is much more horrid than the sight of a dead one: or at least, it seems so unto me at present. Take heed what you say, replied Flavia, for I never heard that anger made any swoon: and I believe there is something in your heart more than you know of, which perhaps is more favourable unto Herminius than you imagine: No, no, Flavia, replied she, I am more Generous than you think me: and you shall never see me prefer an Inconstant, before a faithful Lover: And though I do find in my heart many advantageous thoughts of of that perfidious Lover, which is quite contrary to all Reason; yet notwithstanding, I wish heartily that death would equally take me both from Herminius and Emilius.  
Valeria had a thousand other passionate expressions unto Flavia, who having not yet talked with Herminius, she knew not what to say of him: For though she observed by the manner of his going to help Valeria, that he did still passionately love her; yet considering upon what terms Valeria was with Emilius, she durst not offer any office for Herminius, until she better knew both their minds.  
Valeria, for all her perplexities, yet thought she saw some signs of Love in the behaviour of Herminius: but yet she kept it secret from Flavia, and would fain have thought that he did not love her. Whilst she was in this turbulence of mind, Valerius, who dearly loved both Herminius and Emilius, he spoke unto them both in presence of each other with abundance of generosity and kindness: He told Herminius in presence of Emilius, that it was he who published the news of his death: He told him afterwards how great was the grief of all his Friends, of Sivelia, of Emilius, of his own: Confessing unto him, that Valeria was sooner comforted than he could have believed, and that she appeared more angry than sad. After this, he told him how Sivelia and he confirmed the report of his death, to beget the same opinion in Valeria, and lest he should be exposed unto the cruelty of Tarquin, who was most horridly incensed against him. Yet, added he, Do not accuse me of voluntary breaking my word, since I did it only to save your life, and also by the advice of Generous Sivelia.  
Mean while, since you and Emilius are friends, since you have not done any thing to upbraid each other, and since my daughter thinking you dead, did not commit any crime in obeying me; Let reason determine this great difference: and let him of you two, whom Valeria loves best, obtain her: For in my opinion, as things are, he that shall marry her will never be happy, unless he be so chosen. For my part, (replied Herminius, dejectedly) I know the heart of Valeria better than you do, and will prepare myself to die with grief without ask any other favour than once to have the liberty of speech with that unjust person, who has thrown me out of her heart.  
Valerius hearing Herminius say so, he begun to excuse his Daughter, for he knew not of those bitter letters which Herminius had received by the Artifice of Spurius, which made him think he quarrelled with her without a cause, further than because she loved Emilius. But after a long discourse it was resolved that the next morning if Valeria was any thing better, Herminius should speak with her without any witnesses but Flavia. That Emilius; afterwards, should have the same freedom. That after this, they should both together see her in the presence of Valerius and Domitia; and then to let her choose according unto her own mind. So as after this, every one retired into their Chambers. As for Valerius, upon pretence of Valeria's sickness, he sent to un-invite those persons who were to be at her wedding. Mean while, you may easily imagine how sad a night it was unto Herminius, unto Emilius, and unto Valeria. Emilius, when he was arrived at the very point of happiness, found himself ready to fall into a Gulf of misery, by reason of his friend's misfortune, and out of fear that Valeria would not change her mind. Herminius on his side suffered most incredible torment, by reason of a thought that he was not loved: that he had such a Rival as he could not ruin him, nor charge him with any fault, and out of a most cruel thought that Valeria loved this Rival, that she would choose him, and that Valeria would marry him.  
As for that fair one, she was not a whit more happy than they: her heart and her mind was so full of love, anger, jealousy, and irresolution, that she could not sleep a jot all night, so as she spent it in talking with Flavia, who would by no means leave her in that condition. But morning being come, Valerius sent her a command to receive a visit from Herminius, and to hear all his reasons. At the first, she had a mind to disobey her Father; but presently after, desiring to chide and upbraid him for his supposed infidelity, she prepared herself to receive his visit.  
But since it would require some time before her answer could be brought unto Valerius, who was walking in his Garden, and also some time before Herminius could be advertised of it, she thought him very long in coming, and imagined that he was ashamed to see her, and that he was studying what to say. For my part (said Flavia) since Herminius does still desire to see you, I believe that either he is not unfaithful, or that he reputes of his being so. Though either of those two should be so, replied Valeria, yet should I still be very miserable. How? replied Flavia, would you think yourself miserable, if you should find that Herminius did always love you, and still doth? Yes, answered Valeria, for if Herminius should prove innocent, I shall appear criminal unto him, and he will upbraid me with a thousand things. Then, replied Flavia, it were better for you, if it shall appear he has been inconstant, and that he reputes. No, replied she, for I perceive that if he repent, I shall be so simple as to suffer my heart to melt, and perhaps so unjust, as to prefer a Repentant Criminal, before one that is innocent, so as my reason disagreeing with my heart I shall be still miserable. What then should he have done, replied Flavia, to have rendered you happy? Herminius, replied she, ought ever to have been faithful unto me; I should never have suspected him for an inconstant man; that I had never thought him dead, that Emilius had never loved me, or that I had ever scorned him, so as since it is impossible these things should ever be, it is impossible I should ever be happy. As she said so, Herminius entered, and saluted her with most profound respect, yet with so much sadness in his countenance, that if the spirit of Valeria had not been prepossessed, her heart had melted. Mean time, she took his signs of sorrow for signs of shame, and both her grief and anger redoubled. All the Letters of Herminius to Clelia, which she had seen, and all those of Clelia to Herminius, came into her imagination to incense her. She fancied the Map of Tender, to be a Map of Love, rather than a Map of Amity: and Herminius appearing unfaithful unto her, he did not appear amiable. She received him therefore at the first, with a coldness mixed with disdain; and if Flavia had not made him sit down she would never have offered it. But in fine, Herminius beginning to speak, I see, Madam, said he unto her, that you look upon me as an unfortunate man, who unwelcomly is come to molest your pleasures: and that now you loving the too happy Emilius, you hate the unfortunate Herminius. I do confess it (replied she sharply) And why should I not hate an ungrateful man, who has forgotten all the favours he has received from me, as soon as he is out of my sight: who loved another as soon as ever he was out of Rome, and who is so audacious now, as being out with his new Mistress, to come and torment me with his presence, and feigned complaisance? For I know you intent to speak unto me as formerly you used; but know, that now things look with another face: you are now out of my heart, and I have received Emilius by my Father's command. Oh, Madam, (said Herminius) you are most unjust, and most cruel in saying so. I beseech you do not seek for any pretences unto your inconstancy, nor accuse me to excuse yourself. Confess ingenuously, that looking upon me as an unfortunate exile, who durst never return to Rome; you had no mind to share in my misery, but to avoid the rigours of absence, have banished me out of your heart. Confess, I say, that to be the more handsomely unfaithful, you have seemed to think me dead, and that Emilius seeming more handsome in your eye, you have loved him both by choice and weakness.  
For my part, Madam, I can most safely swear, that since I was out of your sight, I never enjoyed one minute of real pleasure. Indeed, I did meet with an illustrious friend in my Travails: but all his friendship did never ease me of the least torments which my love to you made me endure: but I have been always the most miserable of men, whilst you thought yourself most happy in loving, and in the love of Emilius. Oh most perfidious (cried out Valeria, and interrupted him) Can you be so impudent, as to say you have not betrayed me, and that you have not been in love? But to make you the more ashamed of your crime, and to let you see I deserve not to be quitted for another; Do not interrupt me, but give me time to tell you what I think, and what you should never know, but to torment you. Know therefore ungrateful wretch, that I have loved you more tenderly than ever any loved: you know it well enough, unjust man that you are: and did I think you had forgotten all those testimonies of affections which I have given you, I should never have rubbed up your memory of them: for I am much ashamed that I ever loved a most perfidious man. But once more, I confess, that I loved you better than ever I did myself; and that I still loved you with equal tenderness, maugre your long silence, until that unfortunate day wherein I heard both of your death and your infidelity. But Madam, replied he, since you see the news of my death was false, why will you not think the report of my infidelity to be so also? Because (answered she) I have such convincing proofs of your infidelity, that I can never doubt of it. However, Flavia knows very well, that had I not believed you dead, Emilius had loved me in vain; and as perfidious as you are, I should have been contented to have hated and scorned you, without ever loving any other. But believing you to be both inconstant and also dead; I must confess, I did what I could to love Emilius, and at last, I am— Oh, Madam (cried Herminius, and interrupted her) you never did love me, if you be able to pronounce so cruel a sentence. But before you try, give me leave to ask what testimonies you have of my inconstancy: and who the impostor is, that has told you so great a lie? Valeria was now at a stand: for all her suspicious were grounded only upon the report of Emilius, who had innocently showed all the Letters which had caused so much affliction unto her. So as being unwilling to bring him to the test, she would not at first give any precise answer unto Herminius, nor instance any particulars. Herminius upon this, thinking she had no cause for her pretended suspicious, and that all that she said was only to find an excuse for her weakness, he began to be very angry, and twit her with a thousand reproaches. For, Madam, (said he unto her, after many other things) can you make me believe, you thought me dead as others did, and yet with your own hand write unto me the most cruel Letter that ere was writ; and which certainly you would never have writ, but in hopes it would kill me, and so disengage yourself from all those promises which you have made unto me, or at least to pack me away unto places so remote, as I should never return to molest you. Neither can Flavia be ignorant of this truth, since she was as tart in her Letter almost as you. Valeria hearing Herminius say so, she looked upon Flavia with amazement: Flavia she looked upon Herminius, and told him that she never writ unto him, nor ever thought of writing, because since Emilius returned to Rome, she ever thought him to be dead. Herminius being out of all patience, showed unto Valeria and Flavia, those two Letters which they had written unto Mutius, and which Spurius had sent unto Herminius, in answer to those which he had written unto Valeria and Flavia. Valeria no soooner looked upon them, but she knew them to be those which Flavia and she had writ unto Mutius. How was it possible (said they then unto him) that these Letters should come into your hands? For, ungrateful man that you are (said Valeria unto Herminius) these Letters were writ unto a man, whom for the love of you I ever scorned, and if you were just, you would think yourself obliged unto me for the tartness of this Letter, since it was unto Mutius I writ it. I think Madam, replied Herminius, you would drive me out of my wits; For, as certain as I am living, the Man whom I sent from Capua unto Rome, did bring me these two Letters in answer unto those two which I writ unto you and Flavia, and they do most punctually answer unto every thing contained in those two which I sent unto you: And it is also most certain, that this cruel answer is the true cause of my long silence, and of my exile: And yet Madam, the belief of your Inconstancy never moved me unto the least inclination of any Infidelity, and you have been always the only Saint whom I loved and adored: But I pray, who was he, said Flavia, that brought these two Letters unto you? he was a brother (answered he) unto one that is now my servant.  
For, it was very true, that he who was employed in this voyage to Rome, was entered into the service of Herminius, when he came from Capua, and it was the same servant that was with him at the house of Valerius.  
Mean time, Herminius, finding some sweetness in the thought that Valeria had no hand in writing those two letters; he desired still to justify himself, and beseech her most earnestly to tell him, upon what cause she accused him: and she without ever mentioning Emilius, did intimate, that it was, because he loved you Madam.  
Oh Madam (said he unto her) you could never have had any such thought but only by my Rival, who is the only man in the World, from whom it could proceed, though he never so much as saw her, whom he accused me to love: and to speak sincerely, my punctual fidelity in keeping my passion secret, made him suspect me to love at Capua: He saw me very sad, and heard me sigh, and saw I received and writ Letters, wherein were some expressions of Amity, which appeared unto him, to be expressions of Love: and I make no doubt but that to ingratiate himself the more, he has showed you all the Copies of those Letters which I wrote then unto that excellent Lady, and of which I made so little account, as I consented he should have them: yet now he says, he knew not that I loved you, but I have reason to think, he said not truth. Flavia then beginning to speak, she told Herminius, that he had no reason to blame or accuse Emilius; And told him truly how he acquainted Valeria, with the news of his death, and Inconstancy: and lest this should move Herminius against Emilius, she told him, how sadly he took the news of his loss.  
So as Herminius, now knowing whereof he was accused, he was very glad to see that, without all doubt he should one day make a clear Justification of himself. Oh Madam (said he then unto Valeria) thanks be to heaven I am most sure, that a little time will let you see my innocence. For that illustrious Daughter of generous Clelius, does love, and is loved by a Prince so great, that ere long this Love will be published over all Italy: Horatius, a Roman, and one you know, is Rival unto the Prince I speak of. And ten thousand Persons are able to testify that Clelia is only my Friend, and never was my Mistress. When I first saw her, she was then engaged in the Love of Aronces, Son to the King of Clusium: I was and am still the Confident of this innocent Love: and if you could as easily justify yourself as I can, I should not be so unfortunate as I am: But alas unjust woman, though you had thought me dead and unfaithful; yet this was not enough to oblige you unto an engagement in a second affection. Indeed, had you been contented to hate me, and forget me, I should have been obliged unto you, for your hatred, and oblivion: but you have done worse in bestowing upon Emilius that same heart which you have sworn ten thousand times should never be any's but mine. One would think, as you have confessed you have used him, that you were most desirous to recompense him for acquainting you with my inconstancy and death: For to tell you truly, had you loved me, you could never have endured so much as the sight of a man, who brought you such cruel news: And yet you suffered him, you loved him, you do love him still, and perhaps you are so unjust, as to tell me that you will Love him always. Yet think upon't once more, too amiable Valeria; Remember what promises you have made me: bethink yourself of what you have told me since I came hither, how that if you had not thought me inconstant and dead, you had not been unfaithful: And to be just unto yourself refer it unto Time, to know the truth of what I say: I will engage myself that Clelius and Sulpitia, whose virtue and merit is known unto Valerius, shall tell you, that I was never the Lover of their Daughter: I will engage myself that Clelia shall confess unto you, that she loves Aronces: And I promise you, that before it be long, all Italy shall talk of the love of Aronces and Clelia, whom I love as well as ever I did, though I know she does love her dear Aronces, as well as I deserve to be loved by you. But Herminius, replied Valeria, the Letters which I have seen are so tender, and the Map which was showed unto me so gallant, as I know not whether or no I should believe you. Madam, replied he, you may remember, that you upbraided me a thousand times with writing too much flattery, and in such a style, as those unto whom I writ, might think that Love which was only Amity: And indeed my tenderness of Passion to you, had infused such a passionate, character into all my spirits, as made all my friends believe all the thoughts of my Soul to be love. And Madam, should I have given Copies of Letters from the person I loved? or should I only have showed them? Alas, I was so far from any such indiscretion as I have carefully preserved that cruel letter which I showed unto you, although I cannot look upon it without anger and despair.  
Be assured therefore Madam, that I am innocent, and you are culpable: For Madam, though I had been dead and inconstant, yet ought you not to have engaged yourself in a second affection; I should have died of sorrow; or if anger had kept me from dying, I should have hated all women in lieu of loving any one, and perhaps as unfaithful as you was, in my belief, I should have loved you in your Grave. However Madam, though you be criminal; though you have upon too shallow grounds believed me inconstant, and though I have reason to think, that you do unjustly deny that cruel letter which I showed you: Though I say you be unfaithful in loving Emilius, yet— Oh Herminius (said she and interrupted) I cannot endure you should accuse me of infidelity: For certainly, according to the common received opinion, the death and inconstancy of the party loved does freely set the heart of the lover at liberty, and to be disposed of as she pleaseth: and therefore thinking you to be inconstant and dead, I ought not to be charged with inconstancy. And yet I do consent to be accused of infidelity, if thinking you faithful, I had committed any infidelity unto your memory: but as the Case is, I cannot endure any such accusation to be charged upon me: Then Madam, replied he, (and looked upon her with eyes full of Love) if you would not be so accused, you must restore unto me that heart which you took from me, since I am neither dead, nor inconstant: For as unfaithful as that heart is, I am most willing to receive it upon my knees: I will begin a new obligation unto you; I will forget all my past miseries: and I will love you as zealously and ardently as ever I did, so Emilius be driven out of that heart which is none of his, and unto which none has any right but myself, since I am not dead, nor ever was unfaithful.  
But if you cannot do so, then be so generous, I beseech you, as not to deceive me: For, I should be more unfortunate in having but half your heart, than if I had lost it all.  
Emilius is indeed my friend, and I do grant that he was innocent both towards you, and towards me until his return. But alas, am I Culpable towards any one? Am I any cause that Emilius believed I was dead, and that I was in love with Clelia? 'Tis very true, I did not make him the confident of my Love to you: but ought I to have done it? and would you have taken it well? Consider therefore, I beseech you, how innocent I am, and how unfortunate. But is it possible (replied Valeria) that you should be so innocent as you say you are? But is it possible, replied Herminius, you should make any doubt of what I say? for if I did not love you, what reason had I so earnestly to court your affection? for you have furnished me with colour enough not to pretend unto it: Emilius loves you, you do not hate him: And were not my love unto you most violent, I had just reason never to see you again.  
It is not sufficient, replied she, that you do love me now at present: but you ought to have loved me always. If I have not done so, replied he, may you never love me, but for ever love my Rival. But (added he, and sighed) one may see a notable difference betwixt you and me: for had my heart been so weak as to receive the Image of any other into it, you would have rejected it: And yet, though you have ceased to love me, and though you have loved another, yet for all that, I am ready with all joy to receive that Treasure which I had lost.  
Restore it then, most amiable Valeria, and to oblige you unto it, call to memory all the happy times we have passed together: your eyes have told me ten thousand times, that you were concerned and troubled at my sufferings: your mouth has told me, that I was not hated; and I was so happy, as to have reason to believe you made my felicity yours, and that you would esteem yourself happy, if our condition were such as we could never be separated. Strive then to drive Emilius out of that heart unto which he has no right, since I told you I am neither dead nor unfaithful: for perhaps it concerns your happiness, as well as the happiness of unfortunate Herminius: And indeed, I am sure that if you should be so unjust, as not to restore that which belongs unto me, but should bestow yourself upon Emilius, you will be no sooner his, but you will mourn for me: Yes, cruel Valeria, I shall defy all your cruelly, if you shall make me so miserable, as I shall be if you do me that injustice. Think therefore both of yourself and me, and you will find all reason to be on one side.  
Whilst Herminius was talking thus, Valeria harkened, sometimes looking upon him, sometimes upon Flavia, and sometimes upon the ground. But at last, Herminius having done, she began in her turn to speak: Though all you say were true, replied she, and though you never did love Clelia, yet I cannot tell whether I ought to restore you my affection: you think you have reason to treat me as one inconstant, and also have right to be inconstant yourself upon the first occasion: Yet I conceive that I cannot without injustice, be called unfaithful: for to discover the very bottom of my heart unto you, I had a mind to love Emilius, but never any inclination to love him as I loved you: Oh Madam (said Herminius, and interrupted) I most earnestly beseech you to alter but one word, and in lieu of saying, As you did love me, say, As you do love, and then you will make me happy. Perhaps, replied she, I could say so, for I perceive my heart is willing to believe you innocent, and I know but too well, that my tenderness towards Emilius, is not of that nature as it is unto you. But Herminius, I find myself at a strange Dilemma: For if you have not been inconstant, I confess you have right to demand restitution of my heart: but I confess withal, that if you look upon me as a weak person, I ought not to restore it unto you, since most certainly I never did any thing which can be a reproach unto me: had I thought you dead, and not thought you inconstant, I had then been to blame, if I had comforted myself, and entertained the love of Emilius: I confess also, that if I had not thought you dead, but only thought you unfaithful, you might have reproached me for being too obedient unto my Father when he commanded me to entertain the love of Emilius: for I do believe, maugre all I have said, that if one do love well, they cannot choose but wish, and hope for the repentance of the person loved, though he be culpable. But, Herminius, Flavia knows, that if I did suffer Emilius, it was only because I endeavoured to drive you out of my heart: yet since I am sincere, I will confess unto you, that I have such tenderness towards you, as makes me think I ought to make you happy: And all that I can do as I conceive, is to protest unto you, that I will never bestow myself upon Emilius, nor any other.  
By this means, I shall not expose myself unto your reproaches: I shall not give Emilius any cause to complain against me, since I am none of yours, and you have no reason to accuse me, since I am none of his.  
Herminius then broke out into a thousand moving expressions unto Valeria: Flavia, she joined her reasons unto his, and offered to make Emilius understand reason: but, say all they could, Valeria would not then fix upon any other resolution. For though she was fully convinced, that Herminius had not been inconstant, but that he loved her as well as ere be did, yet she could not make herself absolutely believe it; she could not bring herself to tell Emilius, that her passion to Herminius made her take her heart out of his hands; and she was ashamed that this second affection had partly cooled her tenderness to Herminius: Yet being desirous to know by what adventure those Letters which Valeria and Flavia had written unto Mutius, came into the hands of Herminius; Flavia desired him to question his servant, and to find out how his brother came unto them. After which, Flavia making Herminius to understand by signs, that when he was gone, she would speak for him (for though Emilius was her Cousin, yet she loved Herminius better) he went away without making any alteration in the resolution of Valeria.  
He was no sooner gone out of the Chamber, but Emilius entered, who in lieu of finding any hopes in the eyes of that fair one, he saw in them nothing but sadness and confusion: so as his fears seizing upon his spirits, he approached unto her in a trembling manner. I perceive, Madam (said he unto her) that you are not very well disposed to give a favourable hearing unto my reasons, though I cannot but think them worthy of it. But to obtain a more plausible Audience, I will confess that Herminius is more worthy than I am to be your lover, and to enjoy your heart: I do confess also, that if he had not been inconstant, he has good right unto your affection: I confess further, that being a man of honour as I know him to be, I am persuaded, though I am his Rival, that since he now saith he is not in love with Clelia, I believe he is not: I say again, that being so much a friend unto Herminius as I am, I will consent he should marry you, if ye be both consenting. But Madam, you know how the Tyrant hates him; how the generous Sivelia to save his life confirmed the false reports of his death: He is then an exile from Rome for ever; surely you will not abandon Valerius and Domitia to follow him: And though you would, yet Herminius, if he love you, will not desire you should follow his fortune: This being so, Madam, why will you not permit me to be happy, since my friend cannot? We will both love him if you please, and never fear I shall upbraid you with your affection to him: I know his merit, and your virtue, and I will never desire you to banish him your heart; but only since Herminius cannot be happy, not to change your thoughts of me.  
When he came, I was in your good esteem; you did obey the commands of Valerius without any repugnancy: and though you never gave me any testimonies of love, yet I was contented: And however, I never did any thing since the return of Herminius which could displease you; I have not withdrawn my Amity from him, nor ever will, unless you put me out of all hopes; which Madam, if you do, I dare not answer that my reason will be stronger than my resentments. Consider, I beseech you, that the unfortunate Emilius would not court you, but that Herminius cannot enjoy you in peace: And therefore, I beseech you, be mine, since fortune will not let you be his: I do love you Madam, better than he can, and shall love you ten thousand times above my own life, if you will but resolve to make me happy. You speak so very well, replied Valeria; as I must needs commend you. But for all that, Emilius, this which you ask is not just: for you know that it was you, who told me of the death and inconstancy of Herminius, and indeed you have been the cause of that injustice which I have done him. But Madam, replied he, I was the innocent cause of it: I confess it, answered she, and I do pardon all the harm which unknowingly you did me: And to testify how much I esteem you, I will ingenuously confess unto you, that I can never make you happy: I have as good an opinion of you, as any reasonable person can have. I know your virtue, your love, and your innocency; I know also the amity you preserve for Herminius; I exhort you to continue it. And indeed, I do confess that you do merit my affection.  
But since, Emilius, this affection can never be given unto you, therefore you ought not to ask it. If I would bestow my affection upon any one, I ought to prefer Herminius before any other: But if my Father did give me the liberty to dispose of myself. I will never dispose of myself unto any.  
Oh Madam, replied Emilius, that is not reasonable; And though you think to comfort me by telling me you will be my Rivals no more than mine: yet I assure you, I am not a jot the more happy. You think to lessen my grief, and will not in an instant throw me from the height of happiness to the depth of despair: This is the reason why you tell me nor, you can never be mine, without telling me that you never be my Rivals: But Madam, I care not for any such kind of compassion; it is but a false pity, which will make me the more miserable: I had better die suddenly than languish long: Pronounce therefore a Definitive sentence. But first consider I beseech you, whether Emilius will not be more miserable than Herminius, if you reject him.  
Herminius is already accustomed to think himself not loved: He can live, and not see you, and think himself not loved: And though you should tell him you can never love him, but would love me always, yet he will be no more miserable than he was within this two days. But I Madam, who till yesterday did hope you would be eternally mine, think I beseech you in what a sad condition I should be; if you should assure me, I should never be yours. I have already told you my resolution, replied Valeria, and you cannot make me change it.  
Upon this Valerius,- Domitia, and Herminius entered.  
Valeria blushed when she saw them, and was at a strange perplexity, especially when Valerius began to speak: Well Daughter, said he unto her, have you heard the reasons of Herminius and Emilius, and are you resolved upon their destinies? Sir, replied this sage Lady, you are so absolutely master of mine, that it better becomes me to advise with your will, than examine their Reasons. But if it be your pleasure I should tell you what I think, I would beseech you to let me live with you as long as I live, and not bestow myself either upon Herminius or Emilius.  
Oh Sir, (said Herminius) I beseech you do not consent unto the request which Valeria makes: And I (said Emilius) do make the same Petition my Rival doth, though I am more exposed unto misery than he. Doubtless you are exposed unto more misery, replied Herminius, because my Right is better than yours: For the word of Valerius, and the word of Valeria had engaged me, before they ever knew you: And were it not that I know by my own experience, it is not possible to love Valeria, and preserve the use of Reason, I should accuse you of injustice in pretending still to marry her, after you know that I am living: Till then, I confess you were not to blame: But now you see me, and know what just pretensions I have unto Valeria, you ought to renounce all yours.  
Oh most cruel friend, (replied Emilius) can one leave loving when they would: and could you let fall your design of regaining the heart of Valeria, if I had more right unto her than you?  
I beseech you, said Valerius then, do not amuse us with any unprofitable contestations: I do esteem and love you both, and both of you ought to esteem and love me also; nor have you any reason to complain against one another: my Daughter has not given either of you any cause to wish her ill: Nor can I accuse her of any thing. The only thing to be done then is, to look at the future, and to compose this difference without doing any injustice. I conceive then (pursued he and spoke unto Flavia) that in all reason my Daughter and I should keep our first words unto Herminius, if he have not made himself unworthy by his inconstancy, and if the heart of my Daughter be not changed; Therefore my advice is, that both Herminius and Emilius shall keep at a distance until it clearly appear that Herminius had never any engagement with Clelia: For if all be true, he says, the thing is out of doubt, unless as I said before, that Valeria has changed her mind. For in that case, I leave her to be mistress of her own destiny, not thinking it just to force the will in such things.  
Speak then Daughter (said Valerius then unto her) and tell me sincerely, whether you retain the same thoughts still, which formerly you had of Herminius, and what thoughts you have of Emilius. Sir, replied she, if I had a mind to make choice of one, I should speak sincerely, but since I design to be no bodies but my own, I cannot say any thing unto you. Valeria blushed as she spoke these words, and could not choose but look upon Herminius, who conceiving some hope from this favourable look, did speak so vigorously and tenderly both, that Emilius perceiving he was like to lose his cause, and fearing lest his destiny should be worse, he hastily said that he would accept of the motion which Valerius offered, which was to keep at a distance from Valeria, until Herminius had made his innocence appear. This fair one would then have opposed that, and desired to put both these Lovers out of all hopes: but she did it in such a manner, as made it evident unto Emilius, that Herminius was much more in her heart than he, and would ere long return into his first place, which did most sensibly affect him.  
Things being thus, they had more cause to think that Tarquin had been advertised of Herminius his being alive, and that he was at the house of Valerius: for there came a Lieutenant of his Guard, accompanied with ten of his Soldiers, and asked to speak with Valerius: so as this conversation was interrupted in such a manner, as made it known unto Valeria herself, what rank Herminus had in her heart: For when it was told that the Lieutenant of Tarquin's Guard was in the Court, and asked to speak with Valerius, she was most strangely troubled at it, and was the first that desired Herminius to hide himself; she also imagined a place very hard to be found out; And Emilius knew so well by this unexpected accident, that she loved Herminius very dearly, as it grieved him extremely.  
'Tis true indeed, it was a generous grief: for after Herminius was gone into his close Cabinet, which was in a thick wall joining to Flavia's Chamber, and Valerius gone to the Lieutenant of Tarquin's Guard, he summoned up all his generosity, all his friendship to Herminius, all the justice in the pretensions of his friend, and small hopes he had that Valeria would break with him: so as at last coming to Valeria, who was in a melancholy study, leaning upon the window towards the Court where her Father was, he earnestly conjured her to open her heart unto him, assuring her, that if she would speak ingenuously unto him, he would never trouble her more, but leave her in peace. Tell me therefore sincerely (said he) whether you think I can ever hope to be happy. If you will promise me (said she) to wish no harm unto Herminius, I will with all possible sincerity tell you what you desire to know. Oh, Madam, replied he, I need not, ask you any more, for you have answered me enough in not answering. After this he left her, and without speaking unto any, or staying to know what business the Lieutenant of Tarquin's Guard had, he took horse and rid away none knows whither. Mean while Tarquin hearing by his Spies, that divers persons were to be at the house of Valerius, he sent to see what kind of assembly it was, and whether any thing was suspicious against his Authority. But since the marriage held not, no company came, and Emilius was gone out at a back door: so as having no further order, the Lieutenant returned, as soon as Valerius had showed him that there was no assembly in his house.  
But after he was gone, Valerius concluded that it was not safe for Herminius to stay long in his house: they brought him out of the place where he was hid; and when Valerius asked for Emilius, he was much surprised to hear by his men that he was gone. Domitia feared lest his amorous despair should move him to acquaint Tarquin that Herminius was there: But Herminius did not apprehend that danger, no more than Valerius, knowing Emilius had more generosity than to be capable of such a base action.  
However, since his departure made it plainly appear, that he abandoned his pretensions unto Valeria, Herminius was extremely joyed; for he saw that Valeria had given him cause to despair in his good fortune. Herminius then ask leave of Valerius to stay at his house until to morrow at night, he made his peace so well with his dear Valeria, who protested that what e'er she said, she had only thoughts of Amity for Emilius, that he esteemed himself most happy; yet he could not alter her from the proposition which Valerius had made: for as things were, it was not likely he should marry Valeria: Valerius also told him, that he would not send unto Rome to advertise Sivelia, lest some ill chance should happen which might discover him: and all he could do, was to get so much liberty as to spend one day with Valeria. 'Tis true, Valerius told him in private, that perhaps he would not be long an exile, because there were some secret plots against the Tyrant which would at last break out into a flame. However, Herminius told his Mistress so many particular passages concerning the love of Aronces and Clelia, that she did believe him innocent; but in restoring her heart wholly unto him, she conjured him to continue his amity towards Emilius. After this, Herminius being inquisitive into the matter, he made the servant confess how he came by those Letters which he brought unto him; so as Valeria understanding thereby, that Spurius and Mutius did know that Herminius was not dead, she apprehended the more danger unto him by being in her Father's house, therefore Flavia and she did never let him rest until he was gone: He departed then as happy as before he came, he was afflicted; yet it grieved him to see, that Valerius should not make any positive promise unto him, and that Emilius had not renounced his pretensions before his face. But for all, seeing himself upon good terms with Valeria, it may well be said, that he went with abundance of satisfaction unto Artemidorus and Zenocrates, who expected him as well as I. Since that, we met with Aronces, with whom we joined society. So that, Madam, I have no more to say unto you: for you know all that happened since unto Herminius, unless that Emilius not appearing, Valerius would not let Herminius marry his Daughter, until his friend consented thereunto; so as this invincible Rival did much more trouble Herminius than Mutius did as brave as he was.  
After this, Amilcar holding his peace, Clelia gave him thanks: Cesonia, and Plotina did the same, and the company parted, referring it until the next day, to talk of the pleasant adventure which had happened unto them, because it was too late to begin a story which contained so many particulars, as it was likely to be a long and pleasant discourse.   
The End of the First Book of the Third Part.   

CLELIA: The Third Part. BOOK II.  
WHile the Adventures of Herminius and Valeria took up the memories of so many excellent persons, and that Clelia, comparing them with her own, wanted not a little envy to Valeria, who at that time seemed to be in far greater hopes to arrive it happiness with much more ease than she, and who had always the comfort of seeing him by whom she was best beloved, and honour him with thousands of expressions of affection, Titus and Tiberius were considering of the resolution they were to take. But after a large consideration, Honour and Nature getting the upper hand of Love, they repaired that evening to the place appointed them by Aquilius, absolutely resolved not to engage in the conspiracy. On the other side, Aquilius and his friends had managed Tarquin's interest so well, that they had cajoled into his party a great number of young Gentlemen of quality; so that they were with the first at the place where they were expected. There they found those envoys of Tarquin, to whom they gave an account of what they had done; adding that if they could but draw in Brutus his Sons, as such as had abundance of friends, they might be in a capacity to accomplish something more than ordinary. Nay, they came so far as to acquaint these Envoys that the main business was to engage Tiberius, it being then easy to bring in Titus, as one that relied very much on the others judgement, and was guided by him.  
To this the Envoys replied, that they were sure of some of the Senate, though there were no such thing, so to inflame their hopes, and courage to the sudden undertaking of any thing they had a mind to put them upon; For, the posture of Tarquin's affairs at that time considered, there was nothing to be done by consultation. Things being at this point, and the young Gentlemen contriving how to get Tarquin's Troops into the City by night, Titus and Tiberius came into the place. But having no thoughts at all of engaging in the conspiracy, but coming hither merely out of a fear that Ocrisia and Teraminta might take it ill, if they did nothing at all, the concernments of their loves put them into some trouble, and accordingly they were at first very cold as to the design. The moon shined very bright, so that it was not hard to discern very distinctly the air of the faces of some who were in a spacious walk which a high fence kept from the sight of such as out of the windows of the house of the Faeciales, which stood on the other side of the Garden, might have looked into it. They were no sooner in sight, but the Envoys of Tarquin went to meet them, and Aquilius attended by ten or twelve of their common friends embracing them, asked whether they would not participate of the glory they were in hope to attain, telling them confusedly one after another, and sometimes all together, that they would be accountable to them for the life and fortunes of Brutus: adding withal, that in civil Wars, it was policy that families should be divided, that so wherever the victory fell, it might be some way or other advantageous. To these and many other things, Titus and Tiberius made answer, that the power of Brutus, and the impossibility of the design proposed, were two invincible obstacles; and seconded it with all the reasons they could produce to excuse themselves from being engaged in that party. Aquilius seeing them so resolved, was so much the more importunate with them to change their minds, but to no purpose. So that being come to the end of the walk where they walked, and where there was a large Arbour, which had within it four lesser ones, one at each corner, he entreated Titus and Tiberius to withdraw from the Company, as having something particular to acquaint them with.  
Brutus' Sons having followed him into the Arbour, he immediately broke forth thus: I desire once more to know, said he to them, whether you are unchangeable, and if it be not possible to draw you into the King's party, which ●et men say what they will, is certainly the more just. It is nor our business to examine whether he be a lawful King, or whether he be not; all we have to do, is only to keep off the people from becoming Masters of all the persons of quality. Nay, the safety of your Father, as well as that of a many more lies at the stake: for these very Romans who celebrate him to day, will discard him to morrow if the humour take them: endeavour then to prove a Protector to Brutus, by faithfully serving the Prince he hath so much exasperated. You ought, and you may do it without hazarding any thing, or if you will not do it, do but tell me what I shall say to Ocrisia and Teraminta, from whom I sent you Letters by Aquilius. For in a word I am to tell you, that if you engage not in the King's Party, Tullia will not be persuaded but that it is their fault: and that by some indirect way or other, they have given you notice not to give any credit to the Letters I brought you from them; so that you may easily judge, that Ocrisia will be never the more happy for your standing out, and the fetters of poor Teraminta will never be the lighter. The Gods are my witnesses, says Titus, how far I would venture my life for Ocrisia; but to deal freely with you, it is against my judgement to undertake a thing as unjust as impossible. For my part, added Tiberius, though I am satisfied that honour would advise me to leave Teraminta a captive, rather than return Rome into slavery; yet must I needs confess, that it is not without abundance of difficulty, that I resolve to leave her loaden with chains, and that the absolute impossibility of the design proposed to me, is little enough to keep up my virtue in this emergency, and to be convinced that it is the advice of reason, that I should suffer my Mistress to be a slave rather than my Country.  
At these words, Teraminta, who by the appointment of Tullia, was come with the Envoys, disguised in man's clothes, started out of one of the little Arbours I spoke of, and fixing her eyes on Tiberius, Ah, my Lord, said she, if it be true, that Reason advises you to be willing your Mistress should be a slave rather than your Country: it is as true on the other side, that if you will be advised by Love, you will rather see Rome in slavery, and Teraminta free. Tiberius' surprised at the sight and voice of that excellent person whom he had so extraordinary an affection for, started back a little to take the better notice of her; whereupon, presently after breaking forth into an exclamation; Ah more than amiable Teraminta, said he to her, what dangerous trial do you put my virtue to? Ah! Tiberius, replied she with a languishing voice, to what posture do you intent to reduce my fortune! Titus perceiving Teraminta, presently imagined that Ocrisia was to come out of one of the Arbours, and turned about hoping to see her; but Tarquin's Envoy guessing at his imagination, told him, that she wanted the confidence to come along, though Tullia would have obliged her to do it. Whereupon giving Teraminta opportunity to prevail with Tiberius, as she had promised him, if she might but speak with him alone; he took Titus aside into one of the little Arbours, to repeat over to him all the inducements he made use of to persuade those he had any discourse with, to engage in Tarquin's party. So that Teraminta seeing herself at liberty, and being no longer forced to smother her true real sentiments, with a low voice spoke thus.  
Think not my Lord, says this fair and virtuous slave to Tiberius, that the Letter you have received as from me, is any effect of my will: I writ it by the appointment of the cruel Tullia, and it is by her absolute command that I am here at this present. Do not therefore I beseech you, suspect me guilty of so much baseness, as to prefer my liberty and life before your interests, and imagine not, though I have the liberty to speak with you without any body by, that I shall dispose of the power you have given me over your heart, to persuade you to do a thing that's unjust. No, my Lord, Teraminta hath a soul too generous to do it; not but that I am satisfied, that if you engage not in Tarquin's party, I shall be the most unfortunate slave that ever was; for this cruel Princess told me as I took leave of her, That if I prevailed with you I should be assured of liberty; but if I did not, I must expect a misery, in comparison whereof death were a mercy. However, my Lord, know, I ask nothing of you, either contrary to virtue, or your own concernments; and that I had rather a thousand times die crushed with the chains I carry about me, than to make an unjust proposition to you. Ah Teraminta, said Tiberius, you ask me all things when you ask me nothing; and you persuade me much the more, when you avoid persuading me, than if you employed all your eloquence to draw me into the interests of Tarquin. Think not, I beseech you my Lord, replied that discreet Virgin, that what I say to you proceeds from any artifice; for I would have you confident, that though I am in a manner assured of death, if you do not what the cruel Tullia would have you, yet am I far from desiring you should. I am certainly born in such a condition, as makes slavery insupportable to me; but to be free with you, the Queen's injustice hath wrought so much horror in me for any thing that is unjust, that I would rather die innocently than live criminally. Give me then leave to entreat you, not to reflect on me at all in this adventure, and to do nothing but what your own reason shall advise you to, without consulting your Love. But Teraminta, replied Tiberius, you are now in Rome, is there no means to hinder your departure hence? The Senate hath not yet concluded the debate upon the proposition hath been made to it; so that these Envoys not leaving the City till to morrow, I may in the mean time endeavour to get you out of their hands. Ah my Lord, replied Teraminta, offer it not, unless you have a mind to hasten my death; for he who is now in discourse with Titus, hath order to kill me, if any tumult should happen that might oblige him either to: fly or stand upon his own defence. So that from the time I have been speaking, he hath about him the Poniard that's designed to take away my life; and did he but know what I now tell you, I should not long survive. Ah! Teraminta (cried he, with extreme precipitation) It is then in vain to deliberate.  
This Envy hearing him speak so loud, came along with Titus to him, and asked him what resolution he had taken; but Teraminta preventing him, and desirous to inflame his generosity as much as might be, told him that Tiberius was resolved not to quit the Party he was in, and that she had no more to say to him. Pardon me there, replied bluntly the Envoy, you have yet something to say to him, as much as a last farewell amounts to, for assure yourself, the Queen is so far persuaded that you have an absolute power over Tiberius, that she will never believe you have done all that lay in your power: so that she being violent and mischievous, may be easily induced to make use against you, of that right whereby the life of a slave is at the mercy of the master. While the Envoy was speaking thus, Tiberius looked on Teraminta whose inviting eyes seemed to beg life at his hands. Insomuch, that the danger wherein he saw her, filling his mind with all the fatal images which the death of a person beloved might raise in that of a Lover; he presently yielded, and thought it better to hazard all, than to lose Teraminta. He thereupon told the Envoy, that provided they would secure his Father's life, he would be of Tarquin's party, and would do all that lay in his power to ruin the newly erected Commonwealth. Teraminta durst not for the present oppose Tiberius; besides that, notwithstanding her great generosity, she was not displeased to receive such an expression of affection from a Lover, she had so much tenderness for. In the mean time, Titus, who saw not Ocrisia as Tiberius did Teraminta, would not so easily comply with his Brother: but the other, who was wont ever to guide him by his judgement, spoke to him as a man that had taken a resolution which nothing should alter. So that Titus thinking it a dishonour to seem less tender of Ocrisia, than Tiberius was of Teraminta. submitted to him: Not but that Tiberius had a great struggling in his soul; but he was young, he was a lover, he saw his Mistress exposed to death, and he could not be persuaded, but that he who promised him his Father's life, would be as good as his word. Besides, running over things confusedly; he thought, that if the design took, their Father should depend on him and Titus, whereas now they depended on their Father, whom they at first made some difficulty to obey. Tarquin's Envoy seeing things thus onward to the design, put Teraminta into the hands of an ancient slave, who had waited on her, and looked after her ever since she came to Rome, and carried back these two young Lovers to their friends. Tiberius would needs be the last, because he would have said something to Teraminta, but the other not desirous to leave him behind, suffered him not to deliver himself of all he had to say, nor Teraminta to answer what she could have desired: so that the best interpreters of their several apprehensions were their eyes.  
The Envoy having brought Brutus' Sons among the Conspirators, they were received with inexpressible joy, they promised them what they would themselves, and thought those who were come from Tarquin, were resolved to begin the execution of their design, with the death of Brutus and Valerius, yet did they not discover their intention to all that were present: they told them, that the first thing to be done, was to secure the persons of the two Consuls; but as to the design of dispatching them, it was kept as a great secret: and the better to blind the Sons of Brutus, they said, that because Tarquin had been banished from Rome because he was charged with too much cruelty, care should be taken to avoid it where it were not necessary, so to persuade the people that he was now of another judgement. Tiberius and Titus being secure as to their Father's life, soon digested that aversion which they had at first to engage in that party. Besides, that it being ordinary in young men unacquainted with affairs, to be glad of something to do, they did as the rest, and behaved themselves as young men whose hearts are full of their first love, and first apprehensions of ambition.  
They therefore considered of all the courses they should take to execute their design, and for the space of three or four days, during which time the Senate were still debating the propositions put in by the Envoys, they met divers times in several places to give an account of what progress they had made. But the Senate having at last granted the Envoys the liberty to carry away whatever belonged to Tarquin and the Princes his Sons, they, to gain time, desired further the permission to give him notice that had sent them, and that they might send for Chariots and Mules sufficient to carry away such abundance of things as belonged to a Prince, who had impoverished all the Families of Rome to enrich himself. So that this last favour being also granted, they employed the time assigned them to accomplish their conspiracy. What was most remarkable, was, that there were a many of Brutus' kindred in it; and that Tiberius, whom Teraminta could never have persuaded had she endeavoured it, was one of the most earnest of the conspirators, merely because he would save the life, and secure the liberty of a person that had a Soul great enough to give him an advice so generous, and full of virtue. Now the Envoys thought that Teraminta had really prevailed with Tiberius, and thereupon permitted a little discourse between them sometimes; but the more she urged the things she had said before, the more was he strengthened in the resolution he had taken to deliver her. Tarquin's Envoys in the mean time prudently labouring the safety of that Prince, who was to come in the night, and with certain Troops, seize the City, as soon as they had secured the Consuls, and possessed themselves of one of the Gates, would needs oblige all the Conspirators to write to the Tyrant, to assure him of their fidelity. They at first made some difficulty at it, and the business came to so long and so loud a dispute, one night that they were at Brutus' Brother-laws, who was also one of the conspiracy, that a slave named Vindicius, seeing them ready to come to blows, harkened at the Hall door what passed between people that seemed to be so exasperated one against another. Besides, that his Master having commanded all his slaves out of the Hall, which assoon as they were out, he had carefully locked, Vindicius was guilty of so much curiosity as amounted to a desire of knowing what was done. There being a cranny in the midst of the door, he could the better both see and hear those that spoke. He heard then that the business was to serve Tarquin, to subvert the new Government, and to oblige the Conspirators to write to the Tyrant to assure him of their fidelity, that so he might the more securely approach Rome. Nay, he saw that, yielding at last, some began to write, others to dispose themselves to do the like.  
Things being in this posture, Vindicius, a person that understood himself well enough, wearied with slavery, ill treated by his Master, and startled to see persons so near Brutus conspiring against him, imagined it would be a certain way to recover his own liberty, if he hindered Rome from returning into slavery. He therefore resolved to go secretly and acquaint the Consuls with what was in hand; but as he went, he bethought him that he needed do no more than acquaint Valerius with the business; for the Sons, Brother-laws, and Nephews of Brutus being engaged in the Conspiracy, he was afraid he might proceed too slowly in it, should he have acquainted him with it at first. He went therefore to Valerius, whom he acquainted with all he knew, and being one that knew well enough how to deliver himself, he discovered the circumstances so particularly, that Valerius was satisfied of the truth of it. So that the business requiring expedition, in regard it might be feared lest the plotters might disperse themselves, and that the letters they had written might not be found for their conviction, he went straight to the place where they were, without acquainting Brutus therewith, taking with him such a number of people, that it was not possible for the conspirators to make their party good against him. In the first place, Valerius possessed himself of the main Gate of the house, which was opened to him by Vindicius, as also that of the Hall where they were locked in. But because the windows of it were low, Valerius caused some of his people to pass on the other side, while others were breaking open the Gate; so that with little trouble, both the Envoys and Conspirators were secured; and what was most considerable, they met with all the letters had been written to Tarquin, nay, they found the order they were to observe in the execution of their grand design, which the Envoys were also to send to their Master. They had not shown it to Brutus' Sons, but had it about them, intending to join it to the Letters, which they were to have, so to send all together to Tarquin.  
Having thus taken them, Valerius, as a prudent man, made a distinction between the Tyrant's Envoys and the Conspirators; for the latter were bound as Traitors, the others only put under a strong guard; and having taken all necessary order in the business, he acquainted Brutus with all that had passed, who was extremely troubled that his Sons should engage in so wicked a design. But as he had sometime sacrificed his own reason in hope to deliver Rome, so now he resolved, if need were, to sacrifice his own children for the safety of his Country. All the hope he had, was, that their crime might not haply be so great as was said, and that there were some way either to justify or excuse them. However he prepared himself to endure whatever were most insupportable, and, to do it, summonid all his constancy. For, having seen the death of Lucretia, he thought himself able to overcome any misfortune whatever. Having therefore hardued himself for whatsoever his mind should represent to him as most deplorable after so deplorable an accident, he joined with Valerius in giving order for all things. A Senate was called as soon as dayappeared, all public places were guarded, they changed the Guards of all the City Gates, for fear of some treachery; and that they might do nothing injurious to the Law of Nations, they sent out of Rome those Envoys of Tarquin without doing them the least violence. So that being forced away in some disorder, they thought not on either the unfortunate Teraminta, or the old Slave that kept her, who remained in the house of the Feciales; for they were conducted out of the City, not having the liberty to return to the place where they had lodged since their coming to Rome. But for Tarquin's householdstuff, which they might have carried away, the Senate having well examined the business, thought it not so fit to confiscate them to the use of the Commonwealth, as that they should be bestowed by way of plunder among the people, who after an action of that nature, would not be so easily induced to trust the Tyrant, if ever he should endeavour to lure them by false promises.  
The business was no sooner said than executed, for in less than two hours' space, there was hardly any popular house in Rome wherein there was not something that had belonged to Tarquin. For the grounds between Tiber and the City, belonging to that Prince, they were by order of the Senate consecrated to the God Mars, to obtain his assistance in the War they were to undertake. So that it being not then lawful to take the wheat then ready to be put into the King's Storehouses, the people to express their indignation, cast into the Tiber, which at that time was very low, the whole harvest of that large tract of ground. So that that prodigious number of sheaves, crossing and knocking one against another, and so consequently being entangsed, were stopped in one place where the Sand hindered their passage; and the first keeping back the second, they the third, and so fastening one in another, they made divers heaps, which also being joined together, the Sun and the moisture did as it were cement, and so made a kind of an Island, which in progress of time became as firm and durable, as those Islands which had been from the beginning of the World.  
But while the multitude thus expressed their hatred against Tarquin, the Senate thought fit to examine the conspiracy. To understand it the better, the Letters of the Conspirators were to be seen, which Valerius having delivered to him, who by his place was to read them in the Assembly, whereupon it was ordered they should be read. The first thing read was the order of the enterprise, which those agents of Tarquin were to send to him, without the knowledge of either of Brutus' Sons. But as this illustrious Consul could not divine that it was so, so he was extremely surprised to hear the following Paper read.  
It is resolved the execution of the enterprise shall begin with the deaths of Brutus and Valerius: which done, we shall possess ourselves of the Gate that leads to Tarquinian, so to make way for the troops which shall come on that side. We shall also do what may be to seize the Cirque, the Capitol, and the Sublician Bridge. An Act of Oblivion shall be promised the people, and we shall not trouble ourselves to kill any but the most considerable persons of the Senate, so to deprive it of those which might prove the heads of Parties. Be you therefore ready, Sir, to send away the Troops that shall be expected from you, and to come yourself in person, if you would be soon in a condition to reascend into the Throne. We send you the Letters of the chiefest of those who are of our party, that you may not doubt of what we say; as also that you may be the more diligent in the execution of so considerable ● design.  
The person employed to read, had hardly given over reading what Tarquin's Envoys had written, but a secret noise was heard in the assembly, proceeding from the horror they conceived at so pernicious a design. Brutus, for his part, was astonished to see his Sons engaged in a conspiracy which was to break out with his death. But it troubled him much more, when he who was to read, continuing his employment, entertained him with the Letters of Tiberius and Titus, to Tarquin, which were in these words.  
Tiberius to the King.  
Sir,  
THose whom you have entrusted your secret to, know with what earnestness I engage myself to do whatever they shall think may contribute to and promote your service: but since they would needs have me to give you this assurance myself, I faithfully promise you not to spare either blood or life to reseat you in your Throne.  
Titus to the King.  
Sir,  
TO know my sentiments, you need only be acquainted with those of my Brother, since you may be assured I shall do whatever he hath resolved to further your service, and withal, that I shall look oryall those that are not for you as my enemies.  
The reading of these two letters made more noise in the assembly, than what had been read at first; and there was not a Senator present, but did participate of the grief which Brutus must needs be in, to see his own Sons conspiring his death: for these two letters being read immediately after what the Envoys writ to Tarquin, it must need be imagined that these unfortunate young men, whom only love had made criminal, knew something of the design there was to dispatch Valerius and Brutus.  
In the mean time this great man, whose soul was undisturbed in all accidents, being loath to condemn his Children, but in case it were out of his power to excuse them, desired the sight of the letters, whereof he soon knew both the writing and the seals: so that being satisfied of their guilt, he was incredibly troubled at it. However, he mastered his own Sentiments, and gave hearing to all the other Letters of the conspirators. But at length all being legally proved against them, and they pleading guilty themselves, Valerius asked Brutus what he thought fittest to be done, especially as to what concerned Tiberius and Titus. As I am their Father, replied this illustrious Consul, I pardon them the design they had to destroy me. But as I am a Roman Citizen, which I cannot but be, I cannot pardon them the crime they have committed against their Country, and am forced by the same virtue which obliges me to pity their misfortune, to leave them to the Laws of the Country, and not to desire any favour for them. For since I have ever been ready to sacrifice my own life for Rome's safety, I may very well be engaged to offer up those of my children, if the public good require them.  
These words came from Brutus, not only with an accent of that deep melancholy he had not shaken off since Lucretia's death, but also with a certain fierceness which very much discovered the agitation of his mind: And indeed something it was he felt, which cannot well be expressed, for though he had a horror for the crimes of his Children, yet had he still a tenderness for them: so that Nature and Glory debating the business in his heart, his disturbances were incredible. He reflected on the generous answer he had made, and thought it might contribute more to the saving of their lives than any thing else: nay he was of opinion, that if he took any other course, it would but hasten their death: So that being silent after he had spoken so generously, there role a great contestation in the Assembly: for what likelihood could there be in such a conjuncture of time, that a crime of that nature should be pardoned; and that when so many were engaged in it; and what means was there to make any distinction between the Traitors, when they were equally guilty and convicted of a Treason which the Roman severity had made impardonable, especially after the Oath which Brutus himself had forced from the people, to put all those to death who should but propose the recalling of Tarquin? They were almost all young men, they were in a manner all of the same quality; they were engaged in the same design, according to the Laws they all deserved to die; and consequently there was no way to save two, unless it were done by an unjust favour. For to say they were the Sons of a man to whom Rome ought all she had, would not amount to much; since that, on the contrary, looked on as his Sons, they deserved a double punishment. Besides, upon that account, they must have saved the greatest part of the Traitors for his sake, since that he had amongst them Brothers-in-law, and Nephews, as well as Children. Add to that, the danger of giving an example of indulgence in such an emergency, was so great, that the safety of Rome was concerned in it; and the business was of such consequence, that there was not any Roman who thought not himself lost, and that Rome would be reduced into her former slavery, if all these Conspirators were not most severely punished.  
Brutus wanted not that prudence that led him to the sight of all these things, as also to a knowledge of the most secret sentiments of those who spoke most favourably on the behalf of his Sons. But this contestation taking up much time, the people weary with pillaging, and casting the wheat out of Mars' field into the Tiber, came tumultuously to the place where the Senate was, and furiously demanded why those were not punished, who would have delivered Rome into the Tyrant's hands. So that Brutus laying hold on that occasion, said it were but just the people should be heard in that occurrence, hoping that when the multitude should see the criminals, it would distinguish his Sons from the rest, and would have saved their lives for his sake. He had further the opportunity during this tumult, to speak to Herminius and Amilcar, who made a shift to get near him; for while this confusion lasted, no order could be observed. He therefore advised with them, to see it without doing aught against Rome, there were any means left to save the lives of his children.  
But while he was speaking to them, a young man very fair and and handsome, but withal very sad, cast himself before Brutus, with the tears in his eyes, and directing his speech to him; My Lord, said he, I humbly beg a little discourse with you in private, for I have some things to tell you, which it very much concerns you to know, so to oblige you to some compassion on Tiberius and Titus, who are more innocent than you imagine. Brutus' surprised at what he heard, looked earnestly on him that spoke to him; but though he was persuaded he had some acquaintance with that face, yet could he not discover it to be Teraminta, whom he had so often seen at Tullia's: for she being in man's clothes, he being extremely troubled, made no great reflection thereupon, and only gave her the hearing; so that assuring her she might speak freely before those that were with him, he asked her what she would have. Alas! my Lord, replied she, I would tell you that the unfortunate Teraminta who now speaks to you, is the innocent cause of Tiberius' crime. How, replied Brutus, are you Teraminta, Tullia's slave? I am, my Lord, said she, that Teraminta whom that cruel Princess hath sent hither to engage Tiberius unto her party, and who, though I have not had the least intention to do it, have nevertheless proved the cause that he is engaged therein, merely to save my life, and to break my chains: so that love is the occasion of his crime: But, my Lord, I protest to you, that when he engaged in that party, it was with provision made for your safety, and that you should not receive the least prejudice either as to life or fortune. And yet I did all that lay in my power to hinder him from being drawn into the interests of Tarquin; but I find, though too late, that my virtue hath surmounted his, and that his affection being inflamed by what I said to him, he would needs save the life of a person, whom he was told the merciless Tullia would put to death, if she prevailed not with him. But, my Lord, I protest to you once more, that he knew not in the least that there was any design against your life; and for Titus, the love he had for Ocrisia, and the friendship for Tiberius, drew him into the same party, and both being prepossessed by their passions were persuaded they did you service, even when they conspired against you, nay imagined they obliged their Country, in not suffering the Government thereof to be changed. Have therefore some compassion on your unfortunate Children, and do what you can to save their lives; for I swear to you once more, that they were very tender of yours: Not but that I know, continued this generous Captive, the people generally think otherwise, but knowing the whole truth, this sad report no sooner came to the place where I was, but I got away from the slave that kept me, to come and raise pity in your soul; and were it the pleasure of the Gods, O my Lord, that my death might purchase the lives of Tiberius and Titus: Not but that if the people knew me to be a slave of Tullia's, I should be immediately torn to pieces: But, my Lord, I can defy that danger; for I should die satisfied, should your illustrious Sons but live.  
These words fell from Teraminta with such a persuasive kind of grief, that there, could no doubt be made of what she said; for there were in her eyes and face such visible marks of ingenuity, virtue, and despair, as might well have softened the hardest heart in the world. So that Brutus already yielding to that tenderness of soul he was much guilty of, felt his grief increasing upon him. He therefore spoke with much mildness to Teraminta, and told her he was resolved to do for his Sons, how guilty soever they be, whatever honour the interest of Rome, and the indeprecability of the people would permit. Whereupon, entreating Herminius to have a care of that fair and generous slave, who were she discovered would be in no small danger; he advised with Amilcar, Artemidorus, and Zenocrates, about what was fit to be done. But after a long debate of the business, they concluded that Brutus must not by any means endeavour to deliver his Sons by any absolute authority, because it might haply hasten their death, and expose Rome to a sedition, and that the best course they could take, was to divide themselves among the people, so to endeavour to persuade them, that it were but justice to save the lives of Brutus' Sons, out of a consideration of their youth, and the virtue of their Father. But it being the main key of the work, that many should cry out the same thing, that so the people might seem to close with the multitude; Amilcar took it upon him to go and find out all their friends, to disperse them up and down among the multitude, and to come and give Brutus an account of the inclinations of the people, that so he might act as he thought most convenient. So that refraining to come near the assembly till he were satisfied what to do, he spoke to Horatius as he passed by, and had some discourse with him about the present face of affairs.  
But while he had been talking with Herminius, Teraminta, Amilcar, Artemidorus, and Zenocrates, and had some discourse with Horatius, the people sent in their demand to the Senate, that these Conspirators might be put to death, and that the Oath which Brutus had made all the Romans take, which was, that all those should die without exceptions, who should but propose the recalling of the Tyrant, should be observed. Valerius at first would needs tell them, that they must not be so hasty; but this answer so far incensed those to whom it was made, that it was easily inferred thence, it could not but be dangerous to oppose that exasperated multitude. No, no, said some who were desirous those wretches might be immediately put to death, there's nothing to be debated in this case; these Conspirators must be severely punished, to keep the contagion from spreading to others, or we must set open the gates of Rome for Tarquin to come in, for it were better to entertain him willingly, than to stay till he become Master of Rome, through the treachery of some base Citizens. Hasten therefore the execution of those Traitors who would have cut your throats, and let the Sons of Brutus be put to a more cruel death than the rest, as being the most criminal.  
In a word, added one of those people, if they have their lives given them, they would take away his from whom they have theirs, and would endanger the safety of Rome by destroying him. What more suitable than death for Traitors, who would be the executioners of their own Father, and enslave their Country to a Tyrants will?  
This man having finished his Harangue, there was heard a strange noise of acclamations, and thousands of voices crying out at the same time, Let them die, let them die, whereby Valerius and the whole Senate easily discovered that it was not in their power to pardon any one of the criminals. In the mean time Amilcar, and the rest of Brutus' friends having thronged in among the people, to say something for the Sons of that illustrious Roman, met with so few to join with them, that they perceived it was impossible to save Tiberius, and Titus. So that fearing Brutus might endeavour to rescue them by his Authority, and to ruin himself, Amilcar came and acquainted him how things stood. But while he was with him, the people without any order, went and brought all those criminals to the place where all the Senators than were, and not willing to take the pains to conduct them to the ordinary place for such executions; this incensed multitude demanded they should be immediately put to death, since that their crime being proved, Sentence was given against them by the Laws, and by the Oath which Brutus had made them take. Valerius seeing things reduced to this extremity, would not have Brutus called, it seeming to him a thing that spoke too much cruelty, to desire him to be a Spectator at the death of his own Sons. So that leaving these criminals to the rigour of the Laws, they began, according to the custom of Rome, to punish them for their crime by a kind of punishment rather ignominious than cruel, which was to precede their death. But Amilcar coming thereupon to Brutus, and giving him an account of the disposition wherein he found the people; this great man feeling within him all that a paternal tenderness might make him feel, would needs try whether his presence might not raise some sentiment of humanity in the minds of that people. Doing therefore a more than ordinary violence on his own inclinations: yet after he had submitted himself to the disposal of fate, and offered up the lives of his Children to the Protectoral Gods of Rome, if the public liberty required him, he breaks through the people, followed by Amilcar, Herminius, and the unfortunate Teraminta who would not be gotten from him by any thing could be said to her, and with much ado comes up to Valerius. But alas! he was no sooner gotten to him, but he finds some of the Conspirators dead, and his two Sons so near death, that he had not the leisure to think of what he had either to do or say; for one minute resolved him that he had no other course to take, than resolutely to undergo so great an affliction, or to betray a fruitless weakness. So that mustering up all the forces of his Soul, he kept his ground, and smothering the disorder he felt within, he seemed with abundance of constancy to look on the most deplorable object in the world. And yet it is certain he saw not what he looked on, for the first sight of those dead bodies putting him in mind of all his misfortunes, the Image of dead Lucretia presented itself to him, and joining with that of his expiring children, filled him with so much affliction, that it made him seem insensible, and in a manner cruel to those who are not acquainted with what was within him.  
On the other side, the wretched Teraminta seeing her dear Tiberius in so sad a condition, and so near parting with his life, would needs go up to him not knowing what she did. But he, notwithstanding the terrors of death, knowing who it was, made signs to her to go back, and so gave her occasion to imagine that he was more troubled for her than himself; though he were ready to receive Death's last blow. Teraminta went forward nevertheless, but offering to come yet nearer and nearer, those who were employed in this sad execution, gave her an unmannerly repulse, and finishing the last act of their office, took away the life of the unfortunate Tiberius. Teraminta had no sooner seen his head severed from his body; but she fell down, crying out aloud, yet so as nothing could be heard, but the name of Tiberius confusedly pronounced. Herminius and Amilcar, who saw her falling, went to raise her up and to cherish her, for they knew the cause of her affliction, but they found her expiring, and that the same blow which took off Tiberius' his life, made her acquainted with death. So that having a certain compassion on the sad fate of that beauty, they took a care to keep the people from coming to the knowledge of what she was, lest they might tear her body in pieces, and so caused some of their Slaves to carry her to the generous Sivelia's, who was so charitable as to defray the charges of her innterment.  
The Sons of Brutus in the mean time, having breathed out their last, and their Illustrious Father given that great example of constancy, which hath made him to be charged with an excess of severity by such as were not acquainted with the transactions within him, the Tumult was appeased, the people was astonished at the sacrifice Brutus had made to his Country, his Authority became thereby the greater, and that constancy raising terror in the minds of all the Romans, there was not any one that durst so much as think of Tarquin's readmission. But what reputation soever Brutus might gain thereby, it brought him not the least satisfaction; on the contrary, he never had been so much afflicted. He was no sooner come to his own house, but all his friends came to him, yet knew not what to say to him, as not presuming either to commend or bemoan him. There happened one thing that renewed his grief; for one of those under whose custody Tiberius and Titus had been, was come to tell him, that those unfortunate Lovers had charged him to assure their Father of their innocence, as to what concerned him, and that it was Tiberius' desire he should be acquainted with the generosity of Teraminta, that he might accordingly provide for so virtuous a Lady, giving him a punctual account of all she had said to him in the Garden of the Faeciales, all which added very much to Brutus' affliction. However he seemed not to be much troubled while there were any with him; but when all were dismissed, and that there was only Herminius left with him, I was almost persuaded, said he to him, with a deep sigh, when the unfortunate Lucretia died, that I should never have known any other grief, but fortune hath been pleased to find out other torments for me. For my part, I am at a loss what to think, and it must be acknowledged, though to the confusion of humane reason, that the secret Counsels of the Gods are unsearchable, and that it is a thing very hard for men to arrive at such a condition as to be assured they do nothing that may displease them. And in a word, will it not be said that Fortune makes sport with all the designs that Prudence lays, and that all her business is to bring about unexpected events, without ever considering whether the things be just or not?  
And yet it must needs be granted, that there is a Reason above ours which guides us with discretion, though we apprehend it not, and which by unknown ways makes the same causes produce effects of a different nature. 'Tis true indeed, replied Herminius, that all that hath happened to you is altogether extraordinary; But when all is done, since it contributes to the glory of the Gods, and the instruction of men, that there should be great examples of virtue; there must also be misfortunes, and unfortunate persons. I grant it, replied Brutus, but to speak freely, it is a sad thing for a man to be the model of constancy, and not to live, but only to suffer. For in a word, my dear Herminius, would you but take the pains to reflect on what ever hath happened to me, you will find nothing but a long series of misfortunes. The first of all, was to be born in the time, and under the government of the lewdest Tyrant in the World, and withal to be of his blood. The consequence of this you know was, that I was brought up in exile, that Tarquin's cruelty robbed me of a Father and a Brother, that I was forced to conceal my reason to secure my life, and to wait the opportunity to deliver Rome. How have I been in love, yet durst not discover it; that afterwards I was not beloved again, but that I might be the more miserable? How have I been forced by a strange unhappiness, to see Lucretia in the embraces of my Rival; and what is yet more terrible, how have I seen her in those of Death? This once endured, I thought there was not any thing afterwards to be feared, and that to lessen my affliction, it might haply be the pleasure of the Gods, that her death and my love should prove serviceable to the Liberty of my Country. And yet it happens that the same passion that makes me undertake any thing for Rome, makes my children undertake all things against both Rome and me. So that by a sentiment, which I cannot but discover, I excuse them while I accuse them, and I am very much more sensible of their unhappiness than I should have been, had they been guided by any other motive. Not but that it grieves me to the heart to think that I have had Children that should endeavour to put Rome into her chains again, but when I reflect on their being in Love, I pity and bemoan them. Lucretia appears to me with all her inviting attractions to plead for them, and I suffer at this instant, all that a paternal indulgence, all that the tender resentments of Love can make me endure, and all that Nature and Reason, when they are contrary one to another, can make a man feel that is most harsh and insupportable.  
You are so ingenious, and your complaints so just, replied Herminius, that a man cannot well find what to say to you. But all considered, if you are the most unfortunate, you are withal the most illustrious of that Predicament, for your misfortunes contribute to your glory, and are beneficial to your Country, Lucretia's death caused Tarquin's removal, and that of your Sons will stifle all conspiracies, and settle Rome's liberty. It is my wish it may be so, replied Brutus, but to be free with you, I am at a loss what to think of it, for who could ever imagine that Brutus' Son should conspire against Rome, and against him? and yet you have seen it, and consequently there is not any thing which we may not, nothing which we ought not to be distrustful of, even to our virtue, nothing that can for any long time secure any man's happiness. Nay, I am so far unhappy, that I am not happy in my friends. Aronces is where he would not be; Clelia is among the Rivals of that only person whom she loves; nor are you yet in such a safe posture as to fear nothing. But when all is done, the Liberty of my Country engages me to live, and struggle with calamities; and the revenge due to Lucretia's death, calls upon me to destroy those whom yet I have only driven hence. But that you may live, replied Herminius, you must make a truce with your grief: on the contrary, replied this afflicted, yet illustrious person, I must give it way till I have made it habitual, and for a man to suffer long, he must suffer without any intermission.  
Whilst these two friends exchanged these sad discourses, the general talk of all was about what had happened. Some discoursed of the Conspiracy, others of the death of the Conspirators, and all of the constancy and great virtue of Brutus. The Prince of Numidia, sick and weak as he was, would needs have the story of this unhappy adventure exactly told him over and over, by Amilcar who came to visit him, and who to lessen the grief he might take at it, gave him a short account of the History of Brutus. So that this generous Numidian having heard Amilcar's relation, was for a while silent; then breaking forth on a sudden, Ah, Amilcar how far am I short of the virtue of your illustrious friend, how weak am I, or how much in Love! for he hath met with thousands of misfortunes, and he bears them, and I groan under no other than that of not being loved, and it is insupportable to me. I am indeed ashamed to be so little master of myself, and were it only that I might in some sort deserve Brutus' friendship, I will do what lies in my power to overcome the passion now predominant in my Soul Till now was I never guilty of so much as any design to oppose it, so that it speaks not a little courage, that I am resolved to do what I can to conquer it. I have indeed sometimes said that I would do it, but must acknowledge I never have, and even in the very instant that I say I will do it: I am not very certain whether I shall continue in the same sentiments wherein I think myself to be. Amilcar, who thought it no hard matter to cure him of such a disease, assured him of his recovery, when he pleased himself, and so having comforted him, as he was wont, he went to Racilia's, where were the more virtuous persons of Rome met to do their civilities to Hermilia, upon the accident that had happened to her Brother's Sons. For though she was very young, yet were Ti●eri●s and Titus her Nephews. Clelia, Plotina, Cesonia, Flavia, Salonina, Valeria, and Collatina, as also Mutius, Horatius, Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and Herminius, were in Hermilia's Chamber, when Amilcar came thither. But of all these, Hermilia and Collatina were the most troubled at that unhappy accident; for among the Conspirators that had suffered death there, were two of near kin to Collatina. What made them yet more sad was, that the interest of the two Princes, by whom they were courted, had engaged more into the Conspiracy, than any other motive, and consequently they might look on them as the innocent cause of that unfortunate adventure. Besides they were then in so little hope ever to see the Prince of Pometia, or Prince Titus, that they were sometimes glad of any occasion to weep which they might discover, so to mask the tears of love with those of friendship. They were therefore extremely sad that day, and all that were present, complying with their humour, were no less. For Clelia, she had so much cause to be sad, that she never appeared otherwise. Horatius for his part, finding her ever cold and indifferent towards him, had no reason to be over joyful, though things were in such a posture as that he might entertain some hope.  
Artemidorus had his fancy ever full of Clidamira and Berelisa. Zenocrate's wanted not reflections, though more favourable than those of the rest. Herminius, by reason of the greatness of his affection, and the odd posture of his amorous fortune was also melancholy enough. Mutius was troubled that his Rival was so happy as to be loved, and the whole company excepting Plotina and Amilcar was not the least inclined to engage in any thing that were divertive, though it consisted of the noblest Souls in the World. And yet though their discourse were sad, suitable to the subject of it, Death; yet Plotina and Amilcar brought it at last to something that were pleasant.  
In the first place, according to the custom upon such occasions, they spoke of the just occasion of grief which she had whom they came to condole with; that brought in some discourse upon the accident; some were silent, others whispered, and all grew weary of it. But falling insensibly into other discourse and speaking louder, they began to play upon Flavia, for that the very thought of death disturbed her reason, and troubled her almost as much as if she had been to die a minute after herself. For though Flavia were a person of excellent endowments, yet had she that weakness of not commanding her own sentiments, so that she was subject to thousands of causeless fears. For my part, says Plotina, I have such an aversion for death, that for fear it should come too soon, I am resolved not to fear it at all; for certainly there is nothing worse for ones health, than to fear it too much. Nay, then says Herminius, I am happier than you; for I neither hates nor fear it. But for my part, says Plotina, I hate it most abominably, and I think I have reason to do so. For it is a rash inconsiderate thing, that ever comes before it is looked for, ever comes unseasonably, troubles all the enjoyments of life, separates friends and lovers, hath no respect of any thing, destroys beauty, laughs at youth, and is inflexible. All this is true replies Herminius, but it hath withal this advantage, that it makes all men equal, cures all diseases, puts a period to all misfortunes, and puts those it hastens on into such a condition. as not to suffer any thing afterward. In a word, it satisfies the ambitious, determines love and hatred, appeapeases all passions, and this evil that is so great and terrible, is the evil but of an instant, and such as for its infallibility ought not to be called an evil. On the contrary, replied Flavia, 'tis for that reason that death is the more terrible to me; for if it were uncertain, hope might take away some part of the fear I am in of it. But when I consider that one may die every minute, and that thousands of several ways, I feel a certain cold at the heart, and I am almost at a loss of all reason. You are then very happy, replied Plotina: Nay, she is such, beyond what you can imagine, says Collatina, for having a lively imagination, she sees dangers where there were never any. I am really of opinion, answers Plotina, that there is more prudence than is conceived, in being a little dull of apprehension; for when people search so much into the bottom of things, they many times get more hurt than good But you are not certainly always in fear, continued she, speaking to Flavia, for when one is well, is neither on a River, nor at Sea, nor yet in a Chariot, but in one's Chamber, in good company, and good health, methinks there's no such occasion of fear. Ah! Plotina, replied Flavia, you know not what the fear of dying means, if you measure it only by the present dangers that wait on us. I remember says Horatius, that I saw Flavia much troubled at the death of a man that had lived almost an age. For my part says Mutius, I have known her lose her share of an excellent Collation, because it thundered. And to my knowledge says Salonina, I have seen her one day refuse an excellent walk, only because we were to cross the Tiber. For heaven's sake, replied she very pleasantly, take not so much pains to pump your memories for my fears, for I know them better than you do: and since you will needs have Clelia, and all present that know me not, to be acquainted with my weakness, I will tell myself all that I fear. I fear then all diseases in general great and small; I fear Thunder, I fear the Sea, and all Rivers, I fear fire and water, heat and cold, fair weather and foul, and I am afraid the earth should take occasion to shake at Rome as it does in Sicily. Besides, to my own misfortune, I know all that the Tuscans have said of presages, and I know it contributes to my torment, and to say all in few words, I fear what ever may directly or indirectly cause death. But cannot you imagine in yourself, replied Amilcar, that the fear of death causes deformity, sickness, and may occasion death itself, that you may be rid of so many fears. May it not come into your thoughts, added Clelia, that all these frights amount to nothing, that if the earth must shake, it will shake whether you will or no; that if a Thunderbolt must fall, it will fall haply rather on that place where you take refuge, than on that you quit; and in a word, can you not submit yourself to the disposal of the Gods? But can you not conceive yourself, replied Flavia, that if I could do otherwise I would do it? Do you think me destitute of reason, and that I do not many times perceive I am too blame? And yet after all, even at the same time that my reason condemns me, my imagination commands my heart, and makes it feel what she pleases. What I think most to be admired, says Herminius is, that all people find out some handsome pretence for the fear they have of death, for they confidently affirm that they are not subject to so much weakness, as to fear the pain that is suffered in dying, but they are afraid they have not lived well enough; and what is remarkable, is, that without growing better, so to take away the fear they say they are in, their thoughts are wholly taken up in the preservation of their health, and avoiding what ever may prejudice it. Ah! Of that kind of people, says Amilcar, the world is full, and you meet every where such as fear the punishments of the other life without any amendment, and whose actions are contrary to their professions, and easily discover that they simply fear death, since they make provision only against that. For my part says Flavia, I am no very bad liver, and trust much in the goodness of the Gods, and therefore do not so much fear what shall happen to me after death as before, for I fear pain very much, besides the darkness of a Tomb startles me. But when all is done, says Clelia, all your fears are fruitless,, you will die as well as those that fear nothing, and the surest way is to lead the most virtuous life that one can, to expect death without wishing it or fearing it, and to entertain it as a thing we have waited for all our life, and which cannot be avoided. For my part, added Racilia, I find it requires a greater constancy to support a long old age, attended by those inconveniences which it commonly brings along with it, than to receive death cheerfully. It is indeed, says Plotina, very pleasantly, a very cruel thing to become old, sick and deformed, when one hath been accustomed to be young, handsome, and healthy; and I know not whether I hate death so far, as that I had not rather see it than myself in that condition. But for what concerns me, says Flavia, though I were handsomer than Lucretia ever was, should any one offer to raise me up again, were I in her place, so as that I must come into the world, ugly, old, sick, and troublesome, I should take him at his word, and I would rather live, though abominably deformed, than be dead. You consider not what you say, says Platina smiling, and you fear death something less than you imagine; for I thought you would not for any thing have been raised to life again, for fear of dying once more, and you affirm the contrary. It is a thing so ordinary to abuse my weakness, replved Flavia, that I am never angry how satirical soever people may be at it. But the misery of it is, replied Herminius, that you are not cured of it, nor indeed curable; for do what you can you will find, that as a gallant man cannot prove cowardly and base, so a fearful person can never become valiant. Since fear does make some sleight the danger, says Horatius, I know not why reason may do as much. Those who sleight danger, out of an excess of fear whereby they become valiant, replied Herminius, can never give a greater expression of their fearfulness, than by doing a thing so much contrary to their disposition, so that they may be said to be a sort of Hector's, yet are still arrant cowards, and have lost nothing of their natural inclination. The case is otherwise with those who employ their reason to force away fear from their hearts, since it cannot do it but by working a change in the persons, and making them act contrary to their inclinations. Herminius is certainly very much in the right, says Flavia; but to comply a little with my imperfections, I would all the Ladies now present, were obliged to give precisely their thoughts of death. For my part says Hermilia, take me in the humour I am in, I could without great entreaty wish it. I go beyond you says Collatina, and there are certain intervals wherein I should not be much troubled if I had never been. Assure yourself, says Plotina, I am not of your opinion, for there are things pleasant enough in this place; and I know no other remedy to cure the pensiveness of death, than that of never thinking on it. But when it hapens, against my will, that I hear of the death of any one, I ever sister out some cause of that death, such as cannot be appliable to myself. For instance, if it be of an aged person, I simply say, he hath been a long time in the World, and secretly think myself as yet very far from that age. If it were of a young body, I say, he or she was of a weak and sickly constitution, sometimes that they took no care of themselves, sometimes, that they had done something that occasioned that misfortune; and whatsoever I may say, I still flatter myself with a hope of living as long as any one can live.  
I have a Catalogue of all those who have lived an age, and so discarding those pensive reflections assoon as possibly I can, and I fix my imagination on whatever speaks any joy, and so find myself incomparably better than Flavia, who fixes hers on fear. For my part says Clelia, I am of another humour, for I think on death when there is occasion, but without any frightening; for since I must infallibly see him one day, methinks it is but fit he should not be absolutely a stranger to me.  
No more for Heaven's sake, says Flavia, of this discourse concerning death, unless you would have me die, besides the poor comfort you afford the afflicted when you entertain them with nothing but what is sad. Those who speak of things that require much wit and mirth replied, Artemidorus, are more importunate on the other side, and yet this is ordinary in the World. What you say is true, answered Zenocrates, and therefore am I an enemy to these mourning-visits, for I cannot endure to be sad when I am not troubled; and it is certainly a very unhandsome thing to go and laugh with those that weep. There are so many things disorderly done in the Word, replies Amilcar, that we must accustom ourselves to them, and were there no other inconveniencies in humane life than what we suffer through the extravagancies of others, we should not be much unfortunate, for look on men's humours generally, they rather make sport, then are troubled at them.  
While they were thus engaged, was news brought that Tarquin, understanding by the return of his Envoys, that those who had declared for him were taken, had sent word by a Herald who was at the City-gate, that if they were put to death he declared open war against Rome. So that they being alraedy dispatched, the war was as good as declared. To this news was added that Brutus and Valerius, to show how little they valued that bravado, had answered they would accept the challenge, and that on the morrow they would cause Janus' Temple to be opened, which they had not shut since the departure of Tarquin, but to recreate the people with such a representation of peace as they had not seen during the Tyrant's reign: For that Temple had not been shut since the time of Numa, during which there were 43 years of peace. This intelligence surprised not the enemy much, only Clelia was troubled at it, as imagining it must needs be hard, if, the War continuing, the King of Clusium should not engage therein; and that Aronces should not be drawn into a party opposite to that of Rome. Yet did she not discover her resentment, nay, was forced to permit Horatius to entertain her for some time, after which the company dissolved itself.  
The next morning the two Consuls went, and, according to the Ceremony, opened all the Gates of Janus' Temple, which was presently thronged with people to assist at the sacrifices offered on the twelve Altars, which were consecrated to the twelve months of the year, to the end, that when ever the Romans made war, they might get the better. Brutus made a public Prayer for the people of Rome, which in few words, acquainted those that heard it, with the justice of their cause, and the respect they owed the Gods. Which done, and the presages proving all fortunate, and that that day was not any one of those that are thought fatal to the Romans, the people was generally in hope that the war might have a happy issue.  
In the mean time, order was taken to put in execution who had been resolved on some days before. Artemidorus and Zenocrates, went disguised from Rome to Clusium, there, with the assistance of the Princess of Leontum, to hinder Porsenna from engaging in the War, that Tarquin was going to make; but this was, after conference had with Brutus, Valerius, Herminius, and Amilcar, and after leave taken by Sulpicia, and her incomparable Daughter. On the other side, Celeres having sufficiently disguised himself, was not discovered at Tarquinia, but was witness of the fury Tarquin and Tullllia were in, when the enterprise of their Envoys failed at Rome. However, they took a certain wicked comfort to hear that Brutus had the affliction to see the death of his own children. Cileres saw also the despair of the beautiful Ocrisia, who would needs die when she understood the death of her servant.  
In the mean time, though Tarquin were implacably incensed against Aronces, because he was loved by Clelia, the Tyrant's ambition being then predominant over his love, yet durst he not treat him harshly. On the contrary, he was so careful of him, that he soon recovered of his wounds, but was nevertheless very narrowly looked to. The greatest enjoyment Aronces had, was, that the Prince of Pometia and Titus, both virtuous persons were permitted to visit him. So that from them he understood the transactions at Rome. Celeres therefore having observed that these Princes often visited Aronces, and not finding any other way to speak to him, but by their assistance, resolved to trust himself to the Prince of Pometia, a person of noble and virtuous inclinations. He therefore made acquaintance with him, and begged of him the favour to see Aronces, to bring him tidings from Clelia, assuring him he would not meddle with any thing but what directly related to the Loves of Aronces, without the least reflection on the concernments of Rome. In so much that the Prince of Pometia, sensible of Lovers misfortunes, promised Celeres to do what he desired, besides that, being infinitely in love with Hermilia, he in like manner would trust Celeres, and entreated him, that by the same way as he gave Aronces an account of Clelia, he would send tidings of him to the amiable Sister of Brutus. He made the Prince his Brother acquainted with this business, that Celeres might send from him to Collatina, whom he so dearly loved; for as things stood then, it would have been hard for them to send often to Rome, without being discovered. But by the means of Celeres, they doubted not the safe carriage of their Letters, so that having promised him not to write any thing but what related to their Love, and he on the other side engaged himself to them, not to meddle with any thing but what concerned that of his friend; those two Princes carried their business with so much prudence, that the officers that guarded Aronces, suffered some of their retinue to go in along with them, when ever they went to visit that prisoner. By this means Celeres, disguised like one of those Slaves, who wait on Princes in their Chambers, attended them when they went to see Aronces. The first time he came, that illustrious Prisoner was almost out of himself for joy, and the entertainment that happened between the Prince of Pometia, Titus and him, was the noblest and most generous in the World. So that from that time Celeres became the Confident of these three Princes, and went divers times to Rome to bring their Letters to Clelia, Hermilia and Collatina, whose answers he faithfully returned to these three Lovers, who found some ease in discoursing of their joint misfortunes, For, the Prince of Pometia and Titus being great Lovers of Virtue, they had a horror for the wicked actions of those to whom they owed their lives; and if the same virtue that obliged them to abhor their crimes, had not also engaged them in their interests, they had been their enemies, for as to the Crown they had no pretence to it, Sextus being only looked upon by Tarquin and Tullia, as fit to succeed them.  
What was most remarkable, was, that this Prince, who, by the violence he did Lucretia, caused the ruin of his House, the insurrection of Rome, and all the miseries of the King his Father, the Queen his Mother, the Princes his Brethren, and himself, groaned under, did nevertheless mind his enjoyments in the little Town where he was retired, and whence he durst not stir, because Tarquin could not in policy have been near his person. So that never reflecting on the death of that amiable person, or regarding the misfortunes which in all likelihood he must foresee; he led as voluptuous a life, as if he had been in Rome in absolute peace.  
It was not so with Tarquin and Tullia, for they omitted nothing which they thought might contribute any thing to their re-establishment. Having therefore sent to Rome, and the Consuls having accepted the War they had declared, Tarquin went one morning to Aronces, to get him to write to Porsenna, to assure him of his noble entertainment, that so the person whom he intended to send to him, might the better be received. What I desire of you, says Tarquin to him, contains nothing that is unjust, and savours not of the Tyranny which my enemy's reproach me with. For having taken you in Arms against me, I might treat you as an enemy, and yet not be charged with any injustice. But since there is a very strict alliance between the King of Clusium and myself, I shall proceed with moderation. I am not to learn, My Lord, replies Aronces, without the least disturbance, that there hath been an alliance between Rome and Clusium, but know not whether there will be any hereafter between Tarquin and Porsenna.  
How it ever may happen, added he, all I can tell you, is, that you have taken me in Arms, and that accordingly, I expect no other favour than to be treated as a Prisoner of War. Look not therefore on me in this conjuncture, as son to the King of Clusium, but as a friend to Clelius, Brutus, Valerius, and Herminius, and a servant to Clelia. Look upon me, I say, as an enemy, and expect not I should write any thing to the King my Father, to ensnare him into your interests. He understands his own better, replied Tarquin, than to refuse his protection to a Prince, forced away by his rebellious Subjects, and consequently not to join with me. If he do it, replies generously Aronces, I shall be the most unfortunate of men, as being reduced to such an extremity, as that I cannot bear Arms against you; and if he do it not, I shall infallibly make one among your enemies. Tarquin observing with what constancy Aronces spoke, and attributing it to the strongest passion he had for Clelia, was so much the more exasperated against him, insomuch, that though he ought in point of policy to humour that illustrious captive, yet could he not forbear to give him a bitter answer, telling him, that if he were treated any better than he should, it was not for his own sake.  
However, he sends to Porsenna, to acquaint him, that he had taken his Son in Arms, yet that he did not detain him as an enemy, but only to keep him from getting into Rome, where he might marry Clelia, who was then at liberty; That knowing it was not his intention it should be so, he sent him notice of it, entreating and exhorting him to take his part; that he would remember the alliance there was between them; and to consider his cause, as such as might be that of all Kings.  
This done, Tarquin went in person from City to City, to beg assistance of his neighbours, taking along with him the Prince's Son's, to raise the more compassion in the people. But Tarquin being rather feared than loved, he was not received favourably any where but among the Veientes, for which reason he took the more pains to win them into his party, than any other; besides that Veiae was one of the most considerable Cities of all Tuscany. It was as big as Athens, extremely populous, and very rich, the inhabitants were stout men, and the Country belonging thereunto, reached from the Janiculus to Tarquinia, and from thence to the Mountain Soracie, towards the County of the Falisci, being seated high in a fertile Country, about fourteen miles from Rome, and consequently, very sit for the commodious entertainment of an Army, and withal, strangely to incommodate the Romans. Besides which, Tarquin being confident that the people of Tarquinia, which was also a very strong City, would be for him, thought that if he could but join the Veientes and the Tarquinians together, they would be strong enough to reduce Rome. He therefore was extremely desirous to engage them into his interests, and being loath to trust any one to persuade those whom he would gain, he provided to speak himself. The Council whereby that considerable City was governed, met together, Tarquin being followed only by the two Princes his Sons, with a small train, to raise the greater pity in those whom he would make partners in his disgraces,  
And as men are generally moved at extraordinary accidents, so, how tyrannical soever Tarquin might have been, those he spoke to being not his subjects, but his neighbours and allies, they heard him with respect, and had a great compassion for him. Tarquin was not certainly any of the handsomest men, yet had he, I know not what, that was great amidst his fierceness, which was not unsuitable to his birth. Add to that, his being followed by the Princes his Sons, who were very handsome men, did as it were, soften the hearts of those who saw Princes of such high birth, become unfortunate in so small a time. Tarquin therefore being placed where he was to speak, doing his humour a certain violence, began now to entreat, who had never before but commanded  
You see generous Veientes, said he to them, what haply others never did, that is, an unfortunate King, that hath lost a Crown in a moment, while he exposed his life at the Siege of Ardaea, for the glory of those who forced him away. I make no Apology for all the pretended violences which my enemy's reproach me with, for the just limits of lawful authority, and tyrannical power, are not so precisely designed by reason, but that men may sometimes call that tyranny, which is no more than an expression of his vigour who governs: Without any examination therefore whether my Politics have been guilty of too much rigour or not; I shall only say, that should I have been unjust, yet are my subjects nevertheless criminal, and that my neighbours are obliged to assist me, You will haply tell me, That Monarchical States are more concerned in my protection than you are; but I may answer you, that it is no less your concernment than theirs, and that the consequences of it may prove as dangerous in relation to your government, as to any other of a different nature. For in fine, to speak properly, the King is not the object of the people's hatred, but the power that keeps them in subjection. For he that would search into the hearts of all Nations in the world, would find very often that those who live in Republics, would gladly live under Kings; and that those that live under Kings, would fain live under a Commonwealth. So that it concerns you to punish the rebellion of my subjects, unless you would give an ill example to those who at the present obey you, as being such as haply are persuaded that they cannot, but with expectation of punishment disobey you. You know moreover, generous Veientes, that there is a natural antipathy between the Romans and you, which should oblige you to embrace any just occasion, to revenge yourselves for the ancient injuries they have done you. Embrace it then generously, and forsake not an unfortunate King, forced away not only by his subjects, but by his nearest kindred, who have snatched the Crown from him with their own hands, and who yet are forced to divide his power, because there was not any one among them, that deserved the sole possession of it to himself. Be not afraid to have to do with a sort of men, who since they have proved rebellious to their King, will certainly prove traitors one to another. We shall triumph without trouble, if you will but assist me. But above all things, that which is of greatest concernment, is expedition, so that my enemies may not have time to fortify themselves, by a conjunction of parties. Assist me then, generous Veientes, revenge your Troops heretofore defeated by the Roman Legions, and assume to your selves the glory of having reinstated a King in his Throne, who shall not otherwise employ the power he shall by your means recover, than to revenge you on your enemies, if there happen to be any that shall presume to molest you, when we shall be joined together. The Tarquinians will be on our side, and if you will take my advice, you will not stay till all other Nations concern themselves in my disgrace, you will envy your enemies the advantage of having revenged the affront I have received, and in a word, you will behave yourselves like generous neighbours, faithful Allies and able Statesmen.  
Tarquin having given over speaking, withdrew, to leave them to the liberty of their suffrages. At first sight, he seemed to have moved the hearts of those that heard him, that all the voices were for him. But some of the Assembly having considered the business more narrowly, said, that the point to be debated was, whether they were Allies to Rome, or to Tarquin. For in fine, said one of those that were of that opinion, the union of two people, is that which occasions the convenience of Commerce, and not the alliance of a dispossessed King, who is not to be considered otherwise by us, than as a private person. But if Tarquin get into the Throne again without our assistance, replied another, what condition should we be in? would he not be our most implacable enemy, and this union of Nations, whence are derived all the conveniences of Commerce, could it subsist when we had forsaken him? It does not concern us to examine whether he hath been forced away justly or not; but it is our business to lay hold on an occasion, to make a War against our ancient enemies, since it proves advantageous to us. It is ever good to afford protection to fortunate Princes, and it were dangerous to refuse it: for in fine, if we refuse to be of Tarquin's party, we must fide with Rome, for whom we have been already courted to declare: So that Rome being the place that is to be set upon, it will be in our Country, and at our charge, that the enemy's Army will subsist, without discipline, and consequently with all the violences which attend the first eruptions of Wars of this nature. On the contrary, if we are of their side, who must set upon Rome, it will be easier for us to rescue our Country from all military hostilities.  
This Velentin having spoken with much earnestness, hindered the other that opposed him to carry away the greatest number of voices, though he also debated the business with much obstinacy. So that it was resolved that they would assist Tarquin with all the force they could make.  
This Prince returning thereupon to Tarquinia, the Inhabitants of the City cheerfully prepared to take the field with as many Troops as could be raised, as thinking it a thing making much for their glory, that a family of their City should reign at Rome. On the other side, Brutus and Valerius left ●o stone unmoved, in order to a preparation for the War, and, causing all to be listed that were able to bear Arms, and that were not listed before, they were to think at the same time of mustering 〈◊〉 Legions, modelling an Army, exercising the new raised Soldiers, fortifying their City, and translating the War as far as they could from their own Walls. So that in Rome, Veiae, and Tarquinia, all were in Arms, all ready to fight. However, Celeres passed to and fro between Rome and Tarquinia; to carry news from Aronces to Clelia, and from Clelia to Aronces. But when ever he went, he wanted not a Packet to Hermilia and Collatina, who were more than infinitely troubled, when they understood that the Armies were soon to take the field. For when Hermilia did but imagine that she saw her Brother and her servant fight one against another, she struggled with a grief that was too hard for her reason to deal with, and not knowing what to wish, she wished nothing at all, and so remained in the most afflictive uncertainty in the world. Collatina was also extremely troubled, and Clelia so far, that her grief admitted no comparison. What added to her affliction, was, that she had understood by Celeres, that Aronces was at certain times guilty of a strange jealousy, out of a fear that Horatius might undermine him in her esteem. Insomuch that she knew not what to desire, as things stood; for if she wished that Tarquin would deliver him up to Porsenna, she thought he might be clapped up at Clusium as he was at Tarquinia, unless he should promise the King his Father, never to think of her more, which would have proved the greatest misfortune that ever could have happened to her. On the other side, if he made an escape, and came to Rome, she saw him between two Rivals, and withal, exposed to all the hazards of a War.  
In the mean time, Mutius left nothing undone that might please Valeria, and Herminius was still importunate with Valerius, who would start from his resolution; besides that, not thinking it fit to marry his Daughter in that troublesome conjuncture of time, Herminius was forced to give over pressing him any further. So that there were only Amilcar and Plotina, who were subject to no present misfortune; on the contrary, having abundance of good inclinations one for the other, they accounted themselves happy enough, and not foreseeing that their fortune was such as would not give them leave to imagine they should continue long together, the present enjoyment swallowed up the fear of what was to come, and was enough to satisfy them. So that amidst so many unfortunate persons, and a City where there was no discourse but that of War, all theirs was of Love, as not being troubled at any thing but the misfortunes of their friends.  
Persander, on the other side being resolved to serve Rome while the War should last, besides that, the ways were not safe, Caesonia took a house, and Plontina lived with her. 'Tis true, they so often visited Clelia, Valeria, Collatina, and Hermilia, that it might be said they seldom were asunder. For Horatius he left not a stone unmoved to curry favour with Clelius, who had a very particular affection for him, upon the account of his Mother, whom he had been a Suitor to before he married Sulpicia. But for Clelia, he observed such a respectful distance towards her, that she had not the least occasion to complain of him, though she had been ever so desirous of it. When ever he said any thing to her of Aronces, he did it with abundance of reservedness, insomuch that the manner of his carriage put her into a greater disturbance, than if he had spoken in any other way.  
I easily perceive Madam (said he to her one day, that being come to wait on her, she was somewhat pensive) that your mind is not where your body is, and that you are more taken up with Aronces than with Horatius. Nay, 'tis certain, Madam, that your heart is in prison with my Rival, and even at the very instant that I speak to you, you do not so much as give me the hearing. And yet would you but seriously reflect on the state of affairs, you would find it were not the pleasure of Fortune that Aronces should be happy. His own birth is an unavoidable hindrance to his felicity, since that the King his Father would never permit him to marry you, and that in all probability Porsenna being likely to become an Enemy to Rome, Clelius himself will oblige you to give over all thoughts of Aronces, besides that being Tarquin's Prisoner, his destiny, as to what may become of him, is yet more doubtful.  
As I am not guilty of so great a presumption as that of prying into the secrets of the Gods, replied Clelia, so I leave what is to come to their disposal: but when all is done, Horatius, though I should never be Aronces', I will never be yours, and to satisfy you that I do not say so out of humour, I shall assure you that it ever hath been my faith, that it is for any one lawful to love once in his life, provided that Love be innocent, and that one love with an irretractable resolution of never entertaining any second passion, whatever may happen; for without that I look on the woman as fit to be slighted, and indeed unworthy to live. So that as I must needs acknowledge, that my heart is full of Aronces, and that he hath the absolute possession thereof; so though thousands of hindrances retard the happy progress of our affection, you should be never the nearer happiness for it. But Madam, replied Horatius, since it is certain that Aronces cannot be satisfied, why are you not willing I should? because, replied she, I am confident you never can. For, in a word, take it from me, as told you with all possible sincerity, I shall never admit a second affection: nay, though Aronces were dead, or what were more insupportable, were he unconstant, and that I should love him no longer, I should not love any thing after him, and that out of a pure sentiment of glory, and I should die a thousand times rather than be engaged to affect any thing again. But things are not come to that pass, for Aronces lives, and will not be unfaithful, and Clelius is so rational, that I am not in the least fear he will ever force my inclinations, even though his mind were changed.  
As Clelia spoke these words, the Prince of Numidia came (this being his first visit) to Sulpicia's, who thought him extremely altered; his wounds and his melancholy having brought him so very low than he was hardly known. He was grown so pale, that he seemed not to be an African, besides that, by the change of Climate, he was so fallen away, that he could not well be distinguished from a Roman. Sulpicia, who knew his quality, whom he had spoken to with so much generosity when Clelius and she met him near Ameriola, and was not ignorant how gallantly he had exposed his life to rescue her incomparable daughter, entertained him very kindly. Even Clelia herself, who had seen him fight with incredible valour for her Liberty, must needs have a civility for him, and withal remember, that when she saw him hazarding his life for her in Tarquin's Palace, she took him for Aronces. But the Prince of Numidia and Horatius having not seen one another since they had sought on the Lake of Thrasimenes, they looked on the other with a little indignation, insomuch, that if Clelius had not come in, these two Lovers, who could not ruin Aronces in the esteem of Clelia; nor be revenged on him, as being both obliged to him, would haply have made some quarrels. But such was the prudence of Clelius, that having heard the Prince of Numidia and Horatius were in his wife's Chamber, he came in purposely to send away Horatius upon pretence of public affairs, giving Sulpicia and Clelia order so to deal with Adherball, as he should do with his Rival. Clelia accordingly, willing to obey her Father, and submit to reason, spoke to the Prince of Numidia, with abundance of kindness, while Sulpicia entertained the virtuous Sivelia, who was come to give her a visit. She gave him thanks for the hazards he had exposed himself to for her sake; she commended in him the generous resolution he had taken to do what he could to conquer his passion, and entreated him not to entertain any longer the aversion he had for Horatius. You know, said she to him, that I speak not this out of any affection I have for him, but only to hinder two persons of extraordinary merit from engaging in any quarrel, at a time when Rome stands so much in need of gallant men, such as should think of nothing but how to defend her. Ah! Madam, replies Adherbal, is it not enough that you take Aronces, whom you love, into your protection; but you must also plead for Horatius, whom you love not? But since I love him not, replies she, why should you hate him? Alas! Madam, replied, he hastily, I hate him because he loves you, and that it is impossible but that a man should hate a Rival. How ere it be said she, I beg it as a boon of you, that you would not make it your business to quarrel with him. I assure you, replied he, that all I desire is to die, nay, I am so unhappy, as not to find what so many others meet with without ever looking after it. But Madam, till such time as I do die, deny me not one favour I am now to beg of you. All Lovers replied she, are unreasonable, and therefore they must not be promised any thing; before it be known what is asked; and so you must tell me what you would desire before I answer you. My desire, Madam, said he, is, that you would favour me so far as to tell me, that I am not the most hated of all those that love you; I allow Aronces the glory of being the best beloved, he deserves it and I am unworthy of it, and there are a many reasons I should undergo that misfortune: But give me leave to think myself much more in your favour than Horatius. I know he brought you back to Rome, but he it was also Madam, that carried you away at Capoa, and all that can be said of him, as to his bringing of you hither, is, that he made a shift to resist the temptation of carrying you away a second time: but for my part Madam, I came to Rome purposely to deliver you, though I had not the least confidence of your love. Think yourself therefore so far obliged to me, as not to deny me the favour I beg of you. I grant you more than you desire, replied Clelia, for you shall not only not be hated but I shall have abundance of friendship for you, if you will but be pleased to forbear all love to me. Ah! Madam, cries he, you will never love me while you live, if you cannot love me till such time as I shall love you no longer.  
Adherbal being at those words, Valeria and Flavia came in, followed not long after by Herminius, who was but in the room e'er came in Caesonia and Plotina, and after them, their constant attendant Amilcar, ere the company was set down. But he being at that time not in so lively an humour as he used to be, Clelia asked him the reason of it. Though I cannot easily refuse any request made by a person of your worth, replied he, yet I have no inclination to answer you; for if I tell you what it is, you will laugh at me. You so seldom run that hazard, replies Plotina, that were it only out of curiosity, I would advise you to do it for once. I shall not certainly be believed, says Amilcar, if I tell you what troubles me. It will not be the first time that you were not believed, answers Plotina smiling, you should not so much fear our incredulity. Know then says he, I never was so tired out with a man in my life, as I was this day for three hours' space, during which, I entertained him with a hundred several things. It must be some man of no great understanding, replies the Prince of Numidia. Not so, My Lord, replies Amilcar; it is not his stupidity that I quarrel at: it must be then one of those who dispute all things, says Herminius, such as with whom a man must contest very earnestly, because they ever contradict those that are present. On the contrary, replies Amilcar; 'tis a man that never disputes any thing, who grants a man what he would have, says all you would have him, knows no opinion but what you puts into his head, that never says No of any thing, says Yea of all, contradicts himself as much as you please, and by a base unworthy, and importunate compliance, murder's conversation every minute, put a man to a loss what to say to him, and keeps a man from making any sport, unless it be with him. You aggravate this so pleasantly, says Clelia, that I should be glad to know that man, who by being excessively compliant, turns a good quality into an imperfection. 'Tis a man, replied he, of a pale countenance, of a mild disposition, in point of action careless, as to gate, very slow, and one that is given extremely to say, 'Tis true.  
In a word having unhappily engaged into his company, our first discourse was of War, but having presently discovered him to be one that said all a man would have him, I made him change his opnion above a hundred times. I made him commend both Brutus and Tarquin, say that Rome should conquer, and be conquered; that Sextus was a fool, and that the same Sextus was a wise man; that without virtue a man could not be happy; that with virtue a man is ever miserable: To be short, I made him contradict himself as I pleased. Upon this, I made the motion to him, to go to twenty several places, where I am confident he had not any thing to do: and yet he would needs tell me he had some business wherever I proposed he should go, insomuch, that I was forced at last to tell him, I could very well be without him, and to leave him there and come hither, where the greatest pleasure I can have, is to be contradicted; for I am so weary of compliance, that at the present, I look on the pleasure of disputing, as the greatest diversion in the World.  
It is a thing so easy to afford you that pleasure, ●●plyes Plotina laughing, that I undertake to maintain that compliance is the best, the most acceptable, the most convenient, and the most necessary quality that a man can have. For do but compare the man that never says No, with another of my acquaintance that never says Yes, that disputes perpetually, opposes all the world, who ceases to be of an opinion assoon as another man is of it, who quits his own sentiments, assoon as he hath persuaded any other into them, for fear of being of the same judgement with another; and who in a word, banishes out of all company where he comes, the quiet and enjoyments thereof, by his obstinacy in disputing with all he meets; and you will find whether your complaint man that wearied you so much, be not to be preferred before him that I speak of. Nor indeed can it be denied, that Compliance is a good quality. No question but it is, replied Herminius, but it must certainly be confined within its limits, and be guided by judgement: for it is of such a nature, that sometimes it is as serviceable to Vice as to Virtue. I could never have believed, says Clelia, that the two most compliant men in the world should speak so much against compliance. For my part said Herminius, I am not against it, when it is rational; on the contrary, I maintain, that it is necessary to all societies of men, that it contributes something to all enjoyments, that it is the cement of love and friendship, and that without compliance we should be always in discord and fullenness. But I must withal hold, that as sincerity is the principal virtue of all in relation to persons of quality; compliance is that of all the virtues which is most commonly abused by men of base and biased inclinations, cheats and sycophants. In a word, I think it so dangerous, that I compare it to those subtle poisons that are put into flowers, and kill men unavoidably. On the other side, says Caesonia, when you would commend a woman, you say, she is of a compliant sweet disposition. 'Tis very true, replies Amilcar, and I must confess, 'tis fit a woman should be so; but the difficulty is to know how far she ought to be so; and how far the true limits of compliance extend. For as liberality, that Heroic virtue, that makes men the most like Gods, becomes prodigality, when it is excessive and not limited by judgement; so compliance, which is a quiet virtue, acceptable and requisite to society, and very much to be esteemed, degenerates into a vice, when it hath no limits. And to speak truly, the case is not the same with this vice as with others, for there is but one kind of justice, one kind of generosity and wisdom, but there are a hundred kinds of compliances, whereof the greatest part are vicious. If you say a hundred, replies Plotina, you say too much. On the contrary, replied Herminius, were it my humour to say a thousand, I should not say amiss. I think you would very much oblige the company says Clelia, would you afford it your instruction in a business of such consequence. I very readily shall, says he, on condition that all the illustrious persons present will before hand ac-acknowledge, that they have all met with some compliant persons whom they have slighted. For my part, says Adherbal, I have known some in Numidia, whom I have denied whatever they have desired of me, without any other reason for it, than that they were guilty of a certain interessed compliance, which I could not endure. You were very much in the right, my Lord, replies Herminius, for there is not any thing more insupportable, than a sort of people that affect compliance, whose wills are consonant to yours, merely to oblige you to comply with theirs. And yet the world is full of this kind of people, in all conditions, and of all sexes; but there are withal such a vast number of compliances that I think it almost impossible to name them all. For there are compliances of interest, compliances of disposition, compliances of love, compliances of esteem, compliances of friendship, compliances of ambition, un worthy, base compliances, compliances derived from dissimulation, Court-compliances, City-compliances, serious compliances, merry compliances, eloquent compliances, mute compliances, true and false compliances, and thousands more. 'Tis true, there are of all those kinds that you have named, says Plotina; but in fine, what I would fain learn is, the true use of compliance, whether it be with our Superiors or inferiors, whether between persons of the same condition, whether between men and their female acquaintances, or between persons that are in love. I think says Herminius, it were an easier matter to say what ought not to be done, than what ought: But I shall briefly tell you, all I shall think fit, without any compliance. To speak then of compliance in general, I would not have it to be such as shall flatter vice, betray virtue, disguise truth, derogate from Religion. I would not have people to be less sincere, just, and faithful, that they may be the more compliant: I would have those that are related to great ones to respect them, but would have them study such a compliance, as regards only their quality, and not their own interest, and such as obliges them to commend that which they abhor in their hearts. Compliance does indeed very well in things indifferent, but it must ever be avoided in those that may be prejudicial either to him with whom a man complies, or any other.  
You'll pardon me, that I interrupt you says Plotina, but I am so with child to know what you meant when you spoke of a mute compliance, that I cannot forbear entreating you to inform me. By a mute compliance, replies Herminius, I mean those people, that for fear of saying any thing that might displease their friends, suffer them to run into indiscreet and extravagant actions, without giving them the least notice thereof, and know not, that the greatest expression of friendship, is to give faithful advice. I am of your mind, replied Clelia, but with this proviso, that it is but fit, that those who give advice, should do it with mildness and prudence; for there are few love those that acquaint them with their imperfections. But to return to compliance, added she, I would fain know when people ought to have any, when not. It does always well, replied Amilcar, when it is not unpleasant to those for whom it is had, nor to him that hath it. That's too generally said, replies Herminius, for though it ought to be had for all indifferent things, yet were it not amiss to introduce into a society, a generous freedom, such whereby men may not be obliged to captivate themselves eternally, and never say any thing but as you please, or, at your service, to those who propose any thing of divertisement to them: for as to matter of I am confident business; there needs no great compliance, and that it is the part of reason to regulate it. Herminius does indeed speak very pertinently, says Amilcar smiling; for to speak properly, it might be said, that compliance is the Queen of Trifles, and that it is of main concernment, when there is a dispute, whether it be better walking in one place than another, to dance or not to dance, o sing or not to sing. But however says Plotina, I hope you will confess there cannot be in love, any excess of compliance; and that the more compliant a Lover is, the more amiable he is. I grant it, replies Amilcar, but I question whether he will be as much beloved as he is amiable, if he continue to be excessively compliant; and whether it be not a kind of policy in Love, and consequently very fit, that a man carry himself so as to be a little courted into compliance. For my part says Herminius, I am not of your opinion, for I think it is not so true, that jealousy is the inseparable attendant of love, as that there cannot be true love without compliance, since it is out of all question, that there are some Lovers so confident of the fidelity of the persons they love, that they admit not the least jealousy, and that there never were any that wanted compliance. While a Lover is not loved, replies Plotina, I shall easily grant he may be compliant, but in my judgement, assoon as he is once confident of his Mistress' affection, he is sometimes as much inclined to do his own will, as that of the person he loves. How ere it be says Herminius, if he be not compliant, he ought to be so, nay I dare maintain he cannot forbear being such if he love truly. But if compliance in Love ought to be implicit, it must not be such in friendship, for there it must ever be attended with prudence and sincerity. Compliance is certainly the cement of civil society: but as I have already said, it should never either betray or flatter. Things absolutely indifferent, fall under its jurisdiction; in all others, it lies subject to circumvention, artifice, baseness or interest. Not but that a man may sometimes have a compliance even in things of consequence, though as it hath been said, it ought not ordinarily to be so. Yet is it allowable, when the person who hath the compliance is only concerned in the business they have in hand, and that generosity on that occasion supplies the place of reason, and guides it as the other would. But one of the most dangerous compliances of any, is that which applauds detraction, merely to comply with the detractor, and is so far from vindicating innocence, that it suffers it to be oppressed basely and unjustly.  
'Tis very true, says Clelia, that this happens daily, for the person traduced being absent, and the detractor present, such as make it their profession to be compliant, flatter those they see, and neglect those they see not. But says Caesonia, I am yet farther to learn what you mean by Court-Compliances, City-Compliances, Serious-Compliances, and merry-Compliances: For as to the rest, the very names you give them discover what they are. For Court-compliances, says Amilcar, it is easily perceived that Herminius speaks of those who are ever telling you they will do any thing you will have them, and yet do nothing but what they will themselves. And for the City-compliance, I understand it not so well, I can only guests at what it is. What I call by that name, says Herminius, is properly a certain forced compliance, misconstrued, stuffed with compliments, ceremony, and unseasonable commendation, and such as is not a little offensive to those to whom it is directed. For serious compliance, it points at people of a cold disposition, such as are reserved and discreet, such as force their inclinations not without some violence to their nature, and so give their friends away with such gravity and coldness, as if they denied what they grant them. For what I call the merry, it is the particular humour of Amilcar, and is so apparent in him, that there needs no more to discover it than to see him; for he seems to be so cheerful and glad to do what is desired of him, that it might be said he obeys his own inclinations, though he says he only obeys those of his friends. So that I dare confidently say, that he is never more compliant towards others than when he hath most compliance for himself. But, says Plotina, what must be done, and what must be omitted? You must do, replied Herminius, whatever reason advises, that is, you must express a certain mildness, civility, and compliance; but it must be such a compliance as is not incompatible with Liberty; that gives way without weakness, commends without flattery, accommodates itself with judgement and innocence to times, places, and persons; and such as without affectation and lowness makes society pleasant, and heightens the conveniences and diversions of life. It should also qualify a man to bear with the humorousness of friends; so as not to be too sensible of those sharp familiarities that happen, so they be not over frequent, but to submit sometimes to the pleasures of others, and to do a thousand other little offices that may be done without injury to reason, or violence to justice, and consequently such as do effectually make men better. In a word, compliance is sometimes able to disarm wrath, and to bring a calm into an exasperated mind. But all the skill is in knowing what it is good for, so it may not be abused, as certain remedies are, which men apply indifferently to all manner of distempers. For it is certain, that sottish compliance is flat and wearisome, and distasteful even to those to whom it is directed. You must therefore, if possible, endeavour to get that which I mean, and that it may be seen I speak not of a thing that is not in being, you need go no further to find it, than to the Ladies that are present, who are certainly furnished with all that honourable compliance that pleases, that offends no body, refines the judgement, sweetens the disposition, angments friendship, multiplies love, and closing with justice and generosity, becomes the secret charm of society.  
Herminius putting this period to his discourse, the Ladies he had commended, looked very earnestly upon one another, as if they would have said one to another, it was fit they should make some answer to Herminius civility. But at last Clelia perceiving that none of the rest concerned themselves so much in the praises given them by Herminius, as to return him any, answered him with abundance of wit and no less modesty.  
This put a period to that conference, for Mutius and Spurius being come into the room, brought news that the enemy's horse would be suddenly in the field, and that for certain, Tarquin would have a very considerable Army. So that discourses of this nature being not so acceptable as what had passed before, the company was soon after dissolved. Valeria, who had a particular disaffection for Spurius, and desired nothing so much as to oblige Herminius, went along with Flavia; as soon as Mutius had told this news; Amilcar waited on Caersonia and Plotina; Mutius and Spurius made but a short visit, and the Prince of Numidia perceiving it to be late, took his leave with the rest. But e'er he went, he said to Clelia, whatever a conjunction of Love and Respect, might furnish an unfortunate Lover with such a one as would needs love while he lives, even with an assurance of being ever miserable. He therefore went his way loaden with melancholy, that found his spirits such employment, that he saw not what he seemed to look on, so strangely were his thoughts taken up with the deplorable condition he was in. For in fine, said he to himself, What advantage is it to me to be a King's Son, if I cannot avoid being Clelia's slave? What am I the better for my Reason, if it must ever be subject to my Love? What avails it me, that I am generously born, if I cannot forbear being ungrateful to Aronces; And what happiness is it to me that I was born in Numidia, since I am not capable of the inconstancy attributed to those of my Country? 'Tis sad I should not have those imperfections that were some way advantageous to me, and that I have those virtues I am never the better for, since I cannot overcome my passion.  
Adherbal, amidst these reflections, was got to the place where he lodged, without taking any notice of an old man, a stranger, that had observed him very wish'dly, and had followed him. But being come to the Gate, this man, whose name was Donilcar, passing before the slaves that belonged to the Prince (for Brutus had ordered him to have some about him) presented himself to him with a very sad deportment, and speaking to him, I know not, my Lord, said he, whether you can remember the unfortunate Donilcar, who hath had the happiness to bring you up; but this I know, that I had much ado to call you to mind, you are so sad, and so much altered. Adherbal at these words, remembering him who had been the guide of his youth, and whom he had trusted with his life, embraced him with much affection, and leading him into his Chamber, Is it the King my Father that hath sent you to look after me, said he to him? Alas! my Lord, replied Donilcar sighing, I know not whether I may presume to tell you what hath brought me hither, and that I shall run the hazard of losing your friendship, if I acquaint you with one of the strangest things in the world. The posture my soul is in at the present considered, replies the Prince very dolefully, I cannot apprehend there should happen such misfortunes to me in Numidia, as I might have more than an ordinary resentment, for, if so be the King my Father be well. The King of Numidia, replies Donilcar, is in very good health, but my Lord, that abates nothing of your misery. I prithee, says Adherbal, never fear to tell me what you know, for, as I have already said, according to the posture I am in, there can no misfortune fall to me, but what happens at Rome. Promise me then, replies Donilcar, that you will not be displeased with me when I have told you. I am so highly obliged to you, replies Adherbal, that I think it impossible I should be angry with you, even though you should disoblige me: speak then boldly, and deliver me out of the uncertainty I am in. And yet, if I may guests at what you have to tell me, it is this; That it is upon my account that the Carthaginians have broken with the King my Father, and consequently, that the Subjects I should one day have had, are dissatisfied, and are haply, risen up against me. Alas! My Lord, you cannot guests at your unhappiness, and therefore since you must one day know it, 'twere best you had it from me. Know then, that there now stands before you, that unhappy man, who was desirous to bestow on you a Crown which my wife hath, upon her death, taken away from you whether I would or no. What you tell me, is to my apprehension so obscure, and so impossible, replied Adherbal, that you must express yourself more clearly, if you would have me to understand you. Alas, My Lord, what I have to tell you, is, that you are not Son to the King of Numidia. How, replies Adherbal, am I not what I ever thought myself? No, My Lord, replied he, and if you will needs be acquainted with your fortune, it shall cost you but the patience to hear me. Make an end once, make an end, O fortune, says the unfortunate Adherbal, leave me not any thing, not so much as a noble birth; but when thou hast done thy worst, how great soever thy power and injustice may be, thou shalt never take away from me a King's heart, though I should be so unfortunate as to have been born a Shepherd. Whereupon Adherbal recovering himself, looked on Donilcar with an extreme sadness, and entreated him to relate the truth, without the least palliation.  
Since it is your pleasure, my Lord, replied he, you are to know, that the King of Numidia, whose Son you thought yourself, being yet young enough, had very violent inclinations for a young Lady of the Court, a person of great quality; but the disproportion there was between them, being very great, the King his Father (than alive) told him one day, that he was not to do any thing as to that Gentlewoman, but what proceeded only out of Gallantry, and forbade him to entertain any thoughts of ever marrying her. But as it ordinarily happens, that the prohibition of things we are taken with, augments the desires we have of them; this young Prince fell so deeply in love, that he secretly married the person he so much affected, and had a Son by her: insomuch that the noise this secret marriage made, and the alarm it put the whole Court into, was so great, that the excellent Lady having but newly given life to a Son, died, out of mere grief. Whereupon my wife, having been chosen by the Prince of Numidia, to nurse up the Child secretly, he entreated us to repair into Sicily, till such time as the King's favour were re-obtained. Thither we crossed, and took up our abode near Lilybaeum, where having no acquaintance, we led a very solitary life. Being gone one day a walking into a small Wood, where the umbrage afforded much refreshment and delight; my wife sat down at the foot of a tree, and set the Child she had in her arms upon a Grassplot, where she thought she might sleep more quietly than in her arms. But, as ill fortune would have it, she fell asleep herself, while I was walking alone in the Wood, whereof the umbrage was so delightful to me: So that a great Serpent coming, questionless out of the Thickets, rolled itself about the Child; for as all Serpents love the smell of milk, it found there something that drew it thither. It was not long e'er the Child waked, crying, whereupon my Wife waking also on a sudden, was astonished to see him encircled with a Serpent, whereof the dreadful folds were terrible to behold. She had no sooner eyed that sad object, but she starts up furiously, not knowing what she should do herself: but treading as she got up upon the Serpent, it stung the unhappy Child, and without staying for any punishment for the mischief it had done, it got into the Thicket from whence it came; so that my wife crying out aloud, I heard her, came to her, understood the accident had happened to her, and participated of the affliction it was to her, to see that young Prince expiring three days after. We in the mean time stood extremely in fear of the Prince's anger, who had committed a Child to our trust, which, by reason of the affection he had for the Mother, must needs be very dear to him. However, we thought it would be our best course to return to acquaint him ourselves with the death of his Son, yet so as to conceal from him the unhappy adventure whereby he had miscarried. We took shipping, being none but my Wife and myself in a Merchantman, that stood ready to set sail from Lilybaeum to pass into afric. We were no sooner at Sea, but a Tempest overtakes us: yet were we much more fortunate than other ships, for we saw some sinking near enough to us, indeed so near, that the wind ceasing of a sudden, we could save some part of the wrack of one that had been cast away, and wherewith the Sea was covered. But what was a very strange thing, was, to see a great Plank floating on the water, with a Pack of Merchandise tied to it, whereof the Cords that tied it being half loose, had accidentally fastened on a Cradle, wherein was a little Child, much about the age of that we had lost. This object working much upon my wife's heart, gave her occasion to entreat the Master of the Ship, to give order that it might be saved, and bestowed on her. Now the Child being fastened to the pack of Merchandise, assigned as it were for a reward for him that should save it, her desire was easily granted. Thus, My Lord was your life easily saved, for to tell you truly how things past, it was you that my Wife and I found in that sad condition.  
Ah Donilcar, cries out Adherbal, if what you say be true, what an ill office did you do me when you saved my life, and what cruelty was there in your pity. Alas! my Lord, replied Donilcar, It was far from our intention to do you any such; it was our desire, not only to make you live, but to make you live happily, nay, to bestow a Crown on you. 'Tis true, my Lord, it was not so much out of affection to you, as to avoid the indignation of the Prince, and to spare him an extraordinary affliction, that we put you into the place of the young Prince that we had lost. We were not as yet got far from Sicily, so that our Vessel was forced to return thither, as having suffered a little by the tempest: but when we were gotten ashore, my wife pretended such a fear of the Sea, that no entreaties could get her aboard again. We therefore returned to our old habitation, where we continued not six months, for news being come that the King of Numidia was dead, we returned into afric, and told the Prince, who then did, and now does reign, that you were his Son. This we told him, not only to divert his anger from ourselves, and to prevent his grief, but also out of some thought, it might prove a means to raise our fortunes. We thought our crime so far the more innocent, in that we injured no body; for he, who should have succeeded the Prince, in case he had died without issue, is, as you know, one of the wickedest men alive. Upon these considerations, did we tell the new King that you were his Son, and he was the rather induced to believe it, for that the Princess your Mother, being of a complexion different from that of an African, he imagined you were like her. He accordingly entertained you with joy, he made much of you, and caused you to be publicly acknowledged his successor; in a word, he hath brought you up as such, and you have ever since thought yourself his Son, as he believed himself your Father. I shall not tell you what affliction your love to Clelia hath cost him, nor what displeasure he takes at your absence, and at your departure, disguised, to follow the object of your affection; but must needs tell you, that after your departure, having sent me to discover what way you had taken; my wife fell sick in my absence, but the disease proved so violent, that it soon deprived her of her reason. And whereas you were very much in her affection, she could not speak of any thing in her fits but of you. Sometimes she said, that God punished her for thrusting you into the place of the true Prince of Numidia; sometimes, that she was not sorry for it, that you were better than he that is dead would have been, and a hundred such things, amongst a many more that had no dependence on these. At first, those that heard her, made no reflection thereon, but she so often repeated the same thing, that at last a certain woman who visited her often, and was Mistress, to his Secretary that should have reigned after you, took some particular notice of it, and acquainted her beloved therewith. This man told his Master, who seeing it a business that concerned a Crown, thought it not to be neglected. This woman thereupon received order to put several interrogatories to the poor sick party, and that before such people, as should testify what he had said. The business was thus carried, and my wife told all she knew; nay, she did more than all this, for having the command of her reason some six hours before she died, and her conscience being strangely troubled at that subordination; she in her perfect senses and memory declared the truth, after a promise made her, that I should not be punished. You may imagine, My Lord, (for I shall still call you so) what grief this was to the King of Numidia, and what good news to the Prince that should succeed him. In the mean time, hearing all this upon the way, from persons that knew me not, and understanding that search was made after her Husband, who had revealed a secret of that consequence, I thought it no good course to expose myself to the indignation of two Princes that I have offended, and that I should rather find you out to see what course you would take; For, my Lord, it were an obligation put upon my Country, to hinder it from coming under the Government of a wicked man: 'twere to oblige the King of Numidia, not to deprive him of a virtuous Prince, that he loves as his Son, and it were to do you but justice to continue you in the condition into which I had put you. And therefore, my Lord, if it be your pleasure, I will expose myself to all torments imaginable, to maintain, that my wife had not recovered her senses when she spoke as she did; for we lived in a very solitary place near Lilybaeum, and it would be in all probability, a very had matter, either to find any people that knew me in Sicily, or to meet with the merchants who saved your life at my wife's entreaty; it being so long since, that this truth will not easily be discovered, besides, that King having an aversion for him that should succeed him, will gladly be overreached, and so, my Lord, I am ready to hazard my life to make you King.  
It should have been done without my privity, replied Adherbal very smartly, had you made it your business to get me into the Throne, and you must have deceived me first, before you had deceived others. But now that I know myself not to be what I ever thought I was, the Gods preserve me from purchasing a Kingdom by a cheat. Nor indeed do I take so much pleasure in life, that I should be over-sensible of the loss of a Crown which were not haply enough to make me happy. But alas! how am I afraid that my fortune is yet much worse than you imagine. Tell me then, added he, but in what place you found me when you saved my life? It was so near the Cape of Lilybaeum, replied Donilcar, that we expected to have been cast away in it. But further, added Adherbal, In what year, what month, what day did this wrack happen? Donilcar having satisfied Adherbal very particularly, his colour changed; for having before understood all the circumstances of the Adventures of Aronces, he found that the very day on which Donilcar told him he had been found on the Sea, was the same with that whereon Clelius found Aronces, and had lost his own Son. He found it to be the same place, so that there was no question to be made, but that he was Son to Clelius. Insomuch that this very consideration raised more disturbance in his thoughts, than had done that of the loss of a Crown. But I pray, said he to Donilcar, could you not guests by the swathing-bands that were about me, what Nation I might be of, and of what birth? For your birth, replied Donilcar, it must in all likelihood be noble, for your swathing-bands were very rich; and for your Country, I think you were a Roman; for it was reported at that time at Lilybaeum, that Tarquin was so cruel, that all the virtuous people was forced to leave Rome. Besides, I found a Ring tied in a Ribbon, such as they said the Roman Knights used to wear, which haply might have been your Fathers, and which, for what reason I know not, should have been hidden in the swathing-band you had about you. And have you this Ring still (replies Adherbal, infinitely desirous to find something that should confirm him.) I have, My Lord, replied Donilcar, and for what reason I know not, I took it the very day I came away to find you out, but now I find it was the good pleasure of the gods. As he said so, Donilcar showed him the Ring, which Adherbal had no sooner looked on, but he knew it to be like that which Clelius had worn since his return to Rome: so that being in a manner fully satisfied that Clelia was his Sister, he felt such a distraction in his soul, that not able to master his own sentiments, he bid Donilcar stay with him, and locking his Chamber door, he walked a while without saying any thing, and indeed without being able to fasten his thoughts on any one object. But at last, reflecting on the sad condition he was in, he thought himself the most unfortunate man in the World, Love and Ambition struggling so with his Reason and Virtue, that they raised in his heart, the greatest irresolution that ever the heart of an amorous and miserable man was acquainted with. What shall I do, said he to himself, which side shall I take? Shall I follow the advice of Donilcar or not? One way I may still be a Lover of Clelia, and Son to the King, and another, I shall be Son to an illustrious Romar, and brother to my Mistress, and consequently must not entertain a thought, that I ever can be in love with her. All my Rivals will be glad of this change of my condition; 'twill be welcome news to Clelia; Clelius will be joyful at it, and I only shall be miserable, and that after so dreadful a manner as never any was before me. But yet I have this comfort, that my innocence will smother one great part of my disgraces, and Clelia, the cruel Clelia, will be obliged, even by Nature, to own some light resentment of compassion, since Love could never raise any in her. She will bemoan me, nay, will be forced to mourn for my death. But alas, continued he, doth it not signify a vast decay of reason, to go and seek such weak and imaginary consolations beyond death itself? See we then, whether I shall be more happy on the other side: I may haply come to be King, 'tis granted; but alas, if I may not reign in Clelia's heart, a Tomb is fitter for me than a Throne. It shall be still lawful for me, to call myself Clelia's servant, and prejudice my Rivals what I can. But alas, to be a Lover and to be slighted, is a sad adventure. Besides, if to preserve the quality of Lover, as well as that of King, I shall commit divers enormous crimes, I cannot rationally ever be persuaded, I shall be any other than an unfortunate and uncared for Lover: so that if I take that unjust resolution, I shall add to my misfortunes, because the conscience I shall have of my crimes, will ever put me in mind, that I deserve my miseries. But can there be any thing more cruel, than for a man to go and tell his Mistress himself, that he is her Brother? Let the ignorance Clelius is in, be eternal; for since grief will shortly take me hence, 'twere a kind of cruelty to let him know he hath a Son, whose death he must within a few days bewail.  
Let us then take a third course, let us generously write to the King of Numidia, that we pretend no Title to his Crown, and passing for an unknown wretch, let us conceal from Clelia what relation there is between us; that so we may have some light shadow of felicity, out of that only consideration, that she will ever look upon me as her servant. For as things stand now, if I do myself so much violence as not to entertain her any longer with my love, she will think herself obliged to me, and I shall be somewhat less miserable than I should be, if she knew me to be her Brother. But if I am looked on as a mere stranger, added he, she will slight me the more, so that I shall not know how to dispose of myself. For this last consideration, it is certainly very weak, for what care should a wretch, resolved to die, take? and for the other, Clelia is so generous, that I have reason to hope that my condition, as to fortune, will rather raise compassion in her, than contempt: So that without doing any thing against virtue, I shall have the comfort to die in the quality of Clelia's Lover; and accordingly, after a distraction that lasted all night, he resolved only to say that he was no Kings Son, without discovering any thing of that adventure, or acknowledging himself to be the Son of Clelius, though he had withal made a resolution, not to mention any thing of his love to Clelia, and to do all that lay in his power to disburden his heart thereof. In so much that Amilcar coming to see him the next morning, and giving him the respect he was wont, he told him that he ought him no more than he would do him as his friend, and in few words told him, that he was but an unfortunate and unknown person. Amilcar at first would hardly believe him, and asked who had brought him that strange news; to which he made answer, that he had it from one that had been related to him from his infancy, and whose faith he could not question in the least.  
Upon this, Amilcar acquainting Brutus, Clelius, and Herminius, with this unexpected news, it was generally known the very same day, insomuch that Adherbal was visited thereupon by all of greatest quality in the City. Brutus told him in particular, that it was his desire he would adopt Rome for his Country, since he knew not which was his own, and assured him he should want for nothing. Herminius did the like, and Clelius generously offered him all his Estate. Sulpicia and Clelia sent to visit him, and the change of his fortune begat him more honour than he had received since his coming to Rome. Even Horatius himself spoke very discreetly of it, and Adherbal had reason to be glad he was no Numidian, and to know he was a Roman, were it only out of a reflection on the virtue of so many illustrious Romans.  
In the mean time, being a person of a great and generous soul, he would not by any means permit the honours they were wont to do him, and went to acknowledge their civilities who had visited him, as a private person. But coming once to Sulpicia's, he felt such a heavy grief upon him, that if he had not done himself a great violence, he would have returned when he was got to the very door. For, it coming into his thoughts, that if he were sad, Clelia would have the less esteem for him, out of a conceit that his soul was not strong enough to support that change of condition, he overcame himself, and went into the house with such a constancy, as put all that were there into admiration, and obliged Clelia to treat him with much more kindness than ordinary, not only, because she thought him more worthy esteem; but also out of a belief that he had given over all pretences to her, and was content to make one among her friends. But he had hardly been with her a quarter of an hour, e'er he let fall the Ring Donilcar had given him, and which he thought he had not had about him: so that Sulpicia seeing it, and not able to conceive how a Numidian should come by the Ring of a Roman Knight; she took it up, but she no sooner had it in her hands, e'er she knew it to be Clelius', and the same that she had hid in her Son's swaithing-band, lost her Husband should be discoured as he fled from Rome: So that crying out for heaven's sake, generous Adherbal, said she, tell me by what miraculous adventure you came by this Ring; for who ever gave you this, must needs have found at least, the body of my unfortunate Child, which I lost near Lilybaeum, when Clelius and I were like to be cast away, and at the same time we found Aronces. At these words Adherbal changed colour, and not able to say that which was false, to a person he knew to be his Mother, he made her so punctual an answer, that it added to the curiosity of Sulpicia. She looked on him very earnestly, and was so importunate with him to tell the truth, that nature working on his heart, and his reason assuming at that time, part of her lawful authority, he resolved to discover himself, and so changing his design of a sudden, he said himself what but a quarter of an hour before, he had made a resolution to conceal. For Sulpicia being earnest with him to satisfy her: Alas, Madam, said he, you know not what you desire when you speak after this rate; for were it not much more satisfaction to you to believe you had lost a Son in the Cradle, than to know you have one living that is unfortunate; and such as you will haply think so far unworthy to be yours, that you will disclaim him. Ah Adherbal, replied Sulpicia looking on him, are you my Son, or may I be so happy as to have one like you. Do me but the favour to let me look on your left arm, for if you are mine, you should have a little above your wrist, a fire-mark which a careless slave gave you some few days after you were born. Whereupon Adherbal being fully satisfied that he was Sulpicia's Son, was not able to conceal himself any longer; so that having shown her what might persuade her he was her Son, he briefly related all that Donilcar had said to him: insomuch that Sulpicia being infinitely overjoyed, that she had so gallant and so virtuous a person to her Son, embraced him with much affection, Clelia was also not a little glad to lose a Lover, to purchase a Brother: But Adherbal could not take well the loss of a Mistress, though he got thereby a most generous Father, a most virtuous Mother, and the most amiable Sister in the World. Yet he still put on much gravity, and though he very civilly entertained the caresses of Sulpicia, and the kindnesses of Clelia; yet was it easy to see he was extremely troubled.  
Upon this, Clelius comes in, to whom Sulpicia had no sooner shown the Ring, but he knew it. She also showed him the mark upon Adherbals arm, who having sent for Donilcar, absolutely satisfied Clelius that he was his Son, for he had been acquainted with Donilcar at Carthage. Besides that, the Ring, the mark on Adherbals arm, the particular day the wrack happened, and the place where, were such circumstances, as put the business out of all controversy. So that being infinitely satisfied in the recovery of a Son, and to find him withal, one of the most accomplished men in the World, he spoke to him with the greatest civility in the world. Take comfort Adherbal, said he to him, and be not troubled at the change of your condition; for to speak truly, it is better to be a Citizen of Rome, than Son to a King of Numidia: and it is better to be Clelia's Brother, than her Servant, since you cannot now be loved by her in the manner you desire. I grant what you say is true, replied Adherbal; but since it is impssible there should happen a change of sentiments to a man in an instant, without some violence done to himself; I beg your pardon, if I express not all the joy I should, that I am Son to one of the most virtuous men upon earth. However, I hope, my Lord, the earnestness I feel in me, to deserve that honour, will help me to overcome those remainders of weakness that hang about me, and that within a few days there shall not be any thing to be objected against me. Whereupon Clelius embracing his Son with extraordinary affection, spoke to him with all the generosity and obligation that could be, which stirring up in his heart those sentiments of Nature which lay there buried by the ignorance of his true condition, made him receive the caresses of his Father, with much more kindness than he thought he could have done.  
This accident being strange and extraordinary, was in the space of two hours generally known, insomuch that the whole City came to Clelius to congratulate him, and Adherbal, whose condition was much beyond what it was the day before, when it was known whose Son he was, after he had thought himself a King's. The Ladies came upon the same account to visit Sulpicia and Clelia. Horatius for this part, was glad to see that he had one Rival the less, so that he came in all haste to Clelius', whom he complemented as also Sulpicia; which done, coming to Adherbal, give me leave, said he to him, to express the satisfaction it is to me, that I am no longer your enemy, and to beg the favour to be numbered among your friends. Certain it is, I can be no longer your Rival, answered he, but that Horatius implies no obligation, I should be your friend, for looking on the concernments of my friends as my own, if I cease being a servant to Clelia, I must be the Protector of Aronces, who is my ancient friend: and therefore expect no more from me, than you would from a man who can do nothing against his honour, and consequently not against him, whom of all the world he is most obliged to. This put a little fire into Horatius, for had he obeyed his own inclination, he would have made Adherbal some bitter reply; but looking on him now as Clelius' Son, and Clelia's Brother, he mastered his violence, and only made him this answer. I am not to learn, generous Adherbal, that you and Aronces are ancient friends; but I also know you to be Son to Clelius, by whom I am not hated, though he be more inclined to Aronces; and therefore I shall not despair of your friendship. Adherbal would have answered Horatius, but Amilcar being come in interrupted them, for he made very pleasant reflections on this adventure, detecting them to Clelius, Sulpicia, Clelia, and Adherbal, not forgetting Horatius. Plotina being also in the room, added to the mirth of the company; for she told Adherbal, that to make him absolutely happy, she would undertake to raise love in him, though it were only, says she, to raise a jealousy in Amilcar. Jealousy, replies he, is a thing that is not given when one pleases, and it is taken sometimes whether one will or no; but for my part, continued he smiling, I assure you, I give a great deal more than I take. You are much more happier than I have been, replies Adherbal, for I have ever taken and never given any. King's Sons, replies Amilcar, cannot ordinarily cause either love or jealousy, for their condition is much more considered than their persons. But now that you are an illustrious private man, you may cause any thing that it lies in your power to cause, and you will raise in me a jealousy, if Plotina be as kind to you to morrow, as she is to day.  
At these words came in Brutus and Valerius, with whose advice it was resolved, that Adherbal should take another name, and reassume that which was given him at his Birth. He was therefore called Octavius; that changing his name and fortune, it might also cause a change in him as to sentiments. However, it was resolved he should write to the King of Numidia, to acquaint him truly how things stood, and to intercede for Donilcar, who in the mean time was to remain at Clelius', as a friend to whom he ought the life and education of his Son.  
This done, and all being departed, Clelius assigns lodgings for Octavius, where he no sooner was at liberty to hearken to his own thoughts, but he felt what ever may fall on a Lover, when hope takes her last leave of him, and that his reason and his will combining against him, he, not without violence endeavours to subdue the passion that persecutes him. For Octavius being a great lover of virtue, innocence, and glory, and knowing it to be unlawful for him to pretend any longer love to Clelia, made a gallant resolution to subdue the passion he felt in his Soul, and to die a thousand times, rather than to do or say any thing that should raise the least suspicion that there were left any the least spark of that fire whereby he had been almost consumed. But as he made it, what did he not feel, and how did he bemoan the cruelty of his destiny, which exposed him to so insupportable an adventure? Had not the affairs of Rome stood as they did, he might have looked on banishment, as a remedy to cure his misfortune; but the War just breaking out, there was no just pretence to leave Rome, so that there was a necessity he should resolve to give a great and difficult trial of his virtue. But to do it with greater ease, he bethought him to fill his heart with the love of his Country, instead of that of Clelia. This gave him occasion often to visit those who sat at the helm of affairs, and the melancholy of Brutus taking him at that time, more than the merry humours of the rest, he saw him as often as possibly he could. So that Brutus and Herminius being but the same thing, he made a third with those illustrious Romans, whose virtue strengthened his, and whose conversation smothered part of that secret affliction which his reason was not absolutely able to master.  
Among other times, Octavius coming one morning to Brutus, found him ready to get on Horseback, with intention to ride without the City, near the Sublician bridge, where he thought there needed something of Fortification. Herminius and Amilcar happened to be then with him, so that making a fourth man, and Brutus furnishing him with a Horse, they went altogether to see what was fit to be done to fortify that place. And indeed Octavius and Amilcar were not unserviceable to Brutus, for reflecting on the Fortifications of Carthage, which was then the strongest place in afric, they gave him such good directions, that they were put in execution. But while they were discourseing upon this occasion, and while Amilcar was telling them as much as they could have expected from the ablest Engineer upon the like occasion, four Soldiers that had left Tarquin's Army, coming up to Brutus told him, that being unwilling to fight against Rome, they were come to defend it. Brutus commending them for their good intentions, yet not trusting them too far, asked them what condition Tarquin's Army was in. No question, very strong, My Lord, replies the oldest of the Soldiers, and within a short time you may find it so from your walls, for assoon as the Horse are all joined they will march hither. We do not intend, replies Brutus coldly, to expect the enemies of Rome within Rome, we shall spare them the trouble of coming to find us at our gates. You must make haste then, replies one of the Soldiers, for had it not been for an unhappy accident that happened, that hath caused the Prince of Clusium to be kept close Prisoner, I think Tarquin would have been ere this time in the field: And what was that, says Amilcar? They say, replies the Soldier, that there is discovered a certain friend of Aronces' disguised, that brought intelligence to Rome that he was thereupon taken; and that it being suspected that the Prince of Pometia, and Prince Titus were privy thereto, a great stir is made about it. Yet is there no great fear that this will do Aronces any prejudice, because Tarquin stands too much in need of the King of Clusium, to treat the Prince his Son unhandsomely.  
Brutus perceived he could get no more out of the Soldiers, caused them to be conducted by one of his own to Lucretius, with order that they should be listed in several Companies for more security. Amilcar and Herminius were much troubled at the unhappy accident had befallen Celeres, as well for his own sake, as for Aronces' and Clelia's. They also had pitied Hermilia and Collatina, whose concernment in the business they well knew. But at last taking their way towards Rome, they were no sooner come to the end of the bridge but they saw a very handsome man coming towards the place where they were, who seemed to be Mastar to four others that accompanied him, and friend to another that was in discourse with him. Things at Rome were in such a posture at that time, that nothing happened which gave not some occasion of fear and suspicion, so that Brutus and his friends stayed at the Bridge-foot, to see the stranger come up, and to ask him what he was. But being come a little nearer, Amilcar knew him, as having seen him at Syracuse, when Artemidorus, Zenocrates, and he were there. So that being one he had a great esteem and affection for, he turned to Brutus, I beseech you give me leave to acquaint this illustrious stranger who you are, for he is a man of as great worth as any in the world. Whereupon Amilcar went and met him, whom he had spoken of to Brutus, who had no sooner known him, but coming up close to him, they embraced each other, as such as between whom there was much friendship and affection. What happy fate favours me, says Amilcar to Themistus (for so was he nameed) that I have the happiness to see you at Rome? It had been more pertinently spoken, replies Themistus if you had asked by what misfortune it came to pass, that I am not at Syracuse; but how e'er it be, I am not a little glad to see you. Whereupon Themistus presented one of his friends to Amilcar, whose name was Meleagenes; but Amilcar knowing that Brutus, Octavius, and Herminius, were staying at the Bridge-foot, he told Themistus who they were that he saw there: so that entreating him to present himself to Brutus, as a person whom his misfortunes forced to Rome for refuge, Amilcar gave him that advice in that obliging way he used, when he had a mind to do a good office. He therefore presented Themistus and Meleagenes to Brutus, who received them with much civility, he having before acquainted him that they were persons of quality, and withal of extraordinary merit. He also made them salute Octavius and Herminius, and got them to lodge where he did. And though the dignity of Consul required that all this company should have waited on Brutus' home, yet would he not suffer it, for the house where Amilcar then lodged, being in a street called Lovestreet, and in the way to that wherein Brutus lived: this generous Roman left the strangers there, after he had proffered them any civility that lay in his power. Themistus and Meleagenes were very loath to obey him, but having told him that he went not directly home, they stayed with Amicar and Octavius, and Herminius followed Brutus.  
But having brought him to the place where he was to go, they returned to Amilcar's to give these strangers a visit, whose complexion and deportment had raised in them a great opinion of them. Besides that, having discovered by the compliment, that Themistus had made to Brutus, that he lay under some cloud of misfortune, they were glad of that occasion to offer them any service that lay in their power. Thither they come, and find Amilcar, according to his manner offering them whatever he thought worthy their acceptance. I beseech you, says he to Themistus, tell me freely what you would have me to do for you; for certainly there are but few things which I cannot do here. In the first place, I have such generous friends at Rome, and among the rest, Herminius, that I dare offer you what is theirs, as if it were my own. Next if you are sad, and desire to be comforted, I shall not only offer you all the merry humours I am Master of, but there shall be at your service that of the merriest lass in the world; nay, what is more than all this, all the pleasures that Rome can afford. If you would drive away one affection with another, I will bring you to Ladies whom never any left, but they carried love away with them; for if you are not inflamed when you see them, you will be when you leave them. If on the contrary you desire solitude, I will bring you into the enchanted Grove, where the Nymph Aegeria inspired the wise Numa: nay, I will bring you to the foot of that tree where Remus and Romulus were found and where your solitude will be so great that you shall hear no noise but that of your own sighs, if so be you are in an humour to sigh. In a word, added he smiling, whatever may be your humour, I offer you friends that shall comply therewith, for there are a sort of gallant people here, some fortunate, some unfortunate. There are those that love, and those that do not; there are Lovers that are well treated, and others that are slighted; Lovers in mourning, and Lovers in mirth; and to tell you all in few words, what cannot be had in Rome, cannot be had any where.  
You offer me so many things at the same time, replies Themistus, that I know not what answer to make you; and all I can say, is, that what I desire at the present, is your friendship, and the esteem of your Friends. I have friends of the other sex whom you must also see, replies Amilcar, for if you desire only the esteem of such as are my friends, 'twere but fit I visited not so often some persons I am taken with, and whom you will be, when you are acquainted with them. Not but I very well remember, that when I knew you at Syracuse, you were called the indifferent and insensible Lover. Alas, replied Themistus sighing, those names were not fit for me, though it be true they were given me, and if you were to go now through Syracuse, you would hear such things of me, whence you would soon infer that I deserved them not. 'Tis true, added Meleagenes, you had the art of concealing your passion, and so you might with more justice have been called the Secret-lover, or the close-lover, than the insensible or indifferent. How replied Amilcar, were you in Love when I was at Syeacuse, I was so, replies Themistus, and I am at this present no more than I was then, though I am the most amorous of all mankind. Were it not unhandsome to raise matter of dispute with an illustrious stranger, replied Herminius smiling, you would find here such as should pretend to be as amorous as yourself. But it is in this case as it is in point of common sense, whereof every one thinks he hath as much as another. Octavius hearing Herminius speak after that rate, sighed out of the very thought that he could bear no part in this discourse, it being not lawful for him to speak of the flame had set him on fire, and whereof there were haply some embers left in the bottom of his heart, though he ever and anon did all that lay in his power to quench it.  
As the conference that happened between these four illustrious men proved very long, so had they thereby the time to know one the other sufficiently to ground an esteem; nay there was such a sympathy between Themistus and Herminius, that they entered into a strict friendship that very day. They had some discourse of Artemidorus and Zenocrates, who were their common friends, and they spoke to one another with abundance of confidence ere they parted. The next day Amilcar and Herminius brought Themistus and Meleagenes to Brutus, to Valerius, to Sulpicia, to Valeria and Caesonia; but by the way, Amilcar acquainted them who were in love, and who were not, that so they might the better disengage themselves from those several companies. Themistus and Meleagenes gained the esteem of all that saw them. And yet Themistus seemed to groan under a little Melancholy, which yet was guided by his reason; but all hindered not but that he was looked on as a very lovely person. For Themistus wanted not any thing that might recommend him to the Ladies; as being of an excellent good complexion, and having a certain gallantry and freedom of air in the face. He spoke as it were by weight, and he was naturally very inclinable to civility and compliance, and yet expressed with all his countenance somewhat that was great, nay, indeed something of fierceness. For these qualities were all the Ladies that saw him, much taken with him, so far, that they were infinitely desirous to understand the adventures of a person so excellently handsome. His language was not very pure, as having I know not what accent of half - Greek half - African, which was not unpleasant. For Meleagenes though he were a very proper and very ingenious person; yet was not there so much curiosity of having any account of him, because his discourses discovered he was acquainted with no other misfortunes than those of his friends. Octavius was for his part infinitely desirous to know the misfortunes of such as were in love, only to see whether there were any as unhappy as himself, for he thought all that time, that a man whom death had deprived of his Mistress, were less miserable than himself, that was become Brother to the person he loved. So that Amilcar was prosecuted by his friends of both sexes, for an account of the adventures of Themistus. For my part says Plotina one day, (there being in place only Valeria, Themistus, Meleagenes, Herminius, and he) if you do not order things, so that I may know what hath brought so amiable a stranger to Rome, you shall never precisely know what I esteem I have for you. Nay then, I beseech you, says Amilcar to Themistus, be pleased to satisfy the curiosity of the excellent Plotina, and expose me not to a perpetual ignorance of what it so much concerns me to know. If Plotina could but guests at some part of my misfortunes, she would not desire the full relation of them, replied Themistus, for being of a mirthful disposition, she will find no great diversion in my sadnesses. Another's melancholy, replies she smiling, signifies commonly so little to those that know it, that you need not fear I shall be too much cast down at yours. 'Tis not Madam, replied Themistus, so much out of any fear of troubling you, but out of that of not diverting you; and to do this latter, I cannot imagine the relation of my life can contribute much. Ah! Themistus, cried she, I see well you never had the pleasure to do your own will, since you are not sensible of the great satisfaction it were to me to be informed of a thing I am infinitely desirous to know. 'Tis indeed a great pleasure for a man to do what he pleases, replies Themistus, but I wish your satisfaction were so limited, as that you would content yourself with an account of Syracuse, and that you would oblige Amilcar, Meleagenes, and myself, no farther than to give you a description thereof, without requiring any relation of my life. Not that it is at this day any secret in Sicily, but that I finding myself far from any inclination to do it. So you but give your consent, replies Meleagenes, the fair Plotina may easily be satisfied; for you know I am acquainted with your life as well as yourself. If it be so, says Valeria to Themistus, methinks you should not deny Amilcar a thing whereby he might come to learn what place he hath in Plotina's heart. And that so much the rather, added Herminius, for that your adventures are generally known in the place where it concerned you, more they should not then it does here. If I must comply with the desires of Plotina and Valeria, replies Themistus, I shall beg it as a boon, that Amilcar may describe the most eminent persons of our Court, and particularly the Ladies: for since he knows not which I am in love with, as being of an opinion I was insensible of any when he was at Syracuse, I shall be extremely pleased with the Character of the person that hath subdued my heart, and thence to convince you, that I am not prepossessed by my passion, it being impossible he should not describe her; that is, commend her proportionably to her deserts.  
If you love a woman, replies Amilcar, but without any hope of ever being regarded or acknowledged, it must certainly be the admirable Amalthaea, who is the most attractive, the most amiable, the most virtuous, and the most accomplished woman in all Sicily, for I dare not say in the world, before two that now hear me. But if you love a widow, you must infallibly affect the Princess of Himera, who may justly pretend to whatever is excellent, whatever is inviting, whatever is gallant in this world. For Amalthaea, replied Themistus, he that would love her, must run the hazard of dying in despair; for though she owns whatever can make a woman admirable, yet hath she not that whence a man can take the least encouragement to venture his affection upon her, amazement, respect, and friendship, being the infallible and ordinary effects of her desert. But in fine, without discovering myself, or telling you whom I love, do you describe the Ladies of the first magnitude, that shine in the Court of Syracuse, to see if those that are here present, will be able to guests which of them I am in love with, as also give me the satisfaction to hear the praises of the person I adore, without any suspicion of preoccupation. I shall obey you, replies Amilcar, conditionally you give your consent that Meleagenes may relate your History. He must needs grant that, says Plotina; but first, be pleased to let me know what kind of creature this Amalthaea is, whom he makes so amiable, and yet such as a man may not presume to love. For my part, I cannot see how a woman can have all those charms which you make her Mistress of, and that it should be impossible a man should have the confidence to adore her. If she be humoursome, severe, and melancholy, she is not to be so much commended; and if her virtue be civilised, and that she really own all you attribute to her, she may be loved whether she will or no, for the inclinations of the heart are not to be diverted. If you would have a draught of her, says Amilcar, you must tell me whether you would have it for the Pocket, or the Parlour, that is great or small. If a small one will satisfy you, I should soon have done, but you shall not see her perfectly, but if large, you shall be as well acquainted with her as if you had seen her. For though I stayed but four months at Syracuse, I am as well read in that Court, as if I had spent my whole life there. For my part says Valeria, I am not for small pictures; nor I neither, says Plotina, and I wish, were my own to be done, it should be so exact, as not to want a certain little mark you see upon my cheek, and which I think adds not a little to my beauty. Begin then, says Herminius to Amilcar, for if you run through the whole Court of Syracuse, we must not this day expect the life of Themistus. Since it is not fit I should be an auditor, of my own History, repyled he, you shall stay for it till to morrow, when Meleagenes shall be at the trouble to give it you. Since it must be so, says Plotina, Amilcar must prepare himself to draw us as many Pictures as may serve to furnish a Gallery. And I expect farther, that he should chequer it with those of men as well as Ladies; for it is my persuasion, that as there is greater pleasure in company when there is a mixture, so Pictures, when there are many, raise greater delight, if there are men and women, than if there were only the Pictures of women without any men. You are very much in the right, excellent Plotina, replies Amilcar, but I am to tell you, that my humour is such, that I am as extravagant in painting as in love, and that you are not to wonder, if being about the picture of a Lady, I will give you a draught of the situation of her house, if the humour takes me, or the description of her Garden. For that, says Plotina, I shall easily pardon you, for such kinds of descriptions do only fill the imagination with things that are pleasant and divertive: but what I should think unpardonable in you, were to be too punctual in giving us an account of their predecessors, whose Pictures you give us; for there is no great pleasure in opening all those ancient Monuments, to make a resurrection for a sort of people we have nothing to say to, and are good for nought. Fear not, fairest Plotina, replies Amilcar, I shall trouble you with fruitless Genealogies; yet it is but fit you knew the quality of those that are spoken of. Very right, replied she, but you must not do as those who to acquaint you with the loves of some beauty, would keep you an hour with stories of the Heroic acts of her Predecessors. I have already told you, that I shall not be guilty of any such importunity, answered Amilcar, and for that reason I shall not raise up those prodigious Giants who were the first inhabitants of Sicily. Not but that, to deal freely with you, a man that makes a relation, is many times glad to take occasion to discover his knowledge in History and Geography; but indeed, all considered, you deserve a man should be reserved.  
I am then to tell you, that the Court of Syracuse, is one of the noblest in the world, as well in regard it is the most chequered with several Nations, as that it is the most inclined to gallantry. But since Amalthaea makes not one of those Ladies, among whom Themistus would have us to find him a Mistress, I think it but fit to describe her first, as a person that indeed admits no parallel. Amalthaea then is a person of extraordinary perfections, and so meridian a virtue, that there cannot rationally be found any thing comparable to her: Her birth is certainly very noble; but she is so much to be celebrated upon her own account, that we need not run into any discourse of the Princes from whom she is descended, to look for any thing whence she might derive any advantage. So that for what concerns her, I shall easily follow the advice of the amiable Plotina. But the very memory of her being infinitely delightful to me, I cannot but celebrate her for some things, for which she defies all commendations, though she very much deserves it. For as her sentiments are extremely above the ordinary sentiments of those of her Sex, so it is a part of her knowledge, that the mind is to be preferred before all beauty, but she also knows as well that the heart is above the mind. Were she to hear me herself, I durst not tell you she were excellently handsome, and infinitely amiable; nay I have such a reverence for her, that I durst hardly assure you that she is fair, and hath a good complexion. And therefore judge of it yourselves, when I have in few words described her to you. Amalthaea is tall; of an obliging countenance, at the first cast of your eye she hath a gallant presence, noble and courteous; yet a little reserved when she entertains persons that are indifferent in her esteem. But when she pleases herself, she is guilty of a certain mirth, insinuation, sweetness, compliance, nay gallantry, in her entertainment of persons that she is taken with. Not that she ever degenerates into that lowness, as to flatter any one: but there are certain charms in her gestures, such as so well express what she would have you to think, that you are sometimes absolutely satisfied with her, though she be not at the least pains to make you understand what she would have of you. But to return to her person; her Hair is of a light chestnut colour, the fairest in the World; her eyes grey, large, full of spirit, and that such as scatters abundance of sweetness. Nay upon some occasions, were it not that the high virtue whereof she makes profession, had not accustomed her eyes not to discover all those pleasant things with whatever is delightful in this world, gives her occasion to think on, they would haply betray the mildest and most ingenious malice that could be. For the compass of her face, it is in a manner Oval, a delicate skin, a smile infinitely inviting, and as I have said she hath the best countenance in the world, and the best grace that can possibly be. 'Tis true, I speak improperly there, for whoever hath a good countenance, hath infallibly a good grace, it being impossible but they should be together. And yet the excellencies of her person is not all I have to commend in Amalthaea, for her great understanding, her great heart, and her great virtue, distinguish her much more from all other of her Sex. For the first, there is one thing in her, that is an infallible argument of the greatness of it, that is an universal curiosity for whatever she thinks good or excellent, from the least things to the greatest, whether they be such as it is allowable for Ladies to know, or such as concern the noblest Arts, Works, Architecture, Painting, Gardening, particular secrets, and thousands of other rarities, which it were too long to insist on. But what is best of all, is, that she will not pretend to the knowledge of any thing she understands not. On the contrary, she avoids the affectation of knowledge and wit; nay she makes a secret of her curiosity, and you find not in her chamber but such works as are ordinary with persons of her Sex. But what she hath been most earnest to learn, is, whatever might make her more virtuous; she was certainly born to a certain freedom of spirit, though her temperament seem to have a little ingredient of Melancholy, but it is a mild melancholy, that disturbs not the calmness of her disposition, and hinders her not from delighting in those ingenious things she either hears from her friends, or speaking abundance herself, when she will put herself to the trouble, and that she is among a few that she hath a greater esteem for than others.  
Amalthaea hath farther the happiness of having made early discoveries, that the greatest part of the pleasures that young people take, are but vain trifles, so far that she cannot be over-commended, as to that point; for without turning savage, or being severe towards others, she hath discarded magnificence in point of clothes, at a time when that passion is wont to be most predominant in the Sex. She hath given over going to Balls, she admits not fruitless and dangerous visits, how pleasant soever they may seem to those who have not their spirits balanced as hers; and she professeth such a purity of virtue, and a generosity so Heroic, that she makes it her greatest pleasure to find out occasions to relieve the unfortunate. I know a Gentlewoman at Syracuse, who was no sooner known to this admirable woman, but she did her extraordinary favours, without any other reason than that of her unhappiness, and that she had haply goodness enough to deserve a better fortune. Amalthaea's greatest pleasures consist in the regulation of her passions, in giving good example to those that see her, in doing all the good she can, in living with Anaxander, as the chastest wife in the World can do with a Husband, whose quality is that of the greatest, one that carries about him a thousand excellent endowments, and among the rest, generosity, goodness, magnificence, integrity, and an infinite affection for her. But to conclude, the pleasures of Amalthaea, she order her House with abundance of discretion, she looks herself to the education of her Children, and serves the Gods with admirable exactness. In a word, I do not think that the first Vestals that were established at Rome, were more careful to preserve the sacred fire; than Amalthaea is to observe whatever Religion requires of her. Would you go from her business to her recreations; she is much given to reading, she is excellent good at all manner of Works; she designs, she paints Dishes to adorn her Closet, she makes mixtures of flowers in order to Perfumes, nay she diverts herself in putting innocent tricks upon her friends, but it is to surprise them into delight, and to oblige them. And though she is a greater lover of solitude than of company, yet is she not guilty of the least harshness towards those of her Sex that are her friends. Her company is infinitely pleasant, and the great liberality she exercises on so many unfortunate people, hinders not, but that she lives to the height of her condition, so to comply with custom. Hence is it that her house affords whatever magnificence guided by virtue, can pretend to that, is most stately. and the Palace of Anaxander, which lies upon the Port of Syracuse, is one of the most sumptuous things in the World. The apartment thereof which Amalthaea hath for her lodgings, is so pleasant, that nothing can be more; for besides many rare things that are level with the ground, there are artificial Rocks, and Grots represented, as also magnificent Cabinets, and a Belcony, whence may be seen the Port, the Ships that ride in it, and the greatest part of the City: and yet Anaxander and Amalthaea have a house about twenty miles from Syracuse, which blasts, as I may so say, the beauty of that, and is the most delightful and most incomparable thing in the world. For to speak rationally, a man cannot well say, whether this House be in a valley, upon a plain, or upon a hill: for it hath about it Rivers large and magnificent, Moats full of running water, Currents, Meadows, Wood, and a vast extent of ground. On the one side it seems to be in a plain; on the other it seems to be on a hill, and yet it may most truly be said to be almost in the midst of a pleasant valley, drenched by a great and a small River, whereof the sight is very admirable. I shall not give you any large description of this house, for I should never have done, should I speak of the outer parts of this enchanted Palace; that is, should I represent to you the spacious walks leading to the great River: should I give you an exact account of the length and breadth of the Avenues; the largeness and beauty of the Orchards, the coolness and umbrage of the Wood, which lies within the compass of its walls, the magnificence of that first Court which is octangular, and hath two stately Gates, and the beauty of three sumptuous sides of the building, which are seen as you come into the Court. Nor shall I trouble you with a description of the Entry, nor the Staircase, nor particularise the great number of noble and large Apartments that a man sees there, and which are so neatly disposed and contrived, that they are as remarkable for their convenience as their beauty. Nor shall I say aught of the largeness of the Halls in particular, of the magnificence of the Gallery, the handsomeness of the Balconies, and a thousand other things worthy to be taken notice of, and which very much discover the neatness, the magnificence, and the conduct of those that are Masters thereof. But I shall only tell you, that this House, which as I said, is in a Valley, is nevertheless upon a little ascent, in regard of the prospect that lies on the Garden side, where there is a bridge to pass over the large and magnificent Moats I told you of. So that when a man stands in the Belcony, that is in the middle of this proud building, he sees beneath him those large Moats, full of excellent water, beyond which lies a pleasant green bank, out of which he comes into a spacious place, of a vast extent, enclosed by two great Currents, the one born up by Arch-work, the other running on the flat, beyond which, as well as beyond the spacious place, passes a small River, which having played the serpent among the Meadows fringed with Willow, seems to make another channel passing before the Garden, and those other Currents, for in that place it is as straight as an Arrow. And what's most remarkable, is, that assoon as it is passed that place it becomes a River again, if I may so express it, that is uneven in its course, till it disembogues itself into the great River which passes on the left hand, and makes a kind of an Island of the Valley, so that there being no Wall to the Garden on that side, as being enclosed only by the River, a man may with the same sight, see the Moats, the Banks, the Currents, the falls of waters beyond the Garden, falling into green Meadows; and beyond all this the little Rivers, Meadows, Hills, Cottages, Country-houses, Villages, and Mountains, which insensibly rising above one another, seemed to reach up to Heaven, such a confusedness doth distance cause in objects. But as the piety of Amalthaea and her illustrious husband shines in all they do, so was it the founder of a Temple in their house, which is the noblest and most admirable part thereof. 'Tis indeed a Masterpiece of Architecture, the charge was certainly great, but the Workmanship is so miracalous, that a man cannot say it hath been excessive. 'Tis true, that a punctilio of honour added much to the perfection of this Temple, for the excellent Architect that did it, took his model from that of Ephesus, out of an expectation to be employed to rebuild that magnificent Temple of Venus, that is at Ericium. But the late Prince of that place having preferred another Architect before him, and Anaxander having employed him, he engaged his reputation to do that in a small compass, which he should have done in a great: So that I look on this Temple as the most miraculous thing I have seen in all my travel. For though it be but little, yet hath it all the advantages of the best architecture, and that without confusion, but in order.  
But to return to Amalthaea, I am to tell you, that for those Ladies that come to her house, she gives them all the innocent freedom that may be, insomuch, that they can hardly be persuaded, but that they are at their own house. 'Tis true, those whom she gives this liberty to, are persons chosen out, who are all ingenious, all virtuous, and of more than ordinary desert. Among others, there is a Niece of Amalthaea's that lives with her, who, as young as she is, makes this pleasant desert, yet more inviting; for she hath the freshness of Aurora in her complexion, the innocency of the Graces in her Physiognomy, and I know not what of Diana in her eyes; and what does very well with Youth and beauty, she hath Wit, Discretion, and Goodness. Amalthaea does also very often entertain some men of her friends, such as deserve that glorious quality, and whom I shall one day give you an account of: but since it is not among them, that we are to find Themistus' Mistress, I shall not meddle with them at the present, and shall only ask you by the way, how you like Amalthaea. She seems so lovely to me, replies Plotina, that I would go purposely to Syracuse to see her.  
And for my part, says Valeria, I cannot but a little envy those, who have the happiness of her friendship. And for mine, added Herminius, I think there's no Prince in the world that may not repine at the happiness of Anaxander, were it not that he highly deserves it; for certainly there is no pleasure like that of having such a Wife. Were you acquainted with her yourself, replies Themistus, you would be more taken with her than you are. But it is Amilcar's business to describe to you the other Ladies of our Court, for I am impatient till you have her description that I love. But if I should forget her, replies Amilcar, you were finely served; I defy you as to that, replies Themistus, for I think it impossible a man should see her once, and not remember her eternally.  
Since it happens sometimes, that a man falls in love with Queens, it is not impossible, but that you may have loved the Prince of Syracusa's Wife, though you were his favourite; for Love, where he comes, is a little humoursome god, who laughs at all mortality, policy, and prudence; and such as makes a man love in spite of his reason, and contrary to his own concernments. I shall therefore at a venture tell Plotina and Valeria, that Demarata is a fierce Beauty, yet hath withal a certain mixture of mildness, spirit, and disdain in her eyes. Her hair is perfectly black, she is somewhat of a duskish complexion, having Lips incarnated, very white Teeth, a very handsome Breast, a very neat Hand, and a noble Presence. She is infinitely ingenious; but her Wit is not always of the same weight, and is a little inclining to ambition. She hath a Soul that is very passionate, whatever she desires, she desires violently, and she knows as well how to disguise her Sentiments, as any one whatsoever; for when she will undertake to do it, a man will think she loves those she hates, and hates those she loves: but, all this notwithstanding, she is very likely to raise love in any one. Yet do I not believe that Themistus hath received any from her, but should rather think that a certain young Lady of my acquaintance at Syracuse, called Belisa, may have smitten his heart, for she hath all the charms fit to engage a man into affection. She comes of a very noble house, though ill treated by fortune, and the changes introduced by the Wars, even into the noblest Families. She is flaxen-haired, fair as to complexion, and excellently well made; and though the lineaments of her face do not at all express any extraordinary beauty, yet are they all pleasant; and from the conflux of all those lines, there issues a certain inexpressible air, which hath more charms in it, than the greatest beauties have. For she hath a thousand pretty gestures taught her by nature from her infancy, which become her admirably well, and whence there is derived a certain sprightliness to her whole body. Her eyes are full of it, her smiles betray it, and it is visible in all her actions. Nay, there is a certain gallantry, in whatsoever she does or says, and by a certain conjunction of whatever is handsome and virtuous, there is made up a complacency that cannot well be expressed. For, whether she speak, or whether she harken, she is ever infinitely pleasant, and there is something that is so delicate in what she is pleased to bestow her thoughts on, and what she says, and she hath such subtle apprehensions of what others say, that she is as it were a charm to all those that are near her. Insomuch, that though she speak against Love, she is ever attended by thousands of Lovers, who make all slaves about her. And yet she seems to be unwilling they should be such, and desirous to knock off their chains; for she makes a particular profession to be extremely tender of her reputation; but while she endeavours to knock them off, she makes them faster; Some say, it happens when she never thinks on it; others, that sometimes she takes a certain pleasure in making these miserable wretches; how e'er it be, it is but too true that she makes a many unfortunate men; nay, at this hour all the world complains of her cruelty.  
And yet it is the most lovely cruelty in the world, for there's nothing in it that is frightful, savage, or uncivil; Nay, sometimes there needs no more in her, than but a scornful smile, to make a man more wretched than another should, with menaces, injuries, and incivility. Besides, that which puts all that love her into despair, is, that she hath a certain friendship for those Ladies that are of her acquaintance, not much unlike Love itself, especially for one called Melisera, a person of extraordinary merit, such indeed that I dare not give you a representation of her. For in a word, she hath all the wit in the world within herself, if I may use that expression, but I mean that illuminated wit, that is capable of all things, that merry wit that would be pleasantly malicious, were it not bridled by reason; that discreet wit, which makes one never to say, but what one would, nor to do but what one ought. Judge then, how a person of so much worth may be esteemed, who yet, besides what I have said, is of a noble birth, is a great beauty, hath abundance of virtue, and no less generosity.  
For my part, says Plotina, I think her as worthy to be Themistus' Mistress, as Amalthaea to be his Friend. She is indeed a very admirable person, replied Meleagenes, but the conquest of such a woman, were a very hard business; but Amilcar hath not yet said all he hath to say. If Themistus could fall in love with a pretty coy Lady, that loves abundance of talk, replies Amilcar, I know one at Syracuse, that must infallibly be his Mistress, for she is extremely fair, hugely amiable, full of sweetness, and invitation. She hath a wit made suitable to her inclination; it is not guilty of too much solidity, for it is not ordinary for great talkers to have any of that kind; but it ever sparkles, it pleases, its full of mirth and insinuation, and this very persons who flatters flowers where ever she comes, and takes in hearts where ever she meets them, makes such pleasant sport with them, that a man never leaves her unsatisfied, though it be troublesome to him to be so long fooled with a fruitless hope in so much company. You give us the draught of a very strange prattle-box, replies Plotina, but for change sake, let us have the picture of a gallant man of Syracuse, were it only to see whether I can guests at the Rivals of Themistus, as well as I pretend to have done at his Mistress.  
You shall be obeyed, says Amilcar, and that so much the rather, because it being unlikely you shall ever see him I am going to represent, I shall not need fear he will be my Rival. You are very cautious, replies Herminius. Believe me, says Amilcar, a man cannot be too cautious in Love; and it is better be so too much than too little, even in point of Gallantry. But to return to him I am to speak of; Know there is a person of quality in the Court of Syracuse, called Meriander, a man that deserves so particular a character, as being master of an extraordinary virtue, that it were certainly much injurious to him, should a man simply say of him that he is nobly born, an understanding man, and an honest man. For certain it is, that he hath thousands of excellencies which may well distinguish him from, and set him above the most considerable in the Court of Syracuse. Meriander is a proper person, of a fair stature, and a good countenance; he is flaxen haired, hath a grey eye, mild, yet full of spirit. His Face is somewhat long, his Physiognomy sweet and noble, in a word, he wants not any thing requisite in a person of his condition. He hath not only a clear understanding, but also full of gallantry, civility, and compliance. All his inclinations are so noble and generous, that it is hard to find a person of more honour, more fidelity, more sincerity, more discretion, and more true virtue.  
Besides, he is as it were, born Master of all the nobler Arts and Sciences. Yet would he persuade his female friends, that he hath had no Tutor but the Court and Nature: But howe'er it be, he knows all that others learn, and knows it equally with those that have studied it most. In a word, Meriander is acquainted with all those things that require wit, subtlety, gallantry, and civility. In the first place he is versed in that which they call the knowledge of the world, more than any other can be; and that decency wherein the civility of the Court consists, he is so well read in, that no man can be more. Were there an Art that should teach men the infallible way to join civility, wit, noble liberty, mirth, innocence, pleasures, virtue and gallantry, no man could undertake it but he; so true is it that Meriander is well instructed, in whatever may make up a noble Courtier. He is not like those persons of quality, who love those things that are handsome, though they neither know them nor can do them; no, he is versed in all, he writes a very excellent style in Prose, and that very natural; and he makes verses so good and handsome, that they cannot be over-commended: For he fancy's things very neatly, and his expression is so gallant, that it is easily seen that there are few in the world could do what he does. All which hinders not, but that Meriander is serious enough, nay, he makes a great profession of wisdom, though that be no Court virtue: but his wisdom admits a mirth so full of spirit, that it might be said, he is made for no other end than to entertain, and be entertained by his female acquaintances. He knows Music after Orpheus' his way, though nature hath not afforded him any good voice; and yet he makes such good Airs, and excellent Sonnets, that it may be said he hath in his head, whatever is most sweet and passionate in Harmony, and whatever is gallant and delicate in Poesy. He dances admirably well, he designs rarely, he hath studied Painting and Architecture, and he hath made the design of a Building, which hath all the beauties of others, and yet are they nothing like it. Among other things, he hath designed in it, a certain place arched coupelo-wise, which he hath made purposely for the Ladies. The Sun never shines into it, and being enlightened only by false lights, falling from the Apartments that encompass it, it hath a gentle light fit for beauties and private meetings. And it is so much the more convenient for the Summer, in that it is extremely cool, having divers Hollows wherein the cool and the shade very much favour those that are desirous to meditate. To be short, Meriander is admirable in all things, for he loves Gardens, and understands them so well, as if he affected nothing but solitude, and yet when he is at Syracuse, it might be said he could not live one day in the Country without weariness. He sees whatever is polite, sprightful, rare, and gallant. There is no news, either of more or less consequence, but he knows it; all the excellent and virtuous of both Sexes are of his friendship, so that in all entertainments he makes one; nay, he is a particular friend, even to those women, who out of considerations of virtue, live as it were out of the world; he visits others that love nothing so much as tumult; and, not having the baseness to dissemble upon any man's account, he yet complies with persons of quite contrary dispositions. Add to this, that Meriander loves to deal freely, and acquaint those that he looks on as his true friends, truly with what he thinks; and yet there never was so great a hater of detraction, or more discreet, more obliging, more sweet-natured or more officious man towards all persons of worth, nor more unlikely to offend any one, and consequently, it were no easy matter to meet with a man more accomplished. This Meriander, says Valeria, would certainly be a very dangerous Rival. He is certainly a person of very much worth, added Plotina, but in point of gallantry, a little mischief does a great deal of good; and it is my opinion at least, that there are in love many cheats, that are as fortunate as these persons of worth and virtue. If it be so, I know one at Syracuse, replies Amilcar, that may pretend much to happiness, for he equally deceives those he loves, and those he does not. He abuses all he commends, and commends all he contemns. He puts truth into the Catalogue of imperfections, and thinks a man cannot be witty without lying; when he is at a loss for a story, he invents one; he father's those he knows, on such as do not so much as think on them. He thinks none his true friends, but such as he stands in need of; he prejudices all that cannot hurt him, and serves only those that can serve him again, With all these good qualities, he sings well, dances well, is witty, importunate, and whether you will or no, must be one of your friends. I' th' humour I am now in, replies Valeria, he should never be any of mine. I assure you, says Plotina, it would not trouble me much, if he were my neighbour; for such people make better sport than those, that are much more virtuous; but let us return to Themistus' Mistress. For my part, methinks she is long a coming, says Valeria; and I am in some fear, added Herminius, that Themistus hath made an ill choice, if she be not one of those that Amilcar hath described. And yet I am satisfied she is not, for I have not observed in Themistus' eyes that emotion, which a man hath when he hears his Mistress named.  
Then be sure now to look well on Themistus' eyes, says Amilcar to Plotina, for I am going to represent unto you the Mother of all Loves, when I give you the draught of the Princess of Himera, Sister to the Prince of Syracuse. Lindamira is certainly a person fit to conquer, even those hearts that being hard to be taken, stand upon their defence, and when they are, it is done with twice as much difficulty as others. At these words, Plotina, Valeria, Herminius, and Amilcar, looking on Themistus, perceived his colour to change, that his eyes betrayed that pleasant emotion Amilcar had spoken of. Insomuch that Plotina cries out, Ha! Themistus, said she to him, you love the Princess Lindamira. Whether I do or no, says Themistus, recovering himself a little, I am not to acknowledge, till Amilcar have said all he hath to say; for I would not have the praises, he shall give the person hath conquered me, be thought chargeable with the least flattery. For my part, says Amilcar I must needs tell you, I am weary of painting, and that I will conclude with the Picture of Lindamira. When you have finished that replies Herminius, Themistus I believe, will desire no more of you. I will do it then with abundance of care, answered Amilcar, and yet assure yourselves it shall be no flattered piece. It were no easy matter to flatter Lindamira, replied Themistus, and if you were not so admirable a Painter as you are, it would go very hard, but you would take away something from her. Howe'er it fall out, says Amilcar, this is the Picture of the Princess of Himera. Know then, that Lindamira is a Princess of 〈◊〉 much beauty, and such attractions, that the goddess that is adored in the famous Temple of Eri●●●, was never more lovely than she. Loves and Graces are her constant attendants; nay, the gods have endued this admirable Woman with so many things fit to kindle Adoration, that if one were to be cured of insensibility, there needed no more than one minutes sight of her, to make him sensible for all the rest of his life. You speak of Lindamira with such a transport of passion, says Plotina, that I fear me you are a little in love with her. Thanks to your attractions, and my disposition, replies Amilcar, I am not, but indeed I have been. And yet I dare assure you, without any pre-occupation, that the world affords not a person more likely to raise Love, even to the hazard of Reason. Tell us then briefly how she is made, replies Plotina, to see whether there may not be one amongst us may please, though it were merely out of some slender resemblance to her. I make no answer to what you say, replies Amilcar, for you know whom I am taken with; but to know Lindamira well, imagine that you see a person of an admirable Presence, such as at first sight captivates all eyes and all hearts; so beautiful does she seem to be. For before you have the time to examine all I am to tell you, there are so many different charms present themselves to the sight, that your admiration prevents your knowledge of her. 'Tis true, Reason comes immediately, and acts its part; for the more one sees the Princess of Himera, the more amiable he thinks her. In a word, besides the presence which she hath, very excellent and very noble, her hair is of a flaxen ashy colour, the fairest that ever I beheld; nay, it betrays such a particular beauty, that to give it its due, a man cannot positively say it is of a flaxen chestnut, or ashy colour, but confidently affirm there never was any thing so handsome. Lindamira's face is almost round, but the compass is so pleasant, that there cannot any thing be more. She is of a very fair complexion, hath an excellent mouth, the eyebrows somewhat fleshy and brown, her cheeks fair, the teeth white, and a smile the most sprightly in the World. Her eyes are black, sending forth their inevitable attractions: and it may be said without flattery, that there never was any, whose eyes and looks were more fit to command victories. For they discover mildness, understanding, goodness, subtlety, modesty, mirth, and languishingness; and what is yet more remarkable in the Princess of Himera, is, That she hath the noblest, the neatest, and the most fortunate Physiognomy in the world. Besides, she betrays such an excess of youth, that there may be seen on her face a certain flower of innocence, which adds infinitely to her charms; but what augments her beauty, is, that sometimes she is guilty of a lovely negligence, that becomes her so well, that nothing can stand out against it. For what is observable, is, that let her do what she pleases. it comes with a gallant grace, and a cheerful countenance, and that the most negligent action she may do, contributes something to make her appear more beautiful. In a word, if she bow down her head a little, she does it in such a way, as would make a man wish to have her so drawn. If she turn it towards you, you find in yourself a readiness to give her thanks for that favour, though she look not on you; and if she be in a melancholy posture, there is I know not what in the air of her countenance, which forces a man to wish himself the occasion thereof. But if she speak, she ravishes you; for besides that, though all she says be full of wit, and comes off handsomely well; yet there is something in her voice, which moves the heart as soon as it smites the ear. There is in it a certain sweetness and harmony, and I know not what kind of carelessness, such as I cannot express, so that I take a greater pleasure to hear her but speak, than to hear the best singing in the world. For matter of Breast, Lindamira is there also excellently well made; in a word, she is all over so gallant and lovely, that a man cannot forbear loving her.  
And yet, all this granted, it cannot be said that she knows herself to be handsome; so indifferent is she for all strange fashions, which those of her age are infinitely taken with; her Dress is commonly without any great curiosity, as needing no other ornament than that of her own beauty. The mere Graces of her person, are enough to prefer her above those, who make it most their business to be gorgeously attired. Not but that when she will be dressed, it becomes her admirably, and knows the art of doing it in the best manner; but for the most part she so far trusts her charms, that she will not be obliged to Art. For matter of understanding, it is not enough to say, that she is infinitely well furnished; for 'tis no such wonder to meet with women extremely witty, but there are in her disposition, in her soul, and in her conversation, the same charms as there are in her face. Further, Lindamira is fit for all sorts of persons, as having in her, as well mirth as melancholy, mildness, civility, an innocent malice, sincerity, generosity, virtue, fearfulness, modesty, gallantry, and compliance, not only for those that are so happy, as to serve or to please her, but even for such as are so confident as to importune her. For out of a certain principle of goodness and justice, when she thinks herself obliged by any one, she cannot possibly entertain any roughness for him, if he should afterward prove troublesome to her; and she would rather bear with those that she does not affect, than to do that which might give her occasion to reproach herself, with having done any one an incivility. Not but that she can well distinguish between those she sees, but she discreetly smothers the discontent she takes at those whom she cannot affect. Yet it is easy for those that know her well, to see whether her civilities are absolutely sincere or not, for there are certain accents in her voice, that weaken or add to the obliging sense of her words, suitably to the persons to whom she speaks. She hath such an Art in writing Letters, that those that receive them, are more satisfied therewith, than they should be, if they could sift out the meaning of her that writ them. For friendship, she pretends to be the most tender of it, of any in the world; hers is at least most pleasant and most convenient.  
I have an hundred other remarks to make on Lindamira's Picture, were it not, as I told you, for weariness, and that it is time you should guests at Themistus' Mistress. I think, says Plotina, we are to judge of it by Themistus' eyes; when the first mention was made of Lindamira: I am of the same opinion, says Valeria, For my part, says Herminius, I make no doubt of it, and now that I speak of her, I see by Themistus' face, that you are not mistaken. I must confess it, replied he; but do you also acknowledge that I am not unblamable for loving so excellent a Princess. Why should I not acknowledge what you would have me, when I maintain that no man's love is to be censured; for a man loves not to please others, but himself; and the choice of a Mistress ought to be as free as the choice of Colors. So that, as no body thinks it strange, that a man should prefer Sky colour before Green, and White before Red; so is it no more to be wondered, that some love Beauty, others Wit, others a good Nature, others greatness of Birth, since at last it comes to this, that every one loves what he is pleased with. There is nothing at the present, says Plotina, can please me so much, as the relation of the History of Themistus. You are never the nearer having it to day, replied he, for I am not in an humour, either to go hence, to hear my adventures, or to relate them. Be it then put off till to morrow, replies Valeria: Be it so, if Meleagenes please, says Themistus, for without him you are not like to know any thing that concerns me. If that be all, replied Meleagenes, the curiosity of these Ladies shall infallibly be satisfied: and yet can I not but be troubled, that so excellent an History must pass through my mouth; but I shall be a faithful Historian, and if I may be charged with want of Art, I will not be chargeable with any thing that is false.  
Hereupon this little company separated, promising to meet again the next day; but Valeria bearing a great affection to Clelia, and knowing she wanted diversion, brought her in, saying, she should take Themistus' place, who would not be there. And so Valeria having thus ordered things, Clelia, Plotina, Herminius, Amilcar, and Meleagenes, came the next day to her Chamber (Themistus staying away) where as soon as they had passed their first compliments, and every one taken his place, Meleagenes began his relation, directing his speech to Clelia, because Valeria, and Plotina would have it so.  

The History of THE MISTUS, and the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
Since my discourse is directed to persons that understand themselves infinitely well, and have been already acquainted with the qualities and dispositions of those whom I am to give them an account of, as also with the manner and customs of my Country; I shall not trouble you with things not worth the relation. But whereas Themistus is not absolutely known to you, I shall in few words, tell you, that he is come out of a very noble and very great House, which yet fortune had in process of time, deprived of the Estate belonging thereto; so that having a soul full of ambition from his infancy, he could not sit down with his present fortunes, but resolved to travel into strange Countries, where having shown himself a gallant man, he might return into his own, to see if he could restore his House to its former justre. He went at sixteen years of age, but e'er he was gone, had he made an innocent conquest, though he had not the least thought he had done such a thing. For Demarata, wife to the Prince of Syracuse, being then but ten years of age, had so violent an inclination for him, that all the women that were employed about her took notice of it. Having looked on her from the Cradle, as she that should marry the Prince of Syracuse, and that she was both Fatherless and Motherless: there was choice made of a woman of the highest quality, who proved to be Aunt to Themistus, to take care of her education: So that Themistus coming often to his Aunt, especially when she was in the Country, the young Demarata had seen him a thousand times, and had received from him a many little services. Those he yet did merely out of an officious nature, beside that, looking on her as a young Gentlewoman, that was to be one day his sovereign, a sentiment of ambition made him esteem her the more. But for Demarata, the love she bore Themistus, proceeded from a natural inclination, whence it came, she was more taken with him than any other; insomuch, that when he went to travel, she wept for him, though she were then but ten years of age, and for some time before his departure, spoke always with him in private. What is also very considerable, is, That Demarata had as much aversion for the Prince of Syracuse, whom she was to marry, as she had inclination for Themistus; so that she was seventeen years of age ere she could be prevailed with to marry him. This aversion was kept so secret, that the Prince never had the least suspicion thereof. But at last Themistus' Aunt persuaded Demarata, that persons of her quality were not married by choice, and that there was no sovereign Prince in our Island, whom it were more advantageons for her to marry, than Perianthus. So that this young Lady, who was apprehensive enough, fierce, and ambitious, suddenly resolving to marry the Prince of Syracuse, resolved at the same time to gain his affection; not out of any pleasure she took in being loved by him, but only to gain credit with him, and consequently in his Court. She therefore dissembled, and carried her business so cunningly, that she fired the Prince with the greatest Love that could be, and by that means came effectually to gain what power and interest she desired. During that time Lindamira, though she were a year younger than Demarata, was married to the Prince of Himera.  
But have I not heard, says Clelia, interrupting him, that Himera is a River that divides all Sicily? 'Tis very right, replied Meleagenes, and 'tis from the source of that pleasant River, that a proud Castle takes its name, belonging to the Prince whom Lindamira had married, merely forced to it by her Brother, she having not the least love or aversion for him. Nay, the Prince of Himera was so young when he married her, that, as handsome as she was then, it may be said She was a Wife 〈◊〉 she was a Mistress. So that being married before she had been much in love, and the familiarity of marriage having hindered the growth of affection, he lived well enough with Lindamira, and she with him, only because reason would have it so.  
In the mean time this excellent Princess, placed her greatest pleasures in the friendship of a Sister of mine called Mericia. She often visited Demarata, but as there was not a sympathy in their dispositions, so was not the friendship between them sound and sincere, though from all circumstances it might be thought they loved one another. For Lindamira, out of the respect she bore the Prince her Brother, was infinitely civil to Demarata; and Demarata, well versed in dissimulation, and withal, desirous to gain all she could upon the Prince, was no less to Lindamira.  
Things being in this posture, the Prince's wedding-day was set, and all prepared themselves at Syracuse, for that great solemnity, whereof the magnificence was to last eight days. So that all related to the Court, were taken up about some pleasant inventions, every one being, out of emulation, desirous to honour the Prince and Princess, by taking the honour of being at the charge of some particular magnificence. About four days before Demaratas marriage, the Prince of Himera getting upon an excellent horse, which he thought to make use of in a Race, that was to be soon after, the horse rose up before of a sudden, and fell down backward so violently that, being mortally hurt, he was the next day desperate of any recovery, and died the day that the Prince of Syracuse was to be married. It being but fit the Solemnity should be put off for some time upon this accident, it was so; but the Prince's love being at the height of violence, it was only put off for eight days, so that only the Princess of Himera was deprived of all enjoyments at that time. For, though she had for her Husband, but an affection merely grounded on Reason and Will; yet was she troubled at his death, out of resentments of humanity and decorum, and accordingly she stayed at home, without any other comfort than what she had from my Sister, who pretended herself not well, because she would not leave her, during the eight days of the Solemnity. Yet was it ordered that the Court should go into Mourning for the Prince of Himera, as soon as those eight days were over.  
I shall not trouble you with the magnificence of the Prince's marriage, which was solemnised in fight of all the people, in the spacious place of Acradina, at the foot of the Altar of Concord, which stands in the midst of it, where the Articles of Peace are Signed, when any War ceases. Not but that this Ceremony were well worth the relation and your hearing; but I have so many other things to entertain you with, that I shall not trouble you with this. I shall also go slightly over the greatest part of Demaratas Wedding; but must, for your better acquaintance with this Princess, tell you, that the night immediately before the Solemnity, she locked herself in a room with a woman she loved very dearly, called Amerintha, and that she discovered her thoughts to her. It hath been known since that she wept two hours, and confessed to her, that if she coudl have but resolved to die, she should have thought herself happy, so great was the aversion she had for Prince Perianthus. 'Twas indeed a groundless aversion; for he is a person, that, besides his understanding and magnificence, hath thousands of excellent endowments. But to be short, she could not o'ercome that natural aversion, and so, as I have told you, she wept two hours the night before her Wedding. However, she forced herself so admirably the next day, that the Prince thought she shared with him in all his pleasures, and that she was as well satisfied as he, so that there was nothing but continual rejoicing. The fourth day there was a Horse-race, the noblest in the World, but as they were ready to begin it, and that the Princess of Demarata, then called Princess of Syracuse, was upon a Scaffold attended by all the Ladies, who, according to the custom, were chosen to advise her when she should give the prize, there appeared a man of an admirable handsome Presence, mounted on an Isabella-coloured horse with a black mane, attended by six Africans with Colours of Silver, who, staying without the Lists, sent to the Princess to desire leave to run, and to pretend to the prize as well as others: for the Prince being among those that ran, and the solemnity being intended for Demarata, all the honours thereof were directed to her. He that desired the permission, had red, white, and green Feathers; his clothing was magnificent and gallant, and, it being then the custom to carry shields, for that after the Race there was a little skirmish to be, among those who pretended any interest in the prize, he had painted upon his, A Heart in the field, Or; with these words in the African Language,  
I am his that shall take me.  
In the mean time, a Gentleman that belonged to this lovely unknown person, came very submissively before the Scaffold, where Demarata was, which was covered with a magnificent pavilion, to desire in his Master's name the permission he was a suitor for: When you have given me his name that sends you, replied she, and his Country, I shall see what answer it will be fit to give you. Madam, replied the Gentleman, my Master hath the honour to be your Subject, and if you have not forgotten the name of Themistus, you know his. How, replied she, her colour changing, is he I now see, the same Themistus that left Sicily about seven years ago, and hath not been heard of since? The very same, Madam, replied he, 'tis he that desires your leave to participate of the glory of this day. Tell him, replied she, very resolutely, that I not only give him leave to pretend to the prize I am to give, but also wish that if the Prince ran not himself, that he might carry it.  
Upon this, the Gentleman retires to acquaint his Master with what the Princess had said. So that Themistus thanking her very submissively, by bending to the very pommel of the Saddle, he came in among those that were preparing to run. I shall not Madam, trouble you with the particulars of this Race, but assure you, that Themistus carried away all the honour of it, and that he was the most able, and the most fortunate of all that ran. Nay, he carried himself with such judgement that he was never in competition with the Prince of Syracuse, who observed it, and thought himself obliged to him. So that at last, the race and the skirmish ended, Perianthus having discovered who it was, took him and presented him to Demarata, to demand the prize she was to bestow.  
In the mean time, you are to know that this Princess had no sooner heard Themistus named, but that ancient inclination she had for him in her infancy, began to take fresh root in her heart, notwithstanding all the opposition she used. So that feeling an accustomed joy, she received Themistus from the Prince in the most obliging manner that could be. And without ask the advice of the Ladies that were about her, according to the custom she gave him the prize, saying, they had given him their consent, by their former commendations of him when he ran. Themistus on the other side, glad of the advantage he had over the young Courtiers, took on a more noble confidence, put on a certain majesty, and spoke more resolutely; in a word, he so carried himself, that he was thought worthy his birth, and a better fortune than he then had. Themistus was the subject of all the discourse that day; and there wanted not beauties, who made it their design to conquer his heart; he raised fear and jealousy in all that had Mistresses, and he had certainly all the reason in the world to be satisfied with what he had done that day.  
He came that night to the Ball, where he expressed no less experience and ability, than at the Race, his company was infinitely pleasant to all that enjoyed it, and Demarata her advantage of the ancient familiarity, wherein they had lived from their infancy, made him relate some of the adventures of his Travels. But for my part, I shall not acquaint you with them, for it is sufficient I tell you, that he had been in afric, Greece, and Asia; that he had by that means, learned abundance of excellent things; that he had done extraordinary things in the War; and that having gotten enough to put himself into a magnificent equipage, and to subsist on for one year, with a retinue proportionable to his high birth; his resolution was to see whether he could restore his House, through the favour of the Prince; and that if he could not do it, to return, and wander up and down the world, with a design never to return again into Sicily.  
Now having understood at his coming into it, that the Prince was to be married, he ordered things so as not to appear at Court, till the day of the Race, then to do that piece of gallantry, which hath proved so fortunate to him: For Perianthus finding in Themistus what he could not in any of the young Courtiers, began to affect him from that day, and to assure him he would have a care of his misfortune. But for Demarata, when she was alone, she was in some sort troubled at the return of Themistus. Was it not enough (said she to herself, as she hath repeated it since) for me to be so unhappy as to club fortunes with a Prince, for whom I have an invincible aversion; but I must see again a man, for whom I have such inclinations, as seven years' absence hath not been able to destroy? And yet these must I struggle with for my reputation sake; nay, for my quiet must overcome. Demarata therefore took this generous resolution, and omitted nothing in order to the execution thereof.  
On the other side, Themistus minding only his fortune, and forgetting in a manner, the inclination, Demarata had had for him in her infancy, did her a thousand devoirs, merely out of a consideration, that she had a great influence over the Prince, and his ambition advising him not to neglect any thing, he visited all the most considerable persons of the Court. Among the rest, he visited the Princess of Himera, whither he was brought by Meriander, with whom he had made friendship the very day of his arrival▪ For my part, I was accidentally at Lindamira's when he came in, by which means I became a witness of their first interview. It being not many days since that Princess became a Widow, and the first mourning being full of ceremony at Syracuse, her Chamber was hanged with black, all the windows were shut; it was enlightened by fifty Crystal Lamps, and in one corner of the Chamber, there was a Bed covered with a large Pavilion; tied up at the four corners with black Tassels, upon which, the fair Lindamira negligently leaned on Cushions, but in such sort, that without any affectation, one might see her hands, which were the fairest in the world. So that Themistus perceiving amidst so much black, a person that was young, beautiful, flaxen-haired, very fair, graceful, of a modest, sad, and civil deportment, it is not strange if he were taken with her, or that she offered his heart some violence. Lindamira spoke very little that day; but all she said was pertinent: nay, she sighed so languishingly two or three times, that she seemed the more lovely for it: and I must confess, though she be extremely inviting in what posture soever a man sees her, yet have I never seen her more fit to take a heart in an instant than that day. Nor indeed did she fail of Themistus', who being come to her Palace, only out of motives of ambition, left it with abundance of love. However, he kept this new born passion very secret, for the posture his fortunes were in, gave him not leave to discover what he felt. Besides that, though he doubted not but that the emotion of his heart was the effect of a growing love, yet was he in hope to be still master of his liberty. For my part, I observed, that Lindamira had smitten the heart of Themistus from that very day, for he looked after none but her, he hearked only to what she said, he entertained himself with her sight, and did a many things without considering what he did, whence I inferred, he was infinitely taken with Lindamira, and that he was a little at a loss to find her so beautiful and so inviting.  
Thus Madam, have you seen two originals of Love very different; Demarata was taken with Themistus, upon a day of public rejoicing, and in a magnificent equipage; and Themistus falls in love with Lindamira on a day of sadness and in mourning. This new Lover being desirous to smother this growing flame, spent all his time in visits, as well to men as to women. I brought him to the virtuous Amilthaea, to the lovely Melisera, to the amiable Belisa, and a many more. He visited also most men of quality, and made the best interest he could with the Prince: He was very much with Demarata, not thinking that the civilities he had then for her, inflamed in the heart of that Princess, an affection that should prove all the unhappiness of her life. During this time, he was many times desirous to return to Lindamira; and as many, his reason prevailing with him, he did not. On the other side Lindamira, who had my Sister still with her, and had not, as I told you, had time to raise any extraordinary structure of affection for the Husband she had lost, was in a short time comforted: Insomuch, that when there were not many about her, she permitted any one to relate what had happened at the magnificent solemnity of Demaratas Marriage. And whereas, what was most remarkable in it, was, the arrival of Themistus, all the Ladies that gave her any account of what had passed, entertained her with divers things of Themistus, celebrating him to the heavens, every one commending him according either to her inclination, or her capacity. For some commended the gracefulness of his person, others his activity; some his magnificence, others his dancing; and the most witty, his wit, his company, and his gallantry. Lindamira summing up all that others said of him, and adding what she knew of him herself, entertained a good opinion of Themistus, and was very ready to afford him her esteem. But he not having been to visit her, ever since the first time, she took notice of it, and asked my sister one day, smiling, whom he was fallen in love with? Why do you suppose he should be with any, replied she? Because, answered Lindamira, that being a person of so much honour as he is, he should have given me a second visit, if he be not extremely taken up; so that I conclude, that he is either fallen in love with some Beauty of our Court, or that he hates me. That he should hate you, says Mericia, it is impossible, and it might be more probably said, that he may stand in fear of you.  
You see, Madam, how Lindamira stood affected towards Themistus, who absolutely wedded to his ambition, thought he had dashed out that light impression which the charms of Lindamira had made in his heart. And indeed, the Prince of Syracuse treating him with extraordinary civilities, and all others looking on him as a new Favourite, he felt a certain joy that made him reflect on Love as a passion that should truckle under ambition, and such as could not in him subsist with it, as what would not be crossed by it, so that for some days he knew not the least disturbance. But at last, about a month after his return into Sicily, the time of Lindamira's private mourning being expired, and she at liberty to go abroad, she, according to the custom of Syracuse, made her first visit to Demarata, as wife to the Prince her Brother, being attended by a great number of fair Ladies, all in mourning. But to say truth, they were all eclipsed, in comparison to her that day, such charms did there appear in her person. For though her clothes were but simple and negligent, and she had only a large veil hanging carelessly down to the ground, whereof she held one corner pleasantly twining about the left arm, she was a thousand times more lovely, than any other could have been, with all the dressing imaginable. It being Themistus' fortune to be at Demaratas, when she came thither, he perceived she was as handsome in the broad day, as he had thought her in that night of mourning, when he had seen her before. So that he was more smitten than at the first time; and it happened so much the more fatally, in that Lindamira, having met his eyes, made a little sign with the head, obliging enough, as much as if it had been to say to him, I know you again, though I never saw you but once. Whereupon Themistus breaking the resolution he had taken, sought what he had resolved to avoid, and the next day made a visit to Lindamira. He came so betimes, that he found her alone, but he came thither with such agitations, as his heart could not master. However, at his coming in, he carried himself so as nothing could be discovered, and saluted Lindamira very respectfully, but it was she that first spoke, for she had no sooner seen him, but breaking forth, I thought, said she to him, you had fallen out with me for that I was the occasion of your going into mourning, and that accordingly you would see me no more. Alas! Madam, replied he, you have not only put me into a mourning, but you have also given me cause to mourn; for it is impossible a man can have the honour to be known to you; but he must be withal extremely troubled that he cannot rationally merit your esteem.  
I assure you, replied she very kindly, that if you meet with no other trouble, you will be the happiest man in the World; for I do not conceive myself so lost to discretion, as that I can be the only person in the Court that does not esteem you. What you say, Madam, hath so much insinuation, and withal so much gallantry in it, replied Themistus, that I fear me it is your design to make me forfeit my reason and something besides. This came from Themistus, with such a freedom, that Lindamira could not take any offence thereat; nor indeed did she answer it otherwise than as a gallantry expressed without design, and which she had deserved by the kindness she had expressed to Themistns, who thereupon stayed three hours with her, but with such entertainment as he had never known before. For whereas Lindamira hath a certain goodness shining in her face, which discovers the inevitable charms of her mind, he was amazed to hear her speak; and that particularly when the fair Melisera, whose Picture Amilcar gave you yesterday, being come to see her, began ingenuously to reproach her for so easily admitting all sorts of people to visit her. Heaven be praised, said she to her, as she came into the room, for so great a happiness as that of finding but one honest man with you, when you were wont to have a hundred persons about you, such as you neither care for, nor any body else, and yet you endure them without giving any good reason why. When Themistus is in a manner but a stranger in his own Country, replies Lindamira smiling, you will put him into a strange opinion of me, for he must needs believe that I make no distinction of people, and will think himself nothing obliged to me for all the kindnesses I have said to him before you came. Could I have guessed you had been so kind to him, replied Melisera, laughing with her, I should have been far from saying what I have. But to do you right, added she pleasantly, I must acknowledge before him, that you of all the World, are a person of most clear apprehensions, and most delicate in the discernment of things, and than whom none ever did better understand virtuous persons. But what I am nevertheless startled at, is, to see you take so much pleasure with those that pretend to the excellencies of the mind, and yet are withal so little troubled at certain persons that are not known, because one will not know them, and who are so importunate, that I think they are such to none but you, so carefully are they avoided by all those that have ever so little tenderness to their own satisfaction, and love not to be troubled. Whoever, says Themistus owns great perfections, and withal a great goodness, is more than any exposed to the importunity of troublesome persons. For the great perfections, replied Lindamira, I pretend not to them, but my quality is such, that it is not easy for me to avoid those that come to me. 'Tis very true, replies Melisera, but you may many times take such order as that you may not be found. For my part replies Lindamira, I must needs acknowledge, I am far from that inhumanity of being rough to those that come to see me; for is it not misery enough, that they can neither raise love, nor receive any; and that they are shaken off every where, but I must also persecute them? and methinks I do better to let them alone out of pity, than if I should take the pains to send them to some other place where they would be more troublesome than they are to me. For when I have any such about me, I think on something else, as if they were not near me; I reflect no more on them, than if I saw them not; and unless it be that I find them Chamber-room, give them leave to speak when they can, and answer them when I please; that I do not beat them, or laugh at them I neither oblige them, nor disoblige them. But you consider not, says Melisera, that it is your inviting complexion that draws them about you, and which deceives them; that a single smile is entertainment enough for two hours; and that you are obliged much more than any other, to be a little scornful, because there are a thousand things in your carriage, which without any design in you, make people swarm about you. But if I should remedy all those things, replied she, the effect of it would haply be, that I should scare away as well those that I am pleased with, as those I am not, so that I had much rather satisfy those I love, than displease those I do not. Besides, how would you have those miserable Souls disposed of, that are born to no merit, and cannot change their nature? They are ignorant of their having any, and you would have me by cyness and incivility, make them know so much: not but that I love as much as any one, to be private with two or three friends of my own sex; but say what you will, I have not the cruelty to force away even those that are importunate in their visits; nay, I am persuaded, it is an effect of goodness and justice. I must indeed acknowledge says Themistus, that what you say may proceed from some goodness, but I question whether it be always just that one should be always good to his own prejudice.  
On the contrary replied Melisera, speak truly, there is nothing so opposite to true goodness and true justice, than what this Princess does. For if she suffer any inconvenience, she derives it to all she loves, who must needs think it the greatest affliction that may be, to see her pestered with people that they care not for. Nay, she is the occasion that even these people take the less pleasure: for if all those that have any worth, would civilly disengage them out of their company, they would find out others that were inore consonant to their humour, and to whom their conversation were more supportable. Would you but teach me the art of disingaging these people civilly, replied Lindamira, it may be I should endeavour to do it, but I must confess I am absolutely ignorant in it. For my part, says Melisera, I think it no hard matter and conceive it a thing easier to be done, than to be persecuted by a sort of troublesome people. But how is it to be done, replies Lindamira? For all those you esteem not, replies Melisera, you are to have only a cold civility, which as it hath in it nothing that's inhuman, so hath it not any thing that is divertive. You are not voluntarily to contribute aught to their enjoyments, and for virtues sake you must forbear censuring them publicly. But when there is very particular company, says Lindamira, the least can be said of you, is, that you are very nice, that you are a little humoursome, or that you break forth into too much gallantry. This last reproach, replies Melisera, suits well with those who are guilty of a certain ticklish wit, yet live not as if they had any such; for those who make it their business to misconstrue things, imagine and affirm that one sees an hundred people if he hath seen but one, and never suspect they do my such thing. And therefore since it is impossible, one should not corrupt things that are most innocent when he is set upon it, the best course were to choose the side that is most convenient. Seriously; replied the Princess Lindamira, you would do me the greatest courtesy in the world, could you but furnish me with a little harshness for three or four women of my acquaintance, that so I may be absolutely what you would have me. If you were not so, replied Themistus, the fair Melisera would not be so much troubled at what you do. You are in the right, replies that excellent Lady, for if the Princess were less amiable than she is, she might be persecuted by the multitude without any bodies quarrelling at it. You are yet a stranger, and the Princess in mourning, and therefore you know not what torment it is to see her, so as not to be able to speak a word with her in private; but ere six months be past, you'll tell me more. Take a shorter time replied he, for without knowing whether the persons I hear in the outer room, are troublesome or not, I sit upon thorns till the company be broke up. Ah, Themistus, what affection do I owe you for being so much of my humour, replies Melisera, and how shall I think myself obliged, if you afford me your assistance to cure the Princess of an excess of goodness and compliance.  
Hereupon came into the room five women, though they came not at the same time into the Palace, and who seemed not to make that days visit to Lindamira, to any other end than to satisfy Themistus, that Melisera was not mistaken. For there was no consonancy between any of them, either among themselves, or in relation to Lindamira. There was one had lived almost an age, and consequently was very grave, austere, discoursing of nothing but the disgust people should have of the things of this world; found nothing good of all that it afforded could not endure those of the new Court, and wore clothes that were in fashion in the time of Phalaris, Tyrant of Agrigentum. On the other side, there was another that was young, thought herself very pretty, looked very simperingly, and minded nothing but how to keep on the redness of her lips, during a conference she was extremely weary of. There was a third that pretended much to news and intelligence, and consequently had a privilege to be ever talking. For the other two, of whom I say nothing, they are such a ●●ace of women as a man knows not what to say of, as such as are neither handsome nor ugly; neither fools, nor yet very wise; and whereof the mediocrity keeps them from being assigned any rank; for when there are none handsomer than themselves in company, they are strangely weary of it, and when they are with persons that are pleasant and ingenious; they are suffered, because it is not perceived they are present. So that Melisera whispering something to Themistus, and looking on Lindamira, put her into a great distraction what to do; yet could she not absolutely resist her inclination; for she railed at the World, with the ancient Lady that quarrelled so much at the new Court; she commended her Dresses, who understood not any thing but what was of that nature: she asked news of her who loved nothing so much as to tell it; and she had something I know not what, to say to the two mean-witted persons I told you of. So that when they were gone, it occasioned one of the pleasantest discourses that ever was.  
Themistus therefore finding no fewer charms in Lindamira's mind, than he did in her face, fell so much the more in love with her, insomuch, that within a few days, not being able to resist the violence of his passion, he delivered himself up a Prisoner thereto. Yet could he not avoid a violent agitation of mind; for reflecting on the design he had to be a favourite to his Prince, he thought it concerned him very much to conceal his love; and he knew, but too much for his own quiet, that the business he undertook was very difficult. Should he discover his affection, he must run the hazard of being banished the Court by his Master, and should he still smother it, he must run that of not gaining his Mistress' love. Nay, he well knew, that Lindamira would prove no easy conquest, and consequently there was the less likelihood he should ever be happy. But, after all, it being not in his power to master his sentiments, he loved that which he could not forbear loving, and was at last satisfied that his Love was not such an enemy to the designs of his ambition as he thought it had. Nay, it happened that love and ambition, by conjunction, grew stronger and stronger in him; for being desirous to show himself worthy of Lindamira, it inflamed his ambition: and in regard he was naturally ambitious, the quality of the person he loved added to his Love. So that he undertook at the same time, two very hard things, that is, to gain the favours of his Prince, and to deserve the good inclinations of a fair Princess. Those he looked on as his two main labours; the former he easily overcame, for Perianthus was so extremely inclined to affect him, that in a short time, he was his only Favourite: and for the second, he went so far, as without any great difficulty to get into the esteem of Lindamira, nay indeed, very far into her friendship. 'Tis true, that spoke no particular favour from Lindamira, for he had the esteem and love of all the world, except those who envied his virtue, and repined at the favour he was in, yet durst not openly discover any such thing.  
In the mean time, Deniarata seeing what respects the whole Court had for Themistus, felt the secret passion she had for him, growing strong within her. And yet she dissembled it so well, that Amerintha excepted, none ever knew any thing of it, nay even Themistus himself, whose imagination was full of the excellencies of Lindamira, had not the least suspicion thereof. However he waited on her very diligently, not only for the Prince's sake, who thought himself concerned in all the civilities done to Demarata, whom he still extremely loved, but also to elude the notice might be taken of his frequent visits to Lindamira, and consequently that it might be thought that he had no other designs than those of ambition, that is, courted all those that might any way further them. Towards all the other Ladies, he behaved himself civilly, officiously, and like a gallant, but seemed not to have any particular inclinations for any one, whereat Demarata was extremely well pleased. In a word, should her secret sentiments be examined, it would be found she imagined to herself a certain pleasure to do things, so as that Themistus might not love at all. So that to keep him from it, she thought fit to advance a discourse concerning the qualities a Favourite should have, to continue long in favour. Lindamira was present at that debate, which was occasioned upon a change that had happened at the Court of the Prince of Hereclea, that made a great noise in the Court of Syracuse, upon pretence that the Favourite, who was fallen into disgrace, had lost himself by making his Mistress acquainted with some secrets of his Master.  
For my part, says Demarata, I would never advise a man that were guilty of ambition, and would be Favourite to a Prince, to be engaged in Love. For these two principal passions require either of them a whole heart, and it is not possible to be fortunate in both at the same time. For my part replies Lindamira, I do not think those two passions so incompatible as you conceive. For when a man is a Favourite, it is so much the more easy for him to prevail, and if his addresses amount to any thing, there will be those Ladies that will sacrifice themselves to his desires, and will spare him abundance of pains. Take me in the humour I am in now, replies Themistus, were I Favourite to a Prince, I would not care for that Mistress whose good inclinations I should gain but conditionally with the favours of my Master. And therefore, if I propose to myself the conquest of any Beauty, I am confident I shall pick out such an one as shall consider nothing but my affection. The question is not to know what a man should do when he loves nor yet when he should love, replies Demarata, but only to examine whether I have not reason to affirm, that a Favourite, who would advance his fortune, should avoid being in Love. But if he be a Favourite to a young Prince, replied Lindamira, will you have him to be barbarous? or will you not allow him to concern himself in the pleasures of his Prince, and that if he be in Love, the other should be so too? I allow him to be civil, replies Demerata, to be a Gallant, to be generous, nay to be a Lover in appearance, if the Prince by whom he is favoured condescended thereto: but I maintain, that all his actions should relate to his ambition, if he be desirous to be happy; and that he should always be disposed to follow the inclinations of his Prince, and to renounce his own. Hence it comes, that sometimes he must mind Hunting, other times Courtship, other times Bravery, according as the humour of his Prince leads him; but he must never come to that extremity as to betray his Master to obey a Mistress. He must never come to that forced point, as to persecute his Prince with perpetual petitions for the friends of the Person he is in love with; he to whom he is a Favourite, should never fear he might reveal any secret of his; and a man must never put himself into such a posture, as that it may be in his power to deny that Prince any thing, whom he would have to repose an absolute confidence in him. For this reason must his Love-adventures be such, as that he shall not refuse to acquaint his Prince therewith, nor yet to make him privy to the favours he receives from his Mistress if in case he have any. For my part says Themistus, were I a Lover, and that a fortunate one, I am confident, I should rather sacrifice my fortune, than acquaint my Master with the favours I receiveed from any Lady, how inconsiderable so ever they were, if secret. What you say is doubtless very generously said, replies Demarata, but when all's done, it clearly demonstrates that a Favourite ought not be in Love; for a young Prince that should trust you with all the secrets of State, would not take it well you should conceal aught from him that he is desirous to know. Besides, to be fortunate in ambition, a man must be disposed to lose all, to forsake all, when Policy requires it, and he must not admit diversity of interests to bring any one to effect. There are two kind of Favourites, added she, for there are some who love the Prince and the State, and others who mind only their own advancement, and would as gladly sacrifice the Prince and the State, to raise their own fortunes, as they would do their particular enemies. But whether the Favourite love his Master, or only himself, it is still equally convenient he should be unacquainted with Love. If all the Ladies of the Court heard you speak after that rate, replies Lindamira, they would look on you as a person who had a design to hinder them from conquering the heart of Themistus, whom all begin to look on as the Favourite of the Prince my Brother. I am so far from deserving that honour, answers Themistus, that I think none looks on me as such an one. However it be, added Demerata blushing, it hath been my endeavour to give you the advice of a faithful friend. I am extremely obliged to you for your good wishes, Madam, replied he, and to let you know how far I submit to you, I promise you here before the fair Lindamira, that neither of you shall ever see me in love with any one of all those Ladies that are not present; which as he said, Themistus looked on Lindamira, who laughing, said to him, ere she was a ware, that to make him a positive answer to what he said, he must needs be in Love in afric, Greece, or Asia. If I had discovered my secret, replies he, smiling with her, the Princess might reproach me, that I had done that for you which ought not to be done for a Mistress. And therefore I shall tell you no more.  
Hereupon the Prince coming in, dissolved the company, and carried away Themistus along with him, so that Lindamira, being also gone, and Demarata left alone, she went into her Closet, whither she called Amerintha, who knew all the secrets of her heart. Could you believe, said she to her, that I should spend the whole afternoon in endeavouring to persuade the only man in the world that I love, and cannot but love, that it is not fit he should be in love himself. Not but that I must acknowledge, though to my own confusion, that it were an incredible joy to me, that he were in love with me, conditionally that he neither told me so, nor knew that I knew so much. But since it is not so, nor can I wish it were, I must confess it is some pleasure to me, to think that Themistus is not in love at all, and minds nothing but his ambition. And yet methinks Madam, replied Amarintha, since it is your design to disburden your heart of the violent affection that torments you, it should be your wish either that Themistus were in disgrace or in love; for having so great a heart as you have, you would not be able to continue your affection long to a man that were in love elsewhere: and if the other happened, absence would haply cure you. For absence, replies Demarata, 'tis to me a fruitless remedy, I was but ten years of age when Themistus went hence, he stayed seven years out of Sicily, and yet at his return, I no sooner saw him but I blushed; nay durst I say it without confusion, I loved him. The other way you propose is no better, for my condition, and the posture of Themistus' fortune considered, though he should love me, he durst not discover it, so that I have no reproach to make to him that he loves me not. He is very liberal of his civilities towards me, he sees me often; and though he should engage his love elsewhere, it were no injury to me, and yet it would afflict me beyond all remedy. To find out therefore an innocent ease in my misfortunes, all I have to wish, is, that Themistus, be not in love at all: for if it be so, I shall love with some satisfaction, though it should be my desire to love him eternally without his knowledge, and without ever being loved by him.  
These, Madam, were the transactions that passed in Demaratas soul, who had the satisfaction to see that Themistus was not engaged to any of the Ladies of the Court, and the pleasure to see him so much in the esteem of Perianthus, that it would not be long ere all the favours of the Prince were at his disposal. Yet was he still in a very unfortunate condition; for the passion he had for Lindamira was so violent, that he hardly had one minutes rest. However, he durst not discover what be felt, to her who was the cause thereof; for though he could do any thing with the Prince, yet was there no ●●●elihood he should make any pretensions to the Princess of Himera; since that the same favour that had raised him up so high, and had found him the opportunities to approach her, advised him to avoid all inclinations towards her, out of a consideration that the Prince might have accused him of ingratitude, should he have been guilty of a presumption to lift up his eyes so high as the Princess his Sister. In the mean time he was in love, nay he would love contrary to the suggestious of his reason: for the Princess Lindamira seemed so amiable to him, that he thought it as unjust as impossible not to love her. But all considered, he smothered his passion with abundance of care, yet not omitting aught that might any way gain him the esteem of Lindamira, he did very considerable services about the Prince her Brother, he saw her as often as he could; and when she was out of her first mourning, he found her a thousand several sorts of diversions and entertainments. In all the great and noble things he did, he directed his thoughts to Lindamira, and he never met with any occasion to relieve some illustrious unfortunate person, but he did it with a particular satisfaction, out of a confidence that Lindamira would have the greater esteem for him; and indeed that confidence met with its reward in her. But all this notwithstanding, since he had never acquainted her with his affection, he was still dissatisfied with his fortune.  
Being therefore one day at Lindamira's in that disturbance, though there were four or five Ladies present, I came in and told a piece of news I had newly heard, that concerned a person of the Court whom all the World knew. He I speak of would marry a Woman he was extremely in love with, though one very much below his condition. This bringing about the discourse to the business of love, it was put to the question, whether a man did more oblige a woman by loving her, though she were infinitely below his condition; or by loving her sincerely and constantly, when she were infinitely above him; that is when there was such a distance between them, that he could not pretend to the least hope of ever obtaining her. At first, those who had not made the proposition, thought there had been no question in it; and that he who loved a person much below him, put a greater obligation upon her, than he should have done on another of higher quality than himself, whom he durst not pretend to. But having considered the business more narrowly, they saw it might very well come into debate. For my part, said a Lady of the company, I cannot apprehend any comparison between these two things; for is there any thing more satisfactory to a handsome woman, than to see her beauty and desert esteemed as highly as nobleness of birth and riches; and to find at her feet a person of great quality, sacrificing for her sake, his fortunes; incurring the displeasure of his kindred, and the censure of his friends, and one that notwithstanding a thousand obstacles, makes her happy by making himself such? What you say, (replies Lindamira, not thinking of any advantage that Themistus might make of it) does doubtless speak abundance of obligation, but to consider things more narrowly, and to search into the depth of the question, there is no comparison between these two kinds of love now in dispute; the love that is most perfect, is certainly that which hath least of self-interest; and to speak freely, I do not think that the inequality of conditions, when there is nothing dishonourable in the birth of a person a man is in love with, is one of the greatest obstacles that love can conquer. For a man that loves any thing violently, may easily imagine, that that difference of quality introduced by fortune among men, is a thing of no real consideration, and that the true distinction that wise men allow among them, aught to be no other than that of desert. And as for Riches, when a man is once in love, he troubles not his thoughts about them; and if he were able to forbear Marrying the person, he should love because she were not rich; it must needs follow, that he is no richer than she, and that the mere fear of making her miserable, should prevail with him, not to satisfy his love. But if the thing be, as we have presupposed, I think it no miracle a rich man should marry a poor Woman, and shall therefore never number that amongst the greatest expressions of love. On the contrary, when ever I shall see a person of a higher condition and more rich, applying himself to one below him, and will not marry her, I shall say he either love her not, or very little.  
Your Sentence is very just, Madam, replies Themistus, when you speak after that rate: for I am persuaded when love is weaker than reason, it is no perfect love, especially in emergencies of that nature. And so Madam, it is not to be wondered, if the love of a man of a higher condition than the person he loves, continues and is fortified to that degree, as to oblige him to marry her. For hope being that which enlivens and augments love, he wants not any thing whence he may derive any confidence of his happiness when he pleases himself. So that I am much more astonished to see there are some Lovers who can forbear attaining to what they desire, than I am to see who slight all considerations of interest to satisfy themselves; and therefore to speak justly, a love that grows without hope, and subsists without it, and meets with no obstacles but what are invincible, is much more obliging, and accordingly more resolute than that which cannot but hope, even though it would not, and may arrive to whatever it hopes. What you say is very subtly spoken, replies a Lady that was present; but when all is done, I conceive that what hope doth in the heart of other lovers, glory does the same in those we speak of; and that the secret satisfaction there is in loving a person of great quality, that hath beauty, wit, and virtue, entertains the passion of the Lover. Besides, added I, to speak sincerely, though there be a great disproportion between the lover and the person he loves, yet does he still flatter himself, and that if he have not a real hope, he hath at lest something that's near it, and like it, that bears him up and comforts him. For my part, reples the Princess of Himera, I easily conceive there may be such a lover as cannot really hope any thing, and I imagine at the same time, that there is not any thing speaks more obligation than a love of that nature.  
But Madam, replied I, a man may have at least a hope to be pitied. That's but a sad kind of hope, replied Themistus. Nay, added Lindamira, it's possible there may be such a Lover as cannot rationally hope ever to see the liberty to bemoan himself, and consequently much less to be pitied by another. Ah, Madam, replies Themistus, there you go too far; for I cannot conceive it possible for a man to endure a great affliction without ever complaining of it. For my part, added I, I am of Themistus' opinion. Howe'er it may be, replied that secret Lover, you must needs acknowledge, Madam, that a man who lours a person infinitely above himself, and loves her with a resolution to love her eternally, though he cannot rationally hope to be happy, must needs have a more elevated love, than he who loves a person whose condition being inferior to his own, affords him an easy hope of being satisfied, even when he pleases himself. I grant it, says she, yet not out of any persuasion that a woman can ever be obliged to a Lover, since that when a man is in love, he is such whether he will or no, and that he does but what he cannot forbear doing. Very right replies Themistus; I acknowledge a woman should not lie under any obligation, provided you confess she ought not to be without pity. As a woman hath not love when she pleases herself, replied Lindamira, so no more can she have pity when ever the wretches she hath made expect she should, nor yet as often as she would herself: our will for the most part, having so little predominancy over the secret sentiments of our hearts, that we cannot without temerity give an account of our own thoughts.  
Having so said, Lindamira rises up to go and walk in those spacious Gardens that lie at the end of the Hexapila, so they call one part of the City that lies to the Landside, as the Achradina lies to the Seaside. Themistus walking along with her, went on still, having his thoughts taken up with the discourse that had passed. He thought it some pleasure to think that the Princess of Himera, allowed the love of a man whose affection derived no encouragement from hope, to be more considerable than that of those Lovers who have thousands of occasions to hope. So that Themistus being wholly intentive to that reflection, Lindamira, whom he held up as she walked, as soon as they were come into the Gardens where she intended to walk, perceiving it, asked him the reason thereof. What you desire to know, Madam, replied he, is of greater consequence than you imagine: for in a word, though the Prince to whom I owe thousands of obligations, and for whom I would sacrifice my life a thousand times, should ask me the same thing, I should not tell him, and yet you are the only person in the world to whom I might tell it, if you lay your absolute commands upon me to do so. What you say, seems to me very obliging, replies Lindamira, but as I am not very forward to burden myself with the secrets of my Friends, without any necessity, so shall I not press you to acquaint me with yours. You shall never know it then, replies Themistus, for it is of such a nature, that I cannot have the presumption to tell it you, if you do not command me to do it. It must needs be a very odd secret it seems, replied Lindamira, looking on him. On the contrary, Madam, replied he, his colour changing, 'tis the noblest secret in the world, and were it less Noble, it were a less secret than it is, and so more easily guessed at. Not but that I am a little amazed, added he, that you who have so clear a wit, and understand those that come to you so well, have not already found it out. Assure yourself, replied Lindamira, I have no skill in Divination, but as I find there is something more than ordinary in having a secret that's never to be communicated to any one, I shall not command you to acquaint me with yours. But Madam, replied Themistus, since you think there's something extraordinary in having a secret that is not to be told any one in the world, I have a great desire to tell you mine; for I am confident you will never tell it any other, and that you will be the only person upon earth that knows it, when I have told you, That I am an unfortunate wretch that loves you, without hope, and to pretend to love you so eternally. Ah! Themistus, replied the Princess, blushing for very anger, do you consider what you say? Do you speak in good earnest? Do you know me well? Or have you forgot yourself? I am in good earnest Madam, replied he, I consider well what I say. I know well who you are, and have not forgotten my self: but in spite of Reason and my Will, I adore you, and shall do so eternally. But are you not afraid, replied Lindamira, that I shall acquaint the Prince my Brother with your presumption? No, Madam, replied he, for as you have put me into a condition not to fear death, and only to tremble at your indignation, I cannot be afraid of disgrace. Were you afraid of my indignation, added Lindamira, you would not tell me what you do, and you would not force me to forbid you my sight. Ah! Madam, replied he, if you will not allow me to see you, no question but I shall die, and you will haply be troubled at my death; for, Madam, if you observe, I have not had the presumption to tell you that my passion was guilty of any hope; on the contrary, I declare I have not any; nay, I pretend not to the poor comfort that proceeds from pity, and that I desire nothing but the glory to love you, though none know it, nay, if you please, without my ever telling you so much. Were it possible, replies the Princess Lindamira, you could have the least shadow of hope in your madness, I should treat you otherwise than I do; but since that cannot be, and that I have a certain esteem and friendship for you, and cannot ruin you, without doing myself some prejudice, I give your Reason time to bring you to your wits again. I would not therefore you should ever presume to acquaint me with any thing of your indiscretion; I would have you very carefully avoid being alone with me; nay, I would have you see me as seldom as you can possibly, till such time as you shall be in a condition to ask me pardon for your extravagance, and come and declare that you love me not otherwise than you ought to love me: For if you do not what I tell you, though I abhor nothing so much as noise and disturbance, I shall acquaint the Prince my Brother with your presumption, and shall infallibly ruin you. Your commands, Madam, replied he, are certainly very hard to be observed, and yet I shall obey you in all, unless it be, Madam, that I shall never tell you that I have ceased to love you.  
Lindamira coming hereupon to certain Green seats, sat down, and obliged the Ladies that came along with her, to do the like. But being extremely troubled at the adventure that had happened to her, she stayed not long in the Garden, nay, ordered things so, that Themistus led her not, and so she returned home very sad and melancholy. She was no sooner in her chamber, but calling my Sister to her into the Closet, she acquainted her with what had happened to her, expressing a great indignation at Themistus' boldness, and withal, abundance of affliction, that they could not have so much of his company as formerly. For in fine, said she to Mericia, I looked on Themistus as a person I should have made the chiefest of my friends, because he not only wanted, not any thing that might recommend him, as to his person, but was also very serviceable to me in my affairs. 'Tis certain, he hath a great influence over the Prince my Brother, he is an understanding man, discreet, respectful, divertive, and methought there was no danger to enter into a friendship with him. In the mean time he is fallen into an impertinent madness, that ruins all my designs, and puts me into no small distraction. For I will not give him any occasion to conceive the least hope, nor on the contrary, give any other cause to suspect, any thing of his temerity. You have so much prudence, replied Mericia, that you will do what you have a mind to do; but certainly 'tis great pity that Themistus' fortune does not justify the passion he hath for you; for that allowed, he is worthy your love. I grant it, replied Lyndamira, and that is it that torments me, for not being able to admit him as a Lover, I should have been very glad to have had him while I lived for my Friend.  
While this entertainment passed between Lindamira and my Sister, Themistus, not able to becalm the several sentiments, wherewith his heart was tossed, desired He and I might have some discourse. I at first saw him so sad, that I thought some secret discontent had happened between him and the Prince. Insomuch as perceiving after he had seemed willing to speak with me, that he said nothing to me, I asked him what it was that troubled him. I should not indeed, added I, much wonder to see you disturbed, for I think it impossible that ever ambition should be without disquiet. Ah! dear Meleaganes, cries He, were I only ambitious, I were the happiest man in the world. But alas, I struggle both with Love and Ambition at the same time, and not being well able to distinguish whether my Love proceeds from Ambition, or my Ambition from my Love, all I know is, that my heart is racked with all the disturbances that are the attendants of these two passions. I would fain be at this very instant, that I speak, both near the Prince, and near the Princess Lindamira. How, said I, are you in love with the Princess of Himera? I am, replied he, and what is most deplorable, I love her without hope. And yet I am resolved to act, as if I did hope, and to see whether that Proverb which says, that Fortune favours the Confident, be true or no.  
Upon that, he gave me an account of the discourse he had had with Lindamira. But when I would have told him, that I thought his condition not so sad, in that she had not treated him worse, he told me that I was mistaken, and that he had been less miserable, if she had expressed a greater violence towards him. But, to be short, added he, since as an ambition's man I cannot love more nobly, and that as a Lover, I must be withal ambitious, I resign myself equally to these two violent passions, and am absolutely resolved that they shall either mutually assist one the other, or combine to ruin me.  
Tell me therefore my dear Meleagenes, whether what I intent to do be rational, for my thoughts are in such a tempest, that I dare not trust my own reason in this accident. But, said I, what can you do to satisfy your ambition more than you do? The Prince affects you, you follow him every where, you participate of all his pleasures, and he cannot live without you. Ah? Meleagenes, repled he, a peaceful Favourite goes on but slowly, and great fortunes are never found but in great affairs. When I have followed the Prince a hunting, or to Demaratas, to Lindamira's, to the Revels, to the Walks, I shall never be the more powerful; and so the ease of the Grandees will at last give them an opportunity to ruin me. Besides that, doing no more about the Prince, than what a many others could do as well as I, it will be easy for my aemulators to undermine me, feeling therefore within me, something that aims at greater matters, I would stir up some War, that might contribute as well to my Ambition as my Love. This is my only way to arrive at great employments, wherein I am sure to meet with either glory or death. By this means shall I come to a nearer distance from Lindamira, and more approach the rank and quality of my Ancestors. Tell me then that I am in the right way, my dear Meleagenes, if you would advise me as I would be advised. On the other side, trouble not yourself for the War I intent to raise, for the Prince may justly declare one against the Prince of Messena, and were he not taken up with the love of Demarata, he had haply been already in Arms. If it be so, said I to him, I think it the best course you can take, provided you be in some sort confident of the happy success of this design; for it is a most deplorable thing to be the occasion of a War that is not crowned with victory. Victory, replies Themistus, is commonly the reward of those that assault, rather than of those that are assaulted, because the former voluntarily seek it, the latter do but as it were entertain it out of necessity. Besides that, in all great designs, wherein both Love and Ambition are concerned, much must be left to hazard, and a man should as much resign himself to Fortune as to Prudence.  
Themistus being thus resolved for the War, began to act with so much policy, that in the space of three months, the interest of the Princes of Syracuse and Messena were so entangled, that nothing could unravel the differences but a War. In the interim, Themistus behaved himself towards Lindamira with the greatest respect in the world; he exactly observed the command she had laid upon him, of not speaking to her alone; and carried himself so discreetly, that though she could not be persuaded his sentiments were other towards her, than they had been, he gave her not the least occasion to take aught ill at his hands. For Demarata, considering only the great influence she had upon the Prince, he humoured her as much as lay in his power, not knowing that he was but too much in her favour; for as I have told you, the world affords not another that can so well disguise her sentiments as this Princess. And since it was her design to overcome the passion that tormented her soul, she was not troubled at a War that should rid her of a man whom she would not love, and a Prince she could not endure without doing extreme violence to herself. So that she furthered Themistus' design, though she knew not so much. For, Lyndamira, the hope she was in, that absence would contribute much to his recovery of Themistus, she was also glad of the War, though naturally a great lover of peace. Perianthus for his part, being courageous, young, and desirous of Fame, was easily persuaded to embrace the War, though he still doted on Demarata; so that all things furthering Themistus' design, preparations were made for the execution thereof. Troops were raised, an Army was modelled; and Perianthus being to command it in person, went to take his leave of the Princess Lindamira, attended by the greatest part of the Court, and among others Themistus, who had the gallantest Presence in the world, being in a military equipage. While she spoke in private with the Prince, Themistus had his eye fixed on her, as if it had been to give her occasion to guests, that his intention were still the same towards her, insomuch that Lindamira told my Sister that very night, that she was much in fear that Themistus was not yet fully recovered of his extravagance▪ But I had forgot to tell you, that Perianthus taking his leave of her, she very obligingly turned to all those that came along with him, and without distinguishing Themistus from the rest; she told them, that she recommended the Prince her Brother to their care; and that it was her wish to see them all returned home again covered with Laurels. In the mean time Themistus, who sought his own comfort, found a particular satisfaction in the words Lindamira had said in general, though she had not afforded him so much as a look, which he might rationally conceive directed to him.  
I shall not trouble you, Madam, with the particulars of this War, which was over in six months, It sufficeth that I tell you, that as it was begun by Themistus, so was it also gloriously concluded by him, since that through his courage and prudence, a battle was gained, that decided the differences of the Princes of Syracuse and Messena, and introduced a peace between the two States. For Themistus commanding the Reserve, brought it into the fight so seasonably, that his side gained the victory thereby. Accordingly, was the sole honour of this War, even in his Master's judgement, due to him: for it was undertaken by his advice, he had given very fortunate directions while it lasted, and he had contributed more to the gain of the battle than any other. Add to this, that he had the happiness to save the Prince of Syracuse's life, who had his Horse killed under him, when Themistus being come up to the Prince, dispatched one of the enemies, that would have either killed or taken him, and furnished him with his Horse, so that he relieved him in the greatest hazard that he could be in.  
Hereupon the Prince of Messena being an ancient man, and fearing, if the War continued, he might lose his Estate, resolved to send such indifferent propositions, in order to a Peace, as Themistus could not but hearken to. So that within three days the Articles were signed, and for more security of the performance thereof, it was agreed, that the young Prince of Messena should remain a hostage at Syracuse, till some fortifications were demolished, wherein consisted part of the difference between those two Princes. This done, Perianthus, to reward Themistus with the first honours of the advantage he had gained, would needs dispatch him before to Syracuse, to acquaint Demarata and Lindamira with the first news of Victory and Peace. Themistus, overjoyed at this welcome Commission, accepted it with great satisfaction; and, having received Letters from the Prince to those two Princesses, returned to Syracuse. But as he went, he felt, whatever hope hath of insinuation, and fear of disturbance; for the glory he had acquired, put him into hope to receive some acknowledgement from Lindamira, but having not seen her in private from the day that he had acquainted her with his affection, he was strangely afraid to see her alone. Yet Love and Ambition growing stronger than his Fear, his Heart sided with Hope. However, he was obliged to go first to Demarata, 〈…〉 Lindamira. He did so, and was 〈…〉 her with abundance of civility, and a 〈…〉 expressions of joy, wherein he thought not himself at all concerned. For he thought that Demarata would not receive him so kindly; but considering him as a person, of whom Perianthus spoke with abundance of obligation; for, if I am not mistaken, the Prince's Letter to the Princess, was to this effect.  
PERIANTHUS to the Princess DEMARATA.  
IF you have any affection for me, Madam, entertain Themistus as a person, to whom I owe all things, and whom you are obliged to for the life of a Prince, who loves you beyond himself.  
Demarata blushed as she read this Letter, and felt within her an agitation which she had much ado to calm, Yet at last she overcame it, and speaking very kindly to Themistus, she entreated him to relate the particulars of the Fight; but he did it with such modesty, that if the common report had not informed her of the great things he had done, she could hardly have inferred from his relation, that he had been there. So that the esteem she had for Themistus, increasing thereby, the flame she would have quenched, increased also. Insomuch that Themistus having left her, she got into her Closet, and speaking to the person that was privy to her secrets; Well, Amerintha, said she to her, what think you of the strangeness of my destiny? I would not love Themistus any longer, and he becomes daily more and more worthy to be loved; I would have him go to the Wars purposely to forget him, and he does there such extraordinary things, that it is impossible not to remember him eternally: I wished he might have died there, so to rid my heart of him, and he saves the Prince's life, so to fasten himself for ever to the Court of Syracuse. This granted, what would you have me to do, Amerintha? or have I not reason to think, that it is the pleasure of my destiny, that I should love Themistus in spite of my virtue? I were as good, added she, love him voluntarily; and since Reason and Virtue, joined together, cannot resist fortune, nor oppose my inclinations; let us love Themistus whom we cannot hate; but lest he might slight us, added she, let us endeavour to do it so, as that he may not know any thing, and that he be not any way engaged in love. For my part, Madam, replies Amerintha, I think it would not be amiss, should you not so directly oppose the inclination you have for Themistus; for Love is inflamed by resistance, and that passion increases many times more easily of itself, than it would if it were wished: Do not therefore any violence to your own sentiments, and you will haply see, that within a few days, you will find rest when you do not seek it, and your heart will be at liberty. But while Demarata was thus entertained, Themistus went to Lindamira, whom he found alone. I know Madam, (said he to her, very respectfully, delivering Perianthus' Letter) that I transgress your commands, but Madam, you will haply find my excuse in the Prince's Letter which I give you. At these words, Lindamira, without making him any answer, took the Letter, and opening it, found these words,  
PERIANTHUS to the Princess of HIMERA.  
IF you desire to put a sensible obligation upon me, entertain Themistus as a person, to whom I owe Life, Victory, and Peace; for by the friendship you shall have for him, I shall measure that you have for me.  
Lindamira having read the Letter, looked very kindly on Themistus, and speaking to him, I beseech you, said she, hinder me not from doing what the Prince my Brother would have me. And what would he have you to do for me, Madam, replies Themistus? He commands me to have a friendship for you, replied she, and if I have not it shall not be my fault. Your friendship, Madam, replies Themistus, is a thing so precious, that no man ought to receive it otherwise than on his knees. Receive it then, says Lindamira, interrupting him, and without speaking any more of it, I pray tell me what I have not from report, but very confusedly; for I shall credit you more than I do her, and shall trust the account you give me of the fight, more than I do what she hath told me. No doubt, Madam, but I ever speak truth, replied he, and were I not afraid, you should think that the Victory wherein the Prince is pleased to have me so much concerned, had encouraged me to any presumption, I should haply tell you once more ere I die, that that you have gained over me, is much more absolute, than what the Prince hath gained over his enemies. But since I would not be thought a person so presumptuous, as to have turned bankrupt as to all respect, but on the contrary, desirous to express much more towards you than I have. I shall obey you, and employ these precious minutes, wherein I have the honour to be alone with you, to acquaint you with what you would know. Whereupon Themistus, not giving Lindamira leisure to make him any answer, related what had passed, with such Eloquence,, Wit, Modesty and Art, that though he said nothing advantageous to himself, yet was she satisfied, that Fame had not flattered him. Being come just to to the closure of his relation, there came so many into Lindamira's chamber, that it was impossible for him to say any thing to her in private.  
In the mean time was this Princess in no small disturbance; for, as it was but just to commend a person that had done the State such considerable service, so on the other side was she troubled to do it with any earnestness, knowing what inclinations he had for her, lest he should make any advantage thereof. So that to take a mean betwixt these two extremities, she read aloud what the Prince her Brother had written concerning Themistus, so to do justice to the valour of that secret Lover, yet not to heighten his confidence by any excess of commendation. But, Themistus perceiving the company to increase, and finding himself burdened with the flatteries of those that were about Lindamira, his own modesty forced him to leave the Princess. Nay, he thought that the interest of his love and ambition advised him to do so. So that being returned to his own House, I went to wait on him, for I came to Syracuse along with him. As soon as I saw him, I asked what posture his affairs were in, as well in relation to his love as his ambition. For what concerns my ambition, replies he, they go very well, for after the service I have now done the Prince, there are few places I may not pretend to. But for my love-affairs, the case is otherwise, for the Princess may haply have a greater esteem for me than she had, but I do not believe she will ever venture to love me, even though she should cease to have an a version for me. I know well enough, added he, that my birth is noble, but my fortune was in such an ill equipage when I left Sicily, that I find it a kind of madness to love Lindamira. But since your courage, replied I, will soon make your fortune equal to your birth, why may you not aspire to the affection of that Princess? Because, says he, there is a fantastic humour in the world, that will hardly let people remember the high births of such as are fallen into poverty; nay, that ever reflects on their former poverty, even when they are become rich. This may hold, replied I, in such as enrich themselves otherwise than by the favour of their Sovereign, not in those that are Favourites to some great Prince. For, in a word, favour covers whatever is not advantageous to those that are in it, with oblivion. No, no, replied Themistus, forbear these fruitless flatteries; Lindamira will never love me, or I must expect no more from her than what a b●re friendship amounts to. Nay, I am in some doubt, whether my love to her may not procure me her aversion. That seldom happens, replied I, and I cannot imagine your fortune will prove so fantastic, Come what will, replies Themistus, I will love her eternally, and I will do so many things to preserve the Prince's favour, that I shall haply play my Cards so well, that I may be the greatest man in the Court.  
Nor was he less than his word, for Perianthus being returned, he was absolutely looked on as his Favourite. He bestowed on him the most considerable employment in the State, he enriched him, and lodged him in the Palace; nay, all the favours of the Prince passed through his hands. However, Themistus was so good a Steward of his favour, that envy itself had a respect for his virtue; he did all the good he could, he was a Protector of the unfortunate, he was liberal, his conversation with his ancient friends was such, as before he came into favour; he was an eager assertor of his Master's authority, he was not wedded to any interest, and it was evident in all his actions, that he loved the Prince and the State. But none knew of his being in love, but Lindamira, Mericia, and myself.  
In the mean time, at Perianthus' return, all was full of divertisements, besides that, the Prince of Messena being a gallant and our proper person, his presence added something to the gallantry of the Court. Nay, he fell so strangely in love with Lindamira, that all the world soon after perceived his passion. But among the rest, Themistus was one of those that first discovered it, and was so much troubled at it, as if some great misfortune had happened to him. 'Tis certainly a thing not easily digestible by a Lover, that dares not mention his love; nor give the least expression thereof, to see a Rival that discovers all his, yet so, as he is not to be called to account for it. Yet did Themistus make his advantage of this adventure; for Lindamira observing him very narrowly, soon perceived the disturbance and melancholy, which the Prince of Messena's love caused in him. She spoke of it to Mericia, who had also taken notice thereof. Yet were there not any but these two persons and myself, that observed it; for, as to the Prince of Messena, he was so far from suspecting Themistus to be his Rival, that he did all that lay in his power, to court him, to be one of his intimate friends. But as Themistus found much ado to suffer it, and that the Prince of Messena came at last to perceive, that he avoided his company as much as he could with civility, he endeavoured to find out the reason of it. So that he imagined, it proceeded from his two frequent discourses of Love and Gallantry. For seeing him not particularly engaged to any Beauty, he drew that consequence, and was wont by way of raillery, to call Themistus sometimes the indifferent, sometimes the insensible Courtier, and that became so general, that Themistus was sometimes forced to answer to these two names, which he so little deserved. Demarata on the other side was somewhat satisfied, to think that Themistus was not in love at all; and Lindamira was not displeased to find that his passion was kept very secret; for that having a very particular friendship for him, she would have been troubled to be forced to forbid him coming to her. In the mean time she did not any action, nor scattered the least word, whence Themistus might raise ever so little hope he might ever give her heart the least assault; nay, not so much as that he might oblige her to admit his passion, though without making any return.  
'Twas upon such an occasion; that she had a very long discourse with him one day; for it happening that Themistus was alone with her walking, and that they leaned over a rail that looked upon the Sea, she saw him so much taken up with his own thoughts, that forgetting at that time the love he had for her, she immediately asked him whether there were any discontent between him and the Prince. Alas, Madam, replied he sighing, were I as much in favour with the Princess of Himera, as I am with the Prince of Syracuse, I should not be so much troubled in my thoughts, or if I were, it would be so much to my satisfaction, that I should be nevertheless happy. I assure you, replies very courteously Lindamira, you have received greater expressions of friendship from me, than you could have from the Prince my Brother: for in my judgement, one cannot do those he loves a greater obligation, than to forget the injuries they have done him. Ah, Madam, replies Themistus, if it be an injury to adore you, and if my submissive passion be the affront you mean, you cannot do any thing more unjust or more cruel than to forget it. But alas, added he sighing, I daily and hourly perceive that you have not done me that kind of injustice, for you make it so much your business, to avoid even the meeting of our eyes; you so obstinately shun my company, and you take so great pleasure to persecute me, that I am in no doubt but you remember the love I have for you.  
Themistus said these words with so much resentment, that the Princess, who had an infinite esteem, and withal a real friendship for him, resolved not to stand out so against that unfortunate Lover, to afford him some inward pity, and to endeavour to recover him by reason. So that speaking to him with all the kindness that can proceed from friendship, you are, said she, so virtuous a man, that it would be the greatest trouble to me in the world, to prove the only cause of your unhappiness. Besides that, being obliged to you for my Brother's life, I think myself concerned to be tender of yours. Nay, you are so considerable to the State, that the interest of my Country requires further, that I should not suffer you to run into an extravagance, which might make you unserviceable to the Prince, the State, and your friends. Give me leave then, Themistus, to discover my heart to you, and tell you, that though there were no disproportion between us, you should not entertain any love for me, because it is evident I cannot have aught beyond a friendship for you. Ah, Madam, cries out Themistus, is it not enough I know, that being of the quality you are of, you will not love me, but you must withal tell me, that though fortune had put no rub in my way to happiness, yet I could never be happy. I beseech you, Madam, be not so ingeniously cruel and give me leave to flatters myself into this poor consolation, as to think, that if you had been born in a cottage, I might presume to love you, and that it were not impossible I might gain your affection Give me leave, I say, Madam, to attribute some part of my unhappiness to Fortune, and not all to your aversion. For matter of aversion, replies Lindamira, I have not any for Themistus, on the contrary, I ingeniously declare that I esteem you, and that I have a tender, solid, and sincere friendship for you. But with this declaration I must also tell you, that I neither have, or ever shall have any love for you. But Madam, replies Themistus, are you so particularly acquainted with what is to come? I am, replied she, for it is my persuasion, that when one is to entertain love, it is never ushered in by friendship. Besides, my Humour and my Reason, are two such faithful sentinels about my heart, that I do not fear they will ever betray it, either to your Merit or your Love, and it is out of that confidence, that I speak to you as I do, that is without indignation or severity. I therefore tell you once more, that I have a very great friendship for you; that I shall never love you otherwise, than according to that, and that you cannot put a greater obligation upon me, than by resolutely struggling with the passion now so predominant in your soul. If it be true, Madam, added he, that you cannot have aught beyond a friendship for the unfortunate Themistus, grant him one favour I beseech you. If it be a favour that may stand with friendship, replies Lindamira,, I promise it you. Alas, Madam, said he, what I desire is so considerable, that you must be very unjust to deny it. For all my request at the present, to remit the torment I feel, is only to entreat you to make use of one word for another, though the sense be even in your intention the very same. For instance, Madam, continued this afflicted Lover, it will be an extreme satisfaction to me, if, instead of saying you have a friendship for me, you would be pleased to make use of certain words, which, because they are sometimes employed to express sentiments that speak more tenderness, have, I know not what that is more satisfactory, more inviting, and more proper to keep up the spirits of an unfortunate man, than such as are particular to friendship: Your wits are at such a loss, replies Lindamira, that I pity you much more than I would do. For, in fine, what pleasure do you take in making yourself unhappy, when all things seem to contribute to your felicity. Nature hath furnished you with all she could, that is, a high birth, and a proper person; you want neither gallantry nor understanding, and you have no reason at all to complain of her: Fortune for her part hath done all she could for you: your valour hath been fortunate, the State is obliged to you, your Master owes you his life, you are upon the establishment of the greatness of your House, and all the world loves you— you only excepted, Madam, interrupted he, Nay, on the contrary, replied Lindamira, I have told you already that I am your friend, and that I will be ever so, provided you promise me, and that sincerely, you will do all that lies in your power, not to own any thing towards me but friendship. I shall do so, Madam, replied he, if you in like manner will do me the honour to promise, that, for your part, you will do what you can, not to have an affection for me, for it were a great presumption to say it, but only to be persuaded to entertain my passion, in case I cannot overcome it. 'Twere very pleasant indeed, replies Lindamira (who would not always speak in good earnest of Themistus' love) if it happened that when you should have subdued your passion, I, at the same time, were resolved to admit it. It were much better I should not resist my sentiments, and that you should only endeavour to reform yours.  
Besides this, Themistus had abundance of other passionate discourse with Lindamira: but at last he promised her sincerely to do all he could, to subdue his passion, conditionally she would also do what lay in her power, to resolve to continue her friendship to him, in case he could not forbear loving her. For she had one day threatened to deprive him even of that, if instead of being her lover, he became not her friend. Since that, Themistus did really all he could to reform his sentiments; for there were so many things to persuade him, that Lindamira would never have any thing but a bare friendship for him, that he, in a manner, despaired of ever exalting it into love. And yet, as the most unfortunate do most easily derive comfort from inconsiderable things, because they cannot hope for any greater consolations; Themistus was so sensible of those expressions of friendship he received from Lindamira, that there wanted not some intervals, wherein he was ready to entertain joy, though he was satisfied Lindamira had no love for him, and still wished that he had no more for her. Nay, when Lindamira freely spoke to him of any concernment of her own, he felt somewhat, that it is impossible to express; if he were indisposed, and that she sent to see how he did, he was extremely satisfied; and that so far, that he never received any expression of esteem or friendship from her, but he was as glad of ●t, as another Lover would have been, of what they call signal favours. Not but that assoon as he was out of Lindamira's fight, he was troubled at the same things whereat he had rejoiced before, out of the very consideration that Lindamira had only a friendship for him. But after all, when he found her kind and obliging, he suspended his grief, and love ensnaring his reason, made him forget that Lindamira had only a friendship for him, and find unconceivable pleasures in the least kindnesses he received from her.  
In the mean time, from the first day they treated together, Lindamira asked him ever and anon, what progress he had made towards friendship, and Themistus asked her on the other side, what progress she had made towards Love, and yet Lindamira had still the cruelty to tell him very often, and very seriously, that he should take heed he were not deceived by appearances, and not look on those kindnesses she had for him, as proceeding from any thing but friendship. And indeed, Themistus was so far satisfied, that Lindamira had nothing else for him in her heart; that she knew it not better herself.  
While things stood thus, the Prince of Messena, addressed himself openly to this Princess, who having neither inclination nor aversion for him, treated him with a civility suitable to a person of his quality and merit. For Demarata, her soul was still persecuted with the same secret passion, which added to the aversion she had for Perianthus. So that she was forced eternally to stifle two sentiments the hardest in the world to be dissembled. Yet did she in time overcome them, for it was believed about the Court, that she did not treat Themistus well, but out of a mere reflection that he was the Prince's favourite; and the Prince, who sometimes discovered some light indifference in her, imagined it was to put a sharper edge on the love he had for her. Themistus on the other side, minding only his ambition, as what should further his love, neglected nothing that contributed aught to the aggrandization of his fortune, so that being at the same time to obey both a Master and a Mistress, he wanted no employment.  
Things being in this posture, it happened that Lindamira being a little indisposed; Demarata came to give her a visit, and met there the Prince of Messena, Meriander, and Themistus. For the Ladies that came in, I shall not name them, for it were to no purpose, because the entertainment I am to give you an account of, passed principally between the fair Melisera, Meriander, and Themistus, having been begun by Demarata after the manner you shall hear. This Princess being come into Lindamira's Chamber, told her in a flattering way, as having naturally no great affection for her, that it was not possible she could be sick, and that she had too fair a complexion, and too much sprightliness in her eyes, to denote any want of sleep. Lindamira answered this flattery with another; whereupon every one being seated, they began to abuse Meriander, for talking something more than ordinary with a handsome Court Lady, that had gotten such a reputation of being incapable of love, that she never ran the hazard of the least suspicion of being guilty of any. So that Lindamira seeing they fell so foul upon Meriander, told him very freely, that he must expect to find it a very difficult enterprise if it were true, that he was in love with that person. For my part says the fair Melisera, I do not think Meriander is in love, with her you speak of, or if he be, it is come to no great height. For I find him so sensible of the trivial expressions of friendship that he receives from her, that I cannot believe he would value them so much if he were in love. But do you consider well what you say, replies Demarata, when you speak in that manner? I do Madam; replies Melisera; and if you will but take the pains carefully to examine what I say, you will find that I have reason to imagine that a Lover cannot receive with so much satisfaction simple expressions of friendship. For my part, says Meriander, I must confess I am not in love with her you hit me in the teeth with, but if I were, I believe I should entertain the expressions of her friend ship with much more joy than I do; for it is the property of love to make the sentiments more lively, and to multiply the value of things that come from the person beloved. This doubtless is the judgement of all the World, (added Themistus, who was too much concerned in this question not to say something thereto) and whoever hath a sensible heart, will never speak as the fair Melisera does. On the contrary, replied she, whoever will take the pains to sift more narrowly things of this nature, shall easily conceive what I say. For my part, says the Princess Lindamira, I must confess my thoughts are so distracted between these two opinions, that I do not well perceive the difference there is between them, so as to give you my judgement of them.  
And yet I affirm, says Melisera, that a man that is servant to a woman, in whom he finds nothing but a bare friendship for him, whence he may infer he will never be otherwise loved by her, can never have any real joy when he receives any expressions of that friendship and that if he hath, it is an infallible argument of the indifference of his passion. And for my part, replies angrily Themistus, I maintain that the greatest and most unquestionable mark of a great passion is to see a Lover, that notwithstanding all his sufferings, receives with joy the least expression of friendship that his Mistress can give him. What Themistus says, is so rational, replies Meriander, that I think the fair Melisera, with all her wit, will find herself at a loss to maintain her opinion. For what concerns me. said she, I find no such difficulty in it: you will then so much more oblige the company, replies Demarata, to instruct us in a business which is very particular, and which haply hath not been yet well understood. Yet is the understanding of it not very hard, replies Melisera,, for if you reflect on the manner wherein love is spoken of, me thinks I very well conceive what it is, so as to comprehend that the more one loves, the more one desires to be loved; that the highest degree of a Lover's felicity, is the love of his Mistress; and his greatest misfortune, the assurance that he can never make her heart sensible of the same passion that possesses his.  
I farther conceive, that the desire to be loved, is the source of all other desires, if I may so express it, and that that desire never forsakes him, but fills his heart with perpetual disturbance, which increases and becomes insupportable, when ever his Mistress does any thing that gives him occasion to believe he shall never be loved, in the manner he would be loved. I grant what you say, replies Themistus, and affirm with you, that the desire of being loved, grows proportionably to the love, and cannot die but with it, even though a lover should love without hope: for it often happens, that love which scorns and slights reason, makes a man desire things impossible. But since you agree to what I say, replies Melisera, acknowledge withal that I have reason to speak as I do. For is there not, added she, some reason to think that a lover does not love over-earnestly, when he entertains with joy, simple expressions of friendship, which he should receive with dissatisfaction if his love were violent, there being no disposition that stands at such a distance from love, as friendship; and there's an easier passage from indifference to love, than from friendship to passion. So that when a lover that hath a tender and delicate soul, receives an expression of friendship from his Mistress, and that with a consideration that that friendship will grow up into love, he should be extremely troubled at it, extremely disturbed, and account himself most unhappy and uncapable of the joy I speak of, or it may be inferred, that that lover desires nothing farther. For in my judgement, there is but the hope, or the fruition of what a man desires, that either aught, or can afford him any joy. And for my own particular, I think if I were a lover, and that my Mistress to requite my love, should afford me only some bare expressions of friendship. I should be extremely troubled, nay, much more than if I were to endure her severity, cruelty, indignation, unkindness, and inconstancy.  
Were you but well acquainted and well read in love, replies Themistus, you will soon find him to be an humoursome capricious thing, that is sometimes appeased with a trifle, and even at the same time it covets all things, is satisfied in a manner with nothing; and were it my business to give an infallible mark whereby to know a great passion, I should say it is when a Lover in spite of his reason, notwithstanding the impetuosity of his desires, and the violence of his passion, feels his affliction becalmed by the bare sight of the person he loves. Whence you may judge what that Lover should feel, who sees in the fair eye of the person he adores a certain kindness, passion, and goodness for him. If he there find, that passion, mildness, and goodness, together with a hope that affection may change its nature, replied Melisera, I very well conceive that lover may entertain joy; but I presuppose he hath not that hope, and that he never can have it. Ah! Madam, cries out Meriander, you presuppose a thing absolutely impossible. For though a Lover should affect a person that had an extreme aversion for him, and had haply a reason to abhor him upon some interest of family, he must hope whether he would or no, because hope increases with love, and dies not but with it. For my part, replies coldly Themistus, I believe it possible to love without hope of ever being favoured. I grant it, added, Meriander, but not without a hope of being loved. Nay, I am persuaded that hope hides itself from him that hath it, and that there are certain lovers that hope, though they think not so much. For when all's done, it is impossible to love without desires and without hope. So that as probability in love is not inconsistent with impossibility, how would you have a poor Lover, who discovers in the eyes of his Mistress, a certain kindness and underness for him; not hope that that affection may change its nature; nay sometimes imagine, that though his Mistress know it not, she hath something beyond friendship for him. For it is so natural to love, when it is great, to flatter and deceive those that have it, that I think it impossible a lover should receive expressions of friendship without pleasure. For my part says Melisera, I thought fear as great an argument of love, as hope. It is so, replies Themistus, but their objects are different; for hope is sometime the issue of an excess of love, amidst the greatest occasions of despair; and fear on the contrary, through the same excess of love, seizes a Lover's heart, notwithstanding all the assurances a Mistress can give him. So that to return to the present business, it is easy to comprehend that a Lover cannot give a greater demonstration of his love, then when, notwithstanding the affliction it is to him, that he cannot be loved as he would, he must needs express his resentment of the kindnesses of his Mistress. Not but that those kindnesses are insupportable to him, when she is once out of his sight, but I think it so far impossible, when one loves passionately, to see a Mistress without pleasure, especially when she is kind, that I could defy all the lovers in the world, to maintain they have no pleasure when they receive an expression of friendship.  
But to make it yet more clear, that a Lover, who is capable of that joy which the fair Melisera, attributes to the indifference of his affection, loves more eagerly than another that were insensible of the expressions of friendship he should receive; We are to consider love in its own nature, and grant, that the most perfect love is that which is most passionate and most permanent, and that the Lover, who desiring much, is yet capable of loving eternally, though he obtains in a manner nothing of what he desires, is much more accomplished than he, that through the impatience of his constitution, rather than any excess of passion, says always he will either have all or none, and who is over ready to break his chains, if he be not over burdened with favours, that scorns those trivial things, which balance the great afflictions of those who know how to love and enable them to prosecute their loves without being happy.  
I could never have believed, says the Prince of Messena, that an insensible man could have discoursed of love so well. There is certainly abundance of wit in what he says, replies Melisera, but it is easily perceived that he does not speak out of any experience, since he is persuaded that a man may be guilty of a great deal of love, and be satisfied with a simple expression of friendship. I beseech you Madam, replies Themistus with a little precipitation, alter not the sense of my words, for I do not say, that a Lover is satisfied, when he receives only expressions of friendship, but only, that he cannot forbear, be he never so unhappy, feeling a certain ease; nay, a joy at the instant that he receives that demonstration of friendship: and I hold that a man must be insensible, if he can receive any kindness from his Mistress without pleasure. And I hold, on the contrary, replies Melisera, that a very lukewarm lover, that entertains a kindness of that nature without affliction; since that in my opinion, there is not any thing one should be more troubled at, when you receive that you desire not, and are ever denied that which you do. It is very evident, Madam, replies Themistus, that you care for no more than only to raise love, without receiving any, nay that you have not permitted any one of your Lovers to entertain you with the sentiments you have put into their hearts: for if any had had that privilege, you would have found, as I have already told you, that Love is sometimes content with so little, that it may be said he is content with any thing. 'Tis out of all question, added Meriander, that a Lover desires the fruition of his Mistress, and yet it is an inexpressible joy to him, if he can get but her picture, even though it were taken by stealth. Will any one say that this joy is an argument of the indifferency of his affection? Why therefore will you not allow an unfortunate lover to look on the friendship his Mistress hath for him, as an imperfect draught of the love he desires from her? To be short, add but one degree of heat to tender friendship, and you will raise it up to a love: so that I hold the picture of a person that one loves, when it is not bestowed by her, ought not to cause so much joy as the friendship of a person that one adores; for you may have that Picture without any part of her heart whom it represents, but for friendship, a lover looks on it as a greater favour than it is, if he be deeply in love. He is at least confident that he is esteemed, and that he is loved, which hath ever something of satisfaction in it. Not but I acknowledge, that the greatest friendship in the world cannot afford a pleasure and satisfaction equal to that which proceeds from the most inconsiderable expression of love, that can be imagined. But after all, whoever loves well, cannot but be infinitely sensible of whatever comes from the person be adores, and which seems not to be the effects of hatred and aversion. Nor indeed does the greatness of love ever discover itself better than when a man hath some happy intervals in the midst of his torments, and other unhappy ones even at that time when he lies in the fairest way to happiness. For it is the property of love so to order things, that lovers should never be without pleasure, nor ever without affliction.  
Of a person that is insensible, says the Prince of Messena, once more, you speak so well of this passion, that it is impossible you should have been so always. Themistus hearing what his Rival said, pretended he had not heard him, as being not able to affirm before the Princess of Himera, that he was free from love; and unwilling on the other side to acknowledge it, for fear of dipleasing her, and prejudicing himself. For Demarata, the secret passion she had within prevailing upon her, she imagined that Themistus was certainly in love, and that she was haply the object of that passion, for he was not engaged to any Lady in the Court, and constantly visited none but the Princess of Himera and herself; so that inferring from the discourse that had passed, that Themistus could not be in love with Lindamira, because she perceived he was sensible of those expressions of esteem he received from her, she was very glad of it, not but that the opinion of Meriander and Themistus was the more maintainable: but being not consonant to her desires, she thought fitter to follow the sentiments of Melisera, though she at first opposed them. She went away therefore from Lindamira's very well satisfied: but with Themistus, it was otherwise, for not being able to forbear the discoveries of his joy, when Lindamira honoured him with any marks of the friendship she had for him, he was afraid he had not sufficiently persuaded her, and that she should imagine his love was too light. And this certainly was without some reason, for the Princess of Himera, made an hundred reflections upon that meeting, speaking of it the same evening to my Sister.  
She at first told her, she was glad, it was part of her persuasion, that, according to what Melisera, had said, Themistus was not so much in love, as he pretended. But Madam, replied Mericia, I conceive the tenant of Meriander and Themistus to be more probable than that of the fair Melisera's, whose main business certainly was to show the greatness of her wit. Though it were so, replied Lindamira you would have obliged me not to have said it, for at the present, I should be very glad Themistus loved me not. For in fine, added she, Meriander hath so well proved that love cannot be without hope, that I am in a manner fully satisfied that Themistus flatters himself, and imagines I shall one day love him. Believe me Madam, replies Mericia smiling, I think it would not be amiss, if you did imagine it as well as he, for to be free with you, I think that when a woman hath a very tender friendship for a highly virtuous man, struggling with a very violent passion, which destroys not her friendship whom he loves, it is easily inferred, that in process of time, that friendship will become a little more passionate. Ah, Mericia replies Lindamira did you speak seriously, I should have a strange quarrel to you. I never spoke more earnestly, Madam, replied she, and time will haply convince you, that what I say, is true. If that misfortune ever happen to me, replied the Princess, 'tis more than you shall ever know, or Themistus either. It may be we shall know it before you, answered Mericia laughing, for if we measure things by your humour, you must be even extravagant in love, before you believe yourself to be in any at all; but in a word, Madam, the sentiments that a virtuous love inspires, are so much like those that proceed from a tender friendship, that when one will be deceived, it is easy to be so. But Mericia, replied she, I will not be deceived, you do not believe it, replies my Sister, yet it happens otherwise.  
Lindamira made no reply, and Mericia leaving her to her own thoughts, began seriously to believe that the friendship she had in her soul, might at last be inflamed into a love. And indeed, from that day Lindamira carried herself otherwise towards Themistus, she was distrustful of herself, and to her own sorrow, she thought that Themistus loved her not so much as he pretended. But what troubled her most of all, was that, whether she would or no, she took it not well that Themistus should love her less than she had thought. And yet she concealed her sentiments from him with abundance of care, and gave him no other answer for a long time, but that she had not, nor could not have any love for him. Themistus on the other side ever told her that he was, and ever would be, the most amorous of men. But she, instead of telling him, as she had done before, that she was sorry he should be so, and that she entreated him to endeavour the conquest of his sentiments, would now tell him, that he loved her not so well as he conceived, and that certainly he knew not what transactions passed in his own heart. But she at the same time avoided him, was so melancholy, and treated him so ill for some days, that Themistus was like to die of mere grief. At last he fell into such a deep melancholy, and grew so sick, that the ablest Physicians were doubtful of his recovery.  
The Prince, who had an extraordinary tenderness for him, was excessively troubled to see him in that condition; Demarata conceiving that the secret passion he had for her, had brought him to that extremity, groaned under an affliction that had discovered her secret thoughts, had she not been a great Mistress in the Art of dissimulation; and Lindamira being then fully satisfied that she was the cause of the danger Themistus was in, was so sensibly moved thereat, that she was forced to keep her chamber, and to pretend herself indisposed, so to conceal her grief; for I had forgot to tell you, that the day immediately before that wherein Themistus fell so very ill, Lindamira had said some things to him, which he resented so deeply, that she herself was sorry for it a quarter of an hour after he had left her. So that looking on herself as in a manner the murtheress of the most virtuous man about the Court, and one for whom she had so tender a friendship, one whom the Prince and the State were so much obliged to; nay one to whom she herself was, whether she considered him as her servant, or as her friend, she accused herself, though she knew not precisely what she charged herself withal.  
In the mean time Perianthus visited Themistus every day; the Prince of Messena did the like, nay, Demarata came to see him, and was so troubled at the sad condition she found him in, that she had almost been overcome by the violence of her affliction, after she had opposed her passion so long, and given some assurance of her love to Themistus, whom she thought reduced to that condition, merely because he durst not acquaint her with his affection, as well out of the respect he bore her, and the saith he would observe to the Prince his Master. So that Demarata was almost tempted to tell him, that he was much more happy than he thought himself, but at last she was content only to give him thousands of expressions of esteem and friendship, by the grief she discovered, both in her eyes and words. The sick Lover seeing himself bemoaned and visited by all, and not seeing the Princess Lindamira, knew not what to think of her carriage towards him. She indeed sent to see how he did, but since Demarata had been to visit him, he thought she might very well have born her company. So that being unwilling to die till he knew what Lindamira thought of his death, he did himself an extreme violence to write three or four lines, which he trusted to my conveyance. He made me seal the Letter which I was to carry to Lindimira, whom I found alone. She blushed when I told her that Themistus had written it to her, whereupon opening the Letter hastily, yet with a certain fear, she found therein these words.  
THEMISTUS to the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
I Have not been able to obey your command, that I should not love you any longer, but I shall do it if you command me to die. Be pleased then, Madam, to lay your commands upon me, that I may have some satisfaction when I die, and deny not this fatal favour to the most wretched, yet the most amorous of men.  
Lindamira read it twice over, but not without tears in her eyes. Yet did she what lay in her power to hinder me from seeing them; and having recovered herself a little, she asked me whether it were true that Themistus was so ill as it was reported, and he pretended himself. Madam, said I, Themistus is so ill and weak, that if you will favour him with any answer, you must do it immediately. At these words, Lindamira going into her Closet, left me in her Chamber, and a few minutes after, brought me her answer; desiring me with the tears in her eyes if Themistus at my return were not in a condition to read it, to restore her the Letter, without ever making the least mention thereof to any one. I promised to do what she desired, and so returned to my sick friend, to whom I delivered Lindamira's Letter, and whose spirits I very much raised, when I told him she had read his with tears in her eyes. He thereupon opened the Princess', and set himself to read it, though with much trouble, because of the extraordinary weakness he was in. But love multiplying his strength, he at last made a shift to read these words.  
LINDAMIRA to THEMISTUS.  
ay Ive Themistus, live, and if there needs no more to oblige you thereto, than to promise you that I will not forbid you to love me. I shall resolve to do so, to save that Man's life, who of all the world is the dearest to me.  
Themistus was so overjoyed at this Letter, that a kind of Lethargy which accompanied the fever he was in, and that seemed an inevitable symptom of death to the Physicians, began to be dispersed, and as if his sickness had proceeded from enchantment, he recovered in an instant, insomuch, that those who had him under cure, being come to see him that night, were in some hope of his amendment. So that sending this news immediately to the Prince, Demarata, who had visited Themistus that morning, and had said so many kind things to him, thought that her visit had cured him, and thereupon loved him much more passionately than ever she had done before. For Lindamira, she had reason to believe that she had restored Themistus to life; but she almost repented her of it, when she came to consider the consequences which what she had done might have. But after all, having a greater love for him than she thought to have had, she kindly received another Letter that Themistus writ, the next day when he was a little recovered. It was but short and to this effect.  
THEMISTUS to the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
I Shall live, Madam, since it is your pleasure I should, but I beseech you, let it never out of your memory what you have promised me, unless you would have me to lose the life which you have preserved, and which I value not but out of a consideration that you have bestowed it on me to adore you eternally.  
What was most remarkable, Madam, was, that when Themistus was fully recovered, Lindamira would not be persuaded to see him. Upon that account was it that she went into the Country for fifteen days, nor could she be brought to speak to him till the very minute of her departure. But not able to avoid him at her return, Themistus saw her at her own Palace, and that alone. I shall not give you a punctual account of the entertainment happened between them; for I have so many things of greater consequence to acquaint you withal, that I shall pass by that. But at last, Themistus spoke so passionately to Lindamira, that that fair Princess, whose heart is naturally very tender, and who had been enraged in love through friendship, confirmed the permission she had given him, and so did as good as encourage him to believe, that the tenderness she had for him, amounted to something beyond ordinary friendship: but she withal, laid her absolute commands upon him, never to require any other demonstrations of it than simple assurances, and not by any means pretend to aught but the glory to know that she preferred him before all men in the world. Themistus, who was much more happy than he expected to be, promised to do all she desired, and was so well satisfied with the change of his fortune, that he soon recovered his perfect health.  
Demarata in the mean time, was more and more persuaded that she had proved the Doctress, and restored him to it; for he growing a little better the very day she came to visit him, told her, at the first visit he made her, by way of compliment, that he came to make his acknowledgements for that the honours she had done him, had saved his life. So that taking this positively as he said it, she was afraid she had told him too much, for she had as yet some remainders of modesty in her, and her love was not grown too strong for her reason. However she behaved herself with so much discretion, that Themistus did not so much as imagine what she had within her, so that the satisfaction it was to him to be in good terms with Lindamira, was not clouded with any thing but the love of the Prince of Messena, as also by the small likelihood there was he could ever be absolutely happy. For this Princess scattered not so much as a word, whence he might gather the least hope that she would ever be persuaded to marry him; so that knowing her virtue, and the disposition of her soul, his happiness was still in some hazard.  
But this hindered him not from believing himself the most fortunate lover in the world, because he valued the least favour he received from Lindamira, beyond all the kindnesses that others could receive. 'Twas then he understood the difference there is between the greatest expressions of friendship, and the most inconsiderable assurances of love; for though he had sometime been satisfied, when Lindamira had put a thousand obligations upon him, which convinced him that she had a friendship for him,, it signified nothing in comparison of what he felt when he but met with Lindamira's eyes, and saw in them certain languishing glances, that assured him she approved his flames, and desired the continuance of them. The Prince of Messena was still in love, and his addresses were equally troublesome to the Princess Lindamira and Themistus, who to get him off handsomely, made the Prince of Syracuse, press the execution of the treaty of Peace, that the young Prince, who lay there as a Hostage, might be obliged to return home.  
On the contrary, the old Prince of Messena, while his Son was at Syracuse, endeavoured nothing so much as to find out delays, for having concluded the peace merely out of necessity, he spent that time merely to find out occasion to renew the war. And indeed, thinking he had found them, he sent a secret Messenger to the Prince his Son, to advise him to leave Syracuse, writing to him (though there were no such thing) that he knew he was to be secured there. This young Prince, who knew that the policy of the Prince his Father, proceeded rather from a Foxlike craft than any true prudence, credited not what was said to him; besides that, bearing a noble mind, he would rather expose himself to be secured by injustice, than to be suspected by a breach of his parole, to endeavour an escape. Besides that, being infinitely in love with Lindamira, he thought nothing more horrid than to get away from her, by doing a base action which might occasion a war between him and the Prince her Brother. He therefore never disputed the business, and taking advantage of this occasion to discover his passion, he came to Lindamira, he showed her the Letter from the Prince his Father, he assured her he would not obey it, and that he had rather be a slave at Syacuse, than free at Messena. Being a Gentleman of very handsome parts, he said this in an extreme obliging way, so that Lindamira not interpreting what he had said, to have any relation to his love, as a thing that had any real being, answered him only as to the generosity that appeared in his proceedings; assuring him that the Prince her Brother had no design to secure him; and that she should not fail to give him an account of his generous carriage towards him. Upon which Perianthus being come into the room, attended by Themistus, Lindamira, not harkening to the entreaty of the Prince of Messena, which was that she should not say any thing of what he had acquainted her with, briefly told the Prince her Brother, what that Prince had discovered to her, adding that he had made choice of her to give him notice of it. Themistus was at first troubled a little to see Lindamira acquainting Perianthus so hastily, with so generous an action of his Rival; but coming to consider that it might prove an occasion of renewing the War, he found it was more to his advantage than he thought, and was more prejudicial to his Rival, than haply he imagined: So that his thoughts being absolutely becalmed, he commended the Prince of Messena's action, to whom he spoke with abundance of generosity. Whereupon Perianthus, to convince him that he had not the least intention to secure him, assured him he would take no advantage of this discovery; for, said he to him, there's nothing so clear, as that the Prince your Father endeavours to renew the War. And yet I now declare, that if he break the Treaty, I will set you at liberty to go and maintain his unjustice. To these words the Prince of Messena made answer, That if the Prince his Father were so unworthy as to break the Articles, he would remain at Syracuse as a prisoner of War.  
Upon that Themistus came into the discourse, which was concluded with protestations of friendship between Perianthus and the Prince of Messena, who made answer to the Prince his Father, that he was misinformed, if he thought the Prince of Syracuse had any design to secure him. That consequently, since there was no such thing, he entreated him not to take it ill that he stayed at Syracuse till the Articles of Peace were fully put in execution. So that this old Politician, seeing he could not get away his Son, carried himself more circumspectly, and seeking out pretences apparent enough to delay the execution he had promised, he ordered the War to be begun by the Prince of Heraclea, with whom he held a secret intelligence, that had not been discovered at the Court of Syracuse. So that it was no small surprisal, to hear that the Prince of Heraclea had made an irruption into the frontiers of this State.  
Themistus, making all things contribute to his love and ambition, presently looked on it as his work, to put a glorious period to this War also; and though it were a great affliction to him to be far from Lindamira, and to leave his Rival near her; yet as things stood, it was not to be disputed, whether it should be so or no; that he must of necessity command the Army in person, and that Fame would speak much more advantageously of him to Lindamira, than the Prince of Messena could for himself. He therefore issued out all necessary orders by the Authority of Perianthus, and having gotten together some of those Troops that had served in the War of Messena, he prepared for his departure. His Army was not very considerable, because he thought it no prudence to weaken the Frontiers towards Messena; So that Demarata, and Lindamira had each of them their particular fears, that Themistus would not haply be so victorious in this second War, as he had been in the first. Nay, the Prince himself was in some doubt that the success of this enterprise would not prove fortunate, and there was only Themistus himself, who was as confident of Victory now, as he had been before.  
Accordingly, when he came to take his leave of Lindamira, and that he perceived she was in some fear this expedition might prove unfortunate to him; No, no, Madam, said he to her, fear not for Themistus, for since he was able to overcome the enemies of his Prince, when he was in a manner indifferent to you, he cannot now be overcome himself, that he is in some hope of your addresses to Heaven for him. But, Madam, while I shall be employed to defeat the enemies of the State, be not you surprised by the love of my Rival, for if I am once forced out of your heart, I am conquerable every where, Were it the pleasure of the gods, replied Lindamira, that my fears were as groundless as yours, and that I were as confident to see you return a Conqueror, as you ought to be, that no man shall displace you out of my heart. Themistus hearing these obliging words from the mouth of his Princess, returned her whatever the tenderest love can do, that is most respectful, and most passionate, so that this adieu was infinitely full of passion. And indeed it happened in a place fit to speak obliging things in. For Demarata and Lindamira, being gone to the Rendezvous of the Troops with Perianthus, lodged that night at a fair House of Meriander's, within eight miles of Syracuse. So that it was in one of the Walks of that pleasant Wilderness, that Themistus took his last leave of that excellent Princess.  
For Demarata, in regard she had a great influence over Perianthus, Themistus, to lay yet greater obligations on her, entertained her with abundance of affection and respect as he took leave of her; so that the Princess, confirmed in the opinion she was of, that he loved her, though he durst not discover it, felt the passion she had for him doubled, out of the consideration of the hazards he whom she loved was to be exposed to: but at last Themistus departed, and went to find out his enemies. After his departure, the Princess of Himera, desirous to avoid the Prince of Messena's entertainments, and to conceal part of the affliction she was in, by reason of Themistus' absence, went very often into the Country: but in regard she could not go to any of her own houses, because they lay on that quarter where the seat of the War was, she was forced to borrow one of Meriander's, which he, being a generous, obliging, and gallant soul, furnished her with, and that with such satisfaction. that he caused an Arbour that lay in one corner of his Garden, than not wholly painted, to be finished for the greater diversion of her solitary entertainments. And indeed Lindamira, was much more pleased with that place than any other, repairing thither often without any other company, than that of her Women, and my Sister, whom she made the Privy Counsellor to all her secrets.  
But to shorten this relation as much as may be, it was no sooner heard that Themistus was upon the Frontiers, but news was brought that he had routed the enemy, and forced them to fly into their Country. This first advantage gained by this fortunate Lover, filled all hearts with hope, and that of Lindamira's with joy, who received withal a Letter from Themistus. But Madam, I had forgot to tell you, that they had agreed before hand to write under a feigned name, that Themistus was to go under that of Daphnis, and Lindamira under that of Iris, that if the Letters should miscarry, it might not be discovered whom they were directed to. It was also resolved between them, that there should be nothing in those Letters, whence might be inferred the inequality of their conditions: So that Themistus being at liberty to write as passionately as he pleased himself, writ to his Princess in these terms,  
DAPHNIS to IRIS.  
GIve me leave, most fair and accomplished Iris, to give you thanks for the advantage I have gained, for I am not obliged for it so much to Fortune, as to the desire I have had to please you. Be you therefore pleased to accept the honour of my Victory, and assure yourself, I shall do all that lies in my power, to conquer with the greater expedition, that I may come and ask you whether you have defended your heart against my Rivals, as well as I have done the frontiers of this State, against the enemies of my Prince. Farewell incomparable Iris, bestow now and then a thought on the unfortunate Daphnis, if I may so call a man, for whom you have sent those addresses and vows to Heaven, that have gained him an advantage he durst never hope from his own courage.  
Lindamira, having received this Letter by a faithful Slave, who delivered it my Sister, and who knew not it was directed to the Princess, answered by the same way, as you shall hear.  
IRIS to DAPHNIS.  
YOu do not certainly owe your Victory to any thing but your own courage; but my dear Daphnis, you are in my debt something, you ought to be infinitely more sensible of, since you owe me thousands of fears, thousands of afflictions, thousands of disturbances, that your absence, and the hazard you are in, put me into. Hasten therefore your Conquest, but I would not have you to purchase Victory with too much danger to your life, which is dearer to me than my own.  
You may judge what pleasant entertainment a correspondence so full of affection, afforded the persons between whom it was, and what great satisfaction Demarata conceived at the Victory gained by Themistus, one she so passionately loved, and who she thought had a secret affection for her. For Perianthus his joy was extraordinary, to see that the designs of his enemies proved so abortive; nay, the Prince of Messena was glad of Themistus' good success, out of hope, that the Prince of Heraclea being worsted, his Father would at last be induced to execute the Treaty, and not renew the War So that the joy was universal, yet not so, but that it met with some affliction and disquiet in Lindamira: for Love, of all things, cannot brook absence, especially, when one knows well how to love. Accordingly, she was never better pleased than when she was alone, or had only Mericia with her, with whom he might discourse of Themistus.  
And as this Princess is indeed a great Wit, so does she sometimes write Verses, such as Themistus (who, for a person of his quality, is excellent good at it) might not blush to own. So that it being impossible to be in love; and to be able to write Verses, and not to do it. Lindamira and Mericia made it sometimes their employment to do something of that nature; when they were at Meriander's fair house in the Country. Nay, it is imagined that he had from this Princess certain verses, which he hath set up in an Arbour, whereof I shall have something to tell you. In the mean time I will give you a great demonstration of my Sister's Fidelity. You are then to know, that when the Princess writ any Verses, wherein there was any reflection on the love of Themistus, she caused Mericia to write them over, as being out of prudence, unwilling they should be seen under her own hand. Being therefore gone one day a walking together, in a Walk where she had sometimes seen Themistus; she in a quarter of an hour made three Couplets of a Song, to an Air which my Sister sung excellently well; so that she repeated them to her, purposely to oblige her to sing them. But since it is hard for one to sing well, that is not very perfect in the words, Mericia writ down the three Couplets the Princess had made, which though they are not highly witty, are yet worthy the recital, because there is something in them that is very passionate. They are these.  

SONG.  

1.  
I Labour to resist in vain,  
The woes that would my heart devour,  
Caused by the absence I sustain.  
Who, Love, would think under thy power  
we should endure such pain,  
When we both love, and are beloved again?   

2.  
Perpetual fears my Soul invade,  
To see the person I adore  
Amidst a thousand hazards laid;  
Who, Love, would think under thy power,  
we should endure such pain,  
When we both love, and are beloved again?   

3.  
I often fear, but am too blame,  
(Unjust to's Love can I be more?)  
Another may his heart inflame;  
Who, Love, would think under thy power,  
we should endure such pain,  
When we both love, and are beloved again?    
Mericia having written these three Couplets, sang them to the Princess, who in the mean time had her thoughts filled with all the satisfaction, that a person, who fears not to discover her most secret sentiments to a true friend, can have. My Sister by this means, got the Song so perfect, that the next day being returned to Syracuse, she sung it, not thinking of any thing, before the Prince of Messena, who asked her from whom she had it. Mericia remembering herself, blushed, and made no direct answer, so that the Prince wes still at her to know, and knowing, she was able to do any thing of that nature, told her that he was very happy, for whom she had made that Song. Mericia perceiving that the Prince of Messena's suspicion was far from the truth, suffered him to believe what he pleased, and craftily confirmed him in the jealousy he was in, choosing rather to be suspected of a thing that was not, than to give any occasion to suspect the Princess of Himera, of a thing that was: for considering the extraordinary friendship that Lindamira had for Mericia, as also that they came up out of the Country together, and that there were few Women at Syracuse that could write such a Song, it might at last have been thought to come from the Princess of Himera, if my Sister had not discreetly started the occasion of suspecting, that she had made those verses. Not that Lindamira does any way pretend to be a Wit, but it is nevertheless known that she can do what she hath a mind to, and so it might have been imagined, as I have already told her, that she had made that Song, if my Sister, who could not affirm she had it from her, had not suffered people to believe that she, for diversion sake, had written it herself. But what made the Princess Himera the more obliged to her, was, that the whole Court concluded these Couplets, were made for one in the Army, that was very deeply in love with Mericia. He wanted not friends to send them, insomuch, that he was so far persuaded they were directed to him, that he writ a very obliging Letter to my Sister, to know whether he ought to return her his thanks for such a Favour.  
This adventure, no question, troubled Mericia very much, but such was the affection she had for Lindamira, that she willingly suffered for her sake. So that this endeared her so much the more to the Princess, who still preferring solitude before the Court, during the absence of Themistus, returned to Meriander's house, taking my Sister along with her. While she was there, news came that Themistus had given the enemy another overthrow, and that the Prince of Heraclea had desired a cessation of twenty days, so that Lindamira looking on this cessation as a thing that would retard Themistus' return, if it produced not a Peace, was so melancholy, and cast down at it, that she could not endure any to be near her but Mericia. Nay, there were some intervals, wherein she would rather walk without her than with her, and wherein she went and sat in the pleasant Arbour which Meriander had caused to be made up a little before. One while she spent the time in thinking, another in reading Themistus' Letters, and sometimes desirous to stay some of her thoughts, she took her Table-book and writ something in it. Sometimes taking her Black-lead which she always carried about her, she would design something, or write some gallant, yet passionate expression upon the squares of White and Red Marble, that were in divers parts of the Closet, but dashed out all immediately, if she did not forget to do it. When she had done, she gave my Sister an account of all she had either done or thought, as if she had been returned after a long journey, though commonly she had not been an hour alone. For, Madam, I dare assure you, that there never was any affection so passionate. and withal so innocent; as what Lindamira had for Themistus; who yet loves beyond what he is loved, if it be allowable to make comparisons between two things that are extreme.  
This fortunate Favourite, in the mean time making his advantage of the cessation, and pretending out of policy to come and advise with the Prince about the Articles of the Peace, if any were made, left the Army to be commanded by his Lieutenant-General, and came for Syracuse. But understanding that Lindamira was at Meriander's house, he would needs surprise her with a visit. He left four men that came along with him, being all the retinue he had, at a little Village, and attended only by a Slave, he alighted at a house where Meriander's Gardener lived, that is a Cottage which lies without the Park, within which the house is. This fellow being simple and necessitous, it was the easier for Themistus to oblige him, by Presents, to do what he pleased. But he desired no more of him, than that, taking no notice of his being there, he would let him into the Garden where the Princess of Himera was wont to walk. The Sun was about an hour high, so that he might easily hide himself where he pleased in the Garden, so as to discover himself of a sudden to Lindamira, who was not yet stirring: For besides that, it was as yet early day for a Lady to get up, the Princess of Himera had walked so late by the Moonlight the night before, that she could not rise very betimes. However, the Gardener assured Themistus, that she would take a walk before dinner, and therefore says the poor fellow, out of his natural simplicity, if you would see the Garden, do it before she comes, for she is no sooner dressed, but she comes and sits in an Arbour, where my Master hath caused abundance of things to be written on Marble, which are past my understanding. Themistus was extremely taken with the simplicity of this Gardener, who knew him not, though he had been divers times before in the Garden, and the reason was, that he had only minded the Prince and the Princesses, with whom Themistus came, so that he bid him leave him to himself, and go to his work.  
The Gardiner accordingly, who was very busy about a hedge of Myrtles, whereof there were abundance in the Garden, as also a many Orange-trees, left him, and went about his work. Themistus was no sooner come to the midst of the Garden, and saw the windows of the Chamber where his Princess lay yet asleep, but he felt a strange agitation in his heart. He was transported with joy, and, not able to master his own thoughts, he made a thousand contradictory wishes: for he would fain see her asleep, he would fain speak to her, and he would see in her eyes the demonstrations of love. But the Gardener having told him, that when the Princess of Himera had taken her walk, she commonly went, and rested herself in a magnificent Arbour, which I told you Meriander had caused to be finished since his departure thence, which is no question, very noble, and excellently well fancied, so as to deserve to be the treasury of Lindamira's thoughts.  
For you are to know, that at the end of a spacious paved Walk, very pleasant to look on, lies this great quadrangular Arbour, whereof the Architecture is very exact, The roof of it is upheld by sixteen Columns of White Marble, whereof the Bases and Chapters are of Red Marble. There are four large bow-windows, breast-high, with Curtains within, which may be drawn of any side, to avoid either the Sun or the Wind? The door of it is made Grate-wise, and the Frizes on the outside have a certain Imagery upon them, where may be seen divers little Loves, that make chains of Roses, and entangle one another in them, as pleasantly as may be. For the inside, the Freeze, which is of Marble as without, hath divers inscriptions, that is, so many amorous Maxims put there by Meriander's order.  
But though he be excellent good at a copy of Verses, yet is it much suspected that the Princess of Himera had made those that are in this Arbour, which hath all about it, very convenient and handsome seats. For the upper part of the roof, there is very ingeniously represented a Heaven, whence a many little Loves seem to shoot Arrows, to cast Flowers, or show their Torches. But I had forgot to tell you, that on the top of the covering without,, there is a Figure of Cupid, the noblest in the World, who having loosed his fillet, which seemed to be tossed by the Wind, looks, or seems to look towards the spacious paved Walk, as if he would not have any one to enter into that place, till he had wounded him. And to that end, having his Bow in his left hand, and an Arrow in the right, his intention may be perceived by his actions, and in his eyes, where it is so admirably represented, that it is impossible any thing can be better; Themistus approaching this Arbour, perceives a large Oval reversed in the middle of the Freeze, under the Cornish, and just above the Door, wherein these two Verses were engraven'd in Golden Letters.  
Who Love's commanding Sceptre does not fear, Let him not enter here.  
Themistus surprised at this Inscription, read it with much satisfaction, and saying to himself, that he had a privilege to come into that Arbour, since that there needed only Love to give one entrance, opened the door, and went in hastily. He was no sooner in, but he finds over against him engraved upon the Freeze, in an Oval-embossed Work, these two other Verses.  
'Tis vain for to resist Love's mighty sway,  
Who does not love, a time will come he may.  
Then Themistus turning to the right hand, finds these two other Verses.  
When Lovers pleasures undisturbed shall be,  
The Spring shall neither Flowers, nor Zephyrs see  
Then turning to the left he found these two.  
A Lover and Content, must ne'er be friends,  
But who loves not unhappiness attends.  
Then at last, turning to the door, he finds over it the two Verses I am going to repeat to you.  
While there is hope, be sure you do not yield,  
For soon or late a Lover wins the field.  
Themistus having given over reading these Inscriptions, was extremely pleased with them, and had a secret satisfaction, to find that his Mistress came so much to a place, where the very Marbles, if I may so express it, entertained her with Love, and where he thought she could not be without thinking on him. Nay, he thought she must needs be the Author of the Verses he was much taken with, and began to bethink him what he should say to her when she came into the Arbour, In the mean time being extremely well pleased with those Love-Maxims, he learned these eight Verses immediately by heart, and going to repeat them over, to see if he had them perfect, he looked another way downwards; but as he looked, he casually espied something written with black Lead on a white Marble Table, which I had forgot to tell you was in the midst of the Arbour. So that being desirous to see what it was, he came nearer, and knew it to be the writing of his Princess. Reading it over hastily, he found the eight Verses I shall repeat to you, which the Princess of Himera had made; and, having written them there, had forgot to dash them out.  

Fair Grove, to thee alone I do impart  
The secret sufferings of my wounded heart  
Receive my amorous sighs, and let them not,  
Be mixed with winds, the waving Air to cut  
Preserve the sad expressions of my Love,  
Till Daphnis coming to your shades may prove,  
By your assurances, I die here for grief,  
While all your pleasures find me no relief.   
You may easily imagine, Madam, what joy it was to Themistus, to find Verses so amorous written by the hand of his Princess, and which he could not doubt but were made for him, Nay indeed, he was so transported with joy, that the disturbance it raised in his thoughts, hindered him for some time, from reading them the second time. 'Tis true, he found it no hard matter to remember them, for they made so strong an impression in him, that he found he had them by heart when he went to read them again. He could have wished it possible to take those precious characters out of the Table on which they were drawn; yet durst he not so much as kiss them in the transport of his passion, for fear of blotting them, and he knew not in a manner what he did, such a pleasant agitation were his thoughts in.  
But knowing the Princess to be a considerate and discreet person, he easily imagined that it must be her forgetfulness that those Verses, he was so much pleased with, were not dashed out, and he thought himself so much obliged to her for that act of oblivion, which he attributed to the greatness of her affection, that he would have thought himself happy to die a thousand times for her sake. Whereupon, the same sentiment of Love which made him afraid to blot out those Verses, put him also into a fear they should be seen by any other than himself. But at last, considering that the Princess had but few people about her, and there coming into his thoughts a fancy that pleased him, he recollected himself for a quarter of an hour, and taking the Lead which Lindamira had left upon the Table, whereon she had written the eight Verses I have repeated to you, he writ under them these I am now to repeat,  

Vain Laurels, wrack no more my labouring mind  
May I my only fame in Iris find.  
Might I, without all noise from dangers free,  
Under these Orange-trees and Myrtles be,  
With amorous Myrtles crowned to pass away,  
As if one minute were the longest day;  
To hear th'incomparable Iris sigh,  
To crown desire with true felicity,  
To live with Iris on perpetual joy,  
And what e'er else the world affords, defy.   
Themistus having written these Verses, which certainly speak abundance of passion, went out of the Arbour, and hid himself behind a hedge of Myrtles, that lay on the right hand of that place, to see when the Princess came: resolved; if any other came thither, to discover himself, that none might see the Verses he had written; and to dash them out if it were requisite.  
It was not long e'er Lindamira came, for having called to mind, as she awoke, that she had written certain Verses upon the Table in the Arbour, and had not dashed them out, she was so extremely troubled at it, that she rose up in haste, pretending that she would take the Air before the Sun were too hot. She dressed herself therefore after a negligent manner, that she might the sooner have done, and went to the Arbour, followed by my Sister, whither she was no sooner come, but she went to wipe out what she had written. She did it in such haste, that she had almost done the like, unknown to her, to the Verses Themistus had made; but perceiving of a sudden, something written under those she had already half blotted, she blushed, and was strangely troubled to find, that some body must needs have come into the Arbour, and consequently that her verses had been seen. But presently after, knowing the writing to be Themistus', her trouble was turned into joy. Yet could she not avoid a certain slight confusion, that he should see the verses she had made for him. And yet, all considered, she was so glad, that none but Themistus had seen these eight Verses; she was so well pleased with those she had made, and she conceived so much pleasure in the hope of seeing him suddenly, that not able to conceal it from Mericia, she caused her to read what she had read herself before, commending particularly, as what she could not forbear, the passion expressed in the two last Verses. Whereupon, speaking to her, you may easily perceive, said she, that he who hath written what you have read, must needs be in the Garden. He is indeed Madam, (answered Themistus, coming into the Arbour, and saluting her very submissively) and is come hither to assure you with all truth and sincerity; that what he hath taken the boldness to write under those admirable Verses you have made, expresses the pure sentiments of his heart. But Madam, may I believe that what you have written is equally real? I beseech you, added he, tell me not any thing that may disannul what I have read. You know, replied she, smiling, that sometimes the cadence of a Verse, makes one say somewhat more than he would; but, in fine, you may be safely confident, that some are very glad to see you, that you have been very much wished here, that we concern ourselves in your Fame and in your Life, and that we desire your happiness. I am happy, divine Princess, replied Themistus, if I have your affection, and I shall defy fortune to contribute any thing to my felicity, since it is impossible I should be happy, if you will not have me to be such. For, Madam, if I seek after Fame, I do it only to deserve you: if I seem ambitious, it is not so much to raise myself to the rank my Fathers have lived in, as to come nearer that you are in; for without that, I swear to you by all that is most sacred, that I should be content if I could but while I live,  

Hear the incomparable Iris sigh,  
And crown desire with true felicity,  
To live with Iris in perpetual joy,  
And what e'er else the world affords, defy.   
Themistus repeated these Verses, with an accent so full of passion, that Lindamira thought them much better in his mouth, than they were when she had read them. Whereupon, desirous to fall upon some other discourse, she spoke of his good successes in the War. But whatever she said, he some way or other brought it about to Love: he asked her whether the Prince of Messena had done him any injury in his absence, looking on Mericia, as if he were to read in her eyes, whether the Princess spoke truth or no,  
From that they came to other discourses, and so to other, till at last he began to abuse my Sister about the Song she had sent to the Army, as conceiving it to be hers, which engaged him in two quarrels instead of one. For the Princess took it not well he should not have discovered that she had made it; and Mericia took it very ill he should believe that she had made it for the person, to whom he thought it directed. However, this little contestation was concluded with a very affectionate accommodation between Lindamira and Themistus; but, after all, though he were loved, yet was he not without some disturbance, out of a certain dissidence, that he should never be absolutely happy; and so his own happiness contributed somewhat to his sufferings.  
In the mean time, the Princess being a very discreet person, would not have Themistus' visit, to have been thought gotten by stealth; he therefore walked with her all day, in the presence of those who were about that Princess, and in the evening, took his leave to go to those that came with him (for he brought thither but one slave with him) and so to reach Syracuse, which he did before the Prince was a-bed He saw also Demarata, for Perianthus was in her chamber when he came to the Palace, where he was received by both, with the greatest expressions of joy imaginable. Now Themistus, carrying in his face all the satisfaction that a person equally favoured by Mars and Venus, could have, never appeared so lovely to Demarata before. Besides, he spoke so well, that the secret passion she had within her, increased after so strange a manner, that, three days after, she could not forbear disburthening her thoughts to her, to whom she made privy to all her secret sentiments. What made them the more lively was, that she doubted not but Themistus loved her, though he durst not discover it. She had some time thought it a great satisfaction to know that he loved her, but according to the present posture of her soul, that was not enough. So that making her complaint to Amerintha, that Lady told her she could not apprehend what her design should be. For in fine, Madam, said she to her, you have told me heretofore that you would not have Themistus know that you loved him. 'Tis very true, replies Demarata, but at that time, I thought he had not loved me; but now that I imagine he does; I am in such, a fear he should cease loving me, that I should not be haply very much troubled he should be thus far confident that it were not haply impossible he should not be hated; and if I may presume to acquaint you with the strange fantastickness of my thoughts, I almost wish he had discovered somewhat of his passion to me, though I am resolved if he mention it to me, to forbid him ever to speak of it again. I know this is a proceeding which speaks not much reason, but whoever is in love, is not troubled with much of the other. Besides, were I guilty of nothing but love, I should be less miserable, but there is in me a remainder of glory, which makes me absolutely unhappy, and that is neither strong enough to overcome my passion, nor so weak as wholly to yield to it. So that I must, in spite of my teeth, bethink me of some fantastic consolation amidst the torments I endure, and to that end I shall haply myself, give Themistus some occasion to discover the love he hath for me, though I am resolved, as I told you, to lay my commands never to speak of it more. For in fine, what love soever may possess my heart, I had rather die than be infamous. And though the aversion I have for Perianthus be very strong, yet I will not be chargeable with any thing farther, but since it is the pleasure of my fate, that my heart be not for Perianthus, it does not concern him much, whether I keep it to myself, or bestow it on Themistus, provided my soul be free from those horrid sentiments, that are not the infallible demonstrations of a real love.  
Demarata had a many other things to entertain Amerintha with, till word was brought that Themistus was at the door, desirous to know whether he might wait on her. She looked upon Amerintha, without saying aught to her, during which time thousands of several sentiments passing through her heart, she seemed unresolved and unquiet, then at last determining of a sudden, she commanded he might have admittance. Themistus, not suspecting any thing of what Demarata was disturbed at, came out of civility to wait on her, as wife to his Master, and consequently one for whom he was glad to have all the complaisance in the world, out of considerations of love and ambition. Lindamira had that very day advised him to use all the endeavours he could to preserve himself in the good thoughts of Demarata, for she was returned that morning from Meriander's House. So that he went into this Princess' Closet, as a person whose design was to humour her. He was no sooner in, but Amerintha withdrew to the other side of the Closet, which was a very large one, to give Demarata and Themistus the liberty of private discourse.  
At first the War, the reputation he had gained, and the cessation were the subject of their discourse, Themistus all the while never perceiving the Princess to be in any disturbance, so excellent is she in the art of dissimulation. Nay she did her work so handsomely, that without discovering any thing of affectation, or design in what she said, she insensibly brought him into a discourse wherein he was extremely put to it. For after a many indifferent things, she asked whether he had visited many Ladies. Themistus, not knowing to what end she put that question to him, made answer, that he had seen only the Princess Lindamira, the fair Melisera, and two others that he named. Then changing the discourse, she asked him whether he still minded the advice she had sometime given him. I have so great a respect for you, that I can never forget any thing you say to me; and that you may know what memory I have for your Counsels, I am only to tell you that your absolute commands were, that I should not entertain any love, if ever I pretended to be favourite to the Prince. And yet I know one, replied she, who thinks you are very much in love with a Woman of high quality, nay conceives you somewhat in her favour. Themistus hearing Demarata speak so home, was a little surprised at it, for a Lover that loves truly, ever thinks he is discovered, or at the least fears he should be. But at last, having done himself a little violence, Methinks Madam, said he to her, I see so few Ladies out of your Palace, and presence, that I cannot imagine who should bring you such a piece of news. Demarata perceiving Themistus moved at what she said, was confirmed in the imagination she had that he was in love with her. So that to bring about her design the sooner, believe me Themistus, said she, a man should make it no miracle that people know what is, and speak what is not, for all may be discovered, and all may be feigned. But in a word, I have heard for certain, that you love a Woman of the highest quality, one all the World thinks handsome enough; one that hath raised love in others, that hath a great Wit, loves you, and that you would not have it known that you are in love. And to show you, continued she blushing, that I am not misinformed, you have seen her this day.  
Themistus surprised at what Demarata said, was almost out of all doubt that his love to Lindamira was discovered, for all she had said might very well be meant of that Princess; she was of high quality, handsome, had a servant of the Prince of Messena, had a great wit, he loved her, she affected him, he was unwilling it should be known he had any affection for her, and he had seen her that very day, and of the Ladies he had seen none but her and Demarata, whom he could not imagine concerned in this discourse, though it were the secret drift of her that spoke it; so that he was at such a loss, that he knew not what to do. Demarata on the other side, seeing the uncertain posture he was in, had a secret joy to imagine that she was not mistaken. In the mean time Themistus, running over a hundred things in an instant, told her that he could not devise who might have brought her this news, nor who they could imagine he should be in love with— And if it should happen to be myself, said she somewhat hastily, looking on him very earnestly, though with some disturbance— Then I should say, Madam, (replied he, not suspecting as yet any thing of the truth) that these people were a little at a distance with their wits, for though you are one of the noblest Princesses in the World, and the fittest to raise love, yet is there not any thing so far from probability as this Story; for knowing what you are, and what I am myself, if the respect I owe you had not hindered me from presuming upon your affection, I should have left Sicily at the very instant, and the mere fear of doing you any injury by loving you, and of betraying my Master by pretending to be his Rival, would have persuaded me to prefer exile and death before all things else. But farther, Madam, added this Lover, who would now be curious out of design, I would fain know who could be guilty of the presumption to tell you a thing of this nature. Demarata perceiving that Themistus, avoided the opportunity she had given him, entertained on the sudden other imaginations, and considering the countenance wherewith Themistus answered her, was satisfied he had no affection for her. So that inclining to indignation, she immediately applied herself to the art of dissimulation which she was so well versed in; and putting on another countenance, how, said she to him, with a strange confidence, can you make a serious answer to what I have said, you do not perceive that I had not spoken as I have, but to discover the progress of ambition in your heart, which it seems, is such that you imagine it possible that people should report that you love me and I you. Ah Themistus, added she, of an understanding man as you are, have you not answered me well, nay I could not conceive you should have made me that answer, but for your punishment, know, that no body hath said any thing to me, that I do not think any one loves you, or that you love any thing but greatness and glory.  
This put Themistus into another disorder, but all considered, he was not a little glad to see that Demarata knew nothing of the affection he had for Lindamira; he therefore made Demarata the best answer he could, telling her, that never presumeing to make the least doubt of what she said, she was the occasion of his confidence, or to say better, his simplicity, he craved her pardon, and so got off as well as he could out of so troublesome a business: but though Demarata were sufficiently Mistress of herself, when she was resolved to disguise her thoughts, yet could she not in the sequel of the discourse, avoid divers things whence Themistus might take occasion to suspect something. He was more satisfied as to that point an hour after, for divers Ladies being come to the Princess, among whom came also the Prince of Messena, (who detained Themistus there, though he were desirous to be gone) they fell into a discourse of generosity, honesty and love; and it was put to the question, whether a person that were tender of his honour, might without ceasing to be such, receive any expressions of affection from the wife of a man whom he loved, and by whom he was loved. At first it was generally thought there could not be any thing so unworthy, or so opposite to honesty. But after a while, Demarata took occasion to make it a question whether it ought to be so generally affirmed; for in fine, said she, I know not when a woman begins to love a man, and gives him occasion to imagine as much, whether that man be not more obliged to that Lady for her love, than to his friend for his friendship, and consequently whether that circumstance would not take off much of his crime, and make him less unblamable, than if he began to love first, and should make it his main business to cajole his friend's wife. No question but he were less censurable, replies Themistus, though yet a virtuous man would think himself very unhappy to be in so dangerous an adventure; but when all's done, added Lindamira, he were still unblamable enough, and must needs pass for a base and perfidious person in their judgements who are acquainted with the true rules of honesty, for a man must not upon any pretence whatsoever, either betray or be ungrateful.  
Themistus having accidentally met the eyes of Demarata, discovered in them a certain disturbance, wherein he thought might be read love, indignation, and shame; nor indeed was he mistaken, for Demarata, notwithstanding her natural dissimulation, could not hinder Themistus from perceiving that she had within her, whatever those three sentiments can inspire that is most cruel; and to make her affliction the more insupportable, she imagined she saw something in the eyes of Themistus, that signified he understood well enough what hers meant, and that he would make no answer thereto. So that night being come, she was extremely afflicted: How said she, am I so unhappy as to love, yet not to be loved again; nay I am so unfortunate, as to be in a manner satisfied, that the ungrateful man who loves me not, knows my weakness, and will not bear any part thereof. No, no, I am not able to bear with this injury, and let people say what they will, I am persuaded that the most horrid of all crimes, is that whereby a man makes no return to a woman's affection, being in such a condition as I am in. Let me then tear from my heart the unjust passion that tyrannises there; but alas! added she presently, I have loved Themistus from my infancy, 'tis a natural inclination which I cannot overcome, nay, which I cannot find so far guilty, as that it deserves to be condemned; for all I desire is, only to love and to be loved, without either giving or entertaining any criminal expressions thereof. In the mean time, the ambitious Themistus, who prefers his Master's favour before any Mistress, triumphs over my weakness, and slights me as much as I love him. But though I should die for it, I must do myself an extraordinary violence, and not thinking it enough to pass from love to indifference, I must know no mean between love and detestation, and be revenged on him that makes me unhappy, because he minds not his own happiness. Had he loved me, and afterwards betrayed me, I should not be so much incensed as I am, now that knowing I love him, he makes no return to my affection. This resentment is haply somewhat unjust, but I know not how to remedy it. Love is itself the reason of all the imaginations that proceed from it, and revenge is so natural to love, that I should not think it much to be pardoned, though people came to know the cause why I now do, or hereafter may hate Themistus. He must certainly have a horrid aversion for me, that he makes no return to the tenderness I have for him; he is ambitious, and I am of a quality to satisfy his ambition; I am young, I am not unhandsome, I dispose of his Master's heart, I can ruin him when I please, and all this notwithstanding, he guesses at my sentiments, and pretends he understands them not. No, no, Demarata, this injury is insupportable, and thou must banish Themistus thy heart, or at last thrust him out of the Court.  
These, Madam, were the sentiments of Demarata, whilst Themistus was sufficiently troubled on the other side, for he had but too well observed whatever Demarata had either done or said, and was absolutely satisfied that she loved him. Then reflecting on the inclination she had for him even in her infancy, and a hundred things she had done since his return, he was convinced of the truth, so that he was extremely afflicted, for it was easy for him to foresee that the consequences thereof might prove very fatal, as well in relation to his fortune as his love. He knew the Princess to be violent, passionate, and bold, and that she had a great influence over the Prince of Syracuse who still was as fond of her as on the day he married her. However, he thought it discretion not to acquaint the Princess of Himera that he thought himself loved by Demarata, nor any way endeavoured to make her party good against her with the Prince, but only to avoid the opportunities of having any private discourse with her. But what he thought he did with prudence, proved prejudicial to him; for Demarata looking very narrowly into his actions, took notice of his carriage, and was more offended at it than before. For Themistus, he thought the best course he could take, was to dispose things in order to his return to the Army, either to prosecute the War when the cessation were expired, or to conclude a Peace with the Prince of Heraclea. But there being many rubs in his way, he was forced to have patience for some time.  
In the mean time, Demarata made it her business to insinuate into Perianthus more than she had ever done, and dissembled so well, that only Themistus could look into her soul. Thence he inferred, that Demaratas love would soon be turned into hatred, and was the more confirmed in it, by a discourse whereof I have gave him an account, as having made one in it. I doubt not but you remember that Themistus is very excellent at a paper of Verses, since I have repeated some of his to you, you are now to imagine that Demarata being with some few about her in her Closet, they fell to discourse about Music, and thence they fell to talk of Painting and Verses, every one commending Poesy, Painting, or Music, according to their several inclinations. For my part says Demarata, I look on these three things as such as contribute much to the entertainments of all virtuous persons, but that they are so far from being requisite in a person of quality, that he may be infinitely such, though he can neither sing, draw, or write verses. 'Tis true, Madam, replied I, these three excellent qualities are not so necessary in a person of honour, but they are requisite to make a man pleasant company, especially Music and Poesy, and that above all things in what relates to matter of gallantry. I must needs confess replied she, that love in Music, and love in Verse is a gallant thing, but it is very hard for a person of quality to be very excellent at either of these two qualities. Besides, as to singing, I see no great difficulty in it, but for a person of great quality, to play the public Poet, it shows him commonly a very strange kind of man. There is indeed Madam, replied I, abundance of difference between a person of worth, that writes Verses well, and a mere Poet. Believe me said she, there's more danger than is imagined for a man to expose himself to such an adventure, for if he makes ill Verses, 'tis a pitiful thing, if good, he shows them, is much pleased to be commended, and in a trice he becomes a Poet by profession; than you are desired to repeat your Verses, people beg copies of them; nay they give you Subjects on which you must make others you must take it as an honour you are desired to do it, and at last you are treated as a person to whom men may not well presume to speak in Prose. It must therefore needs be a troublesome thing for a person of quality to be exposed to such odd inconveniences. I grant Madam, said I, that there must be judgement to make good use of a Talon so precious, as that of Poesy, but it is not only requisite in that, but indeed in all things, for a Hector that should ever be talking of combats and quarrels would be yet much more troublesome than a great repeater of Verses. For that matter, cries out the divertive Melisera, I am of a different opinion, for I assure you there is not any thing more importunate than those people that make ill Verses and know not so much, yet thinking others take as much pleasure in them as they do themselves when they recite what they have done, persecute you with perpetual repetitions. For my part added she, an humour came on me the other day, to go to one of those troublesome people, to ask him whether he had not that pretty Song which had raised so much talk of Mericia; but I think I paid for it, I no sooner asked but he gave it me, but afterwards without any entreaty, he gave me another of his own, as ill as the other was handsome. That done, he repeated another, and so falling insensibly, whether I would or no, from one repetition to another, and from one paper of Verses to another, after he had begun with a Song, he concluded with a large serious work of above a thousand Verses, which he told me he had made an imitation of Hesiod, if my memory fails me not, and to recommend the work the more, he assured me that he had shown it to very knowing persons, who had recommended it extremely. But his comparisons signified little with me, for I only gave it an ambiguous commendation, nothing at all to his advantage, if he would have understood it aright, for I was never so tired out with any thing in my life.  
He you speak of, replied I, must certainly be very importunate, for he is in a word, one of those who ever lie lieger to be the first to make Verses upon any accident, and who belabour themselves with equal violence upon all subjects. Give them a battle to write upon, they are ready to celebrate the Conqueror; if a City be taken, they shall do no less for him that hath taken it. If a person of any consideration die, they furnish him with Epitaphs; if a Beauty, she carries away, if you believe them, love and the graces along with her into the Tomb, though they were never acquainted with her. If some young Prince be born, they presently erect a Poetical Scheam of his Nativity, which promises him Conquests and Victories, whereof there will never happen any thing. If there be a marriage, they provide Epithalamium's, though not so much as invited to the wedding. If some great Lady's dog chance to die, they promise him immortality; nay, so busy are these mercevary Poetasters, that they take it very ill there should any thing more than ordinary happen in their time, on which they should not exercise their foolery in verse. But Madam, when I speak of Poesy as a thing worthy commendation, nay necessary for the absolute accomplishment of a gallant person, I would not say that such as I have now described aught to sit on Mount Parnassus, no, these are only the weeds and excrescencies of a fair and fruitful Garden. There they have their growth and nourishment with the fair flowers, but to no other end but that they may be plucked up as soon as they are perceived; so that I conclude, Madam, that as far as civility permits, we should banish from the society of persons of worth and virtue, all these troublesome Poetasters, who take pains only to their own shame, and to importune those, who know them whether they will or no. I would have also banished such Poets as are over-satyrical, that write by the inspirations of envy and detraction, and cannot commend any thing but what all the World blames, that is, when they commend their own works.  
But however, says Demarata, before you tell us how you imagine a person of quality make may his advantage of Poesy, grant before hand, that there are divers who do very handsome things, who yet are not fit for a Court-conversation. I grant it, Madam, replied I, for there are some excellent men that are framed only to study, insomuch that having no great acquaintance with the world, their works are many times more acceptable than they themselves. However, I hold that there ought to be a respect for such as have worth in them, and men should laugh at their ignorance of punctilios of complyments and fashions, instead of commending them for doing these things very well that they undertake, and are versed in. But after all, it is not thus that I expect a person of quality should make verses. Would you have it done as a person of my acquaintance does, says Melisera, who though he be satisfied that what he does is very handsome, makes as if he believed it little worth, and cares not what is said of it. However, something he does and communicates it, but after a slight manner, as if it were but a trifle, never speaking of it but by way of raillery. He that you speak of replied I, must certainly be a person of much worth, but this is not yet the way wherein I would have Poesy treated when a man will meddle with it; for a man should never make sport with what he hath done himself. Would you then have it, says a Lady that was in the company, as a certain person of very much worth, known to all the world, one that does very excellent things, and yet is so far from giving them away, that he will hardly show them, not even to a small number of persons; nay 'tis with abundance of trouble that he is persuaded to it. But what end is there in doing those things, if they are not seen, replies Demarata?— For my part, Madam said I, I would have a person of honour do it for his own satisfaction, or for his Love, and that he should not think when he is about them, that he labours for the multitude. Nay, I would not have him make any public profession of what he does, and I would have him at first hardly persuaded to acknowledge it; but afterwards when it is known, he should not make it so much a secret: and when a man hath friends that understand things of that nature, he may make these part of his diversion with them, without any affectation either to show or conceal them, but above all things, he must have a great care not to communicate them to a sort of young men, that are ignorant and obstinate, and think that a Poet and a Fool are the same thing; for with such people a man must be short; nay sometimes uncivil, but for such as have found understandings, and know the world well, a man needs not be so reserved, he must not only show, but bestow such things on them. For good verses are not made that they should not be seen, and persons of quality were very unfortunate, if it were not allowable in them to have wit and to discover it, when they can do it with judgement.  
However, says Demarata, I would not allow in a Courtier any other species of Poetry than what they call the Gallant. It is indeed of all the most proper for him, replied I, but Madam, since Poesy is a natural inclination, we are not to pitch on any species but what nature leads us to, for we should never do well in it. It is enough therefore only to affirm, that a person of quality should not trouble himself with the making of Verses, if he be not naturally inclined thereto, and if he be not fortunate therein; and it is the poorest excuse in the world for a person of quality, to say that it is not his profession; for if it be excusable not to make any verses at all, it is not so if a man pretends to do it, and cannot do it well. But must not a man make bad ones, replies Demarata, before he comes to make good ones? right Madam, replied I, but those who shall one day be excellent at it, have I know not what, something that is ingenious and handsome amidst their imperfections, which is an infallible argument of the future excellency of him that hath made them; for which reason we must not discourage those that begin to write, provided there be more good than ill in what they do: but when all is done, it were very hard to give precise rules whereby a person of quality should make Verses, and I shall sooner have done, by saying that if he make them as Themistus does, he will acquit himself as a person of worth. For he is not the first person that speaks of them, when his friends say any thing of them, he is neither troubled nor overpleased; he neither blushes at what he does, nor places his greatest honour in it: he looks on Poetry as an inviting and pleasant diversion, that heightens the gallantry, love; nay the reputation of those that are excellent at it. He discourses thereof with such as are well read in it when reason requires; he never mentions it to those that are unacquainted therewith; he neither commends nor censures what he hath done, and looks on the Talon of Poesy, as a handsome present from nature, which he thinks he ought to improve, and such as makes him a more lovely and more accomplished person.  
No question but Themistus makes excellent good verses, replies hastily Demarata, but I know not how he makes a shift to find them, for I am of opinion, that it is Love that teaches the art of making them well, that ambition contributes not much thereto, and that Themistus does what is very extraordinary, that he can make so good ones, and be so little in love as he is. Demarata blushed as she said this, and notwithstanding her art of dissimulation, I perceived some secret quarrel against Themistus. So that being come away, I went and told him what I had observed; but he guiding all his actions by discretion. would not tell me any thing of the occasion of Demaratas quarrel against him. However, methought he was very much troubled at what I had told him; but I thought, looking on Demarata, as predominant over Perianthus, the concernment of his fortunes made him be troubled at what I had told him.  
In the mean time Demarata, whose heart was big with desires of revenge, and who looked on the Prince her Husband, as the only man, by whose means she might compass her design, omitted nothing, as I have already told you, to bring him more absolutely to her devotion; but to say truth, it was impossible that she should do more than she had, for his affection for her, was as violent as ever it had been, so that she was in a capacity to persuade him to any thing she desired. Insomuch that Themistus, not ignorant of her power, was extremely disturbed at it. However, he imagined that the same passion that inclined her to ruin him, might divert her from from it, and hoped that the services he had done the State, those he was now doing, and those he might do, would give check to her violence, though he were still satisfied, that there is nothing more dangerous than a Woman who loves, and is not loved, when she hath given any expressions of affection, to one that makes no return thereto. So that, do what he could. Themistus was still melancholy; nay, he divers times avoided waiting on the Prince to Demaratas, and he pressed his departure, as much as lay in his power, though to be far from Lindamira was the greatest affliction in the world to him: And in fine, he gave Perianthus so many reasons, that he received his last Orders to depart betimes the next morning. But having a design to visit the Princess of Himera, after he had done all his business at Syracuse, it was very late e'er he got away.  
As he went he met the Prince of Messena coming thence, he stayed him for some discourse in the spacious place of the Achradina, somewhat near the Altar of Concord, that stands in the midst of it. The Moon shined very bright, and having each of them but two slaves apiece with them, they took two turns about the place; for though Themistus had no great affection for the Prince of Messena, yet durst he not discover his jealousy, for fear of betraying his love. As they were walking, three men that were also there upon the same account, having cried out very earnestly, 'Tis the Prince, 'tis he, drew their swords, and came to seize on the Prince of Messena. Themistus, being not to consider what he had to do upon such an occasion, rescued his Rival, no less than if he had been his best friend.  
Their slaves in the mean time, having no Arms, cried out that Themistus was murdered, hoping that at that name, two several knots of people that were walking upon the place, would come to the relief of those that were set upon; but in stead of doing that, they joined with those that had given the assault. 'Tis true, they did not behave themselves as such, as would have killed the Prince of Messena, but only as people that would have carried him away; for the former who had drawn their swords, had done it only to secure themselves from him they would have taken, and to hinder Themistus from crossing their design. But my friend not able to guests at the intentions of those he saw, fought with incredible valour, it being not in his power at that time, to observe that the Prince was set upon as he was. Upon this, the slaves that belonged to him, seeing what danger he was in, went with all speed to the Palace, whence there came so many men in Arms, that those who had made it their business to carry away the Prince of Messena, seeing they could not compass their design, quitted the place, and cast themselves into a Bark that waited for them in the Ports. Themistus, and the Prince of Messena pursuing them, followed by those that were come to their relief, Themistus advanced 15 paces before the rest, to seize upon one that fled. But coming near the Port, those that were in the Bark, that entertained such as were forced to fly, shot divers Arrows, whereof one unfortunately took Themistus quite through the Arm, and another gave him such a wound in the Leg, that he fell down. This accident so much surprised those that saw it, that they that had hurt him, had by that means an opportunity to save themselves; for rowing away with all diligence, before order was given for their pursuit, and that order put in execution, they were so far, that they could not be overtaken.  
There were divers judgements of this adventure, but the most common opinion was, that the old Prince of Messena would have gotten his Son away, that he might renew the War, by joining with the Prince of Heraclea, who to that end, had demanded the cessation, which was not then expired. Howe'er it was, this adventure made a great noise in the Court; it was at first reported at the Palace, that Themistus was dead, insomuch that Perianthus was so troubled at it, that he came to the place where the accident happened. For Demarata, the hatred which her love had bred, ceased at that instant, and she entertained that false alarm with such grief, that it happened very well for her, that there was none but Amerintha by, when the news was brought. But what was most strange, was, that being presently after undeceived, she felt no great joy; nay, she was not far from desiring that Themistus had been dead, at least, she accused herself of unworthiness, for being afflicted.  
In the mean time Themistus being carried home, whither the Prince went along with him, the Chirurgeons affirmed, that if nothing happened extraordinary, his wounds were not dangerous, but that in all likelihood the cure would be tedious. The Prince of Messena spoke with abundance of obligation to this illustrious wounded person, and to Perianthus, and they both answered him with no less generosity, though Themistus could not do it without some trouble. For Lindamira she was extremely cast down at this misfortune; yet was it some comfort to her, to understand that Themistus' wounds were not very dangerous: but the noise of such accidents being very swift, the Prince of Heraclea hearing that Themistus, whose valour was the fear of all the enemies of the Prince of Syracuse, was not in a condition to reassume the command of the Army, gave over all thoughts of peace, So that news came to Perianthus, that he intended nothing but War, and that he would take advantage of Themistus' absence, assoon as the cessation were expired.  
While things stood thus, there was a certain seditious humour gotten into the people of Syracuse, whereby the presence of the Prince was thought but necessary. Perianthus was somewhat at a loss to find a man to supply Themistus' place, for fear of raising any discontent, for there was no small division in the Court. But the Prince of Messena being a person of a gallant and generous nature, came to Perianthus to tell him, that having been the occasion of Themistus' not being in a capacity to serve him in so dangerous a conjuncture, he desired leave to expose his life in his service. I am far, said he, from desiring the command of the Army; for being Son to a Prince, that gives you many occasions to believe, that he is not sincerely reconciled to you, I think it not just it should be given me. All I desire, is the permission to go and fight for your service, for I declare it to you, that excepting the Prince my Father, all your enemies are mine.  
Perianthus very generously entertained what this young Prince said to him, and assured him, he had so great an esteem for him, that he would put all things into his hands, and that he thought it impossible he should betray him. But, added he, do you not fear the Prince your Father might be incensed against you? Ah, my Lord, replied the young Prince, when, what I do is contrary neither to the Laws of Honour, nor to those of Nature, I fear nothing, and I ever do what reason and glory advise me to. However, Perianthus made him no positive answer at that time, though he thought that expedient the best to avoid the grumble of those who expected to be chosen; for the quality of Prince of Messena took away all matter of contestation. Neither would he for that day; speak any thing of business to Themistus, for that having had an ill night, because of the affliction it was to him, that he could not return to the Army, those that waited upon him, permitted not any to discourse with him. So that till such time as he might acquaint him with his design, he communicated it to the ablest of his Council, who, knowing the Lieutenant-General of the Army, to be an able and trusty person, told Perianthus, that they could not imagine there was any danger to give the command of it to a young Prince, who having no interest in the Army, could not abuse the command he might have thereof; that by that means he would smother the complaints of the malcontents of his Court, without exposing himself to any danger; besides the improbability there was, that a Prince in love with Lindamira should betray him, and that the Prince of Messena, having the reputation of a gallant man, would doubtless do him very good service, he being so much concerned to do it, Perianthus being thus confirmed in his design; communicated it that night to Demarata, who being very glad, that the command of the Army was bestowed on a man from whom they durst not take it away, while the War lasted, because he was of a higher quality than to obey Themistus, fortified him in the design. So that coming the next morning to acquaint Themistus therewith, he spoke of it, as a thing already resolved, ask him only, whether he did think the Prince of Messena would do him faithful service. Here Themistus was extremely at a loss, for on the one side, he saw that it concerned the Prince his Master, as things than stood, that the Prince of Messena should command the Army. On the other side he saw it very much concerned his Love, that this occasion should not make his Rival famous, and gain such credit with the Prince, that at his return, he might get the Princess of Himera. However, being persuaded of the virtue of his Rival, he sticked not at what he was to answer, and so generously told Perianthus, that he was very much satisfied, that if the Prince of Messena accepted of the employment, he would acquit himself with faith and courage; but that nevertheless, there might be some danger to bestow it on him, telling Perianthus all that policy could suggest to dissuade him. But the Prince on the other side alleging what he could to take off his reasons, added, that the business having already taken air, and the cessation being ready to expire, there was no other way to be resolved on. So that Themistus seeing there was no remedy for this inconvenience, stood out no longer, but gave Perianthus way.  
This Prince having given that of Messena all necessary Orders, he prepared for his departure; but as he took his leave, he entreated Perianthus to promise him, that if he returned with conquest, he would do him all the service he could, in a business wherein he was infinitely concerned. Perianthus promised him what he desired, without diving into his intentions, and brought him to take his leave of Demarata, who wished him all the glory War could give him. That being done, he came to take his leave of Themistus, who was extremely afflicted, that the respect he had for the Princess, permitted him not to tell the Prince of Messena, that he was his Rival, and not his friend as he thought. I know well, says the Prince of Messena, embracing him in his bed, that I expose myself to be, haply, as unfortunate in War, as I have been in Love; but though I should not overcome those that you have, I shall think it no dishonour, for there are many degrees of glory, below that of Themistus. My Lord, replies he, that the Arms of the Prince of Syracuse, have been fortunate in my hands, I am obliged to Fortune; but if they prove such in yours, you will be obliged only to your valour and your conduct, Upon this, the Prince of Messena went out of his Chamber, to go to the Princess of Himera, who knew not well how to keep her countenance; for looking on him as a Prince that had been the innocent cause of Themistus' wounds, she could not avoid a little trouble to see him, especially out of a fear she was in, that, if he should prove fortunate in the War, he might, at his return, make his Victory advantageous for his passion. However, she took leave of him with much civility: about an hour after he was gone, she received a Letter from Themistus, who, sick as he was, could not forbear writing to her in these terms.  
THEMISTUS to the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
I Beseech you, Madam, make not the same obliging wishes for the Prince of Messena, as you did for me, when I took my leave of you to go to the Army: for as I am persuaded, that I had not been fortunate, had not it been your desire it should be so, it may well be pardoned me, if I fear he should be more fortunate than I have been; not that I wish he may be overcome, but only that I would have him owe his victory to Fortune, and not to you.  
Lindamira having read this Letter, made him this answer thereto.  
LINDAMIRA to THEMISTUS.  
IT is clear that my wishes are fruitless to those for whom I make them, since you have been wounded; for I assure you, I wish not any thing with so much earnestness, as to see the State engaged to you for part of her glory; and to be truly free with you, I at the present send up so many addresses to heaven for your health and recovery, that you ought not to fear I have any left for other things.  
This Letter dissolved much of Themistus' melancholy, but after all, when it came into his thoughts, that his Rival had a very fair opportunity to render himself famous; it was such an affliction to him, as he was not well able to buckle with. It must needs be acknowledged that I am very unfortunate (said he to himself, as he hath told me since) for I have defeated the enemy to no other end, but that the Prince of Messena may the more easily subdue them, and that he should haply enjoy the fruits of my labours. I have further, the unhappiness to be more loved by Demarata than I would be, who having so much power with the Prince as she hath, will infallibly do me all the ill offices she can, and make me as unfortunate in ambition as in love. 'Tis true, I have this happiness, that I am not slighted by the person I love; but alas what will be the effect of the affection she hath for me, but to make me more miserable than I am? For when all is done, she confines the expressions of her affection to such narrow limits, that I dare not so much as hope ever to see myself absolutely happy. She still is guided by considerations of Prudence, State, and Glory, and because I am no Prince, and that I have sometimes been unfortunate, my Birth, Love, and Services shall signify nothing, and there's a necessity I should ever be the object of misfortune. However, since the incomparable Lindamira ordains it should be so, I must submit, nay, admire and reverence the virtue that makes me miserable.  
You see Madam, how Themistus entertained himself, while Demarata was examining what resolution to take, for she could not be at rest any where. Nay, she made it her complaint, that ever since Themistus' return, she passed not an hour, but she heard some discourse or other of him. While he was in the Army, the reputation of his great actions, was the general discourse; while he was in health at Syracuse, either she could not, or haply would not be without his visits; and now that he lay hurt, Perianthus spoke to her of him perpetually, nay, all that came to her, thinking they did well, were constantly bemoaning him. How, said she one morning to Amerintha, being violently transported by that exasperated passion that made her abhor what she loved, if I may so express myself, Shall Demarata, in whom the world finds something that may raise love, undergo the shame of loving, without being loved again; nay, be so base as to be troubled of a sudden at the pretended death of him who does her this affront? Must I ever see him dividing Perianthus' heart with me, and being the object of all his friendship? No, no, said she, it were too rigorous a punishment, and the best course I can take, is to banish him my presence, since I cannot my heart, who will not entertain me into his. But this must be done by circumvention, I must calumniate and impose false crimes upon Themistus, and I must cease to be what I have ever been.  
But Madam, said Amerintha to her, how shall this be effected, in case you are resolved to do it, for you cannot persuade the Prince, that he holds any correspondence with the enemy, since he hath defeated him. You cannot accuse him of having enriched himself prejudicially to the Prince, from whom he many times refuses new favours, because of all men he is the most disinteressed. So that I see not what you can probably charge Themistus with, That he loves me, replies Demarata, blushing. This no doubt, is the highest supposition in the world, added this revengeful Princess, but the easiest thing in the world for me to make Perianthus believe, if I but undertake it; and since it is the only way to remove Themistus from my presence, and to be revenged of his insensibility, I must needs embrace it, Nor shall my revenge be cruel, since he shall lose no more than what fortune would not haply have bestowed on him without me. For had not I confirmed the Prince in the friendship he had for Themistus, he would not have affected him so much. But, Madam, replied Amerintha, if Perianthus ever discovers the Truth, you would ruin yourself, by endeavouring to ruin Themistus, How, said she, do you imagine Friendship more powerful than Love? That Perianthus can avoid jealousy, whom I would have to be jealous, and that imagining Themistus in love with me, he can do it to my prejudice? No, no, Amerintha, that were to invert the order of things; indeed it is impossible it should be so. Besides, the resolution I take, is haply much more innocent than you conceive, for if I should not banish Themistus my presence, I could not forbear loving him, as insensible as he is, nay, haply I should not be able to conceal my affection from him. I must therefore so husband the hatred I have for him, as to make it contribute to my reputation. No question but I hate him at the present, but I am not confident I shall do as much when I see him; I must therefore, while he is a prisoner to his wounds, and cannot come to see me, make the best use I can of such precious minutes. I must flatter Perianthus, I must invent, I must forget all honesty, and I must do all that is requisite to punish an insensible person, that so I may no longer love a man, that neither does, or ever can love me.  
Accordingly, Madam, Demarata being at that time absolutely resolved to have Themistus banished, bethought her of what ever might further her design. She therefore took very great care never to speak first of Themistus, especially before Perianthus, and to answer very coldly, when ever he spoke of him to her. She never sent to know how he did, and avoided saying, or doing any thing, whence it might be inferred, he was in any favour with her. For some days Perianthus minded not this change, but Themistus recovering, and very fit to admit discourse, Perianthus perceived that Demarata concerned not herself so much in Themistus' welfare, as she had done some time before, when Themistus was like to die. However, he would not at first say any thing to her of it, for being still extremely fond of her, he was afraid of having any contestation with a person that had all the power over him that Love could give her. So that having observed this coldness for some days. without being able to discover whence it proceeded, or knowing that Demarata had not sent to see how Themistus did, he asked Themistus himself, who was very much surprised at the question, and therefore answered not precisely thereto; for being the most reserved man in the world, he would have died, ere he had told Perianthus the true cause of Demaratas change. He therefore told him, he knew not but that he was in her favour; that if he were not, it proceeded from some artifice of those who envied his good fortune; but this he told him with such an accent, that the Prince could not but judge there was something more in his mind, than he was willing to discover. He for some time pressed him to speak sincerely, but seeing Themistus would say no more, and loath to prejudice his health, by too much importunity, he left him, and went to the Princess Himera, to see if she knew of any thing that had happened between Demarata and Themistus, for having an extraordinary affection for those two persons, he was extremely troubled to see any thing of discord happened between them. But Lindamira not knowing any thing, and that the love of Demarata was the only secret Themistus had concealed from her, she assured him that she knew nothing that had passed between them: so that Perianthus returned to the Palace infinitely afflicted.  
As he came along, news was brought that the Prince of Messena was no sooner got to the Army, but he understood that the enemies were overjoyed at the accident had happened to Themistus, whose valour they stood in fear of, and that, not desirous to hear of peace, out of the hope they were in, to be more fortunate in the War than they had been; they slighted the propositions thereof, and broke the cessation assoon as ever it was expired. That thereupon two parties meeting, that of the enemy had been defeated, so that Perianthus, who could entertain nothing of joy which he did not communicate to Demarata, went and acquainted her with what he had heard. It seems then, (said she in a scoffing way, to prosecute the secret design she had) Victory is not the absolute slave of Themistus, since she sometimes waits on the Prince of Messena. This was so maliciously spoken, that Perianthus was absolutely satisfied, that she had entertained other thoughts of Themistus, insomuch, that this putting his thoughts into a strange disturbance, he would needs guests at what it should be; but the more he thought of it, the farther he was from the truth. Being therefore no longer able to brook this uncertainty, the first time he was alone with Demarata, he conjured her to promise to tell him sincerely, one thing he should ask of her. Provided it do not concern Themistus, replied she, I promise you the knowledge of any thing I know, ask what you will. Ah, Madam, said Perianthus that is it I desire, 'tis concerning Themistus that I would know something, and therefore I beseech you, Madam, answer me not ambibiguously, but tell me truly whence it comes, that your thoughts are not the same they were towards him. You have so great an affection for Themistus, replied the Princess, and I owe you so much respect, that to do rationally, I ought to disobey you. Perianthus' curiosity increasing at this, he pressed her more than he had done, and whatever the most violent and passionate Love can suggest, or speak, Perianthus made use of to obtain from her what he desired.  
But the Princess seeing herself upon the point of executing the design of revenge, she had carried on so craftily, felt in her heart an extraordinary agitation. Love, that had seduced her Virtue, did all that lay in its power to divert her from committing the crime, and she seemed to Perianthus to be so much at a loss, though she dissembled as much as she could her irresolution, that his curiosity was much increased thereby. So that urging her still more and more, she found herself in a great disturbance, and felt a certain horror to ruin the only man in the world that she could love. The desire of revenge encouraged her, and she was in so many minds, that she knew not what to resolve on. But at last imagining, that as things than stood, if she did not ruin Themistus, he might ruin her, ambition siding with indignation, against that little remainder of affection that balanced the business within her, she absolutely determined and made it her main business to effect the unjust design which a violent passion had bred in her.  
However, if she would not presently yield to Perianthus, the more to inflame the desire he had to be satisfied. For heaven's sake, my Lord, said she to him, force me not to tell you what I know of Themistus: you love him, you think the State cannot be without him, and it is my duty to have that consideration of you, as not to acquaint you with any thing that may trouble you. Be pleased then to give me leave to disobey you, and ask me no more what Themistus hath done. It shall suffice, added she, if, when he is recovered, you lay your commands on him, never to see me but in your presence. But I beseech you, replied Perianthus, very much surprised, tell me what Themistus may have done, that should oblige you to cease loving him. Once more, I beseech you, my Lord, said she, ask me no more, nor indeed are you at the present (added the incensed Princess) in the condition you should be in to think him guilty, for you have so great a friendship for him, that though you were told he would deprive you of the sovereign power, you would not believe it. I must needs confess, said he, that I should not lightly believe Themistus guilty of an unworthy action, and would therefore entreat you to examine well, whether those who accuse him are well informed; Urge me then no more, my Lord, replied she, and ask me no more what Themistus' crime may be, since I am only she that of all your State, can both accuse and convince him.  
Perianthus was extremely astonished at these words, for from what she had said, it might be inferred, that Themistus had done Demarata some affront. So that as jealousy soon takes root in the heart of an amorous man, especially that of a Husband, that is still in love, so he reflected on that which Demarata would have had him; insomuch, that his colour changing, and he looking earnestly upon her, I beseech you, Madam, said he, put me once out of pain, and tell me clearly what you have but hinted at. And the more to oblige you to do it, added he, I will tell you the present posture of my thoughts. Know then that if Themistus hath laid any plot against the State, I flood in myself Love enough to pardon it, if he repent him of it; but if he have wanted the respect he ought to have for you, I will never see him again. Prepare yourself, than replied the Princess, never to see him while you live, for assure yourself that Themistus is the most presumptuous man in the world. But, my Lord, added she, you shall never know his crime more precisely, if you promise me not to make that advantage thereof that I would have you. I promise any thing, replied he, provided you tell me what I would know. I shall do it, my Lord, answered she, but you shall promise me before hand, that you will not disclose what I shall tell you, that you will not speak of it even to Themistus; that, to prevent that, you will banish him without seeing him, and without giving him any reason why, in case you think I have cause never to desire his sight again, and that if you have just occasion to banish him.  
Perianthus, who had a curiosity as great as friendship, love, and jealousy could give him, promised Demarata what she would have: whereupon, this subtle Princess assuming the discourse, I know not my Lord, said she to him, whether you can remember, that while I was yet a child, a certain Aunt of Themistus' had the care of my education, and if your memory fails you not, Themistus, as young as he was, was at that time continually with me. I remember it very well, replies Perianthus, but see not what this may add to his charge. On the contrary, replied this crafty Princess, I tell you this, to let you understand, that I shall not make Themistus' crime worse than it is: for to be free with you, I believe that though I was then but ten years of age, and he but seventeen, he had at that time a violent inclination for me, nay, so great, that he would make me apprehend as well as I could, that the only reason of his departure, was to avoid the increase thereof. Howe'er it be, you know, my Lord, in what a gallant manner he returned to Court. For my part, I little thought to make any provision against his madness, I entertained him with abundance of kindess, particularly, because he was presented to me by yourself. Since that, perceiving that you loved him, I would not be disconformable to your sentiments, and by way of excuse said, that I had thousands of kindnesses for him, which have haply encouraged him in his boldness and extravagance. 'Tis indeed, very strange to think that an ambitious man, who was infinitely obliged to you, and was nothing without you, should be at the same time ungrateful, temerarious, and indiscreet. And yet I had so much goodness for him, that I gave him advice how to preserve your friendship; for perceiving your inclinations for him, and withal, that he was advantageous to you, I thought I could not do any thing better, than to fasten him as much as might be to you, and I remember, one day above all the rest, I spent two hours to persuade him, that it was not fit, that a person who had a Master to humour, should engage himself in love, encouraging him, as much as lay in my power, not to suffer himself to be drawn into love, for fear it might cause him to neglect your service; but to my unhappiness and his own, he made no great advantage of my advice. Nay, I remember, he made me a very ambiguous answer, which might very well give me occasion to suspect he was in love with me, if my mind had not been bend upon something else. But I would know, (says Perianthus, who heard this relation with a strange impatience) at what time it was that Themistus had the impudence to give you any expressions of his affection. I am haply in some fault, my Lord, replies Demarata, with a faint mildness, that I did not give you notice from the first minute that I discovered Themistus' extravagance, but to deal truly with you, 'tis a thing cannot be easily expressed. Besides, that while Themistus spoke nothing of it, and that I only guessed at his thoughts, I was in hope he would overcome himself, Nay, I know not whether I thought myself somewhat obliged to him for the affliction I saw he suffered, and have accordingly had some pity for him. But I am sure, my thoughts all along were that I should cause a great deal of trouble, if I discovered any thing, and haply should not have been believed. But at last desirous to reduce Themistus to himself, and to prevent him from having the boldness to acquaint me with the sentiments I saw he had, as having done a thousand things, wherein I easily discovered them, I prudently avoided, without any bodies taking notice of it, the opportunities of speaking with him alone. Which he observing, was sad and melancholy, as you may well remember, and at last fell sick, whereat you were extremely troubled. You know, my Lord, added she, that being very sick indeed, you would needs have me to see him, wherein I was content to obey you, though with much ado, and you are not ignorant how that he grew better that very day, and sent me word that my visit had cured him, and that he came afterwards to give me thanks, as a person whose life I had saved. I remember it very well, says Perianthus, but if Themistus never mentioned his love to you, I will banish him, yet without hating him. How my Lord, replies the Princess, do you think me one that should, upon such groundless conjectures, accuse a person so dear to you, and so considerable to the State? No, no, Demarata is more discreet, and less revengeful than you imagine; for were it no otherwise, I should have prudently avoided the conversation of Themistus, without ever troubling you with it while I lived: but my Lord, the case is much otherwise and I cannot doubt, but he hath in his heart, for me, whatever the most violent passion that is, can make that man think, who knows no other reason or interest, than that of his love, and that thinks virtue and generosity too weak to resist it. For, my Lord, as to his coming hither during the cessation, he had certainly no other end in it, than to continue the expressions of his extravagance towards me, had I given him any occasion For you may very well judge, there was no great necessity he should leave the Army, and that a man, ambitious as he is, would not have come thence, but that some secret reason obliged him thereto.  
Perianthus, hearing Demarata discourse in this manner, underwent such a conflict of grief and indignation, as he had not known before. What added to his disturbance was, that he could not doubt of the truth of what Demarata said; she never had discovered the least ill-will towards Themistus; he could not imagine she should have any affection for him; he thought her a good and virtuous Woman; all the things she said, had certain appearances of truth; it was not known that Themistus was in love with any Lady about the Court, and Perianthus was still so much in love with Demarata, that it was easy for me to imagine, that another might be in love with her also. Had Themistus been charged with any intelligence with the enemies of his State, he would not have believed it, but he could not doubt of what Demarata said, as being one he could not think guilty of such a piece of sycophancy. So that jealousy gaining ground in his heart, and there meeting with indignation, he gave over pressing Demarata to discover any more, and so easily granted the request she had made, that Themistus should be banished his Court, and he did it the sooner, for her saying, that if he did not banish him, she would leave it immediately. She also entreated him not to tell why he removed him; but my Lord, added she, that it may be done with more secrecy, a course must be taken, that the audacious Themistus may not tell why you banish him; for there is something that is not handsome in a report of this nature: nay, it will be easy, continued she, to assign some other cause of banishment, in the present conjuncture of affairs, for it will be thought it is for something relating to the Army, whereof he hath no longer the command.  
Perianthus aproving what Demarata said, sent immediately order to Themistus, to cause himself to be carried out of Syracuse the next morning, and convey himself within a set number of days to a certain place that was at a great distance, as it was assigned him, and to continue there till further order, for this unfortunate Lover was not yet able to stand, by reason of the wounds he had received in his Leg. Yet could not Perianthus but feel an extraordinary disturbance in himself, as he issued out this Order. He had an infinite love and esteem for Themistus, ho ought him his life, and the greatest part of his fame; and if Love had not dashed out of his heart, all the obligations he had cast upon him, he would not have been so hasty in a design of that importance. But the same things which might plead for Themistus, were those also that incensed him the more, for that the more he had loved Themistus, the more he should have been loved by him, and accordingly the more reason he had to hate him.  
In the mean time Themistus submitted to the Order, with a courage as great as his affliction. He did well comprehend that his disgrace might some way reflect on Demarata, but he was far from imagining she had had the unjust presumption to impose a crime upon him, which for his own satisfaction, he was but too far from being guilty of. Besides that, having had for some time, a many that envied him about the Court, he was not over-confident that Demarata contributed aught to his banishment, for if the bottom of his heart were examined, he thought himself obliged to her, for the affection she had for him, and at the same time that she caused him to be banished, he would have ventured his life for her, if there had been any occasion, though he loved only Lindamira, and could not possibly love any other. But considering himself as a Lover, and an ambitious man, and that all his designs, as well of Love as Ambition, were equally ruined by his disgrace, the Order he had received, troubled him extremely. However, he spoke very generously to him that brought it. You may tell the Prince, said he, that I shall obey him, but as soon as I shall be able to stand on my legs, I will come and ask him, as a recompense of all my services, only the honour to let me know what crime I am charged with. In the mean time, assure him, that what nature soever it may be of, I am absolutely innocent, and shall ever be his most faithful subject.  
This done, Themistus, who knew Perianthus' humour to be such, as that he was never sooner appeased, than when it met with compliance, made preparations how he might be carried to the place assigned him, without making any stay about Syracuse. But e'er he went, he writ to Lindamira, for he was not in a condition to see her. You may judge, Madam, how this Princess was surprised, and what affliction she must needs conceive at that unhappy adventure, whereof she could not imagine the cause. She was no better satisfied the next day, for Perianthus being unwilling to tell her, took her up a little roundly, when she would press him to discover it to her: insomuch that he grew so untoward, that he could not be quiet any where. Only while he was with Demarata, he was a little better, for she was so full of kindness and insinuation, and seemed to be so much troubled, that she caused him the loss of a person he loved, that he endeavoured nothing so much as to forget Themistus, who then suffered more than ever any Lover did; and had he not met, about the place of his abode, persons of a transcendent virtue, who took a care to comfort him in his disgrace, the great heart of Themistus might have haply put him upon some violent resolution. But, among others, a generous friend of the virtuous Amalthaea, contributed much to smother the resentment of a man, who might look on his Master as an ungrateful Prince.  
For my part, says Plotina very pleasantly, interrupting Meleagenes, I cannot suffer a friend of Amalthaea's to pass by, and not make acquaintance with him; Tell us then, if the company be pleased to give way, who that friend is that hath such a remedy against ambition. For my part, says Clelia, I shall be very glad your curiosity were satisfied, I say as much, replies Valeria: I leave it to you to think, says Herminius, whether I can refuse the acquaintance of a wise man; and you may judge yourself, says Amilcar to Meleagenes, whether, having an extraordinary veneration for Timantes, and all his illustrious friends (for I know, 'tis of them that you intent to speak) I shall oppose what is desired of you. On the contrary, I make it my request, that you would acquaint the Audience, with what you know of those illustrious Solitaries, among whom Themistus met with, what encouraged his virtue in so dangerous a conjuncture. The whole company approving Amilcar's proposition, and pressing Meleagenes to do what was desired of him, he re-assumed the discourse in these terms.  
'Tis not without reason that you have the curiosity to know, what kind of life is led by these illustrious Solitaries of whom Amilcar hath made mention. I shall therefore endeavour to satisfy it, for it were not possible for me to acquaint you with all that I have yet to tell you, if I should entertain you, from the beginning, with the virtue of those admirable men of whom you would have me to speak to you; yet must I needs give you a short description of the place they have made choice of for their retirement, that you may the better comprehend what a pleasant life they lead. Know then, that not far from the Sea, between Ericium and Panorma, there rises up a fertile mountain, which is cut steep down of all sides, and by reason of its extraordinary situation, passes for one of the noblest parts of our Island, which is one of the noblest in the world. But what is most remarkable, is, that when you come to the highest part thereof, you discover a pleasant Plain of twelve miles' compass, which takes up the whole height thereof: and to make this place yet more extraordinary, there is an eminency in the midst of this Plain, which serves for a Citadel to all the rest; for you may discover thence the three ways by which people come up to the mountain, which is compassed with Rocks and Precipices, as well towards the Land as Sea, that it is easy to keep the space that lies between both. There are accordingly but three ways to go to this pleasant Solitude, whereof two are very troublesome and difficult. The place is nevertheless furnished with Springs, and there is a very fair Haven at the foot of this famous Mountain, which hath a privilege, that there was never seen upon it any venomous creature or wild beast: and the excellency of the place is such, that because men could never find out a name excellent enough for it, it hath not any one in particular; and the Haven it hath, distinguishes it from the other mountains.  
This then is the place where is retired a small number of wise men, who having experienced the vanities of the world, will needs disengage themselves from it. But among others, Timantes, a particular friend of the virtuous Amalthaea, is an an incomparable person. He is tall, and of a good countenance, and hath a noble Physiognomy, such as so well discovers the freedom and sincerity of his heart, that it may be almost said, he is known before a man hath the leisure to know him. All his actions are so many expressions of the vigour and vivacity of his spirit, for he ever acts with force and agility; insomuch, that the caresses he honours his friends with, are arguments of the earnestness of his disposition. Timantes, hath doubtless a very vast understanding, and besides the great advantages he hath made of study, as to what is requisite to make a man both wise and acceptable, he is born to a great genius in Poetry, and makes such Verses as Hesiod and Homer would not be ashamed to own, were they alive again.  
But I shall not make what is within him, the main subject of my commendation of him, though he have such an admirable wit, that hath such fire and lustre, that he cannot but discover it upon some occasions, wherein he would not make it appear. His heart, of all that is within him, is the most noble part, as what hath such an extraordinary freedom and openness, that it might be said, that he had never so much as heard it said, there was such a thing as dissimulation in the World He speaks truth, without any fear or evasion, he maintaineth it with courage, and makes use of anger to defend justice, when he cannot do it otherwise, and he hath a goodness that favours of the innocency of the first age,  
For his humour, it is divertive enough, but withal so natural, that he finds himself employment out of things most inconsiderable. He hath also a particular gift of inspiring his friends with a certain innocent joy, and teaching them the art of diverting themselves, without any prejudice to others. Timantes is farther a man, that of all the world is the most sensibly moved at the works of others, when they are excellent, and loves very much to do justice, where there is desert. In a word, he hates nothing so much, as what is opposite to this great virtue, and the freedom of his disposition is so contrary to all manner of Tyranny, that he sometimes says merrily, that he deserves no great honour for shaking off the yoke of all the passions, because it is much more easy to obey reason, than to be led away by the fantastic humours of five or six frantic passions, who would be implicitly obeyed, and yet many times require things contradictory. Timantes therefore having only that one Mistress to wait on, is never from her, but consults her in all things. Yet it might be said, he thinks not on her, but that though the agitation of his humour makes his body often change place, his mind is ever quiet; and that fire which inflames and animates it, makes it more active, yet not more unquiet. Farther, having got the mastery of his passions, he hath distilled them all into one, which is to him instead of all, and which he will never part with. He maintains, that friendship, in his heart, is incomparably a more violent passion than love is in other men's: and he is persuaded that no Lover loves his Mistress so well as he does his friends. Nay, he confidently holds, that Love is a defective affection, such as is to be numbered among the enjoyments of infancy, and consequently to be discarded as soon as reason takes place: whereas, on the contrary, friendship is an absolutely perfect affection, equally consistent with Virtue and Reason, and should last as long as life does. So that being fully persuaded of the perfection of friendship, he is the most earnest, and most accomplished friend in the world. Nay, though he stands dis-engaged from all things that obliged him to that, yet the obligation to his friends is effectual, and stands firm by indissoluble ties. What makes his friendship most acceptable, is, that having a sincere heart, and loving without interest, he serves his friends without any fear of hazarding any thing for them; and that being naturally merrily disposed, his virtue hath nothing in it that is savage, nothing harsh, nor any thing that hinders him from having an innocent compliance for those he loves. He makes them more sensible of the tenderness of his friendship by small things, than divers others can do by great services. For not only his countenance, the accent of his speech, and the things he says demonstrate the joy he conceives to see his friends, when he hath been some time from them, but even all his actions, though he mind it not, are expressions of his affection. I shall never forget one day, that he came to a place where he was expected by ten or twelve persons whom he affected much, and they him no less; for though it seems impossible a man should in an instant acquit himself of all that civility and friendship required of him upon such an occasion, yet he came off admirably well, and what by his actions, what by his words, what by his caresses, what by his obliging earnestness, and what by his joy, he made them all understand that he was very much obliged to them, that he was glad to see them, that he loved them, that he had a hundred things to tell them, and in a word, that he had for them all the sentiments they could wish he should have. He spoke a word to one, a word to another, embraced two or three together, he reached his hand to one Lady, whispered to another, spoke aloud to them all, and it may be almost said, that he went and came without changing place, so much did he endeavour to give all that were about him satisfaction.  
Thus have you a Character of Timantes, who for friends in his retirement, had some few virtuous men, equally excellent with himself, such as having been well acquainted with the World, had forsaken it as a place, where it was hard, as well for those that had gotten Wisdom to preserve it, as for those that had not to get it. They are therefore resolved to separate themselves from the commerce of other men, and have chosen this Mountain, which is as it were a lesser World divided from the greater, where they live innocently, and in a miraculous tranquillity. Not that they admit idleness, for amidst this great quiet, they all labour both in body and mind. For their morality, 'tis no doubt severe enough, yet it is withal full of humanity, for they have culled out what ever was most excellent in the Philosophers that went before them, digesting it into the Laws they now observe.  
Vice hath not the least footing among them; they have among them neither Masters nor slaves; strict justice is their rule; envy they are unacquainted with; peace is their perpetual friend; and their continual employments make them glad that they have not the leisure to be idle. Some study things purely celestial, others Morality, others Poetry, and all, together things virtuous and profitable. Now these particular studies soon become general; for meeting every day at certain hours to confer together, they gave an account of all they have learned, as also of the reflections they have made on the things they read. So that what any one hath studied, turns to the advantage of the Society,; and by that innocent contribution of Science, they become the learnedst men of their time, and withal the most virtuous; for one of their greatest Maxims, is, that men should not endeavour the attainment of those things that make them acceptable, till they have found out whatever may make them better. Besides, they profess equality among themselves, as life and death puts among all men. So that they are all skilled in some Art necessary to the society. Timantes for his part, is so admirably well seen in all the secrets of Agriculture, especially whatever contributes to the beauty and goodness of Orchards, that he hath found out the way to reduce into one Garden, all the excellent fruits that all the several parts of the World affords. So that Africa and Asia have not any, which he does not make grow and ripen in that excellent part of Europe.  
He knows which require only the Sunrising, which his strongest rays at noon, he knows which require a fat soil, which a dry; he knows how to plant, and to water them seasonably; nay he corrects the nature of some fruits, by transplanting them after such a manner as that they grow milder; in a word, it might be said that the Sun hath taught them all the several degrees of heat whereby he produces indifferent Climates, fruits that are accordingly different, so to know how to make them grow and ripen in the same place, and that the same rays that nourish Orange-trees in Sicily, and make Palm-trees grow in Asia, may produce these several effects in the same ground.  
Timantes hath moreover this advantage in his retirement, that no man can charge him with choosing that kind of life, because he was not able to manage great affairs; for while he was yet young, he was put into glorious and difficult employments, wherein he made equal discoveries of prudence and integrity. Whence coming to learn the inconstancy and fickleness of Fortune, and the tumultuousness of Courts, he was more fit than any other to comfort and keep up the spirits of an illustrious though unfortunate person, whom Fortune seemed desirous to forsake. He accordingly visited Themistus several times, during the first days of his banishment, and my illustrious friend hath told me since, that he thinks, that if Timantes had been acquainted with all his affliction, he had haply recovered him as well of the griping afflictions of his heart, as he did those of his mind. But knowing nothing of his love, all the remedies he gave him, were only against ambition, I beseech you, said he to him one day, be not so extremely cast down at the exchange of your fortune; there needs no more than to be content to be unhappy, to be so no more, submit your will to that of the Gods, and you shall be beyond all pity. Were you banished for having betrayed your Country or your Master, I should advise you to be troubled at it while you live, but since you are innocent, you gain more than you have lost by losing your fortune, your misfortunes will raise pity, whereas being in favour you were the object of envy, and were you wise you would comfort yourself for the loss of a happiness, which depending always upon another, was never truly yours. Believe me Themistus, it argues weakness in any man to build his happiness upon his interest with great ones, and it speaks injustice in him to think himself unhappy, when he is so well reconciled to himself, that he is not chargeable with any crime. Solitude hath its satisfactions as well as the Court, and though peace and innocence make no great noise, these undisturbed pleasures are incomparably beyond those which a man must divide with an infinite number of people whom he would not be like. I know well you have a great and noble soul, but it sometimes speaks as much glory to contemn honour, as to court it. All the world is satisfied that you can conquer others, but it is not yet known whether you can overcome yourself. It is no less known that you exercised moderation in your good fortune, but it is yet doubtful whether you can undergo a bad one with constancy. Make it therefore your endeavour to convince your enemies, that you deserve not your disgrace, and that notwithstanding their envy and malice, you can find yourself those pleasures which they cannot disturb. For in a word, all the power of those that banish you, and all the spite of those that persecute you, cannot hinder your compliance with reason and virtue. They can never while they only force you into the Country, added he smiling, hinder our Gardens from affording you their flowers and fruits, our Brooks from murmuring, our Birds from singing, nor you from quietly enjoying all these innocent entertainments of solitude. And therefore, Themistus, since they cannot deprive you of what a wise man is satisfied with, repine not if they only take away from you a many things which can never satisfy an ambitious man.  
But generous Timantęs, replied Themistus, do you account it nothing to be divested of the power of obliging thousands of people, to whom now I am grown unprofitable? I must needs, replied he, have a great esteem for that inclination of well-doing, whereby you made good use of the favour you were in, but it rather concerns those that have lost you, than it does yourself, to be troubled at your disgrace. For in fine, true wisdom consists in an absolute resignation of ourselves to the disposal of the Gods; and in acting with equal virtue what condition soever we are in. While you were a favourite to your Prince, you were obliged to be a Patron of the unfortunate, to be liberal, and to do virtue justice; but now that you are out of favour, you are dispensed from part of those things, and all you have to do, to be glorious is to be constant. Be so then, Themistus, if you value my advice; for a man suffers less, when he is resolved to suffer, than when he endeavours to struggle out of a misfortune which he must of necessity endure.  
This Madam, was the effect of Timantes' discourse with Themistus, whose great heart digested it to such advantage, that he seemed not to be the least troubled at his disgrace. But to say truth, when I went to see him, and that he could speak to me without any body by, the passion whereof he complained not, persecuted him after a strange manner. His ambition was easily chained up by the good counsel of those wise and virtuous men; and so he minded not the raising of a faction in the State, or making a division in the Army, as he might have done if he had endeavoured it, but the love he had within him, which he made the greatest secret in the World to all but to me, afforded him not one minutes rest. When he considered that his disgrace removed him both from the presence and rank of Lindamira, he could not master his own thoughts, and had he not been comforted by the Leters he received from that Princess, he had certainly been overwhelmed by the excess of his affliction. What was yet very remarkable in the change of Themistus' fortune, was, that even those that were the occasion of it, were as unfortunate as himself, for Perianthus was so troubled about it, that he could not endure to be spoken to of any thing; and for Demarata, she had need of all her dissimulation to smother the horrid grief she conceived thereat, as soon as the design, she had with so much policy carried on, was put in execution. Nay, she had no sooner heard that Themistus had obeyed, but Love, reassuming all its force, made her to consider him as a person without whom she could not live.  
In the mean time, she saw not any way how she could propose to Perianthus, that he might be recalled, nor indeed could imagine how the Prince could consent thereto, if the necessity of his affairs did not force him to it, so that her present desires being contrary to what they were formerly she wished the Prince of Messena overcome, that there might be a necessity of having recourse to the valour of Themistus, to the end she might but see him again.  
Things being in this posture, Themistus recovers of his wounds, so that being fully resolved to speak to the Prince, he came secretly near Syracuse, and lay hid at a friends house, where having understood that the Prince was to go a hunting on a certain day, with very few about him, he resolved to speak to him, though the Prince had denied all Themistus' friends the liberty so much as to see him once. He therefore got on horseback, and followed only by one slave, he went to a place where he thought the Game would come, as indeed it afterwards did, and was so fortunate, that the Prince hunting that day more to give his thoughts a little liberty, than for any pleasure, got, purposely from his company, and passed near by the place where Themistus expected him. The Game being by that time quite out of sight, and he coming to a fresh shady place, alighted; so that Themistus who yet lay behind the bushes, alighted also, and came with an action full of respect and confidence together, towards Perianthus, whose thoughts were so employed, that he perceived him not, till such time as he could not avoid speaking to him. I beg your pardon, my Lord, said he to him, for presuming to take the liberty, to ask you what crime I have committed, for I protest to you, that I have never done, said, nor thought any thing that you can reproach me with. It argues indeed a great presumption in you to see me, replied Perianthus, and withal to speak as you do, Let it suffice, added he, that the services you have done me have secured your life. but pretend not to persuade me you are innocent. I see my Lord, replies Themistus, that the services I have had the happiness to do you, have made no great impression in your heart, since you deny me the favour of accusing me. I neither desire to be pardoned, nor yet to be recalled, but only to know what I am charged with: for I profess to you, I cannot imagine what it may be, and cannot comprehend how you can thus persecute a man that suffers the unjustice you have for me, with the same patience as if it were impossible he could do any thing but suffer. And yet, my Lord, I assure you, that if I would have harkened to the propositions have been made to me, I might have made myself guilty, and deserved my disgrace. And to show you, my Lord, that I entertain you with no fiction, you may see by the Letters which I put into your hands, what proffers the Prince of Heraclea, and the old Prince of Messena have made to me I had forgot to tell you, that it was indeed true that Themistus had refused to side with either of these two Princes.) Perianthus' surprised at what Themistus said to him, looked on him and said nothing: so that not perceiving in his eyes that confusion which he thought he should have found there, he was very much at a loss about it, so that though he had promised Demarata not to tell Themistus why he had banished him, yet could he not forbear endeavouring to convince him of perfidiousness; how said he to him, you imagine then, because you have held no correspondance with my enemies, that you are innocent? And you think you have done nothing contrary to the respect you owe me by entertaining in your heart a mad and presumptuous passion. Themistus was very much amazed to hear Perianthus speak in that manner, for he never reflected that he could be charged with loving Demarata, and thought only that Perianthus had discovered the affection he had for the Princess his Sister, and was offended at it. Not knowing therefore what answer to make, he seemed to be much at a loss, for he knew not whether he should deny or acknowledge his passion. So that Perianthus attributing the trouble of his mind, to the confusion it was to him to see his crime discovered, looked on him very earnestly, and assumeing the discourse; you see said he to him, that it is much more easy for me to accuse you than you imagined. Alas, my Lord, replied Themistus, you should not think it strange to find me surprised, for without telling you whether I am in love or not, I can only truly swear, that my heart never entertained any thing at which you might take any offence; for if I love any thing, I do it with so much respect, such purity and innocence, that it were a horrid piece of injustice to charge me with a passion that is at so great a distance from all manner of crime. How, interrupted Perianthus, you think, because I owe you my life, that it is lawful for you to dishonour a person whose concernments I must needs make my own? Not but that when I well consider your crime, I must needs have some pity for you, since it cannot otherwise be than that your passion was much stronger than your reason, when it made you forget your respects towards me. For to be short, Themistus, I declare it to you, that though I am your Sovereign, had you loved any person, I would have died ere I had been your Rival, and if you had had a wife, I would never have looked on her, if I had thought it could not be done, but I must have loved her. But for your, your virtue and friendship have not been so scrupulous, and you have thought it lawful for you to love Demarata, and she must take no exceptions at it. You say, my Lord, replied roundly Themistus, that I have had the boldness to love Demarata. I do, replied Perianthus, and you have in a manner confessed it yourself. Ah my Lord, replies Themistus, if I have any love for the Princess, I am content you should put me to all torments imaginable. Ah Themistus, replied Perianthus, add not falsehood to your presumption, acknowledge your weakness, repent you of it, and go and seek cure for your extravagancy in some place so far from Sicily, that the name of Deniarata may not entertain so much as in your heart the mad passion that hath seized it.  
This put Themistus to a very sad extremity, for his own generosity would not permit him to tell the Prince that he was himself loved by Demarata, besides that, if he had, he would not have been credited. Nor durst he, on the other side, discover the true passion he had in his soul, which would have justified him, for fear of displeasing Lindamira. However, he resolved to say he was in love, the better to persuade Perianthus that he did not love Demarata. Could I be persuaded, My Lord, said he, to acquaint you with the only secret which I never yet have, you would soon find, that I am far from loving Demarata For, My Lord, I must confess, that I have for an admirable person, so violent a passion in my soul, that it affords me not one minutes rest, and which so fills it, that all other beauties in the world move me not. But for Demarata, My Lord, I swear by what ever is most sacred, that if I had surprised in my heart any sentiment too passionate for her, I should have plucked it out, rather than run the hazard of deserving the title of a perfidious and ungrateful person. But Themistus, replied Perianthus, whence comes it then, that Demarata thinks you love her? Ah, my Lord, replied he, it is impossible she should believe any such thing; she so far believes it, replies Perianthus very innocently, that she would never be quiet till I had banished you. I am therefore as unfortunate as innocent, replies Themistus, for there is not any thing at such a vast distance from truth; and if there be any one that can affirm, I have either said or done any thing, whence it might be inferred I had any love for Demarata, I would have you look on me no otherwise than as the basest of your subjects. So that my Lord, added Themistus, the Princess must needs proceed upon some light imaginations that I loved her, and misinterpret my actions, or I must think, that for some reason unknown to me, it hath been her design to ruin me in your thoughts. Might it please the Gods, replied Perianthus, that you were innocent, and that an over-scrupulous virtue had obliged Demarata to think you had forgot the respect you ought to her. For in a word, Themistus, Demarata, excepted, I have not had so great an affection for any one as I have had for you, and I also owe you as many obligations as a Prince can do a subject. For if my first favours have preceded your services, your services have since very much exceeded my favours; and therefore I would give half my state that you were innocent. If you speak truly, added he, you may easily in some sort justify yourself, since you have no more to do than to tell me whom you are in love with; but be sure you tell me no lie, for if you do I shall easily discover it, I shall conclude you guilty, and shall never pardon you.  
I must needs confess my Lord, replied Themistus, that I am in a very great distraction, for I have confessed unawares that I was in love, and I shall not retract it. But my Lord, to tell you with whom, is a thing I cannot do, and I beseech you command me not to do it. No, no, replies hotly Perianthus, there is no mean, you must either speak sincerely, or be found guilty in my judgement, and leave my Dominions immediately. This put Themistus into an expressible disturbance; for to leave Sicily so as never to return thither, and never to see Lindamira more, he thought the most insupportable thing in the World. Thence he felt a temptation to tell Perianthus the truth, but considering the thing well, he saw he should not be credited; yet as wretched as his condition was, he could not affirm that Demarata loved him, much less discover the affection he had for the Princess of Himera, not only for fear of provoking him, but out of a fear he would not be much less unblamable, as to Perianthus, for Lindamira than for Demarata. He therefore fell to entreaties, that the Prince would be satisfied with the assurances he gave him of his innocence, not to force him to discover whom he loved, and to grant him the favour to go and die in his service; for though I have had the honour to command your Army, yet will I now fight as a private Soldier, conditionally you give me encouragement to hope that you will hearken to what ever may tend to my justification. The way I propose is so easy, says Perianthus, that if you will not be tried by it, you must be guilty. For I promise you an inviolable fidelity, if you tell me whom you are in love with. In a word, do but convince me you are in love, and I shall not imagine that you have so much as thought on Demarata; for the posture of your fortune considered, it was not a thing to be pretended. If therefore you are innocent, be not so obstinate against your own interests. I have already told you, that I would observe an inviolable fidelity towards you, and I tell you so again. Ah, My Lord, replied Themistus transported with grief, all this is not enough, for though I love not the Princess, yet haply am I nevertheless criminal. Ah Themistus, provided you do not love Demarata, I pardon you all other affections, even though you should love my Sister. Pardon me then, my Lord (said he, overcome with his affliction) for there is nothing so true, as that since my return into Sicily, I have had, whether I would or no, the most violent, the most pure, and the most eager passion for her that ever any man had. This my Lord, is the great secret which I beseech you to preserve such, so as not to communicate it to the Princess Demarata, or the Princess of Himera; unless you would have me die with despair. That done, my Lord, punish me as a presumptuous person, I am content; but I beseech you look not on me as a base and perfidious man.  
Perianthus was so glad to understand by Themistus' manner of expressing himself, that he really had no love for Demarata, that he easily excused him for being in love with the Princess of Himera. He therefore very kindly embraced him; I know, said he to him, that there is a great disproportion between my Sister and you, but Themistus, your merit equals you with all the world, and your desires are at liberty for any thing but the affection of Demarata. But you have a Rival in the head of my Army, and he made a request to me at his departure, which certainly will much trouble me: but however, I am so overjoyed, that I can afford you my friendship again; that nothing can henceforth cause me any disturbance. And yet, added he, I must return, I must humour Demarata, and undeceive her, by assuring her that you love her not, and that she is mastaken, upon such conjectures as an over-scrupulous virtue hath caused her to misinterpret. Themistus who knew the secret of Demaratas heart, easily perceived that this would not reconcile her to him; but not knowing what to oppose to what Perianthus said to him, he recommended all to fortune. So the Prince having left him, he returned to the place of his retirement, whence Perianthus assured him he should soon be sent for.  
Now this interview of the Prince and Themistus, seeming very strange to those that accompanied him a hunting, one of them came and told the Princess of it, before Perianthus had seen her, so that her mind was in a strange distraction, out of the fear she was in that Themistus had told Perianthus the naked truth. But when she saw him come into the Chamber with an undisturbed, free, and flattering countenance towards her, her fear was dispersed, and she was convinced that Themistus had been so generous as not to accuse her. So that being ashamed of her crime, she repented herself so much the more, that she had been the occasion of his banishment. In the mean time assoon as he was at liberty to speak to her looking on her very kindly, my hunting to day hath proved more fortunate to me, said he to her, than I expected, since it hath proved the occasion of my meeting Themistus, nay Themistus innocent. For he hath told me so many things, whence I infer that you have been mistaken, that I have undertaken to be his intercessor to you, and to oblige you to give me leave to send for him again. Demarata, whose sentiments were such at that time, that she was glad Themistus might be recalled, carried herself very craftily, that is, my Lord, replies she, Themistus' love is cured by his ambition; and seeing his fortune's over-turned, he reputes, or seems to repent him of his extravagance. And yet, added she, having observed you so much troubled at his absence, I am absolutely resolved not to meddle with any thing that concerns him, and therefore do what you please with him. Demarata spoke this with a certain coldness, and withal somewhat of anger, that Perianthus thought she was troubled at the return of Themistus, and therefore thinking he did very well in order to a reconciliation between them; he told her, that upon promise of secrecy, he would immediately convince her, that Themistus loved her not; for in fine (continued he after she had promised him what he desired) I know whom Themistus hath been infinitely in love with, ever since his return into Sicily. Demarata surprised at what Perianthus said, felt a great tempest within her. However, endeavouring what she could to dissemble her sentiments, she pretended she could not believe what Perianthus said, whereupon importuning him to tell what he knew, he told her at last that he was in love with Lindamira.  
To tell you Madam, what she felt at that instant when she heard that Themistus, who she thought, had never known any love, was so much in it, were impossible for me: insomuch, that jealousy combining with the trouble already within her, she had much ado to dissemble it. But it being not in her power to forbear considering that Themistus had not accused her, she stifled her thoughts, and notwithstanding the distraction within her, she betrayed no disturbance in her countenance, and durst not change sentiments while she spoke to Perianthus, lest he should at length discover what was in her soul. So that not saying ought positively, she stood to her former resolution, which was not to meddle with aught that concerned Themistus, adding withal, that if he would oblige her, he should not be recalled for some days. Perianthus perceiving Demarata inclining to peace, was very glad of it, for it confirmed him in the opinion he was of that she was angry without cause, and that conscious of it, she would comply by degrees.  
He therefore left her, to go and send Themistus word, that he should be recalled within a few days; but Demarata being alone with Amerintha, and having related to her what had happened between Perianthus and Themistus, and between Perianthus and herself, what did she not say in the extremity of her affliction? It must now be granted, said she to her, that I am very unfortunate; for it is not enough to incur the shame of loving, and not being loved again; but I must withal have the misery to understand that Themistus is in love with another, and to know that it is impossible but he must have an aversion for me. For looking on me now as the occasion of his disgrace, he must of necessity hate me. And yet it is the pleasure of my destiny, that I should be exposed to see Themistus whom I cannot but affect; nay to see him in love with Lindamira, and favourite to the Prince, whom he may tell when he pleases, that I love him, and that I have given him some expressions thereof. But what troubles me most of all, is, that in all probability he will triumph over my weakness when he speaks with Lindamira, for since he loves, 'tis infallible he is beloved.  
But Madam, says Amerintha to her, since he hath been so discreet as not to tell it the Prince, he will keep it from the Princess of Himera. Ah, Amerintha, replied she, a Man tells his Mistress what he would not his Master: but as I have begun with imposture, so I must end with it; and if it be possible, raise a jealousy in Lindamira, since I cannot love in Themistus. Accordingly Demarata went the next morning to visit Lindamira, with whom she desired some private discourse. She no sooner saw her, but all the melancholy of her heart rose up into her face, so that Lindamira ask her the reason of it, Demarata behaved herself so subtly, that she was forced to be entreated divers times to tell what it was that troubled her. Woe is me, said she, when I came hither, it was my intention to disburden my heart to you; but now that I am come I have not the power. Lindamira renewing her entreaties thereupon, Demarata, the better to compass her proposed end, told her as a great secret a mere fiction. She told her, that Themistus had loved her from her infancy, that at his return into Sicily, he had given her divers expression● of his love, but that she had slighted them so far that he durst not continue them. And he hath told me since, added this subtle Princess, that he did all that lay in his power to fall in love with you, and that he had given you occasion to think he loveed you. How, Madam, replies Lindamira, blushing, hath Themistus told you that he had given me any cause to think him in love with me. Methinks you may easily see, replies Demarata, that I could not have invented what I tell you, nor yet imagined it.  
But this is not all I have to tell you, added she, for you are to know, that Themistus forgetting the respect he ought me, ay, not able to endure the sight of him, prevailed with the Prince to put him out of favour. Now meeting him yesterday as he was a hunting, and speaking to him, Themistus hath made his peace, and persuaded him he never had any love for me: So that he hath made you the excuse of his extravagance, and therefore I am very glad, I have had the occasion to give you notice of it, that if the Prince speak to you of any such thing, you may know what answer to make him. But to deal freely with you, might I have my will, the presumptuous Themistus should never see the Court again. However, I beseech you, do not expose me at the same time to the indignation of the Prince and his favourite, and therefore let them not know any thing of what I have told you; and lest a long discourse in private may raise any suspicion of me, I shall leave you assoon as you have told me how you will have me to behave myself. Your own prudence is such, Madam, replied Lindamira very much amazed, that it is not for me to give you advice. Demarata perceiveing the Princess of Himera would not discover herself to her, departed with some light satisfaction; but she was no sooner gone, but Lindamira received a Letter from Themistus, wherein were these words.  
THEMISTUS to the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
IT will not be long ere fortune give me leave to wait on you; I shall haply seem somewhat unblamable to you, but I have still the confidence, that if I am guilty, it proceeds merely from the excess of my love.  
Lindamira summing up Demaratas discourse, and Themistus' Letter together, knew not what to think of the discretion and fidelity of her Lover. She could not absolutely convince him of infidelity, but she thought there was some reason to charge him with indiscretion. She had not spent a quarter of an hour in reflecting on this troublesome adventure, but jealousy disturbing her reason, she concluded him both indiscreet and unfaithful; for Themistus having not acquainted her with any thing had passed between Demarata and him; and that she never had observed any signs of aversion for him in the carriage of that Princess, she could not apprehend why she should impose a crime of that nature upon him. So that not knowing Themistus to be naturally ambitious, she began to suspect, that he loved in general, whatever was above himself. You may judge, Madam, how she was nettled at it; Mericia, whom she acquainted with her affliction, would oblige her not to condemn Themistus before she had heard him; but she could not forbear writing to him in a manner disobliging enough, for she only sent him these words.  
IF you are as guilty as you seem to be to my apprehension, you are for ever banished the heart of Lindamira.  
Themistus receiving this Letter, was extremely troubled, and withal much surprised at it; for the Prince had promised to be faithful to him, nor indeed had Perianthus said any thing of what Themistus had trusted him with to Lindamira, and thought that to tell it Demarata was to tell it no body. At last this Prince, being extremely impatient to see Themistus, sent for him to Court. And having to that end written to Timantes, and all those illustrious Solitaries whom I have spoken to you of, they were troubled at his return, to a place where it was hard to preserve honour, and advised him by their Letters to reassume it, so as that he might lose it again, and to look on fortune as a fantastic Deity, whom a virtuous person honoured by submitting to her. Themistus whose heart was burdened with a secret grief which he could not master, was in a manner as sad at his return to the Court, as he had been at his departure thence. At last he got thither, and resolved to overcome all obstacles that should hinder his design, or die. The Prince entertained him with the greatest kindness that could be; he met with all those Sycophants, that had forsaken him in his disgrace. Perianthus brought him to make a short visit to Demarata, out of a fear that if he did it not, the cause might haply be guessed at. That Princess received him with a certain cold civility, admirably suitable to all she had done before. That done, Themistus followed the Prince to his lodgings, who perceiveing some disturbance in him, took him aside, and spoke to him with a very obliging countenance; I see, said he to him, that you are extremely troubled at what you made me privy to, and that you are in doubt whether I should take it well that you see my Sister. But Themistus, I am so glad that you do not love Demarata, that I leave you to yourself; besides that, to be free with you, I am so well satisfied of my sister's virtue, that I am not troubled at it at all. Nor have I told her any thing of what I had from you, nor shall ever, till you think it convenient.  
Themistus thinking himself infinitely obliged by this obliging carriage of the Prince towards him, gave him millions of thanks, and protested to him, his soul had never been guilty of an unworthy thought; whereupon he went to Lindamira, whom he found half-indisposed. At first, this Princess entertained him with an extreme coldness, which soon after turned into anger, till at last she made a thousand reproaches to him of perfidiousness, inconstancy and indiscretion. So that Themistus was so astonished, that one would have said, he had been guilty. How Madam, said he to her, when she had given over speaking? Is it thus you receive an unfortunate man that expected no joy by his return to the Court, than what proceeded from the hope of finding you the same person he had left you. To find me such as I was, replies Lindamira, you should not have come hither unfaithful, and indiscreet. Ah Madam, replied he, you charge me with too much rigour; for if I were unfaithful, you would not charge me with infidelity. What you say is so obscure, answered she, that it is apparent you are guilty, and that you have no good plea to make for yourself. But to begin with your indiscretion, is it not true, that you have told the Prince my Brother, what you never ought to have told any one, which if you might have done, Perianthus should have been the last of all the World to hear it. Themistus was much surprised to see his Master had not kept his word with him, but at length recovering himself a little, Alas! Madam, said he to her, had you been in my place, you had said what I have; for I was in such an unfortunate posture of affairs, that I must have lost you for ever; nay exposed myself, to the reputation of an unfaithful person in your judgement, had you known the cause of my banishment. While you only tell me things I understand not, replied she roundly, I shall not be friends with you: but in few words (added she, not giving him the leisure to speak) the truth of the business is this, that you made it no great difficulty to expose me, so to conceal your true passion, and made it your only means to keep the Prince my Brother from discovering your love to Demarata. You had said more truly Madam, had you said believing instead of discovering, for it is true, I would not have the Prince to think me an unworthy and ungrateful person. But I protest to you Madam, that when I confessed to him the affection I had for you, so to hinder him from conceiving I loved Demarata, I did it principally out of a consideration of providing, that you should not one day suspect me to have been unfaithful: for if the Prince had believed it, he would have told you as much, and you would haply have thought I had been really such, Besides that, the Prince having said he would pardon me all things, conditionally I were not in love with Demarata, I must confess, I thought it concerned me very much, he should know I had taken the boldness to direct my affections to you. But Madam, I have not told him I had the happiness of any favour from you. You have done better than you imagine, replied she, for I do not think at the present ever to do you any. But Madam, what have I done that I should be so lost to your affection, replies Themistus, am I unworthy of it, because I am unfortunate, and unjustly persecuted? You deserve all the aversion and all the revenge I can have for you, replied she, for pretending to love me when you loved Demarata. Do I love Demarata, replied he hastily, from whom have you it? from Demarata herself, answers Lindamira, who hates you as much as I would hate you. Ah Madam, replied he, Demarata is unworthy the discretion I have had for her, and since she is bend every way to ruin me, I must at lest endeavour the preservation of your affection, which is the only happiness I look after, and without which I could not live. But Madam, you must hear me without prejudice, nay, you must hear me with a certain goodness; for I have concealed one thing from you, which I shall now have much ado to acquaint you withal, though my justification depends on it, and that I am only to impeach a person that endeavours my ruin. But all considered, Madam, I think I have not offended much against the love I have for you, in not telling you that I had taken notice that Demarata had some inclinations towards me; nor do I think I offend much against honour by acknowledging it now, since she hath endeavoured to destroy me in your thoughts. But Themistus, replied she, could Demarata have loved you, if you had not loved her? Alas, Madam, can you put that question to me, when you know that I have loved you a long time, without being loved? You, who cannot be ignorant that you are the absolute Mistress of my heart; you, who know well enough that I am neither base nor perfidious, and who should, methinks, be satisfied that I look not upon any thing on earth but yourself? But why have you not told me before, what you do now, replies Lindamira? Out of a conceit, Madam, replied he, that a person of honour should never speak any thing against a woman, by whom he is loved, even though he had the greatest a version that could be for her. So that to forbear doing what might prejudice Demarata, and withal cause you to esteem me the less, I have concealed the weakness of that Princess from you, which I might rationally think she had overcome.  
Lindamira somewhat appeased at this, was desirous to know all that had passed between Demarata and Themistus, so that he gave her an account of the conversation he had heretofore had with that Princess, when it was her design to engage him to tell her that he was in love with her; and thence fell upon a hundred little passages he had observed at several times, to the conference he had had with the Prince the day he had met with him a hunting. Themistus discovered such a sincerity through all this relation, and entertained Lindamira with so many passionate things, that she concluded him to be innocent. But they at the same time perceived they were both equally unfortunate, in that they were exposed to the fury of a jealous and exasperated Woman, of whom Perianthus was still very fond. However, this reconciliation was not concluded without much kindness; yet with this resolution, that they would see one another privately as seldom as might be, the less to incense the jealous Demarata, whose sufferings were greater than can well be imagined.  
Things standing thus, news came that the Prince of Messena had gained a battle, which cost Themistus the displeasure of being forced publicly to rejoice at the glory of his Rival. But for Demarata she was extremely satisfied at it; not out of any reflection on the advantage of the State thereby; but a conceit, that after that service done, it was impossible Perianthus should deny the Princess of Himera to the Prince of Messena; and indeed, the end of the Campagne approaching, he returns to Syracuse, where he was no sooner arrived, but Demarata furthering his interests, and giving him advice, he demanded Lindamira of the Prince of Syracuse. He satisfied him, that the Prince his Father would consent thereto, and pressed the business so much, that Perianthus was sufficiently troubled with him. However, he told the Prince of Messena, that Lindamira was at liberty to dispose of herself, and that for his consent he might assure himself of it, provided he gained hers.  
Themistus durst not all this while discover his resentments, out of the respects he had for his master; but withal resolved, if he perceived Lindamira at a loss, as to what she should do, to perish himself, or dispatch his Rival out of the way. Insomuch that the Princess of Himera perceiving in him those inclinations to hatred towards the Prince of Messena, which he had much ado to smother, resolved to take another way, which proved effectual. Looking therefore on the Prince of Messena, as a person of much reason and generosity, she took him one day in a private discourse. I know, my Lord said she to him, that the marriages of persons of your condition and mine, are commonly concluded without affection; but since you would have me believe that you have some for me, you were certainly unhappy not to be loved again: and therefore I beseech you, be no longer obstinate, for I have certain particular reasons, for which I shall never love you in the manner you would have me. So that you would make me unhappy, without being happy yourself, even though I were forced to marry you, which it were not easy to do. To this the Prince of Messena answered her, with what ever the love he had within him could suggest, that were most likely to prevail with her, but not doing any good, he left her with abundance of affliction, seeming to be resolved to obey her, and to return home; for the Prince his Father had at length executed the Treaty, seeing the War of Heraclea proved so unsuccessful. But being that night at the Palace very sad, Demarata, whose jealousy and indignation daily increased, asked him privately what troubled him. Whereupon the Prince having acquainted her with what had passed between the Princess of Himera and him, and the resolution he had taken, she was so troubled at it, that, to divert him from quitting his design, she told him she should not do so, and that Themistus was not a person to contest with him, for the affection of Lindamira. The Prince of Messena was much surprised at what Demarata said, for he had never suspected any thing of the love of Themistus. On the contrary, 'Twas he that had given him the name of the Insensible Courtier; but reflecting on things past, he remembered that Themistus had ever avoided his company, when he would have entertained him with his affection for Lindamira, so that he thence drew those consequences, which obliged him to credit what Demarata said, who seeming to concern herself in his interests, told him she should not so give over, adding, that Themistus was a presumptuous person, that had more ambition in him than love. Demarata in the mean time never considered that she created a jealousy in a Lover's heart, whereof she could not hinder the consequences. In a word, from that day, the Prince of Messena had so much ado to endure Themistus, that Themistus perceived it: for a Rival that hates, soon discovers the hatred of his enemy. So that feeling within him, something of cruelty which he could not hinder from breaking forth, he out of prudence avoided his company. But as chance would have it, meeting alone, with their slaves, upon the Achradina, where Themistus had hazarded his life for the Prince of Messena, they took a turn about, without saying aught to one another. Which done, the Prince of Messena speaking first, and falling immediately to the business, will you do me the favour Themistus, said he, as to answer me sincerely to what I ask. I engage myself, replies Themistus, to tell you that I cannot answer you, if you ask me a thing, which I would not, or ought not to tell you. Tell me then, replies the Prince of Messena, whether it be true, that a man that cannot be happy himself, doth not offend in hindering another to be so? What you say is so general, replies Themistus, that I cannot answer thereto; because sometimes there are those particular circumstances, which hinder the most general Rules that are to be such. Since you would have me to explain myself, replies the Prince of Messena, I am content, nor indeed, should I go otherwise than in plain terms, when I speak to a man upon the very place, where he had hazarded his life upon my account. I am therefore to confess, that I know of your being in love with the Princess of Himera; but since she will not in all likelihood, ever marry you, methinks I may, without being thought ungrateful, entreat you to tell me, whether you are loved by her: for if she loves you, I will absolutely quit my design upon her, and will be gone to morrow towards Messena; if she does not, I will prosecute it as I can, to bring it to some period. Since you know that I love Lindamira, replies Themistus, I shall not disavow it; but to tell you I am loved by her, is that you shall never know from me: for if I am, I were indiscreet, and unworthy to tell it without her permission; and if I am not, I should not very easily afford you the joy to know so much, since you are my Rival. But my Lord, since you deal very obligingly with me, I will tell you ingeniously, that, for Lindamira's satisfaction, you should give over all thoughts of wedding her, for I am so well acquainted with her intentions, as to that point, that I can assure you, she will never make you happy? And where you say, my Lord, I can never be such, I know not what you ground your assertion upon; for Love and Fortune are wont to do things more extraordinary. Certain it is I am no Prince, added he, but my birth is noble enough to encourage me to aspire to any thing, and whoever hath such a heart as I have, thinks few things above him. Nay then, Themistus, says the Prince of Messena, you are loved, and I have no more to do, but to think of my departure, since honour will not suffer me to be ungrateful, and that the Princess Lindamira loves you I have not told you she does, replies Themistus, but only that she cannot make you happy. But if I one day understand, that you have been loved by her, replied this Prince angrily, I shall have a quarrel against you. You may make what quarrel you please of it, replies Themistus coldly, for I am ever in a capacity to satisfy those that have any quarrel against me.  
The Prince of Messena, confirmed hereby, that Themistus was loved by Lindamira, had immediately the greatest hatred in the world for him: so that this discourse which had been begun kindly enough, grew so bitter, that the Prince of Messena and Themistus came at last to blows. The latter generously did all that lay in his power, to avoid coming to that extremity, as foreseeing the sad consequences of that unhappy business; but the Prince of Messena having drawn his sword, the other could do no less than defend himself. 'Tis true, he did it with that courage, that, how valiant soever the Prince of Messena might be, he made a shift to receive two great wounds, and to be disarmed, before those whom their slaves went to the Palace for, were come to separate them. You may imagine what a noise this Duel made in the Court, and what advantage Demarata made of it, in order to her revenge.  
The news was no sooner come, but she went to the Prince, and confidently asked him, whether he would still suffer that presumptuous person in his Court, whose temerity was now come to the highest pitch. For in fine, added she, the business is out of all controversy, because if Themistus be in love with Lindamira, he further affronts you, for he ought no more to pretend to your Sister; than your Wife. In the interim, you see he fights with a Prince, as if their contestation were, who should marry Lindamira. But, Madam, replied Periantbus, the Prince of Messena drew first upon Themistus. 'Tis true, continued she; but it is as certain that Themistus affronted the Prince of Messena, whom you are obliged to for a great victory, as well as to the other.  
While they were thus engaged, Themistus, who was lightly wounded in the left arm, sent to the Prince to excuse what had past; and the Prince of Messena sent also to him, to crave pardon that he had engaged against a person he loved: so that not minding much what Demarata said, he visited them both; but being a little exasperated by her speeches, he spoke not to Themistus with his ordinary kindness, for after divers things said, concerning his fight with the Prince of Messena: howe'er it may be, says the Prince to him, you are too blame, for you know that you are not to entertain any thoughts of marrying my Sister. I know my Lord, replied he, I am not worthy that honour, but I know much better, that you had the goodness to pardon me the love I have for her, and that you have not forbidden me to have any. I have neither forbidden you, nor permitted you, replied Perianthus, and have only pardoned you a passion, which I thought your reason would have advised you to disengage. It hath so long advised me to it ineffectually, replied Themistus, that it hath at last given over. Since it is so, replies Perianthus, I must needs command you to do it. Ah, my Lord, replies Themistus, when men command things impossible, it argues they would not be obeyed. Are you, my Lord, able to cease loving Demarata, if there were any one in the world had a right to lay that unjust command upon you? Howe'er it be, says the Prince, I begin to find out, that Demarata knows you better than I do, since your ambition hath no limits. For I now see clearly, that you pretend to marry Lindamira, and must needs believe, that the friendship you express towards me, and the love to her, are only the effects of an insatiable ambition, whence you equally derive your friendship, your love, nay, your valour too.  
As you are my Master, replies Themistus, I am to suffer any thing at your hands; but if you would consider it well, you would find that the love you bear Demarata, will soon stifle the friendship you have had for Themistus. And if you do it, my Lord, added he, you will be more unjust than you conceive yourself: for in fine, Demarata hates me without any cause. Be it so or not, think no more on Lindamira, says Perianthus, if you would preserve my affection.  
Having said so, Perianthus went out and left Themistus in a strange affliction. A little after the Prince was gone, I came in, and saw the first eruptions of it. Now, my dear Meleagenes, said he to me, what think you of my cross fortune? All that I think to do for myself ruins me; all the services I do, raise up ungrateful persons to persecute me, my victories serve only, either to make my Rival victorious, or to strengthen the power of an ungrateful Master, who would rather hearken to a perfidious Woman, than to a faithful subject that hath saved his life; so that to make my misery full weight, there needs no more than that Lindamira disclaim me. The Prince is now gone in to her, replied I, and no doubt but he will speak to her against you. Nay, I believe, continued I, that the Princess will not have the confidence to tell him that she loves you, and that she will ever continue it, though I am persuaded she is resolved to be faithful to you. What resolution the Prince will take, I know not, replies Themistus, but I find in myself, that if he forget the services I have done him, and will force Lindamira to marry my Rival, I shall forbear no extremity to make him understand himself, and to hinder Lindamira to be taken away from me. But why did you not let him know what Demarata was? said I to him (for then he had told me the truth:) Alas Meleagenes, replied he, do you think he could have believed me, having no proofs to give him. No, no, that had been to no purpose, but if I engage with his enemies, I shall haply make victory change sides. Yet could I not do that without much difficulty, but Love and Ambition may force an unfortunate man whom all are bend to ruin, to do strange things.  
To contract therefore my relation, Madam, which is already but too long, we had no sooner heard, that Perianthus was gone from Lindamira's, but I went to her on the behalf of Themistus. I found her extremely troubled, for the Prince had not only seemed very much incensed against Themistus, but he had said many things to her, whence she feared he would force her to marry the Prince of Messena. Which she opposing as much as she could, he had asked her whether she would have Themistus, adding, That Favourites may be made of all sorts of persons, but that she should not make him a Brother-in-law, but of a person of his rank and quality. So that Lindamira being unwilling to make him a punctual answer, had only entreated him not to believe all that Demarata should say to him, because she might be prepossessed, But the Prince being prepossessed himself, Lindamira did only incense him the more, and so he returned to the Palace, where he found Demarata in a kind and flattering humour, such as won him so much, that she put him upon what resolutions she pleased. She persuaded him, that it extremely concerned him, as things stood, to do an action of Authority, that it might appear, Themistus governed not him as he pleased. That there was a fair opportunity to do it, since that bestowing Lindamira on the Prince of Messena, he would hinder that Princess from committing any folly; he would recompense a Prince that had done him good service, he would pull down the pride of Themistus, and bring him so much under for ever after, that he should never fasten on any new pretence of extravagance.  
Demarata seconded this with whatever a person of a great and subtle wit, experienced and malicious could say, that manages a revenge proceeding from Love. So that Perianthus, whose only imperfection was his facility for those he loved, thought of nothing but the execution of it. To that end, he had an extraordinary care of the Prince of Messena, little or none for Themistus; he went himself, and brought Lindamira to be lodged in the Palace, upon pretence of some design he had heard there was to carry her away; so that Themistus was deprived of the comfort of seeing her; for besides that, he had a slight hurt, the Prince sent him word he should not come into the Palace, till he had sent him order to that purpose. Thus was Themistus the most unfortunate man in the World, and Demarata entertained so great a joy at it, that she discovered it in all her actions. So that Perianthus observing it, and perceiving that she hated Themistus, began to be jealous again, and to be almost persuaded, that what she had said to him before was true, because he saw no other apparent occasion of her hatred. He did not therefore only do what he did violently, but also without prudence, or any reflection on the influence Themistus had over the Soldiery: he spoke bitterly of him, even in public, and saying openly, that he would make it a match between the Prince of Messena and Lindamira, assoon as he was recovered of his wound; he sent Themistus order to leave Syracuse. Nay, my friend had notice given him, that he was to be secured assoon as he were out of the City, where they durst not take him, as being much the darling of the people. Being in this condition, this desperate Lover would fain have taken leave of his Princess, and he had been confident enough, and haply cunning enough to find out the means to do it, but fearing she might forbid him the execution of any such design, he was content only to send her this Letter.  
The unfortunate THEMISTUS to the Princess LINDAMIRA.  
I Depart, Madam, and I depart the most miserable of all men, to tell you whether I am going, I am not able, and yet I question not but I shall find out the ways to deliver you and revenge myself. I shall haply do those things which at first sight you may blame me for; but if you prove not unconstant, the event will convince you, that I shall do nothing contrary to reason. Be constant therefore, Madam, so to prevent my resentments, from reaching so far, as otherwise they might; for if I lose you, there is not any thing which I shall not endeavour to deprive them of, who should be the occasion of so great a misfortune to me.  
This Letter being delivered to my Sister, who still had the liberty to see Lindamira, though she was kept very close, Themistus departed, and I stayed at Syracuse to give him an account of what passed there. But instead of returning to the place where he had been before, he went to the Army, and did there against Syracuse, what Brutus did for Rome in Tarquin's Army; that is, made himself the Master of it, so far, that it was at his choice, either to bring it up against Perianthus, or against the Prince of Heraclea. 'Tis true, this Prince was so far unfurnished with Horse, that he was not in a condition to keep the field. Whence it came, that he sent to Themistus as soon as he understood how things went, to treat with him; but my friend, without either making any breach, or yet treating, put him off with delays, and began his march towards Syracuse. That which furthered the execution of his design, was, that there was no Officer but held his place from Themistus; for the former War having been very bloody, all the Officery in a manner was changed. Besides that, being of a very liberal and gallant disposition, the hearts of the Soldiery was at his command, and that the excessive affection Perianthus had for Demarata, was prejudicial to that Prince, and advantageous to Themistus.  
The report of the revolt of the Army was no sooner come to Syracuse, but Demarata insulted over Themistus after a strange manner. Nay, she persuaded Perianthus, that it was fit Lindamira should be secured, and accordingly she was put into a Tower, on the quarter of the Hexapila, out of a fear, that if she remained on the Achradina side, some design might be laid to carry her away by the advantage of the Sea. However, she was attended with abundance of respect, but she was withal kept very close, and strong guards about her. The Prince of Messena, who lay still under cure, was extremely afflicted that he had been the occasion of so much disorder, yet was it some comfort to him, that Themistus was not at the Court; but Perianthus was at his wits end almost. Not but that he is a very gallant person, but having only his guards about him, that he could trust himself to, he knew not what to resolve on: the people of Syracuse were discontented, and would not arm, to defend themselves against a man that had brought them peace, and whose valour was their terror; a great number of the grandees charged Demarata with imprudence, and Perianthus with facility, so that all the Prince could do, was to secure the Gates of the City. For Lindamira, though she well knew that Themistus did not what he did, but out of the affection he had for her, yet could she not forbear being very much exasperated against him, to have brought things to that extremity, without making her acquainted with his designs. 'Twas to no great purpose that I secretly gave her notice, that Themistus' design was only to deliver her, and to prevent her marriage with the Prince of Messena, she was never the more appeased, and sent me word she would never love Themistus, while he was in Arms against her Brother and his Country. But this I thought not fit precisely to communicate to Themistus, for it had afflicted him beyond measure; but at last, to show he would be no Usurper, he sent me a Declaration, which I got handsomely scattered up and down Syracuse, wherein he declared, that if they would send the Prince of Messena back into his Country, set the Princess of Himera at liberty, and permit her absolutely to dispose of herself as she pleased, he would lay down Arms, as soon as Lindamira should have expressed her Will, in such place, where she might say she was free. The people being not at all concerned in this affair, thought there had been no way but to grant Themistus all he desired, and divers persons stirred up by me, cried out aloud, that it were better to bestow the Princess of Himera on Themistus, than on the Prince of Messena. However, Perianthus stood out and refused all that was demanded, so that Themistus marched still on towards Syracuse. The Prince of Messena had sent to the Prince his Father, but he was not too hasty to succour Perianthus, with whom he had still rather have been in War than Alliance, though he had been forced to do otherwise. So that Perianthus and Demarata were at an extreme loss what to do. Yet could not this revengeful Woman, repent her of any thing she had done; insomuch, that Amerintha desirous to tell her something one morning, she was so incensed against her, that she sent her away, so that this Woman exasperated at her being packed out of doors, for finding fault with a design that had been so unfortunate, acquainted some persons with all I have already told you, of the sentiments of Demarata, and among others, my Sister.  
Themistus all this time drew nearer and nearer, keeping his Troops in very good order, pretending as if he would besiege Syracuse, if they granted him not what he desired. Lindamira seeing her Country in so much danger, desired a conference with the Prince. Perianthus came to her, and understood that her desire was, that she might have the liberty to speak to Themistus, e'er he used any hostility against the City, promising she would do all that lay in her power to make him change his resolution. Perianthus, who saw that all his force consisted in a raw undisciplined people, and not very forward to endure a Siege, granted her what she desired, for the Army was in sight. Yet was he once minded to recall the permission he had given, when he had seen Demarata, for that jealous Princess was almost out of herself at this interview. But Perianthus having suffered the thing already to take air, could not hinder it. Some were therefore sent to Themistus, to propose a conference between him and Lindamira, which, though he doubted not but she would tell him such things, as should extremely trouble him, he could not but grant. Nay, on the contrary, he conceived it would be no small satisfaction to him to see her, so that he granted all was desired of him. It was therefore resolved, that Themistus in the head of two hundred Horse, should come within a flight shot of the Walls, and that the Princess being in a Chariot, attended by a like number of Horse, should come with two of her Women, to a little Hill, surrounded with a Wood, which lay at the distance aforesaid from the Walls of the City; and that there the Horse of both parties, should stand at an equal distance from the Hill, where Themistus might entertain Lindamira, whose women were to stay some few paces behind, for Themistus would not grant that interview, if he might not have the liberty to speak to the Princess of Himera without witnesses.  
Thus was the business carried, much to the grief of Demarata, and the Prince of Messena, whose wounds were still in a very sad posture. Lindamira attended by two Gentlewomen, came to the place where she was to meet Themistus, having dressed herself after a very negligent manner, yet may it be said, she never looked handsomer in her life. As she passed through the streets, all the people cried out to her to make up a peace, and that with the tears in their eyes; the Walls of the City were full of people, of all qualities and sexes; nay, Demarata herself saw her pass by through the window of her Closet, the Prince of Messena caused himself to be brought to that of his Chamber, to the same end, and Perianthus conducted her to the City Gate, entreating her most affectionately, to rescue her Country from destruction. In this posture went Lindamira to the Hill, where Themistus expected her. As soon as he saw her Chariot stop he alighted, and went to help her out, but Lindamira coldly putting him off from her, No, no, Themistus, said she to him, you are not in a condition to do me that inconsiderable service, and to oblige me to accept of that, you must do me one that is much greater. Whereupon, leaning upon one of her Gentlewomen, she got out of the Chariot, and going up into the little Hill, surrounded with a Wood, she rested herself against a Tree, her Women set themselves at the foot of another, at some distance, and Themistus placing himself over against her, looked on her with so much love, that she was forced to look towards the ground. Well Madam, says he to her, with a very submissive action, what commands do you lay upon me? I would now see by experience, said she, whether it be true that you love me, for if you do, and consequently are tender of my life, my quiet, and my reputation, you will do as I shall advise you. Provided, you do not command me to cease loving you, replied he, that you forbid me not to endeavour your deliverance, and to destroy my Rival, I shall do any thing you desire. But Themistus, replied the Princess of Himera, cannot you conceive there are some just things, which yet ought never to be done, because they cannot be but by unjust means. I grant, added she, that my deliverance is a just action, and that it is natural for a man to wish the destruction of his Rival; but to do these two things, is it lawful for him to revolt against his Prince, to ruin his Country, and to incur the displeasure of his Mistress, by endeavouring to serve her? Ah, Madam, replies Themistus, I should be very unfortunate, if I should meet with hatred, when I do all I can to deserve Love. 'Tis no question your case at the present, replied she, for, to be short Themistus, I shall not flatter you, but acquaint you with the true state of my soul, without concealing, even that which you may be offended at, no more than what may humour you. I must confess then that I have loved you, and that I may be still in a capacity to love you— Ah, Madam, interrupted Themistus, while you tell me of the past and future, I beseech you, let me not be ignorant of my present condition, in your inclinations. It is such, replied she, as that of a man I can either love or hate, either love beyond my life, or hate worse than death. How Madam, replied he, stepping back a little, is it possible you can hate me? It is Themistus, replied she, for if you obey me not, I must needs hate you. What then must I do to obey you, replied he? You must not ruin Syracuse, replied she; you must be no longer an enemy to the Prince my Brother; you must put the Army into his hands, and give over all thoughts of War. I apprehend you, Madam, said he, that is, you would have me wander up and down the world, as an unfortunate exile, while you in the mean time marry the Prince of Messena. On the contrary, replied Lindamira, I shall love you eternally, and it is out of that respect, that I would not have you do a thing which would put me into a capacity, of not presuming to love you when I would; for if you conquer my Brother, and prove the destroyer of your Country, you may well judge, that having a respect for glory, I shall never endure to see you. Nay, I shall, on the other side, look on you as an ambitious person, that never had any affection for me, and one that is in love with his own greatness.  
But Madam, replies Themistus, you consider not that your generosity blinds you; for as things stand now, what would you have me to be? Can I ever repose any confidence in the Princess? Can I resign you to the Prince of Messena, and can I hope that Perianthus will forget what I do, while he loves Demarata, that is, one that hath made him forget all my services? No, no, Madam, you consider not well what you propose to me, But that you may not imagine I have the least inclination to usurp the Supreme power, I declare to you, that if I take Syracuse, as I hope to do, though I have no Fleet, I will send thence my Rival, I will undeceive Perianthus, as to what concerns Demarata, I will restore him his Estate, and will demand nothing but Lindamira, and that of herself. This, Madam, is the design that seems to you so criminal. But if it be true, that you are not a Loveless, ambitious man, replied she, why can you not do a greater action than that? You may save your Country instead of conquering it; you may still be a friend to your Master, and if I may presume to say it, Huband to your Mistress: Ah, Madam, to be what you say, I would run the hazard of a hundred Battles. You need only let Syracuse be in peace, replied she: but if you do not, assure yourself, that what aversion soever I may have for the Prince of Messena, I will marry him as soon as I come into the City. Ah, Madam, said he, your cruelty is now excessive, that you give words so indigestible, and I know not whether they should not rather incline me to set Syracuse on fire, than to do what you would have me. I beseech you, Madam, use no such menace to persuade me to your Will, for if I thought it possible you could do what you say, there should not be any thing that I would stick at. But, Themistus, replied the Princess, what would you have a person to say, that fears nothing so much as to lose you for ever, if you put your design in execution; so that both my fear and my hope are engaged in your safety. You had said more truly if you had said, my destruction. But in fine, Madam, you never have loved me, nor ever will; for were you constant to me, instead of advising me to my ruin, you would presently go into the Army I command, whether I would bring you safely, notwithstanding your Convoy, and when you are once there, you shall dispose of Syracuse as you please. Ah, Themistus, replies Lindamira, I will never come into a rebellious Army. But, Madam, replied he, this Army is rebellious only in order to your deliverance. Let it then cease to be such, replied she, since I am resolved not to be delivered, to the destruction of my Country; for I tell you once more, that if there be any Siege laid before Syracuse, I will never see you again: and on the contrary I promise you, that if you restore it to peace, as I desire you, I shall forget my own condition, to make an inseparable union between your fortunes and mine. How Themistus, (continued she, looking on him with an extraordinary affection, seeing he made no answer) can you deliberate on what you should answer me? and when a choice is proposed to you of being either loved or hated, can you be indifferent as to any resolution? Nay, if it be so, Themistus, and that neither my words nor tears can prevail any thing upon you, hear from hence the groans and complaints of a great people, that hath sometime sent up its addresses to Heaven for you, when the end of your fight was peace. Force it not to send up imprecations against their ancient Protector; and if you are wise; do not exasperate it too much, and so engage it to set Syracuse on fire, rather than deliver it into your hands. Do but see from hence, added she, all ye would destroy; if it be that magnificent City, it hath given you birth; if it be the inhabitants of it, you are haply obliged, as I told you, for one part of your Victories, to the vows they have made for you; if it be your Rival, he is unfortunate and wounded; is not that enough to satisfy you? If it be the Prince my Brother, he is your sovereign, and you owe him your fortune; if it be Demarata, she does not hate you, but because she loves you; and if it be Lindamira, she hath deserved you should sacrifice all things for her sake, since she hath loved you beyond her own glory, which advised her not to love any thing.  
While the Princess of Himera spoke thus, Themistus harkened very attentively, and looked on her, without having the least power to interrupt her, such an agitation were his thoughts in; so that the Princess perceiving him to be in some disturbance, I beseech you Themistus, said she, reaching forth her hand to him, stand out no longer, I know your heart is on my side, that it acknowledges its ancient Mistress, and that it is no rebel as you are. Submit Themistus, submit, and refuse not the glory, it is to subdue yourself. A man is sufficiently revenged, when he gives his enemy's peace, when they are not in a condition to maintain a War against him, and it would be less satisfaction to you, to see Syracuse destroyed, than to obey the lawful Prince of it. Ah, Madam, (said he, kissing her hand very submissively, which she immediately snatched from him) there need not so many arguments to convince me, since that if I should hearken to Reason, I should not mind them. But, Madam, you have an absolute power over me, and you know it so well, that if I durst say it without derogating from the respect I owe you, you make use of it with unjustice. For is it just, Madam, I should quit an Army where I have found refuge? No, says Lindamira, but you may command it, till you have reduced the Prince of Heraclea, and by a fresh victory blot out the Characters of your revolt and his, out of the spirit of your Master, For I tell you once more, that if you do not as I would have you, I will never see you while I live again. Resolve therefore immediately, consider that I am to leave you, and that the first words I shall hear from you, will either separate us for ever, or unite us for ever. Well, Madam, said he to her, transported by his love, what must be done to satisfy you? must I cast myself into a prison at Syracuse, and deliver myself to the revengeful Demarata? I will do it if you would have me, for, added he, lifting up his eyes to Heaven, can a man resist the person he loves, and that when she is the most accomplished in the world, and he the most amorous of men? No, replied Lindamira, you shall not do any thing of what you say, and you shall only trust yourself to me, and resign your interests to my management of them. I will do so since you command it, replied he, but I shall be mistaken, if you do not one day repent it.  
Upon this did Lindamira entertain Themistus, with what ever gratitude or tenderness of affection could imagine, that were most obliging; but for fear he should repent him of it, she left him, with an absolute command to remove the Army three or four miles at the present, to give the people a certain omen of peace, and an assurance, that the next day she would send him such Articles in order thereto, as he could not but accept. Themistus answered her with a thousand things, the most passionate that could be, yet with such a sadness as sufficiently discovered he did himself an extreme violence in obeying her; but at last he continued firm in the resolution, which love had made him take, so much to the prejudice of his ambition; and when Lindamira took her leave, he gave her his hand, he saluted her, without being able to say any thing, but with his eyes; as her Chariot began to stir, he got on horseback, and looked after her as long as he could perceive her, and at last returned to the Army, but so sad, that it was easy to judge that the Princess' tears had overcome him. He accordingly dislodged the Army immediately, and took up his quarters four miles thence. In the mean time the Princess Lindamira, doing herself some violence, discovered more joy than she had; for though she was extremely well satisfied with the absolute power she had over Themistus, yet could she not but stand in fear of a thousand things whereat she was afflicted. But at last, desirous to gain credit among the people, she put on a cheerful countenance, and told them as she came in, that she promised them peace, and that Themistus would immediately remove his Army. So that this report being scattered up and down the City, you could hear nothing but the name of Lindamira, and it was with much ado that her Chariot could pass through the streets, by reason of the throng.  
This considered, it was not to be supposed, that she should be carried to the Tower from whence she was brought. for the people were resolved on the contrary; so that she was conducted to her own house, whether Perianthus came to her. For Demarata, she was also desirous to go thither. But I having cunningly scattered liverse things against her among the people, they openly threatened to cast her into the Sea, If she withstood the peace, insomuch that she was forced to remain in the Palace, and to go and comfort herself the best she could with the Prince of Messena, who was in no less trouble than herself. Perianthus was no sooner come to Lindamira's, but I gave notice to all the well-affected of any quality, to come thither also; and among others, Anaxander and Meriander came.  
I shall not, Madam, give you a particular account of what Lindamira said to Perianthus, for it were impossible for me to do, it being certain that never any one spoke with so much Art as she did. She very discreetly excused Themistus; she said she had persuaded him without any trouble, and very prudently making the Articles herself, without seeming to do any thing, she brought the business to such a posture, that it might be said Perianthus was very much obliged to her, for that she would condescend to be the Victim, to appease that exasperated ambitious person. Not to abuse your patience any longer, Madam, Meriander being chosen to negotiate the Peace, the Articles were made and communicated to the Prince of Messena. He at first opposed them what he could, as did also Demarata; but the people coming to hear it, threatened to put them into a vessel without Oars, Pilot, or Mariners, and to expose them to the mercy of the Sea and winds; so that they were forced to submit to what they could not hinder.  
Meriander was hereupon sent to Themistus, to whom Lindamira writ a Letter, to tell him that he must condescend to what was offered. Yet were there divers things proposed to him which he was very much troubled at, insomuch that Meriander spent three days in journeys between Syracuse and the Camp, and had he not carried himself very discreetly and sincerely, this pretended peace had not been concluded. For Demarata did all she could to oppose it; the Prince of Messena was dissatisfied with it, and Themistus would have been glad Lindamira had not pressed him to it. But at last, it was concluded, that all should be forgotten on both sides; that Themistus should command the Army, till the War of Heraclea were expired; that the Princess Lindamira should remain, if she so pleased, at a strong house of her own with a sufficient guard, and that there she might marry to whom she pleased within the space of one year; That in case the War with the Prince of Heraclea were soon ended, as it was likely it would be; Themistus should for the space of one year, not only keep out of Syracuse, but out of Sicily, so the better to work a faithful confidence between the Prince and him. That no Officer of the Army should lose his place if he committed not some new fault that deserved it. That the Prince of Messena should be entreated to return to Messena, assoon as he were recovered; That Themistus should not, during his absence, be deprived of any of the employments and estate he had received from the Prince. Besides all which, Perianthus engaged to consent to Lindamira's marriage with him, in case that Princess should be willing after the year were expired. This last Article was it that Themistus boggled at most, as being unwilling his happiness should remain in such uncertainty. In the mean time Demarata endeavoured what she could to persuade Perianthus it should be so; besides that, Lindamira conceiving it would be the better for Themistus, that Demarata should not see him of a long time, purposely to cure her of her passion, commanded Themistus not to oppose it So that after a many negotiations, the Treaty was concluded and executed; the Princess of Himera went to Himera, whether Themistus sent certain Soldiers for her guard. The Prince of Messena, sick as he was, caused himself to be carried out of Syracuse, threatening, that he should haply return thither one day, to demand the recompense of his services; and Themistus remained at the head of the Army against the Enemy, who having rallied together some few Troops, was defeated by him; whereupon he was forced to embrace a peace, though much against his will. But the Prince of Heraclea proposed it with such advantage, that it could not be refused. This done, Themistus would needs oblige Lindamira to change her resolution, but ineffectually, for she would have him perform what he had promised, that he might not give ill example to the Prince, by being the first breaker of his word. So that he was forced to leave Himera, to depart Sicily, and to come and live here till the year be expired. For Demarata, I cannot well tell you what she said, during all these transactions, for Amerintha being not with her, she would not certainly confide in any other, and all I know of her is, that when we left Sicily, it was told us for certain, that her beauty was extremely decayed, that she was grown so froward, that she could endure no company, and that Perianthus' love towards her began already to remit. In the mean time Themistus, through the excess of his love, is as unquiet, and as sad when he is alone, as if he had not reason to think himself happy, though I am persuaded Lindamira will be faithful to him, and that he will one day meet with the recompense he deserves, This, Madam, is the History of Themistus, who hath chosen Rome rather than any other place for his refuge, for that if Demarata persecute him too violently, after he hath married Lindamira, if he be so happy as to have her, Rome is the only place of all the world, which he would fasten on for a long retirement.  
Meleagenes having finished his relation, the principal accidents of this History, were their entertainment for the rest of the day. Well then, says Amilcar, speaking to Herminius, will you still commend obstinacy to the prejudice of inconstancy? for if Demarata had been one of those fantastic Women, that jump out of one act of Gallantry into another, without fastening upon any Gallant, all those people had not been put to so much trouble, If Perianthus had not loved his Wife so long, and that his love, according to the custom, had died eight days after his marriage, he had been capable of more diversion; if Themistus and Lindamira had loved less, they had been more happy. You are very much too blame, to charge Constancy with so many mischiefs, replied Herminius, they are chargeable only upon Fortune, who is ever an enemy to Virtue. But you consider not, that you commend inconstancy, before the amiable Plotina. Assure yourself, replies that excellent Lady, I should be very much troubled if Amilcar were not unconstant; for in the first place, if he had not been such, I should not have been his Mistress: And, Secondly, if he were not so still, we should be weary one of another, in one day's conversation. Seriously replied Amilcar, I love you infinitely beyond what I did before, for speaking as you do, and the first time I shall commend you to any one, when I have told that-any-one, that she is handsome, excellent good company, hugely witty, divertive, and gallant, and that she hath a thousand other admirable qualities, I shall seriously add, and what I am infinitely more taken with, she is almost as unconstant as myself, The whole company having laughed at the pleasant humour of Amilcar, they separated. Clelia went home, Plotina went to Caesonia's, whither she was conducted by Amilcar; Meleagenes went to find out Themistus, and Herminius to find out Brutus, whose thoughts were still wholly taken up with the revenge of Lucretia, and the liberty of Rome.   
The end of the second Book of the third Part.   

CLELIA. A Roman History. The Third Part. BOOK III.  
HErminius being come to Brutus, do you not admire says he, at the strange humorsomeness of Fortune? Tarquin, that had been King of Rome for so many years, meets not with any Romans that will be of his party; and yet, though he is unfortunate, wicked, an exile, without wealth, he elsewhere meets with refuge and assistance, and hath got together an Army much more numerous than ours; this considered, what would you have me expect for the future? All great enterprises, replied Herminius, are ever difficult, and if they were not they were less glorious. It is indeed something strange, replies Brutus, to see wicked designs sometimes so easily prosper, and good ones to meet with so many hindrances. However it be, replies Herminius, it is better be unfortunate with good intentions, than happy with ill ones. Besides, methinks I have often observed it, happiness is divided, as I may so say, between the enterprise and him that undertakes it, when it is just and heroic; for though the Hero be unfortunate, as to his person, yet his enterprise may nevertheless be happy. On the contrary, it is often seen, that though such as are unjust, are fortunate, yet all the pains they have taken, is lost as soon as they cease to be; so that I conclude, that though you should ever be unfortunate, your design would be carried on after your death, if Rome s●ould be so unhappy as to lose you. It were too ●●st, and too great to hope for any other success ●f it; we must hope, that notwithstanding the ●●●ces of Tarquin, we shall overcome him, since ●hat upon such an occasion as this, we must account one Roman as good as two Veientines, or too Tarquinians. For there is a remarkable difference between those that fight for the preservation of their liberty, and the defence of their City, ●ives, and Children; and those who only assist a 〈◊〉 that is hated even by those who have the greatest esteem for whatever in him that is good; and therefore I am encouraged into a confidence, that Rome will never be reduced to slavery again. Did I not hope it, replies Brutus, all I should have to do were to die, but since to overcome, there is a necessity of fight, and that to fight with good success, a man must be assured of the Army he commands, we must within three days have a Rendezvous in the field of Mars; Valerius and I, are already agreed upon it, and I tell you so much, to the end you may prepare yourself for it But I beseech you, my dear Herminius, added he, give me leave to beg this favour at your hands, that you will promise me to fight as violently to revenge Lucretia, as for the liberty of Rome, when we shall come to the work; for I am not confident of my own valour, when I am to revenge that unfortunate fair one, whose virtue was yet beyond her beauty, though this were infinitely beyond that of all others. I shall be glad to do what you would have me, replied Herminius, since I had as much friendship for Lucretia, as you had love for her. As they were thus discoursing, comes in Valerius, who told them that news was brought him, that the enemy would soon be upon their march; so that making what hast they could, the Muster was ordered to be the next day. Orders were issued out, that all the Centurions should have notice thereof, and that both Officers and Soldiers should be ready. And in effect the love of the Country uniting all both friends and enemies, you might see Herminius, Mutius and Spurius, act with equal zeal, as being embarked in the same interest; as also Horatius and Octavius, equally promoting the public good. I put Octavius in a manner into the same rank with the rest, for though he was no more to be considered as Rival to Horatius, yet had he still an aversion for him, and not reflecting on his virtue, he could not avoid hating him, whenever he thought it was not impossible but he might Marry Clelia, for Aronces, he being one for whom he sometime had a very great friendship, and besides, was obliged to, he felt that friendship growing stronger within him. To which may be added, that looking on him as at a great distance from happiness, he could not entertain any envy against him. Nay, on the contrary, he became his Protector, as to Clelius, Sulpicia and Clelia. Yet had he as little discourse as he could with his admirable Sister, who also for her part avoided all conversation as much as civility permitted, by reason of the melancholy she was in, that she could not hear from her dearest Aronces, who at that time was kept so close a Prisoner, that he had not the liberty to write. Celeres was also equally ill-treated, and the Prince of Pomstia, and Prince Titus, were no longer in a capacity to do him any good office, which troubled them very much. For they were themselves at a loss, as to all opportunity of writing to Hermilia and Collatina, whom they both loved, and were beloved by. For Aronces, he endured all that an unfortunate Lover could endure. He was a Prisoner to a Prince that was his Rival; he thought he had two Rivals about his Mistress, for he knew not that the pretended Prince of Numidia was her Brother; he thought in all probability, that Porsenna would engage in the interests of Tarquin; Celeres was a Prisoner; he could not see the Princes that were wont to comfort him, and he could hear no tidings from Clelia, so that he had only the assistance of his own courage to oppose so many misfortunes. What added to his affliction, was, to understand by those that guarded him, that Tarquin had a considerable Army, and that within a few days, in all likelihood, the fate of Rome would be decided by a Battle, before Porsenna had the time to declare. For had he been at liberty, he would with incredible joy have fought for his friends, for a just cause, for his Mistress, and for to smother the valour of his Rivals, by the greatness of his own. But seeing no hope of liberty, he was extremely cast down, though he seemed resolute enough to those whom Tarquin had set to look after him.  
But for this Tyrant, and the cruel Tullia, they were extremely well satisfied to see they had an Army, for as it is ordinary with those, who attribute nothing to the conduct of a superior power, to be easily persuaded that injustice may be ever prosperous, they made no question but to see Rome once more under their Tyranny; and when they were alone together, they debated the punishments should be inflicted on Brutus, Valerius, Clelia, Lucretia's father, Herminius, Horatius, Mutius, and divers others who expressed a particular zeal for her liberty. For Amilcar, for his great wit sake, they were content only to forbid him any abode in Rome, as they would also serve Artemidorus and Zenocrates. Thence they fell to dispose of the Estates of all the best Families, they promised rewards to those that served them, at their charge, who were not engaged in their interests. They proposed not only to purge the Senate, but to abolish it; and there is not any thing so tyrannical, which the desire of revenge suggested not unto them. But as for Clelia, they said nothing one to another of her, their designs being so different as to what concerned her, that they could not be communicated; for Tullia's intention was to have her put to death, so to disburden Tarquin's heart of her, and Tarquin's to make her Queen, if he could dispatch Tullia out of the way. In the mean time, having nothing to expect from Rome, and imagining they should never reduce it but by force, they sent for Sextus, on whom Tarquin bestowed the chief command of his Army next himself.  
But while this Prince made it his only business to re-establish his Tyranny, Brutus, Valerius, and all their illustrious friends, minded nothing so much as how to oppose it. To this end, the Legions were reviewed with all the accustomed Ceremonies. The Consuls made a kind of particular sacrifice in the field of Mars, in order to the War, wherein were offered three several Victims consecrated to Mars, for it happened that the season which is by the Romans called Lustrum, was expired, and for that reason, it was requisite according to their custom, to purify the Army by that sacrifice, purposely instituted to make a review of the Soldiery from five years to five years, and to inspire them with new courage. But this being not for a simple review, only to know the number of the Soldiery, but looked on as concerning liberty and public safety, it inspired the whole people of Rome with an universal curiosity, all the Ladies were present at the ceremony, which was performed in the best order in the world. Never were the Chiefs seen more magnificent, nor the Soldiers better armed. Even Brutus himself, notwithstanding his melancholy, conceiving it necessary to gain the respect and vows of the people by magnificent objects put on Coat-armor, such as for lustre the world could not afford the like. Yet were there some marks of mourning in his equipage; for his horse was black, his Feather black, and he had divers black twists amidst the gold, wherewith his magnificent Coat shined. All the other Chiefs were also very richly armed, and all the Soldiers had taken so much pains to make their Arms bright and clean, that the least agitation of these several bodies, making all objects shine again, the lustre was so great as could hardly be endured. And as there was not any Roman-Souldier, who made it not his design to gain reputation in this War, and to be remarkable, so had they all particular Badges, some distinguished by their several Feathers, some by the skins of stout beasts which they fastened on their Shoulders, as those of Lions, Wolves, Tigers, and Panthers some by what they had about their heads, as burnished Leather, glittering steel, some by their large Bucklers, whereof the edges were very different. Those that had any particular inclination to some beauty, and withal something to express the posture of their thoughts and fortune. But besides the ordinary ensigns, Brutus had caused to be fastened under every one of them a streamer, wherein, in some of them were found these words in the vulgar language.  CONQUER OR DIE. 
And in some others,  For GLORY and LIBERTY. 
So to acquaint the Soldiers both with the occasion of the War and their duty.  
But besides all the several Troops whereof these Legions consisted which made up the Army, there was a Body of those that came from Ardaea, to which the Volunteers were that day joined, such as Themistus, Meleagenes, Amilcar, and divers others. For Octavius, though he had not passed through the several offices he should have done, according to the Roman Discipline, as having not been brought up at Rome, yet was he ranked among persons of quality of his age, such as Horatius, Mutius, Spurius, Herminius, and divers others of the same condition, who were in the Catalogue of those that might be chosen for Commanders. This review was performed with so many expressions of joy in the Soldiery, that the people drew a happy presage thence, and the Army seemed so terrible when it was drawn up, that it was not easy to fear it should be vanquished. In the mean time, the two Consuls going from Band to Band, with the Lictors, and the Fasces before them, put a certain respect upon all those that saw them; and this War being extraordinary, they did one ceremony that was beyond all custom, for they made all the Army take a public oath never to lay down Arms till Rome were absolutely free. So that at a certain signal given by a military harmony, which was in use in those days, all both Commanders and Soldiers drawing their Swords, and lifting them up to Heaven with a menacing action, every Centurion promised for all that were under his command, that they should die a thousand times rather than suffer Rome to be enslaved again.  
Having proceeded thus far, the two Consuls went to the head of the Army, while in the interim all the Ladies of quality, were in magnificent Chariots, disposed in a manner of a half moon before the Troops, in one whereof were Clelia, Valeria, Caesonia, and Plotina. While all were thus busied, there appeared these three men on horseback admirably graceful, conducted by a fourth, who was also a very proper person. The former was armed like a Roman, the other three after the Grecian mode. Their Horses were of a dark colour, their Plumes black, and all their equipage mourning. There was upon their Bucklers without any figure these sad words,  WE COURT DEATH. 
But of these three, there was one whose melancholy was much more visible, than that of the other two, though they all seemed to be sad enough. He that followed them, seemed also to be very pensive; so that this mournful company drawing all eyes after it, and raising their curiosity, it took up the thoughts of the people, the Army, the Ladies, and the two Consuls. Nay, Clelia whose heart was never filled with any thing but her dear Aronces, looked very attentively on these Strangers, not knowing but that he had made an escape out of prison, and might be among those she saw, though she could not apprehend why he should put himself into that mournful equipage, if some groundless jealousy should not put him into the humour. Valeria also who sat next her, looked on them no less; but passing close by the Chariot wherein she was to go towards the Consuls who expected them, she perceived that the Roman who conducted the three strangers, was Aemilius, so that her colour changed at it. Herminius on the other side, being in the head of the Army, knew him to be his friend, and withal his Rival, when he was come up to the Consuls. Spurius and Mutius knew him also, and Valerius no sooner saw him, but he knew it to be him, to whom he had promised Valeria, when he thought Herminius dead.  
Aemilius coming up to the Consuls, bowed very submissively, and speaking to them, My Lords, said he, the love of my Country having brought me to Rome, whence another passion had banished me, I thought it good service to persuade these three illustrious, but unfortunate persons to come along with me; for since they desire nothing so much as to die gloriously, I thought the greatest happiness they could arrive at, was to expose their lives for the safety of Rome. Receive them my Lords, as persons whose birth is very noble, whose valour extraordinary, and whose fortune deplorable. But since they seek neither protection nor service, but only a glorious occasion to die, I demand on their behalf, the favour immediately to be put into the rank of those that are to fight. If your illustrious friends (replied Brutus, with a kind of a forced smile) only sought death, they should have gone to the Enemy's Army for it, but since they also court glory in it, and that it is not impossible to find them together in a victorious Army, we receive them with joy, but with this hope, that the glory they shall gain by saving Rome, will take off part of their disgraces, and encourage them to live. However, added he, speaking to Valerius, that they may be put into a rank suitable to their quality, do you not think fit they should be put with Themistus, Meleagenes, and Amilcar? Valerius approving what Brutus said, and the three Strangers by an action of condescension approving what Aemilius had said of them, they were conducted whither Brutus had disposed them. For Aemilius, though he were a Roman, yet he desired he might not be separated from his friends, so that he was placed with them, but as he went to his place he saw Valeria, whom he saluted very submissively. Herminius, who still followed him with his eyes, had observed that Valerius and Aemilius had had no private discourse, but thought that Valeria had saluted his Rival with a little too much courtesy, so that it put him into a disturbance, which lasted till the Muster was over.  
On the other side Valerius felt an affliction growing upon him that troubled him not a little, for he loved Aemilius as well as he did Herminius, and had promised his daughter to both. However, he omited nothing he should have done with Brutus, that related to the review of the Army. Mutius for his part was not well pleased to see another Rival in his way, and only Spurius out of his revengful humour, took a certain pleasure in this distraction. For Valeria, she gave over looking at any thing, so much was she afflicted at Aemilius' return. But says Clelia to her, seeing what trouble she was in, I cannot conceive how you ever hated Aemilius. On the contrary, replied she, I have ever had a friendship for him, and have still, and thence proceeds my disturbance, for it being impossible Herminius and he should be good friends, if his thoughts be not otherwise than they were towards me, I see myself exposed to unhappy adventures.  
While Clelia and Valeria discoursed thus, and that Caesonia and Plotina hearken to them, all the other Ladies had a curiosity for these three strangers in mourning, who were so handsome, and withal seemed to be so melancholy. Nor was this curiosity particular to the Ladies, for all the men were equally desirous to know them, and amongst the rest Amilcar, who was placed just before one of these strangers. But military discipline not permitting discourse upon such occasions, he was forced to be silent, and to forbear ask who they were, that he was so desirous to be acquainted withal. At the last, the review being over, and that great body wasted away by companies and parties, Amilcar, to whom Aemilius had been named, came up to these strangers, spoke to them, and notwithstanding their melancholy, forced some little discourse out of them. I imagine (said he, to get somewhat out of them) that you are friends, and that some concernment of ambition hath made you equally unfortunate. On the contrary, replies one of the Strangers, we are Rivals, we have been a long time enemies, and nothing unites us but the equality of our misfortune, and the desire of death. If love, said he to them, furnished a man with no more pleasant desires then that, I should never either desire or obtain any thing. It is not love replies another of the Strangers, that makes us desire death, but despair. You may add some hatred to it, says the third, who had not yet spoken, for I abhor myself so much, because I cannot hate that which hath not loved me, that I cannot endure myself. For my part, says Amilcar I am much more happy than you are, for when one loves me, I am extremely pleased, and when I am not loved I give over loving, and laugh at the Woman that would not love me.  
These Strangers perceiving the good humour Amilcar was in, were troubled the more, and envied his disposition, as a wretched minded man would the treasures of a rich man. But Aemilius taking them to his house, they left Amilcar, who went to Themistus, with whom he spent the rest of the day at Sulpicia's, where they found Clelia, Valerius, Caesonia, and Plotina. In the mean time, Valeria, preferring the public interest before the private, what disturbance soever he conceived at Aemilius' return, left not Brutus, till he had done all those things which according to his place he ought to have done. Besides, knowing the prudence of Herminius, that of Aemilius, and their ancient Friendship, he was in hope there would not any thing amiss happen till he had spoken to them. On the other side, Aemilius was in a strange distraction, for having not spoken with any one since his coming to Rome, because of the Review of the Army, nor since his departure heard any news thence, he knew not whether Herminius were Married to Valeria or not. So that not able to continue in that cruel uncertainty, he went abroad as soon as he had brought his three Friends to his House. For having found there but one old slave, that looked to it, whom he could not ask any thing, for that as soon as he had perceived him, and opened him the Gate, he went, without saying aught to him to acquaint his friends with his return, he was forced to go to one of his ancient friends to satisfy his curiosity. But he had scarce gone twenty paces, but he met Herminius, he had no sooner eyed him, but he felt an extraordinary emotion within him; Herminius for his part was not very quiet within; love it seems and friendship raising in their hearts an equal agitation. They saluted one the other civilly enough, besides, that having not any thing to reproach one another withal, they were persons of a greater command of themselves, than to be carried away by the impetuosity of their sentiments, in a procedure wherein love had not caused them to do any thing that might rationally injure their friendship. But at last after salutations, Aemilius looking attentively on Herminius, I was going said he to him, to inform myself of the condition of your fortune and my own, but since I have met you, it were better I asked yourself, whether you are happy, and I miserable. If you are still in love with Valeria, replies Herminius, you are still unhappy, for I do not doubt but she will be so constant as to preserve her first affection. But if absence and reason have recovered you, you are happy, since it is certain she hath abundance of friendship for you, and that I am still your friend. Ah Herminius, cries out Aemilius, were you Married to Valeria, I might haply still act as your friend, but since you are not, I must needs tell you, that I am still your Rival, and that neither time, absence, nor reason have cured me. And yet when I came to Rome, it was with intention if you were married to Valeria, not to say any thing to her of my passion, nor yet to yourself, but only to find out death in the defence of my Country; but since it is not so, and that Valerius hath kept his word with me, you must needs do me that favour to promise me that you will entertain no thoughts of Marrying Valeria, till the end of the War. I know you have a greater interest in her, than I have, but when all's done, I may be able to love her without any injury to you; it is impossible I should forbear loving her, and I cannot forget that I had some place in her affections when you returned, which if you had not, I had been happy. The War will haply take me out of your way, added Aemilius, deny me not what I desire; and if you would convince me that you be my friend, you will oblige Valeria to give me leave to wait on her. To deal sincerely with you, replies Herminius, I will tell you, that Valerius hath no intention to marry his Daughter while the War lasts; and since I am no Tyrant over my Mistress, she shall see you if she thinks fit. But if you would take my advice, you would not desire it; for Valeria is still handsome, still amiable, still constant. How ere she may be, replies Aemilius, I once more desire what I did before. And I make you the same answer I did before, replies Herminius; so that it is of Valeria that you are to desire the liberty to see her, and not of me. Satisfy yourself that I do not oppose it, and assure yourself that all a Lover can do, I shall ever do for you, as long as Valeria shall not love you, but if she come to affect you to my prejudice, no doubt but I shall do what ever an unfortunate Rival can do to Revenge himself. It seems then replied Aemilius, according to your Maxims, I am to look on you as mine enemy? By no means replied Herminius, for I have done nothing against you. Ah cruel friend, replies Aemilius, why should honour and friendship oblige me to forbear hating you?  
As they were at this pass, Valerius passing by, embraced Aemilius, and carried these two Rivals to his house, and there spoke to them with such prudence, that he obliged them to continue friends, while the War lasted. And yet he advised Aemilius to give over all thoughts of Valeria, and pressed it so much upon him, that that unfortunate Lover desired no other comfort than a promise from Valerius, that he might see Valeria whilst the War lasted, assuring him, that if he could not be happy when that were ended, nothing should hinder him from dying an exile. But for a final favour, he would needs have Herminius tell him, that in case he died, he would give his consent that Valeria should marry him. So that not able to deny an unfortunate friend a comfort that could do him no prejudice, he promised him his entreaties to Valeria to that purpose. Accordingly when she was returned from Sulpicia's, and that Valerius had commanded her to entertain Aemilius, as a person she had made unfortunate, and whom to recover, she should employ all her reason, Herminius gave her an account of what had passed between Valerius Aemilius and himself. She being a discreet Lady, made not at that time any discovery of the agitation of her heart, but certain it is, that through an excess of affection, she took it ill that Herminius had consented, in case he died, his Rival should marry her. For Aemilius, she received him very civilly, yet in such a manner as gave not that unfortunate Lover any shadow of hope, so that he went away first; insomuch that some coming in that took up Valerius and Sulpicia, Herminius had a quarter of an hours private discourse with Valeria. Well, Madam said he to her, ought I not to fear that Aemilius' return may not prove as unfortunate to me, as mine was to him, and that though I neither die nor prove unconstant, I may be forgotten or punished as if I were one of them. It were no easy matter to forget you, replied she, for you have but just now put me into such an indignation, that I know not whether I shall ever forget the spite you have done me. I beseech you, Madam, replied he, let me immediately know my crime, that I may repent me of it, and do you satisfaction; for I assure you, I apprehend it not. How replied she, do you think you have done me no injury by consenting, that if you died in the War, Aemilius should marry me? Ah, Herminius, you think you love, but do not, or at best, 'tis very weakly, since you might conceive it impossible I should ever be any others. And truly I need not wonder at it, for since you do not believe that I love you, so far as that I should never marry, even though you died, it is not strange your love to me should be so weak. But Madam, replied Herminius, methinks I have only guessed at the future by what is past, for since you were content to marry Aemilius, when you thought me dead, why should I think it impossible you might, a second time, take the same resolution? Ah, Herminius, replied she, had I not thought you unconstant, I had never taken it, and you know well that you told me then, that if I had had a strong affection for you, I could never have endured Aemilius. But I tell you now with much more reason, that if you loved me, you could not have said that to your Rival which you have.  
For in fine, I must confess it to my own confusion, I have that tenderness for you which will not suffer me to think you could ever be any ones but mine; and could I look on any woman in the world, as such as you might love, though I were not in being, I think I should not be able to forbear hating her almost as much as I should do you. There is so much obligation in your anger, replied Herminius, and it makes you guilty of so much kindness, that I have much ado to repent me that I have been the occasion of it. But all considered Madam, I must needs justify myself, and give you an account of my sentiments. In the first place, I declare, that I have not promised Aemilius that you should marry him; nay, that I have not so much as imagined you could marry him; all the promise I made him was, to entreat you to do it. And indeed Madam, were it possible you could marry any one, I would rather it should be Aemilius than any other, for he deserves you, he loves you, and would speak to you of me as a person for whom he hath a friendship, notwithstanding his love. It must certainly be Herminius cries out Valeria, that you know not well how to love; you are haply acquainted with an ordinary friendship, or haply an affectionate friendship; but for love, you know not the humours of it. Howe'er it may be, added she, you have vexed me, and I perceive I shall not be reconciled with you this day. Valeria was not as good as her word, for Herminius entertained her with things so full of passion, that she pardoned him.  
In the mean time, all the talk in Rome was about Aemilius' return, and the arrival of the three strangers, whereof one was called Lysydas, another Caliantes, and the third Alcimides'. But for their adventures, there was no more known at that time, than that Love put them upon desires of death, for the business of the War took up all men's thoughts so much, that people were not very forward to look after such as avoided society. For Mutius and Spurius, they were always together; yet did not this latter look on Aemilius as an enemy, for that considering him as a Rival to Herminius, and one that might do him a prejudice, he thought him a person engaged in his interests.  
In this interim came news, that Artemidorus and Zenocrates had been kindly received by the Princess of Leontum, that she had not discovered them to be what they were, for some reasons that concerned herself; and that they had prevailed so far with her, that Porsenna would not declare till there had happened a battle between the Roman Army and that of Tarquin. Brutus' understood at the same time, that the Prince was advantageously posted near the Forest of Arssa between Veiae and the Tiber; so that desirous to prevent him, and to fight him beyond the River, it was resolved they should depart within two days. Then was it, that there might have been seen in Rome, what had not even from its foundation. For the Wars that are undertaken for liberty, are carried on with much more zeal, than those whose end is conquest or defence. There you might see Fathers encouraging their Children, when they took their leaves of them: Mothers praying for their Sons, Sisters for their Brothers, slaves for their Masters; nor did Mistresses escape those sad sentiments which love inspired them with. But among others, Hermilia was so afflicted, that it was impossible any one could be more; for knowing the courage of Brutus, and the Prince of Pometia, and reflecting on their quality, she could not forbear imagining that she saw them with their swords drawn one against another, and fearing thereupon all the fatal effects that are the necessary consequences of battles; for she had a tender affection both for her Brother and her Servant. Collatina was also very sad, for the concernment she had in Prince Titus. Caesonia was no less for Persander, Valeria for her Father and Herminius; the virtuous Sivelia, for her illustrious Son; Ra●ilia for Brutus, Plotina for Amilcar, and all the persons of quality of his acquaintance; and Clelia for her illustrious Brother Herminius, Brutus, and so many honourable persons that went to expose their lives for the public safety. All the comfort she had, was, to consider that her dear Aronces would not be in the fight, and that her Father was to remain in Rome with Lucretius, to take order for all things during the absence of the Consuls. For they had a great influence over the new elected Senate, since Tarquin's departure from Rome.  
But at last, the day of their departure being come, there was nothing to be seen from the break of day till noon, but the preparations of War, and the baggage of particular persons that left Rome. But when Brutus and Valerius went out, there could nothing be heard through all the streets, but the Prayers of the people, that they might gain the Victory. They were both excellently well mounted, their Arms were very magnificent, and they were followed by all of the highest quality. Those were Octavius, Herminius, Aemilius, Spurius, Persander, Mutius, Amilcar, the three strangers in Mourning, and a many others. For Horatius he went away last, because he would needs take his leave of Clelia, who had avoided him as much as lay in her power; but at last she was forced to afford him one minutes private discourse; for he had been so cautious as to bring one of his friends with him, who entertained Sulpicia, while he spoke to Clelia. I am not so presumptuous, Madam, said he to her, as to imagine you should make it your desire that I might not perish in the War, but knowing you to be too good a Roman not to put up your addresses to heaven for the Victory, all the favour I beg is, that it may be without exception; for if I am comprehended among that multitude, for whom you make vows, I shall hope the honour to see you again, and haply the glory of having merited, by some action of mine your esteem. Since you are a person of much gallantry, replied she, since I love my Country, and am neither cruel nor unjust, assure yourself, that when I shall put up my Prayers for the Victory, you shall be included in them; but at the same time that I shall pray to the gods for the peace of Rome, I shall do the same for its Protectors, and consequently for you. Alas Madam, replied he, my peace depends so absolutely upon you, that the gods, omnipotent as they are, cannot give it me, without you. I beseech you interrupted Clelia force me not to torment you, by desiring of me more than I can do, for sadness is not a disposition for Victory. Be gone then Horatius, be gone, and behave yourself so, that at your return your heart may know no other love than that of your Country. Rome does better deserve your affection than I do, since I can never afford you mine. I apprehend you Madam, I apprehend you, replies hastily Horatius, you encourage me to Victory, because when she is sought, a man often meets with death; but know unmerciful as you are, that this will be more favourable to me than you are, and that I shall find incomparably much more satisfaction in dying than in living, without being beloved by the only person whom I can love.  
Upon this Horatius left Clelia, and made after the Army which was now upon its march. Brutus and Valerius, who would not have any thing omitted which they ought in prudence to do, had not forgotten to send out military Tribunes with a body of Horse for their guard, to assure themselves of the Post which they had resolved to take, and to prepare it for castrametation. The Tribunes, secured by the Horse, marked out the compass of the Camp, by the help of the Pioners they had brought with them. They took up such a tract of ground, as might conveniently receive all the Legions, taking great heed that the Cavalry should not be disposed on that side where it could not easily meet with those things that were necessary for it, and where all the Troops might not remain in order and safety. To take away all expression of Superiority, Brutus, established that custom, which hath in a manner been observed ever since, which is, that when there were two Consuls in one Army, it might be said there were two Camps in one, for either of the Consuls had under his particular command, all the Troops that belonged to him, as if there had been no other Troops, though the general extent of the Camp included all the Legions. According to this order the military Tribunes made two spacious squares, compassed by the same Trench. In the midst of that which lay next the enemy, was Brutus' Tent raised at the distance of a hundred foot from any other Tent. That done, making spacious and long streets proportionable to the number of the Officers and Soldiers, they so disposed them, that the avenues looked towards the Consul's tent, that at his first orders all might be immediately, ready to wait on him. They placed the Cavalry on the two sides opposite one to another, and the Infantry in like manner, the Centurions at the head of those they commanded, and the Tents of the Tribunes at one of the ranks which looked towards that of the Consul, that they might be ready to receive the several orders that were sent them; for some had the charge of the Magazines of the Army, others of the place where Military justice was executed, and others of the great place where all necessaries for the Soldiers were fold. They also assigned a place for the Baggage, and the Chariots, and put the Camp into such order, that every one knew presently where he was to quarter. To that end they put a particular mark at the first Tent of every street, which giving direction for whom it was assigned, the Soldiers immediately knew where there Tents were in the Camp, as well as they knew where there Houses were in Rome. To be short, they so disposed of all things, that the Camp was equally defensible every where, and could not be surprised by any external force, nor was subject to any confusion within, so excellent were they in the Art of encamping. There was a particular Post assigned for the Stranger-forces; that so there might happen no dissension between those of Ardea, and those of Rome. The same order being observed in Valerius' Quarters as was in Brutus', between these two Quarters lay the Magazines of the Army I mentioned before, the place where all Military necssaries were sold, and that where justice was one. The several Troops were also so disposed, that the Cavalry might every way relieve the Infantry, so that whether you consider defence, order, accommodations, or the convenience of the Camp, nothing was omitted. So that when the Army was come up, it went into the Camp as into a City, and it came so seasonably, that Tarquin, who had some intentions to hinder their encamping, was forced to alter his design, and to mind only the fortification of the Post he was in himself. Insomuch, that Brutus, upon his arrival to the Camp, hearing there had been a little skirmish between the Horse he had sent to secure those that drew out the lines of the Trench, and a party of Tarquin's, would needs give a happy presage to his Army by the beginning of a Victory, and so sent the Cavalry of Ardaea, commanded by Persander, to relieve those that were engaged. So that Aemilius, the three lovers in Mourning, and Amilcar, were in this first engagement, which proved wholly advantageous to the Romans. For they pursued the enemy to their Trenches, killed many, and brought no small number Prisoners.  
But among others, the three Lovers in Mourning, gave such signal expressions of their courage, that all that saw them, acknowledged they had never seen people behave themselves so gallantly. Insomuch, that when Amilcar was returned to the Camp, and found Brutus examining the Prisoners, to find out what posture the Enemy's Army was in, he gave them such extraordinary commendations, that it added much to the curiosity which some had to have an account of their adventures. For my part (says Amilcar to Brutus, speaking of these Strangers, before all that were about him) I can assure you, that these Gentlemen, who have put upon their Bucklers, that they court Death, know better how to bestow it on others, and consequently overcome, than you can well imagine; and if they always defend their lives so well, it will be long ere they meet with what they so much court. Since it is very hard replies Brutus, to know well how to give death, without running at the same time the hazard of receiving it, it may not haply be so long ere these excellent unfortunate men may find it, But it being a pity that such gallant persons should miscarry, be it your charge, who are so great a lover of Life, to win them into a love of it; and who are guilty of so much joy, to comfort them in their misfortunes, if so be they be capable of it.  
Brutus could but in a manner fie out these words, by reason of the cruel reflection he made on such misfortunes as were inconsolable, and out of a consideration that the death of Lucretia, was by him to be numbered among those unhappinesses which Time cannot alleviate, nor admit any period but that of life. But Revenge being the only satisfaction he was capable of, his thoughts were wholly taken up with those things which are to be considered when a man hath a powerful enemy to overcome. To this end he went in person about the Camp, he appointed guards, gave orders to the Tribunes, that they might derive the same to the Centurions; and they to others, and according to custom, he sent every one a dart, to the three Lovers in mourning, who had done so valiantly; and a little before day, he went, forgetting the dignity of Consul, to take a view of the enemy's Camp, which he perceived it was very difficult to assault. Yet had he some intentions to set upon them the next day, so to prevent them from farther fortification. But there fell such extraordinary rain for two days together, that he was forced to give over all thoughts of it; for besides that, the Soldiers would have been overwearied to fight, he must have made his assault on a side, that lay upon a Fen, which had been very inconvenient. So that it was impossible to do any thing, and the weather proved so ill, that the two Armies were equally forced to keep within their Trenches, without any act of hostility of either side. So that those who were not engaged in the chiefest places of command had no more to do but to entertain themselves in their Tents. Accordingly, while Brutus and Valerius took order for all things, Octavius, Herminius, Horatius, and Persander were gotten into Amilcar's Tent, whither Aemilius coming a little after, they all set upon him to relate the adventures of those unfortunate Lovers he had brought with him to Rome, whose valour had raised so much admiration, and whose melancholy so much pity and curiosity. Aemilius, would at first have excused himself, but they importuned him so far, that he was forced to comply with their desires. Having therefore given order they should not be disturbed, but in case Brutus asked for them, he began his story thus.  

The History of ARTELISA, MELICRATES, LISIDAS, CALIANTES, and ALCIMEDES  
WEre I to relate the History of my illustrious friends, to persons unacquainted with Love, I might haply fear I should not raise compassiom in their hearts; but being to speak to such as have loved, do still love, and will love, haply while they live, I hope my relation will win your pity for those whose adventures I am to give you an account of: But that you may apprehend them the better, and be satisfied with what I shall tell you, You are to know, that since I made myself a voluntary exile, I never stirred from Eryx, but resided there ever since. For, it being a place where there is a great resort of strangers, because of the famous Temple of Venus that is there, I thought I might more easily remain obscure there, than in any other place, Nay, I was in hope, that a place consecrated to the Mother of Love, would prove more fortunate to me than any other, and that the very sight of so many Lovers that came thither from all parts, would be some comfort to me, in that I thence inferred that I was not the only wretched man in the world. I must confess also, that an humour took me, to see whether the conversation of persons of worth and virtue, might give me any ease, and whether the sight of the most accomplished beauties of all Sicily could recover me. But that you may know what remedies I have found ineffectual, to the end you may afford me some of your pity, as well as my friends; I will describe the place of my banishment, and give you a representation of the principal persons that inhabit it; it being in some sort necessary you were acquainted with the Court, where the History, I am to relate to you, was acted.  
Eryx is a Mountain of Sicily, which admits none higher than itself, but that of Aetna, and which is as famous for the magnificent Temple of Venus, that is upon the top of it, as the other for the flames it breathes out. This Mountain looks towards the Sea, on the side of Italy; it is situated between Drepanum and Panormus, but nearer Panormus than Drepanum. Upon the top of this Mountain there is a pleasant Plain, on which is built the famous Temple of Venus, whereof I shall in the sequel of my discourse, give you a particular account. Towards the midst of this Mountain, there is a great City of the same name whereof the avenues are certainly very difficult, but the prospect so pleasant, that there is hardly a house in the City, whence you have not an admirable sight of the Country, For, stand where you will, you see the Sea, Brooks, Springs, Meadows, Gardens, Towns at a distance, and divers other pleasant objects: The Prince who at the present, governs that little State, hath had two Sons, whereof the elder died, after he had married an admirable person, whereof I will give you a description, that you may the better judge of this little Court; and the younger is a very noble well made Prince, who is fallen in love at Agrigentum with a very excellent person, named Berelisa. But in regard he stayed but a little while at Eryx, while I was there, I shall give you no account of him.  
That than which brings so much gallantry to this Court, is, that from Greece, afric, and Italy, there come continually persons of all qualities and Sexes, bringing offerings to Venus Erycina. Hence is it that the Temple of that Goddess is richer than all other Temples of Sicily; for according to the popular opinion, Venus receives more favourably the addresses that are made to her in that place, than even in Cyprus itself, where she first landed after her birth. Accordingly are there to be continually seen, the sacrifices of fortunate and unfortunate Lovers, who come either to acknowledge, or implore the assistance of the Goddess. Nay, there you may find some people without love, who fearing Venus should be incensed at their insensibility, and might order her Son to punish them for it, come and offer sacrifice to appease her, entreating her to remember, that Adonis had been insensible, so to win her to pardon their insensibility. Upon some such account was it, that when I left Eryx, they expected there the Princess of Elida, who is called Elismunda, who they said, was one of the most beautiful, and most amiable persons upon earth, who was coming to the Temple of Venus Erycina, to beg her pardon for having raised love in so many, without taking any herself, and to entreat her, that she might spend her whole life in captivating of hearts, without ever engaging her own.  
For Heaven's sake; replied Amilcar, interrupting him, write to Eryx, to know whether the prayers of this unjust Beauty are granted, as also to know what kind of person she is, for I think it a rational curiosity in me, to be a little better acquainted with a Princess, who would all her life time raise love in others, without entertaining any herself.  
It will not be longe'r you be satisfied, replied Emilius, since that one of the best-humored men in the world, that I left at Eryx, will be at Rome within fifteen days, so that he will be able to give you a pleasant Character of her. For my own part, I have heard some say, who are well seen in things of that nature, that this Princess is undeniably one of the most accomplished persons that eye can see. But till he I speak of come to give you a draught of her, I am only to tell you, that it is not hard for you to imagine, that this great resort of strangers of both Sexes, who come to Eryx, merely upon the account of Love, hath insensibly added very much to the Gallantry of the Court. And thence it comes, that the news which that place affords, relate for the most part to their adventures, who come to Venus' Temple, whereof the magnificence is extraordinary. For besides, that it is built altogether of Marble, and that the Architecture of it is very noble; there are Pictures that represent Venus, in an hundred several postures. There is both above and below these large Pictures, embossed Imagery, wherein are represented all the famous victories of her Son; that is, Jupiter in the form of a Bull, carrying away Europa; Apollo running after Daphne; Hercules spinning with Deiania; Pluto carrying away Proserpina; Neptune in love with Thetis; and divers other illustrious Lovers. What's yet further remarkable, is, That this Temple is in the midst of a spacious place, whereof the four sides are built with houses, for the entertainment of those that come thither, such as are furnished diversely, according to the qualities of the Lodgers. for there are some very magnificent, others but ordinary, but none that are not convenient, and where the perfumes do not purify the air, for a more pleasant respiration. There is further in this Temple, continual Music; so that it is not the least part of their care who keep it, by pleasant objects, admirable scents, ravishing consorts, to entertain most tender and affectionate dispositions in their hearts, who are come to sacrifice, and to raise them in those that have them not.  
But to return to the Prince of Eryx, though he be not young, yet is he not so far gone in years, as that he may be called old, so that being naturally noble, his whole Court derives from his humour, but to speak truly, the Princess Clarinta, Widow to his eldest Son, is that which makes this little Court the most neat, the most divertive, and the most sprightly of any in the world. Nor indeed does the Princess of Eryx want that particular gift of inspiring wit into those that come near her, that it might be said, a man durst not be stupid where she is. I beseech you, interrupted Amilcar, be pleased to take the pains to give us a description of her Beauty, Wit, and Humour. What you desire, replied Aemilius, is doutless a harder task than you imagine, since there is something that is so delicate and so particular in the Beauty and worth of the Princess of Clarinta, that I think I shall not be able to find expressions proper enough to make you apprehend it. For should I tell you in general, that she is of a good stature, well made, handsome, that she hath a good countenance, and is infinitely witty, you might compare her to divers others of her sex, who might challenge much in all those qualities.  
To distinguish her therefore from other Beauties, I am to acquaint you with what is particular in this admirable Woman. Know then, that she is of that comely stature, which, being much above the mean, is not yet excessive; Besides, she hath that freedom of air, an action so natural, and a deportment so noble, that a man must at first sight, conclude her to be of high birth, that she hath spent her whole life among people, that she is of a cheerful disposition, and inclined to dancing. She is fair-haired, yet of that fairness, that hath nothing of faintness, but suits well with beauty. For her complexion, it is so admirable, that it is not in the power of thesharpest winters, to derogate from that fair Damask, which makes her so beautiful, and gives such a lustre to her admirable whiteness, that it ever displays such a freshness, as is never seen, but, at the uprising of Aurora, upon the fairest Roses of the Spring. Clarinta hath moreover this advantage, that the agitations of her mind never appear, to the disadvantage of her complexion. Melancholy never makes her look yellow, anger does but add a little to the damask of her Cheeks, modesty heightens her Beauty, and joy shadows her Face with a certain serenity, which becalms the disturbances even of those that come near her. For her Lips, she hath them of the noblest colour in the world, an excellent compass of Face, eyes Sky-coloured, and full of Spirit, and the cheeks so inviting, that she never smiles, but she discovers something that's inexpressible, yet not the most inconsiderable part of what is most taking in her. For her Breast, it is impossible to have one better made, or whiter, and to tell you all in few words, there cannot be seen an handsomer person, nor one that can with so much ease conquer hearts.  
For her Wit, I am in doubt whether I shall be able to make you understand it, but am certain, there never was any more pleasant, more clear, more subtle, or more delicate She hath a lively imagination, and the whole carriage of her person is so gallant. so neat, and so full of charm, that a man cannot without shame see her, and not fall in love with her. And yet she confesses herself to be subject to certain groundless vexations, which cause her to make a truce with joy, only for three or four hours. But these vexations are so inconsiderable, and so transient, that hardly any but herself is sensible of them. Her conversation is familiar, divertive, and natural; she speaks pertinently and well, nay, sometimes she hath some natural and sprightly expressions that are infinitely taking: and though she be not of those immovable Beauties, that are guilty of no action, yet do not the pretty gestures she uses, proceed from any affectation, but are only the effects of her vivacity of spirit, liveliness of disposition, her divertive humour, and her natural inclination to do always that which is handsome. To be short, she dances admirably well, so that she ravishes the eyes and hearts of all that see her, for she so accurately observes time and measure, and carries herself with that eveuness', and hath I know not what, that a man cannot make intelligible, which gives her that gallantry and pleasantness of air, that all others have not.  
Besides all this, Clarinta is very much given to reading, and what is best of all, is, that without pretending to much knowledge, she is excellently well acquainted with all that is noble, as to Science. She hath learned the African language, with a miraculous facility, for there being great commerce between Africa and Sicily, the Ladies that are of any worth, are desirous to learn it. Add to all, that this Princess hath a very sweet and excellent voice; and what is yet more commendable, is, that though she sings in a passionate way, and that it may be justly said that she sings well, yet doth she it like a person of quality; that is without engaging her honour upon it, without entreaty, or affectation, but so gallantly, that it makes her more amiable, especially when she sings certain little African Songs, which she is more taken with, than those of her own Country, because they are more passionate. Clarinta is also a lover of all excellent things, and all innocent pleasures, but she loves glory above herself, and what makes for her advantage, she hath so great a judgement, that she hath found out the way, without being severe, savage, or solitary, to preserve the noblest reputation in the world, and that in a great Court, where all persons of worth have access to her, and where she raises love in all those that are capable of it. 'Tis true, she never raised hope in any one of those that love her, but is so highly deserving, that despair, the most infallible remedy of that passion, does not cure those that sigh for her. In the mean time, Clarinta looks not on them as her Adorers, and that very sprightliness of humour which becomes her so well, and which diverts herself while she diverts others, is further serviceable to her, in that it pleasantly makes a many pass for friends, who would, if they durst, be accounted Lovers. In fine, she behaves herself with such prudence, that detraction itself hath a respect for her virtue, and hath not charged her with the least gallantry, though the world affords not a person equally gallant. Hence is it that she sometimes merrily says, that she was never in love with any thing but her own glory, and that she is so with that, even to jealousy.  
What is further admirable in this person, is, that at the age she is now of, she manages the affairs of her house, with as much prudence, as if she had all the experience that time can give to a great understanding, and what I more admire, is, that when there is a necessity, she can slight company and the Court, and divert herself in the Country, with as much enjoyment as if she had been born in the woods. And she returns thence as fair, as cheerful, and as neat, as if she had not stirred from Eryx. I had forgot to tell you that she writes as she speaks; that is, in the most pleasant and gallant-like manner that may be. Nay, what is yet further remarkable in this Princess, is, that her charms are so great, and so unavoidable, that contrary to custom, she gains the hearts of the Ladies, as well as those of the men, and that she knows as well how to inspire others with friendship as with love. Hence may it be affirmed, she hath equally subdued envy and detraction, since she is loved by all the beauties, and all the gallants of the Court where she is. In fine, that person only whom I love excepted, I have never seen so many attractions together, so much sprightliness, so much gallantry, so much entertainment, so much innocence, and so much virtue, and there was never any other that so well understood the art of being ever decent without affectation, subject to raillery without malice, to mirth without imprudence, to glory without pride, and to virtue without feverity.  
Clarinta hath yet one thing very extraordinary in persons of her age and humour, for she is soon won to submit to the advice of her friends, and to believe them sometimes in things that are contrary to her own sentiments. 'Tis true she hath one, that hath known her from her infancy, a person of very great worth, so much understanding, judgement, knowledge, virtue, politeness, and who understands the world so well, that it is not strange she should choose him from the beginning, to be the chiefest of her friends; from all which you may judge, whether such a Princess may not derive wit to the whole Court where she is. And indeed I can assure you, there is hardly any place in the world, where, proportionably to its greatness, there are so many persons of worth, as may be seen at Eryx. But since I cannot at the present trouble you with the descriptions of them all, I shall only tell you, that there is in that place a person of quality, called Artelisa, whose worth you must needs imagine to be very great, since she hath ever had a higher place in the esteem and friendship of Clarinta, than any other. This person is black-haired, hath a white and lively complexion, hath a brown eye, yet full of Beauty, and languishing, an Air mixed with gallantry and modesty, and is excellently well made; For her Wit, she hath certainly that which pleases, which charms, and that especially which can enchant hearts, by a certain sweetness that hath something in it that's fierce, which makes in her disposition such a mixture of mirth, melancholy, fierceness, and complaisance, that it is hard to forbear loving her, if a man once sees her. Accordingly hath she been more loved, than any other beauty ever could be, but particularly by four men, all persons of more than ordinary worth. I am confident you will agree to what I say, when I have told you that the three unfortunate persons I brought with me to Rome, and whose valour you have in so; much admiration, are the slaves of the accomplished Artelisa, and are not miserable, but upon the account of her love. 'Tis true, you have not heard them speak enough to understand what they are, but you I must needs think them persons of very much worth, when I have told you that they have an understanding equal to their courage. Calianthes is doubtless infinitely well furnished, but what I yet more, admire in him, is, that he is generous, liberal, magnificent, and generally obliging: For Alcimedes, he is commendable, not only for his courage and his wit, but because he is an eager lover, an eager friend, and a great enemy to people that are lukewarm and indifferent. Thence it is that he is of opinion, a man should earnestly desire what ever he desires, from the most inconsiderable things, even to the greatest, maintaining that a staggering Will is ever an argument of mediocrity of understanding. For this reason was Alcimedes in love with life, and the pleasures thereof, more than any one before this misfortune happened: and he was one that of all the world, spent his time the most pleasantly.  
For Lisydas I can assure you, that before he fell into misfortune, there was not a pleasanter person than he; yet had he ever some little inclination to melancholy, but it was a melancholy that had in it so much sweetness, was so far from frowardness, and so fit for society, that he seemed to be sad, but only out of an over-tenderness of heart, and that he was of a more divertive disposition; it being certain that those that are professedly merry, do not many times please so much as those that are of another humour, who yet speak things that are pleasant. So I may without flattery say of Lysydas, that a man could not be more amiable than he was.  
For Melicrates, since you have not seen him, I must needs describe him to you more particularly, for he is so much concerned in this History, that it is but fit you knew what kind of person he is. Yet I shall only tell you in two words, that he hath a good face, that he is well made, and that he wants not any thing that might please in an instant, and had whatever might render a man acceptable while he lived. For wit, he hath as much as may be had; for valour no less than his Rivals; he is of a compliant and taking humour; he speaks well, writes gallant-like, and what more precisely distinguishes him from all other persons of worth, is, that he loves glory be, and what can be imagined; that he hath the most passionate soul that may be, and that he attributes more to the power of love, than most Lovers do. For he says that when a man loves a person by whom he is loved, it is not lawful for him to love any thing else but for her sake; that he must renounce all, and live only for her whom he adores; that he must submit his Will to hers; that he must consider his Mistress, as a person that hath a right to command all; and he must never consult prudence or reason, when he is to obey her.  
Thus have you the sentiments of Artelisa's four Lovers: by all whom, she hath been so excessively beloved, that the like was never seen. But to give you some account of the original of their loves with some order, you are to know, that Lisydas hath loved her, even from the Cradle, and continued it all his life with some hope: they were of equal quality, their Estates suitable thereto, and sufficient to maintain them honourably together; there was no difference between their Families; and Artelisa, when she had reason, was not too violently set against his love: So that it could not be but that Lisydas must be in some hope. Artelisa had lost her Father at four years of age, and her Mother being infinitely fond of her, and having not so much wit as her Daughter, it may be said that Artelisa was at her own disposal. Nor did she declare any less to all the world, than that she had absolutely resolved, not to hearken to any proposition of marriage, till she were twenty years of age, not thinking, as she said, any thing more unjust, than that Maids should marry before they had judgement enough to know what they ought either to love or hate. So that Artelisa being but seventeen years of age when she spoke thus, Lisydas as extremely amorous as he was, could do no more than serve her and hope; she in the mean time, not admitting him so much as to speak to her of his love. 'Twas to little purpose for him to tell her, that she had her full weight of reason at seventeen, for she had made so strong a resolution, not to marry too soon, that nothing could make her change her mind.  
About this time, Melicrates, who was gone to travel into Greece, returned to Eryx, and brought Caliantes along with him, whom he had made acquaintance with at Elida, of which Country he was. But being a person that was very rich, free, and young, he at his arrival at Eryx, sought out only the occasions of expense and entertainment. For Melicrates he was so taken with Greece, that to forget it what he could, he returned with an intention to engage himself in some love at Eryx. In this humour went Caliantes and he to the Princess Clarinta, the next day after their arrival; yet did they not see her, because she was somewhat indisposed; but they saw Artelisa, who having a particular privilege there, came out of the Princess' chamber, when they were going away. Being grown very much handsomer since Melicrates' departure from Eryx, for he had been away three years, and Caliantes having never seen her, they were in a manner equally surprised; nay so far, that their hearts were sufficiently engaged from that first sight, for to go and wait on the Princess of Eryx the next day without any danger. Melicrates had no sooner perceived her, but he went to her, and told her, that he durst not presume to see her, till he had waited on the Princess, and so presented Caliantes to her, telling her, his intention was to do it at her own house. At last, the discourse came so about, that Artelisa having acquainted them, that she was to return home, they conducted her to her Chamber door; she presented them to her Mother, who knew, and had a great esteem for Melicrates; so that they stayed till night with Artelisa, and two Ladies of her friends that came to see her. Insomuch that she having an extraordinary wit, they went a way both with a certainemotion, which might haply already be called Love. Nor did they keep this new passion secret from one another; on the contrary, Melicrates told Caliantes, that he was very much afraid Artelisa might engage him; and Caliantes made answer, that for his part he was engaged already. But, added he, laughing, since I am not of Eryx, and that I intent to make no long stay here, I shall be no great hindrance to you, and therefore think it not much to afford me this pleasant entertainment while I am here. But do you take love, says Melicrates, to be a jesting matter? For any hurt he hath done me yet, replies Caliantes, laughing still, I would much rather jest with him than with a young Lion, whose claws I should stand in greater fear of, than all the darts of that Love you think so terrible. Yet as I am a person naturally very curious, I should not be much troubled to have a violent passion, were it but to see whether there be so much pleasure, and so much pain in love, as all those pretend there is who speak of love. And therefore I once more entreat you not to take it amiss, if I endeavour to raise myself to a love of Artelisa; but I mean a violent one, for as to a Gallant's love, I have it already. But if we become Rivals, replies Melicrates, we shall not haply be any longer friends. To avoid that inconvenience, replies Caliantes, let us now mutually promise not to fall out, though we should both fall in love in good earnest. Believe me, answered Melicrates, we should do better to promise not to love Artelisa at all, or cast lots who shall serve her. For my part, replies Caliantes, I will serve her, and cannot avoid it: and for my part, replies Melicrates, I serve her already; for in my judgement, it is a good office done her, to endeavour to hinder a stranger, so great a gallant as you are, from attempting to conquer her heart.  
This brought upon the stage amany other things, after which, they seriously promised not to fall out, if they became Rivals. But Caliantes loving to do all things with abundance of noise, was very glad of this occasion to discover his liberality, and to make a public Declaration of Love, such such as no man had ever made. To this end he offered a sacrifice to Venus Erycina, such as for the nobleness of it, might have become a Prince; for his offering was the most magnificent that could be. So that it being requisite that a man tell publicly why he sacrifices; Caliantes said, he gave the goddess thanks, for that she had caused the first beautiful person he had spoken to in Eryx, to raise love in him; adding, that being come only to desire it, he thought himself obliged to give the Goddess thanks, that had prevented his desires. So that the so extraordinary occasion of so gallant a sacrifice, being soon known, it was afterwards easily found out, that Artelisa was she that Caliantes had first spoken to; which she had often cast in her dish, especially at the Princess Clarinta's, where the entertainments were always infinitely divertive: but being looked on as the gallantry of a magnificent person, who was no great believer of Venus, since he would scoff at the sacrifice he had offered her, Artelisa was not troubled at it, for she understood the business of raillery, as well as another.  
Lisydas at first conceived no jealousy of it, nay, even Melicrates did not think himself obliged for that, to smother the violent inclination he had for Artelisa; so that he saw her as often as he could, and fell so deeply in love with her, that it was impossible for him to oppose his passion when he pleased himself. Nay, he flattered himself with happy success in his design, for he imagined that Artelisa having always seen Lisydas, could not possibly have any more than an indifferent affection for him; that Caliantes being an only Son, would soon be sent for by his friends, and that Artelisa would haply be sensible of the tenderness of his love; being with all this, persuaded that he knew how to love better than all other men, and that love was of greater consequence in order to be loved, than any thing else.  
About the same time came Alcimedes from Heraclea to Eryx, for there being a very rich Uncle of his in that Country, that resolved to make him his Heir, he thought it not amiss to confirm him by his presence in a design so advantageous to him. He being of an humour that would not permit him to be long in Eryx, e'er he had seen whatever were most considerable there, he went to the accomplished Clarinta's, the very next day after his arrival, where he found a many excellent Ladies, and not a few men, persons of worth and quality. For besides Caliantes, Lisydas, and Melicrates, there was also one called Teramus, a person questionless of extraordinary merit, who proved partly the occasion of Alcimedes' love to Artelisa, because it was through his means, that this fair Lady said something that encouraged him to serve her. But since you cannot have the whole pleasure of that days conversation, without being well acquainted with Teramus, give me leave to describe him to you, for I am confident the description will please you, and you will acknowledge that I have had reason to be so desirous to give it you.  
Teramus is a person of high birth, not only of an extraordinary merit, but of a merit particular to himself; a lover of honour, honesty, and Philosophy, but the gallant-like Philosophy which banishes all the uncivilised virtues; who hath the art of reconciling Wisdom and Pleasures, and does not believe but that prudence ought to be employed as well in the choice of pleasures, as in the management of the affairs of greatest consequence. For his person, he is somewhat above the ordinary stature; his action is negligent enough, yet such as becomes a person of quality; his hair is inclining to fair; his complexion palish, eyes black, sparkling, and full of spirit; and what's remarkable, is, that the Physiognomy, which is a thing one would imagine should never change, changes in him, according to the humour he is in, and the persons he is in company with; For if he happen accidentally into a company that is troublesome and unpleasant, he puts on a cold, cloudy, melancholy, and thoughtful countenance. On the contrary, when he is among persons that please him, the sprightliness of his imagination changes the air of his face, and his eyes betray an insinuating, crafty, pleasant, and lively smile, which multiplies the pleasure of all the ingenious extravagancies which his imagination furnishes him with, upon whatever subject is offered. He hath certainly a very clear understanding, and there are few things excellent in point of knowledge, which he is not acquainted with. But though he hath made himself master of whatever is most excellent in books, yet may it be affirmed he hath made the world in general, especially persons of worth and gallantry, his particular study: for it is certain that he is so well acquainted with all the insinuations which love hath inspired, either into men or women; that, in point of gallantry, he might overreach any one, and not be overreached by any. He hath a sprightly imagination, a lively and delicate wit, and is exquisite in the discernment of things. He loves all persons of worth, and he writes things that have a Character so natural, so gallant, and so ingeniously pleasant, that though it be impossible to say what he says, yet cannot a man but he astonished that he hath not thought what he thinks; so that he does what is very hard to do; that is, to write things natural, yet infinitely taking.  
Add to this, That Teramus is a person above Ambition, though he be extremely sensible of what is most nobly glorious. Not but that in the beginning of his life, the greatness of his Soul inclined him to make some approaches towards Fortune; but having discovered that she avoided him, he hath prudently slighted her, and would not put himself upon fruitless attempts for a thing his virtue could be without. So that looking on Ambition as a passion full of desquiet, he hath kept it from all entrance into his heart. Nor would he ever admit love there, with all those torments that attend it in the hearts of other Lovers; On the contrary, he makes use of joy in all things; 'tis out of joy that he falls in love, 'tis joy that appeases his passion, nay, 'tis joy that is his remedy against his passion; for if it happens that he must either renounce his joy, or quit a Mistress, he can sometimes without any great difficulty, be induced to do the latter.  
Teramus is further sensible of all pleasures in general, and his unsatisfied soul hath endeavoured to try what there is most pleasant in all the passions. For Music, he is so much taken with it, that he makes it a remedy against his indispositions; for he loves harmony in all its kinds, though he prefets an excellent voice before all the other charms of Music. For conversation, he seems to be so cut out for it when he pleases, and he is so perfect in the art of heightening the enjoyments of it when he thinks fit, that it is not the most inconsiderable of his perfections. In a word, he makes such pleasant reflections on things, that there's nothing so serious, which he makes not divertive when he undertakes it. Yet is not his temperament altogether free from melancholy, but it is such as is suitable with greatness of mind, and not that which betrays any frowardness. 'Tis of that kind which makes a man in love with the noblest touches of Music, that makes a man write things infinitely taking, that can unite pleasure and faintness, and makes the soul passionate and the heart susceptible of Love. Accordingly is it the predominant passion of Teramus, and by which he hath dressed up an amorous morality, which is the pleasant thing in the world,  
For heavens' sake, says Amilcar, what are the Maxims of it?  
In the first place replies Aemilius, he maintains, that pleasure is the soul of Love; that sights; tears, afflictions, torments, and despair, are only fit for Songs. That there is nothing so dangerous, as to go and importune with continual complaints; and that to gain her love, a man must make it his main business to divert her, and to make her think of him whether she will or no. Yet would he not have it done by being ridiculous; for there is a vast difference between a person that makes sport without being esteemed, and him who is respected and diverts. He also maintains that a man should never make profession of being unconstant, though he ought not to be faithful to obstinacy. He acknowledges a man should be always discreet, and that he should never resign up his Mistress to another, but for long and tedious loves they are without his acquaintance, and absolutely contrary to his inclination. But what is yet further particular, is, that he only deserves the praise of the satisfaction he gives her whom he loves; for he is not of those Lovers who cannot please, but by a hundred things they can make no claim to themselves. On the contrary, he pleases of himself, and that by a certain Art he hath, while he diverts the person he loves, to prejudice some others which he conceives she might love. Hence is it, that if he observe, there are some pretenders that might gain any thing upon the affections of his Mistress, he cunningly dresses up some ingenious satire against them, yet without discovering himself to be their Rival, so to work in her mind a contempt of those he would ruin, before he endeavour to establish himself: and this he does so subtly, and so pleasantly, that he forces that woman into a confidence with him, as to what relates to the imperfections of his Rivals. So that making her sport with their defects, he destroys them, and pleases her he would be in favour with; he diverts her, and establishes himself upon the ruins of those he hath destroyed. You see what a person the amiable Teramus is; but that you may be the better acquainted with his humour, and better apprehend wha● I am to tell you, I must needs show you what he sent one day to a friend of his, who had jestingly entreated him to instruct him in his Amorous Morality, which is what you desired before.   

The Amorous MORALITY of TERAMUS.  
THose who have affirmed, that to be loved, it was necessary one should love, were certainly persuaded that Justice and Love ever held a good correspondence. But to speak without flattery, they never understood the humour of Women in general, nor yet the nature of Love in particlar; since it is unquestionable, that it is more ordinary for us, to love those that seem amiable to us, than to love those that love us. So that to speak rationally, at least in my judgement, to be in favour among the Ladies, it is more necessary for a man to be much a Gallant, than to be very amorous. For as great passions are ever attended by afflictions, so it is hard, they should work the effect which a Lover expects from them, since that for the most part, Love is more easily bred in joy than in grief. And indeed there is such a consonancy between Joy and Love, that it is only by it that a man can be loved, and only for it that a man should love. Thence it is, that many times these mourning and melancholy Lovers, who persecute their Mistresses with their afflictions, advantage their Rivals more than they do themselves, if so be the others have any thing of a divertive disposition. I therefore maintain, that the ensuing Maxims ought to be exactly followed, as such as I have found so much advantage by, as to advise you to make use of them. You have in them what I have discovered, by a long experience to be most certain.  
I. A man ought to love whatever seems amiable to him, provided there be some probability to find more pleasure than trouble in the conquest he proposes to himself.  
II. A man ought to have a very great care, among women, not to profess himself an unconstant man; yet ought he not on the other side, to be over-scrupulously constant; for it were much better to have a thousand loves, than to have but one that should last a man's whole life.  
III. Further, though a man must make no scruple to change a Mistress, assoon as the trouble exceeds the pleasure; yet should he not be guilty of any indiscretion towards any; for not only honour and generosity advise the contrary, but there is also something of interest that will not permit it, there being nothing so likely to make a man lose a thousand favours, as one act of indiscretion.  
IV. A Lover must, above all things, make it his business to divert and to please; but to please upon his own account, and to divert, without being himself ridiculous; for though he do not speak openly of Love to the Lady he serves, yet, if it come to be necessary for his pleasure, he puts her into a condition to be easily persuaded.  
V. A man should never acquaint his Mistress with his real secrets; for since a man that is well acquainted with the world, should never have any Mistress, unless he foresee that he shall give over loving within a short time, he ought to make his confidences among his friends of either Sex, and only direct his services, his wit, and his Songs to his Mistresses. For secrets of no consideration, when a man hath not any, he must invent some; for it is not amiss, to accustom Ladies to speak low, though you entertain them with things never so trivial.  
VI A man must do all that lies in his power, so to put himself into a condition of pleasing, as not to ruin himself, and should be so well skilled in the choice of those he loves, that they shall be satisfied to find him divertive, that he hath a good wit, and is good company; for it is not glorious for any man to owe the conquest of a Lady's heart, only to the multitude of his slaves.  
VII. A man should take especial care he be not betrayed into the hands of his Rivals, but must, on the contrary, behave himself so circumspectly, that they may be discovered to him.  
VIII. It were also good that the Lady one loves did believe, that your heart is not so much at her devotion, but that it is possible she may lose it, if she slight you; and that she be withal persuaded, that if she refuse it, some other would accept of it.  
IX. A man must further endeavour what in him lies, to make himself perfect in all the Gallantries of the place where he is; for a fair Lady is many times as easily persuaded by examples, as by arguments.  
X. For jealousy, a man must by all means avoid having too much of it, or keeping it long; for it is much better he should hate his Mistress, than make it his business to hate his Rivals to no purpose.  
XI. A man should not make it a profession to speak kind things to all beauties; but there is no great danger for him so to behave himself towards handsome women, as to give them occasion to think, that if he loves them not, 'tis not impossible he may.  
XII. It were not also amiss, for a man to be guilty of a certain subtil●y, such as may make him dreadful to those that may prejudice him; and to know how to make use of a kind of ingenious raillery, which may oblige his Mistress, by way of concurrence, to laugh at them with him.  
XIII. A man must by all means, avoid an implicit obedience, which is good for nothing but to put a poor Lover to inconveniencies, and he may well think he does his duty in obeying exactly, when she commands things that are pleasant, where there is nothing fantastic, nothing of tyranny or injustice.  
XIV. But above all things, a man must remember, that if it be good to instruct while he diverts, it is much better for him to divert himself while he persuades; for there is nothing more unjust, than for a man to profess love to make himself unhappy, and to love so violently, as to cease to be amiable, and to be incapable of ever raising love in another.  
From what I have said, it is not hard to infer, that Teramus is a person that is infinite good company, and that accordingly being at the Princess of Eryx's, with all those other persons of worth I have spoken of, the day that Alcimedes came thither first, the conversation that happened there, must needs be very divertive: Nor wanted there a particular subject to make it such; for the fair Artelisa, who had seen the Amorous Morality of Teramus, told him, that a person of quality of her acquaintance had answered him. I am confident, replies Clarinta, it must be some illustrious friend of the solitary Merigenes, who makes it his particular profession, to be able to love perfectly. For my part says Teramus, could I imagine he would persuade me, I should be far from the curiosity of seeing his answer; but since I fear no such thing▪ and am fully persuaded that my reasons are the true reasons of gallantry, I would entreat the fair Artelisa to show me this answer. If the Princess be so pleased, replied Artelisa, I am ready to satisfy you, for I have the greatest desire in the world to convert you. How witty soever this friend of Merigenes may be, (replied Teramus with a low voice) fair eyes, such as yours, are much more likely to cure me of inconstancy, than fair words, and therefore, if you would make me a Proselyte, you need no more than to look favourably on me. Had favourable looks that effect, replies Artelisa, you had been converted long since, and therefore let us see, whether the reasons of your friend will not make you change your opinion. Whereupon Artelisa takes out her Table-Book, and read out of it what you shall hear, by way of answer, Article for Article, to what Teramus had said.   

Maxims contrary to those of TERAMUS.  
THose who never knew how to love well, make no great enquiry into the nature of Love. For which reason, Teramus, a person otherwise infinitely excellent, hath been mistaken in the opinion he maintains, that a man, to be loved, ought rather to be a Gallant than Amorous, since it is certain, that if he had never persuaded his Mistress of the greatness of his passion, all his merit, how extraordinary soever, should never have done it: But it proceeds certainly hence that having a great wit, and such as is capable of any thing he pleases, he hath found out the art of being exempted from sighs, complaints, and tears, and would employ in their stead, the graces, enjoyments, and laughters, to persuade his passion. But, when all it done, he hath said that he was in love, or pretends it, before he is loved, and is content to wound hearts, without any consideration, because he would never do any thing but lend his own, instead of bestowing it. It is certainly madness for a man to have any love, unless he have as much as he is capable of; for the mediocrity of this passion, produces but a mediocrity of pleasures, and it is not very proper to effect illustrious conquests. No question but a man should divert the person he loves, but it is not enough to please her, if it have not some influence on her heart; so that to act rationally, he must dispose and make it pliant by joy, but he must move it by grief, and know how to make his advantages of certain occasions, wherein two or three sighs seasonably breathed out, may be more effectual than all the Songs in the World.  
I. For the multitude of Mistresses, 'tis a thing not to be endured, for to speak truly, whoever hath two, hath not any at all.  
II. For constancy, whoever would banish it out of the empire of love, destroys love itself; for it no sooner comes into a man's imagination, that a time may come wherein he shall love no more, but he ceases to love at the very instant, or to say better, hath already given ever all thoughts of love, it being impossible that a heart truly amorous should imagine that it can give over loving that which to it seems the only amiable thing upon earth. On the contrary, to say truth, one of the greatest satisfactions of this passion is to imagine an eternity of love, if a man may so express himself, and to see in futurition a multitude of pleasures whereof he is not confident.  
III. For discretion, both the constant and unconstant, that are persons of quality are agreed it ought to be observed; and therefore I have not any thing to say of it, save that it is no easy matter to be always discreet, when a man is engaged in so many several interests.  
IU. No doubt but a man ought to please and divert, as I have already said, but it cannot be said it ought precisely to be done by way of raillery; for the general rule is, that a man should accommodate himself to the humour of the person beloved.  
V. Whoever can conceal what he thinks most secret from his Mistress, hath not given her his heart; for it is so far impossible for a man to love any one and not acquaint her with all even to his least thoughts, that it may be affirmed that a man does himself a certain violence when he conceals any of his sentiments from the person he loves, and deprives himself of the most sensible pleasure of love, by being uncapable of that exchange of secrets, wherein there is so much satisfaction. For indeed, what are they but the mutual hostages of that eternal peace which ought to be between two amorous hearts, and infallible arguments of the love a man hath in his soul, and which he will ever continue there. For those little secrets which signify ●●bing, he needs not be put to his invention for them, who loves passionately, for they spring at every moment, in their minds who know how to love.  
VI For excessive magnificence, it ought always to be blamed when it ruins him that is addicted thereto, yet it is certain, that nothing makes it more excusable than love, nay I durst maintain that he was the inventor of it. But when all's done, I agree with my adversary in this, that he who is magnificent, either as to retinue or clothes, aught to make no account of it; and should endeavour to raise himself into the love of his Mistress without any assistance from such things as belong not to him.  
VII. When a man hath Rivals, the surest way to do them any prejudice, and to be better esteemed than they, is to exceed them in worth, gallantry, and love; and if after all that, the Lady be unjust, and makes an ill choice, a man may change if he please, without incurring the censure of inconstancy.  
VIII. It is certainly no small advantage that the Lady whom a man loves, should believe that the person she affects may be loved by her; but this persuasion must proceed from the great merit of him that serves her, and not from his insinuations to make her believe so much.  
IX. For the news that's abroad in the World, I question whether a person that is very amorous, can take the pains to inform himself exactly thereof, for a sincere love finds a man so much business, that it takes up his whole heart.  
X. For jealousy, it is so far impossible to love, and not be guilty of it, that whoever can regulate it in his heart, is master of his own affection, and consequently hath no great love for his Mistress.  
XI. It is also my judgement, that a man ought not to make it his profession to entertain all beauties with kind things; for when a man loves but one, he must have the less civility for all the rest. He must at last so regulate it, that it be not excessive, nor yet dangerously interpreted by the person he loves.  
XII. As for that gallant-like subtlety which some are so much taken with, and is so much feared by others, it is so hard to pitch upon a mediocrity between a dangerous raillery and simple mirth, that I would not advise those to meddle with it, on whom nature hath not bestowed, as on Teramus, that gift of insinuation, which at the same time causes a love and a fear of of him that hath it.  
XIII. For obedience, if you deprive love of it, you take away his Empire; for he that can disobey the person he loves; loves her not, and deserves not the name of Lover.  
XIV. For the last Article, I confess that he who thinks he may be always happy in loving, deserves to be accounted a mad man, if he be not one; but love being not a thing voluntary, the torments that attend it are of the same nature; Whence I infer, that Teramus hath only made it his business to instruct a pleasing Gallant, and not a real Lover.  
Though Merigenes' friends and I, interrupted Amilcar, are not of the same sect, since I agree with pleasant Teramus, yet I cannot but think him a person that is very understanding, and would said know what manner of man he is. For my part replies Herminius, though I am not of your opinion, yet do I agree with you in that desire: and for my part, added Octavius, though I should have wished not to be of Merigenes' sect, yet shall I be glad to be acquainted with him. For my part says Personder, I am so much taken with an ardent affection, that I love all those that are of my opinion. For what concerns me, says Horatius, I must attribute all my unhappiness to Constancy, so far, that if I would, I should wish not to be constant; but when all's done, since it is some comfort to find persons of worth of our judgement, I shall be glad to know whether this Protector of Constancy be so excellent a person as I believe him.  
Since you are all resolved replies Aemilius, I will describe Merigines to you, he being a person so much concerned in the close of this History, that I think it some obligation to give you an account of him. Know then, that Merigines is an Asian, of very noble birth, and virtuous inclinations. He is tall, of a good complexion, all the linearnents of his face are very well made; he is brown haired, hath eyes full of spirit, a noble air, teeth admirably fair, a pleasant smile, and a fortunate and prudent Physiognomy. He hath a clear understanding, considers things as he should do, and his wit and judgement hold such a correspondence, that they never act one without another. Sincerity discovers itself in all his actions; and there is a perfect sympathy between his words and thoughts. In a word, he is a great professor of honour, integrity, and generosity; he is a faithful friend, and an earnest lover; goodness he affects and professes; he is eminent for politeness, sweetness and complaisance, his conversation is familiar and pleasant; he argues smartly, is a great lover of Books, and is as well acquainted with them as a person of quality, who doth not make it his profession, should be.  
For Morality, he is very exact in it, and if he be asked whence it comes that he is so excellent in it, he answers, that he is obliged for whatever there is of good in him to love. That without him, he would not be what he is, and that if he be qualified as a person of worth, he is the more obliged to a beauty, who hath raised in his heart the desire of pleasing, and the design of deserving her affection. He makes all the pleasures of humane life to consist in friendship and love; but when he loves, his love is as great as it can be. He is farther of the opinion that love smothers reason, and that a Lover ought to do, without any exception whatever the person he loves would have him.  
In the mean time, though he be somewhat inclined to a tumultuous life, yet hath Philosophy raised in him a love of solitude, and he often retires into a little wilderness that he hath made himself, though there be not any thing that obliges him to that distance from the Court. 'Tis true, he hath an illustrious friend in his neighbourhood, in whom he may find whatever the World thinks desirable, since he is one that possesses all the virtues, and whose politeness and wit are suitable to his generosity. And for the place where Merigenes lives, it is so pleasant and delightful, that solitude was never so taking in any other place upon earth; at least it might be said, he hath an Arbour that is worth a Palace, as I shall convince you anon. So that with the assistance of a little conversation, a few Books, and abundance of love for virtue and liberty, Merigenes is the happiest Solitary that ever was, when he leaves the Court to go to his wilderness; besides all this, he is loved by many persons of honour, insomuch that who should judge of him merely by his friends, would be soon sensible of part of his worth. He is of a sweet and compliant disposition, and there is in his humour such a just mixture of gladness and melanchoily, that there issues from thence a very pleasant Tempertment. For courage, Merigenes is so well furnished as man can be, and if his prudence did not check his ambition, he would not be so great a lover of solitude; but he makes it so much his business to master himself, that, unless it be when love pleases, he never obeys any thing but his reason.  
This premised, I am now to return to the fair Clarinta's, where Teramus had no sooner understood the answer of Merigenes' friend, but having commended his wit, he set himself to oppose his Maxims, but in such a pleasant manner, that Caliantes, Lisydas, and Melicrates, who pretended all to the glory of being accounted constant to Artilisa, could not but be extremely pleased with it. For Clarinta, she did not much discover herself, but spoke in the praise of Constancy, yet without blaming a gallant inconstancy. For Alcimedes, his inclination leading him to be extremely earnest in any thing he desired; he sided with Merigenes. For my part, says Teramus, I am persuaded, that as we have been taught that there is a Venus that is wholly serious, called Venus Urania, and that there is another that is absolutely amorous, which is she that landed at the Island Cyprus, so do I believe that there are two Loves, whereof one is a froward child that is troublesome and untoward, ever crying and knows not what he would have, and the other an Infant newly awakened, that plays, laughs, dances and makes sport, and whose darts does but slightly touch their hearts whom he wounds as it were in jest. Seriously, says the Princess of Eryx smiling, I think Teramus in the right, for it were impossible there should be a people whose way of loving were so different, if they were wounded by the same God. But all considered, since it is never just to condemn a person that cannot defend himself, my opinion is, that we should go and walk in Merigenes' Wilderness, and conclude our conversation in his Arbour, which hath been represented to me for so excellent a thing.  
The Princess of Eryx's proposal being approved by the whole company, it was put in execution as soon as so many Chariots could be got ready as were necessary for the Ladies, and horses for the men. But not to give you a general description of the place of Merigenes' retirement, I shall only entertain you with the particular rarities of the enchanted Arbour, to the end that you may follow the fair Clarinta thither. You are not to imagine it extraordinary magnificent, for its greatest beauties are not within itself, and all the commendations can be given it, belong unto it, only because it discovers the noblest objects in nature. It is indeed reasonably large, of a quadranguler figure, its height suitable to its largeness, the Architecture simple, yet handsome; the plain ground of it is jonik, the Tapestry is pleasant, and what ever it is furnished with, very convenient. But what is most admirable in this Arbour, is, that it is open three ways, and that at your entrance you discover three miraculous and different prospects, whereof the least were enough to make a Palace most delightful. For, which way soever you cast your eye, you see whatever the Country can afford that is most excellent. The windows that are opposite to the door, present you with the sight of a pleasant River, which being straight at that place, as if art had forced it into a large channel, divides a fruitful plain, beyond which are Mountains as if it were Landscape, which seem not to raise themselves but imperceptibly, for fear of over-confining the sight. But that there may be some diversity, you see certain Hamlets in the plain, as also a row of Trees, through which you see the River glistering, when either the Sun shines, or the wind blows; besides which, offers itself to the fight, a fair and spacious walk, that goes from the foot of the Mountain, on which is the retirement of Merigenes, to the great River, which makes a most pleasing object on that side. But what is remarkable is, that on the right and left sides of this Arbour, there are two Knots, which seem purposely made to divert those that are in it. But not to confound these two Prospects, you see above the Knot on the right hand, a valley infinitely pleasant and whereof the diversity is so great, that nothing can be compared to it, unless it be the Prospect of a place called Carisatis, for you see thence, besides the great River I have spoken of a Brook playing the Serpent among the Meadows and Willows, which is afterwards divided into divers little rivulets, drenching that tract of ground in the most pleasant manner that may be: you see (half covered by the mountain) certain houses scattered up and down the plain, Vineyards, Orchards, Valleys at a farther distance yet, an elbow of the great River, and several other diversities, which to discover, requires a long abode there. For the left side, you have on one side of the Knot, a magnificent House, and a Country Temple, and above it the same great River, which ceasing to be a channel, and seeming desirous to show itself all the ways it could be seen, makes two great turns in the plain, whence it comes that you have a longer sight of it, and then seeming to run a strait line, it shows you the sterns of those Ships, whereof you had before seen the forepart, by its crossing on the right hand, and their sides by its crossing in the middle.  
But what is yet very particular, is, that this River having passed through a Village, wherein there is an old Castle, whereof the Towers are but half seen by reason of the hill, seems to lose itself in a Town, which lies at the end of the Semicircle which it makes at that place; and beyond this Town may be seen a small corner of a plain, and divers Mountains at a farther distance, sown as it were with Woods, Villages, and Country-houses.  
But to reunite all there several Prospects, Merigenes hath caused to be set on that side which is not open, a great square of several glasses, which receiving the objects of these three miraculous prospects, give you an epitome of all the beauties of nature together. It was then in so noble a place, that one of the noblest Companies in the world, spent one of the fairest days that ever were, for the Sun, seeming to be concerned in point of honour to discover the beauty of this tract of ground, had so purified the air, that the objects that were at great distance, could easily be discerned. When the Princess of Eryx came first into the Arbour, she made a hundred exclamations at the excellency of that admirable Prospect; Artelisa and the other Ladies were no less amazed; Teramus, for his part was much taken with it; Alcimedes, and the rest said no less of it; in fine, all were so pleased that the company had not been above half an hour in the Arbour, ere any one had taken notice of an excellent Picture there was of a young Heros, which hung upon the right side. But at last Clarinta taking notice of it, asked Merigenes, whether he had caused Adonis to be painted in the Arms of Mars. 'Tis true, replied Merigenes, the great Prince whose Picture you see, is no less fair than Adoais, and it is as true, that he hath so great a heart, as he ought to have to be justly compared to Mars. I know not, added he, whether the zeal I have for Alcander, whose subject I have the honour to be, deceives me, but I am persuaded you never saw a handsomer man than he. For in fine, (continued he transported by a tenderness he could not forbear) have you ever seen a handsomer head, so good eyes, a better form of face, a nose better made, finer lips, a more fortunate and wiser look, a nobler stature, a more majestic air, a freer action, or so stern a countenance with so much beauty? for commonly, the handsomest men have not the most majestic air. Nay, you cannot perceive all the excellencies of this Prince, for the Painter having drawn him no lower than the knee, hath deprived you of the handsomest legs that can be seen, Besides this Prince hath received from nature, not only a well-made body, fit for all those exercises, that are either necessary, or contribute to the pleasure of a young Prince, (especially dancing, wherein, as in all the rest, he is inimmutable) but he hath also a noble soul inclined to passion, humanity, and mildness. His inclinations are wholly noble, and he hath a mind capable of what ever he undertakes. He discovers much integrity and magnificence, as well as sleight in the recreations he makes use of. He is much more afraid to do those foul play that have the honour to play with him, than to receive any from them, and though he be above the Laws, yet is he, to give a great example of equity, the most willing to submit them, This Prince hath yet one quality very requisite to a young Conqueror, for he can bear the weariness of hunting, and the War with an incredible vigour, and what is infinitely commendable, he hath an extraordinary affection for the Queen his Mother; nor indeed does she deserve less, for the many virtues she is Mistress of: and he hath also much friendship for the Prince his Brother, who by thousand of excellent qualities, draws the general admiration after him, and is already become the delight of his Court, though he be but very young. Anaxander, is farther an example of piety, to his whole Court, and for his courage he hath given several heroic expressions of it, as well in the Army, as in other dangerous occasions. For being to go over a bridge in a Chariot, he was nothing daunted though the bridge broke under him. In fine, he speaks as a great Prince ought to speak, that is, with understanding, judgement, and abundance of eloquence, yet without affectation or trouble; in a word, he is a person so accomplished, though he but in the nineteenth year of his age, that I believe he will blast the glory of all his predecessors. For it may be rationally hoped from the great Victories he hath already gained, that Fortune will not oppose his virtue, and that Mars and Love will be equally favourable to him, since he is as fit to make a gallant as a Hero, and consequently, what by his prudence, humanity, valour, justice, and understanding, he will ever be the felicity of his people, and the glory of his time and Country.  
Ah Merigenes, interrupted Clarinta, how well skilled must you needs be in loving, and how well would you draw your Mistress' picture, if you undertook it, since you have so exactly done that of your Master! 'Tis true, Madam, replied he, that I love whatever I ought to love; but all considered, I am never partial, nor give undeserved praises. That hinders not, but you have a friend, who gives dangerous advice in point of gallantry, as well as Melicrates, replies Teramus, for were it followed, Loves Empire would consist of none but unfortunate slaves, that should never have any new chains after the first they were put into. Recreations, and laughters must be banished it, and a serious kind of fair dealing taking their place, people must needs be strangely, tired. For take away the innocent extravagance that is in love, and you take away all its satisfaction, all its gallantry, and what ever makes it inviting and agreeable. I must confess, replies Melicrates, that I am an enemy to those indifferent Loves which amuse people, and afterward come to nothing; and would have a man that loves to do it in good earnest, or not to meddle with it at all. But I do not acknowledge myself an enemy to laughters and entertainments, on the contrary, I am of opinion, that only a great passion can give great satisfactions. For these great satisfactions that cost a man many thousands of afflictions, replies Teramus, I resign them to those that have a mind to them; for those dischequered delights that admit not the least trouble, and am such a sworn enemy to all grief, that there is not any flower so inconsiderable, which I should not rather gather, than the fairest Roses in the world, conditionally it had no prickles. For my part, says Melicrates, I am not of your opinion, for I would gladly endure a thousand afflictions for one single pleasure. Upon this Clarina, Artelisa, Caliantes, Lisydas Alcimedes, and Merigenes coming into play, the conversation grew extremely pleasant. But passing insensibly from one thing to another, without agreeing upon any thing, Clarinta told them that she was satisfied it was impossible to terminate in one day a dispute of such consequence as that, but would be glad nevertheless, to have the judgement of the company upon two things. One was, Whether Reason ought to be absolutely subject to Love, the other, Whether obedience ought to be implicit. For mine, says Termanus, it is, that Reason is no slave to Love, and all I should desire from her is, that she should not satirize at my amorous extravagances, but mind only the prudent management of my affairs. And for obedience, added he. I would have it limited to those things that are pleasing, without any exception. For my part says Melicrates, I am of a contrary opinion, and maintain, that while reason is in any power, there can be no true Love. But is not reason, replies Lisydas, requisite so far as to discover the merit of the person one loves? Is it not employed, added Caliantes, to serve her sometimes in things of consequence, and can a man merit her esteem if he do not comply with reason? For me, replies Alcimedes, I think that if reason be not subject to love, 'tis a feeble passion: and for me, replies Teramus, I think a Lover without reason subject to all extravagances imaginable, if he be so unhappy as to love a fantastic person. But a person of worth, replies Merigenes, loves not any thing but what is amiable. According to the Idea I have of love, added Melicrates, I am persuaded, that when a man loves truly, he hath no other reason than that of the person he loves, and consequently no other will. So that when he obeys her, he does it with as much ease as if he obeyed himself, and followed his own inclinations. For where there is a perfect love, there cannot be a diversity of Wills. Ordinary loves are not of this metal, for there are different wills and different desires, they obey with a secret repining, nay, sometimes do not obey at all. For which reason, I do not conceive it ought to be called Love, but only simple gallantry, the pure effect of a man's own pleasure. The case is otherwise with the love I speak of, for it requires a certain union of sentiments, so indivisible, that a man wills not any thing but in compliance with the person whom he loves, and by whom he is loved. Their hearts admit no difference, the division there is between them is inperceptible, and disobedience can never be found in the heart of a true lover. A man thinks himself born with that affection, so inherent does it seem to be to him that loves perfectly, and thinks he could not live a minute without loving what he loves.  
Were it possible, replied Teramus, there could be any such lover, I should advise his Mistress, to make trial of his submission, in an hundred extravagant things, for it were a pleasant thing to see how far this blind obedience would extend. For my part, says Artilesa, were I to bestow my heart on any one, I must confess it should be on the most dutiful of those that should pretend to conquer it, provided he were a person of desert, for I should thence infer him to be the most amorous. He certainly that takes away obedience from love, says Melicrates, robs it of all that distinguishes it from ordinary friendship, and gives it the title of a passion. Friendship admits compliance, but requires not absolute submission; a friend considers of what is proposed to him, nay he may contradict and dispute it; but for a Lover, he must ever obey. For my part, replies Alcimedes, had I a Mistress that should command me to hazard my life a thousand times, I should do it with joy. For matter of life, replies Teramus, though I am not the least lover of it, I should not be much troubled to hazard it either for glory, or for love; but to think I should be content to do an hundred odd things, that it might come into a woman's humour to desire, is what I should never do. For my part, says Merigenes, I should do all things, I mean without any exception. But if the person whom I have heard you were sometime in love with, replies the Princess of Eryx, had commanded you to fire the Temple of Diana at Ephesus, or that of Venus at Eryx, had you done it? She would never have laid any such command on me. But in case, added Teramus, it wa● her absolute Will it should be done— no question but I had obeyed her, replied he: for as I could not disobey myself, if I earnestly desired any thing, so could I not disobey her, since I relied more on her conduct of me, than my own.  
I am so much of Merigenes' opinion, added Melicrates, that I cannot conceive how a man can be of any other. For a man must look on the Will of the person beloved, as his own, and where there is a perfect love, there is an union of interests. Liberality must be an useless virtue between two persons united by love; there is nothing to be lent, nor any thing to be given; there is no use of acknowledgements or thanks, because there is nothing so difficult which one is not obliged to do for the other. I am satisfied as to the necessity of obedience, replies Lisydas, but cannot imagine it should be so absolute, as to engage a man in crimes, were it only for the reputation of the person he loves, which ought to be as dear to a Lover as his own. When a man loves, as I apprehend it, replied Melicrates, he is not able to conceive there can be any unjustice in the commands of a beloved person; for having a greater esteem for her than all the world besides, a man never disputes what she commands, and minds only the execution of it. But, admitting your own maxim, replies Teramus, Love will be a complice in the most horrid crimes, and greatest extravagances. It follows not, replies Melicrates, for I hold, that a perfect love can never be in the heart of a person that hath not virtue, nay, that a person of an ordinary spirit and virtue, cannot be capable of those Heroic affections that are above the ordinary pitch, and are marked out for the trials of Time and Fortune. So that those that are guilty of this submission of reason which I mean, put their virtue into safer hands than others; for in fine, two discreet persons having a perfect love one for the other, would rather commit a fault alone, than advise one the other to it, and consequently there is no danger to follow my maxims. Though I should grant you what is not, replied Teramus, yet must you still acknowledge, that my way of loving is more divertive than yours. For thy part, says the Princess Clarinta, I should not take it amiss to be obeyed, but should not much care to obey. And I think, says Artelisa, that all the satisfaction of Love, as to Women, consists in a little Tyranny. So that, says Alcimedes, who was very much taken with her already, he who is the best slave would be the happiest Lover. No question of it replies Artelisa, and it is my humour, if I loved any one, I should put some fantastic commands upon him, purposely for the pleasure of being obeyed. Seriously, says the Princess Clarinta, I think you are in the right, and am of opinion, that there is some pleasure in being fantastic out of design. Howe'er it be, says Teramus, this I am confident of, that as I shall not convert Melicrates, so shall he not convert me; it being haply but requisite there should be a diversity among Lovers, and that men should not be like the Nightingales, that ever woo in the Spring, and ever almost sing the same note. 'Tis indeed all for the best, there should be some grave Lovers, some fantastic, some serious, some complaisant, some constant, and some unconstant; for were there only sincere Lovers, the world would be too much given to melancholy.  
Upon this, Merigenes led this illustrious company to that friend of his, whom I have mentioned before, to see his excellent Garden, yet not before he had entertained them himself with a magnificent Collation. Being come into the Garden, he who was Master of it, being acquainted with the matter in dispute, took part with the juster side; but though he were a very eloquent person, yet could he not convince those that were of opinions contrary to his. So that after a pleasant conversation, every one returned according to the ordinary custom, better settled in his own persuasion than before. For in the heat of dispute, a man sometimes lights on such reasons, as he had not reflected on, whence it often happens, that a man, instead of persuading others, is persuaded himself. In the mean time, Alcimedes whose desires as I told you, were very earnest and violent, beginning to love Artelisa, was as earnest from that day, as if he had loved her all his life. So that Artelisa, at her return to Eryx, had four Lovers in her attendance.  
Now Teramus being extremely prying into such adventures, easily discovered the secret sentiments of all these persons, and made them his sport with Clarinta, whose divertive humour suggested her imagination with a hundred pleasant things upon that diversity of Lovers. He did the same with Artelisa, nay, with all these pretended Lovers severally. For as to the solitary Merigenes, he continued in his delightful Wilderness, a peaceable and pleasant life, which yet wanted not its charms and satisfactions. But the poor Lisydas, being the most ancient servant of Artelisa's, was very much troubled to see his Rivals daily increasing; but he had this comfort withal, to see that Artelisa treated them with a wonderful equality; for she was neither favourable, nor harsh to any of the four, but had such a general civility for them, that they loved her without hating one another, and served her with all diligence imaginable. For all remembering they had heard her say at Merigenes', that if she had any Lover, she should in all likelihood bestow her heart on the most obedient, as believing him the most amorous, they made it their business, not only to do those things she desired of them, but even to obey her very desires, if I may so say, and to guests at them so as to comply with them: so that having observed that she loved all the great Festivals, they were so many assigned days of divertisement. Yet would she not allow them to speak openly of their passion, though she was not ignorant thereof. Lisydas had discovered his to her all his life time; Caliantes had made a public declaration of his by a Sacrifice: Melicrates expressed his in all his actions, and made her sensible of it by all his words; and Alcimedes discovered his to so many people, that there were enough that told Artelisa of it; who being of a mild and easy nature, behaved herself so, that she every day saw all her Lovers, without any bodies taking exception at it, because she treated them as if they had not been such. She also without any trouble received Letters from them, when they had any occasion to write to her; and that you may know they were persons of no ordinary worth, I shall furnish you with some, whence you may judge of the rest, for you are not to expect I should acquaint you with all the little accidents that happened between Artelisa and these four Lovers. This were but requisite when a man hath but the sufferings of one Lover to relate; but to give an account of those of four, were hardly possible. I shall therefore only give you a general Idea of the beginnings of this adventure, whereof the end will find me work enough, without troubling myself with things of little consequence. I must therefore, to observe my word, tell you, that there was never any thing so gallant seen at Eryx, for every day afforded new entertainment; if one Lover was at the charge of a Ball one day, another found Music the next; the day following the third would take some occasion to give a Collation; and the fourth gave some noble prize for a race, or some other exercise of the body. Nay, Clarinta herself, to make it appear, as she said, that the very desire of diverting one's self, was able to cause magnificence and invention as well as Love, made one of the noblest entertainments in the world. 'Tis true, it was to celebrate the feast-day of Venus' birthday, which is solemnised at Eryx, on one of the first days of the Spring: yet should I not have mentioned it to you, had it not proved the occasion of a pleasant dispute between Artelisa and her four Lovers, as also of the writing of the Letter I have to show you.  
You are then to imagine, that Clarinta, knowing that the entertainments of the night speak more magnificence than those of the day, summoned all the Ladies to her Palace, to be there much about Sunsetting. So that all being come, Clarinta, followed by all the beauties, by the Prince, and most of quality, went and embarked herself in a sumptuous Galley, covered all over with a magnificent Tent, such as when they were once gotten in, they could see neither the Sea nor the City. Yet was it lightsome enough under that proud Tent, for it was enlightened by fifty crystal Lamps. All the Ladies were seated on Cushions in the Stern, the men either stood or kneeled by them; and discourse was at first the only divertisement of that noble Company; for though I have not given you any particular description of the Ladies of that little Court, yet are they as beautiful and as gallant, as in any other place in the world.  
In the mean time, it was no small trouble to them to guests what divertisement Clarinta would give them that night. The place they were in, they thought indeed pleasant enough; it was so well perfumed, that it purified the air they breathed; it was light enough, and all that was to be seen was sufficiently inviting, for the Tent was so ordered, that they could not see those that rowed. At first all spoke loud enough, till at last all being silent, or speaking very low, there was no other noise heard than that of the Oars, which falling into the water by a measured motion, made such as were fit only, to cause a pleasant resvery. But at last, having gone very slowly for some time, the Galley stayed of a sudden; the Tent was taken up of all sides, and there was heard admirable Music, consisting of several Consorts that answered one the other, and the company was surprised by the noblest object in the world. For you are to imagine, that night being now come on, they found the Galley in the midst of a great Circl, of above two hundred Barks, to each of which they had fastened above two hundred Lamps Pyramid-wise. So that that great number of Pyramids of fire, in the midst of the Sea, made the noblest object that can be imagined. Insomuch that the Sea, receiving the impression of so many lights, seemed to be all on fire. Add to this, that the Galley lying opposite to the City, which is built upon the brow of the Mountain, and that the best prospect of Venus' Temple, is on that side, there was not a window which had not Torches in it. All the tops of houses were also full all along the Walls of the City, and at all the pillars of the Temple, whereof the covering was so well furnished, that it vied lights with the Stars. So that seeing at the same time that noble City, and that magnificent Temple, all seemingly on fire, and those two hundred Pyramids of Lamps all burning, which made such a circle about the Galley, wherein Clarinta and the whole Court were, it was impossible they should with cries of joy and admiration, express the pleasure they took at so delightful a surprisal.  
Yet was not this all, for after the whole Assembly had been entertained awhile, with so excellent an object, they might see all about the Galley, Tritons with Naker-shells; Nereids with their long hair, and to accomplish the magnificence, they both saw and heard Sirens, which silencing all those several consorts that were in those inflamed Barks, sung such amorous Verses, that the excellency of the words adding to that of the air, and the sweetness of their voices that sung, it raised in all their hearts a tenderness more than ordinary. That done, the Tritons, the Nereids, and the Sirens, (who were men so disguised in little Boats, that lay even with the water) departing, and lost among the Barks, the Consorts begun again, and thereupon the two hundred Pyramids of fire changed place, and made divers Figures about the Galley, and then falling into two right lines, and making as it were a spacious passage, the Princess' Galley began to set forward between the Pyramids, to make to the shore, where it landed, at a place that led into a most pleasant Garden. But as the Ladies came to Land, they were entertained at the shore by the Tritons, with baskets full of Naker-shells, branches of Coral, and other maritime curiosities, whereof they all took every one something.  
That done, they went into the Garden, where they found a magnificent Collation in a Banqueting-house that was there, which was admirably enlightened, and compassed by an infinite number of Orange-trees, whose leaves just budding out, perfumed the air. After which, going into a Hall, whose beauty was suitable to the rest of the entertainment, the Ball, and discourse consummated the pleasant passing away of that night.  
This puts me into an imagination, interrupted Amilcar, that the four Lovers of Artelisa were very much troubled that they were not the persons concerned in this so magnificent an entertainment.  
Their affliction was much greater than you imagine (replied Aemilius, continuing his relation:) for you are to know, that Artelisa being ready to come to the Princess, having dressed herself as one that would not be sorry to preserve the acquests she had made, her Mother fell so extremely ill, that nature and decency not permitting her to leave her in that condition, she sent one to excuse her to Clarinta, who would not put off the business to another time, what friendship soever she might have for Artelisa, because it was the day appointed for the celebration of the Festival-day of Venus; So that all she could do, was to express agreat regret, that that excellent person participated not of the divertisement. But as soon as she was come to the Garden I spoke of, she sent to her, and word was brought her, that Artelisa's Mother had had only a sudden qualm, whereof she soon recovered.  
In the mean time, these four Lovers behaved themselves differently in this accident; for Melicrates, perceiving that Artelisa was not at the entertainment, forbore going thither, and kept his Chamber all alone; Caliantes was there, and gave thousands of expressions that he was extremely weary of the solemnity: Alcimedes went not, but was with a friend of his, whose house looked towards the Sea; and Lisydas was there, not knowing but that Artelisa was there also: for being one of the last, he imagined that she was embarked before him; but perceiving afterward his error, he spoke not one word during the whole solemnity. The next morning these four Lovers would needs make Artelisa acquainted with what had passed in their hearts, out of a design to prejudice one another. Melicratas sent to know how Artelisa's Mother and she did, sending her word that he was loath to wait on her the night before, for fear of importuning her, and that he had stayed all alone at home out of sympathy. Lisydas sent her word that he was extremely afflicted, that he had been engaged in a place where she was not. Alcimedes, that he had preferred the satisfaction of discoursing of her, with one of his friends, before that of the noblest entertainment in the world; and Caliantes writ her a Letter much to this effect.  
CALIANTES to the fair ARTELISA.  
I Know not what your meaning may be; you are the most troublesome, the most discourteous, and the most unreasonable person in the world. You hinder a man from taking any pleasure in things, which of themselves would infinitely afford it, and you force others to think it insupportable, to be near the most accomplished Princess in the world. However, that you may not say you are absoluely deprived of all the pleasure of the entertainment, it shall not be long e'er I come to give you an account of it, for I had no other motive of seeing it, but that I might give you a relation thereof, though I am confident, that if you had been in my place, and that I had been in yours, you would have had the cruelty to divert yourself admirably well without me.  
Artelisa received this Letter, and made no answer thereto, thinking it enough to send Caliantes word, indifferently enough, that since she was to see him, there was no necessity of any answer. The ordinary hours of visits were no sooner come, but Melicrates came to Artelisa's, whom he found in her Chamber; for though her Mother were well recovered, yet was it not thought fitting she should see any company that day? Insomuch, that she had commanded her Daughter to entertain the Princess in her Lodgings, she having sent her notice in the morning, that she would give her a visit. Assoon as Melicrates was come in, Artelisa told him that she was very sorry for him, that he had not been at the entertainment, but spoke it with a certain obliging expression, whence he perceived that she thought herself beholding to him. He was hardly sat, but Alcimedes enters, who after the first compliments passed, told Artelisa, that for his own part, it troubled him not that he had not been with the Princess, but was infinitely sorry, that she was not in a condition to be there; for though I have seen this solemnity only at a window, yet am I confident it deserved to be seen by the fairest eie● in the world. As Artelisa was going to make him some answer, Lisydas enters, so that Melicrates and Alcimedes combining together to prejudice their Rival, told him that he was very happy, to be the first to give Artelisa a perfect account of the Princess' magnificence. I must confess, replies Lisydas, that I was at this solemnity, but I know some that were not there, can give a better account of it than I; for I was there and saw nothing, whereas I have heard that Alcimedes saw it at a distance, out of a friends window. Ah Lisydas, replies Alcimedes, these things are better seen near than at a distance. I assure you, replied he, they are better seen at a distance than near, when those that are near, think more of what they do not see, than what they do; and that those who are at a distance, mind what they do see, more than what they do not. For my part, says Melicrates, who have not seen ought, either near or at a distance, I cannot be reproached with any thing. As he said this, comes in Caliantes, saying, that he was extremely troubled that Lisydas had prevented him in giving Artelisa an account of the solemnity. Assure yourself, replied he, that you come time enough to do that yourself, for I have neither told her any thing, nor indeed am able to tell her aught; for there lay something so heavy on my heart, that that prodigious number of Lights which enlightened the Sea, could not dispel the darkness of my thoughts.  
Lisydas had hardly given over speaking, but Clarinta, led by Teramus, came in, who by an excess of kindness would needs convince Artelisa, how great an affliction it was to her, that she had not had her part in the divertisement which the whole Court had received the night before. But indeed, said she, you are obliged to Caliantes, for he told me several times, that he looked on what passed, merely to the end he might give you a faithful account of it. I beseech you, Madam, replies Artelisa, engage me not to think myself beholding to Caliantes, for the pleasure he only hath had in seeing one of the noblest things in the world; for I think myself more obliged to those that have not seen any thing at all. It must be then principally to me, Madam, replies Lisydas; for as to Melicrates, who kept his Chamber, haply more out of policy than affection, it speaks neither any great miracle, nor great obligation, that he saw nothing from a place whence he could not see any thing. But for my part, who, because you were not there, have not seen any thing of what I might have seen, and ever thought on what I saw not, there's reason I should apply to myself what you have spoken with so much kindness. I know not, say Alcimedes, whether the fair Artelisa will be unjust, but am confident, I am he whose sentiments, as to affection and tenderness, are most out of controversy, for as to Melicrates, who was not at the solemnity, but stayed in his Chamber, it may be questioned whether he were not indisposed, or had not some business to dispatch. For Lisydas, there needs no more be said, than that he was, where Artelisa was not, to exclude him from all comparison with me; for as to his affirming that he saw nothing, believe him who will; and for Caliantes, he was not in a place of divertisement, while Artelisa was afflicted, but made it his main business to take exact notice of all that passed, to have the further pleasure of making a relation thereof. But for my part, I have not been where all the world was, and to make it appear that I deprived not myself of that pleasure, but for Artelisa's sake, I passed away the night with a friend of mine, with whom I had no discourse but what was of her. All this may be true, says Melicrates, but to bring your expressions of affection and mine, into a just dispute, you should have taken a house that looked not upon the Sea, and consequently seen nothing of what happened at the solemnity. But is it my fault, replies Alcimedes, if he, with whom I was, hath no Chamber but what looks into the Sea?— There's a Closet at your own Lodging, replies Melicrates, whence you might have seen no more than what I did from mine— 'Tis true, replies Alcimedes, but since I could not be with Artelisa, I would needs speak of her. When a man sees so noble an object as that you saw, replies Melicrates, he minds not much what he says, and for my part, who was resolved to bestow all my thoughts on Artelisa, I took such a place as should afford nothing to divert or distract me.  
When a man loves but weakly, replies Lisydas, he speaks as you do, but he that loves as I do, ever thinks earnestly on what he loves, in what place soever he be; and certainly it argues a greater tenderness to be ever thinking of Artelisa, amidst the noblest company in the world, and in a place of pleasure, than to think of her alone, when a man cannot do any thing else. But, if what you say be true, says Caliantes, and that your thoughts were so taken up with Artelisa, that you saw nothing of what passed, it was not tedious or wearisome to you; for no doubt but you thought on something that was very pleasant, and consequently passed away the time better than any of the company. For instance, added he smiling, as the imaginations of Lovers are many times as far from reason and probability, as the dreams of other men, so, if you could imagine that Artelisa might prefer you before all your Rivals, and that you might be one day loved by her, you needed no other pleasure; and I here confidently declare, before the Princess, that for such a pleasant imagination as that, I would willingly renounce the sight of the greatest solemnities in the world, though they were as noble as that of yesterday. To speak therefore freely, Artelisa is more engaged to me than all of you, and particularly much more than you; for first, I had not been in that place, had not the Princess laid her commands on me to that purpose; and next, being I could not be near Artelisa, I was near the person, for whom, of any, she hath the greatest affection. But that I might contribute somewhat to the pleasure of the person I love, I took notice of what ever I saw, to give her an account thereof, though I could not observe things without being withal strangely wearied and troubled. Nay, I appeal to the Princess, whether she did not upbraid me with it more than once. I must needs confess I did, says Clarinta; and for my part, am much at a loss to determine which of those four unfortunate persons Artelisa is most engaged to. There is certainly, says Teramus, some difficulty in the business, but since Artelisa is the most concerned in it, she must give the sentence. How, Madam, says Melicrates, can you stick at any thing in this case? How, added Alcimedes, can this dispute turn to my disadvantage? Alas, Madam, cries out Lisydas, what injustice were it in you to condemn me; and how cruel were you, continued Caliantes, should you prefer any one before me?  
To reconcile you all, said she to them, smiling, I am inclined to believe, that Melicrates was afraid of the fresh air of the evening; that Alcimedes, knowing haply what was to be seen, imagined he might see it better from a house than out of the Galley; That Lisydas had seen all, and would not acknowledge it; and that Caliantes pretended discontent and weariness, though he were very well pleased.  
Artelisa had hardly said these words, but these four Lovers combining all against her, made a thousand exceptions against her sentence. For my part, says Clarinta pleasantly to them, I know not how you understand her, but were I in your condition, I would not have it pronounced by Artelisa. For there must needs be three miserable, and there can be but one happy; since that in friendship there may be many happy places in the heart of a friend of either sex; but in gallantry, there can be but one good place in the heart of a Lover, or a Mistress. It matters not, says Melicrates, I had rather run the hazard of being condemned, than be ignorant of the judgement of Artelisa. For my part, says Caliantes, if I thought I should be condemned, I had rather continue in my ignorance of her resentmet. For what concerns me, added Lisydas, I should be satisfied, could I but guests it; and for me, says Alcimedes, I would rather she acquainted me privately with it. But put the case, (says Artelisa, smiling on Teramus,) you had been a Lover of mine, what would you have done? I think, said he, I should have done somewhat which none of all these Lovers hath; for without thinking of being upbraided with a fear of the fair weather, because of the uncertainty of my health, I think I should have passed away the evening with you. But you consider not, says Melicrates, that there was one sick in the House, and that she was not to be seen. My Mother's indisposition was so soon over, replies Artelisa, that had you sent to know, you might haply have seen me. Whence I conclude, that though Teramus is not to be thought the most constant Lover in the World, yet hath he better imagined what you ought to have done, than all you have been able to do, put together. But in fine, says Clarinta, you must take things as they are, and since these illustrious unfortunate men will have it so, pronounce their sentence. That it may be a just one, replies Artelisa, I must have better evidence than I have, and therefore I order Melicrates to prove that he hath thought on nothing but me, when he had locked himself in his Closet; Lisydas, to make it clearly appear that he saw not any thing of what passed in the place where he was; Alcimedes, that his thoughts ran more upon me when he discoursed with his friend, than on what he looked on; and Caliantes, that his weariness proceeded not rather from the tediousness of the solemnity, than from my absence.  
For my part, says Melicrates, I can easily obey you, for I made Verses to express my sentiments, which shall prove what I alleged. I am much short of your happiness, replies Lisydas, for it is not possible for me to prove that I have not seen what I might have seen. Nor is it any easier, for me, replied Alcimedes, to make it appear, that I thought only of Artelisa while I spoke of her, when at the same time I looked on those noble Pyramids of Light, that seemed to set the Sea on fire; and for my part, replies Caliantes, I am as far to seek how to make good proof of what Artelisa would have me prove, though there be not any thing more true. If it be so, says this Beauty, Melicrates is the person that must be declared to have given the greatest expressions of affection, and to punish the rest for their indifference. I condemn Alcimedes, not to speak of me any more, but when he is at leisure to think of me; Lisydas, never to go to a place where he will not take notice of what passes; and Caliantes to give me an exact account of all he hath seen, as soon as the Princess shall be gone hence, that thereby I may be confirmed in the opinion I am of, as to what concerns him.  
But since you have inflicted punishments, (says Teramus, not giving these three slighted Lovers the leisure to say any thing) methinks you should take some order that Melicrates be rewarded, for it belongs to justice as well to recompense as to punish: nay, it is in a manner as unjust not to recompense as not to punish; Teramus is certainly in the right, added Clarinta, and therefore I condemn you to recompense Melicrates, since you have given sen●nce in his favour. Since it is your Will, replied Artelisa, I condemn him to show the Verses which he says he hath made; for since they must needs be excellent, he will be fully recompensed. Madam, if they are liked by you, and please Teramus, who is so great a Critic in things of that nature. Melicrates made answer, it was no fair dealing, for that if the Verses proved ill, he was not recompensed, but punished. But after all excuses he was forced to obey, and to show his Verses, which were found very amorous, and like a Gallant: so that his Rivals had the affliction to hear them commended, and to think them but indeed too good.  
I shall not give you an account of all the pleasant entertainments which this proved the occasion of, for I am resolved not to tell you any thing in particular, till I come to the end of the History. I shall only tell you, that Lisydas, who had, from his infancy, an affection of Artelisa, continued it with such assiduity, that it was beyond all example; that Alcimedes carried away by the violence of his disposition, did for her all that a violent love could put him upon that were most difficult; for he was no less exact and vigilant than Lisydas, but many times much more jealous, for that at divers times he would needs fight with his Rivals all, one after another. For Caliantes he gave such signal expressions of his Love, that notwithstanding his inclination to magnificence, and the satisfaction he took in being liberal, he had such an aversion to leave Eryx, and was so absolutely desirous to marry Artelisa, that he would not by any means harken to the entreaties of his friends to return into Greece. They indeed thought at first, that there needed no more to bring it home, than to send him any allowance; but he chose rather to lose all than leave Artelisa, insomuch, that at last his Father disinherited him for his disobedience. So that this magnificent Lover, who had been at such vast expenses, was forced to subsist merely upon the generosity of the Prince of Eryx, who allowed him not enough, either to live honourably, or rationally to pretend to Artelisa. However, he continued an earnest affection towards her, and repented him not of a constancy that cost him so dear. He generously told her, that, it being not in his power to make her happy, he yet loved her without hope.  
For Alcimedes, he gave a violent expression of his love to Artelisa, for having one day obliged her to tell him positively, whether he should hope or fear, and she unmercifully telling him before one of his Rivals, that he was to fear all things, and to hope nothing; he, carried away by his violent sentiments, answered her roundly, that he should find the way to rid himself of all fear, since she deprived him of hope. Whereupon this desperate Lover, going out of her Chamber, and passing by a Closet, wherein there were certain Arms that had been his Mistress' Fathers, and finding the door open, goes in, takes a poniard, and gives himself a stab, that he fell down dead. I leave you to imagine, how much Artelisa was surprised at this accident, and what care she took to save the life of of a man that would die out of excess of Love. Surgeons were sent for to dress him, who found him very dangerously wounded. His Lodging being near Artelisa's, he was immediately carried thither, there being less danger to remove him from one place to another at that time, than if they had stayed longer. But when he had recovered himself a little, out of the weakness he was in, by reason of the loss of blood, and perceived he was in his bed, and dressed, he would have torn off what they had laid to his wound. 'Tis true, those that looked to him, prevented it, and the better to effect their design, they went to Artilesa's mother, who obliged her daughter to send Alcimedes a command not to oppose the remedies were used to him, and that it was her Will that he should entertain whatever contributed to his recovery. From which command Alcimedes conceiving some little hope, suffered himself to be dressed, and resolved to live.  
Whence it being easy to judge, that Alcimedes would not have killed himself, but because he was slighted: his Rivals rejoiced at it, though they were in some fear, that that great expression of his love might work somewhat upon the heart of Artelisa. For Caliantes, he, being in a very sad posture, as to fortune, was not so glad of it as Lisydas, who never was so much in hope as then, for he knew by the accident that had happened to Alcimedes, that he was not loved.  
Calianta's poverty seemed to him to be an invincible obstacle, as to the compassing of his design; and Melicrates' affection to Artelisa, being of a date much latter than his, he did not fear him much. So that he lived then with a confidence full of satisfaction: For Melicrates, he being one that had much love, was also subject to much fear, as also to much hope, for it is only an indifference of affection, which admits not a vicissitude of hope and fear. He was therefore subject to more fear than Lisydas, lest this extraordinary expression of love in Alcimedes, might have some influence on Artelisa, and accordingly sought some favourable opportunity to entertain her privately, and to discover unto her the true sentiments of his soul. But this he found a hard work, for besides that, he was perpetually pestered with Rivals: Artelisa, ever since the accident of Alcimedes, was very shy in raising any sentiment of jealousy in any of her Lovers, lest it might prove the occasion of some further unhappy adventure. So that according to the humour she was in then, she durst not in a manner be either kind or cruel. This found Clarinta and Teramus sport enough when they came to Artelisa's, for they were ever casting into her dish, that she never durst say either yea or nay, to any of her Lovers. For if you answer any one affirmatively, said they, the rest will kill him; and if negatively, he to whom you shall say so, will kill himself.  
But not to insist on things of no consequence, that you may the better apprehend what I have yet to tell you, you are to know, that there was a man at Eryx, an ancient enemy of the house of Melicrates, and of Melicrates in particular, with whom he could never be brought to any reconciliation; for besides that he hated him, he valued him not, and would not admit any composure of the differences between them. Melicrates in the mean time was so taken up with love, that he in a manner minded not the aversion he had for his enemy, though his friends often advised him to look to himself, and not to be abroad in the night without company. This hindered not, but that it came into his mind to fasten on some opportunity to speak to Artelisa in the night, since he could not do it in the day. He knew her chamber lay even with the Garden, that her Mother, because of her indisposition, lodged in another part of the house; far enough off; that the windows of that Chamber were low, and that Artelisa went to bed very late. He knew further, that she loved to walk in the Moonshine, so that it being then a season that the Moon shone all night, he corrupted a slave, who promised to open him a door to the Garden, that went out into a lone-street, which he accordingly did.  
But as it ordinarily happens, that when a man hath some secret design, he meets with an hundred rubs he never foresaw, Melicrates was courted that day to spend the evening in divers places; two of his friends came to desire his company at supper; in so much that he had much ado to be rid of all those that came to see him. He indeed dismissed them in such a way, as gave those he denied occasion, to imagine he had some secret design; for though he denied them, yet gave he not any handsome account why he did so. Not but that he did all that lay in his power to conceal it, but it seems a Lover is less master of himself than any one. At last having sent all away, even to his own slaves, it was late e'er he came to that door of Artelisa's Garden, which the slave he had corrupted opened to him: which done, getting behind a hedge-row: he expected till the same slave should, with a torch, make him the sign they were agreed upon, to let him know that all were retired but Artelisa, and a maid that waited on her. Accordingly, Melicrates perceiving there was no light any where but in Artelisa's chamber, prepared to go thither, when he perceives that beauty coming out, with a little white vail over her head, and half undressed, who, according to her custom, desirous of the coolness of the night, and to walk in the Moonshine, came towards the place where he was, having with her a pretty little dog, that she made extremely much of. So that this pretty creature skipping up and down among the flowers and borders, and coming at last to the hedge, behind which Melicrates lay hid, stopped of a sudden, as being frighted at the scent of some body there. Nay, he barked a little angrily, looking back on his Mistress, then presently after, knowing Melicrates (who was wont to make much of him, as one that loved any that Artelisa was taken with) he violently jer●ed into the hedge-row with all that insinuation and fawning, whereby a creature of that nature is wont to express his services to those he loves. So that Artelisa, who thought herself alone in the Garden, was at first much surprised; yet imagined it might be a young slave of her Mother's that was there. She therefore went about the hedge-row on one side, while Melicrates did the like on the other, to come and meet her, so that she was very much amazed to see him. One while she would have turned away from him hastily; another time she would cry out; but Melicrates having stayed her, and her own reason telling her, that if she cried out, it might cause a great disturbance, which might be ill-interpreted, she thought it the best course to lay a strict command on Melicrates, to go his ways, for she had ever found him so obedient, that she doubted not but that he would obey her. She therefore stood still, and the rather, that knowing she might be heard from her chamber; she thought she might call people at any time, if need were. It argues a strange confidence in you, Melicrates, said she to him, to come at this hour into the Garden, and your love cannot be great, when you expose my reputation as you do. For if you were seen either coming in, or shall be seen going out; will it not give people occasion to imagine it was by my appointment to some base end. The street I came in at, replies Melicrates, is so little frequented, that I neither have been, nor fear I shall be seen, and the slave who hath opened me the door, is the only person that knows any thing of my design, not that I thence conceive myself absolutely innocent; but Madam, that my unhappiness is such, that it is not strange I should do something against reason: For, because I have a Rival that would needs kill himself, rather out of indignation than love; I must never speak to you alone again, and consequently must be eternally ignorant how I stand in your inclinations. To be free with you Madam, continued he, I am not able to live at this rate, and to prevent me from seeking out extraordinary ways to speak to you, tell me something that is kind, that may allay the tempest my soul is in. I have only two words to say to you, replied she, while you stay in the Garden, and those two words are, be gone. Ah, Madam, replied he, those two words speak too much disdain; not but that as I sometime told you in Merigenes' Arbour, obedience is the greatest and truest mark of a real love, and consequently that I will obey you, but Madam, before I do it, give me leave to tell you, that I love you far beyond any of my Rivals; and entreat you to acknowledge though but by some sign that you believe it. For since you have declared that the greatest affection should prevail with you, I shall think myself happy enough, if you do but believe mine to be greater than any other man's whatsoever.  
Whereupon, though Artelisa had told Melicrates that she had but two words to say to him, yet did she speak a many to him; yet such as he could not interpret much to his advantage; for she was in so great a disturbance to see him there, and so incensed against him for his boldness, that she spoke very harshly to him, though she had an infinite esteem for him. Insomuch, that it was to no purpose for him to fall to flatteries and entreaties, but he must needs think of leaving the place. You must needs acknowledge, said she to him, that you have done very indiscreetly, not only in respect of me, but yourself; for take it from me, that if ever your boldness comes to be known, I shall never look on you again, and I shall treat you so, that it shall take off all suspicion of your kind entertainment. What troubles me yet farther, added she, is, that the slave who hath let you in, thinks haply that your coming hither is with my consent. Melicrates gave her all the assurance he could that there was no such matter, and would have said divers other things to her, but she laid such an absolute command upon him to be gone, that he left the place immediately. Artelisa made fast the door after him, and returned to her Chamber in a strange disturbance. For Melicrates, he was not seen by any, and to prevent his own servants from seeing whence he came, lest they might imagine where he had been, he went a great way about, and came to a place where he saw a man, very richly clothed, aid along on the ground, as if he had been either dead or asleep. He comes up to him, and knowing him to be that enemy of his I told you of, he sound him assassinated. He was much surprised at the sight; so that not desirous to be seen about the dead person, he made what haste he could away, but he had hardly gone twenty paces, ere he meets with one of the principal Magistrates attended by a guard, accompanied by the friends of the dead party, and conducted by one of his slaves, who seeing Melicrates, told the Magistrate, that he being at enmity with his Master, had undoubtedly caused him to be Murdered, and was come to see whether he had been quite dead. This the slave said as confidently as if he knew it to be true: so that the friends of the murdered, pressing him that was to do them justice, to lay hold of Melicrates, whose hatred towards the other was sufficiently known, he did it, though he could not imagine him guilty. He asked him from whence he came; but he not willing to tell him, made answer somewhat angrily, that a single person could not well be charged with an assassinate. Ah, my Lord, says the dead persons slave, speaking to the judge, my Master was murdered by six men, and had I had but any thing of arms about me, I would have died in his defence. But while I was gone for help, they killed him and fled several ways.  
Melicrates, being a person of exemplary virtue, people could not easily suspect him guilty; but he still refusing to tell them whence he came, there was no reason, but that according as it was desired, Melicrates should be secured. To take therefore a moderate course in so unhappy an emergency, he desired he might be put into the hands of a friend of his, whom he named, who should see him forth coming, which was accordingly done. In the mean time, when the charge was drawn up against Melicrates, the circumstances were very pregnant against him, for it was known, that he had refused to go to several places that night, that he would neither entertain, nor be entertained, by some friends of his, that he went out alone; and that he had taken a sword with him, that none of his people knew whether he was gone; and that a woman out of a window had seen him looking on the dead party. So that adding to this the inveterate hatred he had had for him, and his obstinacy in refusing to tell where he had been, from the time he had left his own house, till that he had been met in, it could not be expected, that either his virtue, or his reputation, how great soever, should exempt him from a suspicion of that murder. They desired him only to name any one man that could say he had seen him any where; but that he could not do, for he had seen only Artelisa, and the slave that had opened the Garden door to him. So that choosing rather to be unjustly thought guilty of a crime, than to expose the reputation of his Mistress, he answered ambiguously, and did himself more prejudice than all the other conjectures and circumstances could do. Insomuch, that the next day, it was news in all companies, that Melicrates had caused his enemy to be assassinated. At first, all the world were troubled to imagine it could be so; but the circumstances being so pregnant, and the conjectures so strong, the best friends that Melicrates had, were drawn into belief, that hatred had had the upper hand of his virtue.  
You may easily imagine how strangely Artelisa was surprised to hear that Melicrates was charged with having assassinated his enemy, and that it was told her, that the strongest conjecture they had of it, was, that he would not acknowledge where he had spent that evening. This put her into an extraordinary disturbance, for having an infinite esteem for Melicrates, and knowing how great an affection he had for her, she was extremely afflicted to see him accused with so much injustice, yet could she not on the other side avoid some fear, that, to clear himself he might discover the truth; for it run into her imagination, that if he should say he was alone with her in the Garden at the time the murder happened, her reputation were lost; it being unlikely the world should believe the thing precisely as it was, especially the three Rivals of Melicrates, who would give that adventure the most disadvantageous interpretation they could.  
But while she was in this uncertainty, Melicrates, who stood committed to the custody of one of his friends, till something more of the business might be discovered, was not without disturbance. For being so great a Lover of Glory as he was, it was an extraordinary affliction to him, to be charged with the doing of a criminal action.  
What shall I do (said he to himself, as he hath acknowledged since?) shall I eternally lie under the suspicion of having committed a crime that argues the greatest baseness that may be, rather than discover a thing that is absolutely innocent? for by acknowledging myself to be an inconsiderate person, that had had the boldness to corrupt a slave of Artelisa's to open me her Garden door, that so I might speak with her privately, I shall say nothing against her. But Alas! added he, can I imagine people will believe it to be as I say? No, no, I must not flatter myself, continued he, and there is no mean between these two things, I must expose either my Mistress' reputation, or my own, I must either be unjustly accused myself, or prove a means that she may be. Ah! the choice is soon decided, I am resolved; I had much rather be accused, than be the occasion of her being so. I have this confidence at least, that it is impossible she should not be pleased with my discretion; let us then be content, continued this unfortunate Lover, that we only know Artelisa to be conscious of our innocence; she amounts to as much with us as all the world beside, nay all the world could not ease us, were she once incensed against us. Let us therefore undergo our misfortune with patience, the Gods are more just than not to discover our innocence by some way which may not prejudice that of Artelisa; and let us endeavour for our part, to do some great action that may justify us. Whereupon, Melicrates resolving never to say any thing which might bring Artelisa's virtue into the least dispute, he found an opportunity secretly to write her a Letter, which contained these words.  
MELICRATES, to ARTELISA.  
I Must confess, Madam, that Caliantes hath loved you beyond Fortune, since he embraces poverty for your sake; and that Alcimedes loves you beyond his life, since he would have killed himself out of despair. But to do some thing greater than all this, you will find, that I love you beyond Glory, though I am persuaded it ought to be looked on as a thing more precious in the account of a person of honour, than either fortune or life. In the mean time, give me leave to entertain the comfort of hoping, that while I am looked on as a criminal by all the world, I shall be accounted innocent by the divine Artelisa, to whom I infallibly offer the greatest sacrifice that can be expected from an amorous heart.  
This Letter Artelisa took extreme kindly, and accordingly answered it with abundance of obligations as you shall perceive.  
ARTELISA to MELICRATES.  
YOur discretion hath made me forget your boldness, and the tender care you have of my innocence, speaks so much obligation, that if I thought your life in danger, I should be so generous as to hazard my reputation for your sake. In the mean time, assure yourself, I send up my continual addresses to the gods, that they would be pleased to clear you, without any necessity I should accuse myself.  
But the more they endeavoured to discover of this adventure, the more obscure it seemed to be, all the world would have justified Melicrates, excepting his Rivals, but his silence argued so much against him, that he could not be cleared. Yet was there not evidence enough to condemn him, so that being a person of quality, and much favoured by the Prince and Princess, all the friends of the deceased could obtain, was that Melicrates should have the City for his prison, for the space of six Months, during which time they might do what they could to find out more pregnant proofs against him. But Melicrates desirous by doing noble actions, to make it appear he could not be guilty of base ones, having met with two of his enemy's kindred one after another, fought with them, hurt them, and disaxmed them, and had all the reputation he could expect; for he in the midst of victory, used much humanity, though he fought against such as accused him unjustly.  
But as men are very much subject to take all things amiss, and in the worst sense, so did these two great actions instead of justifying Melicrates, very much heighten the suspicion that he was guilty of the murder of his enemy, people thinking that it was his design by that means to repair the crime wherein his malice had engaged him. So that Melicrates knowing what men thought of him, would have fallen into despair, had he not had the satisfaction of being somewhat better treated by Artelisa, than he had been before. But it being hard, a Lover should receive any favour from his Mistress, but his Rivals must hear of it, when there is not between him and her one of those indissolvable affections which require a reciprocal secrecy, Lisydas, who was glad that Melicrates was under such a cloud, out of a fear he was in of him above all the rest, came to understand that Melicrates had never been so much in favour with Artelisa, as he was then. So that notable to endure the injustice he thought she did him, he sought an opportunity to make his complaints to her of it; and accordingly, having one day found her alone in her Chamber, he began to represent unto her the long time that he had been her servant. For it was true, that he loved her assoon as ever she began to be capable of his love. Whereupon he earnestly entreated her to say something to him that should not afflict him, assuring her that she had not any Lover whose affection was as great as his. For in fine, said he to her, Caliantes losing his estate for your sake, hath not done any thing which I should not have as gladly done, had any occasion offered itself. For Alcimedes, in being desirous to kill himself out of despair, he hath done less than I should, had you put me out of all hope, for I should die of grief, without the assistance of a poniard.  
And for Melicrates, added he, in an accent expressing his contempt of him, I do not see why you should be so much persuaded of the greatness of his affection, unless you measure his love by his malice, and that because he knows well how to hate and revenge himself, you imagine he knows as well how to love and serve you. Ah, Lisydas, replies Artelisa, a little angrily, and withal blushing; if you would not have me blame you, insult not over an unfortunate man whom I cannot believe any way guilty. I could never have believed it, Madam, replied Lisydas coldly, that to gain your favour, a man must be charged with Assassinates. No, he must be innocent and unfortunate, replied she, to deserve my protection; and since I conceive Melicrates to be both, you should not think it strange if I take his part against you. The apparent circumstances are very deceitful, Madam, replied he, if Melicrates be innocent. In fine, Madam, innocent or guilty it matters not; he is too happy to be so much in your favour, and I am very unhappy to be so little, after I have spent my whole life in serving you. But when all is done, though I must expect to be more slighted than I am, yet cannot I forbear telling you, that you are very much to blame for multiplying your favours on Melicrates, when all persons of honour have abated him part of their esteem, And therefore give me leave, Madam, to advise you for your reputation sake, to slight him, at least as much as you do me; I am content to be so much more than I have been, conditionally he be no less than I am, for I cannot endure to hear you blamed, or that you should love him.  
Artelisa, perceiving by this discourse, more than by any thing before, how much she was obliged to Melicrates' discretion, was exasperated against Lisydas, and though she was satisfied that she did not well in blaming him so much as she did, yet not thinking it fit to tell him positively, that Melicrates was innocent, she conceived such a displeasure at it, that she revenged herself on that miserable Lover. She therefore spoke to him disdainfully enough, in answer to which he being still obstinate to press the injury he pretended she did herself, and to entertain her with the greatness of his affection, she forbade him ever to see her again. Be gone, said she to him, be gone, and have nothing to do with my carriage, for you are so little concerned in my affection, that it should be indifferent to you whom I love, and whom I do not: Lisydas, surprised at this sally of disdain, looked on her with amazement, and would have made her some answer, but this incensed beauty forbidding him to speak, and commanding him to leave her Chamber, he was forced to obey her; he therefore went his ways, but clouded with such a deep sadness, that he met certain Ladies upon the stairs whom he saw not, and consequently saluted not, though they were of his acquaintance, so much were his thoughts o'erwhelmed with grief.  
From Artelisa's, he went to his Chamber, where he spent both that evening and night, without eating or sleeping, or indeed so much as lying down. One while he walked softly, another very fast; sometimes he leaned against the Table, sometimes lifted up his eyes to heaven, sometimes pronounced certain confused words, amongst which might be heard the names of Artelisa, and Melicrates, and sometimes he was in a deep silence, which was not interrupted but by long and mournful sighs. But in fine, not to trouble you with a description of the excessive grief of Lisydas, I shall only tell you, that he was three days and three nights in so great a disturbance, that a fever took him, but with such violence, that he lost the use of his reason the very first day. So that not able to make any resistance against the remedies were prescribed him, he recovered of the fever, but a Sister of his, a very lovely Lady, that looked after him, was very much surprised to see that he recovered not his reason with his health. It was not so much wondered at, that while the fever lasted, he was heard to speak perpetually of Artelisa and Melicrates, and all his other Rivals with a strange confusion, but when he had recovered of the fever, all were troubled to see such a change happened to a person of great worth and understanding. Yet had his extravagance something advantageous in it; and it was such as made him speak but little. He was very melancholy, said little, and when he spoke it was altogether of Artelisa. But though there were no great sense in what he said of her, nor yet much coherence, yet did all his discourses betray certain expressions of respect; and it was impossible to make him do or take any thing, if they did not tell him that it was Artelisa's will he should.  
You may easily imagine what noise this accident made, for at last it was blurted out by a slave of Artelisa's, that the last day that Lisydas had been with her, she had slighted him extremely, and the Ladies he had met on the stairs reflected on the alteration they had perceived in his countenance. So that there was no other discourse at Clarinta's but of the fatal consequences that attended those that should love Artelisa. For Caliantes had, upon that account, lost all his Estate, Alcimedes would have killed himself, Lisydas had thereby lost his reason, and Melicrates, though it was then known, had by the same means lost his honour. In the mean time, the accident happened to Lisydas, raised pity in all, and particularly in Artelisa, who had been the occasion of it. So that the friends of this unfortunate Lover, having been with Clarinta, to entreat her to speak to Artelisa to humour him, to see whether it would restore him to his reason, Artelisa was content. She therefore one day gave a visit to the Sister of this unhappy Lover, who had sent for her Brother to her Chamber. As soon as she came in sight, he would have gone away, remembering that she had forbidden him to see her. But she being come thither purposely to humour him, stayed him, and asked him why he avoided her company. At these words he stayed, he looked on her very earnestly, and sighed two or three times; after which, he asked her with a feeble voice, whether she knew him to be Lisydas. I do said she to him, and I am so troubled for the harshness I used towards you, that I come purposely hither to entreat you to forget it.  
This raised Lisydas to a very great joy, yet could he not express it otherwise than by his looks, for it was impossible for him to speak. He fell down on his knees, took her garment and kissed it, and out of a miracle of Love, three or four kind words restored his Reason to this unfortunate Lover. Accordingly from that hour, he had not that melancholy in his countenance, which extravagance puts upon those it possesses; and though he spoke not, but only looked on Artelisa, yet was it thence inferred, that he would recover the freedom of his thoughts. But what was most extraordinary, was, that as grief had been the occasion of his sickness, so this excess of joy, put him into a fit of the Fever, that lasted a whole day, during which time, Artelisa sent twice to see how he did. 'Tis true, the success of this relapse was much different from that of the first sickness; for this fit, caused by the agitation of an excessive joy that had surprised him, dispelled those melancholy vapours that had corrupted his Reason. In so much, that when the Fever had left him, his thoughts were absolutely free and dis-engaged. You may easily imagine what entreaties were made to Artelisa, that she should not too suddenly break off her kindness to Lisydas, for fear of a relapse into the same misery. So that upon these inducements, as also the entreaties of the other Rivals, who thought him a person not much to be feared; she so soothed up Lisydas, that in a few days he became as gallant a man as ever he had been. 'Tis true, having the misfortune to know the accident that had happened to him, it made him so much the more unfortunate; but finding after all, Artelisa very kind to him, it put him into some hopes, that his late extravagance being looked on by her, as an expression of his affection, it might contribute to his further happiness.  
About this time it happened, that Caliantes' Father being dead, he to whom he had given his Estate, when he disinherited his Son, fell sick eight days after, so dangerously, that he thought it concerned him to put his affairs into some order. But being a very generous person, he returned to Caliantes all the Estate he had received from his Father, and added thereto his own, which was very great: so that Caliantes was gotten richer by one half, than ever he expected to have been. Upon the first arrival of this news to him, he wrote to Artelisa in these terms.  
CALIANTES to ARTELISA.  
WHen I first directed my affections to you, it was with some hope that proceeded from a confidence I could make you happy; and when fortune turned her back upon me, I quitted my hope without any loss as to my love, out of a consideration, that not willing to make you unfortunate, I conceived I had no longer any reason to hope, without ceasing to be generous, and being guilty of a treason against true love. But now that Fortune hath been pleased to bestow much more upon me, than she had taken away from me, give me leave, Madam, to reassume that hope, which generosity had obliged to quit, and be so favourable to me, as to believe, that no man ever knew how to love so well as I do.  
No doubt but this must needs add very much to the esteem which Artelisa had for Caliantes, whose procedure was so generous: however she thought not fit to answer it otherwise, than by a civility that engaged her not to any thing. In the mean time, she treated Melicrates better than any of the rest, for his reputation being still under a could upon her account, she thought it some obligation to comfort him: yet durst she not on the other side, be too harsh to Alcimedes, lest he should offer himself any violence a second time; she flattered the poor Lisydas, and she could not treat Caliantes ill, because his generosity had been extraordinary.  
Things standing thus, there was a certain man, that had committed a great robbery, taken; and confessed he had been one of those that had assassinated this enemy of Melicrates. At first it was thought he had been a lost man, and that this thief would have named him for the Author of his crime; but the world was strangely surprised, to understand that Melicrates was not at all concerned in it, and that this horrid action had been committed by a jealous and revengeful Husband, who having discovered some familiarity between his wife and that enemy of Melicrates, would needs revenge himself in that manner. Whereupon he that was truly guilty, being taken as he was making his escape, and having confessed all, Melicrates was absolutely cleared, and recovered his former reputation, with much more lustre than before. However, people were extremely to seek, why he should be so loath to discover the place he was at when this murder had been committed. But it was not long e'er it came out, for I am to tell you, that Caliantes spending now more highly than ever he had done; the slave, who had sometime opened the Garden-door to Melicrates, and whom Artelisa had soon after ordered to be sold, having passed through the hands of two other Masters, came at last to Caliantes, and revea'cd that secret to him, whereat this Lover was so surprised, that he could not smother the astonishment he conceived thereat. For though the slave had told him that Artelisa knew not of his coming into the Garden, yet would he not believe him. So that not content with his own reflections on this adventure, he told it a friend of his, and that friend another. Insomuch that soon after it came to be the general talk of this City, that what had caused that great silence of Melicrates, was, that he would not discover a seceet appointment there had been between him and Artelisa. This beauty, hearing at last what was said of her, resolved to tell what really passed, and consequently to make appear the great expression of affection she had received from Melicrates. Artelisa spoke this so freely, and Melicrates seconded it with such prudence, that Artelisa being known to be a virtuous person, all her Lovers, except Caliantes, believed the thing had passed as she said; nor indeed could it be much doubted of, for the Letters that had passed between Artelisa and Melicrates, were very pregnant proofs of it.  
Upon this there arose no small difficulty, viz. to know whether of these four Lovers had made the greatest expression of Love to Artelisa; whether Caliantes, who being of a magnificent and liberal nature, was content to embrace poverty for her sake; or Alcimedes, who being a Lover of life and its enjoyments, would through an excess of love kill himself; or Lisydas, a person of great understanding, who had fallen mad through the violence of his passion; or Melicrates, who being a passionate lover of Glory, had consented to the loss of his own, rather than prejudice the reputation of his Mistress. Artelisa was just then come to the age she would be of e'er she married, for this adventure had lasted to the twentieth year of her age. So that her Mother and the rest of her friends, pressed her to make choice of the person she intended to marry. The Prince of Eryx would also have her to declare, to prevent what misfortune might happen between four persons of equal worth, with any in the world. Add to this, that these Lovers being inclined to do only what was just, notwithstanding their love, every one thought he had many reasons to allege to Artelisa, so that their mutual hatred being smothered by an excess of generosity, the Princess Clarinta, who was to arbitrate this great difference, endeavoured to find out some expedient, whereby this adventure might come to a period without any mischief done. She there fore so managed the business, that these four Lovers promised to submit to Artelisa's Will, so as that the unfortunate should not quarrel with him that were chosen, provided that, before hand, in the presence of persons that were able to advise, they might produce their reasons, to prove every one the greatness of his affection; for I had forgot to tell you that Artelisa had declared, that she would bestow herself on him, from whom she had received the greatest expression of love. But the Princess Clarinta, fearing that if they spoke themselves, they would be exasperated one against another, made them consent every one to choose a friend, to speak their reasons for them, before those that were to advise Artelisa. She also made them swear, that assoon as the choice were over, those that were not chosen should leave Eryx for six months, and should not so much as take their leave of Artelisa.  
All these Articles being agreed on, the Princess assembled together all those persons whom she thought competent judges in such a case, and the four Lovers made choice of those that were to speak for them. Teramus was one of the first invited to this famous consistory; a person of great worth, called Meriander, who was come from Syracuse to Eryx, was also entreated to be there; the solitary Merigenes quitted his wilderness to the same end; and Clarinta would needs have them stay one day for an illustrious friend of hers, whom I must give you a character of: for having made you acquainted with all the persons of worth at Eryx, it is but just I give you the knowledge of him, I am to speak to you of, since he was one of my friends judges.  
Know then that this generous friend of Clarinta's is called Anaximenes, a person of extraordinary merit. He is well born, and comes of a House blessed with an Estate sufficient to satisfy a wise man, and yet it may be said, it is a thousand times less than he deserves. Anaximenes is tall, hath an Oval countenance, a dark hair, a delicate but pale complexion, somewhat a great mouth, a well proportioned nose, eyes black, large, and full of fire, Yet is his deportment grave enough, though his eyes do many times betray an obliging smile. For his understanding, it requires more knowledge than I have to define it well. For not to mention the great prodigality of Nature towards him in that particular, he hath improved it strangely. He hath not only learned whatever the Greeks knew, but also whatever the Chaldeans, the Babylonians, and the Egyptians, have communicated to others. So that whatever the most learned, as well ancient as modern, knew separately, he hath united in himself. Thence is it, that he is consulted upon the most obscure passages of Hesiod and Homer, and what from Greece, where the Disciples of the seven Wise men do yet flourish; what from Crotona and Metapont, where live those of Pythagoras, he constantly receives Letters from those learned persons with whom he holds correspondence. For the Tongues, he hath an admirable command of four, not reckoning his own, and writes Verses in all those four, as well as in his own natural language. He hath also writ divers pieces in Prose, full of excellent knowledge; and what ever is noble in Poesy, or curious in point of Letters, he is absolute master of.  
But though Anaximenes be a very knowing person, and his company much courted by all the Lovers and professors of Learning; yet is it not to be imagined, that he sees no other people; no, his acquaintance spreads, not only into that of Queens, Princes, Princesses, and Ministers of State, but also into that of all the Gallants about the Court, and all the Beauties without any exception; for to speak freely, he is no less a lover of the Ladies than of the Muses; and what makes for his advantage is, that they have an infinite esteem for him, and that he never had any violent love for any one of them, but she became his very familiar friend. For when he loves he does it with violence, nay, he hath the gift of shedding passionate tears, which all Lovers have not, and he is the most generous Lover in the world. 'Tis true, he cannot endure to love all his life-time to no purpose; and what is most particular in his love, is, that sometimes an ordinary passion cures him of a great one, that he can afterwards resume his former chains, without breaking his second, that he can cease loving, yet not hate, and that his love is many times changed into friendship.  
Anaximenes is not to be numbered among those people that have friends only for themselves, for though he hath a great interest in all those that have any in the Court of Eryx, yet does he not make any advantage of it himself, save that of serving others. He is perpetually doing good offices for some or other, and the world affords not a person that takes greater pleasure in obliging such of any worth as are unfortunate, than he does. Nor does he think it enough to serve such with his credit, as he thinks stand in need thereof, but his own estate lies as open to his friends, as himself, and these things he does as freely, as if fortune had given him security, he should never want any thing. And for the interest he hath with great ones, he gets it not by base sycophancy; on the contrary, he speaks sincerely, and courageously to those whom he deals with; and discovers a greater heart in giving a faithful advice, than others do in those actions that make most noise. His virtue is not uncivilised, or scrupulous, he injures no man, nay, endeavours not the prejudice of his enemies; his behaviour is innocent, all his inclinations generous; he loves glory, yet does not admit ambition; and to define him in few words, he hath the knowledge of a Grecian, the heart of a Roman, and a soul as amorous, as if he had been born in afric.  
Anaximenes, being such a person as I represent him to you, was one of those that came to the Princess Clarinta's, on the day appointed for Artelisa's four Lovers, to give each of them their reasons, to prove the greatness of their affection. But that so great a difference might receive a period without the fear of any unhappy consequence, they caused the four Lovers solemnly to swear that they would exactly observe the engagement that they had made, not to raise any quarrel about the choice after it was once made, and to leave Eryx the same day. For my own particular, in regard I had been long there, and was a friend to all these Lovers, and much favoured by the Princess Clarinta, I was one of those that were to give Artelisa their advice. But at last, the day being set, and Artelisa come to the Princess Clarinta's Palace, where four very understanding Ladies, chosen by her, with the consent of the four Lovers, being come, Meriander, Teramus, Anaximenes, Merigenes, three others, and myself, met them there. Clarinta would have the business debated in a spacious Closet, wainscotted in the roof, that had all about it many Cabinets, full of things, curious and magnificent. The Princess lay on a little Bed of State, all the Ladies sat on cushions, and the men either stood or half kneeled by the Ladies, upon a large piece of Tapestry which took up half of the Closet. For the four Lovers, they were with the Prince; Clarinta not thinking it fit they should hear what was said against them one after another, lest it might exasperate them: Nay, they drew lots who should speak first of those that were to plead for them. So it happened, that Alcimedes' friend should begin, Caliantes should be the second, Lisydas' next, and Melicrates' last. Clarinta did further oblige those that were to speak, to address their speech to Artelisa, whose thoughts were then in no small disturbance. When all had taken their places, Alcimedes' friend, who was to speak for him, was called, who having made a low reverence, and received Clarinta's order, spoke to the fair Artelisa, in these terms.   

ALCIMEDES 's Plea.  
THe cause I am to defend is so just, Madam, that were I not satisfied, that it is impossible for a man to love without hope, I should charge the illustrious persons, whom your merit hath made your servants, with a carriage very irrational. For, Madam, can any of them compare what they have done for the discovery and expression of their affection, with that which Alcimedes hath? Caliantes, it must be confessed, hath done a generous action, in resolving to lose his Estate rather than leave you; but when all is done, Madam, a man may imagine, if he please, his resolution to continue still at Eryx, proceeded from a certain confidence, that his Father could not be so rigorous as to disinherit him, merely because he was in love with one of the most excellent persons in the world. And when it was done, it was no extraordinary prudence in him to bear his misfortune with constancy, and to oblige you to think he deserved well at your hands. But, be it supposed, that he should be willing to lose all for your sake, yet cannot matter of fortune be compared to life, which Alcimedes was content to cast away out of an excess of love. For Lisydas, whom grief deprived of reason, I must confess, I am so much the further to seek, why he should presume to contend with Alcimedes, for we never recompense any actions, but the voluntary. And if that be granted, what pretence hath he to stand so much upon the misfortune that is happened to him, when it is evident that it happened to him against his will? Besides, it may haply be attributed as much to the weakness of his constitution, as to the greatness of his love; But for Alcimedes, when he gave himself a stab with a Poniard, it was his desire and set purpose to do it; his Will guided his Hand, and Love forced his Will, so that the merit of his action is out of all controversy. For Melicrates, I must acknowledge he hath done a thing very obliging, in being content to be unjustly accused, rather than to give the least occasion that you should be unjustly suspected. But, all considered, this action, which at first sight seems so, is not so glorious as is imagined; for Melicrates having committed a fault, in coming to your Garden without your knowledge, had it been just in him to prejudice your reputation, or was it any more than fit that he should bear the burden and punishment of his own crime? Besides, Madam, while he made you this expression of his Love, he wanted not the satisfaction of knowing himself to be innocent, and that thought him no less; nay, he might be guilty of a further persuasion, that in case you ever thought so well of him as to marry him, it would be easy for you one day to vindicate him. But for Alcimedes, Madam, his very resolution to die, amounts to this, that in you he placed his Estate, his Reason, his Glory, and all things, since you had no sooner forbidden him to hope, but he inferred he had no longer to live. But it may be objected, that Alcimedes is a person crushed with the troubles of life, one that looks on life as a thing indifferent, and is not acquainted with the enjoyments thereof. On the contrary, Madam, you know him to be a lover of life, a man born to joy, and studies all the entertainments that may be had; and yet four words, disdainfully pronounced, have caused a dissolution of all the engagements he had to cherish life, and forced him to die for your sake, in the most amorous manner that a Lover could be induced to die in. Had he died to do you some service, he might have found some satisfaction in dying; but to be content to die, without the least hope of being so much as pitied, is the highest expression of affection that can be given: for it must needs be, that Alcimedes, at the very instant that he was first transported by despair, was persuaded he could not live without you, that he could never cease loving you, that it was not in the power of time to ease him, that the earth afforded not any thing could satisfy him, and that only death could mitigate the torments love had put him into. Let not then Caliantes make any further comparison between what he hath done, and what Alcimedes hath; for a man may slight the goods of Fortune out of a thousand considerations, less forcible than that of love. Let Lisydas quit his claim, since that a simple melancholy vapour, without any cause of affliction, may put a man to the loss of his Reason. And let not Melicrates boast so much of the sacrifice he hath made of his reputation, since he only engaged a thing, which he might one day recover, whereas Alcimedes hath been willing to lose for your sake, what can never be either recovered or recalled again. Let your judgement then, Madam, be given in his favour, who is the most amorous of those that adore you; and I beseech you to consider how dangerous it were to hazard a second time, the life of a person so considerable as Alcimedes.  
When Alcimedes 's friend had given over speaking, the whole Company fixed their eyes on Artelisa, to see by her countenance, what impression this discourse had made in her heart. But there being an order made, that none should speak till the four friends of the unfortunate Lovers had given in their reasons, no body spoke, only Teramus whispered some pleasant things to Clarinta; which done, he who was to maintain the cause of Caliantes, spoke thus,   

CALIANTES 's Plea.  
I Must confess, Madam, that the person who hath spoken for Alcimedes, hath very pertinently urged all that could be said to weaken the pretences of Lisydas and Melicrates, insomuch that I have not any thing to add to what he hath said against them. But I must withal make it appear to you, that he hath not spoken with the same force against Caliantes; and that he hath not so much proved the right of Alcimedes, as discovered the unjust pretences of two of his Rivals. To discover this truth, I am to let you understand, that to judge aright of the merit of an action, a man ought sometimes to consider all those that have preceded it, nay, many times those that follow it. For I lay down this as an infallible rule, that there is no man in the world so wicked, whose life affords not some one action that might give men occasion to think he might be virtuous, if there were no more known of him: as also that there are few people so innocent, in whose lives there may not some action be found, which being stripped of all those circumstances that might render it innocent, or excusable, might not give some occasion to think them less virtuous than they are. Let not therefore Alcimedes pretend, that we ought to measure the greatness of his love by one single action of his life, and that, an action proceeding rather from indignation than love; and is more likely to argue the despair of a voluptuous person, exasperated at the loss of his pleasures, than a Lover afflicted as the cruelty of his Mistress. I shall not deny, but Alcimedes loves life, and that he discovers no less by his courting of all the enjoyments thereof, but shall not grant that he loves you as much as Caliantes does, whose affliction hath appeared without interest from the first beginning thereof to the end; Alcimedes was willing enough to live for your sake, while he looked on you as a person that might prove the means of his felicity; but it no sooner came into his thoughts, that you had destroyed his pleasures, by eluding his hope, but he abhors himself, and by a violent motion, to which true passion does not contribute any thing, he would needs die, not knowing precisely why he should live no longer. Add to this, that death is not a thing so terrible as it is imagined, and it is evident from thousands of examples, that Love is not the most ordinary cause thereof, in the hearts of desperate persons. There are some that rush upon it of themselves, for fear of receiving if from the hands of their enemies; others to avoid being well treated by them; others to prevent the inconveniencies of old age; others out of a fear of abating any thing of their enjoyments; and others out of an irrational melancholy, which makes them hate life. But for Caliantes, if we consider all he hath done for you, since he fell in love with you; we shall find, that in being content to embrace poverty for your sake, he hath done the greatest and most heroic action that ever Lover did. For you know, Madam, that when he first directed his affections to you, he was prodigiously rich, and prodigiously liberal; and yet rather than want your sight, he suffers all to be taken from him, he hath no further employment for a virtue, wherein he placed his greatest satisfaction; he puts himself into a condition of ask, rather than giving; and while he does this, he declares to you, that he will love you eternally, even without any hope: for you know, that as soon as he fell into misfortune, he plainly told you, he would not be so irrational, as to be guilty of a wish to see you engaged in his fortunes. Accordingly hath he undergone his misfortune with no less constancy than love, till such time as the gods having bestowed on him more than he had l●st, have put him into a condition to discover his passion to you, by readmitting hope into his heart. Judge then, Madam, what recompense that man deserves, who hath voluntarily lost his fortune, though he could not lose it, without the loss of all the hopes of happiness, who in his misfortune hath preserved his passion without any interest, and who in his good fortune makes a new sacrifice of his heart to you. You see, Madam, that Caliantes hath done something for you more noble than to kill himself. For grief is a resentment, much more tender than indignation. You also perceive that the loss of reason is not so great an exprission of love, as for a man to have employed his reason to do an action that speaks a great generosity, and withal, a great passion; and for what concerns Melicrates, the sacrifice he hath made of his reputation, is not so considerable as what Caliantes hath done. For Melicrates hath done nothing against any one, when he was content to be suspected; but Caliantes not only loses his fortune, but disobeys a Father, and consequently does an unjust thing, which he never had done, had he not loved you, as much as it is possible to love any one. So that, Madam, if you consider what went before, and what followed Caliantes' action, you will find that he hath expressed more love to you than all his Rivals, and consequently deserves to be preferred before them. Be not therefore dazzled with actions seemingly glorious, which truly considered, argue less true love, and less generosity than that of my friend; and I beseech you, bethink yourself, whether a magnificent and liberal person, who became poor for your sake, and being grown rich again, would bestow all on you, deserves not your heart before any other.  
Caliantes 's Advocate had no sooner given over speaking, but he that was to plead for Lisydas, assumed the discourse in this manner.   

LISYDAS 's Plea.  
I Know not, Madam, whether the friendship I have for Lisydas, makes me partial, but am persuaded that none of his Rivals have so much right to your affection as he. For to speak rationally, the heart of a fair Lady can never be more justly bestowed, than when it is bestowed on the most unfortunate, conditionally he be the most amorous, and be otherwise a person that knows how to value her love: for I must confess, that love without desert, gives not any man a lawful right to pretend to the possession of an excellent Lady's heart. This granted, Madam, must it not be withal acknowledged, that Lisydas deserves your affection much beyond any of his Rivals? He hath loved you ever since you were a fit object of love, that is, ever since you were in the world. Nay, he hath had some ground to hope he should not be slighted; he hath seen the new victories you have gained without quitting that hope; and though you have not in a manner done any thing for him, yet hath he served you with extraordinary respect, without any complaints or repining. But when you took away the hope he was in, you took away withal his reason, and through an excess of love, to which nothing can be compared; we find that your power over him, is equal to that of the gods, who only can give and take away their reason from them. In so much, that to make it appear, you were absolute Mistress of his destiny, You no sooner looked kindly on him, but he recovered the use es his reason; and men have seen again in Lisydas, that great and divertive mind, which hath got him the love and esteem of all that know him. To sit down quietly with the loss of an estate, there needs no more than generosity; for a man to give himself a stab with a Poniard, there needs only a minute of fury, which he reputes him of a quarter of an hour after; for a man to expose his reputation, he needs do no more than set himself above what the world can say of him: but for a man to lose his reason, upon the hearing of four scornful words, argues him to be the most amorous of men, and consequently the most worthy to be loved; For all considered, this strange accident could not possibly have happened to Lisydas, any otherwise than through an excessive grief, which could proceed from no other cause, than the passion he hath for you: Be pleased then, Madam, to make serious reflections on the power you have over him, and thence, I beseech you, consider, what affliction it must needs be to you, if your cruelty should force him to a relapse into that misfortune, out of which you have delivered him by a seeming kindness. For Caliantes, he was able to live without hope while he was poor. Alcimedes' being cured of his wound, will not offer to kill himself a second time, and to prevent it, you need do no more than forbid him to do so. But for Lisydas, Madam, he must infallibly lose either his reason or his life, if you do him not justice. Make choice then of the most unfortunate, since he is the most amorous, and is a person of that worth, that he deserves you. 'Twere a horrid injustice in you, to reproach him with a misfortune, which you had been the occasion of; and it were as strange a cruelty to expose him to a relapse, after you had once recovered him. For to what end have you restored his reason, if you intent not to make him happy? Think on him, Madam, think on him, but let it be with a mixture of equity and generosity, if you would not run the hazard of being charged at the same time with injustice and inhumanity.  
Whereupon Melicrates 's friend advancing, and he who had spoke last, resigning his place to him, began his discourse thus;   

MELICRATES's Plea.  
THose things which happen seldom, Madam, do certainly require our consideration after a very particular manner, and what ordinarily happens, never causes much admiration. Hence is it I must confess, that I can without any manner of astonishment, speak of what is happened to Alcimedes, Caliantes, and Lisydas, because there are a many examples of their adventures. Divers Lovers have lost their reason, through aresentment of grief; many have loved without interest, and not a few have endeavoured to die out of despair; but never any Lover besides Melicrates, hath been content to expose his reputation, out of a pure sentiment of Love. I beseech you, Madam, do but imagine you see Melicrates, a person infinitely respecting his reputation, full of honour and noble worth, content to be accused of an Assassinate, the basest and most horrid of all crimes, rather than give the least ground of suspicion, that you had any kindness for him, and I am confident your own heart will prove his Advocate, and will not be able to resist his Love. For were it just to stick at a thing so easy to be resolved on? for to say something of the several actions of these Lovers, according to ordinary reason, he who sacrifices his life, does an action that is more difficult, that what he does who only loses an Estate; he who loses his reason out of an excess of Love, seems to pretend to something that is more proper to demonstrate the greatness of his passion, than he that would kill himself; but he that is content to lose his honour, does questionless much more than he who loses his estate, than who loses his life, and than he who loses his reason. But what makes the main difference between him and his Rivals, is, that the actions whereby they pretend to discover the greatness of their love, are not purely voluntary, as Caliantes 's friend hath well observed; for when the Father of that Lover disinherited him, it was far from Caliantes to desire any such thing; Alcimedes giving himself a stab with a Poniard, wanted the freedom of his Will, his fury being at that time the absolute Mistress of it, and be knew not haply what he did: and for Lisydas, 'tis out of all question, he would not have chosen extravagance, to give his Mistress an assurance of his affection, had it depended merely on his Will. But for Melicrates, he willingly took upon him the shame of a lewd action, out of a scrupulous sentiment of love: for in fine, without doing any thing against the respect he ought you, he might have justified himself since he needed no more than to say, that without your knowledge he is come to your house. But he very well imagining that the world would not have believed the relation he might have made of the business, chose rather, out of an unparallelled generosity, to suffer himself to be accused, than to expose you to the suspicion of having given him a meeting. So that, the violent passion he hath ever had for glory, notwithstanding, he was satisfied to have only you, of the world, conscious of his innocence, Nay, he thought it indeed some satisfaction to make you so great a sacrifice, and one so particular, that I dare affirm there never was the like, as I said before. To be short, if you well consider this action, you will find it much more hard to do, than it seems to be at first sight●. How hard a thing do you conceit it must needs have been to Melicrates, to lose the esteem of his Rivals, had he not infinitely loved you. You are haply surprised at this manner of speaking, yet can I not but account it rational. For it is certain, that whoever hath a great and noble heart, is in a manner no less desirous of the esteem of his Rivals, than of his Mistress, though it proceeded from different sentiments. In a word, Madam, What Melicrares hath done for you, is so great, and so heroic, that it in some sort derogates from the justice of his cause, to use so many words, so weak as mine are, to maintain it. Be pleased then only to remember, Madam, that he having lost his reputation for your sake, you will infallibly lose yours, if you prefer any of his Rivals before him.  
As soon as he who had pleaded for Melicrates, had given over speaking, the Princess Clarinta commanded him, and the other three who had apologized for the other three Lovers, to withdraw. Which done, she asked the company what they thought of the business, enjoining all those that had heard the reasons of the four Lovers, to give Artelisa faithful advice, whose thoughts no doubt were not over-quiet. For Teramus, he declared for him who was content to lose his Estate; Meriander for Lisydas, Anaximenes for Alcimedes, Merigenes for Melicrates, for whom I was also myself; there were some others of our side as well as the Ladies; and the business grew so hot, that it begat a new dispute amongst us, much more earnest than the other, for every one would maintain his own opinion. For my part, says Teramus, at last, smiling, I know but one raional expedient, whereby to detemine this so great a difference, and withal, to give Artelisa good counsel. All thronging together to hear what this expedient should be; 'tis this, said he, that the fair Artelisa discarding these four Lovers, should pitch upon a fifth. This advice indeed is like yourself, replies Clarinta, smiling, but Artelisa, if she will be ruled by me, will not follow it, and yet I must confess, I am very much troubled what to advise her to, for poor Caliantes, who is so generous I cannot but pity; Alcimedes, a person of so much worth, and of a disposition so violent, raises in me both a compassion and a fear for him; Lisydas I am also extremely troubled for; Melicrates hath done an action so noble, that I shall have much ado to suffer he should be unfortunate, and if I am not mistaken, Artelisa will be as much to seek in the business as I am. I must confess it, Madam, replied she, but to speak sincerely, I am one of the most unfortunate persons in the world, to be the occasion that so many excellent persons must be unfortunate: But, it were not amiss, says Anaximenes, after we have examined whether of these four Lovers love Artelisa best, to know of Artelisa which she loves best; for being all four very excellent persons, and pretending an equal claim to her love, I conceive that her inclination ought to be judge of this grand controversy. You speak very well, says the Princess Clarinta, and since Artelisa, hath heard all that may fortify or weaken her inclinations, 'tis only she that can decide this great business.  
At this was that excellent Virgin extremely troubled, she reflected a little while on what she was to do, she blushed, and discovered in her countenance all the expressions of a violent disturbance; then at last resolving of a sudden, since I must clearly express myself, said she, and that I find more people of the side my heart is secretly inclined to, than of any other, I declare, That I shall think myself eternally obliged to Caliantes; that it is with abundance of regret I see Alcimedes unfortunate; that I am troubled for poor Lisydas; and that I make choice of Melicrates.  
This sentence being pronounced, the contestation vanished, and all that was to be done, was to engage the three unfortunate Lovers to observe their words, that so no quarrel might happen between the happy and miserable. The Princess Clarinta with her ordinary prudence, went to acquaint the unfortunate with their misfortune, and Melicrates with his happiness; and this she did so ingeniously, that the respect they bore her, hindered them from breaking forth into violence before her. Caliantes seemed to be extremely afflicted, yet was it a grief that discovered divers expressions of constancy. Alcimedes betrayed more violence in his despair; and Lisydas was so overwhelmed by his, that he had not the power to speak one word: however, they desired the favour to take their leave of Artelisa, and to hear their sentence from her mouth; but the Prince and Princess made them let fall that suit, and obliging to leave Eryx, Clarinta recommended them to Merigenes, who the same day took them along with him to his Wilderness. Now to show that an equality of misfortune does sometimes unite the most implacable enemies; These three Rivals hated one the other no longer, and Caliantes, who had been an ancient friend of Melicrates', would not see him after he had been chosen by Artelisa.  
I shall not make it my business to aggravate the affliction of these three Lovers to you, and shall only tell you, that had it not been for the advice of Merigenes, and his illustrious friend, whom I told you of before, they had taken some more violent resolution than what they now have. Nor shall I give you any account of the magnificences of Artelisa's Nuptials, or the satisfaction of Melicrates; for according to the humour I then was, and still am of, I sought out the miserable rather than the happy, as such whose fortunes were more suitable to my own. I therefore thought it fitter to embrace affliction with the unfortunate, than to enjoy myself with the fortunate, whence it came, that these three Lovers were purposely recommended to me and Merigenes, to have a more careful eye over them.  
Now as things stood thus, the greatest news that was in Sicily, being of the great action Brutus had done, Tarquin's being forced away, Rome's liberty, and the War then breaking forth, I took a resolution to come and die for my Country, and have prevailed with these three illustrious but unfortunate persons, to come and seek their recovery in serving Rome. They made me answer, that they would never seek after that which they knew they should never find, but were content to come and meet with death in Brutus' Army; and accordingly some few days after, we left the solitary Merigenes in his pleasant Wilderness, and took our way towards Rome, whither we came in the manner you saw  
Aemilius concluding his relation, left in the hearts of those that heard it, a violent desire to comfort those three unfortunate Lovers, whose valour had given them so much admiration, and whose misfortune so much pity. Amilcar said, that he would endeavour their recovery, and that till than he had never met with any melancholy that was incurable. The reason is, replies Octavius, that you have ever had friends of your own humour; but for my part, I am persuaded, there are those afflictions that cannot be cured. Horatius was of the same opinion, as also Herminius and Aemilius; yet all agreed, that there was not any which might not admit some alleviation. Hereupon it proving fair weather, they went all together to Brutus' Tent, to see if there were any Orders for them. They found Valerius there, and that it was to be debated how they should set upon the enemy, according to the account Brutus gave of them, who had taken a view of them: for this generous Consul had put it out of all debate, whether they should be assaulted or not. But as his judgement commonly concluded all consultations, whatever he proposed was approved; and he gave out all necessary Orders for the carrying on of the assault that had been agreed upon: and that the Soldiery might be the better prepared, three hours were assigned to rest; and Brutus himself, though with no hope to sleep, yet cast himself on his Bed, his imaginations being then wholly taken up with the liberty of Rome, the revenge of Lucretia, and an extraordinory desire to overcome. At first these reflections permitted him not to close his eyes, but at last a weak slumber laying all his senses asleep, and chaining up his reason, lest only his imagination at liberty. He had hardly closed his eyes, but represented it to him the admirable Lucretia, but so beautiful and so amiable, that he had never seen her so prepared to conquer hearts. He thought he was going towards Lucretia, who reaching forth her hand, said these words to him; You shall overcome, Brutus, you shall overcome; Rome shall be free, I shall be revenged, and we shall be eternally together; At which Brutus conceived such an excessive joy, that it awaked him, and cruelly dispersed that pleasant Idea, which a favourable dream had made him see. Then was he troubled his slumber had been so short; yet was not sorry he had enjoyed, though but for one minute, an object so delightful to him. But though there were hardly a man in Rome that gave less credit than Brutus, to good or ill presages, yet could he not but entertain some hopes of some overcoming from what had happened to him. Nay, he gave no fatal interpretation to the last words of Lucretia; so that not hoping to sleep any more, he called up his people, put on his Armour, and issuing out all necessary Orders, the Army went out of the Camp at the hour appointed for the assault.  
But that you may the better comprehend how great an attempt this of Brutus was, you are precisely to know what kind of post the enemy was in. The Castle of Arsia was situated at the foot of those mountains of the Forest, whence it hath its name, but extending themselves in a manner equally on both the right and left hand, they made a kind of a Crescent, in the midst whereof was a spacious Plain, which had on the one side high mountains, and on the other a fenny Wood, which made it almost inaccessible. Yet was there one place, through which it was impossible to come to Tarquin's Camp; but it being necessary to pass along the extremity of a Mountain that commands the whole Plain, it was a dangerous course to take; for the Plain was crossed by a little Rivulet, which having made divers turns along the Wood, falls into it, is swallowed up into it of a sudden, and then falls into the neck of a Mountain, which lies on the left hand of a Castle of Arsia.  
Tarquin, being posted in a place so well fortified by nature, had made all the advantages of it, that a great Captain could: for making Art and Nature combine together, he had added Trenches to a situation so strong of itself. So that a man well versed in matters of War, could not conceive it other than a rash attempt to force him, especially his Army being as numerous as that of Brutus. Besides, he had disposed his Camp along the little Rivulet I spoke of, behind which he had raised a Trench; and had taken such order that his Camp was inaccessible every way, what by the Rivulet that secured it, what by the Trench which made that yet more strong, what by the Wood, and what by the Fenn which could not be passed through. The only place where they could set upon a post so fortified by Art and Nature, was the high way from Rome to the Castle of Arsia, which was as I told you, passed by the foot of the Mountain, which seemed to be inaccessible: yet was there a necessity to master it, before they could so much as approach Tarquin's Camp. Nor had that Prince, who knew the consequence of it, neglected to put it into such a condition, that it could not be forced. To that end had he raised a Fort upon the descent of the Mountain, which looked towards the Plain, and had placed therein Machine's, and people to manage them to defend it. From this Fort had he drawn a Line all along the Wood, up to the top of a Mountain, to a place so strong of itself, that men could not go it up. This Line was further made good by little Forts which he had raised at certain distances; and to make this Post somewhat stronger yet on that side, he felled a great number of Trees, which oast confusedly one upon another, and the boughs half cut off, and twining together, made a greater obstacle than a Wall could have done. There was yet another place which afforded a small passage between two Mountains, but it being six or seven miles about to go to it, and to do that, there was a necessity of passing through places which Brutus could not possibly have any acquaintance with; and that besides, a great River fortified that place without any farther trouble. Tarquin thought it sufficient to fell down a many Trees to make the access the more difficult. Add to this, that the gross of his Army lying on that side, he never feared being set upon that way. To be short, his Camp lay so advantageously, and be had so well improved what nature had offered him, that it was not without reason that he thought it inexpugnable. But Brutus was absolutely resolved to give him an assault; and to that end would needs in the first place attempt the line that was on the top of the Mountain, leaving the fort on the left hand, to take in the little Forts by which it was made good, for by that means mastering the ascent that commanded the other places, it would have been more easy to take in the Fort, and so come to a Battle in Tarquin's Camp. For Valerius, it was his business to set upon that great fortification of Trees, which secured the valley I told you of. So that Brutus was in hope that these two several assaults would oblige Tarquin to divide his forces, and consequently, that it would be more easy to overcome him; nay, that if he once gave way, it would be hard for him to avoid a total defeat; for that Brutus falling upon him from the Mountain, and Valerius possessing himself of the plain, he could not any way escape.  
To put this so great a design in execution, Valerius, with the body under his command, departed earlier than Brutus, because he was to go a great way about, and that having resolved to make the assault at the same time, it was not thought fit Brutus should appear too soon before the enemy. In the mean time, this illustrious Consul issued out such orders as were necessary for those Forces that were to be engaged in the assault he was to make. Octavius with his party was commanded to make the first onset; and Mutius commanding the same number of men, was ordered to relieve him, Brutus reserving two Battalions to be disposed of as need should require. For the Infantry, it consisted only of six battalions, of the first and second legion. The noblest souls, who had no particular command in this assault, were all about Brutus, except Horatius and Spurius, and some others that were with Valerius, for as to Themistus, Meleagenes, Aemilius, Persander, Herminius, Amilcar, Caliantes, Alcimedes and Lisydas, they were all about the first Consul. The place through which they were to go to the fight, was in a manner inaccessible; for there was a necessity of going up through a Vineyard that was digged up in divers places, and had at certain distances walls made Terrass-wise, to keep up the earth in a place so much digged up.  
Yet could not all these several obstacles hinder, but the great Brutus was still in hope to overcome, and the image of Lucretia taking up all his thoughts he felt within him a certain assurance which permitted him not to hear any thing that reason suggested of the difficulty of the attempt. He therefore gave the first orders for the assault, but with such a noble and majestic countenance, that it might have been said he was confident of victory. So that these forces with incredible violence, began that dangerous assault. They get up the Vineyard, though with abundance of difficulty, they courageously and impetuously break through the felled Trees, notwithstanding the darts of the enemies. But not able to do this great action without some disorder, by reason of the Trees, as also that the enemy made good their ground, they had much ado to rally after they had passed the felled Trees. On the other side, Sextus, a person of more gallantry than virtue, who commanded that place, coming up with a Body that had not been broken, gave a check to the forces of Brutus. Yet did they not give back, but quiting the hopes of Victory, they advanced not any farther.  
In the mean time, Brutus, who out of the several desires of revenge, the liberty of his Country, and the love of Glory, would needs have a part in all that related to that dangerous attempt, comes up to see what had been the success of that first assault. But he was much surprised to see that his people had not forced the Trench; that Octavius and Mutius do what they could, were not able to make them advance, and that the mere respect they had for their leaders, hindered them from running away. Brutus much troubled at so unhappy a beginning, took a sudden and gallant resolution; yet was it a thing hard to comprehend how greater matters could be done by an equal number, than the former forces had been able to do, whereof there was not then any likelihood of making any advantage. So that looking on them as a sort of people absolutely unserviceable, it could not well be hoped that they should force such as were stronger than themselves in number, out of so advantageous a Post. But on the other side, Brutus saw that if he retreated, he forsook the forces that had passed the felled Trees; that he lost the glory of the day; that he must expect the shame of having suffered half his forces to be destroyed without relief; and that this first ill success might hinder the revenge of Lucretia, and the liberty of Rome, as such as should dishearten his own Legions, and fill the Forces of Tarquin with hope and courage. So that love, hatred, revenge, and glory, quickening his resolutions in so pressing an emergency; after he had in an instant seen all I have told you, and well considered the difficulty of the attempt, and the shame of a retreat, he resolved on a sudden to take the more glorious way imagining in that extremity, that he could not overcome such great obstacles, but merely by the greatness of his own courage, and that it concerned his valour rather than his prudence to rescue him out of so great danger.  
This resolution fixed upon, he alights, and puts himself in the head of the foot he had left. All the general Officers, all the Soldiers of fortune I have named to you, did the like, whereupon the generous Lover of Lucretia marched with an heroic violence straight to the enemy's Trench. But he came up to it with such a noble confidence, that it made an impression in the hearts of all those that followed him, and the example of so prodigious a valour, raised so much joy in the forces that observed it, that the fear of death was to be found only among the enemies. All the Soldiery put the Victory out of all dispute, and they looked on those they were to fight with, as people already overcome. For as soon as they saw Brutus, attended by his illustrious friends, courageously passing through the felled Trees with his sword drawn, the only strife was, who should get through first. All made such haste, that it might be said, that some great prize waited for them beyond the Trees, and so running tumultuously upon the enemy's Trench, their disorder and confusion got them the Victory sooner than if they had fought discreetly. The enemy made good their ground very gallantly, but how could they long oppose the valour of a Brutus, attended by so many gallant persons, whom love, jealousy and despair, endued with new valour that made them invincible. So that Tarquin's forces not able to withstand so sharp an encounter gave back, and fought as people frighted, and such as thought their safety consisted in their flight. The night now coming on, being favourable to them, they endeavoured to gain the Wood, and secure themselves there, but Brutus' understanding that Sextus commanded on that side, pursued them with all the violence he could, and having killed a horseman of the enemies, he took his horse, and drove straight to the place where he thought to find Sextus, who was endeavouring to rally his Infantry; for things were in such a tumult, that no order could be observed. Brutus therefore coming up with his sword drawn towards him he thought Tarquin's eldest Son, he at last perceived he was not mistaken. So that fury seizing his thoughts, and the Idea of dying Lucretia filling his imagination, he set upon him with incredible earnestness. Ah Traitor! cried he to him, thou must at last be punished for thy crimes, and thy blood shall be the first spilt for the revenge of Lucretia. Sextus discovering by these words, that it was Brutus that spoke to him, put himself in a posture of defence; so that the engagement that happened between them, proved the most obstinate that can be imagined. Nay, at the first, neither of the parties were sensible of it, for Brutus' friends in the heat of the fight, knew not what was become of him; and Sextus' party being defeated, was run away, and had left him to shift for himself. So that he had no other assistance than that of his own valour to oppose that of Brutus, animated by the most just and most violent hatred that ever was. Whereupon Sextus, notwithstanding his gallantry, was wounded in three places, without so much as touching his enemy. Being in that condition, and fearing nothing so much as to come alive into the hands of that generous Roman, he did all that lay in his power to avoid it; for passing by to get behind Brutus' Horse, and Brutus endeavouring, the same to him, their swords crossed, and that of Sextus broke: Being so disarmed, he put on his horse with all violence, so to make his escape. Brutus perceiving his design, would needs follow him, but being not so well horsed as Sexius, he could not execute his resolution; besides that, the night being come, and Sextus gotten into the Woods, where he found a party of his own that stood, having rallyed together to make the retreat with the less confusion, Brutus was forced to be content with the sight of his enemy's blood, and to have forced him to fly: whereupon he returned to that little Fort which he had so courageously taken in, and into which he got with the first. But being come thither, he found himself in no less danger after he had overcome, than he had been in before to do it; for the enemy was still master of the Fort which was at the foot of the mountain, all his infantry was broken, what by the first assault which had proved ineffectual, what by that wherein he had the advantage, as having been undertaken upon the pursuit of the enemy, so that if Tarquin had then fallen upon him with all his Forces, the conquered might have beaten the conquerors.  
This generous Roman having all his friends about him, did all a great Captain could do: for though the obscurity of the night, and the horror that attends darkness, made both parties equally afraid of surprises, yet did he not neglect any thing that could be done. To that end he commands, he acts, and with a diligence equal to his prudence and valour, he gets his foot together, makes his Horse repass the felled Trees, fortifies the Fort he had taken, and caused a great noise to be made by that military harmony, then in use among the Romans, purposely to let the enemy know, that he was still possessed of the ascents he had gotten, so to put them into the greater fright.  
On the other side Valerius, a valiant and prudent man, had made his assault on the side of that fortification of Trees which defended the valley, which lay between the mountain which was near the Castle of Arsia, and that whence Brutus had forced away the enemy. But Tarquin never imagining he should be assaulted by that way which Brutus took, his main forces were towards the valley So that Valerius meeting with more opposition than he expected, it was not possible for him to force the enemy. However, Horatius behaved himself very gallantly, all which notwithstanding, the whole day and part of the night were spent in fight to no purpose. Valerius no sooner took in any Post, but the enemy forced him out of it again, insomuch, that there was one that had been gained and lost above three several times during the assault.  
In the mean time, Brutus understanding how things stood, prepared with the day to go and facilitate the enterprise of Valerius, by marching along the mountains to set upon Tarquin in his Camp, hoping to force him to turn all his strength against him, and consequently that being engaged on all sides, he might conceive the less hope of escape. For it was unlikely he should make his party good, being set upon two several ways with advantage when he had not been able to avoid being forced into places that seemed inaccessible. So that Brutus expecting with impatience to see the first rays of the Sun, discoursed of the great hopes he was in with his dear friend Herminius, who might well claim a great share of the glory of that day, as well as Themistus, Meleagenes, Aemilius, Caliantes, Alcimedes, and Lisydas, whom their despair had not yet favoured with the death they so much courted. Octavius and Mutius for their parts, did very great things, though the party they commanded did not acquit itself well at first. Persander and Amilcar had done all that gallant men could do, and Brutus having observed the courage of all his friends, conceived so great a hope of the Victory, that he made it unquestionable.  
In the mean time Tarquin thought it his safest course to elude the valour of this generous Roman, or at least to defer his misfortune, and so he changed the place of his defeat. For being in that extremity, and perceiving he would be totally routed, if he gave his enemies the leisure to set upon him in the Post, wherein he then was, he took the advantage of the darkness to change it for another. Yet was it not his design to avoid fight, but only to avoid an assault upon disadvantage. To that end he discamped with incredible diligence, and with such order, and so little noise, that neither Brutus nor Valerius had any notice of his removal; for he had caused a party of his to find Valerius play all the night, the better to elude him, and so made so handsome a retreat, that he left not so much as his baggage behind him. So that at the break of day, Brutus and Valerius were both equally astonished to see Tarquin possessed of an eminent place at a distance, in the midst of a Plain, between two Mountains: Is it possible, O ye gods, protectors of Rome, cries out Brutus, that a Prince so loaden with crimes, should be so prudent and so happy! Whereupon, without losing any further time, he marches on with his forces, finds out Valerius, and, the whole Army being joined, makes towards the enemy, to prevent him from fortifying himself. There lay between both Armies a narrow passage, which would admit but one abreast— but Brutus being persuaded that the liberty of Rome depended on a battle, would not give Tarquin the leisure to put himself into such a posture, as that he could not be forced to fight. On the other side, Tarquin knowing what importance that narrow place was to him, maintained it with a strange obstinacy. The Prince of Pometia and Prince Titus, though ancient friends to the greatest part of their enemies, did things beyond ordinary valour. For Brutus, it cannot be imagined with what earnestness he encouraged his men, as well by words is by example, with what vigour he forced the enemy, and with what courage he was seconded by all the stoutest of his Army. Herminius Aemilius, and Mutius, adding the sentiments of emulation and jealousy, to those of love and glory, did all that Lovers desirous to be recommended by Fame to their Mistress, could do, nay, all that generous Romans could perform. Horatius, out of love and despair did no less; Amilcar expressed abundance of valour; Octavius, the better to prove his birth, fought like a true Roman; and the three Lovers of Artelisa, did as much as can be imagined they could. But these fight without minding hazard or advantage, the unfortunate Lisydas was killed, as they passed the narrow place, which Tarquin was at last forced to quit: so that the fierce Tyrant perceiving he could not avoid an engagement, chose rather so to act, as if he had been desirous to fight. To be short, while a party of his Horse relieved those that made good the narrow place, he had put his battle in array; so that though Brutus should have forced him, yet was it but necessary he kept his men from being too forward, lest that while he pursued those that retreated, Tarquin might set upon him in disorder. He therefore had no sooner viewed the countenance of the enemy, but giving order that the Troops should rally as soon as they were passed through, he arrayed them in sight of the contrary Army; but he did it with such order, that it could hardly be conceived, that those several bodies had passed through the narrow place, after a sharp encounter. Now was the fate of Rome in the power of fortune; the two Armies were in a manner equal as to number, the Commanders valiant, the Sun favoured neither side, the wind was as impartial, and the day was so clear, that Brutus (such a calm was there in his mind) perceived a man on horseback upon a little mountain on the left hand, who seemed as if he had been desirous to avoid the contrary Army, and to make what haste he could to come to his: for he showed him to Herminius, not knowing but that it was some body that was to bring him intelligence, or some Officer of Tarquin's that had deserted his party. Valerius that day commanded the right wing, and Brutus the left; opposite to the former were the Veientines, with Prince Titus in the head of them; for Sextus by reason of his wounds came not into the fight; so that Brutus had to deal with the forces of Tarquinia, commanded by the Prince of Pometia. That generous Prince had done all he could to avoid having to do with the brother of the person he loved; but things being disposed otherwise, by reason of Sextus' wound, he was forced to come against that man, who of all the world was the dearest to Hermilia, excepting himself. For Brutus his thoughts were so taken up with revenge of Lucretia, and the liberty of Rome, that he looked on whatever was in Tarquin's Army, as what he was obliged to destroy. Nor did he appear otherwise in the head of his men, than one whose extraordinary forwardness, seemed to presage a victory to those that looked on him.  
The two Armies being thus in a posture of fight, and so near one the other, that it was impossible but they must come to blows. Brutus, though the weather were very fair, heard a thunderclap on his left hand, which was a happy presage to his Forces; for, according to the observations of the ancient Tuscans, Thunder coming on the left hand of an Army ready to fight, was a sign of victory. Brutus therefore making his advantage of so favourable a disposition, as that he then perceived in his Forces, gave order for the charge, and marched on, and all followed, so that that great body, consisting of so many different parties, being animated by the same spirit, came up without the least disorder, within a Darts cast of the enemy. Tarquin on the other side, being in the head of his main battle, advanced towards Brutus, as Brutus did towards him; The first cast of Darts happened at the same time, so that meeting together and crossing, they did less execution than if they had been cast successively. But when that shower of Darts was over, the fight began with the Cavalry, the right wing, which was Valerius', engaged with that of Prince Titus, and had at first very much the advantage; and that of Brutus with the Prince of Pometia's.  
But Brutus, desirous to show by his own example, how he should slight death that would carry a victory, advanced twenty paces before with his sword drawn, seeming by a threatening action to challenge him that was in the head of the wing that was opposite to him (though some have interpreted it otherwise.) The Prince of Pometia perceiving the eyes of two great Armies to be upon him, turns to a friend of his that knew the affection he bore Hermilia, and listing up his eyes to heaven, May it please the gods, said he to him, that if I cannot overcome without killing Hermilia's Brother, that I may not survive the victory. Whereupon that generous Prince being obliged to do what in point of honour he could not avoid, advanced before his forces, as Brutus did before his. So that they had the glory of exchanging the first blows of that bloody battle. But alas, those blows proved fatal to both, since that by a strange destiny, the wounds they gave one the other, proved both mortal; for at the same time that Brutus violently made towards the Prince of Pometia, he came as eagerly towards him, and meeting together with equal impetuosity, Brutus, as he run his sword through his enemy, run himself upon his, so that they were both seen to fall together, whereupon followed a most cruel fight, between the Tarquinians and the Romans. But to show how predominant the love of Lucretia, and that of his Country was in Brutus' heart; O ye just gods! cried he falling, (as one that was near him hath related since) I die satisfied, so Rome be free, and Lucretia revenged.  
Herminius extremely troubled at this accident, caused the body of his illustrious friend to be brought off, to see whether he were quite dead, which perceiving he was, the indignation he conceived thereat, added very much to his ordinary valour, and made him to do things worthy immortal glory. Aemilius and Mutius did also all that persons of Worth and courage could do; but the soldiery disheartened at the death of Brutus, fought at first but very weakly; insomuch that soon after being unwilling to be commanded by Octavius, Mutius, Herminius, or any of the other Chiefs, they began to give ground, and to run away, and that with such confusion one upon another, that the stoutest were forced to go along with the disordered multitude, who despairing of victory, now that Brutus was dead, would by no means fight it out. It was therefore to no purpose, that Caliantes and Alcimedes endeavoured by their example to rally them again; for having no leader they would confide in, they did only what their fear advised them to.  
In the mean time though the enemy had lost a valiant Prince, but not so considerable among the Tarquinians, as Brutus was among the Romans, yet not despairing of Victory, they sought courageously; besides that, Tarquin heaving of the death of his Son, came in person to the place, so that the Roman Forces being frighted, never was there a more horrid spectacle; for the Tarquinians dispatched all before them, notwithstanding the opposition of Brutus' illustrious friends. So that though Valerius had had the advantage over the left wing of the enemy, yet was the battle in a fair way to be lost, as to the Romans, when that Horseman that Brutus had seen on the Mountain on the left hand, and who was come into the Plain, came with his sword drawn among the Roman forces. At first was it not known whether he were a friend or an enemy; but it was soon discovered; for having observed the terror the Romans were in, and heard a confused report of Brutus' death; whither run you friends, says he to the frighted Soldiers, whither run you? you must be slaves if you turn not upon the enemy, and you shall be free if you revenge Brutus' death; follow me then, and do but what I shall do before you. Some that heard these words, knowing that he that spoke them was Aronces. whom they had seen do such great actions in the Court of Tarquin s Palace, when he endeavoured the deliverance of Glelia, made a halt, and cried out Aronces, Aronces! Herminius, who strove to rally the Soldiers that run away, turning about at those out-cries, perceived that it was indeed the valiant Aronces, who was putting himself into a posture of fight. So that crving out with the rest, Aronces, Aronces, the name passed from mouth to mouth, among those scattered forces, who thereupon looking on that Prince as an envoy from heaven, rallied, put themselves in order, and began to fight with a strange earnestness.  
Aronces, in the first place killed Helius, with whom he had fought before, near Ardaea, and who was one of the chief Commanders of the enemy's Army. What added to his ordinary valour, was, that he saw Octavius do things worthy eternal fame; so that looking on him still as his Rival, he endeavoured to exceed him as much in valour as he thought he did in love. He therefore did things beyond description, because they would seem incredible, for he carried terror with him, wherever he made them feel the weight of his Arm. What was yet further remarkable, was, that his presence might be said to have dissolved that enchantment that lay upon the valour of the Romans. For at his arrival all the Soldiers were running away, and all those that were truly valiant, endeavoured what they could to rally them together. But Aronces appearing, and dispelling that terror, which the death of Brutus had had them into, there was not a coward lest among the Romans. Alcimedes, for his part, did things worthy his great heart, and his despair, but after he had given many their deaths, he received his own from two valiant Tarquinians, that set upon him both at the same time. 'Tis true, he was soon revenged, for Aronces coming to the place, killed one of them, and made the other fly. Caliantes had near miscarried at the same time, but Mutius killed him that should have killed the other. For Themistus, he behaved himself very gallantly; Meleagnes did no less; Amilcar made it appear, that his courage was equal to his wit; and Herminius and Aemilius, fought as Rivals that would surpass Mutius, revenge Brutus, and deliver Rome. Tarquin on the other side managing his business, as a Prince that wanted neither Prudence nor courage, did all he could to preserve the advantage he had gotten at first over the left wing. So that Aronces met with no small difficulty, though the enemy had lost the greatest part of that confidence, which they had conceived at Brutus' death. Valerius, relieved by the valour of Horatius, Spurius, and divers others, lost nothing of what he had gained, yet could he not so manage his advantages, but that the Victory was still disputable. There was not any one body of either Army, that had not been engaged, so that all was full of blood, horror, and death, but especially the place where Aronces was, as being the most dangerous, and that where was the greatest number of both sides killed. At last, night coming on, added to the horror of the day, in regard that neither side being willing to give over, till the victory were completed, the fight continued notwithstanding the darkness. Never was there seen any thing more dismal, than the end of that bloody day; for there being no distinction between friends and enemies, there was a fearful confusion in both Armies. Both good and bad actions were equally obscured by the night, it could be no longer known who fought well, and who did not; and the Romans, who had been inspired with new courage at the sight of Aronces, lost a part of it when they could no longer discern him, Nor was it to any purpose, that some called him, to see if he would answer, for night being come on, he was not seen after, and the last place his voice had been heard in, was that, where Octavius being still fight, was very dangerously wounded by a certain man, who being hurt by another, just as he discharged a blow upon him, left his sword. in his Arm; so that neither Herminius, nor Amilcar, nor Persander, nor any of his other friends spoke to him, nor knew what was become of him. All the hope they had was, that he would be found in the Camp, when they had made their retreat, and so fought on still on their side, as Valerius, Horatius, and the rest did on theirs.  
But as night naturally brings horror with it, and that the objects that appear, seem to be both magnified and multiplied that confused voices seem more terrible and frightful; and, that no order can be observed, a certain terror equally seized both sides, So that Valerius and Tarquin giving out their several orders for a retreat, the Romans disengaged as they could from the Tarquinians and the Veientes, and they in like manner got off as they could from the Romans. The desire of retreating being general in both parties, they both left the field to the dead that covered it, and retired with the fatal imagination of being overcome. For there fell so great a number on both sides, that Victory seemed not to be of either. The Tarquinians bewailed the Prince of Pometia, and the Romans Brutus, as the Father of the Country. In the mean time Herminius, who had taken a care of his body, had sent it to the Camp by certain Soldiers at the beginning of the fight. For Octavius, he had courageously caused the sword which was run through his Arm, to be drawn out by Amilcar, who changed to be near him; nay, Octavius kept it instead of his own that had been broken; whereupon retreating with the rest, he got to the Camp, less troubled for his wounds, which yet was very dangerous, than for Brutus' death.  
Now was it that the Romans were more fully sensible of the loss they had received; for there was so great a number of empty Tents, that it was easily seen the number of the dead was very great. That also of the wounded was such, that there were not people enough to dress them. Aronces was not to be heard of by any, which raised some suspicion he might be dead; Horatius was also to seek, and the death of Brutus was so considerable an accident, that all put together, the consternation was general. Valerius, who knew not for certain what posture the enemy was in, was afraid Tarquin might come and set upon him in his Trenches, to complete the Victory; so that he gave order, that the remainder of his Army, notwithstanding the weariness and the service of the day before, should be in Arms all night; and to give example to others, he went himself round about the Camp. Brutus' body was all this while in the Tent that was his, when living, attended by the same victors who were wont to accompany him, and divers of his friends bewailing him. Octavius after he had been dressed in his Tent, was extremely surprised to find that the sword Amilcar had taken out of his Arm, was not unknown to him, for it was one he had formerly presented Clelius with, and he knew had been afterwards bestowed on Aronces. Amilcar knew it also to be the same, and could not tell what to think of that accident. So that being surprised thereat, they talked of it as a thing they made no secret of, not knowing what to conceive of so odd an adventure, as having not heard how Aronces got out of Tarquinia, or whether it was he that had hurt Octavius, or what was become of him; all they knew was, that when Octavius was hurt, Aronces' voice had been heard very near him, and that afterwards no body knew whither he was gone. For Horatius, some reported he had been heard after the beginning of the retreat, but of that there was no great certainty, and what was out of all doubt was, that he was not to be heard of any more than Aronces; that Brutus was dead, that Lisydas and Alcimedes were so too, that Octavius was dangerously wounded, that a great number, both of the Officery and Soldiery was cut off, and that those that were left were very much disheartened.  
In the mean time, the fear the whole Camp was in, made all think it the less difficulty to watch, there being nothing that so much hinders sleeping. Valerius went round the Camp, as I told you, but it was with the greatest affliction he could be capable of, whether as a generous friend, or true Roman, but by that time he came to that side of the Camp, that looked towards the Forest of Arsia, it might be about an hour before day. Then was it the Empire of Silence, and the Sky being clear, the night was fair enough and quiet enough. So that Valerius making a halt on a little ascent that was on that side, he harkened attentively to hear if there were any noise in the field on the enemy's side. But it was not long e'er he heard what his whole Camp, as also that of Tarquin, heard as well as himself, and what all posterity hath wondered at since; that is, a miraculous voice, which coming out of the bottom of the Forest, with a shrill noise, uttered these words, very intelligibly to both Armies.  
The Romans are victorious, for their enemies have lost one man more than they have, in the battle.  
This voice, which both Armies took for that of the Genius of the place, filled their minds with a deep respect, and a sacred astonishment. There was also seen a bright and sudden lightning, issue out of the place whence it came, that enlightened the whole Horizon on the side of the Roman Camp, so that that miraculous adventure, heightening the courage of the Roman Army, all the Soldiers were so importunate to return to fight, that at the break of day Valerius quitted the Camp, and marched strait to the place where he had left the enemy. But he found him not there, for that prodigious voice having startled Tarquin's Soldiers, he had been forced to discamp in all haste, and to leave his baggage behind him. So that the Roman Army finding the Camp forsaken, enriched itself with the spoils thereof, as victorious Valerius would have pursued the enemy, could he have hoped to overtake him; but thinking it better not to hazard any thing, and to make the advantage of his victory with safety, he forbore all thoughts of it. When therefore the Soldiers had burdened themselves with booty, and that he had caused all the considerable Arms to be taken away, and all the Ensigns, to make his return to Rome the more glorious, he gave order for the funerals of those that died in the field, among whom they found neither Aronces nor Horatius. He took also a particular care for those of Lisydas and Alcimedes, whose bodies Caliantes desired to have, to bestow a Monument on them, wherein he pretended he would be e'er long disposed himself.  
Valerius being returned to his own Camp, heard that Tarquin was retreated towards Veiae, whereupon he sent to Rome the news of his Victory, intending to turn thither the next day to reinforce his Army, and accordingly take new resolutions, as also to bring thither the body of Brutus. He that Valerius sent, being come to Rome, they looked in his countenance, to see whether he brought good news or bad, and when he told them that the Roman Army had overcome, an excessive joy spread itself through all their hearts that heard him; but when he afterwards told them, that the Victory had cost the illustrious Brutus' life, and that he died after he had killed the Prince of Pometia, the joy was turned into grief, and there was such a competition between these two contrary sentiments, that it may be said, that never was victory entertained with so many tears. For Brutus was so generally looked on, as the deliverer of Rome, that if that miraculous voice, that had declared the Roman Army victorious, had not persuaded the people that Brutus would still be their protector after his death, all the satisfaction of the victory would not have appeased them for his loss. The Roman Ladies expressed their particular affliction for his death, for they looked on Brutus, not only as the deliverer of his Country, but also as the protector of feminine virtue, because of the revenge he had taken for the violence Sextus had done to the admirable Lucretia.  
After this Envoy of Valerius was arrived at Rome, came in abundance of wounded men, so that Clelia soon understood that Octavius was hurt, and that, (as it was thought in the Camp) by Aronces, who had been the occasion of the recovery of the battle. She also understood at the same time, that it was not known what became of him after the fight, no more than it was of Horatius; so that she was extremely troubled at the accident happened to her Brother, as also that it was suspected that Aronces had wounded him, and that Aronces was not to be found, though she could not but take some comfort in the glory he had acquired, and the service he had done: For Clelius and Sulpitia, as they had a tender affection for Octavius: so were they extremely incensed against Aronces, and would not reflect on any thing that might either clear or excuse him. For the adventure of the sword which Clelius had sometime given him, and had now been taken out of Octavius' arm, seemed to them a circumstance too too pregnant to be avoided, especially since Aronces' voice was heard near Octavius when he was hurt. So that he seemed to be so exasperated against Aronces, that he did all he could to hinder the service he had done from being published at Rome, and prevailed so far, that it was neither publicly mentioned in the Senate, nor did Valerius give the people any account of it.  
But though the affliction Clelia conceived at these accidents, were extraordinary, yet was it not comparable to that of Hermilia, when it was told her, that her Lover and her Brother had killed one the other, as also what the Prince of Pometia said, as he advanced towards Brutus, for he whom he spoke to, being taken prisoner, had given her an account of it. Valeria was then with her, as also Collatina, who hearing that Herminius and Titus had escaped, and had acquired great fame, were in a condition to comfort their friend, though they were extremely troubled for Brutus, and the Prince of Pometia; whom they infinitely esteemed. But neither their ingratitude, their friendship, nor their tears, could appease the cruel affliction of Hermilia. She was at first so surprised at that fatal news, that she could neither weep nor speak. Then she looked like one ready to die for grief: but after her first sighs and first tears had opened a passage for her voice, she uttered so many complaints, and spoke so many passionate things, that it would have wrought upon the most obdurate hearts. How, said she to her friends, can I, without dying, hear that Brutus hath killed the Prince of Pometia,, and that the Prince of Pometia hath killed my Brother? Or can I be Mistress of my own thoughts, as things now stand, without thinking on what is base and unjust; No, no, my dear Valeria, added she, it is impossible it should be so, but since I have lost those two persons, who of all the world were the dearest to me, I must needs lose my glory, and be unjust, ungrateful, and unnatural. For when I reflect on the Prince of Pometia, and imagine him dead, I hate him that killed him, be he what he will. But when I also consider Brutus, and imagine I see him dead, after he had acquired so much Fame, the object of my hatred is changed, and I abhor him by whose means he lost his life. So that hating sometimes the one, sometimes the other, and yet having a passionate affection for both, I suffer an affliction that cannot be paralleled. In the mean time I condemn my own tears, and at the same instant, that I think it just to weep away my life, an imagination comes into me, that I ought not to bestow my tears on either. For if I bewail Brutus, I bewail him that killed the person I had the greatest affection for, and who had no less for me: and if I bestow my tears on that unfortunate Lover, I do it on him that hath deprived me of the most illustrious Brother that ever Sister had, and for whom I had the tenderest friendship that nature and virtue can raise in the heart of a person that can love well. What shall I then do, wretch that I am? whom shall I blame, whom shall I bemoan, and on whether of the two shall I bestow most tears? You may, in my opinion, says Valeria, bewail them both innocently, for they had an esteem and respect for one the other, and fortune having disposed them in the head of two contrary Armies, Honour obliged them to fight as if they had not. So that you must not look on them as the occasions of one another's death; there is a great difference between Battles and single Combats, a man is not at his choice whom to kill; and therefore the only person to be hated is Sextus, as being the cause of the War, and so you are allowed to bemoan your illustrious Brother and Lover.  
Ah! my dear Valeria, replied she sighing, 'twere in vain to forbid me, for I find, that if death do not suddenly close these eyes, they will be eternally open to tears. No question, Valeria, but I shall ever bewail both my illustrious Brother, and my illustrious Lover; and that I shall ever feel the saddest sentiments that can proceed from an affectionate friendship, and a passionate love, when one hath lost, in so fatal a manner, the objects of both, and cannot accordingly ever after, hope for so much as one moment of pleasure, or one minute of rest, Nay, added this afflicted Beauty, had I lost them by some other way, as that if Sparius had killed the unfortunate Prince of Pometia and Tarquin, the unfortunate Brutus, it were some kind of comfort to me to have a horrid aversion for those that had taken away their lives. For hatred is a passion that employs and diminishes grief. People send up their imprecations against those that are the cause of it, they endeavour to ruin them, and rejoice at their death when it happens. But all this is forbidden me, and grief and joy cannot be innocently together in my heart. I can neither love nor hate without a secret remorse, which puts me into a confusion, and without feeling myself seized by a certain fury, whereof I dare not search into the bottom of my soul for the cause, for fear I should find it to be a criminal one. In fine, nature, friendship, love and virtue, furnish me with so many several thoughts, that I think it will cost me the loss of my reason.  
While Hermilia struggled with sentiments so sad, so passionate, and so disordered, it was resolved in the Senate, that Valerius should be received in triumph; as well to do his valour a justice, as to make the victory of the Roman Army the more remarkable, that the partisans of Tarquin might not weaken the relation of it, by those false reports which they scattered among the people. Lucretius and Valerius, as the most considerable of the Senate, omitted nothing that might contribute to the honour of Valerius living, or Brutus dead. The Consul, acquainted with the resolution of the Senate, discamped, and caused his Army to march back into Rome, in the same order that it had left it. The Lictors with the Axe and Fasces went before him, which was the first time they did it; for that honour was proper only to the first Consul; Valerius marched in the midst of his Forces, a triumphal Chariot before him, whereon was the body of Brutus, covered with black Tapestry purfled with Gold. And to do him the greater honour, the Body was set upon the richest spoils of the enemy; for there were seen Ensigns starting out on both sides, sumptuous Arms in divers places, and magnificent Bucklers all about. Several prisoners chained followed the Chariot of the illustrious deceased, it being Valerius' design to express thereby, that he only deserved the honour of the triumph.  
But it being requisite to infuse courage into the people, Valerius had not any thing of mourning, either in his Arms or his Equipage. On the other side, all the people of Rome went as far as they could to meet Valerius; and the high way as he passed along, was all bordered with Tables well furnished, whence the people took divers things to present to the Soldiers as they passed by, who yet made no stay to receive them. The way was strewed with flowers, and the Senate, in Body, met Valerius without the City Gates. All the streets were hung with rich Tapestry, and all the Ladies at the windows to see the solemnity pass by. But after all, notwithstanding those great demonstrations of Victory, the sight of the Chariot, wherein the body of the illustrious Brutus was, caused more tears of grief than of joy to be shed. In the mean time Valerius, according to the pious custom of the Romans, went to the Temple to offer to the gods, the spoils of the enemy, as it were, to acknowledge victory came from them. Which done, having caused the body of Brutus to be placed under a mourning Canopy, in the midst of the spacious place, that was before Jupiter's Temple and put on a black Robe, such as were then worn in public Mournings, he went up into the place appointed for those who had some Order to communicate to the people, and by that means, as 'tis thought at least, proved the first institutor at Rome, of that laudable custom of making Eulogies on illustrious men deceased, a thing in use long before among the Grecians. Valerius therefore being compassed by the Senate, all the persons of quality in Rome, and an innumerable multitude of people, who by an awful silence seemed to expect what he would say to them, began to speak in these terms.   

Brutus' Funeral Oration.  
IT were injustice in me, generous Romans, to enjoy the honour of the victory, without acquainting you, that it is to this illustrious deceased Person that you owe it, and putting you in remembrance of all he hath done for you, that so it may never out of your memory; Give me then leave to entertain you with a slight account of his Life, and so let you know after what manner you ought to bewail your Deliverer. I need say nothing to you of his illustrious birth, you know it as well as I do; nor shall I trouble you with any celebrations of the virtue of his Ancestors, for his own having exceeded theirs, it were unjust to derive his praise from the Virtues of another. But I beseech you, Romans, forget not that tedious captivity of Brutus 's Reason, which is the cause of your present freedom, and that Rome shall never again be a slave to the Tyrant's Will. Remember how that he devoted his whole life, to work out your safety, that, as soon as that favourable conjuncture of time, which he had expected for so many years, was come, he employed all his understanding, and all his courage, in order to your liberty, and, without minding either his Fortune or his Life, all his endeavours have been only to make you happy, to revenge the virtuous Lucretia, to punish the infamous Sextus, and to knock off those ignominious Fetters of Slavery that we had groaned under for so long time. He hath knocked them off, Romans, and you ought eternally to look on him as your Deliverer, and have for him the same respect as you have for the illustrious Founder of Rome. Besides, you are not only obliged to him for all he hath done, to turn Tarquin out of the Throne he had usurped; all that by his prudence he hath done to unite you, since the Tyrant hath ceased to be your Master; all he hath done in the assault of the enemy's Camp, where he expressed his valour, after so glorious a manner; what he did when he wounded the infamous Sextus, the great actions he was seen to do, when he forced that dangerous narrow passage, which hindered us from being able to force Tarquin to a Battle; and lastly, what he hath done since in the head of our Forces, and in the sight of both Armies, when he killed one of the most valiant Princes in the world: but you are further obliged to him, for all we have done to gain the victory after his death, since we are only feeble imitators of his Virtue. Nay, Rome itself is obliged to him, for all the greatness, and all the glory which I foresee she will arrive to hereafter; and as long as there shall be Romans, there will be ungrateful men, if they have not such a veneration for Brutus, as, in some sort, comes near that which they have for the immortal gods. In a word, that prodigious voice, that hath declared us Conquerors, is an infallible presage to us of the interest he hath with the gods. Let us therefore bewail our illustrious Deliverer; but, generous Romans, we are not to bewail him as an ordinary person. It is not by fruitless tears that we must express the indignation we are in for his sake, it is by multiplying our aversion against those that are the occasions of his loss; 'tis by taking a resolution to put that design in execution, which he had to exterminate the race of the Tarquins, and to die a thousand times, rather than enter into slavery again. 'Tis thus, Romans, that we must express our affliction for the loss of a man that died so gloriously, that his Funeral Solemnity is a Triumph: for a man, I say, who, for the small time, that he durst discover his Reason, hath made it appear, that he was not only free from all Vice, but also that he had a prudence equal to his understanding, was as eminent for his courage, as his moderation; for his mildness, as his constancy; had more Virtue than all the Romans put together, and a thousand times more love for his Country, than he had for himself.  
While Valerius spoke, the people heard him with such an awful silence, that it was easily seen that they were pleased with the praises of Brutus. He had no sooner left off speaking, but, though he had forbidden tears, there were heard so many cries, and so many complaints, and such sobbing and sighing, mixed with the acclamations they gave the actions of that illustrious deceased, and the words of Valerius, that people could not distinctly hear one another. But since it was a point of prudence not to soften the hearts of the people too much by so sad an object; they made what haste they conveniently could, to give the illustrious Brutus the last honours he could receive; and by the order of Valerius and the Senate, it was resolved a Statue should be erected to him at the public charge, the more to immortalize his glory. And to conclude so remarkable a day, with some expressions of joy, Valerius, according to the custom, entertained the most considerable of the Senate. The next day visited Brutus' Aunt and Sister, where he found all the Roman Ladies in Mourning, which they had engaged themselves not to put off, during the space of one year, so to acknowledge, as they said, the obligation their Sex ought to Brutus, who had so well revenged the virtuous Lucretia. In a word, there was not a woman in Rome, that mourned not for the death of Brutus, as if he had been her Father. Valerius went also to visit Clelius, who was very much troubled, because of the danger of Octavius' wound, and was so much the more, if I may so say, out of an imagination that Aronces had hurt him, as conceiving him to be still his Rival. There were indeed no infallible proofs of it, but the circumstances were very pregnant, in so much that Clelius being a man of a violent nature, if Horatius had been then at Rome, would have forced Clelia to have preferred him before Aronces. Great then must needs be the affliction of that admirable Lady, for she saw her Brother in danger, she knew not whether Aronces had hurt him, was to learn whether he were living or no; she was troubled even at Horatius' absence, out of a fear, lest he and Aronces might meet together; and no doubt but she suffered all that a person that loves truly, could suffer. Yet was her disquiet increased three days after, for not only Octavius grew worse than he had been, but she heard that Zenocrates was newly arrived at Valerius', and had brought a very sad account of Aronces; so that she felt not only those misfortunes that had already happened to her but was also sensible of all those that might.    
The End of the Third Part of CLELIA.   

CLELIA. An Excellent NEW ROMANCE.  
The FOURTH VOLUME.  
Written in FRENCH by the Exquisite Pen of Monsieur de SCUDERY, Governor of Nostre-Dame de la Garde.  
Rendered into English by G. H.  
LONDON, Printed for Dorman Newman, and Tho. Cockerill, at the King's Arms in the Poultry, and at the Atlas in Cornhill, 1677.   

To the Right Worshipful, The Lady Mary S. Quintin.  
MADAM,  
AMongst all the remarkable expressions, in which Learned persons have endeavoured to sum up the excellencies of History, I know not whether the invention of any was more happy, than his, who termed it, The Image or Picture of Life, since it faithfully represents to our eye, all the variety and circumstances of humane actions, in which our life principally consists. But Histories are like Picture, either drawn according to the resemblance of some real example, or merely made out of the invention of the Writer. To which latter, as a greater measure of skill is required, so the liberty the Designer's Fancy is left to, enables him to make a more exquisite and perfect Piece, than he could do, if he were confined to trace out the lineaments of some proposed pattern; as it is without doubt, possible for an Artist to portray a Piece of more exact symmetry and shape, than ever was framed by Nature. Nor ought it to seem strange, that I in general, give the preeminence to these Modern feigned Stories, above all true (I mean profane,) as well in reference to Profit as Delight. Those we have received from Antiquity, give us scarce more than Pourtraits half drawn; perhaps they represent to us a Consul, or some other great person in the Field, and possibly give us a little taste of his abilities in the Senate, but afford us very little knowledge, how generous his deportment was in conversation; and amongst his Friends, how nobly he loved or hated; and how tender a relation, or faithful friend, he showed himself in all the diversities of adventures: All which, no question, are of great importance to the Reader's improvement and pleasure, to be handsomely described.  
The Piece, Madam, I humbly address to your Ladyship, was drawn by an approved Hand, the same that made Cyrus Great, and Ibrahim Illustrious; and which the most intelligent persons doubt not to commend for a Masterpiece. I acknowledge it is but a part of a greater Work; yet the several Histories transiently interwoven in the Grand one, are perfect in themselves; it being the custom of this incomparable Author, contrary to that of most others, to perform more than he promises in his Title. The main design is the relation of the adventures of an excellent Lady, and I could not do her greater justice upon her arrival into England, than to recommend her to the protection of one that is so too: Which I have reason to be assured, will not be looked upon as an expression of formal flattery, since as many as have the happiness to know you, esteem you a Lady of great goodness, prudence, and virtue; and since your excellent accomplishments are, notwithstanding the eminency of your quality, known to more than your person. The consideration of which, principally induced me to make this humble dedication, upon confidence, that amongst so many perfections, you could not be averse to pardon it; though I had together some motive of self-interest, believing the rest of the Book would be more acceptable to the Readers, when they met with your name in the beginning of it; and that they would be more favourable to my faults, when they saw you had permitted me the honour to subscribe myself,  
Madam, Your Ladyship's most Humble Servant, G. H.   

CLELIA. A Roman History. The Fourth Part.  

The First BOOK.  
WHilst Clelia augmented her sorrows, by adding the misfortunes she feared to those she already suffered; Valerius, who was at that time sole Consul, had in his company Herminius, Amilcar, and Zenocrates, who was newly arrived from Clusium, to inform him of divers important and unwelcome tidings; which when he had deliured disorderly, in gross; Valerius desired him to relate something more particularly. I beseech you then (replied Zenocrates) tell me first, whether you would have me speak of Tarqvinius, Porsenna, and the Princess of the Leontines, before I declare what I know concerning Aronces, whose destiny hath without doubt, been very extraordinary. Aronces is so great a Prince, (said Valerius) and served Rome so signally in the Battle we lately won, and moreover, it is so highly important to us, that the King his father be not engaged in the interests of the Enemy, that I should be very glad to understand, what is become of him. For my own concern (interposed Herminius) the affection I have for that Prince, gives me an ardent desire of learning his condition. And for me, (added Amilcar) having had a longer knowledge of his rare qualities than you, I must, without question, love him more, and consequently have a greater curiosity to learn what betides him, than you can have. It being so, (replied Zenocrates) you may then be pleased to know, that towards the end of the Battle, when the fight continued in the darkness of the night, wherein Friends and Enemies could not distinguish one another; and the confusion was so great, that either Party thought themselves defeated. Aronces having notwithstanding the darkness, pursued some of the enemies, passed from the Right Wing of your Army to the left; by reason they which fled, not knowing whither they fled, by mistake, directed their way thither, supposing they were going to join with their own Forces. But as soon as they perceived their error, they changed the course of their Retreat. At which instant, Aronces, who knew not that Sextus was no longer in the Battle, thought he understood by the voice of one of those he pursued, that he was amongst them, upon which, his hatred inspiring him with an ardent desire of victory, he pursued them more closely than before. But being willing to associate some other to him, the better to execute his design, he began to cry out, Here, Romans, here; here is a Son of Tarqvinius, that would steal away by favour of the night. These words, which Aronces pronounced very loud, were understood by Horatius, who knew not, that his Rival was escaped from his Prison, because he had not stirred from the left Wing; and that it was at the Right, where this valiant Prince had fought so long, as the day lasted. So that Horatius, without knowing the voice of his Rival, in as much as it was something altered by agitation and choler; and for that Aronces had uttered but three or four words; hastened only whither the desire of vanquishing the son of Tarqvinius called him. Therefore coming up to Aronces, without observing who he was, and seconding his valour, they both put themselves upon pursuit of them that retired; who many times making head upon those that chased them, testified, that they wholly wanted not courage. But as it happened, unfortunately for Aronces and Horatius, they fell in with a gross of Horse of the Veientines; with which the pursued joining, not only stopped their course, but beset them round. Whereupon Aronces and Horatius, finding themselves in this dreadful danger, endeavoured to exhort one the other, to sell their lives to the enemy at a dear rate; by which their speech discovered them, and they saw, they were more enemies among themselves, than of those whom they had pursued. Nevertheless, the desire of glory, and the sense of virtue uniting them for the present, they exploited things surpassing all belief, and more than once attempted to break through the body that encompassed them. But the horse of Aronces being slain, and his Sword broken with the fall, he was taken prisoner. So that Horatius being then alone in the midst of so many enemies, was constrained to yield to force, although he knew well, that certain death attended him, if he fell into the hands of Tarqvinius. Thus these two Rivals saw themselves prisoners of War together, and they were immediately both committed to the custody of the same soldiers: who having seen them fight on the same side, left them to discourse together what they pleased, without interrupting them. But I shall not detain you with a circumstantial Relation of that Converse, having several things of greater consequence to impart to you. I shall suffice to let you know, that Horatius, as a generous person, remembered in his addressing to Aronces, that he was obliged to him for his life; and that Aronces did not forget his accustomed generosity, when he spoke to Horatius. Both of them having observed, by the speech of them to whom they were prisoners, that they were Veientines, they conceived they might not be known, since neither of them had ever been at Veii Nor had they lived long enough in Italy, although they had been there, to believe that these Veientines might have seen them any where else. Upon this persuasion, they mutually engaged not to discover one another, and to endeavour their liberty conjointly; yet without promising to cease their mutual hatred; for there is a fend between them, which in probability cannot be terminated but with their lives. But they which had them in guard, desiring to know what they were, demanded of Aronces, who Horatius was, and of Horatius the same concerning Aronces; conceiving they might draw the truth from them better after this manner than otherwise. Horatius answered them, that Aronces was a Sicilian, that came to Rome since the War. And Aronces told them, that Horatius belonged to the forces of Ardaea, which were come to the service of Rome, after Tarquin was constrained to raise his siege. Which accounts being not at all mistrusted, they were guarded without any extraordinary care, and were ordered to march together. For, as these Veientines perceived no more of their own party to come to join with them, they determined to make their retreat before the day should appear. Accordingly they took the way to Veii, towards which, all that routed-Army was disorderly retired; and they were no sooner at the foot of the Mountain, upon which that famous City is built, but they understood, that the people beholding the Army come back in disorder, and moreover, believing the defeat greater than it was, had tumultuously shut their gates, and declared, that they would not admit the Troops of Tarquin, but only those that had been lent him; adding boldly, that he secretly corresponded with the Romans, to cause them to be cut in pieces. It is true, that the chief of the Veientines, who understood more reason than the affrighted multitude, would have opposed this Sedition, but there was no means of calming it suddenly. So that Tarquin was forced to encamp at the foot of the Mountain, and in the mean while sent to negotiate with those, that had power to appease the incensed multitude. During which, Aronces and Horatius were put together in the same Tent, where they hoped they were unknown, because as I said before, they that guarded them were Veientines. For although indeed, the Citizens would have admitted their own Troops; yet the Governors did not think fit to separate them from those of Tarquin. Thus the whole Army was encamped without the City, and continued there a day and a night, before the tumult was composed. But at length, the Inhabitants of Veii, being by the diligence of those that acted in favour of Tarquin, brought to some accommodement, they determined, in order to their security, and satisfaction of the hatred they bore so many years against the Romans, that Tarquin should deliver into their power all the Prisoners taken in the late Battle. For they were by this time made to apprehend, that the defeat was not so great as had been believed. They Articled also, That Tarquin should engage to cause other States to declare for him, and to do it within one month, if he failed, they would desert him, and comply with Rome, if they judged it convenient. These things being thus resolved, Tarquin caused all the Prisoners that were in the several quarters of his Army, to be brought before him, to the end he might himself conduct them to Veii, and they who had this order, went to the Tent where Aronces and Horatius were guardded, who conversed together in the most sad manner in the world: For hating one another's person, and interest, and their equal generosity not permitting them to quarrel in the condition they were in; the civility of their discourse together, was attended with much forcedness, and constraint from both. I beseech you (said Aronces to his Rival, when he found opportunity of speaking to him, without danger of other ears) tell me in what condition was Clelia, at the time you departed from Rome, I shall not be more in her affection for this satisfaction, but only something less miserable. Clelia (answered Horatius) is always fair, always charming; and to tell you something more grateful to you, (added he, sighing) always inexorable to the most faithful and most passionate of her Lovers. My absence then (replied Aronces) hath changed her heart towards me; for, without doubt, she hath no Lover, whose passion can be compared to mine. Had she chosen the most amorous, and not inclined to the most noble person, (answered Horatius) I should possess the place in her heart which you do, and should not be under the unhappiness of being hated by my Mistress, obliged to my Rival, and to esteem him, and have an admiration of his virtue, in spite of the hatred, which the excess of my love produces in me towards him. The cruelty of my destiny (added he) necessitates me to have a new obligation to you every moment that I breathe.  
For in brief, you need say no more, but that I am Horatius, to rid yourself of a Rival. Since the hatred that Tarquin bears me, is known so generally throughout all Italy, that I should be put into the hands of the most cruel enemy that ever was, at the same instant that you should discover me. Whence it may be said, that I owe my life to you every moment. But as it is in my power to tell who you are, replied Aronces generously, so is it in yours to do the like of me; so that my generosity has in this case no advantage over yours; and I do not put this obligation upon account: No, no, (Horatius replied with an air sufficiently stern) the matter is not equal between us; for I should most certainly lose my life, if you should discover me; but though I should make you known, the interest of Tarquin would restrain him from treating you ill. Ah Horatius, (cried Aronces) I had rather lose my life as things now stand, than behold myself again under the power of Tarquin; and it would be more grievous to me to be a second time his Prisoner than to be dead; for which reason I earnestly wish to remain a captive amongst the Veientines. Being in this discourse, there came a Guard to fetch and conduct them along to the other Prisoners. They demanded whither they were to be carried; and were answered in general, to Veien; upon which they rejoiced, instead of being afflicted. But when they arrived at the Tent of Tarquin, where there were already about an hundred prisoners, they were strangely surprised, especially when they beheld that fierce Tyrant come out of the Tent to see them pass by, and afterwards to conduct them to Veien. He had not seen Horatius of a long time, who was much changed, both by his Travels and his Melancholy; so that he was not discerned in the crowd of prisoners. But it being but a few days since he had seen Aronces, he no sooner cast his eyes upon him, but he knew him; having been informed, in the morning, of his escape out of prison. Whereupon, making a great shout, What do I see (said he, hastily, approaching to that unhappy Prince?) Can it be, that in the midst of my defeat, I should have the satisfaction of seeing the son of Porsenna, in my power? Aronces perceiving that it was impossible for him to be concealled, made up towards Tarquin, and by an act of unparraleld generosity, hid his Rival as he advanced; his great spirit not suffering him to expose the life of so valiant a person to the cruelty of the Tyrant. But as he went forward, he turned his head a short space; and beholding Horatius, and speaking with a low voice, Remember, said he, what I do for you this day, if Fortune ever return you to the sight of Clelia. And then passing on towards Tarquin, who was come near him, without minding any of the other prisoners, it is but too true (said he to him) that I find myself again in your fetters; but not to dissemble, it is not without some consolation, since my Conqueror has been conquered, and I may without vanity believe myself to have contributed something to his defeat. Tarquin observing with what resoluteness Aronces spoke this to him, was thinking to use him as a Rival and an Enemy; but that Policy which had through his whole life given laws to all his passions, restrained his fury, and tempered his answer; being the Son of a King (answered he) for whom I have much esteem, I interpret the peremptoriness of your language, as proceeding from your resentment of your captivity; but to testify to you that Porsenna hinders me from taking notice of the words of Aronces, I declare to you, that I will not treat you as a person whom I have seen on the side of my Rebel-Subjects, with his Sword drawn against me; but as the Son of a great King, to whom I am obliged, and who will assist me to punish the insolence of those for whom you have sought. Then without expecting an answer, he commanded that this Prince should be separated from the other Prisoners, and led into his own Tent, till farther order. After which, he marched in the head of all those Prisoners, and went directly to Veien, being followed by a party of his Troops, which were half Veientines, and half Tarquinians, according as it was resolved before. The people of that City (as the vulgar is only affected with what they see) beholding this train of Prisoners conducted by Tarquin, as if he had been victor, were as forward in receiving him, as they were lately insolent in renouncing and repining against him. Besides, Tarquin diligently causing it to be published at the instant, that the Son of the King of Hetruria was in his power, and that Porsenna would infallibly engage for his interest, it served abundantly to appease the Inhabitants of the City. And moreover, as he is not wont to scruple provoking the gods, he caused it to be given out at Veien, by several of his agents, that the pretended voice which was said to be heard after the battle was a counterfeit, adding also many railleries upon that which this voice had uttered, that there was one fewer dead on the side of the Romans than his. This by degrees brought the people to be more passionate and devoted to him, and so greatly advantaged his affairs, that the next day his Troops were received into Veien. But yet, to win the hearts of the Veientines more, he declared that he nor his would have any share in the Prisoners, whereupon they were divided among the chief of the Veientines, and Horatius became presently a slave to some person at Veien, who knew not what he was. But for Aronces, he was conducted next morning into the City, and put into a Tower, where he was guarded carefully, and yet attended with very great respect. In the mean while Tarquin having been in person at the Council, propounded to send two Veientines, and two of his own, to Porsenna, to desire assistance of him, after having offered to him to restore Aronces into his hands even without any conditions; and accordingly the business was concluded on and dispatched.  
But before I proceed farther, I must give you an account of my travels with Artemidorus, you shall know therefore, that we arrived in the evening at Clusium, and without losing time, knowing that the Princess of the Leontines was lodged in the King's Palace, we sent a slave, that was sufficiently subtle, to deliver her a Letter from the Prince her Brother, whose hand she immediately knew. But being he entreated her to make a secret of his arrival at Clusium; because if he were known to the Prince of the Leontines, he would be more incensed against him for it; she made no words of it, but only sought out ways how to give audience to that Prince, without giving suspicion of what he was. To this end, she writ to him, that he should come the next morning, and walk in a Garden of the Kings without the City, on the side that Porsenna causes his own Tomb to be built, which will be one of the Wonders of the World, when it's finished. You may imagine that we were too precise to fail at this assignation. The hour of which being come, we beheld the Princes of the Leontines enter the Garden, attended only with her own Ladies; but to the end the business might be done with more secrecy, she called but one of them to follow her, and leaving the rest in a spacious walk, came to seek us in an Alley, where she had desired Artemidorus to expect her. For though we had never been before in that Garden, yet she gave us such exact directions what to do, that it was impossible to mistake. I shall not hold you with a particular description of the passionateness of this interview of the Princess and Artemidorus, nor the circumstances of the goodness wherewith that admirable person was pleased to receive me. For the interests of Artemidorus, those of the Princess and mine, have no relation to those of Rome, I must not mis-imploy my discourse in re-declaring them. But that which I can tell you for the greatest truth, is, that had we been Romans, we could not have spoken more zealously for the interests of Rome than we did. We conjured her that she would please to instruct us of the state of affairs, and assist us to hinder Porsenna from protecting Tarquin, but induce him rather to engage on the side of Rome. You are not ignorant (said she,) that I am obliged to Porsenna, for affording me a Sanctuary in his Court, and that I have infinite obligations upon me to the Queen of Clusium. For which reason, I declare to you that I can never be capable to do any thing against them, though I understand by what you say, that you have an inclination to serve Rome; I confess likewise to you, that I have a great a version against Tarquin, and that the case of Lucretia has rendered all the Tarquins detestable to all Women that have any sense of virtue. But to satisfy you in brief, I am and must be for the interests of Porsenna. That which we request of you (replied Artemidotus) is not repugnant to the interests of the King of Clusium, since we wish that he would embrace the juster cause. I wish it be so (returned this prudent Princess) and I promise you I shall omit nothing in reference to your contentment. The King without question does me the honour to bear me a respect, (added she) but as he does not consult me concerning the management of his State, so it is not immediately with him that I undertake to serve you. Galerita, I am confident hath goodness enough for me, to suffer me to speak any thing to her, and there are few persons of esteem in this Court, with whom I have not some credit. But that which I shall tell you in general, is this, that although Porsenna did not answer punctually to the first proposals made to him, both on the behalf of Tarquin and of Rome, but left things in suspense till he saw the success of the beginning of the War; yet I cannot but believe he will declare rather for the weakest than the strongest, and rather for an exiled, though unjust, King, than for an upstart Republic, though those that govern it be persons of great virtue. I do not tell you this (continued the Princess) but from authentic information of them that well know it to be so. Upon this, we employed all the inducements of reason we could, to confirm the Princess in the purpose she had to serve us; conjoining therewith, to mollify her more, the interest of Aronces, and his love, and so departed from her, after she had promised to give us occasion of seeing her every day, in some place or other, to the end we might know by her what we were desirous to be informed of. But not to be tedious in inconfiderable particulars, you may know that Artemidorus and I, beheld the arrival of those Agents of Tarquin, and those Veientines, whom Porsenna received with all imaginable joy, when he understood by them that Aronces should be delivered to him as soon as he pleased. Galerita also was highly satisfied with the news, and the whole Court put on the face of gladness. So that (as Joy is a favourable occasion to obtain a thing that is desired) when the Veientines and the Envoys of Tarquin, demanded of Porsenna that he would renew the confederacy he sometimes had with the King of Rome, and the Veientines, and make a League offensive and defensive with them; he did not reject the proposition but only demanded two days to deliberate concerning this important affair. The Princess of the Leontines being a prudent person, and willing to serve Aronces according to his intention, and to comply with the requests of Artemidorus and me, omitted nothing which she judged effective to promote her design. First she congratulated with Galerita for the approaching return of Aronces, and then obligingly testifying to her the interest she had in all that concerned her, she came by degrees to mention the Alliance which was in hand to be renewed.  
For my part (said Galerita to her) I confess to you, that if Aronces were not in the hands of Tarquin, I should be perplexed even to despair, at the Kings partaking in the quarrel of a Tyrant, whom the gods seem to have abandoned. But when I consider that the Prince my Son is in his power, and that he offers to deliver him freely I see not how it can be honourable or even possible to refuse what Tarquin desires of Porsenna. But Madam, (replied the Princess of the Leontines) it seems to me sufficiently dangerous to engage in the weakest and unjustest side; and if the King would act without being surprised, he must recover the Prince his Son, out of the hands of Tarquin, without concerning himself in a War wherein he hath nothing to do, and whose success is doubtful. Besides that it would be more glorious to him to bear himself in the quality of being an Umpire in the interests of his Neighbours, than to take part against Rome, which is apparently favoured by the gods. For private persons indeed, it is oftentimes dishonourable to follow fortune, and to rank themselves always on the side of the strongest; but where the public good is concerned, it is no shame to side with the more fortunate, when it may be done without violating the Law of Nations. So that Porsenna being engaged to neither party, it seems to me, as I said before, that he need not intermeddle in a War, in which he is unconcerned. The Princess of the Leontines added much other discourse, which I shall forbear to repeat to you, it being enough to let you know, that though Galerita dissented from her at first, yet she brought her at length to be of her opinion. But this was not all; for she convinced some of the principal of that Court, that it would be an important service to Aronces, to hinder Porsenna from embracing the cause of Tarquin. So that considering that Prince, as he that must one day be their King, they resolved to oppose this Alliance, as much as the respect they ought to Porsenna would permit them. At length, Galerita being possessed with the sentiments, wherewith the Princess of the Leontines had inspired her, obliged a person of chief quality, that was her Creature, to endeavour to oppose the design of Porsenna. To which effect, he declared to the King all the apparent reaons, that might forward his intent: I shall not tell you particularly what they were, because they were almost the same with those I mentioned before, yet he added others with much vehemence, insisting principally upon the unfortunateness and crimes of Tarquin. Believe me, Sir, (said this diligent friend) it is sufficiently dangerous to undertake to protect a miserable man, that deserves his misfortunes; especially against a people accustomed to over come, and whose virtues seems justly to entitle them to the Victory, which they gained over him. It's true, you have formerly been a Confederate of Tarquin's, but it was as King of Rome, so that it may be said, you were more confederated with Rome than with him. Ah! Tibursa, (exclaimed Porsenna) your counsels are alike repugnant to Generosity and to Policy. But Sir, (Tibursa replied) does not Policy suggest to overthrow those, whose weakness renders that effect more easily compassable? On the contrary, (said Porsenna) 'tis more profound Statecraft, to endeavour the subversion of those, who may attain to the power of overtopping and subduing us; and for this cause it is more important, to the greatness of Hetruria, that Rome grow not up to that puissance, to be formidable to her neighbours; and ●is a had officiousness to assist to the making of Swords, that will in time cut our own throats. But though you should overcome in this War, (answered Tibursa) the advantage of the victory will not redound to you, but to Tarquin, who shall be restored by your arms to his Throne; for knowing the greatness of your Soul, in case you be victor, your generosity will induce you to return the Sceptee into his hands, and so you will always have a potent neighbour. 'Tis true, (replied Porsenna) but 'twill be a neighbour engaged to my interests, by his own. Besides, that when the war shall have exhausted Rome, both of Soldiers and Treasure, he will not be so considerably dreadful to me, as Rome would be, if I should desert Tarquin. For in truth it is no false conclusion, that as there are natural aversions between certain persons, so there is also a kind of latent hatred between Commonwealths and Monarchies. On the other side, (said Tibursa) I conceive, the people do generally desire that which they have not; and commonly every private person affects to live under that sort of government, of which he has no experience, imagining it more pleasing, than that under which he was born. But you mistake me, (interposed Porsenna) for what I said had no relation to the multitude, but to them that manage the Government. And moreover, not to dissemble, an unfortunate King ought to excite pity in the breast of all Kings. And since the case is, concerning Sovereign Authority, I conceive, every Sovereign aught to interest himself in behalf of him, whom profane hands attempt to deprive of Royalty. 'tis to me an inviolable Position, that a Brother is less obliged to assist his Brother, than one King to assist another, that wages War against his Subjects, that have expelled him. But Tarquin is a Tyrant (replied Tibursa.) Tarquin is a violent man, (answered Porsenna) but fortune having given him the possession of a Kingdom, which he enjoyed for a long time peaceably, and with much glory; It belongs not to me to judge of his right to the Throne of Romulus, but it does to restore him to it. And though Tarquin be so notorious a Criminal, yet do not you see, that he has the satisfaction of beholding the destruction of the most virtuous of all men, as a justice upon him for overturning his Throne. For 'tis not to be doubted, but this was the cause of Brutus' death; Collatinus also was, without dispute, expelled Rome for the same reason. And if Tarquin has not had the advantage hitherto, 'tis assuredly, because the gods are pleased, a King should have the glory of rendering the Sceptre into his hands. Do not you consider (added he) that if I suffer the Government of Rome to be changed, my State will be environed amongst several Commonwealths, who will confederate together to destroy me, upon the first occasion that fortune shall present them with. 'Tis better therefore to do a generous and illustrious action, since I apprehend in it both glory and advantage. Besides that, as often as I call to mind my Son's fondness, in loving a simple Roman Girl, and his weakness in intending to marry her without my allowance; I find a new cause to hate Rome. And then with what face can I demand my Son, and deny assistance to those that return him to me? No, no, Tibursa (continued he) I cannot change my purpose. And according to my present sentiments, I hold it more glorious to recover, and restore a Kingdom, than to conquer one, and keep it. Therefore, no longer oppose an immutable determination but prepare yourself to help me to overcome. But Sir, (answered Tibursa) what will the censure of the World be, when they behold a King so accomplished in virtue, undertake the protection of Princes so vicious? Misery (replied Porsenna) obliterates all the vices of Kings; and when they become unhappy, the resentment of their condition, must take off all aversion of their faults; otherwise dangerous consequences would attend Sovereigns, who to speak freely, are sometimes less virtuous, than most of their Subjects. To conclude, Tibursa, policy and glory incite me, to do what I have resolved upon, and therefore I conjure you, speak no more to me of it. Upon this Tibursa was constrained to be silent, and to report to Galerita, that Porsenna was determined to protect Tarquin, and to join with him and the Veientines, in carrying on the War against Rome. And Porsenna having accordingly given a favourable answer to the Envoys of Tarquin, and the Veientines, two of them departed to carry this great news to the Tyrant, and to fetch Aronces. Upon whose return, Tarquin intending to expedite the business, immediately gave order, that Aronces should be safely conducted from Veii to Clusium, and commanded five hundred of the Veientine Cavalry to guard him thither. In the mean time, the Princess of the Leontines advertising us of the state of affairs, after many unprofitable contrivances of ways, to obstruct the design of Porsenna; it was concluded that Artemidorus should abide at Clusium, to the end he might endeavour to serve Aronces, when he should be arrived there; and that I should come to inform you, of what passed in that Court. But there is one thing strange, that Porsenna, instead of causing an apartment in his Palace to be made ready, for the reception of the Prince his Son, has commanded the Garrison to be redoubled in the Castle of the Isle of Saul, which is in the middle of the Lake of Thrasimene, where Galerita was heretofore a long time Prisoner, intending to keep his Son there as soon as he is arrived: so that it may seem, he is like only to change his prison, and have the grief of being a captive in the same place where he was born. It's true, his life will be safe; for 'tis presumed, that he will be confined only; because having once departed from Clusium, Porsenna fears, left his love should oblige him to do the like again. But in conclusion, to abridge my discourse, you may know, that the day of my departure being prefixed, I left Clusium accordingly to come hither. Scarce had I traveled six miles, but crossing a Wood, I met with the party of Veientine Horse which conducted Aronces, and I saw Aronces himself, who while something was redressing about his horses bridle, was alighted and walking in a musing manner. But when some of them came near and stopped me, I quitted my Roman speech (which I have pure enough, when I am minded to use it) and told them I was a stranger, and being of neither party was travelling through all Italy. This I spoke so loud, that Aronces hearing it, knew me, though I also somewhat disguised my voice; but because he judged by what I said, that it was not fit he should appear to know me, under the pretext of trying, whether he could still speak the Language of the Country, of which he said, he understood I was, and began to speak to me in my natural Language, which he did extremely well. So that being assured by him, that the Veientines which encompassed him, were people not skilled in a strange Tongue, he told me what had happened to him. He enquired of me news concerning Clelia, all his friends, and Celer, whom he had left in prison by the Tarquins. After which I acquainted him with the resolutions of the King his father, at which he was much troubled. He charged me to assure you, and all his friends likewise, of the continuation of his friendship, and Clelia of his constancy. And then being obliged to remount his Horse, I beheld him depart with sorrow, observing an infinite discontent in his eyes, and took the way of Rome, where I am haply arrived, with intention of returning to the Princess of the Leontines, to do you all the service that I shall be able if you judge it fit. I was always of belief, (said Valerius) that Porsenna would assist Tarquin. And I ever thought, (added Herminius) that it would be a harder task to destroy that Prince than was imagined. As for me, (interposed Amilcar) I never trouble myself with foreseeing events too remote; for usually, fortune makes a mockery of humane providence; she brings that about, which was never thought of; and that which was confidently designed, sometimes never comes to pass at all. 'Tis better therefore to be prudently attentive to the affairs before us, and without hope or fear, to expect the future, with a resolution incapable of being shaken by any sort of accidents whatsoever. For though I deem it good, not to foresee any with perplexity; yet I account it very important, to have one's mind prepared against all adventures, that so it may be surprised with nothing.  
To begin to put Hamilcar's advice in practice, (answered Valerius) it is requisite to avoid expressing to the people, any fear of Porsenna, when they come to know, that he undertakes the quarrel of Tarquin, for which reason, we must dextrously conceal a part of the extreme sorrow, which we resent for the death of Brutus, and endeavour to infuse a kind of confidence into the people's minds, which may serve to them as a presage of victory. And indeed Valerius, who had begun to build a stately house upon the Mount Velia, increased the number of his workmen that were about it, that it might appear he did not fear the success of the War, seeing he employed himself about a business that requires plenty and peace. He contrived also, for the same reason, to institute the Plays, called the Secular Plays, because they were celebrated but once in an Age, conceiving that these several devices would have a good effect, both amongst the Romans, and amongst the enemies. Zenocrates, mean while leaving Valerius, accompanied with Amilcar and Herminius, went to visit Sulpitia, who was at that time with Octavius, where Clelia was also: To whom after some little time, he addressed (for Octavius being too sick, permitted him not to be spoken to) and represented to her all the obliging blandishments, which that Prince had encharged him with. He informed her, that Horatius was at Veii, and Aronces at Clusium, that the first of them was slave to a Veientine, and the other prisoner in the Isle of Saul. Whereby Clelia being a person of a most extraordinary capacity, well understood the unpleasing consequences, to which this adventure would expose her. Yet she had some consolation, that Horatius, was separated from her. But being endued with a rare generosity, notwithstanding the tenderness she had for Aronces, she thought she offended against the obligements of honour, to what Zenocrates related of that Prince, before she were satisfied of her doubting, whether it was he that had wounded Octavius. So that she changed colour, and durst scarce inquire any thing of Zenocrates, how ardently desirous soever she was to do so. But Octavius, overhearing some part of Zenocrates' discourse to Clelia, though he spoke sufficiently low, and notwithstanding his sickness taking notice of the sentiments of this virtuous Lady, No, no, Sister (said he generously with a low voice) do not fear to inform yourself of Aronces, if the wound which I have received was given me by his hand, he is not culpable for it to Octavius, but it is the Prince of Numidia that was hurt by him; 'tis his Rival, and not your Brother: and if Clelius were of my opinion, he should not hate Aronces for it, though it should prove fatal to me. What you say is so generous and noble (cried Herminius that heard him) that I assure myself the gods will preserve the life of a person that retains equity in an occasion wherein it is sufficiently difficult to be equitable. Clelia was glad that Herminius had answered him, because being very discreet, it would have been something troublesome to her to have answered in a way wholly to her own content. But it behoved her to interpose something, had not Clelius entered into the room, whose presence altered the discourse. This afflicted Father having first demanded of his Son how he found himself, turned to Zenocrates, to inquire of him what news he had brought. Zenocrates, who now understood that 'twas believed Aronces had wounded Octavius, and that Clelius hated him for it, without considering that if he did it, it was innocently, found himself extremely perplexed. Nevertheless, he told him what obliging speeches that Prince had commanded him to express in his ear to him and Clelia, that so he might intimate to him, that Aronces was not so conscious to himself of having done any thing against him. How Zenocrates? (cried Clelius) I will hear nothing from a man that has died the Sword which I had given him, in the blood of my Son, and should he have wounded him as his Rival, yet I will never see him during my life; and therefore I am glad he is not in a possibility of returning to Rome; for I should forbid him my house in case he should come again to the City. Clelia with unspeakable grief heard what her Father said, Sulpitia, knowing the humour of Clelius, presumed not to oppose him therein; and Octavius being turned towards the other side, after he had expressed himself so generously, heard no more what was spoken in his chamber. But that which completed the sorrow both of Sulpicia and Clelia, was, that Clelius no sooner understood that Horatius was prisoner at Veii, but he declared he would endeavour to deliver him by the assistance of an illustrious Veientine, that was one of his ancient friends. Being Horatius was a brave person, and one that might be very serviceable for supporting the Liberty of Rome, neither Herminius nor Amilcar, nor Zenocrates contradicted his intention, as indeed they could not with honour do, though they were Aronces friends. So that there was none but Sulpltia and Clelia, who testified enough by their silence, that the liberty of Horatius, was not the object of their wishes. But the visit of Zenocrates being at length ended, he and his two friends went to spend the remainder of the day with Valeria, with whom they found Collatina, Cesonia and Plotina, for as for Hermilia, she was continually so afflicted, that she vouchsased not to see any person whatsoever. Zenocrate's addressing to Plotina, asked of her, what news there was since his departure. I assure you, (said she to him) I know none worthy your knowledge, but only that Spurius who is the most vindicative person living has lately renewed his friendship to Valeria, only because he hates his Rivals, and would do them all the injury he is able; at least I have heard so this day from one of his friends. But is it not he (replied Zenocrates) that sometimes counselled Mutius to become a Lover of Valeria? Yes (answered Plotina, pleasantly) but being he sees Mutius, does not endear himself, and cannot dispossess Herminius out of the heart of Valeria, and that Aemilius also is more interessed in her favour than he, he is so resolved to attempt that glorious adventure once again. So that Valeria has now four Lovers at once. In good time (said Valeria) who overheard this discourse of Plotina to Zenocrates, (though she spoke not very loud) but I had almost as good have four Enemies. You do well (replied Plotina) to make use of the word [Almost] in this occasion; for I am confident, there is at least one of the four, which you would not have to hate you. I confess it (answered she) but to speak sincerely, I account nothing more vexatious, than to be obstinately beloved by persons that I can never affect. I know many Dames interposed Amilcar, (who was discoursing with Herminius and Collatina) that are not of your humour and who esteem it an extraordinary delectation to be followed by a crowd of Suppliants, for whom notwithstanding they have no particular affection. As Herminius, was engaging himself in this conversation, Themistus and Meleagenes came into the room, who appearing more sad than ordinary, gave occasion to Valeria, to inquire the cause of their discontentment. I deplore the death of so honourable a person (answered Themistus) that I cannot but require some lamentations of him from you, and especially from Amilcar, to whom he was well known at Syracuse. And I am confident (added he) that though you never saw but only the portraiture of him that was shown you when you had the curiosity to know my adventures, yet you will not cease to bewail him. Oh good Gods! (cried Amilcar) let me not hear that Meriander is dead, for I should resent it most passionately. I am sorry (replied Themistus) that I must impart that grief to you; but it is too true that the illustrious Meriander is no longer amongst the living, but left the world three days since. How! (replied Valeria) he that had all good qualities, none bad; who was both gallant and prudent, who knew all things of excellence, loved all noble acts, passionately affected Music, that loved the whole World, that was so acceptable in it, so sincere, so faithful a friend, so constant and so generous, does he no longer live? He does not most certainly (answered Themistus) and the pensive Merigenes, who arrived yesterday in the evening, tells me Meriander hath been universally bewailed, as never any before in the Court of Syracuse. Not one Beauty but has lamented his fate, nor man of quality, but expressed their resentment with sighs and complaints: those that excel in any good Arts do almost abandon them, since he is no longer their Protector, and in brief, all the World deplores him as person that could alone introduce civility, virtue, and gallantry into the Court, and serve for a model to those that propose to themselves the perfection of honourable persons. I assure you, (replied Herminius) such as have all the rare qualities Meriander was owner of, cannot be sufficiently regretted; and if Amilcar would acquit himself well, he should compose an Epitaph worthy of his own Wit, and the merit of the illustrious Deceased. I protest to you (said Amilcar hastily) that I would have one made, but I must withal declare to you, that I will not be the Author; for in short, this kind of composure is the rack of good Wits, and I know nothing more difficult to make well. Yet I believe the cause why so few Epitaphs please those that read them, is, that generally praises and sadness are displeasing to almost all the World. So that all Epitaphs that are composed, being sad, and usually full of commendations, it is hard to please and gain approbation. Besides that, to speak judiciously, it being requisite that an Epitaph be short and clear, and exactly congruous to the person for whom it is intended, that it be between a plain Inscription and an Elogium, that there be some touch of Morality by the way, and that it excite tenderness and compassion, it is not much to be wondered at, that there be so few well made. Moreover, I assure you, that unless some Burlesque or Festivous Epitaphs, I have not seen many excellent; for they are usually too plain, or too eloquent: Those that express too little, stop passengers for nothing; those that are too long, and have more words than matter, make them lose too much time; those which commend excessively, give occasion of contradiction and calumnies against the dead, and the person that commends him; and those which do not extol at all, when they are intended of people that merit to be praised, excite generous Readers to indignation and choler.  
Wherefore I conclude, that it is not fit to adventure lightly to make Epitaphs; and I cannot resolve to make one for the noble Meriander, though his memory be very dear to me. Then Valeria demanded of Themistus, whether Merigenes was sent to him by the Princess Lindamira. I am not so happy (answered he) but Merigenes being much my friend, thought meet to come and advertise me, that he understood the young Prince of Messena was gone into Italy. 'Tis true, I received news by him of Lindamira, which gave me great satisfaction; and had not he informed me of the death of the generous Meriander, the intelligence brought me of the voyage of the Prince of Messena, would not have much troubled me. But by what I understand, (said Plotina) you and Merigenes have interchanged sighs for sighs; for if he acquainted you with the death of Meriander, you have informed him of that of Lisydas and Alcimedes. In truth (answered Themistus) he much deplored their fates. But I must tell you (interposed Amilcar) that sorrow of this nature is a thing very unprofitable, at least to the persons lamented; for to those that express it, it is honourable, making them esteemed compassionate and constant, and gains them the reputation of bearing their friendship beyond the Urn, But to speak unfeignedly, there is nothing more rare than true grief. I must confess (added Plotina) I am of Amilcar's opinion, and believe that there are feigned tears, tears of custom, and tears of decorum. For my part, (said Amilcar) I remember I saw a very excellent person die at Carthage, who was not grieved for by half those that lamented him. But can one lament without grief (said Valeria?) I could not do it, for my part (said Collatina.) I have seen it done more than once (replied Amilcar) and if you would observe the general practice of the world, you would be of the same belief with me. For when people behold the death of some one, whom they conceive themselves obliged to sorrow for, they bewail him, and extol him, and make show of going to condole with, and comfort his Relations; but in the mean while, if during the visit, some one in the company relate some pleasant story, it is listened to, paraphrased on, and laughed at; after which, the mourners walk abroad, make visits, and are altogether after their ordinary manner, till beholding the particular friends or kindred of the deceased, their tears are renewed, and their sighs and melancholy acted over again. And because when this is past, he is never spoken nor thought of more; I cannot but believe that they which do things that have so little affinity with grief, can have no true grief at all. For to return to that person of great worth, whom I beheld die at Carthage, and who was so much regretted, I assure you I saw Women, who were scarce known to him in his life, out of vanity, and to make it believed he was their great friend, that habited themselves carelessly for two or three days, and went from house to house, ask if they did lament him; speaking of him with a certain familiarity, full of tenderness, sufficient to deceive such as had not the spirit of discernment, which is so necessary to live well in the world. And which was rare, these fair Mourners, the same day they spoke thus piteous, went at evening to hear Music, and to make Collations and Revels. They pretended indeed, that they went thither only to divert their mind from their sorrow; for truly (said they, with a languishing voice) should not we see some body and constrain ourselves, we should die of grief. And will not you now consent with me, that griefs are sometimes very suspicious, and seldom true; and that to speak things as they are, there is as little true Grief, as there is true friendship. The measure of the one (answered Herminius) is without doubt the measure of the other, for only their loss is much resented, who were much beloved; but above all, there is nothing more excellent than to preseve the memory of ones friends. I intent not to speak of those mournings, which do nothing but pour forth streams of tears, which are rather an effect of the weakness of their reason that shed them, than of the excess of their regret: But I mean them that retain a long and prudent sorrow, who during their whole life, do all they are able to do for their dead friends, in the condition they are in; that is, by speaking always of them with esteem, defending their past actions with zeal, serving them whom they would have served, had they lived; loving those whom they loved, and never forgetting them. That which you say (replied Plotina) is, without doubt, very excellent; but if there are few people, that can deplore their friends in this manner, there are few friends that deserve to be lamented so. All the company assenting to the opinion of Plotina, she took leave of them, because it was now very late. The next day Valerius, in order to executing the design he had, to intimate to the people, that he did not misdoubt the success of the War; after he came out of the Senate, went to see his workmen, which he employed in finishing his house on the Mount Velia, where he dwelled already; for there was more than half of it completed. And to execute his purpose, he added half as many more to the workmen, that had hitherto laboured in his structure. So that there was seen nothing but burdened slaves along the way leading to it, going and coming continually, to carry things necessary to the builders. Valerius also judged it not fit, in the conjuncture of affairs, to motion so soon the election of a new Consul, in the place of the illustrious Brutus, for fear lest giving an occasion of a contest in the Senate, there might be some commotion, which might be attended with dangerous consequences, when it should come to be known, that Porsenna protected Tarquin. He advised with the most prudent of those, that understood affairs, and did nothing but what they counselled him to. But as the rules of prudence can never be infallible, when the deliberation is concerning what the people will, or will not do; the wisdom and virtue of Valerius were not powerful enough to hinder, but that what he did with the best and most innocent intention in the world, was interpreted to his disadvantage. Within five or six days after the arrival of Zenocrates, the news of the return of Aronces to Clusium, and the alliance of Tarquin with the King of Etruria, was known by all the people; who, instead of taking heart from the tranquillity that appeared in the mind of Valerius, and the several Orders he had given, that the forces should be in an expedite condition, began to repine very loudly. 'Tis true, some of Tarquin's creatures served secretly to irritate the minds of the multitude. Some said, 'twas easy to observe, that Valerius minded himself more than the public good, in that he built so magnificent a House, in a time, wherein the newborn Republic stood in need that all the Romans should contribute a part of their Estates, towards sustaining the charge of the War. Others, That it appeared enough, that he hated the King more than Royalty, since it appeared he had a design of reigning like a Sovereign, in that he spoke nothing of making an election of another Consul, and that he caused more than ordinary diligence and haste to be used about a house, which might become an impregnable Citadel, when he would fortify it, by reason of its advantageous situation. In fine, said these Mutineers, what serves it to commend Brutus, and yet imitate Tarquin? to speak of Liberty, and yet aspire to Tyranny? So that within four or five days, a great part of the people began to believe, that Valerius aspired to make himself King.  
At first, all his friends did what they could to undeceive them; but the more they spoke, the less they were believed, and came themselves to be suspected of intending to be subservient to his ambition, out of hopes to be rewarded for it. Thus was the most virtuous of men suspected of intentions to betray his Country, and not to have expelled a Tyrant, but only to be Tyrant himself. This troublesome rumour afflicted Valerius very sensibly, when Herminius gave him notice of it; for he was not of those people, who content themselves with being virtuous, without care to appear so. Besides, should there have happened a sedition in Rome at that time, the safety of the Commonwealth had been greatly endangered. Part of his friends were of advice, that he should severely punish some of those, that had the boldness to suspect him so unjustly, to the end, others might be restrained by that example, The gods defend (answered Valerius to them that gave him this counsel) that, to secure myself from the suspicion of attempting to be a Tyrant, I should commit an action that approaches near to Tyranny; for should I do it, the people would be incensed, I should accuse instead of justifying myself, and I should expose Rome to return to her late servitude. Wherefore I resolve upon another proceeding, which perhaps will succeed better. And accordingly Valerius, without imparting his design to any but Herminius, who commended him highly for taking up so generous a resolution, caused the people to be assembled the day following in the spacious Court, where he was wont to speak in public, when some important affair was in hand, to which the suffrages of the people were necessary. As their minds now were ill pre-disposed, part of the multitude believed, that Valerius caused the people to be assembled, only to make some unjust proposal to them. But when the place was full, all the Mutineers were astonished, when they observed the Consul, at his approach to the Tribunal where he was to speak, commanded the Axes, and the Fasces of Rods, which were the marks of Sovereign power, to be held downwards, intimating by this submissive action, that he acknowledged the power of the people to be above his own; a proceeding so remote from Tyranny, pleasingly astonished this multitude, who could not contain themselves from testifying their approbation of the fact with shouts and acclamations of joy. But at last, silence being commanded, Valerius beholding so favourable a beginning, lift up his eyes towards Heaven, and entering upon his Oration, with all the boldness that innocence inspires them with, who are accused unjustly; I wish (said he) O Romans; it had been the pleasure of the gods, that I had undergone the destiny of Brutus in the last Battle, and obtained the same glory with him, of dying in defence of my Country's Liberty, that so I might have escaped the misfortune, of being unjustly suspected of the most horrible of all crimes, and that by them, for whose sakes I would have sacrificed my dearest blood. Is it possible, O Romans, that no virtue can be pure enough to restrain you from suspecting it? Is it possible, I say, that I, who have ever been a declared enemy of the Tyrant and Tyranny, should be accused of aspiring to the Sovereign Power? How? No, no; I could never have imagined it, but should have believed on the contrary, that though I had been possessed of the Capitol, it could never have been feared I pretended to the Royalty. But, as I perceive, all my forepast management, and all my services, have not been able to hinder you from blotting and traducing my reputation: For it seems, upon the lightest pretext in the world, you accuse me with unparall'eld injustice, of the greatest of all crimes. Is it just, O ye inconsiderate Romans, (continued he) that ye should judge rather of me, by the place where I dwell, than by what I am myself? But since the matter is so, I declare to you, unjust Romans, that the house of Valerius shall never more cause umbrage to the City of Rome; and as it is easier to pull down than to build up, you shall soon see the ruins of my house to justify my innocence. The Mount Velia shall be free for those that please to dwell there; and to testify yet more submission, I shall begin to rebuild at the foot of that Mountain, if you please to assign me a place, to the end those suspicious Citizens, who accuse me so lightly, may dwell in a higher seat than myself; for I consent, that they, in whom more confidence is put, than in Valerius, for the liberty of his Country, may build their houses in the same place, where he newly demolished his. And accordingly while Valerius was speaking this, the great number of workmen which he had employed some days before to build that magnificent structure, by the order of Valerius, pulled it down with so speedy diligence, that it was absolutely razed before the day was done: And the first Consul, who had contributed so much to the liberty of Rome, saw himself constrained to go and lodge with one of his friends. Which great and unparallelled deed having fully justified Valerius, the same people that before murmured so much against him, conspired all with one voice to style him Publicola, denoting by this name they gave him, his yielding and submissiveness to the people. Whence after this famous day, this Consul was no longer called Valerius, but the appellation of Publicola remained upon him for ever. Himself was also glad that it continued to him, in regard the people could never name him, without remembering the cause for which they termed him so, whereby he gained a greater stock of credit for the good of the Commonwealth. Four or five days after, to confirm the good opinion given of him, it was proceeded to election of a new Consul; and Spurius Lucretius, Father of the admirable and unfortunate Lucretia, was chosen in the place of Brutus; for being much elder than Valerius, whom I shall hereafter call Publicola, this virtuous Consul was willing Lucretius should have the precedence, and all the honours of the Consulship. But being desirous to gain the people more powerfully, during those four or five days that he was alone, he made several Constitutions, which were very favourable and advantageous to them. He placed several virtuous persons in the Senate, in the room of those that were slain in the last battle. He caused a public Oath to be renewed, making it Treason in any that should dare to propose the changing of the Government; He decreed that Criminals condemned, might appeal to the people; He discharged the poor from contributing to the expense of the War; He enacted, None should be entrusted in any charge, but by the consent of the people: He also caused the Axes to be separated from the Fasces, and moreover constituted that what he had done the last time he spoke to the people, should be a precedent for the future, that is, that the Fasces should be held downwards as often as the people were assembled together. Thus, in seeming to lose a part of his power, this prudent Roman augmented his authority. That which much affected the people, was, the beholding Valerius, and all his family, enforced to sojourn at the House of Racilia, till he had one provided of his own. The noble-minded Sivelia did not omit in this occasion, to offer hers to this virtuous Consul; but he waved the acceptation of it, by reason of Herminius' love to Valeria, and chose rather the same Lodgings which had formerly entertained the illustrious Brutus. Mean time, though these late transactions greatly took up those, who judged themselves interessed in the good of the Republic, Clelius, in the prejudice he had against Aronces, failed not to take care for Horatius, and sent secretly to Veii, to procure his deliverance; which soon after became more easy for him to effect, by reason of the death of Spurius Lucretius, which happened eight days after he was created Consul. For an Uncle of Horatius', who was also of the Family of those first Horatij, whose Combat is so celebrated, succeeded in his place, and assisted Clelius much, in contriving ways to bring about his return to Rome. While matters were at this pass, Clelia was possessed with extreme sorrow, the weakness of Octavius increased; she apprehended Aronces going to engage on his Father's side, which he could not avoid with honour; for he must either remain a prisoner, or become an enemy to Rome. Besides, she was almost certain, Horatius would return speedily; she beheld one of his Relations in Authority; her Father passionately inclined to his alliance; and in brief, she could foresee nothing but perplexity and disquiet; and this brought her into a strange melancholy; yet though she was something pale, and extremely sad, she was, notwithstanding, always the most beautiful person in the world. All the Ladies her friends, visited her very frequently, and Valeria among the rest, made it almost her business to comfort the afflicted Ladies; for she was almost ever with Hermilia, or Collatina, or Clelia. But by reason Plotina and Amilcar had a certain genius of pleasantness, which could not long consist with melancholy, the converse was always very agreeable at Cesonia's house, whither generally persons of quality resorted more than usual, after Sulpitia was become a Mourner, and Valeria lived at the house of Racilia. So that there was scarce a day, but Themistus, Meleagenes, Zenocrates, Herminius, Mulius, Aemilius, Spurius, Amilcar, and several others went thither, where there were also many noble and beautiful Ladies. But as the conversations which are made amongst choice persons, whose number is not over great, are the most pleasing of all, there happened one in the chamber of Plotina one day, which was very divertising, and passed only betwixt that charming Lady Cesonia, Amilcar, Aemilius, and Herminius; the cause of it was sufficiently sad, for coming to speak of Clelia and Aronces, they resented their conditions with compassion, and foreseeing all the mischiefs which in probability would betid them, they entertained themselves at first after a very melancholy manner. But Amilcar not being able to talk long upon sorrowful subjects, without conforming them to his own humour; It must be confessed (said he on a sudden) that such as are capable of great passions, are far more miserable than others; and it were better to love every thing that pleases, than to confine our affection to one single object: Besides, (added he) I look upon it as an injury done to nature, to love but one thing alone in the whole Universe, But you do not remember, (answered Plotina smiling) that you would have me think you love me, and yet what you say, does not altogether tend to make you be beloved. You have forgot yourself (replied he) for your maxims are not much different from mine, and 'tis rather joy that unites us than love; or, to explain myself more clearly, the joy I resent in loving you, is that which maintains the passion I have for you; besides that, to speak sincerely, I was born a little too slothful, to adventure the experience of one of those great passions, which always oblige to the performance of great matters; and without question, I am more fit for a trifling, than for an heroical love. Methinks (said Cesonia) you attribute a quality to yourself not very good; for I always looked upon slothfulness as a defect. How? Cesonia (cried Amilcar) if you knew but what sweetness there is in a certain carelessness, which is the daughter of sloth, and how pleasing an employment idleness is to a man that hath some delicacy of mind, you would not speak as you do, but would conclude, that if diligence be sometimes more profitable, sloth is almost ever more agreeable. For if you considered it well, you would find, that they which are naturally diligent have scarce ever leisure to do nothing; because the same temperament which makes diligent, endues those that are capable of it with a certain activity, which obliges them to engage themselves into a thousand difficult matters. Such people undertake all, would be all, intermeddle with all; and so, by their incessant turmoiling, deprive themselves of that, which according to the intention of Nature, is the reward of all labours, and the end of all the actions of Life; Rest. For even Heroes, that resolve most to climb to glory, by arduous and untrodden paths, propose Rest to themselves at the end of their travels. Why therefore should any account it discommendable, that being able to obtain this happy Quiet by Idleness, which is so great a pleasure, I enjoy it with tranquillity and peace? Why, I say, should I be blamed for commending and loving, yea, preferring idleness before labour? for is there any thing so sweet as to have nothing to do, and to be able to do all what ever one pleases? I confess (said Herminius) 'tis very pleasing to have the power of doing all one will; but I deny, that 'tis oftentimes agreeable to do nothing I grant indeed, that there is sometimes a kind of sweetness in the serene enjoyment of honest leisure, yet that which chiefly constitutes the pleasantness of it, is not properly idleness, but the liberty and arbitrament a man hath to do what his own inclinations lead him to. Continual labour is a thing painful, but eternal sluggishness is so tedious and troublesome a quality, that I hate nothing more. For sluggishness (replied Amilcar) it is as well odious to me as to you, but the idleness which I mean, I love it with all my soul; It seems to me (said Cesonia) there is no great diffence between them. How? Cesonia (answered he) you seem not to consider what you speak; for a sluggard is properly a man either without virtue, or without courage, or without wit, or without address. But a gallant man idle, is a Philosopher, who does nothing, because there is nothing in the world worthy to employ him; or a man, who seeking wisdom by a different way from the common sort of men, pursues only pleasures, without intermeddling with the public good, and a thousand affairs, which cause all the turmoil of life, and finds himself happier, in being gently seated upon a hillock, by the side of a Rivulet, and entertaining himself with some young Shepherdess, than those ambitious heads which are always active and unquiet, in the midst of all the honours which they attain by their continual labours. And if you consider all things aright, you will find, as I said before, that Rest is the end to which all actions of men are directed. For men do not fight, but to the intent they may not always fight; nor aspire to glory, but to enjoy it in quiet; they do not learn, but that they may make an end of learning; nor travel, but that they may arrive to the place whither they design: and whosoever looks not upon Rest as the chief good, is like a man that should undertake to travel eternally, without ever arriving to any place wherein to abide. Your argument is pleasantly set forth with advantage, (replied Herminius) but yet I hold, there can be no true sweetness in Rest, unless so far as it is judged a commodious estate, of being able to do what a man best pleases. For, that I may borrow the very examples used by you, do you think that those Philosophers, who put themselves in the way of discovering, that the world being wholly corrupted, hath no employment worthy to take them up, could be termed idle? Call you that doing nothing, to have learned to be better contented with poverty, than the ambitious are with victories; to neglect all the delights which pleasure hath invented, and to be satisfied with the converse of their Books; the melody of Birds, the purling of a Fountain, and their own innocence? As for other kind of idle people, whom only softness possess, I confess they deserve the name which you have given them, and he that loves nothing but delights, may be said to be in continual idleness. Yet 'tis at lest an idleness sufficiently sweet, (replied Amilcar, smiling:) But if it were allowable to be always idle, (replied Herminius) all men would be so; for it would be more convenient, than to seek glory by difficult ways, in which also the Heroes found it. Had this opinion been always approved, and idleness, sloth, and carelessness ranked with the virtues, we should have had neither Cities, nor Laws, nor Monarchies, nor Republics; but all the world would have been in confusion, all men would have lived in the fields like the Herds which feed there; the Arts would never have been invented; and the same pleasure which induces you to defend the cause of idleness and sloth, would want above half the charms which allure those to it, who have the blindness to prefer it before virtue; since it is true, that men have by their pains invented or perfected very many things which serve for pleasure, as Dancing, Music, and several others. So that if Idleness had been Mistress of the world, the world would have been in a strange confusion and ignorance; and Amilcar himself, who knows a hundred things which he hath learned with very much care, would have known nothing of what he knows, nor have been the same person in the world he is; he could have scarce had any thing graceful, nor even discoursed of idleness at the rate he now does; whence I assure myself, he does not speak according to his real thoughts. 'Tis true, (answered Amilcar) what ever I have said, I am neither sluggish nor idle; yet, to speak unfeignedly, I could wish I had leisure to be so, and were not all my life obliged to study to do things, which afford me no advantage, and little pleasure. For, to tell you freely, most of the labours of men, find nothing but ingratitude in the minds of those, for whom they are undergone; and every man, from the King to the Slave, hath at least met with one ungrateful in his life. For when a Prince is just and gracious, the people are apt to infer, that he is obliged to be so, that they are not at all obliged to him for it. Most Kings, because they are born Masters of others, imagine they owe no reward to their faithful Subjects, and that Tyranny is one of the Rights of their Sovereignty. They that govern Republics, are exposed to the ingratitude of the people, as well as Kings; and the persons of highest employment in States of this sort, imagining those whom they govern, can never obey them with blindness enough, never trouble themselves to give them any testimonies of acknowledgement: Masters believe their slaves born to do them service without reward; and slaves on the other side, think their Masters ought to recompense them for the least matters they perform, and that they are indebted to them continually. The friends which a man obliges, knowing 'tis the engagement of friendship to serve those we love, make no esteem of any thing; and they which oblige others, require on the contrary; that all should be ascribed to them. A Father, because he hath given life to his Children, conceives, that they ought to be always as dependent on him, as they were while they were but in their Cradle; and giving them no thanks for all their endeavours to please him, does nothing at all for them: and Children for their part, knowing that their birth is not the greatest obligation they can owe to their Fathers, repine even for the life which they gave them, when they do not all for them which they think they are able to do. Husbands, whose authority is established by force and custom, conceiving their wives are too happy in obeying them, give them no thanks for their complacency; and Wives, who having either Beauty or Virtue imagining their Husbands too highly preferred by having married them, are not obliged by any thing whatsoever, but for the most part are impertinent when they are fair, and insolent when they are wise. Even Lovers are ungrateful, and the most of any other. For indeed (added Amilcar smiling) if you took notice of all the complaints they make, you would think a thousand mighty injuries had been done them, and never the least kindness. And it oftentimes happens, that a Lover, after he has received a thousand and a thousand favours; makes afterwards a thousand and a thousand repine, only because he is something less favourably regarded than ordinary: so that forgetting all former kindnesses, he murmurs and threatens to change his affection, and becomes perfectly ingrateful And as for the Ladies (continued he) I could cite an hundred Sonnets, wherein the title of Ungrateful is given them. For I remember one which begins with, Ungrateful Fair; another with Ungrateful Iris; a third with, What strange ingratitude is this of yours? a fourth with, The ungrateful beauty which I serve; and another which pronounces, All that's handsome is ungrateful. To conclude, Ingratitude is so general a thing, that a man would almost protest against obliging any person; and for fear of doing any thing for one that may afterwards prove ungrateful, resolve to do nothing at all, but to live so as only to live, without taking care of any thing. For Ingratititude, (said Aemilius, who all this while had been silent) I assent to you, that there is too much of it in the world. I am of your opinion, (answered Herminius) but there would be much less of it, if there were no slothfulness and idleness; for they are usually supine and negligent persons, who are most ungrateful, and who are willing to be obliged by all the world, without obliging any body. In truth (said Plotina) you have all a great stock of wit, and methinks you are in the humour to day, of expressing more than ordinary; and therefore I beseech you satisfy me of two things, which I am desirous to know: First, Which is most shameful, to be a sluggard for want of wit, or for want of courage? and Secondly, to examine well all the different ingratitudes the world is full of, and determine which is the greatest; for there are various kinds, For my own particular, I have a she-friend, who makes no account of the services which are done her, but forgets a thousand considerable good offices, without ever thinking of retribution; and who, because she is fair, and loves her beauty better than herself, if I may so speak, never forgets one flattery or commendation, but will do much more for them which deceive her, provided it be in her own praise, than for those who do her real services: What you speak of (said Cesonia) fails out very frequently, but before speaking of ingratitude, let us discourse a little concerning these idle persons, whose idleness has divers causes. I know some who are so, only because they are careless; for they have wit enough, and testify also in some occasions, when they are forced to it, that they want no courage; and besides, it is not perceived that they have any bad qualities: These people (answered Herminius) are culpable in the highest degree; for I know nothing more strange than to be unprofitable, both to the world and ones self, to have wit and do nothing with it, and a certain indifferent mind, which causes a man not to interest himself in any thing, to have neither ambition nor love, and to live with a negligence that renders him incapable of all great pleasures. For my own part, I should almost like it better for a man to addict himself to something, not altogether good, than not to apply himself to any thing at all. As for me (replied Plotina) I am of Herminius' mind, and I judge it more shameful to be an eternal idler, for want of having the Will to attempt something, than to do nothing for want of Will: For what reason is there to accuse a poor stupid person, who by engaging himself in action, would only manifest his stupidity? I affirm confidently, that they to whom the gods have been sparing of the riches of the mind, are happy, when they assign them an unactive life withal, so that they remain hidden in their own obscurity. This deficiency causes the same effect in them, which prudence does in others, by restraining them from appearing unbecomingly in the world. For there is none but knows, there are people which would not be spoken of, if they were not in great employments, of whom a thousand dispraises are rumoured, because they acquit themselves ill of what they rashly undertake. Promote a hare-brained man to the management of State-affairs, and one faint-hearted to command an Army, and you will find it convenient there were more idle persons than there are. For idle persons injure none but themselves; but they which manage employments they are unworthy of, oftentimes overthrow the order of the world. They make war, when there is a greater necessity for peace; and contrarily, make peace, when 'tis more convenient to undertake a war: and not understanding the import of their own actions, it would be better they did nothing at all. For which reason, upon due consideration, I judge it more reasonable to censure impertinent busybodies, than those miserable lazy-backs who seek ease, and ofttimes do better by indulging their own quiet, than by forsaking it to become active. Let us leave them therefore in their happy idleness, (answered Cesonia) and I repent me of my curiosity I had to know distinctly, the different degrees of contempt I ought to allot them in my mind. I cannot leave them yet, (replied Herminius) but I must tell you, that the most criminal of all idle persons, are they who addict themselves to nothing, when they are obliged by necessity to betake themselves to the employment which fortune has given them. For though all idleness is blame-worthy, yet when a man addicts himself to nothing, and chooses no profession, but out of choice, sloth, or incapacity, or some other reason, passes his life in so great sluggishness, that he might in a manner die, without the loss of pleasure, or benefit to any, and even without being sensible of it himself, it is sufficient to reprehend and slight him. But when we see a man, who by his birth and his own election, is instated in a great employment, which requires him to act, and he does not, he is to be hated and despised. According to my judgement (said Amilcar) ye have much reason for this; but yet there are people worse than those idle ones you speak of. I beseech you (interposed Cesonia) tell us who they are; for my part, I cannot comprehend there can be any such. They are those, (answered Amilcar) who being engaged in a great employment, do not cease to forecast how to acquit themselves of it, that they may enjoy a certain quiet, which hath always some pleasure in it; yet having a kind of humorousness in their heads, which I cannot express, they do not the things they are obliged to, but busy themselves in matters which they might better dispense with, and neglect all their lives, and to which they have no engagement. For when I see a Priest omit the care of the Temple he ministers to, that knows nothing of the quality of Victims, and scarce the ceremonies of a Sacrifice; but yet discourses well concerning War, Music, and Hunting, I am possessed with the most pleasant indignation in the world; for at the same time I contemn him, I take infinite delight to mock and abuse him. When I observe a Senator with his grave aspect (which he sometimes sets off with a little constraint) ignorant of the Laws of his Country, and going about to play the Gallant with a Lady, who derides his bad courtship; I conclude, he will do better to keep in his Closet, than to meddle with an unsuitable indecorous Art, and neglect what is incumbent and proper to his place. On the other side, when I see a man, whose age and condition qualifies him for a Gallant, put on an awful Senatorious gravity, and dive into the Doctrine of Pythagoras, and speak no smaller word than that of Transmigration, or Metempsychosis; I sigh, and exclaim, O gods! Why is not this man idle? So likewise when I behold a Captain, whom it behoves to be generous, and to understand his profession, that knows only the terms of the military Art he follows, and yet is well skilled in that of Dancing, I wish he would do nothing throughout all his life. On the contrary, when I perceive a person, whose mean birth and abilities ought to withhold him from intermeddling with any thing, who yet thrusts himself into all businesses, I am as much unsatisfied that this man is not idle too. Now if any offer to retort unto me, that idleness is good for nothing, I may at least presume to affirm, that it does hurt to none, and that there is no comparison between idleness and ingratitude. True, (said Herminius) ingratitude is the vilest of all vices, and most oposite to natural equity; for it is never found so much as amongst brutes, nor even the most cruel and savage of them. Benefits and kindnesses mollify Lions; Men alone are naturally capable of ingratitude. The most remarkable enormity of this vice, is that it is directly opposite to Justice, and overthrows all Laws of Society, which among people endued with reason, aught to be nothing else, but a continual commerce of good offices. According to the Laws of Humanity, it behoveth to do good to whosoever stands in need of it; judge therefore, whether it be not just to do so to them, from whom benefits have been received. But there are people of such an evil heart, that when they are too much obliged, they decline those to whom they are engaged, and by degrees grow to a pass not to endure them. 'Tis a strange humour in some (said Plotina) whom I know, that will not do any thing for those who have done all things for them, and yet render considerable services to such, as never did them the least civility. These people are much of their perverse natures, who love better to make presents than to pay their debts: But the best is, that nevertheless all the world declaims against this odious quality, and there is no ungrateful person but decries ingratitude. This proceeds (said Herminius) for that no person does justice to himself, and because the greatest part of men would appear what they are not. That which amazes me more (continued he) is, to observe, that this crime is so general, since 'tis the only one which is absolutely void of all pleasure. For a man who usurps the property of another, enriches himself by doing so; a Detractor has the pleasure of being easily believed; a Cheater has the satisfaction, of attaining to the end he designed to himself; a Vindicative person has the contentment of revenging himself, by committing acts of cruelty: but an Ingrateful man can never think of what has been done for him, without some kind of shame and regret. I assure you (answered Plotina) they which are arrived to the highest pitch of ingratitude, never think of that which has been done for them. But if they do not (replied Herminius) yet they have no pleasure in not thinking of it; and so you agree to what I asserted. I confess it really, (said she) for I love no contesting: But to complete the satisfaction of my curiosity, tell me, I beseech you, which of all ingratitudes is the blackest? That (answered Amilcar) where the obligation is greatest. That is not directly the thing I inquire, (replied Plotina.) What is it then (said Cesonia) which you demand? I would know (said this lovely Virgin) in which profession of persons, ingratititude is most odious, whether in the mind of a King, or in those of his subjects; of a master, or a slave: amongst friends, or between a Father and his Children, or a Husband and a Wife, or a Lover and his Mistress? Ingratitude is a thing so horrible, (answered Herminius) that it never found an Advocate which dared to defend it, or to confess himself capable of it. Some acknowledge indeed, that they are ambitious, choleric, and revengeful; but none will own that he is ungrateful: Wherefore ingratitude must be absolutely condemned, wherever it is found. But yet there are several degrees, (replied Plotina) and I think I may almost confidently adjoin, that there is no equality in any thing under the Sun. According to my apprehension, (said Amilcar) ingrateful persons may be divided into three orders; for some are so in point of Duty, others in relation to Friendship, and others in respect of Love. Those in point of Duty, are Kings, and Subjects; Fathers, and Children; Masters, and Slaves; Husbands, and Wives: Those in reference to Friendship, are Friends of both Sexes; And lastly those in relation to love, are Lovers and their Ladies. Amilcar hath spoken judiciously, (answered Herminius) it cannot be denied; though among them, which he terms ingrateful in reference to duty, sometimes there may be some, that merit a place too among those that are so in matter of Friendship. But, speaking generally, he hath well ranked these Monsters; and it remains only to examine, which are most culpable, For my part, (said Amilcar) I believe they which are ungrateful in point of Duty, are the most criminal. But my opinion (said Cesonia) is, that their guilt is greatest, who practice ingratitude in Friendship. Mine, (said Aemilius) that the foulest aspect of this vice is, when it appears among the Votaries of Love. I affirm so too, (answered Herminius) and you only prevented me in declaring this truth. If there were a fourth part to be taken, (said Plotina) I would choose it: but being 'tis otherwise, I will attend what to resolve on, till you have delivered your Reasons. As for mine (said Amilcar, smiling) I shall soon have done it, since I have nothing else to say, but only that Love cannot be placed, in comparison with that kind of Duty we understand; for men, who have made Laws to teach Kings to Govern, and People to Obey, have made none to teach Gratitude in Love; and all the Morality of the goddess, adored in Cyprus, is no where to be found but in Sonnets. The same reason (answered Aemilius) which obliged Numa to make no Laws against parricides, has, without question, obliged all Legislators to mention almost nothing concerning Love; because, as Numa imagined, there could be no parricide, so they presumed it impossible ingratitude should be in Love. But however it be (answered Amilcar) I am not bound to speak as the matter is, but only what I think. And therefore I say, looking upon Love as a piece of Gallantry, I do not occount the ungrateful of this Order the blackest; but judge those that are ingrateful in friendship, more criminal, though less than those which are so in respect of Duty, which I spoke of. Certainly, if the consequence of Ingratitude ought to be considered, in order to determining the greatness of it, it must be granted me, that ingratitude in Love produces divertisement and pleasure in the world, instead of disturbing humane society; for usually, amorous Ingratitudes occasion the composure of very excellent Verses. As for that which happens between two friends, though it be horrible, yet at most it only causes hatred to succeed in the room of friendship, and some families to be divided. But the ingratitude of bad Kings towards their Subjects (if the respect due to them will permit such language) is the occasion of a thousand injustices; and that of People towards their King's causes seditions, revolts, and eternal wars. The ingratitude of Fathers to Children, and Children to Fathers, extinguishes all natural sentiments; that of Husbands to Wives, and Wives to Husbands, occasions almost all criminal affections, and tragical deeds. Judge therefore whether I was mistaken, when I affirmed the ingrateful in Duty were the most dangerous. I know not whether they be the most dangerous, (answered Cesonia) but I maintain that one ungrateful in friendship can never be a true honest man; and yet 'tis not impossible sometimes for one ingrateful in Duty to be so. For, to instance, there may be Kings who will give no acknwledgement of the services performed for them; who study more their own glory, than the quiet of their people, and will not be other than great Princes. Indeed, if all Kings really loved their Subjects, as a good Father ought to love his Children, and would take especial notice of the services which are performed for them, they would never make War, except to defend them, but peaceably permit them to till their native soil, and be induced by no ambition to make new acquests of Territory at the expense of their lives, who love and obey them. Perhaps there may possibly be ingratitudes in Ambition, of not so black a stain, as those of friendship. All such as have began a new dominion, have been ingrateful to their Country: yet whilst in their climbing from mean Citizens to the height of grand Princes, Fortune justified their ingratitude, they have been placed in the same degree with Heroes. But as for an ingrateful friend, he hath been always ranked amongst the base and treacherous. Fathers and Children, Husbands and Wives, ingratitude is not so odious when it is found amongst them; but only because there is a great duty of mutual love incumbent upon them. For though I am of opinion, it is always fit for children to respect and obey those to whom they owe their lives; yet I hold, that when a man happens to have one of those Fathers that are too much so, and who, acting perpetually by their authority, never do any thing with tenderness, he may in some sort be excusable, if he ascribe not all imaginable acknowledgements to him; nevertheless I agree, that he ought always to honour and serve him. But there is a certain respect or decency, and an obedience proceeding from reason, very different from those which are produced by a real acknowledgement. The same I say of Fathers and Children, is also applicable to Husbands and Wives. Moreover, there is another reason, which renders ingratitude between friends more detestable, than between those I now mentioned. For Kings make no choice of their Subjects, and all Subjects do not elect their Kings; no more do Fathers choose their Children, or these their Fathers: Interest, for the most part, makes all Marriages, rather than Reason or Love. Wherefore when all these persons are defective in acknowledgements, though they deserve blame; yet 'tis in a less measure than ingrateful friends do; especially, because not loving at all, they lessen the value of the obligations they have one towards another; for conceiving their duty less, it is not strange if they dispense with a part of what they owe. As for Lovers, though their ingratitude be horrible, yet it may be alleged, that since we love not whom we will, we cannot be obliged thereunto in spite of our inclinations; and besides, as Love seizes on one party first, when such possession seizes on the one side, it commonly begins on the other; whence a Lover, whose interest is disrespected, believes not himself so obliged as he is to the person by whom he is beloved. But for friends, they are chosen by us, we are voluntarily obliged to them, we sue unto, and engage them, we readily admit of their services, not being constrained to a confederate amity, either by the Laws, or any disordered Passion; and by consequence, nature, reason, justice, virtue, and glory, exact of us a correspondent return of good offices, and when it is not in a man's power to perform that, he ought never at least, to forget the obligation he hath to his Friend, but publish and own it with delight. For my part, I confess, I cannot comprehend how there should be ingrateful friends, or how there can be any people which endure those which are so. What assurance can there be in the heart of a man, who is wanting to his friend and himself? what sentiment is able to retain him, who despises friendship, justice, and glory, and makes himself apparent to be as imprudent as false? for indeed, the ingrateful ruins his reputation amongst all people of honour, and does himself more mischief than others, though perhaps he is not sensible of it. It were not impossible, but one ingrateful to his Prince may be grateful to his friend, and his Mistress, and also to the other Relations I mentioned; but I judge, an ingrateful Friend, may be an ingrateful Subject, Father, Child, Husband, and Lover, for friendship is a thing so sacred, that who so contemns it, is capable of violating all things; Wherefore I conceive my opinion more warranted by reason than that of Hamilcars. You are highly ingenious, (answered Herminius) and I confess, all you have said in favour of Friendship is admirably well discoursed, and so much the more as it serves to prove, that the most horrible of all Ingratitudes is Ingratitude in Love. Which before I undertake, I must declare, that there is no kind excusable, but all ingrateful persons merit contempt and detestation. It is not material to examine whether a man loves or hates, to know whether he ought to be grateful. For upon the reception of a benefit, he is indispensably obliged to be acknowledged for it, not only to his friends, but also to his enemies, when he accepts a good office from their hands: And besides, I am not satisfied whether a man be not obliged to gratitude, even when he refuses the services they would do him.  
The word [Acknowledgement] so clearly implies the necessary obligation of him that receives a favour from any one, that none can be ignorant of it. To acknowledge a good turn, is to be always in a propensity of doing what has been done for you; and whosoever feels not in his breast a continual desire of performing that towards another which has been done to serve him, is without question secretly ingrateful, and will discover himself upon the first occasion presented him, of serving those by whom he has been obliged. But to come to the particular design I have, to make it apparent, that Ingratitude in Love is more abominable than all others, I stand not in need of very many words to do it. For though there can be no small ingratitude, yet it is certain, it may be more or less great, according as the person is more or less obliged. For if a man owes his life to a friend, he is more obliged to him, than if he owed to him only his Fortune; and consequently is more ingrateful to him, than if he were accountable to him for a less engagement. Which being so, what doubt can be made of the question in hand, and is there any thing that may be placed in comparison with Love? A man serves his King, his Father, his Master, and his Friend; but a Lover gives himself to his Mistress, and a Mistress herself to her Lover; 'tis Love alone that has the power to make two hearts one. I know friendship boasts of being able to do it, but without reason. Two friends that are most intimately such, may have each his Mistress which will divide them, or at least render their friendship less considerable to them, because it will no longer afford them their greatest contentment. But when Love closely unites two persons together, whose breasts are tender, and minds intelligent, I defy all the power of Friendship to divide them. Therefore since Love is an union incomparably more strong and perfect than Friendship, and nothing can be parralleled with the obligation we have to a person who bestows his whole heart, it is easy to conclude, that there is no ingratitude of a deeper dye, than that of a Lover towards a Mistress, or a Mistress towards a Lover. But when I mention Love, I am not to be understood of those trifling sorts of Love which wear a name they deserve not, for they who love at this rate, giving themselves only for the time which they spend in jollity, are engaged to nothing but to divert themselves as best they may, so long as they have a fancy to be seen, and loved. But I mean a certain ardent and sincere Love, founded upon esteem and virtue; in which is made a real commutation of hearts, where Desires are the same in two breasts, and seem likely to continue so eternally. For since there is nothing more precious in the world than an affection of this nature, therefore who ever is capable of Ingratitude after such a dearness, is the most perfidious and vile of all other ingrateful persons. Yet there is a certain interressed disposition in men, which almost generally induces them to detest one that is ungrateful, by forgetting a good office done him, in relation to his fortune; more than a criminal Lover, who extinguishes out of his mind all memorial and tokens of a great passion conferred on him. But to speak reasonably, there is nothing more unjust, nor even more inhuman, than to be capable of ingratitude towards a person, who has given all he was able, by giving his heart. For in Love, the services which are received aught to be reckoned upon as in Friendship; because when two persons love perfectly, it must be supposed they are qualified to do and suffer all things one for the other, even to the loss of life. As soon as they love, they mutually owe one another all the offices which love can prompt them to; and this community of duty they ought to make reckoning of, as much as of services performed, since there is nothing requisite more but occasion, which depends solely on fortune. By this discourse of yours (replied Aemilius coldly) it seems, that Gratitude in love belongs only to happy Lovers. I should be very glad it were so, (said Plotina, smiling) and that some distinction be made in reference to Acknowledgement; for otherwise I should be in a desperate case, if I apprehended myself obliged not to be ingrateful to three or four persons, which make semblance of loving me. There is without doubt, (answered Herminius) considerable distinction to be made in these sort of matters; for excepting in Love, it behoveth never to receive a good office, without an inclination of mind to repay it, and a resentment of the obligation. But the case is not the same in Love; and Acknowledgement, in order to being perfect, ought never to be against either Justice or Virtue. But it would be against both, if a Lady equally acknowledged the affection of four or five Lovers; for indeed Love cannot be divided. But what then shall become of the services of unhappy Lovers, (said Aemilius?) and why is not she accusable of ingratitude who receives and not acknowledges them? Impossibility (answered Herminius) gives bounds to all things, and it is easy to be understood. A Lady loves not whom she pleases, and when she loves some one, she can have no other recognizance for them which she loves not and serve her, than that which obliges her to pity them, and wish them cured of their Love; and moreover to serve them as generous friends, when she finds occasion to do it. The Virtues are never in hostility among themselves; and one should not be truly grateful, if he were so with injustice. It is not lawful to injure one friend, in order to doing service to another; and when 'tis said, We ought to acknowledge all good offices we receive, it is meant, after such a manner as may with reason be done. Thus may a Lady not render Love for Love, without being ingrateful; and 'tis to speak strictly only reciprocal Love, that has reference to that black ingratitude which I account so monstrous, and which amases me so much the more, in that it cannot be committed but against such a person of all the World, as one is most loved by, and most engaged to love. And now to speak of Ingratitude in general, it can never be good for any thing. Ambition may produce good effects, Love oftentimes excites to achieve great actions, Indignation serves sometimes to uphold Justice; Cruelty, as terrible as it is, may be in some sort profitable in the breasts of those who in order to saving a man's life are constrained to cut off his Arm, But Ingratitude is almost the sole thing which is good only to do mischief. On the other side gratitude, though a virtue which makes not so much noise as many others, is nevertheless completely heroical in the breasts of those that understand it aright; and I cannot decide whether there be not sometimes as much glory in the handsome acknowledgement of a Civility, as for a man himself to confer a favour. Whilst they were thus arguing, Themistus arrived, who conducted the olitary Merigenes to Caesonia's house, by whom he was received with extraordinary kindness. Plotina also expressed to him all the civility his quality required; Aemilius testified much joy to see him, having known him before at Eryx; Herminius likewise made him many caresses; and Amilcar, who was friend to all worthy persons, was his as soon as he saw him. To signify to him that he was not ignorant of his affairs, he demanded of him whether he were not weary of his solitude, and his rare Closet which was so excellently adorned, and inquired whether an Illustrious friend of his of near habitation to him, stood yet in need of all his constancy to undergo the many vexations which attend a decaying health; and then desired that he would tell him news of the Princess of Elis, who was gone to Eryx, to implore Venus that she might have the privilege of kindling love in the breasts of others, yet keeping her own insensible. You ask me so many things at once (answered Merigenes) that it is not possible for me to satisfy you suddenly. But I shall tell you, that Rome is a very fit place to comfort one of the Desert, that the sight of the Capitol is sufficiently pleasing to make me contentedly suffer my absence from my Closet, that the illustrious friend you speak of, is ever the most prudent and virtuous of all men, and withal the most miserable through his unhealthiness, and that the Princess of Elis having fallen sick at Eryx, is diverted into my Defart, to recover the perfect lustre of her incomparable complexion. And now I have answered all the Questions, I beseech you tell me why you ask me tidings of the fair Elismonda, and whether or no you know her. I know her, (replied Amilcar, smiling) only by the report of Aemilius, who never saw her; but I wish I were so happy to know her myself. For indeed I have a kind of curiosity to understand how that unjust person is composed, who addresses confidently to the Mother of Love, that she would empower her to inflame others with that passion, and be exempted from it herself. And because you have seen her for some days in the Desert, I conceive you will much oblige the Company by describing her. Though I have no great skill in Peinture (answered Merigenes) yet I shall endeavour to represent her Portraiture to you, in case the Ladies before whom I speak require it as well as you. For my part (said Caesonia) I am always very well contented, Amilcar should have any thing granted him that may satisfy his curiosity; for he has such an excellent faculty of using all he knows, that he can never know too much, And as for me, (said Plotina) the sentiment of the Princess of Elis, seems to me so gallant, that it gives me the same curiosity too. And I, (said Herminius) were it for nothing else, but because she reigns in a place where the Olympic Games, which are the famousest of all Greece, are celebrated should not be unwilling to have some knowledge of her. Since 'tis thus, (said Merigenes) I shall betake myself to content your curiosity, though I must declare to you, that the Princess of Elis is a person, whose Picture is not so easily to be drawn as you imagine. For whatever diligence I may bring to effect it, I am assured I shall never make it perfectly resemble her; but they who well know the fair Elismonda, will judge, that I have fallen short in delineating her pourtract. But since 'tis impossible for me not to obey you, I shall tell you, that that young Princess is exactly of the stature which I would have the Mother of Love represented by, for I cannot approve of those Peinters and Sculptures, who set forth Venus to us in such an extraordinary size, that it cannot be imagined that Cupid should be her Son, who if he had a sister, it may be thought she would without doubt resemble the Princess of Elis. You understand by this, that Elismonda is not great, but from the first being of handsome persons, there was never any whose stature was better proportioned, nor more suitable to the air of her countenance and beauty, than hers; for were she somewhat taller, or a little lower, any thing more thick, or a thought more slender, she would infallibly lose some part of that which renders her so lovely,; so true it is, that she is, such as is requisite for her to be, exactly shaped. Elismonda's hair is flaxen, and so wonderfully comely, that Art only serves to compose and place it, though perhaps a careless disorder sometimes renders it more graceful. The shape of her countenance is Oval, her nose is well and regularly proportioned, her mouth curiously framed, teeth white, complexion very clear and smooth, the air of youth diffused over all her face, ceruleous eyes, sweet, smiling, sprightly, and yet a little languishing; and that which makes her infinitely charming, is her pleasing and attracting Aspect, which promises nothing but goodness and tenderness. Then Elismonda's neck is so well made, that it appears handsome even after languishing tedious sicknesses. For her arms and hands; they leave all description beneath them, for whether it be by reason of their shape, whiteness, plumpness, or I know not what secret unexpressible charm, 'tis not possible but to forbear holding her eyes, how lovely soever, for some moments, and turn them to admire the beauty of the rarest hands and arms in the World, when the occasion of lifting up her veil, or rectifying something about her head-tire, or doing any other action, causes the discovery of their handsomeness. Another greater loveliness in the Princess of Elis, is the freedom of her carriage, for though she loves herself enough, yet she is far from all ostentative affectation of seeming fair, she has ever the same natural neatness, nothing savouring of fantasticalness, her dress is not over finical, nor too much neglected, and her attire never too magnificent, yet 'tis very stately, and she wears it with a singular grace, she chooses with Art such colours as are most advantageous to her, and if she have especial care in any thing; 'tis in artificial and becoming bracelets, and to be always alike neat, whether she be dressed or not. For Wit, without question Elismonda, has a plenteous stock of it, especially of such as enhances the power of Beauty. She speaks gracefully, she is gentle, civil, and even flattering when she pleases, though sometimes she puts on a colder air towards certain people, whom she does not much affect. And then for her disposition, 'tis extremely even and uniform, especially towards her friends. Her temper is apparently something inclinable to melancholy, but she scarce ever discovers any in conversation, and only serves herself of it in the passionate singing of languishing airs; for Elismonda's voice is infinitely pleasing, wherewith she repeats Love-verses after so affecting a manner, that you would judge she felt herself the passion which the Sonnets express, and take her for the Author, by her exact reach of their sentiments, who were inspired by Love in the composition. Moreover, Elismonda is merry when she is in company that pleases her., yet 'tis always a modest mirth, and never ascends to those excessive wantonnesses which are discordant to seemliness. On the other side, when she thinks fit, she puts on a more serious deportment, though without disgust to any. Nor is she like those fair ones, who ever resort to all great feasts; for she loves not a crowd, and very selfom goes to a Ball, notwithstanding she dances with an excellent grace. As little is she of the humour of those, who would think their beauty undervalved, if it do not every year procure them great number of Collations, Treatments, and Serenades. For Elismonda is contented to conquer hearts, without desiring such testimonies of affection; and excepting some praises in Verse, which she sometimes suffers to be given her, she can never resolve to receive any thing, either from her Lovers or Friends of either sex. But Elismonda's heart being great and noble, she loves naturally to give, and to make, handsome Treatments at home, not to seek them from others. She has moreover a quality very rare in a person fair and young, not to speak ill of any person living in the least, picquant and dangerous railleries are displeasing to her, and 'tis against her desire if any person whatsoever be injured. 'Tis not to be doubted but that Elismonda loves praises, and though she declare she will never love any besides the Prince of Elis, who alone has been able to make impressions on her heart, yet she takes it not ill that she is esteemed, admired, and adored; and if any thing of cruelty harbours in her soul, 'tis in having a general design to please, without caring to make some persons miserable, whom she never intends to render happy. Not but that she has reason to persist faithful to the Prince of Elis, for certainly never man was owner of more generosity and goodness than he, nor in whom all the qualities of a true person of honour may be more essentially found. He is well made of his person, has a losty aspect, a noble heart, a just mind, a gentle nature, a tender soul, he is an ardent friend, and a more ardent lover, he is liberal, real, wise, and moderate; loves reasonable delights, and justice above all things. So that to speak according to justice, Elismonda has reason to make all her Lovers unhappy, though they may be pardoned for repining a little against her charms and beauty, when they suffer the tyranny of it. It's always just for one that suffers to complain (answered Amilcar.) True, (said Plotina) for I should complain of myself, had I occasioned my own mischief; and we also see Men complain more or less, according to the different degrees of affection they have for those, who cause them to suffer. But to return to Elismonda, if I were assured her vows were heard, I would forth with prepare myself for a journey to Eryx. Then you are afraid of being in love, (said Herminius smiling.) Indeed (replied she) I am unwilling to entertain that passion; and for the present, I find it trouble enough, to be continually repressing the esteem which we have of honourable persons; it being hourly necessary, for our minds to be sentinels to our hearts, to observe carefully that Love enter not thereinto, under the disguise of tender friendship. One thing (said Cesonia) I am very confident of, that some persons known to me are in Love, and never think they are so. A mistake of this kind may sometimes fall out, (answered Amilcar) but 'tis not possible to be always deceived so. For my part, (interposed Themistus) I know other people very opposite to those you speak of; for they believe themselves in love, when they are only possessed with a kind of wanton folly, which scarce resembles love at all. Whilst Themistus was speaking thus, Zenocrates arrived, who being first made to understand the person of Merigenes, informed this noble company, that there was brought to Valerius a man of Veii, who had been taken and was found encharged with several important Letters. Was he coming to Rome, (said Cesonia?) Zenocrate's made some difficulty to answer, but Themistus, judging it was because of the presence of Merigenes, engaged for his fidelity, so that resuming his discourse; he was coming to Rome, (said he) without question, his business being to speak with Clelius from a Veientine, called Mamilius, his ancient friend, they say to whom Horatius is slave, though they of Veii know not his quality. You will find (said Herminius) that 'twas to that very Veientine, Clelius sent secretly, to endeavour the delivery of Horatius. 'Tis the very same, (replied Zenocrates) and Clelius does his utmost to hinder the Consuls from using him that is taken severely. But what was his message to Clelius, (demanded Herminius.) He came to tell him (answered Zenocrates) that Mamilius assured him, that though he were of a side enemy to his, he should persevere his friend, and ever express testimonies of amity to him, as far as the interest of his party would permit. If this man be only charged with such Commissions, (replied Herminius) there is no cause to treat him hardly. Were there no more but this, (answered Zenocrates,) he would be out of danger, but Letters have been found about him from the Prince Titus to Collatina and Hermilia; which 'tis true, speak nothing concerning affairs of State; but there is one from Tarquin, to the chief Pontiff, in which that Prince, exaggerating the excessive expense he made, to testify his zeal towards the gods, when he caused the Temple of Jupiter to be built, seems desirous to engage him to recompense him for it, by embracing his interests, and cunningly insinuating into the minds of his people, that 'tis fit he were recalled. But amongst all those several Letters, the man had some others which intimate, that having ended his negotiating at Rome, he had order to go into Greece to the Princess of Elis; for there is one from the Veientine we spoke of to the Prince of that Country. And that which is sufficiently strange, this Veientine speaks to him with very much authority, and almost commands him to go in person to Delphos, to consult the oracle concerning the success of the War which the Veientines have determined to make against Rome. For whereas Tarquin, heretofore sent the Princess his sons thither, when Brutus accompanied them, the Veientines observing lately, how true the Oracle they received has been found, by Brutus' becomeing master of Rome, they would know what the event of their design would prove. And accordingly Mamilius writes, as I told you, to the Prince of Elis, to oblige him to consult that Oracle, engaging himself to make a considerable offering to the Temple of Delphos, in the name of his Republic. There are also in the same Letter many other things, which cannot be understood. But is this Prince of Elis (said Plotina, turning towards Merigenes) nothing to the Princess Elismonda, whose Picture you just now gave us? He is her Husband, (answered Merigenes) and the person I mentioned after I had described the Princess his wife; and it ought not to be wondered at, if Mamilius speaks to that Prince with authority, for he is his father. But how comes it to pass, (demanded Plotina) that the son of a Veientine, is Prince of Elis? Fortune, who is capricious, (answered Merigenes) does things much more astonishing than this. But yet I can assure you, that since she first made adventures of War, of Love, and of Generosity, she never made any more surprising than those which have befallen the Prince of Elis. And truly, it ought not to be accounted strange, that Mamilius is so strongly persuaded of a Power, foreseeing things to come; for he has an example of it in the Prince his Son, which will not suffer him to doubt it. All the company hearing this discourse of Merigenes, had great curiosity of knowing the History of the Prince and Princess of Elis, but because it was already sufficiently late, and Herminius judged it important to let Valerius know, the Prince of Elis was Son of Mamilius, and moreover, was willing to go see Valeria, he said, 'twas requisite to refer the business to the next morning, and that Valeria ought to have her part in this pleasure, and accordingly the company broke up and departed. But to the end Valerius might be better informed of what it was fit he should know, Themistus accompanied Merigenes to the Consul, to whom he declared very important matters; For, you know (said Merigenes to Valerius) that the Family of the Tarquins is originally of Corinth, upon which account it would not be impossible, but Mamilius might engage the Prince his son to persuade the Corinthians to embrace the interests of Tarquin. And being the Commerce of Corinth into Sicily is great, they might afterwards engage some of the Princes of that Island, which is nearer hither than themselves, to intermeddle in this War. After which, Merigenes offered himself to negotiate with the Prince of Elis, whose virtue is so great, that he was confident he would be always on the side of Justice, assuring him, that there were also some matters in his life, which engaged him to be enemy to all Tyrants. Valerius thanked Merigenes, and without refusing the offer which he made, of treating the interests of Rome with the Prince of Elis, he entreated him to inform him, by what adventure the son of Mamilius, who was believed lost in a long voyage, came to be Prince of Elis. But Merigenes answering him, that the story was long, and that there was at least as much War as Love in it, Valerius smiling, gave commission to Herminius, to learn the same from Merigenes, since the public affairs did not allow him leisure enough at present. Thus the History of the Princess of Elis, which Merigenes was to relate only to content the curiosity of Cesonia, Plotina, and Amilcar, became almost a necessary affair of State. But in order to it, the next morning, after Herminius had been to make a visit to Clelia and Octavius, who was somewhat better to day, he went to Valeria's house, where Cesonia, Plotina, Themistus, Amilcar and Merigenes were also met. And Merigenes knowing he had many things to relate, after the first civilities were over, and Valeria, who received him very civilly, had entreated him to begin the narration he had promised, spoke in this manner, addressing himself to Valeria, to whom Plotina had already told all that she knew concerning the Princess of Elis.  

THE HISTORY Of the PRINCESS ELISMONDA.  
YOU will perhaps judge me very presumptuous, Madam in daring to entertain you with the adventures of your Neighbours and tell you of things done at Veii, which is not far from your Gates, as if I were a Tuscan, and not a Native of Asia: 'tis true, Fortune has guided me into so many different regions, my habitation has so long been in Sicily, and my travels so universal all over Italy, that I can almost term every place my Country. To me, according to the genius I am of, all persons of honour are fellow-Citizens; and I never put real distinction between men, besides what virtue alone makes. Now Madam, I must acquaint you that the Prince of Elis, whose name is Hortensius, is of a most illustrious race. For his Family is as ancient as the City wherein he was born, which is, as you know, one of the most considerable of those twelve famous Cities, which share amongst them the Dominion of all Tuscany. But not to detain you with unprofitable particularising all the several badges of honour which belong to that House, I shall only intimate, that it possessed the highest employments in Veii, and that they report that one of the Predecessors of Hortensius, heretofore gave that famous Statue of Juno, whom they call Queen Juno, which they have placed in a stately Temple erected for it. For as the Veientines adore the Goddess represented by it as the tutelar Deity of their City, and are naturally superstitious; so they believe if this Statue should be taken from them, their City would be destroyed. I say this Madam, to the end that remembering the nature of the Tuscans, you may not think strange that the Illustrious Father of Hortensius, has been capable of doing that which you shall understand in the sequel of my discourse. Which before I unfold to you, it is requisite you know, that that generous Veientine, who is called Mamilius, was always virtuous from his first youth, that he loved his Country eminently more than all things, and glory as much as his Country, and that as it is the custom of those of this Nation to consult their Augurs, which are the most learned of the world in the art they pretend to, he consulted the most famous that he knew concerning the birth of his only son, Hortensius, whose life I am relating to you. But all he inquired of (first telling him that his son should be endued with a thousand great qualities) assured him it was the decree of fate for him to reign in the place where he should live, and that it was impossible but he should die a Sovereign. This generous Veientine, instead of rejoicing was afflicted with this answer, for loving his native soil with an extreme Passion, he judged himself the most unhappy of all men, in having a son, whom he feared would become Tyrant of his Country. Which perplexing thought not forsaking him, and being willing to find cause to doubt of what the Augurs of his City had told him, he went from City to City throughout all Tuscany, to consult all such as were in repute for skill in the art of Divinations. But the more he consulted, the more was his fear augmented, for all told him the same thing. Afterwards being not yet satisfied, he went to Praeneste to the famous Temple of Fortune, which is upon the top of the Mountain, on which this City is built, to try whether the Praenestine Lots would agree with the Augurs which he had consulted. For which (you are not ignorant) there is in that place a kind of Oracle of Chance, which seems to decide the destinies of men. But at Praeneste too, as well as at Veii, this generous Father found that his Son was born to rule, and that it was necessary he should render himself absolute Master of a Sovereignty. This being so decreed; his noble Father, whose virtue caused his affliction, returned to Veii, and without discovering any thing of his sorrow, provided for the education of his Son in the best manner he could, if possibly by industry and the flexibleness of his minority he might oppose the power of Destiny, which seemed to intend him for a Tyrant of his Country. But as the Child grew up in years, so was his inquietude augmented; by reason there ever appeared some Token of Superiority in all his actions. If he played with Children of equal age, he would be the master of them; he had a lofty aspect, loved not to obey his equals, and gave testimonies both of courage and wit, and lastly, was very lovely and excellently well made. Hortensius' lived on this sort till the age of seven years, when being in the Temple of Queen Juno, where a multitude of people were assembled, because it was the day whereon they celebrated the feast of that goddess, He went boldly to seat himself in a Chair raised three steps high, which was never used but by the chief of the Augurs who was Priest; and though they endeavoured to make him go thence, he kept himself there immovable, till the Augur came thither to perform the ceremony. Whose entreaties and commands were all ineffectual to persuade him from his seat, so that he was constrained to pull him out forcibly. Whereupon the Augur observing whose Child it was, and remembering what himself had foretold concerning him, transported with zeal to his Country, turning himself towards the Statue of Juno, and lifting up his voice and his hands towards it, O great goddess (cried he) be pleased to avert, that this dangerous Child become not the Tyrant of a place, where men adore you with so sincere devotion. He had scarce pronounced this, but there arose a confusion of voices amongst the people. During which, the generous Father of Hortensius, who was most zealous above all the Veientines, of the public safety, being entered into the Temple, as things were thus, and understanding what had passed, stepped forth, and with a generosity never paralleled, took Hortensius by the hand, and addressing to the Priest, with an admirable constancy, bade him, Go and make a sacrifice of his Son to his Country. 'Tis not (added he) for that I believe I ought to deprive him of a life which the gods have given him; but I shall dispose of him in such manner, that Veii shall never be in fear of his ambition. Soon after, this afflicted Father, making choice of a friend he had of no great wealth, but virtuous, and who had all his life a very great desire of travel, requested him he would undertake the conduct of his Son, and become a father to him. And assigning him half his wealth, he conjured him to go and travel about the world with his Son, to instruct him constantly in virtue, to endeavour to cause him to forget of what Country he was, to make him rather choose Greece to live in, than any other place in the world, and never to return into Italy. This man, whose name was Gentius, accordingly accepted the bargain propounded to him by his friend, perceiving he had taken up an unalterable purpose to banish Hortensius, and a few days after went to take ship at one of the Ports of Tuscany. Whence his first passage was into Sicily, and thence to Corinth, where he educated Hortensius, till he was twenty years old, and then died: But for that the wealth Hortensius' Father had given him, had not been improved in his hands, but he had almost wholly spent it, either in travelling, or in causing Hortensius to be instructed, he left him a very small pittance, and dying suddenly, discovered nothing to him of his fortune. For you must know, Madam, Gentius had used so much art to cause this Youth to forget of what Country he was, that he took himself to be a Sicilian. Not but that he still remembered Veii; but, being Gentius had told him that he was brought to that City at the age of six months, he was at a loss what to imagine; and there was so great a confusion in his memory, of what he had seen during his Childhood, that all he was able to conjecture was this, that there must needs have been something very extraordinary in his birth. Wherefore being excited with greatness of mind; he was loath to seek what he was unwilling to find, and only considered with himself, what behoved him to do at that time. He had very many friends at Corinth, but this was of no advantage to him; and therefore hearing there was a War lately broke out between the Thessalonians and the Opuntines, he resolved to go thither to try what fortune would do for him, But, as curiosity is always inherent in the Souls of brave persons, Hortensius in his journey into Thessaly, which is the fairest part of all Macedonia, purposed to go see that famous valley of Tempe, which is between the Mountains, Ossa and Olympus; the top of the latter of which is above all storms and tempests, and can only by night itself be deprived of the Sunbeams. Thus Hortensius, having I know not what instinct which obliged him to trust to his fortune, he put himself into an equipage of a man of his quality (of which he was ignorant) who travels with no great train, leaving to his destiny the care of providing means to make it subsist. Wherefore accompanied with two slaves, he went directly towards Tempe, which I shall not stay to describe to you, though I have some desire to do it, because it is the most pleasing place that ever I beheld, and whose pleasant prospect occasioned the endangering of the life of Hortensius. Hold, I beseech you (said Valeria, interrupting Merigenes) speed not so fast, but tell us something of the delectable site of that place, which all the world commends. For my part (said Amilcar) I was once designed to go on purpose from Africa to Thessaly, to have the pleasure of walking there. Let us go thither presently (said Plotina) for I believe if Merigenes describe it to us, we shall know what excellency of contrivance, nature has shown in it, as well as if we had been there. As for me (said Caesonia) I never was against walking. It needs (said Herminius) to be of a bad humour to break this off; and therefore I conceive Merigenes has nothing to do but to prepare himself to make a handsome description: for I take it as granted, Aemilius and Themistus will not disgust it. Both which answering like persons who wished whatsoever the company desired, Merigenes pursued his discourse in this manner. Tempe is situate between the Mountains Ossa and Olympus which are two the highest of Thessaly, in which there are about thirty four. The length of this famous Valley is four hundred furlongs: for the breadth, it is sufficiently unequal, for in some places it is broader, and in some more contracted. In the midst of this delightful Vale, slides the River Peneus, which being swelled, by the accession of four other pleasant Rivers is capable of bearing Boats of a considerable size. But that which is remarkable in it, is, that the River Eurotas, which Homer calls Tittaretia, and which discharges itself into the River Peneus, does not mingle its own waters with his. For they are distinguishable by the difference of their colour. So that, as if the River Peneus bare disdain to the other, having passed some space together without mixing their waters, it casts the River Eurotas on one side, and they both separate without joining streams. But the greatest Ornament of the valley of Tempe, is the intwining of Ivy about all the Trees that grow there, from their roots to the top, so that nothing is seen there but a lovely universal verdure; there is also an Herb admirably grateful to the eye, called Smilax, which climbs along the Trees, and reflecting downwards like a wild Vine, wholly covers the Earth. Whereby, as I said before, this pleasant valley becomes green all over. There are also seen by the River's side, both on the right hand and left, little Woods of Myrtles and Laurels, which offer their shadow to those which pass by. And that which renders this place yet more agreeable, is, that under these shades, several little Brooks pearl along, the waters of which are not only pleasant to drink, but excellent for health. There is also a great multitude of Birds which delight in this rare Desert, both by reason of the number of Trees, Thickets, and Rivers, and for the calmness and quiet which perpetually reigns there. Moreover, the River Peneus, after having as it were precipitated itself at the entrance of this Valley, seems to be delighted in it, and slides so slowly, that you would think his stream were asleep. Many Islands appear in his Channel, which serve to embellish both the River and the Valley. As for the people thereabouts, they believing it a place particularly agreeable to the gods, make choice of it to perform sacrifices in, imagining their vows more favourably heard from thence than elsewhere. Which occasions that they which pass through this place always find the air in it perfumed, either by the incense of sacrifices which are continually offered there, or by the flowers which grow abundantly in this lovely Valley. The Thessaloniuns say, that Apollo having slain the Serpent Pytho, came thither to purify himself by the commandment of Jupiter; after which he was crowned with Laurel, whereof the Banks of the River Peneus are plentifully beset. They report also that after his having been crowned, he took a bough of the same Laurel, and went to Delphos, and put himself in possession of the Oracle there, which is so universally celebrated. In proof of this truth, they show strangers an Altar, where they affirm he was crowned, and took that Laurel I speak of. But however it be, all the young people of Delphos go, under the conduct of a Captain, every year to offer a sacrifice at Tempe, in memory of Apollo, and return home crowned with Laurel, singing Hymns and Paeans in celebration of his glory. They pass by the way which they call Pythia, that is to say by Palagonia, Etha, the Enians, Melians, Dorians, Locrians, Herperians; all which several Nations accompany those Delphic youths with very much honour, as they of Delphos accompany those which come to Tempe from more remote regions. But that which renders this Valley yet more extraordinary, is this, That all those you meet with there, behave themselves reverently, as in a place consecrated to Apollo, and no unpleasing object offends the eye. Moreover, those two high Mountains which are at one end of the Valley, whose steepness is gradually diminished as they come further distant from the mouth of the River Peneus where it enters into the Sea, serve to add more handsomeness to it. For the place whereby they descend into it, is stony, craggy, unequal, rustical and wild; that the Valley appears more delightful by the rudeness of the entrance. The opinion of the inhabitants of the Country is, that these two Mountains were separated by an Earthquake, before which time the River Peneus having no outlet from this place into the Sea, overflowed the whole Country. And thus you have the prospect of the famous valley of Tempe which Hortensius was desirous to see in his way to Thessaly. And he accordingly contented his curiosity, being so charmed with the delightfulness of the place, that he resolved to abide there three or four days, that he might see the famous Assembly of Delphos I mentioned, which was to be precisely at the time of his being there. He understood also, that the Sister of the Prince of the Messenians, who was then at war with a neighbour Prince, was coming to offer sacrifice in the valley of Tempe, to implore victory for the Prince her Brother. But two days being to be stayed out, Hortensius, who was dextrous at all sorts of exercises, and a great lover of hunting at that time, not knowing the Laws of the Country, betook himself to walk along the River Peneus, causing a Bow and Arrows to be carried by one of his slaves, with intention to make use of the same against some wild Beast, if he met any; for he was singular in the art of shooting. Going therefore one morning to walk in this manner, he perceived something moving cross the reeds. And as they who love such divertisement are more curious than others in the like occasions, he drew near it, and saw it was a great Stork which had seized on a Serpent. Hortensius' being stirred up with the ardour of a young marksman, who loves to show his dexterity, took his Bow, and shot the Bird so fatally, that he delivered the Serpent from being devoured by it. But he had scarce done this, when six armed Thessalians, who were reposing in a little grove of Laurel not far from thence, came forth suddenly from the place they were in, and set upon him, endeavouring to take him: For you must know, Madam, there is a Law amongst the Thessalians, which forbids the kill of Storks, upon pain of death, because Thessaly being subject to be infested with a prodigious multitude of Serpents, which are a delightful food to these Fowls, they look upon them as Sacred Birds sent them by the gods to deliver them from those Serpents and Vipers. But Hortensius, who had never heard speak of this Law, believed those which set upon him to be people that intended to rob him; for understanding not their language very well, which is different from the Greek spoken at Corinth, he observed not that they called him impious and sacrilegious; and therefore only betook himself to his defence. Which he stood to with a very Heroic courage; for though they were six against him, and he had only one slave unarmed on his side, yet he wounded three of those that assaulted him, and fought a long while without being able to be taken. But at length four other Thessalians coming to join with the former, and his sword being broken, he was constrained to yield to the number, and render himself. Which he had no sooner done, but he found himself treated like a criminal, and was led by them to a City, which is at the foot of the Mountain Olympus, to the end, that upon their accusation (before him that administered justice in that place) of having seen him kill a Stork, which was eating a Serpent, he might receive sentence of death, according to the Law of the Country. Now it happened as they were leading him along with all the rigour superstition is able to inspire people with, representing cruelty to be zeal of Religion, they met a Chariot full of Ladies within a little distance from the Gates of the City, attended by several men on horseback. She who seemed Mistress of the rest, was fair, and of a goodly aspect, having a kind of air in her face, bespeaking much goodness. This person, who was named Andronice, and Sister to the Prince of the Messenians, beholding so comely a person as Hortensius, and so well clothed, led so rudely by ten men, three of which were wounded, desired them to stay a little, and give her the satisfaction of knowing what crime the person they led had committed. The Thessalians judging her a person of high quality, and of a commanding Beauty, told her the crime of Hortensius, adding that he should be cast headlong from a Rock the next morning. This they spoke more clearly than they had done when they assaulted Hortensius, who now understood, as well as Andronice, of what he was accused, and the danger impendent over him. Upon which understanding of his cause, addressing himself to the Princess, who seemed so obligingly to interess herself in his fortune; I will believe, Madam, (said he; for she spoke the same language with him) that the gods have sent you hither to save the life of a stranger, who knowing not the Laws of the Country, hath committed a crime innocently. For though I am habited in a Grecian garb, I am so far from being a Thessalian, that I was not born in any part of Greece. Therefore I have reason to hope you will take upon you my protection, in a Country where I am unknown to all. 'Tis not (added he with great resolution) for that I am much enamoured on life, or have any great fear of death; but as I believe it a folly to despise the former too much, and a weakness to be over-apprehensive of the latter, so I believe it no disparagement to the greatness of courage, to beseech your protection; for though I know well you are not of this Country, nevertheless I presume, your condition and your beauty may easily gain you an interest wherever you desire it. Hortensius' uttered these words with so noble an air, that Andronice's heart was much affected with it. But the Thessalians perceiving this discourse might obstruct their design, interrupted it, and forced Hortensius to follow them, especially they who beheld their blood still flowing from the wounds which he had given them. Yet as Virtue sometimes finds admiration in the breast of the most brutish, there was one of these Thessalians who stayed behind the rest, and approaching towards the Chariot of Andronice, told the Princess, that since the man was a stranger, she would do honourably to have commiseration on him, and assured her that he never met with a greater valour than his; after which, he went and joined himself to his companions. In the mean while Andronice; who observed Hortensius had the aspect of a man of quality, and spoke well, that he was courageous and innocent, took up a firm resolution to save his life; and therefore she commanded him that drove her Chariot, to go to the same place whither those people went, which conducted the prisoner; and so she arrived at the house of him who was to pronounce the sentence on Hortensius at the very same time with him. Who causing it to be known who she was, she was received with respect, and spoke of Hortensius' case, before those who brought him could be heard. Whose true relation of the matter to the Judge, sensibly affected him with the misfortune of Hortensius; but he told her that the Law he had broken was so rigorously observed in Thessaly, that it was hard to save him. Andronice answered him, that the quality of a stranger mitigated the fact; But he replied, it was supposed a stranger ought to be informed of the customs of the place whither he goes, and that as soon as a man enters into any Country; he becomes subject to the Laws of the same, adding, that it belonged to the people to grant this kind of grace, because they were most concerned in the crime; and, in sum, that all he could do, was to suspend his judgement, and refer the business to the people. Andronice finding him so inflexible, used more mollifying language to him, and did it so effectually, that he promised to save the life of this stranger, and to handle the matter so, that the people should consent to it. Nevertheless it behoved Hortensius to lie in prison at present; but the next morning the Princess Andronice acted so happily, that the people pardoned this illustrious criminal; and as the Thessalians are the least intelligent amongst the Greeks, they made him engage to bring or send another Stork into Thessaly, to the end he might be reputed innocent. As soon as he was free, he went to tender his remerciaments to Andronice, which he did with so good a grace, that she accounted herself well recompensed for the service she had done him. But after she had imposed silence to his acknowledgements of the favour he received, she demanded of him, of what Country he was, whither he was going, what design brought him into Thessaly, and what he sought there. For the place of my birth, Madam (said he to her) it is not permitted me to tell you it; but for the other things you ask me, I shall inform you that I came to Tempe only out of curiosity, and my next purpose is to go to the War in Thessaly, to the end I may perform some action, which may render me worthy the protection which I have received from you. Since you seek nothing but glory (answered she) come and seek it in the Army of the Prince of Messena my Brother. It being for the happy success of his Arms that I am come into Thesaly, so I shall believe my vows have been heard, if I can bring him a person so courageous as you: for whereas being single you were able to keep yourself from being taken by six men well appointed; and there needed ten to overcome you; when you co●e to be in an Army which hitherto has not been unprosperous, you will without question do things which shall be equally advantageous both to him that does them, and for whose interest they are exploited. Hortensius' hearing these words of Adronice, was extremely joyful at them; for having no particular design, he was highly pleased in finding so commodious an occasion as this, and therefore he received this offer with joy, and assured Andronice, that he should esteem himself absolutely happy in hazarding the life she had preserved to him, in the service of the Prince her brother. Accordingly he prepared himself to follow her so soon as she had dispatched the sacrifice she was determined to offer: And not to insist upon matters of small moment, I shall tell you in few words, that Andronice having performed what she ought to the gods, and seen all the excellencies of the Valley of Tempe, returned from thence, accompanied by Hortensius. She had with her two persons of quality, with whom Hortensius soon contracted a friendship. During the journey, Andronice very much augmented the esteem she had conceived of Hortensius, for she found him so full of spirit, so prudent, and so respectful, that he pleased her infinitely. Hortensius on the other side observed a thousand agreeable qualities in this Princess, besides her beauty, which was not mean.  
But it fell out, that as they were crossing a Wood a little before Sunset, they heard a great noise of horses, and within a moment after saw about fifty horsemen with their swords in their hands coming to surround the Chariot of Andronice. The Princess had scarce cast her eyes upon the people which enclosed her, but she espied a Lover of hers, named Attalus, whom she hated in perfection. So that not doubting but he intended to take her away, Ah Hortensius! (cried she, looking about for him) you may now render me more than the life you owe me, by hindering me from being taken away by the Traitor Attalus. At these words, Hortensius, who had already drawn his sword, went with ten or twelve other Horsemen, who attended on Andronice, directly towards Attalus, whom he easily discovered to be master of the rest. But for that this incensed Lover sought not to fight, but only designed to carry away his Mistress, Hortensius could not overcome him so soon as he would, by reason Attalus had contrived to order his followers to take Andronice out of her Chariot and put her into his Arms, that so he might carry her away, whilst they kept the Princess' attendants in fight. For he was determined to take sanctuary in that wood, where there stood an old Castle, of which the Master was his friend. But Hortensius being zealous to acquit himself to the full of what he ought Andronice, broke thorough those that opposed his passage, and having first slain one and wounded two, encountered with Attalus, whose valour was known to all that knew his person. There began a very sharp fight between these two Gallants, while those who accompanied Andronice, defended themselves against the party of Attalus. By the number of which they had without question been overpowered, if Hortensius, who was resolved either to conquer or die, had not showed extraordinary courage, and made haste to dispatch the head of those people, who were twice as many as those they fought against. For the sense of glory and gratitude redoubled his natural valour, which being seconded by favour of Fortune, he wounded Attalus in three places, and the last pass that he made at him, running him through the body, he fell down as dead at his horses feet. Which his followers perceiving, some run to succour him, others set upon Hortensius to revenge their Master, and part of those who environed Andronice's Chariot, fled. But the first victory elevating the heart of Hortensius, advantaged him to a second, he soon ridding himself of those who assaulted him after the fall of Attalus, whom some of his own carried off, whilst the attendants of Andronice, seconding the courage of Hortensius, helped him to complete the conquest. Thus having put to flight or slain all that had attacked them, the Chariot proceeded again forward; and Hortensius marching last, to the end he might be first in fight, in case they should be followed, was happy enough to come off in this adventure, without being wounded, though his clothes were pierced in several places. 'Tis true, there were three of the Princess of Messena's people so wounded, that it was requisite to leave them at the next village they came to. Andronice for more surety, would not stay at the place where she had purposed to lodge, but went on as far as the horses were able to go, that she might be as remote as possible from a place, where so cruel an adventure had befallen her. I omit to repeat to you, Madam, the Princess' discourse to Hortensius upon the way, and at her arrival at the place where she was to repose: for I have so many other things to tell you, that I ought not to trouble you with circumstances of no importance; and moreover, you may easily imagine, what a grateful Princess, and of much wit, might say in this occurrent, and what might be answered by a modest Cavalier, who still believed he had received more than he had returned. But I shall tell you that Hortensius, who was ingenious, sought occasion to be instructed of the state of the Court whither he was going, to the end he might deport himself there with more prudence. The late accident increased his curiosity much more; and therefore having contracted friendship with two persons of quality, who accompanied this Princess, especially with one, who was called Eumenes, and possessed both Virtue and Wit, he began one evening a private Converse with him in this manner: Generous Eumenes, (said he, after several protestations of friendship) I beseech you, please to instruct an unhappy stranger, who already looks upon Messena as his Country, since he can hope to gain such a friend there as you. Being you are a person of much merit (answered Eumenes) I shall be very ready to inform you with sincerity; for the Court you are going to, is much more hard to be well understood, than you imagine; and the War in which the Prince Melanthus is engaged, more troublesome than you may at present conceive it: And therefore perhaps it will not be unprofitable to you to grant you what you request. But is it not the War (said Hortensius) which the Prince of Messena is engaged in against Elis, which is a Country of no great extent? Yes, answered Eumenes, but for that 'tis a Country consecrated to the gods, the design of usurping it seems criminal to almost all the Republics of Greece, and especially to those of Peloponnesus, as you may know, because you lived a while at Corinth. I know it well (replied Hortensius) having not been so long at Corinth, without hearing people speak of Elis, Pisa, and the famous Temple of Olympia, and knowing all the privileges of that Country, which was consecrated to the gods, after the ancient War of the Heraclidae.  
I believe indeed (interposed Plotina pleasantly) Hortensius knew all this; but being Valeria, Cesonia, and myself knew nothing at all thereof, I beseech you make not so much speed, but tell us all you know of Elis, Pisa, and Olympia; for the confused talk I have heard of them, makes me desirous to be better informed, especially, since I know it is the Country of Elismonda. Valeria and Cesonia testifying they had the same desires with Plotina, Merigenes, resumed his discourse in these terms.  
That which you would know, Madam, is undoubtedly worthy of your knowledge; and, to speak truly, almost as necessary to be known by you; for understanding the sequel of this History, as it was profitable to be known by Hortensius, in order to his being benefited by the counsels of Eumenes. Nevertheless I shall omit to relate to you all which tradition tells us, concerning the original of those Nations. For the Messenians themselves say, they were the Subjects of Menelaus, son of Atreus, and brother of Agamemnon, King of Sparta; that afterwards the Nephews of Helle were their Masters; and since, a Prince of Cyparissa, called Melanthus, drove out those which reigned, and made himself Sovereign of the Country, whose successors ever since have ruled in Messenia. For the Prince of Messenia, brother of the Princess Andronice, is named Melanthus, as he was from whom he pretends to be descended; and he might reign peaceably, did not ambition excite him to rush into the War he is engaged in, For he might well enough have been contented with the Country of Messena, being so good and pleasant, that only Laconia is comparable to it: it is neither too cold in Winter, nor too hot in Summer; and the River Pamisus, which hastens rapidly to unite with the Sea, cuts so commodiously through the middle of it, that all the Inhabitants of the Country partake in the benefits which the River brings. This Territory is bounded on one side with the Sea, and on the other is environed with Laconia, Arcadia, and a small corner of Land called Triphilia, scited between Pisa and Messenia. But, Madam, because it is more important for you to be informed of the Country which the Prince Melanthus designed to usurp, than that of his own, I must be a little more large in describing to you the Principality of Elis, than I have been in that of Messenia. Elis, the principal City, and from whence the whole Province is denominated, is, notwithstanding, none of the most ancient of Peloponnesus, for it was not in being in the days of Homer; yet it is so famous for a hundred other respects, (as also are Pisa and Olympia, which lie very near together) that there is none more. As for the Princes of Pisa, they were heretofore very powerful; Oenemaus and Pelops his successor, who were Sovereign's thereof, are known throughout all the world for their glorious adventures. But I am not willing to trouble you with a long rehearsal of those ancient Wars, which caused confusion in all Greece, and principally in Peloponnesus; I shall only unfold matters passed so far, as may suffice to show you the rise of those extraordinary privileges, which the Countries of Elis, Pisa, and Olympia have enjoyed for so many ages. You must know then, that after a long War of the Heraclidae, who had the Aesolians on their side, against the Epeians; Pyrecmenus of Aesolia; who was General of the Heraclidae, proposed to the Commander of the enemies, whose name was Degmenus, that they might conclude their differences by a single and decisive combat, in the sight of their Armies. Which being accepted and resolved on, the day and place was appointed; the Troops were drawn up in battalia on both sides, and the Combat was performed by Perecmenus, General of the Heraclidae, and Degmenus of the Epeians. This last came to the Encounter with no other Arms than his Bow and Arrows, but the first brought a Sling and Stones; for they had not agreed what weapons they would use. But at last Pyrecmenus killed his enemy, and therefore determined to possess himself of the Country in controversy between them, and drive out all the Elaeans from Elis. But because the vanquished pretended dissatisfaction of the victory of Pyrecmenus, in regard of the inequality of their Arms, the neighbouring people interposing themselves to accommode the matter, found out an expedient to do it, which was accepted with joy by both parties. The proposal was, That the Teritory which they made War for, might be consecrated to the gods: And accordingly by the consent of both parties, and of all the neighbouring people of Elis, Pisa, and Olympia, all this lovely Country, and particularly the City of Elis, was consecrated to Jupiter. But the better to signify that it was under the protection of the gods, and needed not to be defended by men, it was resolved that it should never be walled about, and a declaration made, that whoever attempted to take it, should be held for a sacrilegious person; and in case it happened the Elaeans were obliged to give passage to any Forces of the neighbouring Regions, they should not go through this of Elis, with their Arms in their hands; but on the contrary, as soon as such Troops should come to the frontier of this Country, they should lay aside their Arms which the Elaeans should transport for them in Carriages, and not render the same till they were arrived to the confines of their small State. On these conditions, Pyrecmenus was invested in the Sovereignty of the Country, and took care of the Temple of Jupiter, with consent of all the adjacent States, who engaged themselves by oath, never to violate the privileges accorded to Elis. They report also, that at this time divers ceremonies in the Olympic Games were renewed, and that thenceforward the people of Elis became rich and happy; for while their neighbours were at war, they enjoyed a profound peace, and enriched themselves by others infelicities; so that they might have been judged the most happy people of all Greece, for their Country is the most sweet and pleasant that can be imagined. Two Rivers there are which extremely embellish it; one called Peneus, as well as that of Tempe, in the source of which, there is one thing very remarkable; for near the City of Megalopolis there are two Springs, each of which produce a River; the Peneus I speak of is one, and the River Eurotas the other. But after these two Rivers have passed for some space, without being much separated, they both hide themselves under the earth, where finding out ways unknown to men, the one issues forth again in Laconia, and the other in Elis. But besides the River Peneus which passes through the fair City of Elis, there is the River Alpheus, which coming out of Arcadia, passeth near Pisa and Olympia, on whose Banks the Olympic Games are celebrated, which are assuredly the most magnificent sports of all Greece. This great Festival is celebrated in a Wood of wild Olives, about three hundred furlongs from Elis. But this River which comes from Arcadia, and opens into the Sea towards the West, on the side of Sicily, and which is so known over all the World, for the love they say he bears to Arethusa, whom he hastens to find in the Island of Ortygis, without mingling his waters with those of the Sea, is not only pleasant but commodious; for being swelled up by a very great number of other Rivers, of which the most considerable are Enipeus, Celadon, and Erimanthus, it bears very great vessels, which serve for the commerce of the Country; which is so much the more pleasant, in that all the region which is enclosed between Achaia, Arcadia, and Messena, is beset with a great number of small Temples, dedicated to Diana, Venus, and the Nymphs, in little Woods of Myrtle, all over embellished with Flowers, and irrigated with Springs and Rivulets. Almost all the great Roads have Temples dedicated to Mercury, and by the Seashore are seen many consecrated to Neptune. There is one also dedicated to Pallas, which is not very far distant from Olympia, near to which is the Mountain of Philaceus, which seems to separate Arcadia, and the Country of Elis; for the foot of it reaches near to Pisa. As for the Temple of Jupiter, being I shall have occasion to speak of it in another place of my story, I shall not now stay to do it, but tell you, to return where I was, that the Elaeaus after a long enjoyment of the privileges which had been granted them, were twice invaded, but always to the disadvantage of those who made war upon them. For a Son of the Prince of the Messenians, named Melanthus, whose Mother was of the race of that Degmenus who was overcome, designing to renew that ancient War, undertook the same to his own destruction; and another going about to attempt the like was as unfortunate as he. But to return at length to the discourse of Eumenes, with Hortensius; You shall know (said he) that the present Prince of the Messenians, brother of the Princess Andronice, being born with an ambition, which will never suffer him to live in quiet, though he should have conquered all Greece, has believed he shall be more happy than his forefathers, and that he could not find a more favourable time to invade the Country of Elis than this, wherein he is peaceful master of his own State. The Prince his Father, who died two years since, left him excessively rich, whereby he is sufficiently provided of Forces, Ships, and Ammunition for the design. He is young, gallant, sprightly, of a daring courage; and had he but something more humanity, and a little better conduct to manage the advantages which nature hath given him, he would be a very great Prince. But he hath defects so apparent to all the world, that it is not easy to determine what rank to give him. That which encouraged him to undertake the War, was the great age of the Prince of Elis; who besides, had but one daughter, which is the Princess Elismonda, and having passed his whole life in peace, might be thought unfit to bear up against a War. And a greater inducement to undertake the same was, that a Prince under his dominions, a very gallant Person, and styled the Prince of Cyparissa, having been exiled by the late Prince of Messena, was retired to the Prince of Elis, and according to report, was very favourably entertained by him. Whence, upon a jealousy that he might marry Elismonda, and a scorn that one of his subjects should be his neighbour, his equal, and his ally, he resolved to denounce war against the Prince of Elis: which he did with the greater confidence, for that all the States of Peloponnesus being at that time accustomed to peace, he did not fear lest they would trouble their own quiet to intermeddle in the affairs of another, though the privileges of Elis required all the neighbouring Provinces to take Arms for its defence. And thus he accordingly took up a resolution to make the War. The Princess his Sister, who is admirably prudent above the custom of her years, did all she could, out of a sentiment of piety, to avert him from invading a Country so particularly under the protection of the gods. But he smilingly answering her, that in Homer the gods took sides as well as men, and therefore he hoped he should not be abandoned by all the Deities, followed his design, and took no other care but to accomplish it happily. About that time Attalus, whom you lately fought with, and who is a person of the highest quality in Messena, became very amorous of Andronice. And believing if he served the Prince Melanthus bravely in the War, he might more easily obtain his sister, he did his utmost to signize his zeal and his courage before him; which much afflicted Andronice, who had ever such an aversion against Attalus, as virtuous persons could not disapprove: for though Attalus wants no heraldry, nor courage, nor magnificence, nor wit, yet he is very odious because he hath neither goodness nor generosity. But to hasten to tell what you are desirous to know: The Prince of Messena began the War, upon colour of that ancient quarrel I mentioned to you before; for you know, Policy will never suffer the ambitious to want pretences. At first the Prince of Elis, who desired only to die in peace, and saw himself unfurnished of requisites to maintain a War, because a rich and unmarshalled people is fit only to be conquered, used all possible means to enter into Treaty with the Prince of Messena, and sent him word, that he would have offered him the Princess his daughter in marriage, if the Laws of Elis would have permitted him to give her to a Prince who is Sovereign of another State, or one who is not able to circumscribe his ambition within the bounds of Elis. The Prince of Cyparissa used all possible persuasions to hinder the Father of the fair Elismonda from making propositions of peace so advantageous to his enemy. But this virtuous Prince being already sensible of the approaches of death, and knowing that he could not longer practise any other virtues but those of peace, omitted nothing he believed conducive to avert the War. But all his endeavours proved fruitless; for Melanthus made no longer negotiation about peace, than served to amuse him, whilst he was preparing for the War. Whereupon, the Prince of Elis perceiving no means of bringing his enemy to reason, provided for his defence, with all diligence the weakness of his age was capable of. The Prince of Cyparissa omitted nothing for his part, which lay in his power to do in behalf of a Prince, who had given him Sanctuary in his Court, and to which the love he had for Elismonda, whom he passionately served, obliged him, though he had hitherto preserved his affection undiscovered to her in his own breast. The Prince of Elis sent to the adjacent States to summon them to defend Elis, in accomplishment of the Engagements their Ancestors had made to do so. But whilst all those Nations had the matter under deliberation, Melanthus enters into Elis in the head of a considerable Army: whereby the Eleans saw themselves invaded, and unprovided for such an invasion, and altogether succorless. Yet the zeal of their Country effecting that in them, which use and skill in War does in others, they defended themselves better than was believed, and the Prince of Elis, notwithstanding his age, put himself in the head of his Army, and fought in person. He had the advantage of his enemies at the first encounter of their forces, and beat them back; but at the second, this prudent Prince was constrained to retire into Elis, to endeavour to put the young Princess his daughter into the Castle of Pisa (for he had lost the Princess his wife a while before) believing Elismonda would be there in greater safety. For this purpose he left the Prince of Cyparissu with his Troops, to give stop to the enemy, whilst he made his retreat, and took order to put Olympia into a condition of being defended. But this Prince being old, and of a crazy health, upon his arrival to Elis, he fell into an extreme sickness, which within two days, ended his Life and Reign. During which, the young Elismonda, preferring being present with a dying Father, before providing for her own security, continued with him till he expired; and afterwards this fair and generous Princess, being unwilling to leave the body of her Father to the power of the Enemies (who approached nearer Elis every day, notwithstanding the valiant resistance of the Prince of Cyrarissa) caused it to to be placed in a Chariot, and taking another for herself and a Lady of high quality, and great virtue, she left a City destitute of Walls, and took the way towards Pisa. But as it fell out unhappily for her, Melanthus who had his spies in Elis, being informed of her departure, and of the death of the Prince of Elis, dispatched Attalus with a body of horse to go and surprise her in the way: who marched with such diligence that he overtook this young Princess before she could reach to Pisa: When being destitute of a Convoy to resist him, she saw herself abandoned by all her attendants, and constrained to remain in her Chariot with the Lady which accompanied her, and that with the cruel necessity of beholding the fierce Attalus not only become master of her liberty, but also inhumanely commanding the body of the Prince of Elis, to be cast into the River Alpheus which ran hard by, to the end the sight of that dead Prince might not excite valour in the heart of the people by exciting compassion in them towards the Conquered and hatred against the Conquerors. The young Princess of Elis hearing this cruel command, made the most passionate Treaties to him in the world, and accompanied her words with such a flood of tears, that she obtained at length, that the body of the Prince her Father, should be placed in a little Temple, not above six or seven furlongs distant from the place where they were, and order given to him that took care of it, to perform the last offices to that virtuous Prince. This done, Attalus put himself upon his march to conduct Elismonda towards the Army of the Prince of Messena: but upon the wav he heard there had been a fight, that the Prince of Cyparissa had had the worst, having understood of the death of the Prince of Elis, and the departure of Elismonda, who had sent to advertise him of it, he thought himself to retire to the same place whither the Princess was gone, judging it necessary to abandon the City of Elis, and only provide to defend himself in Pisa. And moreover, that Love inciting this Prince to go where Elismonda was he had not demurred what he ought to do, but took way, in which it would be difficult for the Prince of Messena to force him to fight, by reason there were many straits in it; and having passed the first before, that Prince perceived his retreat, there was no likelihood he could follow him. Attalus also understood that Melanthus intending to possess himself of Elis, for the glory of his victory, had faced the City, the inhabitants of which having lately lost their Prince, seen the flight of the young Princess, and learned the defeat of the Prince of Cyparissa, believed it the best course to surrender to the Conqueror, and so hinder their City from being pillaged. And accordingly they sent Commissioners to Melanthus, who promised them all they desired; but kept his promise not over-carefully; for they were very evilly and barbarously treated. This intelligence caused Attalus to change his course, to the end he might not meet with the Troops of the Prince of Cyparissa, but rather go directly where the Prince of Messena was. Yet he would not carry Elismonda into the City of Elis, without first knowing the pleasure of Melanthus. Wherefore he stayed four furlongs off from the City, to expect the return of one of his followers whom he sent to him for that purpose. But this Prince having by promising the inhabitants of Elis to use them civilly, obliged them to deliver a Castle into his hands, which nature alone had impregnably fortified, situate about fifteen furlongs from Elis, he sent order to Attalus to conduct the Princess thither, and to place as many men in the Castle, as was requisite to guard her safely. Attalus accordingly carried her to this Castle, together with that Lady of quality I told you she had chosen, and four women to attend on her, sending all the rest into Elis, and going thither also himself soon after, to give Melanthus an account of what had passed. Where after awhile, Attalus being a violent man, and the Prince of Messena not being able to endure any to resist him, at the Council of War that was held, the judgement of Attalus being opposite to that of Melanthus, each of both maintained his own with very great stiffness and pertinacy. The opinion of Melanthus was, That it was not fit to give the Prince of Cyparissa leisure to fortfie himself in Pisa, and make use of the name of the Princess Elismonda to continue the War; but that it were requisite to go and set upon him without losing time. Attalus on the other side judged it necessary to put Elis into defence before going to expose his forces to a new battle with the Prince of Cyparissa, who was too magnanimous to suffer himself to be enclosed in Pisa, without having once again experienced the fortune of War: That his forces would be recruited by the Inhabitants of Pisa and Olympia; and in case it should happen the Prince of Messena had the worst, he would find that his enterprise was no advantage to him; whereas on the contrary, when he once had fortified Elis, which was easily put into defence, in case he should be worsted in the battle; he would still be master of the City which gives name to the Country he intended to conquer. Attalus, according to his violent humour and boldness, having expressed all these reasons, added some ambiguous words, which being subject to be construed in a manner injurious to Melanthus, offended this Prince so highly, that being transported with choler, Hold thy peace Attalus, (said he to him) and since you are already so weary of fight, that you have need of rest, go and take your rest at home, and depart this very day. Whereupon Attalus, who believed Melanthus very much obliged to him for having taken Elismonda, answered yet more insolently than before; which farther incensing Melanthus, he broke up the Council, and commanded Attalus to depart forthwith out of Elis. Who being a person much hated, there was none that interceded to make his peace; and so he went away without being observed out of the City. And it was not then known to any what was become of him; but when the Princess Andronice took her journey to accomplish the vow she had made to go and offer a sacrifice to Apollo, in the same place where they report Daphne was heretofore Metamorphosed into a Laurel, there was spread a rumour at Messenia, that he had put himself into Pisa, towards which, the Prince Melanthus was upon the way at the time we left Messenia, to go to Tempe. But now (continued Eumenes to Hortensius) you have seen that that report was false, since had it not been for your valour, he had carried away Andronice, as well out of revenge as love. But lastly, generous Hortensius, remember I conjure you, when you come to be with Melanthus, that I have told you this day, that he is a Prince with whom 'tis the most difficult thing in the world to be in favour long together; because he is naturally distrustful, and easily suspects another of all things which he has the power to commit. As for the Princess Andronice, I have nothing but honourable to say of her, and I am so strongly linked to her interests, that I exhort you as much as I can to endeavour to ingratiate yourself with the Prince her Brother, to the end you may be able sometimes to moderate part of the impetuousness of his humour. I know he is a lover of novelty, that you are a person fit to please him, and the action you have lately done against Attalus, will soon bring you into a condition of becoming his favourite if you please, and therefore I conjure you not to resist it, unless your affairs call you elsewhere, but to engage yourself in the interests of the Princess Andronice. I must be the vilest of men, (answered Hortensius) if I could separate myself from them; but I beseech you, generous Eumenes, (added he) make me a promise that you will always assist me with your counsels of which I apprehend I shall have very great need. While they were in this discourse, it was told them that there was one newly arrived, sent from the Prince of Messenia to the Princess, who brought her news which very much afflicted her. This caused them to go immediately to wait upon her, who told them Melanthus had sent some to meet her in the way she was to pass, and give her notice that she should not go by the ordinary way, when she came to the Frontier, because having been disadvantaged in two Battles as he advanced towards Pisa, he was enforced to make speed to a place of security near Elis, till new forces were levied for him in Messenia. Hortensius had no sooner heard what the Princess told Eumenes and him, but he conjured her she would please to make haste to depart thence, that so having first conducted her to Messenia, he might go offer his Sword to the Prince of Melanthus. Andronice, who was before resolved upon that which Hortensius requested, and believed she could not too speedily go as far as possible from a place, where she was in danger to have been carried away, though she were already at a good distance from it, disposed all things to set forward immediately. But, in brief, Madam, not to misspend your patience, with exact relation of the way the Princess took, it suffices that you know Eumenes, who was no Stranger in the Country, conducted her so happily, that she arrived at Messene, without having met any Troops of the Prince of Cyparissa, or incurred any dangerous adventure. As soon as she was there, Hortensius and Eumenes took leave of her, to go to the Army of Melanthus. But though Andronice gave charge to Eumenes to represent handsomely to the Prince her Brother, the obligation she had to Hortensius, yet she omitted not to give this generous Veientine, a Letter to the Prince of Messenia, which ran almost in these terms.  
The Princess Andronice, to the Prince Melanthus.  
WHen you understand that this generous Stranger who delivers you my Letter, rescued me from being carried away by the precipitous Attalus, and that his valour revenged you of the insolence of that ingrateful Subject, I assure myself you will receive him according to the greatness of his merit. For which reason I am not importunate with you to do so; the intention of my writing being only to tell, that I shall have an interest in all the favours which my Deliverer shall receive from you, and that if the Prayers I have made to the Gods for the prosperity of your Arms be heard, the Victory which you shall gain, will soon end the War, and speedily return you to Messene, where you are passionately desired by  
ANDRONICE  
Hortensius, received this Letter from the hands of Andronice, for whom he had a very high respect, very great admiration, and much gratitude and tenderness without any mixture of Love, Andronice on the other side esteemed him infinitely, and felt in her heart a great inclination to prefer him above all the friends she had ever had to that time not excepting Eumenes, to whom notwithstanding she bore a very sincere friendship. So that the parting of Andronice and Hortensius was with as much kindness as if their friendship had been of a far elder date: The Country of Messenia, being of no great extent, and only a little corner of earth between it and that of Elis, named Triphylia, by reason it was sometimes inhabited by three different sort of people, before it was united to Elis. Hortensius and Eumenes were soon at the Camp of Melanthus; and they arrived there so happily to be well received, that Hortensius and Eumenes presented themselves before the Prince of Messenia, and the former delivered him the Letter of the Princess Andronice, just as he was coming forth of the Council of War, where it had been resolved to fight the enemy the next morning, or force him to quit the Pass which he possessed. for the fresh Troops of Messenia had been joined to the Army of Melanthus, two days ago. Hortensius' having a noble aspect, and magnificent garb, his presence easily confirmed the commendations which the Letter of the Princess Andronice, and Eumenes expressed of him. For Melanthus, after having read what the Princess his Sister had writ to him, and heard what Eumenes said to the advantage of Hortensius; This generous Stranger (said he, turning to Eumenes, and pointing towards Hortensius) could not arrive more opportunely for his own glory, and the benefit of my occasions, since I shall soon give him place to signalise his valour against a more worthy enemy than the insolent Attalus. Hortensius' answered to this discourse with all the honourable confidence becoming a brave man, and together with all the modesty becoming an intelligent and discreet person. After which, Meleanthus taking him aside from the Multitude lead him into a Garden which was behind the Castle, wherein the young Prince of Elis was guarded, for it being seated just in the middle of the several quarters of his Army, he made choice of it as most convenient to assemble a Council of War, in though he returned back again at night to Elis. But he had not as yet seen Elismonda nor had any intention to see her at that time; besides that, this fair Captive having been sick ever since she came into his power, he thought not fit to give her the trouble of receiving a visit from him, though indeed naturally he had not so much humanity as a great Prince ought to have. For it was a kind of cruelty to hold a Council of War in the place where this fair Princess was, and to bring as it were before her eyes such a multitude destinated to the ruin of her Country. And this was really a strange augmentation of her sorrow; for as I understood afterwards from the mouth of that Lady of quality who was then with her, and whose name was Cleontine, Elismonda stood at a window looking directly upon the bridge of a Castle, at the time when Eumenes and Hortensius arrived there. So that both of them seeming of a noble aspect, and Hortensius, very richly clothed, when Elismonda saw Eumenes present himself to Melanthus, who was in the Court of the Castle at their addressing to him, she judged it was some stranger that came to serve the Prince of Messenia. Alas! Cleontine (said she sighing) behold here for certain new enemies come against me, who have the appearance of brave men, and consequently give me terror enough to make me hate them. You are too just (answered Cleontine, who was a very discreet person and handsome enough, though past the glory of her first youth) to hate people which you know not, and they you as little. But Cleontine, (said Elismonda) do not these people know at least, though I am as unknown to them as they to me, that Melanthus makes an unjust War? and if they be not his Subjects, why do they not go and put themselves into the Army of the Prince of Cyparissa, who defends an unfortunate Princess unjustly oppressed? Perhaps, Madam, (answered Cleontine they which you see are subjects to Melanthus; and if so, they may with Justice partake in an unjust side: for in my opinion, it is not lawful for subjects to dispense with themselves from going to the War when their Prince is there, though they be persuaded he has the wrong cause. For I remember I had a Father who sometimes discoursed thus to a Brother of mine, when he enjoined him to be always faithful to his Prince. Ah! Cleontine (replied Elismonda,) one of those two persons there is none of Melanthus' subject, and therefore you ought at least allow me to hate him. In saying which, she pointed to Hortensius, whom the Prince of Messenia had taken apart from the rest which environed him, to lead him into the Garden I spoke of, towards which also Elismonda had grated windows jetting forth. But Madam, (said Cleontine, who only endeavoured to amuse her,) He whom you would hate, is the man of the more noble air and gallant personage. That's it I hate him for, (answered she) for had I not a good opinion of him, I should wish less ill to him. But alas! (continued she sighing) I am myself very unjust; for since the Gods seem to abandon the protection of a Country which is consecrated to them, ought I to wonder that men should be against me? aught I not rather to think it the Will of Heaven that I should be infortunate, and though apparently born to be happy, become the most miserable Princess in the World? for in brief, I have lost a Father who loved me tenderly; my Subjects look upon me almost as a Child, and since they are comforted after the death of the Prince my Father, they will assuredly make peace with the Usurper. So that my dear Cleontine, there is only the Prince of Cyparissa, who upholds my interests; though he does it not for my sake only, for he is banished out of his own Country, and could not be better elsewhere. But Madam (answered Cleontine) you know it as well as I, that the Prince of Cyparissa loves you, though he has not yet discovered himself to you. I know it but too well (replied Elismonda) and this is it, which renders me completely unhappy. For if he happen to be overcome, I shall remain prisoner to Melanthus, and if he be Conqueror, how shall I be able to give check to his pretensions? But Madam (said Cleontine) the Prince of Cyparissa is excellently shaped, a man of courage, spirit, and birth, and if he should restore Elis, Pisa, and Olympia to you, and drive back Melanthus into his own Country, and put you in a condition of seeing peaceably the next Olympic Games that shall be celebrated, I conceive you would have no reason to complain of fortune, though you should be obliged to marry him. I confess you have cause to speak as you do (answered Elismonda) but yet I am not to be blamed for saying what I do; for to discover to you the bottom of my heart, to this hour I never saw a person I could be inclinable to marry without some strange kind of regret. I know I am of a quality in which such persons are not wont to choose; but this is it which troubles me, and perhaps renders the Prince of Cyparissa, less acceptable unto me. Yet I esteem him very highly, and had I a brother, I should not be displeased if he were perfectly such a person as he; but in the mean time should I be one day constrained to marry him out of gratitude; I should be all my life unhappy, and should have so much greater cause to complain in that I should 〈◊〉 an unhappiness of which I should never compl●in● not even to you, my dear Cleontine. For in short, should my destiny bring this to pass, I forbid you from thenceforth to mention it to me as long as you live Thus you see, Madam, in what temper Elismonda's mind was, whilst Melanthus was entertaining Hortensius with several matters. He constrained him, notwithstanding his modesty to relate to him the particular passages of his encounter with Attalus, so hereby, as Eumenes knew full well, that which he foretold Hortensius, did not fail to come to pass, to wit, his infinitely pleasing the Prince of Messenia, who made him an hundred obliging caresses, and to begin the testification of his gratitude, for having hindered his sister from being carried away by a man he hated, he gave him a very rich Sword, which he hath to this day, entreating him to serve himself of it, in hope it would prove more happy in his hands than it had done in his own. After which, Melanthus mounted on horseback went from quarter to quarter, being followed with many Officers, and Hortensius and Eumenes, to give in person all orders necessary, to the end they might be better obeyed. But the morning following, Melanthus drew forth his forces out of their Entrenchments a little before day, and marching directly towards the Enemies, he set upon them a little before the Sun began to show his first rays. Were I to make this recital only to martial men, and had not a great number of things to tell you, in which Love has a greater share than War; I should describe to you all the particularities of a battle wherein victory many times changed sides, wherein death appeared in every rank, and valour was almost equally eminent in the overcome and the Conquerors, wherein the Prince of Cyparissa had Melanthus twice in his power, and wherein Hortensius with incredible valour gave him twice his liberty and once his life, and lastly wherein victory by the sole courage of Hortensius declared herself for Melanthus, and forced the Prince of Cyparissa (as courageous as he is) to quit the place and retreat in disorder. For had not the young Hortensius rallied those that fled the last time he rescued Melanthus out of the hands of those which had taken him, and cried aloud from rank to rank that Meleanthus was alive and free, the party of the Messenians had been destroyed, and this field alone had restored Elismonda to liberty, given her the Sovereign power, and brought her to hearken more favourably to the Prince of Cyparissa. But fortune disposed the event otherwise, and intended Hortensius, who two days before was unknown to the Prince of Messenia, should become his favourite, the next after this battle. For owing to him both the liberty of Andronice and his own, and moreover his life and victory, and the revenge of Attalus, he thought no measure ought to be observed in the favours which he designed him; so that he omitted no imaginable obligements towards him. He was pleased he should lodge in his Palace at Elis, and in one of his Tents in the Army. He gave him a magnificent train, made him one of his Council of War, and ordered there should be two Lieutenant Generals in his Army, to the end he might be one of them. So that from this day forward, Hortensius found he had a Court as well as the Prince, and he was become of high note in a place wherein he thought he should have been unknown. Eumenes, who saw Fortune, and the humour of the Prince had rendered his predictions true, was privately familiar with Hortensius, who being truly generous, was more solicitous of living happily with Eumenes in his rising favour than before. But when he remembered this generous friend had told him it was very difficult to keep in long with Melanthus, he looked upon the divers degrees of honour, to which he had raised him, as possible to lead him to a place from whence he might be cast down headlong, so that not knowing whether or no he ought to rejoice for them, he received all the favours of the Prince of Messenia with so great moderation, that he was infinitely more esteemed for them and less envied. In the mean while this happy success of Melanthus' Arms began to shake the fidelity of part of Elismonda's Subjects, both in Elis, Pisa, Olympia, and all the other Cities of that Territory. On the other side, the Prince of Cyparissa, who was advertised of it, conceived a strange sorrow for this deplorable case; for all the sentiments which are able to excite valour in the heart of a generous man, were in his. He had ambition and love for Elismonda, and hatred for Melanthus. Whereby being carried on by such violent passions, he forgot nothing of all that he believed conducive to the design he had to satisfy them, and continually contrived in his mind how to effect the same. At the same time Melanthus, by the Counsel of Hortensius and Eumenes, wholly changed his manner of acting with the Inhabitants of Elis, treating them now as gently as he had done before severely; he straightly commanded all his Troops to live orderly in Compagne, he caused reverence to be shown to the Temples, and sharply punished those of his Soldiers, who committed any insolent action, and lastly he put forth a Manifesto, wherein his Injustice was handsomely coloured over, and wherein he gave hopes of all sorts of felicity to those who would acknowledge his Power. All which things joined together, made some impression upon the minds of the people. It happened also that the Princess Elismonda fell extremely sick at the same time, and Hortensius obliged Melanthus to have a great care of her. Who thereupon sent his Physicians to her, and yielded so exactly to whatsoever Hortensius counselled, that though this change was ascribed to the virtue of Hortensius, yet it also begat some favourable inclination for Melanthus. The Prince of Cyparissa understanding all these things, having first left his Army in a Pass where it was hard to be attaqued, went to Pisa to endeavour to confirm the minds of the Citizens, and sought continually how to oppose his Enemies as well by Prudence as by Valour; to which purpose he thought it requisite to endeavour to excite compassion in the breasts of the people, and even in those of the Soldiers towards the young Prince of Elis. But as an amorous man easily imagines that all others are taken with that which affects him, he bethought himself of a course of which never any other but a Lover could have had the apprehension. You may please to know, Madam, that the late Prince of Elis who bore an extreme tenderness towards the young Elismonda, and was willing to gain the hearts of his Subjects to her, caused her Picture to be drawn by the skilful Agerontus of Corinth, whom he sent for on purpose, and had given her portraiture to almost all the persons of quality in his principality. He also caused the same to be placed in all the apartments of a very stately Castle which is at Pisa. Now the Prince of Cyparissa having first published a Manifesto also in answer to that of the Prince of Messenia, caused to be made secretly in fifteen days, the greatest number he could of Copies of this excellent Princess' Portrait, both in little, and in the full proportion After which, by some intelligence which he had in Elis, and even in the Army of Melanthus, by reason of being born his Subject, he contrived that several portraitures of Elismonda being hidden in great baskets of fruit, Soldiers in the disguise of simple gardiner's, should carry the same to Elis, and to the Camp of the Prince of Messenia, and deliver them to those with whom he had intelligence, together with several Copies of the Manifesto which he had set forth. He also sent some to Olympia, and gave order the same thing should be done at Pisa, which he caused to be done in the places I now mentioned. So that having been successful in his design and served with fidelity, one morning there was found both in Pisa and Olympia, and in Melanthus' Army, and in Elis, and even at the Gate of the Palace wherein the Prince of Messenia lodged, several Pictures of Elismonda. She was drawn in a Mourning habit, (for I forgot to tell you that the Prince of Cyparissa amongst all the pictures of Elismonda which he found at Pisa, had chosen one to be an Original for the Copies, which had been drawn upon the death of the Princess her Mother) and besides she being fair and bright haired, and mourning best becoming her, it was thought fittest to draw her in that dress. Which was also otherwise suitable to her present condition, and consequently the Prince of Cyparissa believed this Picture would be more proper than any other to incite compassion in the hearts of those that should behold it. Besides, she having been sad the day on which it was taken, the portrait had a kind of lovely dejectedness in it, which seemed to implore assistance from those which beheld it, for her that was represented by it. So that they were extremely surprised, both in the Army of Melanthus and at Elis, upon seeing this extraordinary adventure. For some of these pictures were laid at the Gate of the principal Temples, some in the public Piazza's, and most noted streets, and as I said before, at the Gate of Melanthus' Palace. A thing yet more remarkable was, that the Prince of Cyparissa had caused several things to be written at the bottom of these pictures, according to the divers places wherein they were to be laid. For under that which was found at the Palace Gate where Melanthus lodged, there were only these words;  
Melanthus, behold her against whom you make War, and if you are wise, fear lest the Gods avenge her cause, and you repent of your injustice.  
Under those which were taken up in the Piazza's of Elis, it seemed as if the Princess spoke to the people, in these words only;  
Is it possible unjust Subjects, that you can endure an Usurper in a City consecrated to the Gods?  
Those which were at the Gates of the Temples were underwritten as follows (as if Elismonda had spoken to the Gods adored there.)  
Since Men abandon me, I implore of you a Sanctuary against your own enemies.  
Those which were in the principal Streets, had these words;  
Disloyal Subjects, can you have the heart to forsake me?  
And for them which were dispersed in the Camp of Melanthus, they contained no more but this;  
Valiant Soldiers, consider whether it will be any great glory to you to overcome a Princess, who hath nothing but tears wherewith to resist you.  
But for them which were carried to Pisa and Olympia, I do not distinctly remember what was writ under them; but I know this invention which Love put into the mind of the Prince of Cyparissa, had many extraordinary and different successes, and that by a privilege of beauty the Picture of Elismonda found respect in the minds of the least faithful of her subjects, and in those of the most insolent Soldiers. But that which deserves more Remark was, that Melanthus, who rose very early in the morning to go to the Camp, having been advertised there were several Pictures of Elismonda in divers places of the City, and one also at the Gate of his Palace, commanded it should be brought to him. He had heard reports of Elismonda's beauty, but had never as yet seen her; and the furniture and ornaments of the Palace where he lodged, having been removed from thence when there was a necessity of surrendering up the City, there was not left as much as one of Elismonda's pictures in it. Besides, his heart was so wholly taken up with ambition, that he never inquired much whether the Princess were fair or no. Hence it was that he became extremely surprised, when he beheld the picture of Elismonda. Hortensius and Eumenes were both present at that time, and were also charmed at the sight; for there being but few Beauties of fair complexion in Greece, this of the young Princess caused in them the greater admiration. Melanthus without staying first to peruse the Manifesto of the Prince of Cyparissa, which was brought him at the same time, beheld this picture very attentively and silently. Till at length turning towards Hortensius, I perceive (said he) by this, I have a prisoner that is sufficiently powerful to make Captives. 'Tis true, my Lord (answered Hortensius) this picture is very handsome; but sometimes painters are great Flatterers, and 'tis credible, the Princess of Elismonda has not been injured in the draught of the picture which you see. I assure you, my Lord (interposed an Elaean Gentlemen, who sided with this Prince) the Princess Elismonda is nothing beholding to the painter's hand, for she is fairer than he could make her Image. But presently after this the Prince of Messenia observing the words I repeated to you at the bottom of the Portraiture, he read them with an indifferent loud voice.  
Melanthus, behold her against whom you make War, and if you are wise, fear lest the Gods avenge her cause? and you repent of your injustice.  
Whereupon with a pencil he took off the Table, and which he had newly made use of to trace out the platform of the Fortifications which he intended to make at Elis, he writ these words beneath the other, as answering to the Prince of Cyparissa;  
I have seen her against whom I make War; but if you had been wise, you would never have suffered me to see her, since she is too handsome ever to be parted with to you.  
After which, the Prince, out of an impetuous humour, would have the picture carried back, and laid in the same place whence it was taken up, imagining that they who had intelligence with the Prince of Cyparissa, would take notice what he had writ under it, and send it away to that Lover. Hortensius and Eumenes endeavoured to divert him from so doing, but without effect. In the mean time they consulted together what was requisite to be done in order to prevent, lest those pictures might occasion any commotion. Melanthus first proposed, that course should be taken to discover who had dispersed them, that they might be severely punished, in the sight of all the Inhabitants of Elis. But Hortensius represented to him that this would rather provoke the people, whom it were better to win by gentleness. For methinks (added he) I have just now thought upon an infallible way of causing this artifice to fall upon your Enemies, and principally upon the Prince of Cyparissa. My dear Hortensius (cried Melanthus) I beseech you declare it presently, and tell me what is fitting for me to do. It is requisite (answered he) to get all the pictures of the Princess Elismonda you can possibly, and cause them to be brought to you; and than you must declare, that you will keep them carefully, very highly extolling the Princess' beauty; afterwards give her a visit in person, and send a Herald to the Prince of Cyparissa, to Pisa, and to Olympia, to publish that you are ready to marry the Princess Elismonda, to restore peace in the Country of Elis, and render it more happy than ever it was before, provided they will lay down their Arms. By this means you will infallibly raise division between the Prince of Cyparissa, and the forces which he commands; as also between him and the Citizens of Pisa and Olympia. For you may well think, that being a passionate servant of hers, he will never consent that you should marry her. And on the other side, 'tis easy to imagine, that those which she commands, will never be all of his opinion, but the greater number being desirous of peace, will force him to seek Sanctuary elsewhere, and quit his pretensions. Melanthus being very much satisfied with this project of Hortensius, took no other care but to put it in execution. Not that he resolved at that time to marry Elismonda, or believed she would easily be brought to admit the match; but the conceit of spoiling the Prince of Cyparissa's stratagem, affected him with such joy, that without farther considering he betook himself to follow the Counsel of Hortensius. To which purpose, himself went into all the Streets of the City, attended by the whole Court, to quiet and settle the people, telling them he was intended to put an end to their troubles, by restoring peace, that the Princess Elismonda should shortly be set at liberty, and that the only hindrance would be in the Prince of Cyparissa, if tranquillity were not established throughout the whole Territory of Elis. To confirm these favourable expressions he did as Hortensius had counselled him to; for he caused all the pictures of Elismonda to be brought into his Chamber, and the next morning sent Hortensius to the Princess, to obtain of her the permission to see her, resolving nevertheless, in case she should reject this proposition, to make a great secret of it, and give out on the contrary, that she inclined to such conditions of peace. Hortensius accordingly went in the name of the Prince of Messenia, to the Castle in which this fair Princess was guarded, whose health at that time was somewhat amended, though her indisposition had left a testimony behind of itself, by a little more than ordinary paleness. It being known by those who guarded the young Princess, that she attributed much to the Counsels of Cleontine, Hortensius, who was very prudent, and looked no farther than to serve the Prince of Messenia, carefully desired first to speak with her, and caused his name to be told her, and by whom he was sent. Upon which, Cleontine coming to him in the Antechamber of the Princess, presently perceived him to be the same person, whom she had seen in discourse with Melanthus, when Elismonda said she was resolved to hate him; and receiving him very civilly (his aspect and comportment speaking him a man of quality) she attended to hear what he had to speak to her. You will perhaps think it strange, Madam Cleontine, (said he to her) for a man that has not the honour to be known to you, to desire secrecy of you at the first time he sees you. But when you shall know that 'tis to serve the Princess Elismonda, I have confidence you will pardon me. You have so much the air of a person of honour (answered Cleontine) that I am very inclinable to believe you can offer nothing but what is generous and honourable; and therefore you may please to tell me what your intent is of this address, provided you also give me the liberty to answer you what I shall believe reasonable. I shall tell you then, Madam, (said he to her) that the Prince of Messenia having seen divers pictures of the Princess Elismonda, hath an extreme desire to give her a visit, and to express to her for the future, all the Testimonies of generosity, which the interest of his own glory will permit him to do. But to the end this interview may have a favourable consequence, and produce peace to the whole Country of Elis, it will be your part, discreet Cleontine, handsomely to dispose the Princess Elismonda not to receive the Prince of Messenia as an Usurper, but as a generous Enemy, whom she may more easily overcome by favourable respects, than the Prince of Cyparissa can ever do by valour, notwithstanding he is a person of unquestionable magnanimity. And for the rest, I beseech you not to believe that the Prince's visit can be displeasing to the fair Elismonda, by any thing which he may say unto her; for he has no other design, but to honour her, and to testify that he does so by all imaginable civility. When they who may command, request (answered Cleontine) and leave the liberty of a refusal, no question but they deserve to have their desire granted, if it may be done without injury to virtue; and therefore, if the Princess Elismonda does me the honour to believe me, she shall receive the visit of the Prince of Messena, according to your desire: but I fear much (added she) I shall have no small difficulty to persuade her to it. For, in brief, she is a prisoner, the Prince her Father is dead, ever since the beginning of the War. and she wears Mourning still for him, and sees not yet very well, how she shall ever be more happy. And to testify to you (pursued she, with a half-smile) how much she is sensible of all this, I could almost constrain myself to tell you that she hates you, though she does not know you. Then I have sentiments very different from hers (answered Hortensius) for I honour her infinitely, although I never saw her. But if it please you (added he) I would know for what reason she hates me before she knows me.  
Cleontine designing handsomely to gain upon the mind of Hortensius (whose quality and reputation she understood by him that informed her of his desire to speak with her) told him a part of the discourse between Elismonda and herself, whilst Eumenes was presenting him to Melanthus. For being this pretended hatred of Elismonda was only occasioned by her observing the noble and handsome aspect of Hortensius, she judged it would not be displeasing to him to know it. And indeed Hortensius resented some secret pleasure in this kind of hatred, and told Cleontine with much gallantry, he feared when Elismonda should see him nearer hand, she would no longer judge him worthy of her hatred. But at length Cleontine left him in the Antichamber, and went to find Elismonda. And as soon as she saw her, would you think, Madam (said she to her) that the person whom you hate, because you observe him to be of a noble Air, desires to see you and comes from the Prince of Messena to demand permission to make a visit to you. How? my dear Cleontine (answered she) I will see neither the one nor the other; but if I must needs see one of the two, I had rather see him whom I hate without knowing him, than him whom I shall hate all my life. But Madam (replied Cleontine) you are a prisoner, and in prudence you ought not to incense your Conqueror; for the more he is unjust, the more is he to be feared, and therefore it is requisite, prudence suppress some part of your resentment. Elismonda blushed at this discourse, and hiding the design she had from Cleontine, for fear lest if she should tell her what she intended to tell Hortensius, she would not approve it, only commanded her to cause the person she spoke of to enter into her Chamber. But Madam (said she to her) be very circumspect how you receive him; for a fair Princess prisoner, is obliged to act with much more prudence than a captive Prince. In truth (answered the young Princess) I cannot answer for myself in this occasion; but all I can do, is to assure you that I will, as much as possible, endeavour to constrain myself. Upon which Cleontine caused Hortensius to enter. Elismonda happened this day to be dressed carelessly enough, so that her bright hair hanging down below a great vail of black Cypress which covered her shoulders, made her seem extremely charming; Her attire though sad, had notwithstanding something of gallantry; her arms were half bare, with bracelets on them, and her hands so white, that she wanted no adorning though she were undressed. Hortensius also was much surprised, beholding her infinitely more charming than her picture; he observed the air of her countenance so gentle, and something so delicate in her beauty, that he commiserated her misfortune as soon as he saw her; and almost began to condemn in himself, the valour he had employed against those who fought for her interests. He saluted her very respectfully, and she received him with a civility which having not much of obligement, had also nothing at all of disdain. Though Hortensius had purposed to speak first, yet he felt a kind of reluctancy and restraint within him, when he came into Elismonda's presence. But at length overcoming that obstacle, of which he understood not the cause, I come to you Madam (said he to her) in the name of the Prince of Messena, to desire your permission he may make you a visit. The persuasion I have (answered she, with a cold and dejected aspect) that generous Princes should never go to see such as are miserable, unless it be to relieve them out of their unhappinesses, makes me believe the Prince of Messena ought not to make me a visit. For I humbly conceive, he has no purpose to restore me what he possesses of my State, and return peacably to his own. Besides, though he should do this act of justice, he cannot restore me the Prince my Father, whose death he hath caused by the unjust war he made upon him. You know not, Madam (interposed Cleontine, who would moderate this resentment) what the Prince of Messena's design may be. No, no, (answered Elismonda) he can have no reasonable design, and therefore it were best to save himself the trouble of coming to see me: for if it be only to perform a naked ceremony, I shall take his visit for an injury; if he have any good intention, he may please to let me first know it, that so he may be better received when he comes to visit me. Whilst Elismonda was speaking this, Hortensius beheld her attentively, and found such sweetness in hearing her speak, that he had not the power to answer her; till at length recovering from that pleasing amazement, he endeavoured to serve the Prince faithfully that sent him, and addressed to her in these terms. When I entered into your Chamber, Madam, I had no other intention but that of obeying the Prince who sent me: but, within this short space I have had the honour to see you in, I have taken your interest into his; and therefore Madam, suffer me to conjure you not to refuse the Prince the favour which he desires of you, and which he may not entreat you to. Should he come to see me without my permission (replied she) I should perhaps be less discontented with it; for I should have the liberty of telling him whatever my just indignation suggested unto me. But if he comes hither with my consent, it will be necessary for me to disguise my sentiments, and hide the hatred I have of his injustice, and show some kind of civility to a Usurper who keeps me in prison, sheds the blood of my Subjects, desolates the fairest Country in the world, and violates all sorts of rights without the least respect or reverence of the gods. You have so excellent a capacity (answered Hortensius) that you cannot but know, Ambition is no shameful crime; and that a Prince who is called an Usurper by those whose Country he has conquered, is oftentimes styled a Conqueror, by all those who have no interests in his conquests. Therefore Madam, without blaming or excusing the Prince that sends me, or acquainting you with his design or his interests, I only tell you that yours require you not to incense a Prince to whom Fortune is favourable. You have without doubt, Madam, all that is needful to cause the Arms to fall out of the hands of the most ambitious; for which reason, constrain yourself, if possible, I beseech you, and consider no inconvenience can follow upon such an enforcing of yourself. I told you my dear Cleontine (said the Princess, looking upon that generous Lady) that this Stranger was a terrible enemy: for indeed I had resolved without telling you so, to refuse a visit to the Prince of Messena: but now I see this dangerous enemy will make me alter my determination. But yet I am desirous to know (proceeded she, turning towards him) what obliged such an honourable generous person as you, to take the unjust side; is it because it is more happy? No, Madam (answered he) but I embraced it out of gratitude; and therefore you would be unjust to hate me, though I am of a party opposite to yours, since honour would not permit me not to be so. After which Hortensius imagining it behoved him to justify himself in the opinion of the Princess, was not unwilling to declare to her by what ways fortune had constrained him to be her enemy; and Elismonda being not loath to have cause to cease hating Hortensius, pressed him to inform her, how it came about that he was engaged to serve Melanthus. Hortensius therefore recounted to her in few words, his adventure in Thessaly; He acknowledged so ingeniously that he owed his life to the Princess Andronice, he related so modestly his encounter with Attalus, and delivered all this so well and handsomely, that Elismonda herself told him, he had reason to be of her enemy's side, and promised him for the future, to blame him no more for it. Yet she remained still in the same irresolution concerning what she ought to do, till Cleontine and Hortensius effected their persuasions of her, to suffer a visit from the Prince of Messena, on condition he would say nothing that might stir up and augment her grief. Which granted, Hortensius took his leave, and Cleontine followed him into the Antichamber, to exhort him to bring the Prince of Messena to a peace. Thus this first day begat a very great friendship between Hortensius and Cleontine. As for Elismonda, she so strongly touched his heart, that he had never felt the like from any fair person, as he did from her. For he found I know not what kind of secret agitation within himself, which did not permit him to go to Elis, without rendering it perceivable, that he had a great disposition to love Elismonda. Whence comes this commotion which I feel (said he in himself, as he was returning?) and why am I so affected in behalf of a person whom I never saw but one hour? and with whom in all probabilities I ought never to have any particular friendship? The Princess Andronice seemed beautiful to me at the first instant that I saw her, she also testified much prudence, saved my life, is the cause of my fortune, and hath much more kindness for me. And yet neither her beauty, nor her wit, nor her good offices, nor her kindness, cause any agitation in my soul. I love her with a calm affection, and I consider her without having my heart disquieted; my reason is an ingredient into the tenderness I have for her; in a word, I love her as a man loves a Sister. Nevertheless I feel a commotion I know not what to make of, for Elismonda; it troubles and disquiets me, and almost transports me over to her side against the Prince whom I serve. But I ought (said he, after a little musing) to surmount this imaginary weakness, I ought to be faithful to the Prince whom I serve, and I ought to believe that what I feel is nothing but what I am able easily to overcome. Hortensius, after this wise reflection, found really some tranquillity in his mind; but when he came to Melanthus, and the Prince demanded of him, whether Elismonda were as fair as her Picture, he was upon the point of saying, No, and the next moment was ready to say, she was a thousand times more charming; but at length, taking a mean between both, he said, 'twas true, her Portraiture perfectly resembled her. After which, making a great violence upon his mind, and being willing equally to serve both Melanthus and Elismonda, he told him moreover, that the Princess deserved he should treat her well, that she had beauty, wit, and virtue, and that if he could really possess the Country of Elis in peace, by marrying her, he should believe him very happy, How? Ah Hortensius (cried he!) as often as any marriage is proposed to me for reason of State, I always remember what the wise Thales, whose memory is so famous throughout all Greece, and amongst all the Asiatic people, answered one day to his Mother upon the same occasion; For when in the flourishing years of his youth, she proposed to him to marry, he told her, It was not yet time; and when she made him the same proposal some years after, he answered her, That the time was passed. So that to imitate so wise a person in something, I answer you, dear Hortensius, that 'tis not yet time for me to marry, and that I had rather owe the possession of the Principality of Elis to my sword than to my marriage. Yet I am willing to let the people believe I have a design to match with Elismonda; because this will create divisions among my enemies, and infinitely despite the Prince of Cyparissa. But in sincere truth, I affirm, that though I should become amorous of Elismonda, I would never marry her by a Treaty; and I could not resolve to do it, but when I should be master of her State. For according to the humour I am of, I should not care to be Husband of the Princess of Elis; but on the contrary, it would be more suitable for him that is the Prince of Elis, to espouse Elismonda. But after all, Marriage is not a thing so necessarily required by policy, as 'tis believed, especially for a Prince, who has some peculiar sentiments in his ambition; for I am not solicitous of having successors which may possess my Conquests: On the contrary, should Fortune make my destiny such as I wish it, I should not be sorry if after having conquered many states, there should be no person found after my death who could only well govern the Nations that I had subdued. For which reason having a mind unaffected with that specious Chimaera which flatters the humour of those Lovers of posterity, who take pains for people that they can never know; and on the other side, equally fearing to have successors which may prove unworthy of me or surpass me; unless I alter my present resolutions, I shall pass my whole life in saying, I will marry, without effectually doing so: and if my humour become not wholly opposite to that I now am in, I shall never be possessed with any violent Love. For it becomes a Prince (added Melanthus) in order to being happy and gallant, to leave all the Ladies of his Court to hope they may conquer his heart, without affecting any one particularly; it becomes him also to make a mere pleasure of Love, as men do of Music, Hunting, Dancing, and Conversation, and not to make himself slave of some fair coy piece, who, many times, without loving the Prince, loves only the greatness which she hopes from him. Hortensius' hearing Melanthus speak in this sort, conceived a secret joy in himself, of which he knew not the cause. And his heart was tender: he did not contradict him, though his thoughts were different from the Prince of Messena; he only thought fit to answer him, That it were not to be disapproved, if a Prince quitted the courting Love only for the love of Glory. But, Madam, it was resolved at the end of this conversation, that Melanthus should go the day following to visit the Princess Elismonda, and that two days after he should send to propound to marry her, and to withdraw his forces, provided the Prince of Cyparissa would lay down his Arms, and depart out of the territory of Elis. Eumenes was of this privy Council; and the next morning Melanthus (being accompanied by him, Hortensius, and his ordinary Guards) went to see the fair Elismonda, who that she might be obliged to less civility and constraint upon herself, made semblance of some little indisposition. She was therefore attired in white this day, and her fair hair appeared carelessly dishevelled under a kind of small veil of white Tiffeny, which hung down from her head; her attire was fastened together in several places with black Ribbons, she was laid down upon her bed, and carelessly leaned on some black Cushions adorned with Tassels of silver; but after so lovely a manner, that if one were to paint Diana, when, having been at hunting with her Nymphs, she reposes herself upon a Bed of verdant grass at the foot of a Tree, she ought to be represented. Elismonda had both modesty and dejectedness in her countenance together; and that which added new lustre to the beauty of her complexion was, that her Bed was overshadowed with a great Canopy of black Cypress, the corners of which being tied up with twists of silver, hung disorderly about her. Cleontine and the two young Ladies which attended on her, were with the Princess, when the Prince of Messena came to make the visit; for I had forgot to tell you, that those who remained with her were Virgins, and of high quality, which would not forsake her, and none of those which were ordinarily designed to serve her. I shall not tell you, Madam, the particulars of this conversation, having too many beside to acquaint you with; it will be enough to assure you that the fair Elismonda spoke nothing but what was generous, though she showed no incivility to Melanthus, for whom her aversion was so great, that it was something unjust; for she esteemed him a much less generous person than indeed he was. Yet she inforc'd herself wonderfully; but Melanthus was so charmed with her beauty, and observed so noble a spirit in her, that it seemed he began to be then in love, though he did not cease to be ambitious. He desired her pardon, in that he was obliged by the Laws of War, to cause her to be guarded in the Castle wherein she was; he assured her she should receive all respectful service there, and that he would omit nothing that depended on him to mitigate her sorrows, till Fortune gave him opportunity to testify better to her the resolution he had to honour her all his life. Elismonda answered this discourse with words which were rather handsome upbraid for her misfortunes, than real remerciaments. But she chose her language so discreetly which she used, that as I said, without doing aught against the greatness of her mind, she did not incense her enemy. Hortensius nevertheless well perceived the forcedness of her behaviour; for this fair Princess sighed now and than, and sometimes lift up her eyes towards heaven in so pathetical a manner, that she caused much commiseration in him. Melanthus finding many potent charms in her eyes, endeavoured to fix his own directly upon them; which Elismonda avoiding as much as she could, she was constrained more frequently to cast her aspect towards Hortensius, who was discoursing softly with Eumenes. Whereby this generous Veientine could not hinder himself from being infinitely affected with the sweetness of the fair Elismonda's eyes, though she looked upon him only to avoid the wishly view of Melanthus. Eumenes taking notice, with what a gladsome attentiveness Hortensius considered the Princess; approached near him, and speaking low in his ear, Have a care of yourself, Hortensius (said he to him) for if you be not cautious, you will soon become more a Captive to the Princess of Elis, than she is to the Prince of Messena. You mistake admiration and pity for Love, (answered Hortensius a little smiling.) I know what admiration and pity are (replied Eumenes) and to assure you so much, I declare to you, that they are very effective to beget Love in such a heart as yours, Since 'tis so (answered Hortensius) I thank you for the counsel you have given me, and shall endeavour to make use of it. After which, the Prince of Messena rose up and returned to Elis. But Madam, he returned thither in a great musing, which was perceived by Hortensius and Eumenes. As they were going along talking of his reservedness, he suddenly turned about to them, and beginning to speak fiercely, 'Tis true, (said he, though without naming the Princess Elismonda) she is handsomer than her Picture, and moreover, more lovely than handsome, though she is fair in perfection. Than you may perhaps, My Lord, change your sentiments (answered Hortensius coldly) and believe hereafter, that Love is something more attractive than Hunting. I confess (said he to them (that I believe Hercules had sometimes not so great pleasure in Conquering, and carrying on his shoulders that furious Boar of the Erymanthian Forest, as I should have in overcoming the hatred of the Princess Elismonda towards me; for in my judgement this hatred of hers, is as raging as that savage beast was truculent and implacable. Methinks, my Lord, (answered Eumenes) the Princess received you well. Yes, (replied he) when she would not vouchsafe to look upon me: but however, I will so bring it to pass, that the Prince of Cyparissa shall have no reason to hope ever to possess her; and though it be only to make him despair, I will make show of being enamoured of her, and of intending really to marry her, though I be uncapable of such a resolution. If you become amorous, My Lord (answered Hortensius) you will indeed change your sentiments. Though I should come to love her (replied he) as much as I hate Attalus and the Prince of Cyparissa, yet I would never marry her, for reasons which I have told you at another time; but, in brief, to follow your counsels (added he) it is fit I send to morrow to Pisa, to Olympia, and to the Prince of Cyparissa's Army, to make the Proposition we agreed upon; and to testify further, that I intent to win the mind of Elismonda, it is requisite that the Princess my Sister come to Elis, and make frequent visits to her. Hortensius and Eumenes much respecting that Princess, approved what Melanthus intended, who the same evening dispatched one of his attendants to Andronice, with such express order for her speedy coming to Elis, that she was obliged instantly to obey it, and begin her journey. In the mean time Melanthus, without losing time. sent to Pisa and Olympia, and to the Prince of Cyparissa, who was returned to his Army, to make the proposition I told you of. But, to perplex his enemy the more, he caused an offer to be made to him of returning to his Court, knowing well he would never accept it. He also published a Manifesto, in answer to that of his Enemy, and declared his new Love which he pretended for Elismonda, so publicly, that the Prince of Cyparissa was soon advertised of it, and of what he had written underneath the picture of the Princess of Elis, and what he had said concerning her, and of the care he took of her since he had seen her. For after that first visit, he returned thither very frequently, and sent every day; the Princess was permitted to walk in the Park of the Castle, all her Women were suffered to attend on her, and she was served with the same magnificence, as if she had been absolute Mistress of her own Principality. But withal, at the same time her guards were redoubled; which being known to the Prince of Cyparissa, put him into a strange despair, in seeing those Pictures of Elismonda, which he believed might occasion a commotion in Elis and in the Army, produce no other effect, than raising a curiosity in Melanthus, of seeing the Princess and giving him occasion to become enamoured on her. But that which completed his despair was, that the proposition made by Melanthus, was wonderfully well received, both at Pisa and at Olympia, that she understood it was very well liked of at Elis, and himself perceived the Officers of his Army did not disapprove it; and his Soldiers who served in a war that could not enrich them, since it was only to defend their own Country, declared openly that if he were generous he would not oppose the peace. A further affliction to the Prince of Cyparissa, was a belief that Elismonda consented to the proposition made by Melanthus, and being weary of her prison, would have no great repugnancy to marry an enemy that would give her liberty. Alas! (said he to one of his friends, who was also one of mine, and named Artimedes) How unhappy am I in having been so discreet; for Elismonda was never informed by my own mouth, of the violent Love I have for her; and though I am confident she cannot be ignorant of it, yet she may make semblance, that I am her Servant, only because I would preserve the same Sanctuary for myself, which the Prince her Father afforded me. Perhaps she thinks, I fight rather by reason of the hatred I bear against Melanthus, than for the Love I have for her. But it is too true, I have no consideration but Elismonda, and without her I have no interest in any thing. Yet it shall never be said, that I will not do my utmost not to become miserable, to hinder mine enemy from becoming happy, and to effect also that that fair Princess commit not an action unworthy of herself. Hereupon the Prince of Cyparissa having consulted with Artimedes what was requisite to be done, assembled all the Officers of his Army, and spoke to them with so much eloquence and courage, that he brought over a great part of them to be of his own sentiments. He laid before them the importance of the matter, the tender years of Elismonda, and the shame there would be in gratifying him that made an unjust War. For what more could be done (said he) in favour of a Prince that had hazarded his life a thousand times in opposing the enemies of this State, and gained many victories, than to give him the State that he had defended, and the Princess to whom it of right belongs? Think not but the gods will punish you severely, if you abandon the defence of a Country, consecrated unto them in so particular a manner. Withstand therefore such a dangerous design courageously, and know, that if the Prince of Messena believed he could take Pisa and Olympia very easily, he would never propound peace to you. 'Tis true (added he) he offers it on such shameful conditions that he seems desirous to be refused; and this proposition is only an Artifice to deceive the less intelligent people, who perhaps will presently murmur because the peace is refused. But in brief, important deliberations are not to be grounded on the murmurings of the people; for most usually a little constancy appeases them, and a little insinuation makes them change their opinions. In fine (added he) The honour of the gods, that of your Princess, and your own glory is concerned in the matter. Therefore consider well upon it, and believe not that I will ever forsake you, as long as I see in you a purpose of making a generous resistance. But withal, think not that I will ever sign a Peace which cannot be accepted but with shame. For indeed I will rather choose to become a vagabond, and fugitive from City to City, to the end of the world, than to commit any thing unworthy of myself. This Oration made a great part of the Prince of Cyparissa's Officers who were present at it, become of his judgement; but the rest opposed it, and declared that peace was a Good which could not be bought at too high a rate, that the Prince of Messena was generous and fortunate, and they should be at last constrained to do that by force which they might now by Treaty, before the Country were totally destroyed. Thus every one continuing in his sentiments, the Prince of Cyparissa thought he had done very much, in having brought over part of them to his side. After which he went to Pisa and Olympia to endeavour the same thing. But as 'tis more difficult to induce the inhabitants of a great City to refuse peace, than Soldiers, it was not possible for him to effect his desires. The people were ready to make an insurrection in Pisa; and as he was going out of the City, news was brought him that half the Officers which he had won to his mind, were fallen off from him since his departure. It remained therefore only to seek how handsomely to gain time; in order to which, being very prudent, he told them which had the greatest power, both in Pisa and Olympia, that to testify to them how much he attributed to their judgements, he consented that the proposition of Melanthus should not absolutely be rejected; but rather, to act with prudence, it were fit to demand a Truce for six months, during which time liberty might be had to speak with the Princess Elismonda, to the end her pleasure might be known. That which obliged the Prince of Cyparissa to demand his Truce, was, that in the compass of these six months, the time of the Olympyck Games would be come: when the Prince hoped that in that great Assembly which was to be at Olympus from all parts of Greece, he might engage the neighbouring States in a League offensive and desensive, against the Usurper of Elis. But at last, there being much reason in what he required, and the Truce seeming a good step to the Peace, he brought Pisa and Olympia, and his Army, to approve that which he propounded. But that which was rare, was, that Melanthus perceiving he could not obtain what he demanded, was not sorry that a Truce was insisted on; because he very much feared, lest if the War should continue till the time in which the Olympic Games were to be celebrated, and they could not, by reason of it be celebrated, this great change might awaken the adjoining States, and oblige them to engage in a War, whose success might be not fortunate unto him, if others should intermeddle in it. Yet something troubled him to suffer any to speak with the Princess Elismonda; but not daring to refuse it, because it would have seemed too great an injustice, he resolved to give way to it, and afterwards to draw out the business in length. It was therefore concluded, that the two Armies should remain in the same places which they possessed, that all actions of hostility should cease, that four of the chief persons of Elis might have communication with the Princess Elismonda, that the Prince of Cyparissa should have the same liberty during the Olympic Games, which were to be celebrated with all the accustomed magnificence, and that both parties should on either side, live as peaceably as if an absolute peace had been concluded. As soon as these things were agreed on, Melanthus, who was really so enamoured on Elismonda, that none was more, except Hortensius, commanded this generous Favourite to go to thesair Prncess, and tell her, that she had caused his Arms to fall out of his hands, that he had accorded a Truce with the Prince of Cyparissa, only to spare the blood of her Subjects, to the end, she might be better disposed to hearken to something which he had resolved to tell her, as soon as he could have the happiness to kiss her hands. It may be, My Lord, (answered Hortensius with some commotion, upon Melanthus' sending him) when you grant a Truce to the Prince of Cyparissa, you begin a War with yourself. I acknowledge it, my dear Hortensius (said he to him (for I have an extreme regret, that I find myself inclined to love Elismonda more than I would. But in brief, before any of her Subjects have the liberty of speaking to her, I would inform her that I am at her service: go therefore, my dear Hortensius, and prepare the mind of that charming Princess, in such manner that I may find her a little favourable; not only because its pleasing not to be unkindly treated, but also because I perceive if she reject me at first with disdain, her resistance will increase my passion in such sort, that I shall be the most miserable of men: I was of opinion (answered Hortensius coldly) that, Great difficulty had been more proper to extinguish love than to excite it. It is not so in such a heart as mine (answered Melanthus:) for facility almost takes from me the desire of pleasing things, and on the contrary difficulty makes me sometimes ardently desire such things as aught to be indifferent unto me. This discourse ended, Hortensius went to Elismonda, but by the way, What did he not think, and what did he not endure? Alas! (said he in his Breast) I am miserable, and destiny is cruel, in making me love a person, by whom I cannot be beloved again, and whose servant I cannot desire to be, without betraying the fidelity which I owe to a Prince, who hath made all my fortune. But were there any other place wherein I could find any sort of establishment, and could I with honour forsake a Prince who is at War, I would fly from this charming person, whose beauty will lead me to betray my Master. I know not who I am, I am unhappy in all respects, and fortune which seems to be favourable to me in Elis, is yet more rigorous than any otherwhere, since she confers favours on me which I cannot enjoy in peace. Oh gods, into what a strange extremity do I find myself reduced! if I promote the War, 'tis against the person which I love; if the Truce be made, 'tis only a time of leisure, to employ me in the winning of her heart for another; if by my address I persuade her to be favourable, I render myself the most unhappy of all Lovers; if I cannot prevail with her, but she resist, it will only increase the love of that dangerous Rival, whom I am obliged to serve, to the prejudice of my own felicity. If I would fight against myself, I find Elismonda's Beauty more powerful than my Reason; and if I yield to her charms, I am both a criminal and miserable. But besides, I am inconsiderate, and act without reason; for how dare I declare that I love Elismonda? what then must I do? infortunate as I am? My duty; (answered he suddenly, after sometime of silence.) But alas (added he sighing) how hard is this duty to be done? and how uneasy a thing it is to betray myself, that I may not betray my Master? But it must be done howsoever; honour is so great and powerful a reason in a generous heart, that perhaps I ought not to despair of the victory which I would gain over myself in so dangerous an occasion. Hortensius' fixing himself in his generous sentiments, arrived at the Castle where Elismonda was, by whom he was well received: for as she liked his person and deportment, and knew he was no subject to Melanthus, she was much more contented to see him, than any other the Prince of Messena could have sent to her. But alas! the civility which the Princess showed towards him, augmenting his love, he was ready to repent himself of the resolution which he had taken. Nevertheless he persisted in his generous design, and used such address in his speech to the Princess Elismonda, for the interest of the Prince of Messena, as if he had not acted against himself, whatsoever he endeavoured in his favour. He told her an hundred circumstances of the admiration which Melanthus had for her; and at length informed her that he had granted a Truce for six months, that he had sent for the Princess his Sister, to bear her company, that he intended the Victors in the Olympic Games should receive their Crowns from her hand; and lastly, that he was resolved to make her Reign more gloriously than ever she could have done, if the Prince her Father had lived. But Hortensius (answered Elismonda) if the Prince of Messena reputes himself of his injustice, it is not needful to make a Truce, he may conclude the Peace forth with. He hath nothing to do but to withdraw his Forces, return into his Country, and leave me my own. Alas! Madam (replied Hortensius to her sighing) you little know the power of your charm, if you think it possible to leave you after having seen you. But at present, Madam (proceeded he) suffer me to conjure you to receive favourably, what the Prince is purposed to tell you the next time he sees you, though it should happen that he tell you something which may croes your inclination; for indeed, during the six months of Truce, in which you shall enjoy almost an absolute liberty, many things may come to pass which may be advantageous to your fortune. I know not what advantage may betid me (replied she;) but I know well it will never come to pass, that the Prince of Messena can please me. And therefore, generous Hortensius (added this fair Princess, with the most charming sweetness in the World, apparent in her eyes) I will conjure you, that if you discover in Melanthus' mind, I know not what sentiments, which I perceive you would intimate to me, that you remove them from him, if you love his quiet; for were I to be eternally his slave, I should never have any thing for him but aversion and hatred. Hortensius' knowing the Princess' resistance would more inflame Melanthus' love, employed all his wit to make her change her opinion, and even persuaded Cleontine, that he had reason on his side. I beseech you, Madam (said he to her) consider well the condition in which you are, and you will find it concerns you extremely, not to incense the Prince of Messena. I do not urge, Madam, that you should love him more than you did ever any other; for it does not belong to me to give you such counsel; but I conjure you, Madam, not to reject disdainfully the tokens of affection which the Prince will express to you. For my part (answered she) I believe it a very great secret not to leave any hope at first to those, to whom we have firmly resolved to refuse eternally what they desire. 'Tis a good course, Madam (replied Hortensius) for them who have a kind of spirit which is easily repelled; I mean, for such people, from whom difficulties take away the desire of the most agreeable things, who have only calm pleasures, and who would not be possessed of the greatest felicity of the earth, at the purchase of one hours sighing. But 'tis not effectual to an ambitious Soul, to whom difficult enterprises seem always more excellent than others, and who never have violent desires, but for such things as cannot be obtained without pains. And because, Madam, (added Cleontine) it behoveth not to act with a Prince, whose prisoner you are, in the same manner as if you were free; (for a greater restraint is to be used) and since Hortensius seems to me completely generous, I shall not fear to tell you in his presence, that I believe in the like occasion you ought to give neither hope nor despair: and there is a certain kind of serious civility, which neither causes to hope nor yet dejects into despair, which is proper enough to gain time, and to hinder many troublesome consequences which disdain might produce. Therefore, Madam, rather use that natural gentleness which the gods have given you; you may lay it aside when you please; and since Hortensius assures you, that four considerable persons shall have the liberty of communication with you during six months, and the Prince of Cyparissa also during the Olympic Games; comply with the mind of a Prince, who is able to use more rude ways with you if he pleases. I promise you (answered Elismonda) I will do what I am able, to follow your counsels, though I dare not answer absolutely for myself. Hortensius' hearing her speak thus, almost repent himself of having been so urgent to persuade her to gentleness: but at length, considering he could do nothing in his own behalf with innocence, but only to hinder Melanthus' love from increasing to a greater ardour, he thought he had some ground of satisfaction in leaving Elismonda in the resolution of constraining herself, and more in being commended and entreated by her, and observing she had some esteem for him. All which caused him to think, he should return less discontented than he came. But as soon as he was upon the way, and beheld Elismonda no longer, he found himself as unhappy as before, and rather more. For he found his passion was augmented, and it came into his mind, that perhaps Elismonda loved the Prince of Cyparissa. So that he perceived himself possessed, as well with jealousy as with love, if at least any separation can be made between these two passions. Alas! (said he to himself) does it belong to a miserable person that loves without hope, to be jealous? to an unhappy man, who is his Rivals confident, and serves him faithfully? 'Tis true, said he, but the Rival whom I serve is hated, and he that troubles my imagination, is perhaps beloved. But what concerns it me, (answered he suddenly) whether Elismonda love or not, since Fate will never suffer me to make her know I love her. After which, Hortensius spoke no more to himself, but fell into such a profound musing, that he arrived at Elis, when he thought himself yet far from it. At his arrival he understood, it was not above an hour before, that the Princess Andronice entered into the City. For whom having a very particular kindness, the news gave him much satisfaction. He went therefore with speed to give the Prince an account of his journey, and found him coming from the Apartment of Andronice. Whereby it was necessary for him to discharge his intelligence before he could see her; for this Prince was really extreme amorous of Elismonda. Hortensius was now inconceiveably perplexed: for though Melanthus had persuaded him, that difficulty was capable to increase his love, he was so fearful of giving him too much hope, that he was troubled to choose words wherewith to express himself, and changed his order and manner of speaking many times involuntarily. For when he told Melanthus he did not find Elismonda had so great hatred against him, as he imagined, he beheld so much joy arising in his eyes, that he feared hope would augment his passion. But then again, to weaken the obliging sense of what he had said, he told him, he knew not whether Policy had not a great share in the civility of the Princess. With which Melanthus was so dejected, that Hortensius was forced to return to his first smooth language, for fear lest this passion should become too violent, both for the quiet of Melanthus, Elismonda, and himself: But at length, when the Prince had fully understood his success, he gave him liberty to go see the Princess Andronice, who received him with so great a goodness, that had not he been prepossessed with love, the testimonies of so tender a friendship would have given him almost as much pleasure as the favours of a Mistress; but in the condition his Soulwas, he only half gusted whatever was advantageous to him. Andromice being of a lively apprehension, immediately perceived Hortensius had something in his Breast troubled him. And being there was none present saving Eumenes, their common friend, she demanded the cause of it with such obliging urgency, as the sadness of a friend induces a true friend to use. What is it Hortensius (said she to him) which hinders you from having as much joy in seeing me, as I have in finding you? But beware you tell me not, there is nothing troubles you; rather pretend some kind of sorrow or other; and tell me rather that you are fallen in love at Elis, than assign no cause of a kind of sadness which I observe in your eyes, for fear lest I may suspect you of dissimulation. I am altogether obliged, Madam, (answered he) with the manner of your speech; but I beseech you, do not constrain me, to search my heart for every troublesome thing that is there, for this would but augment my melancholy. Be satisfied therefore, Madam, in that I assure you my eyes are deceivers, if they do not tell you I am uncapable of having a greater satisfaction than that which I find in the honour I have to see you. But, I beseech you, Madam, demand of me no further; for I cannot really tell you, what present oppression I have upon my mind, but 'tis true, I feel something which qualifies the pleasure I have really in the enjoyment of your presence. After which Andronice made him a thousand acknowledgements for the generous counsels which he had given the Prince her brother, since he came to him, desiring him to continue them; and being Melanthus had already discovered to her part of his intentions, and told her in few words the state of affairs, she told him she should be perfectly obliged to him, if he could bring it to pass that the War might end in the marriage of Melanthus and Elismonda, and that there might be after the Olympic Games, a second Festival for their Nuptials, whereby their States might be united, and tranquillity established in the most delectable part of Peloponnesus. Fortune hath so great an influence in what you desire, Madam, (answered he, sighing) that you ought to expect so great an event from her rather than from me; And moreover, Madam, (proceeded he) since you are here 'tis your address must effect what I am unable to do, and you need only have recourse to yourself for that, for which you seem to await from another. Hortensius spoke this with so melancholy an air, that Andronice believed it was because he conceived, what she desired was very difficult to be brought to pass. But she could not discover to him her conjecture, because the Prince her Brother came back into her Chamber, to desired her she would make a visit to the Princess Elismonda, as speedily as she could. But in the mean time, himself the day following went to give her one, and told her, he had caused the Princess Andronice to come to Elis, on purpose that she might entertain and divert her. But though he had resolved before to mention his love openly to her, yet he forbore to do it, and contented himself with giving her occasion to guests what he had in his mind, without positively declaring it to her. Whence it became more easy for the Princess Elismonda, to follow the counsel which was given her. And though she appeared not very disdainful to Melanthus, yet she departed herself with such coldness, that according to the genius of his humour, he returned much more amorous than before. Two days after, Andronice being accompanied by Hortensius and Eumenes, made her a visit, which she received much better than that of Melanthus: for having heard this Princess much commended by Hortensius, when he related to her how she had saved his life, she was readily inclinable to esteem her. Besides that, foreseeing the love of Melanthus might occasion trouble to her, she was not sorry of gaining such a protection as this. So that this interview passed very agreeably on both sides. You know, Madam, (said Andronice to the Princess of Elis) that I am no partaker in the War, which the Prince my brother makes, and so you would be unjust to hate me, because I am his Sister. 'Tis true, Madam (answered Elismonda with a little smile) that you have made no War against me, but yet you are not without bearing a part in the victories of Melanthus, since as you know you have been as far as the famous Valley of Tempe, to offer Sacrifices for his conquest; so that I conclude, your prayers have done me as much mischief, as the valour of the Prince of Messena. When I was in Thessaly, (replied Andronice) I had no other design but to beseech the gods for peace: but, Madam, it appears my prayers were not well received, if I asked for victory; for during my journey, the Prince my Brother was not over successful. But in brief, Madam (proceeded she) since a Truce has been concluded, let us enjoy this image of peace, till we can obtain a real peace, which I foresee you may easily effect if you please. If it depended on me, it had been already made (replied Elismonda) but in my judgement, 'tis in the power of the gods only to give it. But in the mean to testify to you that I am not unjust, I promise you not to look upon you as an enemy. After which, Cleontine, Hortensius and Eumenes all engaged in this conversation; and as the Princess of Messenia, is very grateful, she exaggerated to Elismonda the obligation which she had to Hortensius, for hindering her from being taken away by Attalus; and Hortensius in his turn did the like for her, extolling the generosity she showed in saving his life without knowing him. To save your life (answered Andronice) I did not hazard my own, but you contrarily to rescue me from being taken away, exposed yours courageously to a danger which appeared inevitable by the in-equality of number. But Madam, (replied he) not to do what I did, would have been ungrateful and dishonourable; but as for you, you might have contented yourself, with having some slight compassion of a miserable stranger, without being liable to any reproach if you had done no more. Alas! Hortensius (said Andronice) I am not of your opinion; for I am persuaded they who think they do enough in pitying the unfortunate without relieving them when they may deserve no thanks for their commiseration: and for my own part, if I beheld worthy persons unhappy without intending to seek to succour them I would make show of not perceiving, either their merit, or their unhappiness; for there is nothing more absurd, than to behold such unprofitable compassion in the breasts of those, who are able to give remedy to the misfortunes which cause it. In the mean time, the world is full of those people, who bemoan others and do not help them. But to tell you my own humour freely, I should rather choose to be some Illustrious unhappy One, that were able to support the rigour of infelicity with constancy, and were known to be worthy of a better fortune; than to be one of those tender hearted persons without virtue which I spoke of, who at the same time, that themselves do nothing for the miserable whom they compassionate, yet count it strange that others do as little; and who pass their whole lives in bewailling the evils which they are sometimes able to remedy, and blame people who do but imitate their very example. Nevertheless, those people who make such a noise with their compassion, and the blame they lay upon others like themselves, think they have right to be esteemed generous, and that this unprofitable pity ought to be ranked amongst the heroical virtues. But for my part, who am not of that mind, but believe myself accessary to all the miseries which I may, and do not hinder; I should have condemned myself a thousand times of your death, if after having seen you in the hands of those Thessalians, so zealous for the laws of their Country. I had not done my utmost to save your life. What you say is very generous and just, Madam (answered Elismonda) and I am extremely glad to see you have so excellent sentiments; for as I am unhappy, I hope you will do all you can to hinder me from being so for the future. Doubt it not, Madam, (replied Andronice) for I never blame that in another which I am conscious may be reproached to myself. All that you say is so nobly spoken, and so generous (said Cleotine) that I think nothing can be ever be reproached unto you. All that she does is so heroical (added Eumenes) that what she speaks is nothing comparable to it. I beseech you (said Andronice, praise me not so superlatively, lest I come short of making good what you say; but rather acknowledge with me that I owe more to Hortensius than he does to me. True (said Elismouda,) for that matter I am of your judgement; for I had rather be left to die, than left in the hands of a Prince, whom I should hate if he offered to carry me away. For my part (said Hortensius) I cannot declare my own opinion in this case; all I can do is to assure you, I believe it impossible to be more obliged to any person than I am to the Princess of Messenia, for she hath ratified the first good office she did me by so many others, that I cannot believe she reputes of it. I owe to her (proceeded he) the honour I have in being known to you, which I put in the number of my most happy adventures. Unquestionably (said Eumenes) you owe very much to the Princess Andronice; but also owe very much to yourself; for if she had not known you to be a person worthy of her friendship, she would never have given it you. Hortensius, unwilling to suffer himself to be commended more, sought to divert the conversation, by giving open notice that Cleontine was in a deep meditation, and it seemed on something nor unpleasing. Upon which, the Princess of Elis turning towards her, demanded what it was that so deeply took up her thoughts. So small a matter (answered she) that if I could disobey you, I would not tell it you. But as I am very precise not to refuse you any thing, I confess the Princess of Messenia let fall something in her discourse, which makes me reflect upon the proceedings of very many women, which I know; and gives me cause of musing, upon what she well expressed, That she would never blame any person for a thing for which she might be blamed herself. For indeed Madam, if you remember, you have seen at Pisa a woman handsome enough, who because her hands are very ill shapen, hath brought herself into a persuasion, that 'tis no great commendetion to have them otherwise. So that when she commends any fair one, she never takes notice of her hands, and only praises that in others, which she believes most handsome in herself, to the end the application may be returned to her own advantage Thus there is found in a bad sense a practice opposite to that of the Princess Andronice; for whereas she blames not that in another, which she believes may be faulted in herself, this Lady praises only what she believes commendable in herself. I assure you (answered the Princess of Messenia) there are such women every where, and I know some at Messene, who because themselves have very good hair, believe sprightly eyes, a clear complexion, a handsome mouth, good teeth, and a graceful neck, not sufficient to make a fair person, if her hair be of a very common brown, and who in the commendations of others, mention no other perfections but that of comely hair. On the contrary; when occasion requires them to speak of a handsome neck, and they have not such themselves, they only say in general, such a one is of a good shape. But I am of opinion, 'tis a very reasonable thing do render justice without taking in one's own interest. Not but that it's sometimes allowable in prudence to omit mentioning a defect we are conscious of in ourselves: But notwithstanding, 'tis not modesty to commend that excessively, though in another, wherein ourselves have a title to the application. At least, for my own part, did I know myself conscious of procuring, or insinuating my own condemnations, I should extremely reproach myself for it. But Madam (answered Elismonda) you do not observe in the mean time, that you are guilty of what you decry by speaking so well, which turns much to your own commendations; Which, 'tis true, you may receive without blushing, since you deserve more than can be given you. The Princess of Messenia answered to this civility with a greater; and these two illustrious Ladies were so highly satisfied with one another, that this first days converse made a friendship between them. After which they both retired severally. As for Hortensius, the more he beheld Elismonda, the more ardent became his love; his reason opposed his passion in vain, which he found too strong to be surmounted; so that his only purpose was to use his best prudence to govern and conceal it, and to continue firm the resolution of serving Melanthus, with as much sidelity in relation to the Princess, as if he had been wholly indifferent for her. His virtue was indeed much supported by the little possibility he conceived there was to be so much as endured, in his pretensions, though the Prince his Master had not been his Rival. Upon the way towards Elis, Andronice's discourse to Hortensius and Eumenes, was altogether concerning the fair Elismonda, and when she came to the Prince of Messenia, she fell into superlative expressions in favour of that Princess, which served to inflame Melanthus more in his affection. For 'tis usual for such as are naturally ambitious to dote, in a manner rather upon the opinion of others than their own, and they are more guided by the commendations which are given to the persons which they love, than by the knowledge which themselves have of their merit. But in fine, to contract my relation as much as I may, it was resolved the Princess of Elis should be accommodated with betteer Lodgings during the Truce, than she was at present. Yet it was not thought convenient to carry her to Elis, and therefore choice was made of a very fair house for her reception, situated on the bank of the River Alpheus, and belonging to a Lady of great Quality and Worth, with whom Hortensius had contracted a great friendship, because he had protected her goods and estate from the disorders of the War. This place was so much the more commodious, for that the Quarters wherein Melanthus' Army lay, secured it; and it was also near the place where the Olympic Games were wont to be celebrated. So that all the conveniences of the safety and delight being found in it, it was determined, the Princess Elismonda should be conducted thither; that the Princess Andronice should be there with her, that a small number of Women of Quality of Elis, should attend on the Princess Elismonda, if she pleased, and that Hortensius should choose whom he pleased, to be responsible to him for the Government of the Castle, to the end he might be obliged to have a particular care of it; who knowing not whom to confide in, so well as Eumenes, he gave him order to undertake the Guard of the Castle, whither the Princess was to be removed. Eight days after the Truce concluded (all securities necessary in the like occasions, given and taken on both sides) Melanthus went to visit Elismonda, attended with the whole Court, to whom the Princess Andronice, and several Ladies of Quality, were repaired early in the morning. The Prince of Messenia, made all protestations to Elismonda, which could be suggested by love and generosity to an ingenious person; and gave her the hand, to lead her to a magnificent Chariot, which he had caused to be provided for her. Into which the Princess Andronice accompanied her; and Cleontine with the other Ladies followed in other Chariots. Melanthus, Hortensius, Eumenes, and all the other persons of Quality mounted on Horseback, and conveyed these Princesses to Melisaris, the place whither the Princess Elismonda was designed to go. At her arrival, the Mistress of it called Elisanie, received this Illustrious and Noble Company, with all imaginable State. Also the Ladies were lodged in this fair house: but the Prince of Messenia, Hortensius, and all the other men, saving Eumenes, returned to the Camp, till the next morning. Such as by the Treaty ought to have permission to see the Princess Elismonda, were admitted to her in private; but she was seen by none else but in the presence of Andronice and Eumenes; the Prince of Cyparissa, having the liberty granted of seeing her only during the time of the Olympic Games, suffered more than can be imagined. And that which was something remarkable, was, that Hortensius, who believed that Prince was not hated, had nevertheless a great desire to know him, to the end he might the better judge what he ought to believe, and what not. Yet there were some moments, in which he was not displeased in imagining, that perhaps he loved the Prince of Cyparissa in some little measure, since that might be a means to hinder her from Melanthus. But the next moment after, repenting of this sentiment, he was jealous and inquieted, and had a curiosity of seeing his Rival, though full of regret, of which he understood not the true reason; for he believed he had so little interest in the affection of the fair Elismonda, that he passed his own doom, and condemned himself. In the mean time this Princess being young, naturally affecting conversation, company, and divertisement, enjoyed this agreeable interval with great contentment. Not, but that in her inward thoughts, she resented very great discontent, in seeing that the Prince of Messenia pretended Love to her; because she was resolved never to make peace on condition of marrying him. But when the persons admitted to her, counselled her not to declare herself so openly while the Truce lasted, but to draw our matters in length, and to endeavour to take the benefit of the Olympic Games, to engage the neighbouring States to side with her interests, she resumed all her former pleasantness, and seemed incomparably more charming than ordinary; which added new flames to Melanthus and Hortensius. Mean while, the time of the Olympic Games approaching, the Truce became generally known in other Countries, and that they should be celebrated, as was formerly accustomed. So that an infinite number of considerable persons, came to Elis from all parts of Greece, either to bear a part themselves in the Games or at least, to be spectators of them. My curiosity happening that time to lead me to Sparta, I took a resolution to go see this great Festival: but by the way thither, I fell into company with a man of Corinth, who told me he was not going to Elis, out of mear curiosity, but to know whether it were true, that the Favourite of the Prince of Messenia, were a person called Hortensius. For if it be so, (said he) I shall be glad to inform him of his own quality. What you say (answered I to this Corinthian) seems to me sufficiently strange; for, how can he be ignorant of his own descent, and you know it? since you are a Greek, and the name which you give him, is not of your own Country. This man who was naturally a lover of talk, began to tell me all that I have told you, concerning the birth of Hortensius; of the Predictions which were made, that he should be a Prince; of the resolution his Father had taken to banish him for ever; and in brief, all that I related of Hortensius, till the death of this person, to whose trust his Father had committed him. But how come you to know all these things, (said I to him, after he had given me the relation which I have repeated to you) and how comes Hortensius not to know them? I came to know them (answered he) by being an intimate Friend of his that was entrusted with him, who engaged not me to acquaint him with his Fortune, unless himself should happen to die, without first having discovered it to him. Now this man being dead whilst I was absent upon a very long Voyage, at my return to Corinth, I understood that Hortensius was gone into Thessaly, and I have been since told that he is a Favourite of the Prince of Messenia. Wherefore desiring to satisfy the will of him that brought him up, who was determined to reveal his quality to him, as soon as he saw him in some settled condition, which might in probability, take away all desire of returning into his Country; I thought myself obliged to go, and deliver him from that discontent, I presume he suffers, by being totally ignorant of his Birth and Fortune. And I resolve upon this the rather, for that I have a Kinswoman with the Princess of Elis, whose name is Cleontine, and is in great favour with her. This discourse of Agenor, seeming to me very surprising, I had a curiosity to know Hortensius, and being I was going to that place, only to see whatever deserved to be seen, I entreated him to oblige me so far by the interest of his Kinswoman, that I might see the Princess Elismonda, who was reported for a great beauty. He promised me, he would endeavour to serve me, and accordingly performed his word. I shall not trouble you with relating the circumstances, how he brought it about, since 'tis not my own History, I am recounting to you. But in brief, I was so happy, that he made me known to Cleontine, and Cleontine presented me to the Princess Elismonda, and the Princess Andronice, by whom I was civilly received; that afterwards I became a friend of Hortensius and Eumenes, who presented me to Melanthus, and going to Pisa, was civilly regarded by the Prince of Cyparissa. This Madam, I have told you, to the end you might give more credit to the things which remain for me to relate, and which are of greater importance. This man of Corinth, having discharged his intention, of discovering to Hortensius who he was, this generous Veientine was extremely joyful to understand, that his Birth was very Illustrious, and not much troubled, to know that it was foretold, he was destinated to Rule. For as a Lover takes all occasions he can, to give himself hope, he imagined, that perhaps he was destinated to rule one day in the heart of the fair Elismonda. But he condemned this thought in himself, the next moment, as unjust and void of reason, and continued firm in the resolution he had taken, to serve his Master with fidelity. 'Tis true, the rigour of Elismonda against Melanthus, afforded great support to his Virtue; for had he observed any inclination in her towards him, it would have been more troublesome to him, to have continued faithful. In the mean time, a great dearness grew between Andronice and Elismonda, notwithstanding their different interests. Hortensius also became particularly gracious with both of them, though he was a lover of the latter, and only a friend to the first. Eumenes also had a great share in the confidence of all these persons; and though none of them plainly spoke their true sentiments, yet there was a very great friendship between them. But I had forgot to tell you, that Hortensius being very glad it was known his Birth was illustrious, gave Agenor liberty to tell whence, and what he was; but entreated him to be secret in reference to those predictions, which designed him to Reign in some place, for fear lest being Favourite to the Prince, it might render him suspected. Agenor assured Hortensius he would be obsequious to his desires, but did not tell him that he had already discovered the truth to Cleontine and to me, intending to entreat silence from us both. But when he went to find Cleontine, to make this request to her, it was already too late; for she acknowledged she had communicated it to Elismonda. Yet she promised to request that fair Princess not to take any notice of knowing it, and accordingly made good her word. So that Elismonda congratulating with him that he had learned his descent to be very illustrious, gave him no occasion to think that she understood any thing farther of him; and Hortensius was secure in this regard. Not that he believed these predictions would ever have any accomplishment, but he knew Melanthus was inclinable to inconstancy, and being extremely ambitious, matters of this nature might raise suspicions in him to his prejudice; though in his heart he only projected how to rule over his own passions, if he were able. But to tell you the truth, his love was too strong to be subdued; it grew more vigorous by the knowledge he had of his birth, and he looked upon himself as in some sort more unfortunate. But though he loved infinitely, yet he continued firm in the resolution he had taken to be faithful to Melanthus, who for his part loved Elismonda as ardently as he was capable, though his passion was inferior, both to that of Hortensius, and to that of the Prince of Cyparissa. Elismonda, who understood the affection of two of her Lovers, bore a hatred against Melanthus, and an averseness towards the Prince of Cyparissa, but had a great inclination for Hortentius, whose passion she was absolutely ignorant of. For though he testified all imaginable care and respect for her, yet she interpreted all, but as his civility and generosity, and proceeding from the desire he had to please Melanthus, and perhaps from some kindness he might have for her, but not at all from love. As for Hortensius, he was jealous of the Prince of Cyparissa without knowing him, because he knew not that he was not loved; and he was his Master's Rival without a Crime, and without jealousy too, because he knew well that he was hated. The Princess Andronice was always possessed with a violent hatred against Attalus, of whom no tidings could be heard, and had a great dearness for Hortensius. Behold therefore, Madam, the inclinations of all the persons I have mentioned, at such time as I had the happiness to be known, and not to be hated by them. But for that, whilst this interval of the Truce lasted, and especially during the Olympic Games, this Court which was composed of Friends and Enemies, Strangers, and Inhabitants of the Country, and whither were repaired the gallantest persons of Greece, was magnificent and splendid; I shall with your permission describe to you the delectableness of the House in which the Princess resided, and the merit of her to whom it belonged; Moreover, I shall portray to you some of the Ladies which added ornament to it, and in what manner they lived there, to the end you may afterwards receive more delight in understanding what passed at the Olympic Games, and in the strange events which followed them. Melisaris, therefore is situated upon the Bank of the River Alpheus, so much famed, both for the manner by which he makes his course, his wonderful passage under the Sea, and irruption again near Syracuse in Sicily. This place is extremely delightful, and hath peculiar excellencies, not to be found in any other. Melisaris as I told you stands upon the Bank of the River Alpheus, and there being only the great Road which leads to Olympia between the River and the house; which hath three great Courts, in each of which is a Gate looking towards the River; that in the middle, is the chief, directly facing the body of the House, at each end whereof come forth two other sides, or wings of building which form the greater Court, and reach down to the Bank of the River. The two other, which are on each side of these two wings are more commodious than magnificent. But as this House is on the one side seated on the Bank of a River, on the other it is at the foot of a Hill of great steepness which bounds the Gardens behind the House. It is situated in such sort, that being arrived at the first story of stairs, the way is thenceforth even and direct into the Garden, in the middle of which is a handsome Fountain. But though it seems this high Hill may cause some inconvenient effect, yet the irregularity of the place hath some kind of rustic beauty which is not unpleasing. For though this Hill be sufficiently steep, yet it is all covered with Trees, which orderly rising some higher than others make a prospect, whose wildness and rudeness does not hinder it from being handsome and pleasant. Then passing from this first Garden, which is all beset with rare Fruit-Trees, into another on the left hand, which is raised higher like a Terrasse, and so out of several Orchards advanced still higher than others in manner of Terrass-work, at length there is an entrance into a large Park, which is as high as the Mountain, and full of very stately Trees. I omit to tell you that there are also many Fountains in these several Gardens, that there is a Grotto in a Mount, and several Mounts about the Park; for these make not the principal gracefulness of Melisaris. I forbear also to tell you, that the apartments of this House are handsome and convenient, and only intimate to you that from a Balcony which is in the middle of the building, and two others at the end of each side, there is the most delectable prospect that can be imagined. For the River Alphaeus is just before the House, and passes with a straight and even stream in this place. But that which renders this sight more agreeable, is, that there are several Islands in it, which contain handsome Meadows and Fields. They are encompassed round about the shores with Willows and Lote-Trees, which yet do not hinder a Great Plain from being visible beyond them; on the farther side whereof, there arises a Mountain, on which is seated a very stately Palace, which is a wonderful ornament to the Country about: for besides that it is magnificent, there is a long Train of Woods, which reaching towards Olympia, Crowns all the highest Mountains which arise on this side, and enclose the Plain I speak of. On the right hand of Melisaris are several Villages and Temples, making the prospect yet more graceful and delectable. There is also another fair House not very remote, which appears beyond the Willows, and seems to be built only on purpose to be seen from Melisaris. On the side towards the right hand, the sight of the River is so much the more pleasant; for that looking upon it from the second Tarressed Garden, there appears a little Islet lying in the middle, which is joined to a little Village by a small rustic bridge, and makes a pretty show amongst so many various and handsome objects. There is also seen from this admirable House, another place, which though extremely embellished by the number of rivulets that nature with the assistance of art hath scattered here and there, is much more remarkable in that it was sometimes the delight of an Hero, and Heroesse, who deserved the praises of all Nations and Ages, having heretofore belonged to the wise Nester, who by his prudence, magnanimity, eloquence and virtue, surpassed all the Heroes that lived before him. It was afterwards possessed by a Lady, one of his descendants, the miracle of her Sex, and whose beauty was not to be surpassed by any other, whose wit transcended the capacity of all imagination, and whose virtue was yet above her beauty and wit. But to represent to you what was yet more remarkable at Melisaris, be pleased to permit me to describe a place to you, wherewith I was charmed: and let me oblige you to enter into a little painted and gilded Boat, and make a short voyage upon the River. Imagine therefore, that were you to take Boat before the house of Melisaris, you must go first towards the left hand, having on one side one of the Islands I spoke of, and on the other a Meadow bordered about with Willows, a little Temple, several rustic Houses, and a Mountain covered with Myrtles and Laurels. After having gone some time this way, you must turn towards the right hand between two great Islands, and enter into a distinct stream of the River, which may be resembled to a covered Alley, the Banks of which have a most lovely verdure, interspeised with several sorts of flowers, and are beset with great Willows, which advancing themselves one above another, and touching with their tops, make a kind of continued Arch or Cradle, the most graceful that can be imagined. The water of this little arm of the River is clear and calm, and the Sand and Pebbles visible at the bottom, the River being in this place not very deep. At the end of this Channel is a square place between the Islands, which is as it were the Centre, into which terminate four other Alleys of Water, such as I now described to you, that is, their Banks are all covered with several sorts of flowers, and beset along with Trees, which make a very agreeable shade, and which being represented in the Water, amuse and delight the eyes, even when they are no longer looked upon. Having passed this rare place where the four watery Alleys meet, there are seen others also as pleasant; for you would think you were in a Labyrinth, or Maze of waters, more admirable in its kind than those which are so famed in Egypt and Crete. For besides, that the Banks of these several streams are green, flowery, and shady, as I said; they are also bordered about with young bull rushes, amongst which are seen several water-flowers, which grow in the water as they do. There are also seen several innocent animals, who enjoying the tranquillity of so pleasant a place, scarce hide themselves at all; the solitude is so still and quiet. For such a profound silence reigns there, that the noise of leaves scarce ever disturbs it; the wind not being able to blow there by reason of the Hills, which encompass it on every side. And that which renders this handsome Desert yet more lovely, is, that there is on one side a place to land in one of the Islands, which is the most pleasant Meadow in the World, and another on the other, in a place belonging to the Prince of Elis, which presents you with a great Wood, whose Trees seem to touch the Clouds, and which by the darkness of their shadow, and the great store of thickets and coverts round about them, seem to be in a Country uninhabited. But to conclude, how excellent a place so ever this Desert seems, she that inhabits it renders it more illustrious by her virtue, than it is agreeable by its own handsomeness. The wise Elisante, whose solitude is so admirable, is a person of rare and extraordinary qualifications. She is of a discreet wit, a noble and firm Soul, a pleasant humour, high spirit, and endued with all virtuous inclinations. None of those weaknesses are to be seen in her, which are ordinarily attributed to women. She is above all gaudy and trifling gallantry, her morality is solid without rudeness, she retains the love of excellent things in her Desert; and has a kind of generosity in her deportment, which has not left her in her solitude, though she be passed the period of youth. She bears an ardent kindess to all virtuous persons, and a natural aversion from all that are not such; her friendship is so firm and so tender withal, that there is a mixture in her heart of love and amity, which hath produced a third kind of affection, accompanied with the good qualities of the other two, without having their defects. But amongst her friends of both Sexes, the admirable Amalthaea, and the wise Timanthus, whose names I presume are not unknown to you, hold the chief rank in her heart; for though she inhabit in the Country of Elis, yet she is originally of Sicily. Elisante is in my judgement highly to be admired in one respect, which is, that loving society naturally, she has not withstanding attained the art to dispense with the want of it. And conceiving that of all pleasures those which arise from agriculture are the most innocent, she is become so perfect in this art, which is the most ancient and necessary of all others, that the wise Timanthus who is her master in this kind of knowledge, is not her superior in that wonderful skill, which consists in well ordering of Land, and improving the advantages of seasons, and which affords the most considerable delights of the Country to those who understand how to use the same as well as Elisante. Moreover, in the prudent management wherewith she accompanies her industrious cares about her Gardens, Meadows, Woods, and Flocks, she finds all the pleasures of profit, employment, and glory, this prudent retirement having such a loveliness in all respects, that the virtuous Elisante cannot be too much commended for it. She hath many Illustrious friends, writes handsomely, and speaks with a certain vivacity, declaring both the accuteness and firmness of her mind. Then in reference to her Children, the desire of seeing them virtuous ha● ever been the most ardent of all such as she is capable of. In a word, Elisante is the Soul of her Desert, which as pleasant as it is, is indebted to her for a great part of its lustre and loveliness But the better to give you the description of the little Court of the two Princesses I was speaking of, it is necessary for me to portray forth to you two Persons, which made the principal ornament of it, one of which is named Chrysilia, and the other Claricia. The first is unquestionably one of the most lovely women, and the other one of the most charming Virgins in the world. Chrysilia is a person so amiable, that should she design to have herself loved by all the World, nothing could resist her. But since your silence seems to command me to draw you a picture of her without colours, and such in which words alone give the air that makes resemblance, and a little imagination animates; you may please to know, that Chrysilia is not tall of stature, nor yet of their size, who are accounted little; for if she sees some taller than herself, she also sees others not so tall, and her stature is beyond exception well proportioned to the air of her whole person. Her hair is the fairest black in the world, that is, the most bright and resplendent; so that as her head is very gracefully tired, the neglected Rings which fall carelessly upon her cheeks or necks make the most pleasing show possible, with her mixed complexion of Lily and Carnation, which is beyond all suspicion of artifice, and makes her seem both sprightly and pleasing. As for the form of her countenance, 'tis neither round nor Oval, but being between both, cannot well be defined but by saying, It has the perfections of each. Chrysilia's eyes are not large, but so sweet, so black, lively, and full of spirit, and glittering, that their beams are almost inevitable. She sometimes moves them in a certain negligent manner that pleases infinitely, and on the contrary, sometimes expresses such a pretty haughtiness in them, that makes her rather to be loved than feared. Moreover, Chrysilia's mouth is extremely graceful, and not like theirs whose lips seem shaped after so close a manner, that one would think they had never smiled in their lives. She hath little sprightly glances, which speak liveliness, love, and cheerfulness, and her beauty has several charms, which are not suddenly, discovered at once, but appear more or less according to the temper of her mind, and the people with whom she converses. Yet Chrysilia's aspect is extremely graceful at the first view, though she has the happiness to deserve more than she promises. She has also white and small teeth, a neck admirably well shaped, handsome arms, and fair hands. But to pass from the charms of her beauty, to those of her wit, I am to tell you she is infinitely ingenious, that she usually less discovers herself to be so, than she really is, though she always speaks very exactly, and never any thing but what is absolutely pertinent, and likewise agreeable. But having no ambition to be universally praised, she is not solicitous to lay open the whole beauty of her mind to all sorts of people. So that sometimes she gives herself up to such a reservedness, when she happens in places where the persons do not please her, that if she be constrained to speak, the words fall from her mouth so carelessly, that you would think she were desirous not to be understood, for fear any should return her an answer, so faintly does she pronounce the last syllables of all her words. But on the other side, when Chrysilia is with persons whose conversation pleases her, her serious air is cleared up, and a cheerful grace appears in all that she does: She speaks alike handsomely upon all subjects, and there is elegancy, judgement, and all things which she expresses. She has a subtle way of raillery, and reasons tightly upon all occasions; in a word, she hath wit sufficient, that were her beauty less, she would notwithstanding be infinitely charming. Moreover, her heart is capable of great tenderness: but having a delicate spirit, which is not too hasty in making a choice, and being naturally slow to abandon herself to friendship and intimacy, she is sometimes reproached for not being sufficiently endearing to her friends. But her Soul is noble, and which makes her yet more amiable, not haughty or ambitious of any thing. She writes also extreme handsomely, though she does not make semblance of understanding so much as what handsome-writing is; to conclude, she is unquestionably so amiable, as I said before, that she may justly assure herself of being loved by whomsoever she pleases.  
As for my part (interposed Plotina) I love her already, and I would not have you tell me, there was yet another more lovely than she with the Princess of Elis, and the Princess of Messenia, for I shall not accord with your opinion. Fear not, Madam, (answered Merigenes) that I will ever make myself a Judge between two amiable persons; 'tis enough for me that I make you their pictures, and leave you the liberty to follow your own inclinations. For indeed never any decision ought to be made between two beautiful and accomplished Ladies. That which pleases one does not another; and there is a certain humerousness (of which I am to learn the reason) which sometimes apprehends defects with approbation, and finds pleasingness in things which are not taking. However it be in that respect (said Amilcar) I have great impatience to know Claricia. I beseech you (interrupted Plotina agreeably, speaking to Merigenes) if Claricia be a gallant Lady, forbear to draw her portrait, for if she happen to please Amilcar, the first time we chance to quarrel, he will fall to love her, and go to Elis to find her; therefore if you apprehend Claricia may make some impression upon his heart, draw a curtain in this part of your Story, lest by representing her picture I may have occasion to be jealous. Since you are a person (replied Amilcar) to whom of all the world jealousy would be least troublesome, and who could best bear it, I should not be very unwilling to excite that passion in you, after having been constant half my life; and therefore I entreat Merigenes to begin forthwith the draught of Claricia's picture. And I also (added Valeria) join my requests to those of Amilcar's; to which the rest of the company assenting, Merigenes pursued his Story in these words.  
The lovely Claricia is unquestionably one of the most charming persons in the world, and whose wit and humour have a particular genius; but before I engage myself in describing the same to you, I am obliged to speak something concerning her beauty. Claricia therefore is of an extreme handsome stature, and of an agreeable proportion, capable of pleasing all the world by a certain free and natural air, which renders her infinitely graceful. Her hair is of the fairest Chest-nut-colour that ever was seen, her visage round, complexion lively, mouth handsome, lips very ruddy, with a little dimple in her chin, extremely becoming, her eyes are black, sparkling, full of life, and the air of her countenance cheerful, pretty and sprightly. Together with all these advantages Claricia has also that of a very graceful presence, which is not always found in those that are debonair. Claricia's wit is undoubtedly excellent, and that in a peculiar way, of which few persons are capable; for it is pleasant, divertising, and compliable to all sorts of people, and chiefly to those of the vulgar rank. She speaks freely, and is much inclinable to laughter; she makes great mirth of a trifile, and loves to raise innocent quarrels amongst her friends; yet her raillery hath never any thing disgustful in it, she loves all kind of delights, writes very gallantly, never is discontented without cause, but is constantly sweet and complacent. She loves walking, conversation, handsome novels, jollities and divertisements of all sorts whatsoever. But in this temper of debonairity, it must be confessed that this sprightly Lady hath all the good qualifications of those which are melancholic and ingenious too; for she has a tender and sensible heart, she is ready to weep with her afflicted friends, she knows how to renounce pleasures when friendship requires it, she is faithful to her friends, and capable of secrecy and confidence, she never makes a feud with any person whoever; she is generous and constant in her sentiments; and in a word, is so amiable, that she is loved by the most honourable persons of the Court of both sexes; yea, even such as do not agree with her in reference to condition, humour, genius, interests, all acknowledge, that Claricia is infinitely charming, that she is endued with wit, real goodness, and a thousand qualities worthy of the highest esteem.  
I beseech you, generous Merigenes (interrupted Plotina) proceed no farther, for I find jealousy begin to seize me; Envy I know it cannot be having never been possessed with any, and I had rather a hundred times be jealous than envious, though neither of these two qualities be very suitable to one of honourable sentiments, as also not very pleasing, or commodious. But however it be, proceed forth with to tell us how they lived there during the Truce, which was concluded only to give the Gallants leisure to attend their love.  
I shall obey you, fair Plotina (answered Merigenes, without giving Amilcar leisure to speak) and in the first place you may please to know that within a few days Melanthus being accompanied by all his Court went to Melisaris; that the two Princesses were there also, and that Chrysilia, Claricia, and three other Ladies of eminent beauty were with them, besides several others which went thither too, so that the conversation was every day very agreeable at the Princess of Elis' Lodgings; that in fair weather they walked abroad sometimes in the tetrassed Gardens I told you of, other times they went in Coaches by the Riverside on the way leading to Olymphia; and that all this fair company frequently were in little painted and gilded Boats, amongst those Islets and close Alleys of water I described to you; sometimes when the Sun was down walked in the Meadows of the greater Islands; sometimes landed to walk under those great and shady Trees, which are on the borders of the Forests beyond those Islands, being for the most part diverte I with Music upon the water. So that during the Truce they may seem to have enjoyed all the pleasures of peace, especially after it had been published that the Olympic Games were to be celebrated within fifteen days. For this news caused a continual arrival of Illustrious Strangers from all parts of Greece. There were some of Athens, Corinth, Thebes, Delphos, Sparta, Argos, Megalopolit, and Messene; others came from all parts of Macedonia, and especially from Thessaly. I saw there some of those people that inhabit at the foot of the famous Mountain Pindus, others that dwell on Mount Parnassus, and others near Mount Helicon, and that of Hymettus. There were some also that came from the straits of Thermopyli, and others from Countries so remote, that their Language was not understood. So that of all sorts of people that resorted thither, there being none but had a curiosity to see the Princess of Elis, every day brought some new strangers, who were worthy persons, and contributed to the pleasures of the society. For though Elismonda was unhappy, yet she was young and fair, and feared least melancholy might be injurious to her beauty. Wherefore it ought not to be wondered if she gave herself to divertisement, notwithstanding the condition she was in; nor was any thing omitted that might afford her contentment, Melanthus, Andronice, Hortensius, Cleontine, Chrysilia, Claricia, Eumenes, and generally all that came to her, employing all their care thereunto. At other times, those four persons of high quality, who had the liberty to speak to her concerning her affairs, entertained her agreeably with the design they had of making some League during the Olympic Games. The Prince of Cyparissa also, who had found out a means to write to her, gave her great hopes of the same; whence, though she had no affection for that Prince; yet she was well enough pleased with his Letters, because he presumed not to make the least mention of his love to her; and all these considerations rendered her more capable to receive with pleasure the divertisements which were intended to her. She came even insensibly to have a very tender kindness for Hortensius, and was highly glad to understand that he was of an illustrious descent, and that so many predictions designed him for Empire, because she imagined they might perhaps be accomplished in the principality of Messenia, But as she was one day discovering her thoughts to Cleontine, this Lady, who was not so well satisfied as Elismonda of the Infallibility of Predictions, recited several Oracles to her which had not been well understood: And believe me Madam (said this discreet person to her) I conceive 'tis a very great temerity in men to endeavour to penetrate into the secret counsel of the gods, who give us to understand by the obscurity of their answers, that they are unwilling to have them understood. For these Governors of the World might speak clearly, if they pleased we should be benefited by their Oracles. But there is so great a darkness in futurity (added she) that I will never undertake to pry into it. And besides, what advantage is it to anticipate the misfortunes which must befall us, by the knowledge we desire to have of them, or at least by the fear which such unprofitable curiosity produces to us, which can never render men either more wise, or more happy. The gods have given us prudence to conduct ourselves, and also that of our friends to counsel us, when our own is dubious concerning any resolution we desire to take: let us not therefore be industrious to torment ourselves by seeking to know things which we shall know soon enough if they be designed to befall us. But Cleontine (answered Elismonda) I have no curiosity in reference to what concerns myself, but I cannot refrain from musing on the fate of Hortensius, finding some probability that he may come to rule. For without taking notice of the Predictions concerning him, Fortune has placed him in so great credit with the Prince of Messenia, that there seems scarce above one step more to advance him to absolute dominion. Alas! Madam (replied Cleontine) that step is greater than you apprehend; and there is always a vast difference between a Prince and his Favourite. And besides, Hortensius is so generous, that it cannot be feared he should ever commit an action contrary to virtue. But may it not fall out (said Elismonda blushing without knowing why) that the Prince of Messenia may die in the War, and the Princess Andronice, who knows how greatly he is beloved by the people, may marry him? She has both a great esteem, and dearness for him, and moreover is obliged to him; so that I cannot but think Hortensius may possibly one day come to be a Prince. Well Madam, (answered Cleontine) I am of opinion if Hortensius reign not one day in the heart of some fair person, and perhaps in yours, he will never reign in any place; for as for what you say may come to pass there is not much appearance that it should ever, happen. Melanthus, as you see, is enamoured on you, and therefore I conceive he will use all means to end the War by your Marriage; and if during the Olympic Games, the League you are told of, which is your last hope, cannot be effected; I am persuaded your subjects will constrain you to procure their peace by yielding up yourself to him that makes War against you. Ah! Cleontine (replied Elismonda passionately) I had rather continue my whole life in prison, than ever marry the Prince of Messena. Time perhaps will make you change your resolution (answered Cleontine:) but as far as I perceive (added she smiling) you do not think it impossible, but that Hortensius may reign in your heart, since you answer me nothing concerning that. I assure you (said she) I really believe it would be more easy for me to begin to love Hortensius, than to cease hating Melanthus, though he be very well accomplished. But in brief, he has been the cause of my Father's death, has made War against me, is violent and capricious; and there is something in my heart which makes me so averse from him, that though he had never done me any of these mischiefs, I could never affect him. You see, Madam, what sentiments the fair Elismonda had a little before the Olympic Games, which were this year celebrated with all the magnificence, that two amorous Princes could add to them; but though Hortensius were not a declared Lover, yet he did not omit to contribute as much thereunto, as his Rivals. 'Tis true, he was so discontented in the bottom of his heart, that he was much troubled to constrain himself; for he loved Elismonda with the greatest ardency possible, and yet was resolved to continue faithful to his Master. An augmentation to his grief was, his perceiving the most obliging deportment of Elismonda towards him; and when he was not in his hours of jealousy of the Prince of Cyparissa, he believed it perhaps not impossible for him to be countenanced, did not fortune and his virtue place obstacles to his Love. That which tormented him most was, that he wished Elismonda could have understood his passion for her, without his doing any thing contrary to the fidelity which he ought to Melanthus. Nevertheless he reproached this thought to himself as a Crime, though he were unable to be free from it; and this consideration tormented him more than the other. Things being at this pass, preparations were made for the offering of a solemn sacrifice in the famous Temple of Jupiter, which is at Olympia, before the commencement of the Olympic Games. At first there was some contestation about it; for Melanthus pretended it belonged to him to offer it as Conqueror; and the Prince of Cyparissa had the same pretention, as Commander of the Forces of the Princess of Elis: but at length an expedient was found to satisfy both, which was, that Elismonda should offer it. Yet Hortensius was the person to whom Melanthus committed the care of the magnificence of the sacrifice; which I shall forbear to describe particularly to you, as also that proud Temple of Jupiter, in which is seen a great Statue of Gold, which Cypsellus Prince of Corinth gave to it, together with divers other rich offerings. I shall tell you therefore, that this day being the first, in which the Prince of Cyparissa had the liberty of seeing the Princess Elismonda, he came very early to the Temple that he might see her when she arrived there: for so was it concluded by the Treaty, though Melanthus affected not that Prince upon several accounts. Now was the curiosity of Hortensius satisfied, who desired to see this Rival that was unknown to him; but it was to his further torment: for the Prince of Cyparissa appeared so comely a person to Hortensius, he found him so generous when he discoursed with him, he was so magnificent, and moreover, seemed so amorous of Elismonda, that he could not hinder himself from hating him, and looking upon him with as great hatred as if he had been assured he was happy. But making use of the same reason, which assisted him to conceal his passion for Elismonda, he overcame himself so much, as to dissemble the hatred which he bore to the Prince of Cyparissa. I wish, Madam, I were here able only to describe to you the great number of honourable persons which were present at this sacrifice, and the multitude of people I beheld there; that so I might the better make you comprehend the infinite number of applauses that were made of the beauty of the Princesses, and particularly of that of Elismonda, whose lustre partly blemished the glory of the other fair ones In brief, I can assure you, that though there be three other sorts of famous Games in Greece, yet never was there seen so much of the world together, either at those which are celebrated in the Forest of Nemaea, or at those of Apollo Pythius, near Delphos, or at those which are called the Isthmick Games, near Corinth, as were seen about the Temple of Olympia: I say, about the Temple, Madam; because, though that be very large and spacious, yet it could not contain the hundredth part of those who came to be present at this sacrifice. But this multitude ought not to be wondered at, for the Olympic Games are so ancient, that they deserve some particular respect, only for their Antiquity. Their original is so remote, that it is dubious; some attributing their institution to Hercules, who, they say, first celebrated them in honour of Jupiter, to which others not agreeing, maintain the same to be more ancient than his times. However, they are of great antiquity, and were this year most magnificent. After the sacrifice, the Princesses and the Ladies who followed them, entered all into stately open Chariots, accompanied by the Princes, and all the men of quality on horseback, to take one turn along the course where the Olympic Games are celebrated: for 'tis the custom for those who offer the sacrifice, to go thither to see whether it be in a fit condition for the several sorts of Combats and Races, which are to be performed upon it. And as this place is the fairest in the world so it may be said, that this promenade was the goodliest appearance that could be seen. For, Madam before the proud Temple of Jupiter is a great Grove of wild Olive-trees, which, by reason of their great age, make a greater shade than the ordinary Trees of that sort, which serves to refresh those that have run in the Carrier of the Olympic Games. This Carrier is so much the more goodly, in that it lies between four great rows of Trees along the River Alpheus, that at one end of it there is a large place like a semicircle, in which stands an Altar with Statues, and at the other a Pyramid of white Marble, supported on four great Globes of red Marble, upon the point of which Pyramid (which serves for a Limit or Goal to those who run) is a Statue of Jupiter unarmed, whose Eagle holds a Crown of Olive in his beak. So that the prospect of the City of Olympia from this place, the Mount Philaceus which is behind it, the Temple of Jupiter, of which the Dome is very magnificent, the grove of Olive-trees, a large place, in the middle of which is a stately Fountain, and that fair long Carrier beset on each side with trees along the River Alpheus, makes it the goodliest sight in the world; especially when all these places are filled with as great number of fair Ladies and handsome persons as I saw there on the day I am speaking of. After this, they returned to the house of the virtuous Elisante, whither the Prince of Cyparissa, according to the liberty permitted him w●nt also, after having saluted Melanthus, who returned him only four or five words, which he had determined of before. But the Princess of Elis showed him greater kindness; for being obliged to him, it behoved her, though unwilling to give him thanks for having hazarded his life for her service, and for his readiness to hazard it again, in case the War should re-commence. On the other side, the Prince observed her so transcendently beautiful this day, that his passion assumed new force, which he was unable absolutely to hide; and it was so easy to understand by his aspect, his joy, his admiration, and by all his words and actions, that he was amorous of Elismonda, that there was none whose notice it escaped. Melanthus in the mean while had become desperate seeing him desperate, seeing him so amorous, if the Princess Andronice had not assured him that Elismonda did not love him. And I beseech, you my dear Sister (said he to her with a low voice) to calm my inquietudes, make an unfaithful Lover of the Prince of Cyparissa. He is already a rebellious Vassal (added he:) and I have a great confidence, that if you please you may bring it to pass, to deliver me from this dangerous Rival. You seem, my Lord, answered she, to have too mean an opinion of Elismonda's beauty, as you have too high of mine, if you believe it possible for me to withdraw a Lover from her: and besides, what would you have me do (continued she agreeably) after I have solicited him from her? You should love him (replied he) to do Attalus a great spite and me a great service. But, would you that I should love a Prince whom you hate, (demanded she.) Since I hate him (answered Melanthus) and fear least Elismonda love him, he must needs be a person of merit; and moreover, according to the sentiments I have at present, if the Prince of Cyparissa loved Elismonda no longer, I should also have no longer hatred against him, and I engage to love him, provided he love you. Hortensius at this time came to them to tell Melanthus something requisite for him to be informed of; so that Andronice conceiving some pleasantness in the proposition that Love induced the Prince of Messena to make to her, she told it smilingly to Hortensius, who at first gusting some pleasure to himself in this thought was very urgent with her to attempt to effect what the Prince Melanthus propounded to her, yet speakin such manner as if he had had no other regard, than to the satisfaction of that Prince. But the next moment considering that if the Prince of Cyparissa should change his love, Elismonda might become more inclinable to listen to Melanthus, he repented in his mind of the request he had made: till at length the sense of honour overpowering all other considerations, he continued his instance agreeably to Andronice, that she would make the Prince of Cyparissa her lover. I assure you (answered she) that I should find myself much troubled to excite love in a new breast; judge then how I shall be able to do it in one prepossessed with a great passion for one of the fairest persons of the world. At least (said Melanthus) treat him the most handsomely and obligingly you can, to to the end he may not have the leisure to speak to Elismonda, and I the better opportunity of addressing to her. I shall obey you then (answered she) and in order thereunto I shall return to the Princess of Elis. And accordingly, Madam, she went to propose to the fair Elismonda to go and walk in that great Grove I told you was beyond those Islands, which make those fair watery close Alleys I described to you. To which Elismonda consenting all this noble company entered into twelve little Boats. Where Andronice in design to serve the Prince her Brother, acted with such address that the Prince of Cyparissa was constrained to enter with her into a Boat, which she took for herself; for Melanthus giving the hand to the Princess of Elis, the Prince of Cyparissa was engaged to wait upon the Princess Andronice. So that in the Boat of Elismonda, there were with her only Cleontine, the charming Claricia, two other Ladies, Melanthus, Hortensius, and myself; and in that of Andronice, the virtuous Elisante, the amiable Chrysilia, three other eminent Ladies, the Prince of Cyparissa, and Eumenes: the ten other Boats were filled with all the other Ladies, and men of quality that were there. All these little Boats were adorned with little Canopies tucked up, which did not hinder the Ladies that filled them from being seen, who were seated upon rich and magnificent Cushions. But at length this little Fleet wafting gently along, arrived beyond the Islands where the Ladies designed to walk on foot under those great Trees, the thickness of whose umbrage makes a solitary, but the most delightful place in the world. For no houses being within view, it seemed a kind of pleasant Desert, no other living creatures being seen there but Birds and wild beasts. When all this fair company was landed, and had walked awhile, they were very much surprised with a magnificent Collation, presented there upon several Tables in the midst of so great a solitude. All that were present began to extol the Prince of Messena, for his unexpected gallantry; but he modestly diverted the commendation from himself to Hortensius, whose contrivance it was, and to whom he had given the care of making it a secret. Elismonda, to whom it seemed a surprising piece of generosity, was glad she had occasion to ascribe the acknowledgement of it to another than Melanthus. The Prince of Cyparissa was of the same sentiment, jealousy effecting that in his mind, which hatred did in that of Elismonda: so that they both were forward in civil expressions to Hortensius: the Princess of Elis not imagining that she commended a Lover; nor the Prince of Cyparissa a Rival. But it happened at the end of the Collation, when they began to walk again, that the Princess Elismonda unadvertingly let fall a little Case, in which was her own Picture, which she intended to give the next morning to the Princess Andronice, who requested it of her. Myself being sufficiently near her, took it up, with a purpose to render it to her immediately; but Elismonda having gone a little distance from me, and the Case being opened with the fall, I had the leisure to behold her Picture, which I found perfectly resembling her. Viewing of it thus attentively, the lovely Claricia, who observed what I was doing, came to me, and began highly to extol the portrait. The fair Chrysilia likewise approaching us, did the same; and our forwardness in commending it was so loud, that Elismonda, who was led by the Prince Melanthus, looking back, perceived the little Case we were viewing was hers. But for that she would avoid giving occasion to Melanthus, to fall upon the subject of her praises, if he should have seen the Picture, instead of commanding it to be restored to her, she only desired Cleontine to take care of it, to the end, it might be retur'nd to her when the company had seen it sufficiently. Upon which, proceeding in her walk, all that were present came to behold it, till it passed through the hands of the whole company, excepting the Prince of Cyparissa, whom Andronice entertained very diligently to please the Prince her Brother. For, being extremely desirous of peace, and not discerning any more compendious and sure way to effect it, than by the marriage of Melanthus and Elismonda, she conceived a great obligation upon herself to promote their love with her utmost endeavours. Melanthus, whose mind was taken up how to discourse of his passion to Elismonda, was not at liberty for any other matter; besides that, the Prince of Cyparissa having not long since occasioned him the possession of so many Pictures of Elismonda, the sight of one in her presence could not take off his mind. But as for Hortensius, whose passion was no less ardent, and who wanted the satisfaction of hoping it would ever be known he was a Lover, when he beheld Chrysilia, Claricia, and myself, attentively viewing this portrait, he approached to us, and joined his praises with ours. And Elisante also with Agenor, who were discoursing together, coming to see this Picture which I had already sufficiently beheld, I desired Cleontine she would please to remember the charge the Princess of Elis had laid upon her concerning it. After which I betook myself to walk with Chrysilia and Claricia, without further thoughts of the Picture. But soon after Elismonda desiring to be freed of the particular conversation of Melanthus, and calling Cleontine, Chrysilia, and Claricia to her, the first of them desired those in whose hands the Picture was, that when they had sufficiently looked upon it, they would deliver it to Eumenes, that he might render it to herself. But it happened that the Picture being left in the hands of Hortensius, Eumenes, who was not very solicitous about it, went to speak to some Ladies that called him; for the liberty in such conversations as these, being very arbitrarious, every one followed his own inclination. Whilst this fair company was thus dispersed into several little parties, Hortensius, whose mind was possessed with a thousand different thoughts, walked for some time alone, and that so carelessly, that he was gone a good distance from the rest before he took notice of his own solitude, when opening the little Picture Case, he felt such a violent desire in himself to keep it, and so to serve himself of it, that it might be an occasion of making the Princess Elismonda understand, there was one in the world enamoured on her, that had never discovered so much, that a thought coming into his mind he might make this advantage of it; he was not able to resist the temptation, but began forth with to bethink himself how he might bring it about. He instantly perceived all the consequences that could ensue upon his project, and in a moment seeking all the remedies to the inconveniencies which he foresaw, believed he had found them; and so only considered how he might effect his design. But in order to make it more intelligible to you, you must know that Hortensius writ two hands so different, that it could never be imagined they could both proceed from the same person. The cause of which was this, for that he to whose trust his Father had committed him at his departure from Veii, having learned Greek in Sicily from one of Pythagoras' Disciples, had at first himself taught him to write Greek; and afterwards going to live at Corinth, put him to a Master, who had perfectly made him change his Character. Now Hortensius conceiving he might both keep the Picture, inform Elismonda that she had a concealed Lover, and raise a jealousy in his Rivals if they understood the matter, and satisfy himself, took the picture handsomely out of the Case in which it was, and with a pastil which he always carried with him, writ four Verses in it, which he composed immediately, and I shall repeat to you by and by, and that in the Character which he had almost wholly disused; after which he returned, and rejoined himself with the company. He undertook this discourse the more confidently, for that night was drawing on, and therefore he believed that the picture would not be much enquired after, before he delivered it to Eumenes, and he to Cleontine, and Cleontine to Elismonda; whereby perhaps the Princess might not perceive the artifice that was put upon her before the next morning. However Hortensius, who had a great confidence in Eumenes, sought him out, and requested him to cause the picture Case, which he delivered him, to be rendered into the hands of Cleontine, without her knowing that it had been any time in his: which was very easy for him to do, by reason of the great number of persons which had taken the picture from one another to view it. Hortensius gave this charge to Eumenes with such earnestness, that he perceived well it was not seasonable to inquire the reason which induced him to desire this of him; for he closed his hand in delivering the Case to him, and presently left him, to go and mingle with the rest of the company, who began now to draw towards the Boats, Eumenes was nevertheless resolved not to deliver this Case, without at least endeavouring to conjecture what had obliged Hortensius to speak to him in that manner; but Elismonda at the same time remembering herself of her Picture, called for it to Cleontine; upon which, Cleontine went to Eumenes to require the same from him. I assure you (said he, perceiving she saw it in his hands) that I much repent me of having accepted the Commission you gave me of taking charge of it; for since you went from me, I knew not what was become of it for an hour together, and 'tis but a moment ago that I believed it was lost; but at length a man whom I knew not, delivered it to me to restore it to you. Elismonda overhearing these words of Eumenes to Cleontine, was in fear lest her picture might have been spoiled, and taking the Case hastily, she told the Princess of Andronice, that it was for her interest that she was so anxious about it. For I have had a design (continued she) to give you this picture, which is retrieved after an hours loss. While Elismonda was speaking this, Melanthus, the Prince of Cyparissa, and Hortensius stood about her, and beheld how she opened the Case with precipitation: But though there was not much day light left, yet she soon spied that her picture was gone, and read these four Verses in the vacant place.  

My theft no Crime, but Justice is,  
First injured on your part:  
I'll then return your Picture back,  
When you restore my heart.   
As Elismonda is uncapable to repress the first motions which she resents upon any surprising occasion, she could not conceal her astonishment, but declared the loss of her Picture to all the company. You may easily judge what a strange adventure this seemed, and how much Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa were amazed at it. The Prince of Messena was also very much discontented at the loss, and Elismonda seemed to be in such trouble for it, that it was sufficiently apparent she did not conjecture who had bereaved her of her picture, and made the Verses which she found written in the place of it, the Character being wholly unknown to her. As for Hortensius, he carried himself so cautiously, that he was not suspected in the least. In the mean while the day being at an end, it was requisite for them to think of taking Boat. But Melanthus being excited by a jealous apprehension, to find out who it was had taken away Elismonda's picture, and written the four Verses, commanded that all the persons of quality that were in that place, should not depart from him when they were landed, but follow him into Elisante's house. For, (said he with a low voice to Hortensius) the presumptuous person that took away the picture, also made and writ the Verses we see here at the same time, and therefore it must of necessity be some one amongst us; so that when the Princess is returned back, it will be a good way for her to command all that were of our company to write something in her presence, to the end, every one's hand may be compared with the Character of the Verses. By this means, we shall come to discover who 'tis has been so rash to commit such a bold extravagance: for if he write, he will be infallibly convicted; and if he refuse to write, his detractation will be an evidence against him; if he follow us not to Elisante's house, his absence will speak him guilty; and if he go about to counterfeit another hand, the fraud will be apparent. I could if I were so pleased, cause a search to be made for this lost picture, but there are so many persons of quality present, that it cannot be done without disgust to the innocent; and moreover, it is so little, that it may easily escape the search, and the course would so prove ineffectual. Hortensius' approving the intention of Melanthus, the Prince communicated the same secretly to the fair Elismonda and Andronice, who liking the expedient made haste to return to their Boats in the same order that they came. But by the prudent care of Hortensius, who nevertheless ascribed all the honour to Melanthus, they returned in the most magnificent manner imaginable: for while this fair company were walking in the great Grove beyond the Island, Lamps were placed upon all the Willows which grew upon the banks; so that all these covered Alleys being illuminated by two rows of Lamps, the light multiplying itself in the water, irradiated the stream with Golden beams, which in some places resembling, fluctuating flames, by reason of the agitation of the Water, made a show, than which nothing could be imagined more resplendent and delightful, especially at such places where those Channels crossed one another. For on what side soever they cast their eyes, these natural Canopies being enlightened by the Lamps, which reflected from either Bank upon the Water, caused a kind of admiration accompanied with pleasure, surpassing all expression. Which was further increased by the hearing of a rare consent of voices on the right hand, as this little Fleet was passing between the two great Islands, and on the other side a consent of Instruments answering them. I cannot suddenly call to mind the verses which were sung there in praise of the Princess Elismonda, but I remember the invention was extreme handsome; for it was feigned that the River Alpheus boasted of being more glorious, by carrying Elismonda on its stream, than the Sea ought to be for the birth of the Mother of Love; all that I am able to tell you of it, is, that there was a Song, of which all the Coupl●● ended with this Verse,  
If it be not Venus, 'tis Arethusa.  
And another, which equally suited to Melanthus and Hortensius, and ended thus,  
Go my hearts Envoys, tender sighs make haste,  
And mix your breath with gentle Zephyr's blast.  
Then near that fair one, if you chance to fly,  
Whisper unto her, 'tis for her I die.  
But having at length ended so agreeable a voyage, the fair company landed before Elisantes' house, into which, according to the order of the Prince of Messena all the persons of quality that had been of this Promenade, accompanied the Princesses. As soon as they came into a great Hall, Melanthus caused all the men to stand round a Jasper Table, near which were the two Princesses, and behind them Elisante, Cleontine, Chrysilia, and Claricia. The Prince of Messena having caused writing Tables to be brought, expected the commands of Elismonda; who to execute what was resolved on, told the whole company, and the Prince also, that it was required every one should write something in those Tablets: Whereupon Melanthus beginning first, only to show example to the rest, writ these words, which signified the impetuosity of his humour;  Whosoever my Rival be, I shall hate him. 
And next the Prince of Cyparissa writ that which follows, in spite of the Menace of Melanthus;  The crime in question is so singular, that I wish I were the Author of it. 
After whom, Hortensius making use of the Character he generally served himself with, which was not the same with that in which he had writ the four Verses, subscribed these words;  He must be very amorous and confident that has committed such a prank. 
Eumenes' next taking up the style, writ these words;  Whoever the Criminal be, he deserves to be pardoned, provided he do not discover himself. 
After him, I was called to the Tablet, and writ only these words;  Being incapable to love without hope, I care not for being the Criminal that is sought after. 
I should be too tedious, if I should tell you all that was written afterwards, by the several honourable persons that were present; besides that, there were many of them who only writ their own names, or that of Elismonda. But, in conclusion, it was found, that none of all these hands resembled that in which the four Verses were written; and which was strange, the character which Hortensius writ at this time, was less like that of the Verses, than any of all the rest, though he was the person that had written them; for that in the Picture Case was a very small hand, and the other which was his ordinary way of writing, sufficiently great. So that all the company, excepting Hortensius and Eumenes, were in a strange perplexity. But perhaps (said Andronice) 'tis a trick of some of the Ladies, or possibly some of these noble Personages may have caused one of them to write the Verses; for there are some Women whose hand is not distinguishable from that of men. To omit no inquiry then, (said the Prince of Cyparissa) it is requisite that all the Ladies present write too, as well as the men. Elismonda approving what Andronice said, all the Ladies writ also, together with the Princess Andronice; but when it came to the fair Claricia, she thought to amuse the company, and being of a debonair and pleasant humour, she looked upon the four Verses as they lay upon the Table, and subtly endeavoured to imitate the hand. Upon which, Elismonda immediately perceiving some imperfect resemblance between the two Characters, believed it was she that had played this prank, and conceived the difference there seemed between them, proceeded only from her endeavouring to disguise her own. And this caused a very pleasant contest for about a quarter of an hour: till at length upon viewing the writing more curiously, and Claricia's sincere protestation, and writing without counterfeiting, none could imagine the least conjecture of the truth. Thus being wholly at a loss, there was such a pleasant confusion among them, that they all beheld one another with amazement. If Eumenes had been suspected by the Prince of Messena, he might have questioned him whether he knew not something more concerning this accident than he had declared; but he had no suspicion at all of him; and moreover, none of the persons of quality that had been at the walk in the Grove, were found missing from the company. Whence Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa concluded they had a Rival in the same place they were in, whom yet they could not discover. Elismonda, for her particular, had so great a curiosity to know who had taken her Picture, that she could not conceal it; but though this curiosity of hers was reasonable, Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa were something dissatisfied, because it seemed to them, she appeared not sufficiently in choler for the loss. As for Hortensius, he was very glad to perceive how desirous she was of knowing who this hidden Lover should be: but his generosity coming to the assistance of his reason, he would rather have died than that Melanthus should have known he had Elismonda's Picture, and it may be he would not that the Princess of Elis should have understood it with certainty. But he ardently wished, she would at least have suspected him a little in the secrecy of her thoughts, without discovering it to any person. There were also some moments in which he accused himself of folly; for having taken such an odd course for consolation to his infelicity. But at last the excess of his passion made him apprehend some kind of pleasure in thinking Elismonda understood she had another Lover beside the Prince of Messena and the Prince of Cyparissa; and he was not very sorry for the perplexity and inquietude he occasioned to those two Princes, though he was resolved always to serve the first of them faithfully. In the mean time, this adventure was so cruelly tormenting to Melanthus, and raised in him a curiosity so full of jealousy, that he made it his chief business afterwards to observe diligently the deportment of all the honourable personages that had been in that days entertainment. For though he believed none of them could pretend to the possession of Elismonda, yet he bore no small hatred to this unknown Rival, and discovered as much to Hortensius, not imagining that the object of his hatred and his friendship, were united in one and the same person. For being Hortensius served his interests faithfully in his Courtship of Elismonda, he found no cause to suspect him. That which caused Hortensius to act in this manner, with the less scruple, was, that he apprehended reasons of State might require Elismonda to marry Melanthus. But though he acquitted himself with fidelity of whatsoever trust that Prince reposed in him, in order to the success of his design; yet he was glad to see that according to all appearances, the Princess would never be brought to comply with his desires; and he accounted himself happy in knowing she had both esteem and friendship for him, and seeing himself equally endeared to two Princesses so accomplished as Elismonda & Andronice: But when Eumenes, after they were retired in private, spoke to him of the adventure of the Picture, he reproved him friendly; And, What intended you to yourself (said he to him seriously) in exposing yourself and me also to danger? Had I believed I should have brought you into danger (answered Hortensius) I would never have committed this odd prank. And since, my dear Eumenes (continued he) you know the secret of my heart, and have understood I loved Elismonda before myself, having discovered it before I knew I did so, you may easily conjecture how unhappy I am, who have taken so strange a course for my consolation.  
But I beseech you do not suspect me of intending ever to betray my Master. No, Eumenes, I will betray my own love for his interest, and rather lose my life than commit an unworthiness. If the War did not detain me here, and I could with honour forsake my Prince so long as he has his sword in his hand, I should undoubtedly do it, rather than be engaged in such a difficulty as doing service to a Rival with his Mistress. But for that this cannot be, I shall serve him faithfully in the pretensions he hath to Elismonda, in spite of all the passion I have for her. If this Princess' rigour towards Melanthus ceases, I confess ingenuously, I find not my soul firm enough to be a witness of his felicity; but as soon as I should see him in a condition of being happy, I should betake myself to wander about the world, as the most unfortunate of men. I should together forsake my Master and my Mistress, and my Fortune; and giving over all care of my Love, go seek my death, without discovering the cause of it to any other but yourself. But if Elismonda continue firm in her resolution of not marrying Melanthus, I shall then endeavour to do the Princess service with him, to the utmost of my power, lest he changing his Love into hatred, treat her rigorously; and I shall adore her all my life in secret, without knowing what course to take with my passion. Thus, my dear Eumenes (continued he) you see the naked sentiments of my Soul, which I entreat you not to endeavour to alter; for I well know your reason will not be able to do that, to which my own has been ineffectual. Whilst Hortensius was reasoning in this manner with Eumenes, Elismonda being retired at night, called Cleontine into her Closet, and began to speak to her about the adventure of her Picture, seeking to conjecture who might have had such boldness to detain it. For my part (said Cleontine to her) I love not to seek that which I cannot find; but I would only know, Who you would be contented were the thief. But, Cleontine (answered she smiling) if I were to wish any thing, I would wish this accident had never fallen out. I have told you, Madam, already (replied Cleontine) that I care not to have such an unprofitable curiosity; and so you may judge; I as little affect a wish or desire, that serves to no purpose. Therefore take matters in the state they are in, and do me the favour to tell me, whether you would have this prank committed by Melanthus, or by the Prince of Cyparissa, or by Hortensius, or by some other. I hate the first too much (answered Elismonda) and I have too great an aversion from the second, to wish him guilty of this subtle deceit; and perhaps I love the third too well to desire he were my Lover. For indeed I would not that Hortensius were unhappy; and he must assuredly be so, in case he loves me. If he could know what you say concerning him, Madam (replied Cleontine) he were not much to be pitied. I assure you (said the Princess blushing) that though I am not over well skilled in love, I believe that friendship is no great consolation to a Lover. You speak so well what you are minded (answered Cleontine, smiling) that I believe you understand more in Love than you imagine. Alas Cleontine! (replied she, smiling also) who do you think should have taught me? He that teaches Nightingales to sing so well in the Spring (answered she) may perhaps have taught you to speak after the manner you do. However it be (replied Elismonda) I find it sufficient that I am Melanthus' prisoner, without engaging my heart to be no longer free at all; but I have a confidence 'tis still my own, and will be so for ever. This, Madam, was the conversation of Elismonda and Cleontine. But the next morning when the Prince of Messina, and the Prince of Cyparissa were busied in the choice of Judges, which were to preside at the Olympic Games, Hortensius being desirous to gain a glory absolutely uninteressed, would not concern himself in the affair. And therefore he went to spend part of the afternoon with the Princess Elismonda, who had then no other company but Cleontine, the other Ladies being gone to the apartment of the Princess Andronice, or that of the virtuous Elisante, with intention to come back soon after to the Princess of Elis. Now the adventure of the preceding day being yet too fresh to be silenced, Elismonda, after the first civilities, asked Hortensius, Who he suspected to have taken away her picture, and made those four Verses, For, in brief, (said she pleasantly, retorting them upon the instant)  
Knew I what Criminal hand it was  
Did this injurious part;  
If he'd restore my Picture back,  
I'd render him his heart.  
Ah! Madam (answered Hortensius) did I know that unhappy person who loves you, without daring to discover himself, I think I should conceal him from you, after what you have said; for I look upon him as sufficiently punished for the boldness he has to love you, and to love you assuredly with very little hope, without besides endangering him to be constrained to take back his heart, and restore you your picture. And moreover, Madam (continued he) because there is no appearance this Lover can do any prejudice to the Prince whom I serve, I conceive the compassion I have of him is not criminal. I assure you (answered she hastily) Whoever that Unknown be, he is more in favour with me, than the Prince Melanthus can ever be, in quality of a Lover. But, Madam, said he, would you be contented that Unknown knew what you say concerning him? What I have said, (answered she) being rather an effect of my hatred against Melanthus, than kindness towards him, I should not much care if he did. But, truly if I knew who he were, it would be another case, and I should keep myself to the four Verses, which I retorted but now almost, without thinking what I was saying. Hortensius' fearing to speak more of the matter than she was willing, handsomely changed the discourse, and demanded of the Princess, why she hated a Prince so resolvedly, who had ceased being her enemy, and was become her Lover, who treated her so respectfully, and with whom also she lived in terms of great civility. As for the civility I have for him, answered she, he owes it to my prudence, to the counsel of Cleontine, and to yours: but for my hatred, it proceeds from his injustice. For if he repent of what he has done, why does he not return into Messena? why does he not restore me to my liberty, and put Elis into my power, and leave me in peace? But Madam, (replied Hortensius, who in the bottom of his heart, gave her thanks for this her rigour) if you speak at this rate while you are in the power of the Prince of Messena, how would you speak if you were free? And you seem not to consider, that the interest of his Love is a more powerful inducement to make War upon you, retain his conquests, and keep you under guard, than his ambition itself. Ah Hortensius (said Elismonda, without answering to what he had spoken) as often as I think how insensibly you have engaged me to bear a friendship towards you, and consider, that at the end of the truce you will become my enemy, and draw your sword against those that defend my interest, I am even ready to die, under the necessary desire of hating you, as well as Melanthus. But Madam (answered Hortensius) I shall never be your enemy. 'Tis Fortune apparently, that hath cast me into the interests contrary to yours; but nevertheless, I shall not forbear to assure you, that I make a vow to honour you all my life, and to respect you in a manner so full of zeal, that even when I shall be in the Army of your enemies, I shall have more thoughts of veneration for you, than all your Subjects and Friends too, can ever be capable of. Hortensius spoke these words with so passionate an air, without designing to do so, that Elismonda blushed at them; and Cleontine, who had all this while been silent, seeing the Princess a little perplexed what to answer, interposed, and without dissembling, Madam, said he, you may be said to be happy in your enemies; for Melanthus treats you, as if you were not such, and Hortensius expresses as much dearness to you, as if he had been born your Subject, and always your Friend. Horten- was going to answer Cleontine, when Andronice, accompanied with the fair Chrysilia, the lovely Claricia, Eumenes, and myself, entered into the Princess of Elis' chamber, and interrupted that conversation to begin another more general, yet very agreeable: for you must know there had been born a contest between the Princess Andronice, Chrysilia, Claricia, and me, which could not be determined: So that it was agreed to refer the same to the judgement of the Princess of Elis, Cleontine, and Hortensius, who we knew were with her. Andronice was no sooner in the chamber of the fair Elismonda, but she told her, there was a great dispute between Claricia and me. I conceive (answered the Princess) those two persons minds are sufficiently concordant; but because I cannot doubt of what you say, be pleased to tell me the subject of their contestation. Though the Princess of Messena (said Claricia) be an impartial person, and speaks very equitably without prejudice against me, yet I should be desirous to tell you the cause of their dispute myself. For indeed (proceeded she saying) she may perhaps make some small distinction between a very accomplished man, and one of the contrary Sex, not wholly uningenious, which would not be to my advantage. It would be requisite to have more merit than I dare own (answered I) to induce the Princess of Messena to do you an injustice. However it be (said Andronice) I am wlling that Claricia tell the Princess Elismonda the subject of her dispute. Be pleased then to know, Madam (said Claricia pleasantly) that the Olympic Games being now as universal a matter of discourse, as great cold in winter, or great heat in summer, I began to speak concerning them as others do; for since 'tis the custom, it ought to be followed. But for that I conceived a little pleasantness always enlivens conversation, I said upon occasion of the Olympic Games, that not doubting but there were very many Lovers, amongst those who aspire to win the prize, I pity them for the inquietude they would be possessed with, by their anxious incertainty of victory. This leading me to speak concerning hope and fear, it was contented that of these two passions, hope afforded more joy than fear does sadness. Upon which, the difference was examined between a hope proceeding from Ambition, and a hope proceeding from Love, to know which was the most sweet and pleasing. But after some debate it was concluded, that these two sorts of hope were more or less sweet, according to the inclination of the persons possessed by them, and that an ambitious man, was more delighted with the hope of making a great Fortune, than with that of being loved by his Mistress; but that one without ambition, and very amorous, was more pleased with hoping to be loved, than with hoping to be rich. It was also agreed, that a Lover without ambition, who hopes to be loved again, resents a sweeter delectation: and an ambitious person without Love, a pleasure more unquiet and less charming. But passing easily from one thing to another, we came at length to inquire which gives the greatest pleasure, either the remembrance of favours past, or the hope of favours to come; and this was the point, upon which Merigenes and I could not agree. For I confess, the remembrance of any thing that has been offensive, is troublesome to me, and that of a past delight gives me nothing but regret, because I no longer taste the pleasure of it. As for hope, it flatters and charms me; and to such as know how to use it aright, it gives a satisfaction in hoping pleasures which never come to effect; judge therefore what a lover must do in comparison with me, who have no other object of my hope, but some delightful entertainment of walking, a conversation that pleases me, Music, a Collation, or some other like divertisement. For my part, (said the Princess Elismonda) I declare myself for Hope. You give your judgement too soon for an equitable person (answered I) for you have not yet heard my reasons. If after I have heard them (replied Elismonda) you make me change my opinion, you will have the greater glory: therefore I desire you to declare all you have to say in defence of your sentiment, and I also request the whole company to pronounce their judgements upon the question. I desire your excuse, Madam, (said Hortensius) I never had any delightful passage in my whole life to remember; at present also I have no hope, nor ever shall, and therefore I am unfit to speak in this case. How can you know (demanded Claricia) that you shall never hope for any thing while you live? If it be so (added the Princess Andronice) Hortensius believes he shall never love during his life; or else he must place his affections so high, that he cannot think Love will ever render justice to his merit. Hortensius' blushed at the discourse of the Princess of Messena, which Elismonda observing, blushed likewise, without knowing what reason caused her to do so. However it be, (answered Hortensius recollecting himself a little) I shall not decline telling you what I imagine, though I have experienced neither of these two sentiments, and love has never given me but desires without hope, fear, and sadness. I thought (said the charming Chrysilia, with a modest but admirable graceful smile) it was not possible to have desires without hope. For my part, (answered I immediately) I am of opinion, we may desire things we hope not for, though ordinarily desires and hopes are inseparable. But that which I undertake to defend, is, that nothing is so sweet as the remembrance of a favour received from a person whom we love; for to distinguish things aright, when I speak in this manner, I am not to be understood of a limited and finite love, since indeed, though the memory of all pleasures has ever something of sweetness in it, yet this kind of delectation has nothing in it of life and picquantness, nothing that moves the Soul, and nothing that transports the heart. But when the mind is possessed with the remembrance of a favour received, and that may still be received, I hold that if a Lover does not resent more joy in remembering it, than when he did but barely hope it, he loves not with a sufficient ardency. But do not you observe (answered Claricia,) that according to your own words, 'tis the hope of the future that makes you resent the pleasure of what is past, since you say yourself, that when you can no longer enjoy the same favour which you call to mind, you have not the same transport of joy as when you have in your memory a thing which is arrived to you, and which may still be continued hereafter? But that which causes this to be so, (replied I) is, that as Life capacitates the body with sense, so Love animates the Soul and the mind, and gives it as it were another life, which causes us to apprehend all things with a quicker sense, so that we may affirm a man to have a paralytical Soul (as I may so speak) when he is absolutely devoid of Love; since 'tis most true, he has but a half sense of things which a Lover perfectly apprehends. For my part (said Hortensius) as ignorant as I am, by my own experience both of the pleasures arriving from hope of the future, and of these which are gusted in the remembrance of what is past, I accord with the opinion of Merigenes, that a Lover who finds more pleasure in hoping a good, than he does afterwards in remembering the good which he has already possessed, is absolutely deficient in Love. For otherwise, 'tis as much positively to affirm, that he has found less than he expected, than he fancied a satisfaction to himself which he has not met with, that the possession of what he desired has lessened the passion which lead him to desire it; and that he loves that better which he has not, than that which he enjoys. But in my opinion, in a perfect affection a favour obtained by a Lover, aught to be more dear and agreeable to him, than while he only desired it, and the remembrance more sweet, than the hope. Nor is it necessary, that he have a possibility of obtaining the same favour a second time, 'tis sufficient that he has a perpetual interest in the heart of her that granted it to him, to make the memory of it agreeable. For I believe that a man who has the happiness to be loved where he loves, and to have received some dear testimonies of that affection, may boldly defy Fortune, since he is secured of a Megazin of pleasures, which he may enjoy when he pleases, upon which she has no power. Hope, as sweet as it is, promises nothing but doubtfully; pleasures to come, are uncertain; present fruitions, may be disturbed by a thousand accidents; but pleasures past, are truly our own. We enjoy them in all places; the prison itself cannot hinder a Lover, from recalling some of those happy moments, which making a powerful impression in the memory, are eternally indelible. These innocent delights are tasted even in the presence of Rivals; and to speak the verity of the thing, the remembrance of pleasures multiplies them, and in multiplying them cherishes the Love that produces them, and augments the felicity of him that loves, since the greatest pleasure of this passion, consists principally in loving. I grant you, (said Claricia) that the remembrance of pleasures multiplies them, but you must also acknowledge with me, that hope increases them; that the Idea of a favour is a thing that appears somewhat greater than the favour itself, and that a Lover who hopes, and has a little of imagination, fancies some great pleasure in entertaining his Mistress solely to himself, than she can bless him with when he comes to entertain her.  
I once knew a man who after having loved an amiable person for a long time, took up a conceit of obtaining the favour of her, to give him a private audience. He was a sufficient long time before he could oblige her to it, till at length when she had promised it him, and there needed no more, but to find out means for a converss with freedom, he began to enjoy all the sweetness of hope; for you may well judge that a Lady who condescends to an assignation of this nature, does not hate him to whom she grants it. But at last, it was resolved this Lover should meet his Mistress in Garden, in a close walk, and by the side of a Fountain, where there were seats of green moss; he was two days entertaining himself with this sweet hope, during which he enjoyed a thousand pleasures. He imagined a hundred things to tell this fair person whom he loved, and made himself the pleasing'st answers in the world; he believed the two hours this audience was to last, would be infinitely too narrow a time for him to express all his thoughts. And yet afterwards I brought him to confess, that when he was with his Mistress, he scarce knew what to say to her, and their discourse was very sparing and barren. But lovely Claricia (answered Eumenes, who had not yet spoken) if this Lover was truly such, his silence was far better than his words, and the confusion of his mind abundantly more sweet than all the order of his discourses could have been. I shall not scruple to affirm, in preferrence of that sweetness which the remembrance of favours affords, that not only this kind of pleasure is a more perfect one than that of hope, which is oftentimes diminished by fear; but that sometimes the remembrance of a favour that is something particular, gives a more real contentment than the favour itself, at the very time it is received. For a Lover, who after a long severe treatment, comes of a sudden to understand from the mouth of his Mistress that he is loved by her, and to receive some kind testimony of that affection, will resent a joy so surprising, that his Soul not being able to support it, he cannot but imperfectly embrace it. Transport in Love, is a thing that so confounds the sentiments of the heart, and so disorders the imagination and reason, that we sometimes apprehend things which we see not; and indeed we may think an amorous Transport has something of distemper or madness in it, which through the excess of Love that causes it, takes away a part of the sweetness that fills the heart of a Lover. And to tell you all I think, I am of opinion, that as there are sorrows which we feel more sensibly sometime after we have begun to endure them, than when they afflict us first; so there are also pleasures, of which we are more sensible by the remembrance we have of them than in the first perception. For great sorrows, and great joys, oftentimes intercept and suspend the use of reason, and even the use of sense too. As for hope, (added he,) I look upon it as some young giddy headed girl, that believes all that is said to her, provided it soothe her up, that has only imagination and no judgement, which is diverted with chimaeras, which takes true for false, and false for true, which upon slight probabilities, foresees a multitude of pleasures that are impossible; and lastly, to a passion which though it be bold to promise itself all in the future, does not cease to be timorous, and abandons the heart of a Lover to fear, and a misdoubting of the least concernments. A Lover thus qualified knows not whether he ought to smile or weep, and incertainty, which is the faithful companion of hope, oftentimes disturbs the joy which that gives him. You have well made this Picture, Eumenes (cried the fair Elismonda) like a person that understood the nature of hope experimentally. 'Tis true, (replied Chrysilia) 'tis very agreeable, and I think this portrait well resembles hope. Alas! (said Claricia) I fear it resembles it but too well, and that the company believes Merigenes has the advantage in our dispute. Yet I conceive, were I minded to speak all I think, I could make him acknowledge, that hope may be considered as the Spring time of Love: and that as the season is more delightful than Autumn, although it have nothing but Flowers and the latter fruits; so it will be no error to maintain, that the hope of a favour is more sweet than the remembrance of one past can possibly be. For if fear sometimes diminishes its pleasure; desire redoubles and enlivens it, and I am so persuaded of what I say, that though I should want reasons to make good my opinion, yet I should not change my judgement, because I should conceive the disadvantage would be in the greatness of their wit, against whom I contend, and the meanness of my own, not in the justness of their cause. As Claricia was speaking this, the prudent Elisante came to tell the Princess, that the Judges were at length chosen which were to preside at the Olympic Games, and that it was concluded the Princess Elismonda should be the person, by whose hands the Victor's heads should be crowned with the Olive wreaths. For 'tis remarkable in all the several Games of Greece, that the desire only of glory animates all that go thither. The reward of those that carry the prize at the Olympic Games, is, as I told you, only a Crown of Olive; that in the Isthmick Games, of Pine, in those of Nemea, one of Smallage, and in those that are celebrated near Delphos, Fruits consecrated to Apollo. 'Tis true, there are signal privileges for them that carry the prize at the Olympic Games three years together: for he that gains this glory, has a Statue erected to him, and at Sparta, a man that has overcome but once, has the honour to fight in the first rank, in the head of the battalion, and in sight of the King. So that glory being that which excites all those to encounter who go to the Olympic Games, it may be undoubtedly affirmed, there are seen the bravest persons of the World. I forgot to tell you Madam, another remarkable thing; which is, that while the Olympic Games are celebrated, all the several Nations of Greece have liberty to resort thither, Friends and Enemies are equally admitted; no person during that time can be arrested for any crime passed, none may revenge himself of an injury, or disturb the ceremony by committing any violence, unless upon such as do disturb it; for in this case, such persons are punished as offend irrespectfully during a ceremony that relates to Religion. As for the exercises of these Games, they are of several sorts, and in every one the Victor is crowned, but I shall omit to tell you of the Racing, Wrestling, and some others, and content myself only to inform you of the Races of Horses and Chariots; the description of which, is more proper to be made to Ladies than all the other exercises, which are extremely violent. But I must acquaint you, Madam, in the first place, with a ceremony which is observed after the Combatants are chosen, and to that end, you must know, that the next morning after this conversation concerning Hope, the Princesses came again before the Temple of Jupiter, where this ceremony is performed. I conceive you remember I told you, there is there a Grove of wild Olive trees, and a large vacant place in the middle of it, where there stands a magnificent Fountain. On the day designed to match the Combatants, scaffolds are erected, where the Judges sit on one side, and the Ladies on the right hand of them; and in the middle is a half circle, where all the Combatants stand, having their faces towards the Temple, and being attired with all possible magnificence. About this place are Lists or rails erected to hinder the confusion of the people; at the foot of the Scaffold of the Judges, are the Heralds, who order the ceremony. Now, imagine, Madam, all things in this posture, and conceive Elismonda, Andronice, Cleontine, Chrysilia, Claricia, and all the other Ladies richly dressed, upon a stately Scaffold, covered with a great Pavilion, fastened to great Trees, and tucked up on the sides, Represent to yourself also, that you saw the goodliest Men in the World, most magnificently clothed, and standing in that half-circle without any order of condition. For Melanthus, who after the example of Hercules, would be one of the number of the Combatants, stood near a Laconian, who only of all the company was meanly habited; The Prince of Cyparissa, who was another, stood near a man of Athens, who was of no great quality; and Hortensius above Melanthus, on the other side of the Laconian I spoke of. For my part, being not born in a Country where these Games are in use, I was of the number of spectators. All the Combatants being thus ranged, they made a prayer to Jupiter, but though it be the custom to look towards the Temple of that god, yet Melanthus, the Prince of Cyparissa and Hortensius, did not observe the ceremony exactly, for in making the Prayer, they all three turned a little towards the fair Elismonda, as if to demand Victory from her. It seemed as if Melanthus prayed to be chosen by lot, to combat against the Prince of Cyparissa, for he beheld him with sufficient fierceness, after the ending of the Prayer, which is but of little length. As for Hortensius, he desired of the gods he might not encounter with Melanthus, lest being his servant, be might be obliged to restrain part of his dexterity, or lest being amorous he might be constrained to overcome his Master in presence of his Mistress: for this ceremony hath this hardness in it, that friends are necessitated to dispute the Prize one against another, whether they be willing or not. But observe how Fortune decided it, They now no longer make use of leaves of Laurel to draw lots with, as they did in the time of Hercules. One of the Heralds therefore took an Urn, into which he put as many little Balls as there were Combatants, each of which was marked with a Greek letter, every pair with the same letter, saving one, which was marked with a particular letter, for the number of the Combatants being odd, it could not be followed. After all these little Balls were put into an Urn, the Herald presented it to all the Combatants, one after another, who every one took out a Ball without looking into the Urn or upon the Ball, till every one had chosen. After which they advanced in order towards the Judges, and each of them delivered their Balls. And as they who happened to have the same letters, advanced, the Judges put them one by another, and separated them from their Companions. It fell out so, that the Prince of Cyparissa and Hortensius had the same letter, and were destinated to dispute the prize of the Victory. Hortensius was highly joyed he had such an illustrious Enemy, and that he was not matched with Melanthus. But when he saw that Prince had happened on the single letter, he was as much perplexed; for you must know, that according to the Laws of the Olympic Games, he that has that letter, which is not fellowed, because the number of the Combatants is odd, must wait to combat against the Victor of all the rest; which is no small advantage to him. Thus Hortensius saw himself endangered to be overcome by the Prince of Cyparissa, or in case he were not, to dispute the Victory against his Master and his Rival together. But the order of Combat could not be changed and it behoved him to dissemble what he thought, and to make a complyment to his enemy, according to the custom. Which being done, a warlike harmony was heard, which made the air echo from all parts. After which, all the Combatants being conducted by the Heralds, and marching two and two, passed before the Scaffold of the Princesses, whom they saluted very respectfully. Melanthus marched alone after the rest, without being able to conjecture who might hap to be the person, against whom he should be to dispute the Victory, not knowing which of them might prove the most dextrous and happy. When the Combatants had passed before that Scaffold, being preceded by the Heralds; the Judges followed them to the Temple, whither the Princesses also went, to be present at the Sacrifice that was offered in the name of all those that were to combat. This ceremony ended, every one retired, to the end to prepare themselves to celebrate the Games three days after. During which space, they who had Mistresses there, did all they could to obtain some favour from them, believing it would conduce to make them carry the victory. In order to which, during this little interval, Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa, spoke more of their passion to Elismonda, than they had ever done before. But Hortensius, who durst not mention his, did notwithstanding all he could to obtain favours of friendship, since he presumed not to desire any of another nature; and accordingly pleading for Melanthus, he obtained for himself what he could not for that Prince. For as he was urging Elismonda that she ought in reason to give the Prince of Messenia something, which he might wear the day of that great Festival; As for Melanthus (said she to him) I give him the chains which he made me wear, provided he take them off me; but for you (said the Princess) I will give you a Scarf, to the end to let you see, I grant that to a generous Friend, which I refuse to unacceptable Lovers. Hortensius was unquestionably ravished with this success: but for that Melanthus probably would be offended at it, he employed all his entreaties to oblige her to do the like for him, but without effect. Nevertheless, Hortensius to mollify the mind of the Prince of Messenia, told him that the Princess of Elis had without doubt refused to do it out of policy, and that he had more share in the favour which he had received than himself; and to comfort him yet more, he assured him that Elismonda would not grant the Prince of Cyparissa what she had refused to him. In brief, Madam, Hortensius acted with such address, that he repressed part of Melanthus' resentment. Indeed this Prince had another inquietude this day, that greatly discontented him. Which the better to declare the occasion of, I must inform you, that during those three days which were allotted the Combatants to prepare themselves, it was lawful for them to substitute another in their place if they pleased, in case they found themselves indisposed, or some urgent affair befell them, or that they changed their minds. And for these reasons, the Olympic Games are seldom celebrated without some change or other. According to this custom, it was known, that a Stranger was come thither, who offered great civilities to that Laconian I told you was so meanly clad, if he would yield his room to him; and it was reported the Laconian absolutely refused to resign it, although he was very poor. But it seemed this must be some man of quality, since he offered the Laconian so advantageous a bargain. The Lovers surmised this adventure to concern them; and Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa imagined, that he who made this Proposal, was that unknown who had taken away Elismonda's picture. But my Lord, (said Andronice to Melanthus) he who took away that Picture, was infallibly at the walk where you were, and 'tis probable he who makes such offers to the Laconian, is some Stranger that happens to arrive here, and will not make himself known, unless he be one of the Combatants. As there were some persons whom I knew not at that walk, (answered Melanthus) how is it possible for me to know, but there may be persons of greater quality than they appear? And therefore I have a conceit, he that makes this proposal is that Unknown, who will not discover himself till the prize is to be contended for; and I will endeavour myself to persuade the Laconian, to the end I may know this reserved Rival. And accordingly he sent to inquire him out, and out of a capricious jealousy, which Hortensius did not withstand, he added to the offers made him by the Stranger all that he thought capable to mollify the most ambitious mind, without being able to make him change his resolution. But what great advantage (said Melanthus to him) do you apprehend from getting a Crown of Olive, in the condition you are in? The glory of fight in the first rank, (answered he) and in the sight of the King whom I am to serve in the War; and being a Native of a City where glory is preferred above Riches, I affect such a Crown of Olive more than all your Gold. But perhaps (replied Melanthus) you will not win it, and by resigning your place you will become rich. The pusillanimity I should be guilty of in yielding my place (answered he) would make me die with shame; and therefore I had much rather die poor, than commit any thing unworthy of myself. Then at least, tell us (said Melanthus) what you know concerning him that is so importunate with you to resign your place. I know no more of him (answered he) but that he is a person of quality, who newly arrived on the other side of the River Alphaeus, upon the Frontier of Arcadia, and will not discover himself unless he make one in the Combat. This discourse of the Laconian augmented Melanthus' curiosity, and he was pleased with his constancy, though he was sorry he could not move him from it; so that Hortensius minding Melanthus to make him a Present, he readily consented to it. But when he told the Laconian his intention; The gods forbid, (answered he with a very noble air) that I should accept a thing which would be unprofitable to me, from the hand of a Prince, to whom I refuse one that would be well pleasing to him; and indeed it was impossible to make him change his resolution. This generosity of the Laconian, and the urgency of the unknown person that desired to Combat, made the discourse of the rest of the day. But the next morning it was known that one of the Combatants, whose Mistress was sick at Pisa, had received a Letter from her, which absolutely commanded him to quit his place to the Master of him that delivered it, which was the unknown person; and Love accordingly effected that upon the mind of this Lover, which all the offers of Fortune could not work upon that of the generous Laconian. 'Tis true, he quitted it only for the race with horses; for being one of great activity, he aspired to all the Crowns of the Olympic Games. But Hortensius, who had continually greater love to Elismonda, and fidelity to Melanthus, after having deliberated of the matter in his mind, resolved if he were Victor of all the rest, to suffer himself to be overcome by his Master, believing a man that had been Victor of many others, might without shame suffer himself to be overcome by a great Prince, and by a Prince to whom he owed all his fortune. A sentiment of Love a while encountered with his generosity; but at length he continued firm to his determination As for Elismonda, when she was alone with Cleontine, she wished Hortensius might carry the glory of all the Olympic Games, that so (said she) Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa may not have the joy to be Crowned by my hand. Andronice, on the contrary, what ever friendship ●he had for Hortensius, wished Melanthus might become victorious, and all the Ladies who had Lovers among those that aspired to the victory, made vows in secret contrary to those of the Princesses. But at length, Madam, not to weary you unprofitably in recounting to you the particularities of the Olympic Games which last for some days, I shall tell you nothing of what past the four first, because the Ladies use not to be there; and 'tis only on the day of the Chariot-races, which is the last, that all the Victors are Crowned: besides that, Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa, to preserve some State, were only in this last days exercises, which are the noblest of all. Hortensius also could not be in those of the preceding days, because he was matched with the Prince of Cyparissa, who was not. This last famous day being come, each of the pretenders offered a sacrifice in the morning upon the Bank of the River Alpheus, along the Course. But that which surprised them was, that, seeing preparations for a sacrifice, they knew not who was to offer; for there stood a magnificent and admirably contrived Chariot, near the place where the sacrifice was prepared, but there was no person in it. Upon inquiry from those that belonged to it, it was known that this Chariot was the Strangers, to whom a Lover had quitted his place out of obedience to his Mistress. In fine, Madam, this day so famous throughout all Greece, was more remarkable than ordinary, by that which happened afterwards, as you shall presently understand. To tell you in order all that passed in it, you may please to know, that all the several sacrifices being made, except that of the Unknown, all the Scaffolds erected under the umbrage of the Trees, growing on each side the Course, which is upon the Bank of the River, were filled with an incredible multitude of Spectators of all sorts and conditions. Those of the Judges and Princesses being prepared to receive them, and all the rails beset with people, and the adjacent places thronged with multitudes that came to see and could not; all those of the pretenders that had offered their sacrifices, came and ranked themselves at the end of the Career with their Chariots, in a large place designed for that purpose, expecting the hour for the race to begin; to the end the great number of spectators who were assembled in this place, might have the satisfaction of beholding those the longer that were to run. And indeed, nothing can be imagined more delectable than to see the great number of goodly persons magnificently attired, every one according to the mode of his Country, with stately Chariots painted and gilded, and adorned with several Impresses according to the different interests of the masters of them. But that which rendered this object more pleasant, was, that all these Chariots were drawn by the handsomest horses in the World. Those of Melanthus were of the goodliest black that ever were seen; those of the Prince of Cyparissa were bright bay with black Manes, those of Hortensius were griesley; and those of the generous Laconian, white; so that this variety of handsome horses contributed still more to the splendour and gallantry of the day. Those of the rest of the Chariots, if you please, I shall omit; because it is not important, and my memory has not retained them very exactly. But at length, when the Music which is used to animate those which are to run, began to be heard, and all the spectators were raised to a sudden expectation of the races, there was seen a Boat coming from the other side of the River Alpheus, and in it a man very magnificently attired. At the same time the Judges being ascended upon their Scaffold, and the Princesses accompanied by all the Ladies upon theirs, they all took notice of this Boat; and seeing it coming towards the place where the empty Chariot stood, it was not doubted but the person in it was he that was to possess the room of the departed Lover. This raised an universal curiosity in the minds of all the Spectators, and consequently they waited for him, though it was before intended to begin the Games forth with. When he was in the middle of the River, those who had prepared a sacrifice for him, offered it, to the end to lose no time; and as soon as he came ashore, he mounted into his Chariot. All this time, Melanthus, the Prince of Cyparissa and Hortensius had an extreme curiosity to know who this Stranger was, though Hortensius less than the two others. Elismonda and Andronice were also very desirous to see this Unknown; and all the other Ladies no less: and generally the whole multitude had no other object in their thoughts but this Stranger. This universal curiosity was yet more augmented when they beheld him nearer, because they saw they could not discover him by reason of a kind of Vizard he had disguised himself with, such as the famous Thespis used in his Comedies at that time; but all the rest had their countenances uncovered. This unknown was of a very handsome stature, and fierce action, and he had something in his gesture which spoke him to want no boldness; his Chariot was rich; his Horses were grey, dapled with white speeks, and his attire very magnificent. But that which made him be more wondered at was, that when his Chariot was according to custom to pass between the Pyramid, which serves for a Bound or Goal to the Racers in the Olympic Games, and the Scaffolds of the Judges and Princesses, and so to go along the Course; and range himself at the other end, among these that were to run, this Unknown stopped before that of the Princesses to salute them respectfully, and suffered a Banrol that was fastened to a Javelin, which he held, to wave in the wind, in which were written these two Verses in a great Character.  
Since that your Beauty once has Conquered me;  
If Conquered now, unknown I'll ever be.  
You may judge Madam, how much these two Verses which were seen in the Banrol, confirmed the opinion of those who believed him the concealer of Elismonda's picture; and you may also imagine how incensed the jealousy of Melanthus, and the Prince of Cyparissa was. Hortensius himself was not free from suspicion; and as Lovers are very forward to believe others affect their Mistresses, he believed the person he beheld was a Lover of Elismonda, although he knew him not to be that Unknown, whom Melanthus took him for. But Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa, (who in this conjuncture had no more power in what concerned the Olympic Games than the meanest of the pretenders) could not repress their desires of knowing him, but sent to desire the Judges they would constrain this Unknown to to discover himself, or otherwise to exclude him from pretending to the victory. But after the Judges had debated the matter, they answered, that since the Unknown had engaged to discover himself, by the two Verses in his Banroll, in case he were Victor, it would be unreasonable to force him to declare himself if he were overcome; and it was to be believed he had some particular reason to conceal himself, which concerned not them to examine; and moreover, that the liberty of the Olympic Games ought not to be infringed, during which it is not lawful to commit the least violence upon any pretence whatsoever. Whence it behoved Melanthus, the Prince of Cyparissa and Hortensius, of necessity to repress their curiosity, and only to take care they might not be overcome by the Stranger. I shall forbear to tell you all the thoughts of these Lovers, and the discourse of the Princesses and the other Ladies with them; it being easy to imagine what they were. Nor shall I describe to you in particular all the several Races that were performed, having more important matters to acquaint you with. You may please to know then, that by the order of Lot which matches all the Combatants (except him that happens to have the single Letter, who runs always the last with the Victor of all the rest) the Unknown ran first against a man of quality of Thessaly, and the Judges gave him the honour of the first course; for he ran swiftly, and with a good grace outstripped his Enemy, and handsomely declined the Pyramid, making his turn with much dexterity; after which he began a second Course with him that was to follow the vanquished Thessalian, in which he had more advantage than in the first. I need not tell you how his address and good fortune discontented those, who looked upon him as their Rival; but I shall proceed to his third Course, which he managed with more applause than the two former, and all the people made acclamations in his praise. But at length, Hortensius his turn being come, he prepared himself to overcome this victor of others. The Stranger beheld him more fiercely, than he had done the others whom he had vanquished, and seemed to prepare himself to make a greater attempt to overcome him. This caused the Spectators to redouble their attention; for Hortensius being very much esteemed, and likewise beloved by both parties, because he was the cause that Melanthus changed his manner of treating the Elaeans, which was something Tyrannical, the whole multitude was in fear lest he should be overcome by the Stranger. Elismonda became pale with fear, and Melanthus and the Prince of Cyparissa beheld him not as a Rival, but made vows for his success, as well as the Princess Andronice. But in brief Madam, Hortensius being at the end of the Career, with the Unknown, they made their Courses with very unequal success, for Hortensius performed his with such vigour, grace, exactness, and swiftness, that he far surpassed him that had surpassed those which preceded him. But that which enraged the Unknown, was, that apprehending in the middle of his Course Hortensius would overcome him, he endeavoured to speed his horses with an impetuosity which was natural to him, who feeling themselves urged on too suddenly, reared up, and had overturned his Chariot, if he had not been dextrous and strong, but himself confessed he was overcome at the end of his Course. But as Hortensius, having finished his, was returning gently, very glorious with his Victory; the Stranger, who stopped in the middle of the Career, to redress some discomposure in the reins of his horses, could not repress his regret, but told him with a low voice, 'Tis too much to be overcome twice. At which words Hortensius stopped also to consider this disguised person, who observing his intent, fell into such a fury, that on a sudden changing his purpose, he bowed down on one side, as if he desired to speak to him. Hortensius' judging he did so, advanced towards him, and heard these words from him distinctly. Since you desire to know me (said he to him) meet me to morrow morning at Sun rise behind the Temple of Diana, which stands upon the way to Pisa, where you shall find me with an unmasked countenance, and my sword in my hand: you will there learn, that he whom you have surpassed rather by good fortune than address, deserved perhaps to overcome. If you are truly courageous, you will not fail at this assignation; and come thither with one slave only. I shall be there infallibly (answered Hortensius without being moved) and whether soever it be by good fortune or courage, I hope my second victory will cost you dearer than the first. After this, these two Enemies separated themselves asunder. Hortensius went to prepare himself at the end of the Career, to begin a Course with the Prince of Cyparissa, and the Stranger went out at a Bar which is opened for those that are overcome, to the end they might not disorder the Lists. But instead of going to rank himself behind the rest, which were to run, according to the custom, he returned towards his Boat, into which he cast himself with precipitation, like a man in despair. He left his Chariot also abandoned upon the Bank of the River, and caused those that had guarded it, to enter into his Boat, lest they should be compelled to discover who he was. In the mean time, there was no person in all this great Assembly, but believed Hortensius knew who this Stranger was, and hoped he would declare it at the end of all the Courses. But being it was then no time to speak to him, every one suspended his patience. The Prince of Cyparissa, who himself had made vows for Hortensius against the Unknown, resolved now to Conquer him if he could; and accordingly made so handsome a Course, that Melanthus blushed at it with despite, Elismonda was not very glad of it, Andronice for the interest of the Prince her Brother, could have wished it less handsome; and as well for this reason as the affection she bore Hortensius, feared lest the Prince of Cyparissa, might have the better. But her fear did not last long; for Hortensius notwithstanding the perplexity his adventure with the Unknwon might have raised in his mind, appeared with so noble a boldness, and took up so strong a resolution to out do so considerable a Rival as the Prince of Cyparissa, that he performed this last Course with much greater honour than all the rest which he had made. Yet the Prince of Cyparissa, came not off without glory, because excepting Hortensius, none had run so well as he. At least he had the satisfaction of being rather overcome by a person whom he believed not his Rival, than if he had been so by Melanthus. He had also the consolation of seeing all those, that ran after him, worsted by Hortensius, without excepting the generous Laconian, who had got the victory in all the exercises of the preceding days. Now Hortensius finding himself in a straight, either to overcome his Master, or to be overcome in the presence of his Mistress, Ambition prompted him to suffer himself to be overcome, Love urged him to aspire to the Victory, and his reason which should have decided the matter, was sufficiently perplexed. Not but that Hortensius before he began to run, resolved to yield to the Prince, but coming to the point to execute his purpose, he became very unsatisfied. At length, not knowing whether Course to prefer, he prepared himself to undertake the Course with Melanthus, who in the bottom of his heart much feared to be overcome by Hortensius. Nevertheless, being generous, and unwilling to have a victory given him, he turned toward Hortensius, and speaking to him like one that would be obeyed, Remember Hortensius, (said he to him) that I will not owe a Victory to your respect; and if you do not your utmost endeavours to overcome me, I shall think myself more dishonoured than if I were fairly overcome. Hortensius was going to answer Melanthus, but the Prince as soon as he had spoken these words, went to range himself in the place where he ought to begin his Course. Now was the time that Elismonda and Andronice made contrary vows, for though the Princess of Messenia had a great dearness for Hortensius, yet not thinking him amorous of Elismonda, and the interest of her brother prevailing upon her mind, she wished Melanthus might be Victor, conceiving moreover, Hortensius might be surpassed without disgrace, after having overcome so many others. But Elismonda made secret vows for Hortensius, both because he was the man she esteemed most in the World, and Melanthus him whom she hated. At length both these Rivals made their course, but with so equal a justness, that it was impossible for the Judges to determine the advantage to the one, in prejudice of the other. Hortensius was willing to yield the prize to Melanthus, but this Prince would not admit it to be so, and after the matter had been debated a while, the Judges ordered they should make a second course, in which (to dispatch my narration of the Olympic Games) Hortensius was declared Victor. He had an intention to have restrained part of his dexterity, and suffer Melanthus to get the better; but the Prince endeavouring too much to set off his own, could not make any advantage of his enemy's generosity, and run much worse the second time than the first. So that Hortensius was presently declared Victor, by the acclamations of all the multitude, notwithstanding the greatness of Melanthus, and afterwards by the Judges of the Olympic Games. The Victor being descended from his Chariot, was presented by them to the Princess Elismonda, who gave him the Crown that he had so well merited. But he received it with such respect and submission, that if his action had been taken notice of, it would have been easily perceived, that he preferred the fair hand that crowned him, before the Crown which he received from it. I assure you (said the Princess of Elis to him, smiling obligingly, as she put her hand upon his head) that if I had in my power, all the Crowns that are in the disposal of Fortune, I would give you one more durable than that which you receive this day. And I protest to you Madam, answered he, that as I can never receive one more glorious than this, so my ambition will be fully satisfied, provided you believe the admiration I have for you, surpasses much more that of all others that admire you, than my dexterity has surpassed that of all those that I have overcome. Hortensius could not so conceal the passionateness of the air, wherewith he spoke this, but that it was observed by Elismonda and Cleontine. But at length after he was risen up (for he bended one knee to the ground to receive the Crown) he remounted into his Chariot; and all those which he had overcome, marching two and two, followed him, and the Prince Melanthus among the rest; and in this order, with the noise of Music which sounded at the beginning of every act, Hortensius went to the Temple of Jupiter, to ascribe thanks to that god, for the advantage which he had gotten. The Princess Elismonda at the same time, distributed all the other Crowns, to those which had overcome in the other exercises of the preceding days, although she was not present at them; after which she went to a solemn sacrifice, which was offered in the same place where the combatants had been matched.  
I shall forbear to describe to you the Feast that followed this solemnity, and only tell you, that to end the day as it began, there was a contest between those that had made the Music in the Olympic Games, who should carry the prize: but for that, this did not hinder conversation, and all the company was in a large vaulted Hall, not far off from the place where the Festival was solemnised, whither the Princesses also went to hear the contest; Some made compliments to the Victory, others encouraged those that were overcome, and all pressed Hortensius to tell them who the Unknown Gallant was, that he had overcome; but he always answered, that he knew him not, without giving the least ground to suspect the truth. So that it was thought by the cheerfulness of Hortensius' deportment, that what they had spoken together, was nothing but generous civilities. There were several agreeable conversations, in which he was always present, and discoursed to Melanthus, with all imaginable submission; who as vexed as he was with his being overcome, did nevertheless receive all civilly from him, that he said to him; though in the bottom of his heart, he resented much perplexity that he had not won the prize. But at length night separated the whole company; for the Princess of Elis would not admit there should be a Ball, both because she did not affect dancing, and for that she conceived it less suitable to the condition she was in. Wherefore she returned to the house of the virtuous Elisante whither Melanthus, the Prince of Cyparissa, and Hortensius, conducted her with the Princess Andronice, and the Ladies that were usually with her; but all the rest continued at Olympia. When the Princesses were arrived there, the conversation lasted some time; and Hortensius had the happiness to entertain Elismonda a short space alone, while Andronice was speaking apart with her brother Melanthus. But he was much perplexed what he should say to her; for being resolved to continue firmly faithful to his Master, he was loath to discover any signs of his affection: though on the other side, he knew not how to speak to her with the wont coldness of one that is indifferent. This perplexity continued not long, Melanthus having soon dispatched his discourse with the Princess his Sister. At length, Madam, the Princess betook he self to her chamber in this fair house, where it is reported the wise Nestor once lived; the Prince of Cyparissa went to another not far distant; and Hortensius having taken leave of Melanthus, took no other care, but how he might quit himself from the observation of his attendants a little before day, and meet at the assignation which the Unknown had appointed him. And accordingly, as a brave person easily surmounts all obstacles that hinder him from doing a courageous action, Hortensius got forth very early in the morning, attended only with one slave, and having no other arms but his sword. The goodness of his Horse, and his desire not to give his enemy the advantage of staying for him, brought him thither before him. Besides that, this Unknown being to cross the River, he needed more time than Hortensius, to reach the place appointed. But he had not stayed there long, before his enemy arrived. The Temple of Diana, near which the Unknown obliged Hortensius to meet him, stands in a very solitary place, and it was yet very early; so that there was no fear of being disturbed in their fatal design, not so much as by those that were at the Temple, because there's a little Wood on the backside of it, in the middle of which is a lage vacant place, whither none ever resort, but upon the days of open Sacrifice; and here it was Hortensius attended the coming of his enemy, according to appointment, When he saw him arrive with an unmasked countenance, at first he thought he knew him not; but a moment after, he remembered 'twas the same Attalus he had wounded, as he came from Thessale with the Princess Andronice, whom he attempted to carry away. You may imagine, Madam, how greatly Hortensius was surprised: but he had not much time to muse upon the adventure; for the fierce Attalus (who, besides the impetuosity of his nature, had the regret of having been overcome, and the apprehension that Hortensius was amorous of Andronice, and mutually loved by her) no sooner beheld him, but he commanded the slave that followed him, to go aside with him that attended Hortensius, and drawing his sword, and advancing towards him that had overcome in the Olympic Games. Let us see (said he to him with a fierce and piquant raillery) whether Mars will be as favourable to you as Jupiter, and whether you know as well how to manage a Sword, as to drive a Chariot. You ought not to make any doubt of that (answered Hortensius, drawing also his Sword) for I have overcome you elsewhere than at the Olympic Games: but you shall soon be resolved of a thing, your curiosity of which, if I am not mistaken, will cost you something dear. Upon which, these two valiant men engaged, and fought together with such courage and dexterity, that their combat lasted longer than they wished it. Hortensius was first slightly wounded in the shoulder, but soon after wounded his enemy in the right side. I will not amuse myself, Madam, to tell you the particular circumstances of this encounter for (besides that Ladies love not very well these kind of relations, when they are too long) it is also true, that having been informed of the particulars only, from the mouth of the two slaves that beheld it, and that of Hortensius, who is too modest to exaggerate any thing that is glorious to himself, I am not able well to describe it. 'Tis enough to let you know, that having fought with heroical resolution, and wounded one another in several places, Hortensius passed his sword through the body of his enemy, who fell down dead between his Horse's feet. But at the same time Hortensius, who had received four great wounds, and by the great onset he made to dispatch his enemy, lost much blood, fell down in a swound, near him that he had slain. Upon which, the two slaves ran forthwith to their Masters, without taking care of their Horses, being loose, which galloped away about the fields. But Madam, as chance has a share in every thing, Melanthus having had a desire to go a hunting this day, was surprised when he was informed (by those he sent to inquire) Hortensius could not be heard of, only that he went forth before day. Nevertheless he held his purpose; and the Prince of Cyparissa, and all the persons of quality that were with these two Princes, accompanied him. I was one amongst others, of this hunting-match: but it fell out strangely, that we went to begin our chase on one side of the Temple of Diana: So that the Horses of Hortensius and Attalus being got loose, that of Hortensius, which was very remarkable, and had been given him by Melanthus, happened to pass by him, to approach to one that belonged to the Horse of that Prince, who was wont to dress him, and at such times used to make him follow without the bridle. This Horse was presently known to belong to Hortensius; so that Melanthus, who loved him very dearly, though he resented his having been overcome by him, beheld him with so much the more inquietude, for that he perceived many sprinklings of blood upon him, though he were not wounded. In which perplexity he commanded the company to divide themselves, and seek out tidings of Hortensius. The Prince of Cyparissa went one way with five or six of his Friends, and Eumenes another; Agenor who seemed in despairing affliction, went wand'ring about the fields, and Melanthus being followed by a great number, went directly to the backside of the Temple, as if the gods had guided him by the hand: I was at that time with him, and thereby came to be well informed of what had passed in that place. When we arrived there, we found that these two slaves I told you of, instead of rendering their Masters what succour they were able, believing them both dead, had quarrelled and were fight together with their swords. The appearance of the Prince parted them; he that belonged to Attalus would have escaped away, but he of Hortensius came before Melanthus who commanded they should stop the others flight; which was soon done. Melanthus advancing further, was very much surprised, to behold Hortensius all covered with blood, and to see Attalus lie dead by him. Which spectacle melting his heart more towards Hortensius, who he perceived had killed a man he hated, he alighted from his Horse, and went himself to see whether Hortensius had yet any life left in him, uttering the most passionate expressions in the World. At this noise which was made about him, Hortensius began to come to himself a little from his swound, sending forth a faint sigh, and half opening his eyes, which he shut again the next moment. Melanthus perceiving he was not dead, sent to a Priest who dwelled near the Temple, to prepare a bed for him: and then caused him to be carried by his servants to it. After which, calling for Attalus' slave, he understood from him, that 'twas he that run against Hortensius at the Olympic Games, and would not discover his countenance. Wherefore no longer doubting, but that he engaged Hortensius to meet him in that place, when he spoke softly to him in the middle of the Carrier after his victory, his principal care was of succouring Hortensius. Yet he generously commanded the Priest, to whose house he had caused this illustrious wounded person to be carried, to take care of the Sepulture of Attalus; but his mind was more solicitous to get Hortensius cured. To which purpose, he gave order for some to go and fetch Surgeons, while himself in the mean time, assisted those that endeavoured to stop the blood, which began to flow afresh, as soon as Hortensius was recovered from his swound, by some remedies given him. But when Agenor with strange regret beheld Hortensius in this condition; violent grief being a thing, which when it surprises of a sudden, makes those that resent it to utter something many times contrary to their judgement and intention; he cried out two or three times, Is this the manner, O ye gods! that ye cause the unfortunate Hortensius to reign? These words were twice noted by Melanthus; but for that he was very much afflicted, he made no reflection upon them at that time. At length the Surgeons arrived, and betook themselves to search Hortensius' wounds. But whilst they were reasoning among themselves, and the Prince was walking about the chamber, with a strange impatience, to know what he might hope concerning life of his Favourite, the slave of this illustrious wounded person, taking away the clothes of his Master, which the Surgeons delivered to him, passed hastily, out of respect, by Melanthus, to carry them from thence. But as he passed by, Melanthus beheld Elismonda's picture fall down, which was missed at their memorable Walk. For you must know, Madam, that Hortensius ever after carried it about him. You may easily judge, how strangely Melanthus, who knew it, was surprised at it, and what trouble this accident excited in his mind. He took up the Picture without the slaves taking notice of it; and I, who had seen the picture before, was very much amazed But now the same Prince, Madam, who a moment before desired Hortensius' life as his own, and considered him as a man to whom he o wed his conquests, and who had newly slain the person he hated most in the world, did no sooner suspect that he was his Rival, but he believed also that he had betrayed him with Elismonda; that he not only loved her, and was loved by her, but that he had likewise some secret Intrigue of Ambition besides for at the same moment he called to mind the exclamations he heard uttered by Agenor. Wherefore without enquiring of the Surgeons what they thought concerning Hortensius' wounds, he went into another chamber, where he walked without speaking a word, testifying sufficiently by the trouble of his countenance, he had something in his breast which extremely tormented him. But at length, making great violence against his resentments, he suffered the Surgeons to come and tell him, that though Hortensius was very dangerously wounded, yet he was not absolutely to be despaired of. After which he made them a sign to retire; and the Prince of Cyparissa, Eumenes, and all the rest being come, Melanthus seemed to them, to be more possessed with choler than grief; but at length, having determined in his mind what to do, he went away without approaching to the bed where Hortensius was. But at his departure, he left half of his Guards with him, with order to hinder Hortensius from being removed to any other place without his commission. Agenor being ignorant what reasons obliged Melanthus to this, was desirous to abide with his friend; but the Prince commanded him to follow him, without giving him any reason for it. Eumenes also was denied to stay behind, though he requested it; and it was in vain, that I offered myself to take care of this Illustrious person, during the danger of his wounds: so that there remained with him only a slave, the Surgeons, the Priest, the Prince's guards, and he that commanded them. At this time also the Prince of Cyparissa having purposed to return to Pisa, after the hunting, took leave of Melanthus, and departed with his own followers: The Prince of Messena being left now in greater liberty, appeared more tormented than before; by the way, he gave order to some of his Attendants to look well to Agenor, and without more discourse went silently to the place where he lay the preceding night. As soon as he was arrived there, he commanded Agenor to follow him, having something to speak to him; after which, he ordered Eumenes to redouble his care in the guard of Elismonda, and sent to seize upon the Cabinet of Hortensius, which he caused to be brought to him, imagining he should find some Letters in it from the Princess of Elis. As soon as he had broke it open, instead of finding what he sought for, he unhappily found a memorial written in the same character, with that of the four Verses in Elismonda's Picture-Case. For Love and Jealousy had so deeply engraved that hand in his imagination, that he scarce knew his own writing better than he did that. And now no longer doubting, that Hortensius had taken the Picture, that Hortensius had made the Verses, and that Hortensius was in love with Elismonda; he also questioned not but that he was loved by her, that he had betrayed him, that he was ingrateful, and that he had some hidden design, wherein ambition bore a part. He therefore caused Agenor to enter into his Closet; but, in-instead of receiving him well, as he was wont, for Hortensius' sake, he beheld him very fiercely, and demanded of him what he meant when perceiving Hortensius wounded, he cried out, ask the gods if this were the manner, in which they would cause Hortensius to Reign. Agenor at first was a little amazed, and answered not directly. So that Melanthus confirming himself in his opinion and letting loose the impetuosity of his humour, No, no, Agenor, (said he to him) seek not to disguise the truth, I must resolve this obscure Riddle, and know thoroughly, all that the perfidious Hortensius has complotted against me. Alas, my Lord (answered Agenor!) Hortensius is the most faithful servant you have. Hortensius (replied Melanthus) is ungrateful and unworthy; and I shall know how to punish his ingratitude and unworthiness, if he die not of his wounds. Agenor found himself strangely perplexed at this; for Hortensius had forbidden him to discover any of the Predictions which had occasioned his banishment out of his own Country, for fear he should Reign there. But after having a while defended himself, he feared he might injure his friend instead of serving him, by being obstinate not to discover the cause of his exclamation; for there was no other means to put a good construction upon what he had said, but by laying open the truth of it. Agenor therefore declared it ingenuously, thinking to justify Hortensius; and so in few words recounted what had been the occasion of that which Melanthus heard him speak. But jealousy possessing his mind with a great disposition to interpret all things to the disadvantage of Hortensius, this information of Agenor perfectly incensed him, there arising a mixture of divers sentiments in his mind, which put him into extreme confusion. He felt in himself the violences of jealousy, choler, despite to have been obliged by Hortensius, regret for having loved him, and some slight reluctance against ill treating him: a great desire to see him die, and some fear of seeing what was foretold concerning him, come to pass, though he was not accustomed easily to give credit to Predictions. Thus love, hatred, friendship, glory, and jealousy dividing his mind, he continued some time in a great incertainty; but at length not being able to contain his grief in his breast, after he had commanded Agenor to be taken into custody, he went to find the Princess Andronice. When he came to the Apartment of this Princess, it was told him she was at that of Elismonda; but instead of going thither according to his custom, he sent to tell her he expected her at her own. This proceeding amazed the Princess so much the more, in that they were newly told, some great accident was fallen out, though they could not learn what it was. Yet Andronice, as she was going from Elismonda's Lodgings to her own, understood Hortensius had slain Attalus, and was himself very dangerously wounded. So that she believed Melanthus desired to see her only to communicate to her the grief he resented for the danger Hortensius was in. I come, my Lord, (said she to him) to help you to commiserate the generous Hortensius; for though I have reason to be glad of the death of Attalus, yet the sorrow I have for his wounds that overcame him, renders me uncapable to taste the sweetness of revenge. Alas! my Sister (cried the Prince) you ill understand my thoughts, if you commiserate the most unworthy, perfidious, and ingrateful of men. But, my Lord, (replied Andronice all amazed) 'tis not Attalus, but Hortensius that I commiserate. I mean him also (answered he) 'tis Hortensius that has betrayed me, 'tis Hortensius that is my Rival, 'tis Hortensius that projects to Reign in Elismonda's heart, and in my dominions, and in a word, Hortensius is he that I hate, as much as I have loved him, and whom I will punish so severely, that he shall serve for an example of Ingratitude to posterity. But my Lord (said Andronice) I confess I know not Hortensius according to the description you make of him. Have you forgot, Hortensius was he that hindered me from being carried away by Attalus, and that you owe part of your Conquests to his valour and counsels, that he had the good fortune to save your life in the last battle, that he has done his utmost for you with Elismonda, that he was unwilling to dispute the victory with you at the Olympic Games, and has newly slain Attalus whom you hated? 'Tis true, (answered the Prince fiercely) he has done all that you speak of; but since he loves Elismonda, I ought to hate him more than I hated Attalus. After which, he told her all he had discovered; and then declared to her all he thought, and at last intimated that he doubted not but that Hortensius loved Elismonda, and she him; that he had betrayed him, and complotted to Reign in some place or other, either in the Country of Elis, or that of Messena. This discourse of Melanthus seeming grounded upon very strong presumptions, Andronice knew not what to answer. She had great kindness and gratitude for her Deliverer, but yet was at a loss what to conjecture concerning the adventure of the Picture. She called to mind, she had upon divers occasions observed Hortensius had a very tender affection towards Elismonda. Nevertheless, she had so great an opinion of his virtue, that she could not believe him capable of perfidiousness. But though she desired to excuse him, she could find nothing to say in his defence, in reference to his love of Elismonda, of which the Picture was a convincing testimony; but as for the design of Reigning, she told the Prince there was no appearance Hortensius ever had a thought of it. But on the contrary (answered Melanthus) I believe he is in love, only because he is ambitious; and to speak without prejudice, it must be confessed, Fortune has in a manner forced him to be so; for that which he did in acknowledgement of the obligation he had to you, was the cause I received him at first with an extraordinary goodness. After which, his valour proving Fortunate, he saw himself in a short time become more powerful than myself, by the credit I gave him in my heart. In the mean time, this unworthy person, as he is, betrays me in the most cruel manner in the world. Of all that I have conquered, and of all that I can ever conquer, (added he) I desire only the heart of Elismonda, which he deprives me of, under pretence of gaining it for me; and by a most horrid perfidiousness, uses the permission I give him to see Elismonda, to draw her to love himself, to make her hate me, and to contrive with her without doubt, how to possess himself of the principality of Elis, and perhaps to poniard me. But, my Lord (replied Andronice) if there had been any intimacy between Hortensius and the Princess Elismonda, he would not have committed the prank of the picture. Not, if he had had discretion (answered Melanthus) but love and ambition blinded him; and believing it impossible I should discover it was he, he made himself pleasant at my cost. In short, (added he) to understand more clearly, whether he be as much loved as he loves, I will go myself and inform Elismonda of the danger Hortensius is in, and dissemble my choler at first, if I can, to the end it may not hinder her from manifesting her sorrow, and I may the better sound the secret of her soul. But, my Lord (answered Andronice) do not seek to torment yourself; give me commission to discover the sentiments of the Princess of Elis, and go not about to judge of her by deceitful conjectures. For is it possible, she should be otherwise than afflicted with the danger Hortensius is in, though she had seen him only twice? No, no, (replied the incensed Prince) I will be the spy myself, and if I discover that Elismonda loves Hortensius, as I scarce doubt it, I will then redouble all the revenge I am preparing for that ungrateful person, who has so horridly betrayed me. Having spoken this, he went immediately to the apartment of the Princess of Elis. Andronice would have been glad he had not gone thither without her, but he would not permit her to accompany him. When he entered into Elismonda's chamber, she was speaking to Cleontine, and wondering she had not seen Hortensius all the day; and speaking this something aloud, Melanthus overheard the name of Hortensius. At which he blushed with indignation, and changing his resolution of dissembling his sentiments, approached towards the Princess of Elis, and looking upon her attentively, He that you mention Madam, (said he to her) is not in a condition to make you a visit; for he is wounded very dangerously in several places. Oh gods! (cried Elismonda hastily, turning pale with fear) into what mischievous adventure is the generous Hortensius fallen? You give him a title that so ill befits him, Madam, (said Melanthus) that to prevent your overmuch commiserating him, I must declare to you that he is the most temerarious and perfidious person in the world. I have always found him so respectful (replied she) and I know he serves you so faithfully, that I can scarce believe he merits to be styled perfidious and temerarious. When I shall tell you (answered he) that he is amorous of you, that it was he that stole your picture, and made the four Verses, which gave you such curiosity, you must necessarily agree with me concerning his audaciousness: and when I shall moreover add, that I know, that instead of endeavouring to promote my interests with you, he has only contrived to serve himself, notwithstanding whatever hatred you bear against me, you will be obliged to confess, that in reference to me, he is a perfidious person, which deserves a thousand punishments; and in relation to yourself, an audacious one, that is unworthy of the goodness you have for him. I know not, my Lord (replied she) who has misinformed you, that Hortensius is my Lover; but I can swear to you with truth, that if he be so, he has made a great secret of it to me, and has spoken a thousand and a thousand things to me in your favour, which a Lover uses not to speak in behalf of his Rival. And as for the Picture you mention, if Hortensius took it away, could he be sufficiently imprudent to show it, or tell it to any. No, Madam (answered he) but he has been unhappy enough to lose it, after he was wounded in kill Attalus, with whom he fought. Yes, Madam, with my own eyes I saw the Picture fall, and I was he that took it up without his knowing it; and to complete the conviction of his perfidiousness, I have caused his Cabinet to be opened, and have there found divers things of the same hand he made use of to write the four verses. So that, Madam, 'tis beyond all doubt, that Hortensius is an unworthy, and an ungrateful Traitor; and the question is only to know, whether you be a complice of his Crimes. If I believe him concerning the rigour you have against me, (added the Prince) you not only know that Hortensius loves you, but you love him: and I know not, whether after he informed you of the pretended predictions which say, He must reign one day in some place, you have not complotted something against me, in hope he might restore Elis to you, and hinder me from taking Pisa. My Lord (answered Elismonda, with extreme prudence) I shall not stand to deny that Hortensius is amorous of me, for I confess to you sincerely, I know nothing of it; though I shall withal tell you, that it seems to me not impossible, because he has appeared really to interess himself obligingly in all my concernments: but that which I am able to swear to you with sincerity, is this, If Hortensius be a Lover of mine, you are a thousand times more obliged to him, than if he were not; since 'tis the greatest truth in the world, that he has omitted to do nothing that might induce me to receive your affection in the way you desire. And therefore, my Lord, if Hortensius be amorous of me, it concerns me to take it ill, and not you. Leave me then the care of punishing him for this crime, and if you have no other to charge him with, be cautious how you dismiss him of your friendship. For, my Lord, I swear it to you once more, There is nothing which Hortensius has not done to oblige me to treat you better: and to speak with the greatest sincerity I can possible, 'tis neither to your affection, nor to my prudence, that you owe the small complacency I have shown towards you, but to the persuasions of Hortensius. Ah Madam, (replied he roughly!) I will owe nothing to Hortensius. That perhaps, would be sufficiently difficult (answered she;) for being what is passed cannot be altered, you will always owe too many things to him. I understand you well, Madam, (said he to her) you would intimate that I owe part of my victories to him; but, to let you see, I am able to overcome without him, if he die not of the wounds he has received, I will return him into the same condition he was in when he came to my Court, that is, I will send him to wander again about the world, without fortune and subsistence, provided you persuade me effectually that you do not love him. For if you treat me so (added this violent Prince) that I have cause to believe you do, nothing shall be able to restrain me from putting him to death. I have already told you (answered Elismonda in great amazement) that I know nothing of Hortensius' love, and that he alone induced me to treat you more respectfully than I should have done, if I had followed my true sentiments; but that which I shall tell you at present is, that had you put Hortensius, to death, I should never look upon you but with horror. Ah! Cruel person that you are (cried Melanthus) what is this that you make me hear? For if you have known the Love of Hortensius, which I scarce doubt of, I am the the most unfortunate of men, and he the most criminal; and if you knew it not before, why does not the discovery I now make to you of it, incense you against him: Is it a usual thing (added he) for a great Princess to take it well to be loved by such a man as Hortensius, who dares not return into his own Country, because 'tis feared lest he one day become the Tyrant of it? If Hortensins be not amorous of me (answered she) I should be very unjust in taking away any friendship from him; and if he be, as you say, I ought to redouble my esteem towards him, since he does the most generous, heroical, and difficult act in the world, which is to serve his Rival, and to have so much respect, as to be in love and not declare it. But, though it were true, Madam (replied Melanthus) that Hortensius has concealed his passion from you, is it not enough to make him Criminal against me, that he is enamoured on you? Why did he not oppose that passion when it first sprung up in his heart; and if he could not do that, why did he not betake himself to some place where he might never see you during his life? But, my Lord (answered Elismonda coldly) if Love be voluntary, Why do not you cease to love a person that cannot love you? or, if you be unable to do so, Why do you not remove her far from your sight for ever? Ah! Madam (cried he) you love Hortensius, and you would not speak as you do, if he were indifferent to you. I have without doubt (answered she) all the esteem for him imaginable, and the most tender friendship that any heart is capable of; therefore, my Lord, preserve his life, if you love me. Elismonda spoke this after so passionate a manner, though she did not design to do so, that Melanthus well perceived she had at least a very strong inclination to love Hortensius; and being infinitely ingenious, drew a consequence that gave him very great torment. For after having spoken of the Predictions which occasioned Hortensius to be banished from his Country, and Elismonda not requiring of him the clearing up of a thing so extraordinary, she thence conjectured that she had understood it from Hortensius. So that his jealousy redoubling, he became strangely transported against that generous Veientine. Nevertheless, there were some moments, in which he spoke to Elismonda with an extreme tenderness; I beseech you, Madam (said he to her) excuse my transport: it is so difficult to have very much love, and very much moderation at the same time, that if you would consider the fury that possesses me as an effect of the greatness of my affection, you would not condemn me for it, but pity me. But alas! it is easy for you to oblige me to pardon Hortensius. Yes Madam (added he) I have so high an opinion of your virtue, that if you render me happy, I will not banish Hortensius. I will even do what I am able, to restore him to my friendship; at least I will change nothing in his fortune, nor attempt any thing upon his life. The destiny of Hortensius therefore is in your hands; and if he has not discovered to you his love, and you have none for him, resolve, Madam, to end the War and my miseries, We are soon at the end of the Truce; consider therefore seriously upon what I propound to you. Your quiet is concerned, Hortensius s life and all my felicity. Do not incense a Prince, who is not master of his resentment when he is affronted, who requires nothing of you, but what is advantageous to you, and who, notwithstanding your being a prisoner, is more subject to your pleasure than any other Lover ever was. If it were so (answered she) you would not act as you do. But, in brief, my Lord, (added the Princess) I have long since given you to understand, that so long as I continue a prisoner, I would never think of marrying; that it's requisite first to make a peace, and after that I shall consider what resolution I ought to take. Persist, if you please, in these terms; and in the mean time forget not what I told you, that if you should put Hortensius to death, I should never see you but with horror. I shall remember it, Madam, I shall remember it (replied Melanthus, as he was rising up) and since all I have now said to you, does not oblige you to change your sentiments, we shall see whether Melanthus incensed, will be more pleasing than Melanthus submiss and respectful. You love Hortensius (said he to her) but before long you shall repent your having loved him. Elismonda was going to answer him, but he went forth roughly and would not hear her. Being violent in all his resolutions, and having at that time no person near him, to repress part of the impetuosity of his humour, he immediately, without considering Hortensius' condition, sent order to have him carried to Elis. He also commanded Eumenes to convey the Princess Elismonda thither about evening, and prepared himself to follow them. Elismonda as yet ignorant of this order, was entertaining herself with her dear Cleontine, to whom she related in few words all that Melanthus had spoken; for Cleontine retired out of respect, when Melanthus came to the Princess. But after having repeated to her this long conversation; Well, Cleontine (said she) What say you of this hard adventure, and what do you think of Hortensius' virtue? For he never made the least mention to me of his passion, but contrarily, did all he could for Melanthus. I confess I have oftentimes seen in his eyes some tokens of his love, but it was against his will. And perhaps also Madam (answered Cleontine) he has perceived in yours, against your Will too, that you have a very great inclination for him; for I have observed it upon a hundred several occasions. I confess, Cleontine, (answered Elismonda) I have for Hortensius not only esteem, but admiration, not only friendship, but dearness, gratitude, and inclination; and I doubt not but if his fortune and mind had so much resemblance as our affections, we should love eternally. But Hortensius shall never know what I have now told you and, as he never declared to me he loved me, both out of a sentiment of respect, and fidelity, he resolved to preserve for Melanthus, though I should see him again, he should never know how advantageous my thoughts are of him; for I would never betray myself; and virtue is not less powerful in my heart than in his. But, alas! (added she, sighing) I shall never see him perhaps while I live; for Melanthus will banish, or put him to death, if he escape the danger of his wounds: Thus I see myself exposed to the violent humour of a Prince, whose jealousy may prompt him to strange enormities. As Elismonda was speaking thus, the Princess Andronice entered, who told her with very much sorrow, that she came to give her notice that she must return to Elis at that very hour. This news surprised and afflicted Elismonda; but it was necessary to obey, and Andronice and Cleontine comforted her the best they could. But to the end, the departure of Elismonda might not be so soon known to the Prince of Cyparissa, who was returned to Pisa, Melanthus thought fit Andronice should continue still all the next day at the house of the virtuous Elisante, who beheld Elismonda depart with very much sorrow. On the other side, Melanthus caused Hortensius likewise to be removed, though the Surgeons told him it could not be done without danger. So he was by order to be put into a Chariot, without being acquainted with the cause of this change; for they which were about him knew nothing of it. But having a very ready reason, he judged that being he was removed in the night, and in such a condition; there must needs be some extraordinary matter, especially not seeing the Prince, and receiving no message from him. Yet he imagined at first, Melanthus, perhaps, had discovered that the Prince of Cyparissa plotted something towards the end of the Truce, which was almost expired and therefore thought fit to remove him further from Pisa. But when it behoved him to dress himself, that he might be put into the Chariot that was provided for him, he called the Slave which was left to serve him, and demanded his clothes. His first thought was to see whether Elismonda's picture were in the place where he had hid it. He was much astonished when he did not find it there, asked the Slave whether he had not seen it, who answering No, he caused him to search all about, without telling the Guards what he sought for: but at length it behoved him to depart, without knowing any thing of the picture. Hortensius then demanded where Agenor was, but 'twas told him the Prince had commanded him to follow him; he than began to wonder that none of his attendants had been with him since they knew he was wounded. But at last, the Priest believing it reasonable to let him know the truth, acquainted him, that the Prince of Messena appeared at first very much afflicted for his wounds, and had himself assisted to carry him; but while he was dressing, he changed his sentiments, went away very sad, put guards upon him, prohibited any of his servants to come to him, commanded Agenor to follow him, and that he lately heard he had caused his Cabinet to be seized. O gods! (cried the unhappy Hortensius) is it possible I should be so innocent, and so miserable? after which he was silent, and suffered himself to be lifted into the Chariot which attended him. One of the Surgeons who had dressed him, being unwilling to forsake him, took horse with the Guards to follow him; and this Illustrious wounded person, notwithstanding his late victory in the Olympic Games, and the glory he had gotten in several Combats, particularly in that fresh one with Attalus, found himself the most unfortunate of men: Great griefs of mind, oftentimes causing forgetfulness of those of the body, Hortensius felt little pain in his wounds, by reason of his perplexity, in imagining Melanthus might perhaps believe he had betrayed him, and Elismonda be offended with him, if she came to understand this adventure. Yet there were some moments in which he trusted in his own innocence towards his Master, and the respect he had had to his Mistress, hoping he might appease Melanthus, as soon as he could speak with him: but he always believed he should be forced to quit his former commerce with Elismonda, and be at least deprived of the contentment of seeing her, if he desired to cure Melanthus of his jealousy. Hortensius' entertained himself after this sad manner in the Chariot he was put into; the diversity of objects did not divert him from such melancholy musing, it being night when he set forth to depart. But as it is not possible to travel with much speed at such hours, day began to appear, when he was yet sixty surlongs from Elis; besides, his being wounded, occasioned him to go very gently. The first rays of the Sun beginning now to break forth, and all objects becoming easily discernible, Hortensius perceived he was in a Valley, at the end of which, where he was to pass by, he beheld a Chariot broken, two Women standing at the foot of a tree, and several men on horseback about them; but drawing nearer, he discerned that those two women were Elismonda and Cleontine. This sight amazed him, and made him almost forget that he was wounded. He put forth his head, and respectfully saluted the Princess of Elis; who was not less astonished than he: and turning pale, and casting a languishing look upon Cleontine, Alas! (said she to her, sighing) behold the unfortunate Hortensius! As she spoke these words, he that commanded the Guards, seeing this Chariot, and understanding it was going to Elis, thought he might conveniently leave Hortensius in a cottage of Shepherds that was hard by, and make use of his to carry the Princess of Elis; for the axletree of hers was broken, and her Ladies by the Prince's order were left behind with Andronice, as well as the fair Chrysilia, and the charming Claricia. He whose design this was intended to send the same Chariot back to Hortensius, as soon as the Princess should be arrived. But for that the Commander of Hortensius' Convoy, had express order to carry him to Elis, he opposed the proposal of the other, to leave him in that Shepherd's cottage, alleging, it behoved him to do what was commanded him, and the most he dare do, was to give way for the Princess and Cleontine to go into Hortensius' Chariot, though usually decency does never allow men to be in the same Chariot with a Princess of that rank. During this contest, Hortensius' Chariot stayed right against Elismonda: But though this unhappy Lover was not ignorant, all she said would be related to Melanthus, yet he could not contain himself from speaking to the Princess. I desire your pardon, Madam (said he to her) If I do not pay you all the respect I owe you: but the condition I am in, aught to oblige you not to hate me. I wish to the gods (answered Elimonda) you were in the same condition you were in the first day I knew you; you would be less miserable, and I more happy. For I fear all things (added she) from the Prince of Messena, since you are no longer with him. Upon these words, the two Commanders, who had contested civilly together, told the Princess what they had concluded on, which when Hortensius heard, he endeavoured, as wounded as he was. to get out of the Chariot, but his weakness hindered his purpose, the Princess also commanding him not to stir from his place, adding with very great prudence, that prisoners having more caution to use than others, she had rather expect till another Chariot were fetched from Elis, than to enter into that where he was. As she was speaking this, the generous Lover beheld her in such a manner, that Cleontine well perceived, he passionately loved Elismonda. Who on her part, looked upon him with so obliging a compassion, that it rather deserved the name of tenderness than pity; but neither of them dared to express all their sentiments. At length Hortensius speaking, I beseech you Madam, (said he) command me to be left in that Cottage I see there, and serve yourself of the Chariot I am in, since 'tis perhaps the last time of my life, I shall have the honour to do you a small service. Hortensius had scarce spoke this, but Melanthus appeared and broke off their discourse: his presence equally surprised Elismonda and Horensius, and himself was not a little amazed to find them together. He that was incharged to conduct Elismonda, went to him forthwith, to inform him of the accident of the broken Chariot, and the meeting that of Hortensius': but as he was going to tell him the proposal he had made, to oblige Elismonda to use Hortensius' Chariot, he seemed very much incensed, and before he approached near the Princess of Elis, he commanded they should carry that illustrious wounded person to Elis, adding, that he would give convenient orders for conducting the Princess thither too. And happening to have met two Chariots of Ladies passing by, who after they had seen the Olympic Games, stayed at Olympia, and were then returning to Elis, he caused one of his followers to go to the place where he had overtaken them, and desire them to come and take up the Princess of Elis; which in a little time accordingly they did. In the mean time Hortensius was very desirous to speak to Melanthus, notwithstanding he much feared it, but he had not opportunity: for they sped his Chariot away so fast, that all he could do, was only to say to one of the Princess' guards: I beseech you, (said he to him) do me the favour to tell the Prince, I am not more unworthy of the honour of his friendship, than I was the next day after the last battle, wherein I had the good fortune to fight near him After which he put forth his head to salute Melanthus, though he was far behind, and then turning towards the Princess, with more strength than he seemed capable of; I wish to the gods, Madam, I may at least understand you are happy, before I die. And I wish to the gods (answered she, beholding him passionately) you be not yet more unhappy than now I see you, though at the present, you are worthy of all my compassion. Hortensius' being after these words hurried away, Melanthus alighting from his Horse came towards her, expecting the Chariots which were now in sight, to come and take her up; I perceive you are very sad, Madam (said he to her) and the miseries of Hortensius affect you very sensibly. If you find me very sad (answered she) I find you very unjust and inhuman, in accusing an innocent person, and being so little sensible in the miseries of a man, who was not wounded but in overcoming your most mortal enemy. He has offended me more replied he with a tone sufficiently fierce) in loving the Princess of Elis, than he has served me in kill Attalus. For, in brief, he fought only to save his own Honour and Life; but in loving you, Madam, he has done all he could to cause my death, since I doubt not, but his affection induced you to contemn mine. I have already told you (answered she) that if Hortensius loves me, you ought to redouble your affection towards him, since he has ever employed all possibilities, to induce me to love you, and you alone by your injustice have forced me to hate you. Ah! Madam (cried he) do not undertake to deceive a jealous and unhappy Lover, who is more quicksighted than others. Elismonda was about to answer Melanthus, but the arrival of those two Chariots of Ladies hindered her, for being desirous to be free from him, she took the occasion, and entered into one of these Chariots (the Ladies of both which alighted to leave her the choice) Cleontine following her, and the Ladies crowding into the other, because Melanthus would not permit any to be in that of Elismonda. They who had order to conduct the Princess, went forward, and Melanthus taking his Horse, rid more slowly than he had done before, regulating his Horse's pace so, as always to have Elismonda's Chariot in his eye: In the mean time, they who conducted Hortensius, carried him into a Tower, where the Princess of Elis, used to put Prisoners of State. Elismonda as soon as she arrived, was very diligently guarded in the Palace, where no person had liberty to see her besides Cleontine, and some women to attend on her.  
But although Melanthus had left Andronice, at the house of the virtuous Elisante, on purpose to deceive the Prince of Cyparissa, and Eumenes had done all he could by his Master's orders to keep the Princess of Elis' departure from coming to his knowledge; yet he was advertised of it by a slave belonging to Andronice, whom he caused to be corrupted by one of his followers. Understanding therefore that Elismonda was carried away to Elis, and the Princess of Messenia was to stay a day longer at the house of Elisante, he believed he could not better serve Elismonda, as affairs stood, than by taking away the Princess Andronice, for whom Melanthus had as great a friendship as he was capable of. He communicated his design to two or three of the most considerable Officers of his Army, who were with him, and to two men of principal quality in Pisa. At first they told him, that the truce being to last some days longer, this action would be a public breach of it. But the Prince of Cyparissa represented to them, that the secret conveying away of the Princess of Elis, and the disgrace of Hortensius, signified Melanthus not very solicitous about a peace, that he had some great discontentment upon his mind, and therefore it would be best to provide for the Princess of Elis' safety. Yet they with whom he was thus urgent, would not have yielded to his proposal, had it not fallen out, that precisely at the same time, news came that there had been a Skirmish between some horsemen of Melanthus' Army, and some Troops of that of the Prince of Cyparissa, with assurance also that is was begun by the forces of Melanthus. So that this first act of hostility serving for a pretext, they no longer disallowed the Prince of Cyparissa's design, which he betook himself immediately to execute: To which purpose he put himself in the head of three hundred horse, and went to take away Andronice, at the Castle of Melisaris. At his first coming, Eumenes endeavoured to make resistance, but being presently wounded, he became a prisoner. The fair Chrysilia, and the charming Claricia, had the same destiny with the Princess of Messenia: but as for the virtuous Elisante, she remained free in the middle of two Enemy-Armies, and was alike favoured by both parties; so greatly is Virtue respected by all the World. But the Princess of Cyparissa, who only sought Elismonda's safety, and infinitely honoured the Princess Andronice, treated her with all imaginable respect, and all the Ladies of her Train with extreme civility. He desired pardon of the Princess of Messenia, for the violence he did to her, he assured her, it was only to serve a Princess whom she loved, and who loved her, and to restrain part of the impetuosity of the Prince her Brother. Andronice being very discreet, and esteeming the Prince of Cyparissa, pardoned the violence he did her upon the account of his excessive passion, and told him that he was without doubt in a wrong course, for that she could have done the Princess Elismonda better service, if she were with the Prince her Brother, than he could do by keeping her at Pisa. But the thing being already done, there was no remedy left. Eumenes also said the same to the Prince of Cyparissa, at his going to visit him, when he was at Pisa, which occasioned this Lover the regret of thinking that perhaps what he had done, might rather prejudice than advantage the Princess of Elis. But that which completed his affliction, was, that the day following he was advertised of that which till then he had been ignorant of, namely Hortensius' love to Elismonda, and Melanthus' jealousy and belief that Elismonda loved Hortensius; for his Maxims having always been, to cease to love, as soon as he believed his Mistress favoured another, this incertainty into which this news brought him, gave him greater torment than can be imagined. But if the Prince of Cyparissa suffered very much, Melanthus also suffered all the inquietudes that Love, Jealousy, and Ambition could afflict him with; especially, when he understood the Prince of Cyparissa had carried away the Princess Andronice, with all the Ladies that were with her, and that Eumenes was a Prisoner. That which perplexed him besides infinitely, was that he perceived the Inhabitants of Elis, murmured very much at the imprisonment of Hortensius; for having seen, that 'twas he that hindered Melanthus from continuing to treat them Tyrannically, as he had done before his coming, they vehemently feared lest he should quit the moderation he had used ever since that time, and treat them worse than ever. And indeed their fear was not without grounds, for this Prince resumed his former violence. At length War broke out again between both parties; yet the Prince of Cyparissa sent Propositions of Peace to Melanthus, offering to deliver the Princess Andronice, provided he would restore Elismonda: but he derided the proposition when it was made him, and contented himself to answer fiercely, that he would go to Pisa, to fetch the Princess his Sister, as soon as he had marmaryed Elismonda, and put Hortensius to death. In the mean time the wounds of this Illustrious Veientine, notwithstanding his unwillingness, did not grow worse in Prison, though he was the most unhappy of all men, chiefly because he was the most generous; for having always loved without hope, he was throughly accustomed to be miserable in reference to his Love. But his virtue having ever been immaculate, he could not suffer his Master should believe he had betrayed him. Besides that, fearing also, lest he should be transported to some violence against Elismonda, his perplexities were beyond all conception. He found some consolation in thinking he perceived a very tender pity towards him in the eyes of his dear Princess; but this comfort was overwhelmed, with so many different sorrows, and these moments of sweetness followed with so many tormenting hours, that he moved compassion in those that guarded him. Upon which, he prevailed with him that commanded his Guards, to desire urgently the favour of the Prince, that he might speak to him once more during his life. Melanthus refused it at first very roughly; but the next day a jealous sentiment induced him to desire what he refused. So when the unfortunate Hortensius lest expected him, he beheld this violent Prince enter into his chamber, but with so much fury in his eyes, that he had cause to think the Prince came himself to denounce to him the sentence of his death. Yet he seemed not moved at it, but on the contrary, being very glad of the opportunity to speak to him, he half rose up to salute him, the most respectfully the condition he was in permitted him. And beholding him with submission, I give you thanks my Lord (said he to him) for granting me what I desired of you; for I should have died with despair, if I had left you in the opinion that I had betrayed you. I doubted not, (answered this violent Prince) but you desired to speak with me, only to tell me things contrary to truth; and being ignorant that I had discovered your crimes, would dare to deny, you are in love with the Princess of Elis. No, my Lord, (replied Hortensius generously) I will not owe my justification to a lie, but only to my own Virtue. I confess to you therefore, that in spite of all my reluctancy, I became enamoured on the Princess Elismonda, and that whether I will or no, I shall love her, perhaps, eternally. Ha! unworthiness! (cried Melanthus, transported with fury) call you it being innocent, to become Rival to your Master? Is it possible to love, without desiring to be loved again? and can you desire to be Elismonda's, without being willing to render me unhappy, and without being the most criminal of all men? If Love were a thing voluntary (answered Hortensius) I should be ungrateful, and unworthy in becoming amorous of a Princess whom you love; but it not being so, my passion ought not to be ranked with my crimes, but only the effects of it considered. Thus my Lord, (added he) I can confidently say, that I am not only innocent, but that I have merited something in relation to your interests. For in brief, I have encountered with my passion, as much as I could, and when I found I could not overcome it, I employed the utmost powers of my reason, not to do any thing that might injure you. I have not only loved without hope, but I have given bounds to my thoughts, and my most secret desires never prejudiced the fidelity that I owe you. No, my Lord, I have not desired to be loved again, I have done all I could to promote the interests of your affection, and never attempted to make the least discovery of my own. Why then (demanded Melanthus roughly) did you write those four amorous Verses, in the place of Elismonda's picture? I know no reason for it myself, my Lord, (answered Hortensius) and that action, as criminal as it seems to you, is but an extravagance, and no such crime as you imagine it. For sincerely, I believed I should never be discovered, and concealed myself so well, in disguising my hand, that unless you have acquainted the Princess of Elis of it, she is still ignorant that 'twas I who took away her Picture; so great a truth is it, that I have been faithful to you. But what design had you then, in doing this rash piece of gallantry? (said Melanthus) I have already told you, my Lord, (answered Hortensius) that I know not myself; and all that I am able to say is, that I could not hinder myself from doing it, but that at that instant, an excess of love made me imagine, some light consolation, in thinking the Princess of Elis would understand, there was a person loved her, who she did not know. I believed also, that she would not open the Picture-case, till she were returned home, and that as she is very reserved, she would not tell the adventure to any person, and so without endangering any, I should procure myself a delectation, that would not prejudice you, and indeed never could; for the Princess could not prefer an Unknown Lover, and whom she was never to know, before a great Prince, accomplished with a thousand excellent qualities. But in fine, My Lord, (added he) to justify to you, what's passed by what's to come, if I die not by your indignation, and you will please to give me my liberty, I declare to you, that I will depart from you, never to return; and though I have no hope to be able to extinguish my love to the Princess Elismonda, yet that violent passion shall torment only myself, and never cause me to do any thing, either against her or you. Perhaps the same courage, which made me find a Sanctuary in your Court, may make me find another in some place whither I shall go, but as I shall seek nothing but death, when I have forsaken my Master and my Mistress, let Fortune work her pleasure upon me, I shall never repine. To conclude, my Lord, as I am not inconsiderable, so I shall not accuse you of injustice, though you are in some sort unjust towards me, for I know how extremely difficult it is, to be equitable when we love ardently. Therefore all the favour I desire of you, is, never to use any course but gentleness, to oblige the Princess Elismonda to render you happy. If you do otherwise, you will cause her to hate you; and if you take the sweeter course, 'tis possibly you may at length induce her to love you. Ah! Hortensius, (cried Melanthus) the counsel you give me, has more regard to Elismonda than to me. However it be (answered he sighing) the counsel I give you is faithful, and I have no interest in it. After this, there was a sufficiently long silence between these two Lovers, Melanthus betook himself to walk in Hortensius' chamber, Hortensius leaving himself to be transported by his muse, fell into such a profound cogitation, that he took no longer notice that Melanthus was in his Chamber. But though Melanthus came to see Hortensius with all the indignation that a jealous and incensed Rival is capable of, part of his choler was now appeased. It seemed to him, that Hortensius spoke with sincerity, and was not so culpable as he had believed him. Nevertheless, though it were so, and he was not ignorant, what great need he had of his valour and counsel, and the credit he had gained among the Soldiers, and the People, he could not resolve to keep Hortensius with him. For he had informed Elismonda himself, that Hortensius was amorous of her, and observed that she had very favourable inclinations towards him; and then he imagined, that if Hortensius had believed himself as much as in her favour as he was, he could not have contained himself in the terms he now found him in. So that considering he could not put Hortensius to death, and indeed now not desiring it, he looked upon his banishment as a necessary course to his own quiet, though very prejudicial to the good of his State. But as an amorous Prince is most sensible of the torment of his own mind, and desires rather the peace of his thoughts, than that of his people, he immediately resolved to give Hortensius' liberty, on condition that he would retire himself out of that Country forthwith. As soon as he had made this resolution, returning to Hortensius with a different air, from that he came first with, I will believe (said he to him) all that you tell me, but in believing it, (I confess to you Hortensius) I can no longer confide in your Virtue; and I think I may also add, that you would be to blame, if you confided in it yourself. I have without doubt, more obligation to you, than you have to me, since I have not so much as recompensed your services; but after all, I can never consent that you see Elismonda. Your worth and your love joined together, give me much fear; and though you were even capable to speak to her always in my favour, and never for yourself, yet you would not cease to prejudice me by that very virtue. But on the contrary, the good offices you would do me, would ruin me in her mind, and establish you there. Therefore necessity enforces me to deprive myself of all the services I might receive from you, to prevent myself from becoming perfectly miserable, and perfectly criminal. For in truth I declare to you, 'twas injustice in me to desire your death, and I know not what I shall think of, the next quarter of an hour, so much has jealousy disordered my reason. After this Hortensius spoke many affecting things to the Prince, insisting always to oblige him to take no other course with Elismonda, than that of sweetness. Melanthus having heard Hortensius with sufficient calmness, departed, after having resolved Hortensius, should be dismissed, as soon as his wounds would suffer him to travel. In the mean while, Melanthus to appease the people, who repined much at the imprisonment of Hortensius, conceded permission to several persons to see him; so that, during this interval, which was between liberty and imprisonment, many propositions were made to him, that he would take part against Melanthus, which he rejected with a generosity worthy of his great heart. But what satisfaction soever there be in doing what we ought, and being contented with one's self, Hortensius was notwithstanding very miserable; for he was deeply in love, and every instant that his health mended, hasted on his exile, and reduced into his mind, that he should never see Elismonda, whom he loved a thousand times more than his life. On the other side the Princess of Elis, who every day more hated Melanthus and compassionated Hortensius, understanding it was reported, the Prince of Messenia would banish him, as soon as he was cured, was very much afflicted at it, thinking she lamented him only as her Protector, though without doubt her heart considered him as her Lover. In this condition she imagined, that if Hortensius could go over to her side, Melanthus would soon be overcome; she considered also, that Hortensius not being born a Subject to Melanthus, and Melanthus having ill treated him, he might go and put himself into Pisa, and turn the balance of Victory, and she was so much the more pleased with this thought for that she hoped the valour of Hortensius, would diminish the lustre of the Prince of Cyparissa's actions, whom she did not affect. This being firm in her mind, her only care was, what course she might take to come to speak with Hortensius, before his departure. She communicated therefore her thoughts to Cleontine, who at first did not approve her design; but at length remembering that Hortensius drew victory with him, when he came to Melanthus, she believed that in the desperate estate wherein the affairs of the Princess were, it behoved to neglect nothing. For though during the Olympic Games the Prince of Cyparissaes had endeavoured to engage several people of Greece, in the interests of this Princess, yet his Negotiations were unprofitable, and ended only in proposals full of difficulties. But at length (to shorten my relation as much as I can) Cleontine consented to what Elismonda desired, and by means of one of the Officers who commanded those that guarded the Princess, they brought it about that a Letter was delivered to Hortensius when he was cured; for being to depart within two days, Melanthus kept him no longer in guard, but he went whither he pleased. This Prince was then so affected with a sense of Hortensius' generosity, that in spite of his love and his jealousy, he felt the friendship which he had for him, to revive in his breast. In the mean time you must know that the Princess having absolutely gained him to her that had procured Cleontine's Letter to be delivered to Hortensius, (for Elismonda would not write it) that he promised to bring him to her, if he would come. You may judge, Madam, in what condition Hortensius was when he was offered to be brought to the sight of the sole person of the World, whom he loved and could love. Cleontine's Ticket was almost in these terms.  THere is a person that desires to bid you Adieu, having a service to request of you, and esteeming you sufficiently, to be willing to be obliged to you. 
You may easily imagine what agitation Hortensius felt in his breast. He had resolved never to see Elismonda, and resented an incredible grief for it; and he was preparing himself for his departure to go and seek his death. For in this condition a Lover always believes he cannot live. And now this afflicted Lover finds beyond his expectation the person he loves desires to see him, and requests a service from him; his heart was moved troubled at it; and though he changed not his sentiments, and resolved to be always faithful to his Master, yet he had not the power to refuse that which his Mistress, yea and himself too desired. He knew well that he could not go see the Princess without exposing himself to a great danger, and that if Melanthus should discover it, he were utterly lost: but after all, he had too much love to be afraid to die in obeying Elismonda. He engaged himself therefore, to come one night to one of the Gates of the Garden, where this Officer promised to let him in, and to lead him into Cleontin's Chamber by a back stairs. And accordingly, the evening before the intended departure of Hortensius, this generous Lover went to the place where he was expected, and without being perceived, was conducted into Cleontine's Chamber, whither Elismonda came also. Never did Hortensius feel so great trouble in his Soul as at that time. Elismonda on her part appeared fearful, and trembling, and though she had no Criminal intention, there was nevertheless some confusion in her eyes. Cleontine herself also was extremely apprehensive, lest this interview should be discovered, and therefore not to lose such precious moments, seeing the Princess of Elis answered not to the first Compliment Hortensius made to her, he urged her to tell him what she desired of him. Is it possible, Madam (said Hortensius then) that an unfortunate exile should be able to render any service to the person in the World he honours most? Yes Hortensius (answered Elismonda) you are able to do me a great service, since you need but go and put yourself into Pisa, to cause me to reconquer my State, and regain my liberty, and crown yourself with glory; for I conceive after the ingratitude Melanthus has shown you, you are not restrained by honour from bearing Arms against him. Ah! Madam, (cried Hortensius) what do you demand of me, and how rigorous a trial do you put my virtue upon? But, in brief, Madam, (said he) before I answer directly to what you command me, I must acquaint you with the true condition of my Soul, though I had resolved never to discover it to you. But I beseech you, Madam, what presumption soever you apprehend in my words, be pleased to permit me the liberty of speaking. You shall afterwards punish me for my boldness as you please; and to oblige you to grant me this request, consider Madam, that this is the last time of my life I shall ever have the honour to speak to you, that I am departing to morrow morning never to see you more, and so I shall tell you but once that I love you more ardently than ever any person loved; and that 'tis only for that reason that I am forsaking you never to see you more. How! Hortensius: (interrupted Elismonda) I did not desire you to come hither to lose the respect you owe me; and if you continue to speak to me in the strain you have begun, you will force me to repent of the favour I do you. In the name of the gods, Madam (answered Hortensius) do not repent of it, consider once more that you will never see me again, and since I must of necessity refuse what you desire of me, it is very just that you hear my reasons. But if what you say were true, (replied Elismonda blushing) you would not refuse it; since a perfect Lover never refused any thing to the person he loved. Yet once more, Madam (said Hortensius) permit me to speak what displeases you, to the end I may afterwards tell you that which justifies me. Speak it then (answered Elismonda) but if it be possible, do not force me to hate you as much as I esteem you. If you should hate me, Madam (replied Hortensius) it would be with very great injustice; for I am really worthy of all your compassion. If you will call to mind how zealous I have been with you in behalf of the Prince of Messenia, you will easily conceive what I have suffered, since 'tis certain, I never spoke a word to you for his advantage, which cost me not a thousand sighs. 'Tis true, the impossibility of ever becoming happy assisted my virtue in this difficulty, and to tell you yet something more considerable, 'tis also true that seeing nothing more advantageous to your interests than to marry Melanthus, I pressed it still rather for your own sake than his, and at present though I love you even to adoration, I still exhort you to resolve to marry him. But what do I say? (recollected this transported Lover.) No, no, Madam, I counsel you nothing; and I conjure you only to consider that what you desire of me, would dishonour me unprofitably both to yourself and me, if I should obey you. For you are in Melanthus' power; perhaps I could make a shift to defend Pisa, without delivering you out of his hands; and on the contrary, I am persuaded, there is nothing more effectual to induce that Prince to the extremest violence, than to render him more unhappy than he is. And besides, Madam, suppose I should deliver you, I should do it only for the Prince of Cyparissa, whom I am informed you love; and the unfortunate Hortensius after having done an action unworthy of a man truly generous, should not render you happy, and withal see himself still an exile. For in truth, I love you enough, to be able to love you all my life without being happy; but I love you too much ever to be Spectator of the felicity of one of my Rivals. Withal, Madam, since the condition of your Fortune requires you to marry a Prince whom you love not, it would be better to marry Melanthus, in order to settling peace in the whole Country of Elis, (if you must marry one of the two) than by continuing the War to be obliged to marry the Prince of Cyparissa. Thus Madam it is necessary that the miserable Hortensius depart from you with the consolation of having done nothing that renders him unworthy your esteem. Melanthus received me generously into his Court, and as unknown as I was to all, and myself too, placed me above all the persons of quality in his Dominions. He confided in me, and has not treated me ill, but only because he loves you, and I adore you. Ha! Hortensius (answered Elismonda, blushing) Melanthus is greatly mistaken in believing you amorous of me; for if you loved me, you would consider, that not being born a subject to him, you might with no injury to your honour, change your side, and do what I desire. Alas! Madam, (replied Hortensius) you little know what a contest rends my Soul, and what torment I suffer in denying you. Yes Madam, (added he) whatever passion I have for glory, I would not answer for my virtue, if I saw any thing in your eyes that would allow me to hope, and If I could forget that the condition of your Fortune and mine is an invincible obstacle to my happiness. Therefore, Madam, if you would put my generosity to the utmost trial, you must let me understand that my respectful passion does not displease you, and that it would not be impossible but I may be loved. Ha! Hortensius (answered she) you desire too much, and that which you request of me is much more against my glory, than what I request of you is against yours. Go therefore, go where your destiny calls you, and leave me to die in restraint. While Elismonda was speaking this, there was heard a great noise upon the stairs, and a moment after, Melanthus was seen enter into Cleontine's Chamber; but with such fury in his eyes that never any man seemed so incensed. He immediately gave Hortensius the most sharp language that choler could inspire the most furious with: he also spoke with great indignation to Elismonda, and without hearing the excuses of either, commanded Hortensius should be remitted into prison, and the Princess of Elis confined so close, as not to go out of her chamber. She offered more than once to tell him, that Hortensius was not culpable, that it was her desire to speak with him, and that he had refused all she had requested of him, but he would understand nothing but his own fury. So his orders were obeyed, and Hortensius and Elismonda, saw themselves now more unhappy than ever. At their separation they beheld one another in so tender a manner, that they both understood at the same instant their love was attained to the highest pitch of ardour possible. This last misfortune of theirs was caused by that Officer, who introduced Hortensius into the Palace, which he did only out of an intention to destroy him; for that having been sometimes bred up under Attalus, whom Hortensius had slain, he was glad of an opportunity to revenge his death by such a treachery, and accordingly went and advertised Melanthus, that Hortensius was entered into Cleontine's Chamber. But in brief, Madam, I must pass over in few words this turn of the Fortune of these Illustrious persons, to tell you, that Melanthus heeding neither policy, nor humanity, nor gratitude, thought no other but to put Hortensius to death, whom he then looked upon as the most unworthy and perfidious of men. And that which caused him to regard him with the greater hatred, was, that this generous Lover, out of an excess of affection to Elismonda, would not go about to justify himself in the manner he might have done, by producing Cleontine's Letter; because he feared, lest if he did so, the Prince's fury should be turned against the Princess of Elis. Thus, though he were perfectly innocent in reference to Melanthus, yet he was apprehended by him as most Criminal. Hereupon he kept no measure in his revenge, and without observing any form of solemnly condemning Hortensius, only commanded he should be put to death. But this generous prisoner being extremely well beloved, there was no haste made to execute that order; but some rumour of this bloody design being spread abroad among the people, they made an insurrection. There were also some persons of quality that put themselves in the head of the people, and endeavoured to break open the prison. Melanthus was soon advertised of this; but instead of minding to appease this tumult by changing his orders, he rather resolved to hasten the death of Hortensius, believing when things was done, the people would be appeased of themselves. But as the gods protected the innocence of this generous prisoner, he was rescued so opportunely, that had they who endeavoured to force the Gates of the Tower, been but one quarter of an hour longer in becoming Masters of it, he had been lost. For they who were designed to put him to death, being entered by a back door, were already at that of his Chamber, when the incensed people seized on that of the Tower. So that he was delivered very happily; which being done, the most considerable of his deliverers told him this was not enough, but it was necessary to go and deliver Elismonda too. Yet Hortensius' generosity being always the same, he thanked them for having saved his life, and conjured them not to oblige him to draw his sword against a Prince who was his Master, exhorting them only to send to him, and require Elismonda's liberty; for in the disorder things than were in, he feared if he should appear amongst Melanthus' Enemies, that violent Prince might be so enraged as to put Elismonda to death. This answer did not wholly content his liberators, though his virtue occasioned their admiration. Therefore they left him under the Guard of a small number of people, and were carried with an ardour, of which they were no longer Masters, to set upon the Prince's Palace. Then it was, that fury wholly engrossed Melanthus' mind, and understanding Hortensius was saved, he apprehended being destroyed himself. Yet being courageous, he put himself in a readiness for defence, but as he was marching in the head of his followers, he commanded aloud two or three of his attendants, that in case himself were slain, they should the same hour kill Elismonda, to the end Hortensius might be deprived of the seeing of her after his death; and after this fatal order, he went to the place where the fight was sharpest. In the mean while this hideous news being brought to Hortensius, this generous Lover no sooner heard it, but out of fear lest Melanthus' death might cause that of Elismonda, he took up a resolution to defend his life, who so lately endeavoured to put him to death; in order to which, he quitted himself from those that guarded him, and went to the place where the fight was. Melanthus having at first repelled the people, was then in a large place before his Palace, when Hortensius arriving with his Sword in his hand, broke through the multitude, and getting near the Prince of Messenia, I come (said he to him) to defend the life of Elismonda by defending yours, and to force you to repent of your cruelty. This courageous action so astonished all that beheld it, that it suspended the hatred and fury of both parties; after which, Hortensius addressing to those that had delivered him, my dear Liberators (said he to them) save Melanthus' life, to save that of Elismonda. Melanthus instead of being mollified by these words, was yet more enraged, and beholding Hortensius fiercely, Ha! Caitiff (said he to him) I will not owe my life a second time to you; and since you have taught me to be ungrateful, receive the death I give you. In saying which he made a great blow at Hortensius, who avoided it by drawing back, not willing to return it, as he might have done. 'Tis true, he had nothing now to do, but to mind his own revenge; for Hortensius being beloved by both parties, and the action he did, being extremely noble and generous, they which were on Melanthus' side defended him more faintly, and they of the other environed him with such precipitation, that he was taken and carried to the Tower, where Hortensius had been prisoner, who was not able to hinder it from being otherwise. Yet telling those that guarded the Prince, that it behoved them to preserve his life, for the safety of Elismonda's, who was in the hands of people that depended on him, he went in the head of the party of the seditious to the place where Elismonda was prisoner, whither also the Ministers of Melanthus' cruelty already were come. But as they beheld the party coming against them, and Hortensius, in the head of those that were going to beat down the gates, they were struck with amazement, and believing Melanthus dead, instead of betaking themselves to obey the orders he had given them, sought to escape away, and saved themselves by a postern gate. But the Officer who had betrayed Hortensius and Elismonda, coming to this place, made all the resistance he could with some of his Soldiers; but Hortensius having slain him, the rest fled, and this Illustrious Veientine presently saw the fair Elismonda in his power. Yet his Virtue continued firm in this conjuncture, between what he owed to Melanthus, and what he owed to Elismonda; for without attributing any thing to himself in this action, you see, Madam, (said he addressing to her) your Subjects are faithful to you; but I beseech you remember, if they restore you to liberty, the Prince of Messenia has well treated you, and that owing my life to the Princess Andronice, I ought to take care for the preservation of that of the Prince her Brother. Send therefore your orders, Madam, (continued this Illustrious Veientine) to those who have carried him to the Tower, where I was prisoner, to the end they do him no violence. You show me so great an example of generosity (answered she) that I am unwilling to contradict you; but Hortensius (added the Princess) since I may believe I am free— As she was speaking this, they heard the noise of a thousand confused voices after which, one of the principal Inhabitants of Elis, came to inform Elismonda, that the Prince of Messenia was rescued, as he was leading to the Tower, where they intended to put him; that he had routed those that guarded him, and maugre the valour of those that had taken him, one of his attendants having given him a Horse, he had saved himself, and took the way towards the Camp, followed with a small party of his own, the Inhabitants of Elis having, in this sedition cut the rest to pieces. So that (continued this Citizen) there are no more enemies at least left in the City; and provided the valiant Hortensius will not forsake us, we hope notwithstanding our City being destitute of Walls, to defend ourselves courageously against so furious an enemy. Elismonda, who knew what Hortensius' sentiments were, beheld him as a person that dared not answer. But this generous Lover, after having made a great violence upon himself, If you should be defended, Madam, (said he sighing) only by a Traitor, the gods would abandon you, and therefore 'tis better I should abandon you, and betake myself to my duty. For Melanthus has had grounds to believe me culpable, and his cruelty is innocent towards me: so that if you please, I must follow my resolution, and go find that Prince I leave you at liberty, in a City that is yours, and if the action I am going to do, restore me to any favour with Melanthus, I will mploy it only to oblige him to make peace with you, and leave you in tranquillity. Hortensius spoke this with so sad an aspect; that all that beheld him, had their hearts much affected with it; Elismonda herself, admired the generosity which excited indignation in her, and was so astonished at it, that she was not able to speak half her thoughts. But at length, Hortensius, notwithstanding all Elismonda's importunities to divert him, went to find Melanthus; but as he was going, he found him engaged in a very unequal fight, against a party of the Prince of Cyparissa, who was there in person, and by his exemplary valour redoubled the courage of his Soldiers. The arrival of Hortensius caused an alteration in the face of things; Melanthus was already wounded when he arrived, and his forces put to the rout. But Hortensius joining with the Prince of Messenia, who was infinitely amazed at this grand action, disengaged him from five or six that environed him, encountered with the Prince of Cyparissa, wounded and took him prisoner, and turned the Victory to the party of a Prince, who had intended to take away his life the same day. 'Tis true, Melanthus was not in a condition to enjoy his own, for through the extraordinary agitation and heat of his spirits, and rage of his mind, his wound though not very great of itself, became mortal by reason of the bad temper of his body at that time, so that the next morning his life was despaired of. But for that his reason was still free, this action of Hortensius inclined him to believe what he alleged for his innocence; and this Prince, as violent as he was, expressed a thousand obligations to him, and desiring to understand the truth of his condition, he no sooner was told the approaching of his fate, but he caused Hortensius to be called, who being come, jealousy remaining in his heart, even to death, he constrained him to promise him, never to deliver the Prince of Cyparissa, but on condition; that he should not marry Elismonda, and then told him, that he would declare him his Successor, provided he would marry Andronice. Hortensius whose great soul was never at a loss, told him, He would undoubtedly do his utmost, to hinder the Prince of Cyparissa from marrying Elismonda, but as for what related to the Princess Andronice, he conjured him to leave the Sovereignty to her; as for himself, he was resolved to die a thousand times for her service, and content himself with the glory he should have in serving her. Melanthus then knowing, that Hortensius' love to Elismonda, was that, that hindered him from accepting his offer, was despighted at it; so that he turned away rudely to the other side, and continued some time without speaking. The approaches of death changing nothing in the sentiments of this exasperated Lover, he caused the Commanders of his Forces to be assembled (for they had carried him to the Camp) and told them, that he commanded them to obey Hortensius, and acknowledge him for their Prince, in case he would Marry Andronice, hoping Ambition at length would tempt his Rival's mind, and call him off from his love to Elismonda. After which, his reason failing him, he died the night following. You may judge Madam, what a change his death caused in affairs; the Princess of Elis saw now, that her safety depended on Hortensius; for the Prince of Cyparissa was a Prisoner, and she had none to defend her interests, if the Messenians would carry on their Conquests. But when she was informed of the declaration Melanthus had made to Hortensius, she resented extreme trouble at it, because, knowing of all the predictions, which assured he was to reign in some place; she doubted lest he would accept what was offered him, and to be a Sovereign, marry Andronice, and renounce his love to herself. So that the secret inclination she had for him, excited a perplexity in her heart, that sufficiently resembled a violent love, though she concealed her sentiments. After Hortensius, to whom all Melanthus' Army submitted without scruple, had performed the last duties to the Prince of Messenia, he assembled the Officers of the Army, and declared to them, that he would be the first to obey the Princess Andronice, and so would accept the glory of commanding them only, till she were at liberty. After which, he sent to the Princess Elismonda, to request her permission to speak with the Princess Andronice, conjuring her, not to refuse him a thing which might possibly produce peace. This proposition augmented the jealousy of Elismonda; but the generosity of her heart not suffering her to discover it, she granted what Hortensius desired. Accordingly this interview was made in a Temple dedicated to the Nymph Gonniades, which stands between Pisa and the place where Hortensius was encamped. I shall omit to tell you, Madam, all that was spoken in this interview, because it would be too tedious. At first Hortensius comforted Andronice, for the death of Melanthus, he related matters to her as they had passed, and acknowledged to her the love he had to Elismonda; and then coming to the declaration Melanthus had made in his favour, I protest to you, Madam, (said he) though I were not prepossessed with an affection to the Princess Elismonda, and had a whole heart to give you, the respect alone I have for you, would cause me to serve myself no farther with this declaration, than to settle the Sovereign power in your hands, without ever desiring to oblige you to do for me, more than your own inclination should induce you to. But since I am unfortunate, and born only to be so, it is fit Madam, you would please to appoint me what I ought to do, in relation to your iberty; I know I owe my life to you, and consequently aught to do all for you; but Madam, if you continue the War, I shall be the most miserable person in the World; for I have as great a love for Elismonda, as I have friendship for you, if the respect I bear you may permit me to speak so. Judge therefore Madam, in what a condition, I am. Withal, as you are good, equitable, and generous, give yourself the trouble of considering the State of my Soul and my Fortune, and then command sovereignly, what you would have me do; and be assured if it prove such as my heart cannot obey, I shall have recourse to death, for I should hold myself unworthy to live if I were able, not to do a thing you desired of me. Andronice heard this discourse of Hortensius calmly, and having only a friendship for him, and that very tender and generous, she judged of his proceeding without prejudice, and found it perfectly noble and gallant. So that she gave great testimonies to his merit, and conjured him to deliver her without making War, and negotiate an Interview for her with Elismonda. Accordingly, Hortensius being returned to the Camp, and desiring the same of the Princess Elismonda, she went to Pisa, where she was received with many significations of joy. Assoon as she was there, she went with all speed to visit Andronice, out of a desire to know Hortensius' resolution. But when Andronice, who was desirous to serve Hortensius, told her, the love he had for her, restrained him from accepting what the late Prince of Messenia had offered, and that herself well approved the action, she resumed her former dearness to the Princess of Messenia. Thus peace was soon concluded between these two fair Princesses, excluding the Prince of Cyparissa, whose friends they judged would cross their design. Yet Andronice told Elismonda, it depended on her to alter the Prince of Cyparissa's sentiments; for (continued she) when he visited me very civilly, after my coming to Pisa, I have heard him say a hundred times, that if he firmly believed you loved some other, he should not love you more, being persuaded 'tis possible to love eternally, even without being loved again, provided the Lady who is loved, loves none at all, but that love ought to be given over, when 'tis known she does. So that it needs only to make him believe you love Hortensius, in order to curing him of his passion. The remedy is something difficult (answered Elismonda, blushing,) and 'tis requisite to endeavour the finding out some other. But not to amuse you longer, Madam, they began to propose a peace; the Prince of Cyparissa's friends at first opposed it, desiring Elismonda would promise to marry him when he should be free. But to finish this adventure gloriously for Hortensius, the Inhabitants of Elis, Pisa, and Olympia, remembering the obligation they had to Hortensius, having understood his high descent, and the advantgeous predictions made of him, believed they could do nothing more advantageous for their Country, than to oblige Elismonda to marry him; wherefore they sent Delegates to her, to importune her to give them Hortensius for their Sovereign; but though what they required was very acceptable to her, yet she would not grant it to those Delegates, because she would leave herself to be persuaded only by Hortensius. So there was a sufficiently long negotiation, at the end of which Andronice went to reign in Messenia, the Prince of Cyparissa had liberty to return into his own Country, whither he went cured of his passion, when he understood Hortensius was loved, and as for Elismonda, by the consent of the people of Elis, she married Hortensius in the Temple of Olympia, in which, some days before the peace had been sworn. Since that, the Prince of Cyparissa, who had an high esteem of Andronice, and was also much esteemed by him, has married her, and renewed Alliance with Hortensius, though he was his Rival. Thus the Son of the wise Mamilius, came to reign in Elis, and reigns there still with very great satisfaction and glory; and the fair Elismonda, who at present is at the age in which beauty is at perfection, accounts herself absolutely happy in having married a person whose affection is alike ardent and durable.  
Merigenes held his peace after this, and it being late, the company told him they would thank him the next day for the pleasure he had given them by his Relation, and that in the mean time, Herminius should be encharged to uniform Valerius, of as much as was necessary for him to know, of the adventures of Hortensius.   
The end of the First Book of the Fourth Part.   

CLELIA. A Roman History. The Fourth Part. The Second BOOK.  
HErminius, who was the most exact of all men, did not fail to go and give Valerius an account of what he had learned, concerning Hortensius. At which time he found him employed in attending to a Spy, who had been sent to Veii, and reported that the Veientines, being naturally superstitious, and credulous to the dictates of their Augurs, had conceived great hopes their City should one day become Mistress of Rome, if they could but preserve a Figure of Earth, of admirable workmanship, which Tarquin had heretofore caused a famous Sculptor of Veii to make, with design to place the same on the top of Jupiter's Temple, when it should be finished. This Superstitious opinion was occasioned by a pretention of the Artist that made that excellent Figure, who affirmed, that it was become greater than he had formed it, since it was out of the Mould wherein he cast it; of which increased extension he was able to comprehend no reason. He protested also, that it was become as hard as Marble, without the assistance of fire: upon which event the Augurs reasoning according to their manner, assured that they who had this Figure in their power, should become Masters of their neighbots. This information being given Valerius, who had caused the Temple of Jupiter to be finished, since the ejection of Tarquin, he determined to send a Herald to Veii, upon pretext of demanding that Figure, and offering to pay the price of it, for which Tarquin had agreed with the Sculptor that made it. Not, that he believed the happiness of Rome, depended on an Earthen piece of work, but he was glad of the occasion to send to Veii, to procure the deliverance of Horatius, who was capable of doing Rome considerable service; which likewise having been recommended to him by Clelius, he was unwilling to neglect any thing in order to it: for though he were friend to Aronces, yet he judged he should not disoblige him by delivering his Rival, since himself had been generous enough not to discover him to Tarquin. Nevertheless, he first consulted with the other Consul, touching his design, by whose approbation it was ratified. So a Herald was dispatched to Veii. with instructions how to effect the business; but whatever offer he made to purchase the Figure he desired, he was absolutely refused. On the contrary, the City paid the Artist that made it, his full reward, and declared that that Figure having been made by Tarquin's order, should be delivered to none but that Prince, and that when he should have conquered his Kingdom. After which the Herald, according to his instructions, gave them to understand, that he whom they had sent to Rome, and ordered to go from thence to Elis, was taken prisoner; which very much surprised them, and they were so vehemently desirous to deliver him, that they offered to exchange several prisoners for him. The Herald taking advantage of this occasion, and the friendship Mamilius professed to the father of Clelia, acted with such dexterity, that he procured the slave of Mamilius, and three others to be delivered for that Veientine, who had been seized at Rome. And this too with such dispatch, that in three days the exchange was made, and Horatius returned to Rome, with more joy than he durst have hoped for; for upon his arrival there, he understood that Clelius was persuaded, Octavius received his wound from the hand of Aronces, that this generous Rival was prisoner in the Isle of Saules, that the affection of Clelius towards himself resumed new strength, and that the second Consul was his Relation. Indeed his joy abated upon his first interview with Clelia, for he found her deportment so cold towards him, that it was easy for him to understand his return afflicted her. For after he had been to wait upon the Consuls, and render them thanks for the care they had to deliver him, he went to the house of Clelius, who expressing his satisfaction to see him by affectionate embraces, conducted him to the chamber of Sulpicia, and there left him, not judging it meet to lead him to that of Octavius, who, he knew well did not affect him, for fear of augmenting his distemper, which then began to decline. But Sulpicia likewise having no great kindness for Horatius, testified no excessive gratulation to him for his liberty; though out of her respect to Clelius, she received him very civilly; but as for Clelia, her discontent appeared in her eyes, as soon as she beheld him. Within a few moments after, some Ladies being arrived there, who diverted Sulpicia, he approached this fair Lady, and addressing to her, I perceive, Madam, (said he to her) my liberty is not very acceptable to you, and that if your vows had been heard, Aronces should now have been here, and I still at Veii: But however when you shall know that I owe my life a second time to my Rival, you will perhaps, be generous enough not to desire my death. To teach me generosity (answered Clelia coldly) it would be requisite you were generous yourself, and having so many obligations to Aronces, would courageously resolve to pretend no longer to my affection; since I have already given it him for my whole life. If it were possible to love without desiring to be beloved Madam, (replied Horatius) I protest I would not detract the doing of any thing whatsoever, to follow your counsels; but being the affection of a person beloved, is desired with indispensable necessity, it is not possible for me to renounce yours, and testify such a kind of gratitude to a Rival, who can never attain to be happy; all I am able to do, is to continue in the bounds I have prescribed myself, to endeavour to surpass him only in virtue: and to manifest that I act not like a fierce enemy, but as a generous Lover obliged to his Rival; I declare to you, that he is worthy of the glory which he possesses, that he loves you with as high an ardour as he is capable of, though in a degree inferior to mine, and that if Fortune were favourable to his Love, you ought to prefer him above all the rest of the world. But in the present State of affairs, it is obvious for you to judge, that though you should have absolutely resolved to suffer me to die miserable, he is never likely to live happy. No question, but I am ignorant of what Aronces destiny will prove (answered Clelia) but this I know, that if I cannot be his, I will never be any other persons in the world. Ah! Madam (said he to her with extreme resentment) leave the future in the secret of the gods, content yourself with telling me that you love me not, and adding moreover cruelly, that you love Aronces; but pronounce not so severe a sentence against me in favour of a Rival, who, as I have already said, can never be happy, though I should be perpetually miserable. For, in brief, Madam, you are too intelligent not to know that Clelius will never give his Daughter to the Son of a Protector of Tarquin, though Porsenna himself should consent to the love of Aronces, of which nevertheless there is no appearance. Wherefore then will you bereave of hope an unhappy person that adores you, that reputes himself of his first violences, and who persists in a resolution he has taken, never to injure his Rival, but in aspiring to be, if possible for him, more virtuous than he. If you are really intended to approve your Love to me by the greatness of your virtue (replied Clelia) promise me you will draw no yoadvantage from the kindness my Father has for beu, and that if he should become so minded, as to be willing to enforce me to marry you you will never consent to it. Ah! Madam (cried Horatius) you improve your cruelty too high; and though I believe not I can ever be capable to suffer that you should be constrained to render me happy, yet I cannot obtain of myself to promise you to resist Clelius, if he desire I should be so. Then never speak to me henceforth (answered Clelia) but in the presence of Clelius, and prepare yourself to be as hated by me, as you were formerly upon the Lake of Thrasimene. Well, Madam (said he to her) I promise you, I will never be happy against your pleasure; but promise me likewise that you will permit me to endeavour to persuade you, that 'tis an extreme injustice to repel me from the enjoyment of a happiness, he that is most worthy of it can never possess. I have already at another time told you (answered Clelia) that 'tis impossible any thing should ever arrive to render you happy, as long as my affection is necessary to your felicity. But I will again repeat it to you, with all the sincerity of a generous person. Be confident therefore, that should Aronces die, or prove unfaithful, or should ambition dispossess me out of his heart, I could never be capable of a second affection. Perhaps I might hate him if he had betrayed me, or at least have some sentiments of hatred against him, (for those are two different things) but to love any other besides him, is to be reckoned amongst impossibilities. I am of opinion, that without prejudice to innocence, Love may be once in our Lives entertained of that nature, wherewith I affect Aronces, but as for second affections, I confess to you Horatius, I look upon all those with contempt that are capable of them. Prepare yourself therefore courageously never to be loved by me, if so be you are not contented with my esteem and friendship, which are things I can dispense amongst all persons worthy of them. Ah! Madam (said he to her) wherefore must you give me so great cause of admiration at the same time you wound me with so deep a sorrow? but 'tis in vain, (added he) that you require me to promise you any thing, since I am not Master of my own sentiments, and I cannot perform to myself the promises that I make. I change my resolution a hundred times in an hour; I will love, I will hate, I will forget; and after all these agitations, I find that all I resent is nothing but love, which disguises itself to aggravate my torment. Let us therefore leave the care of the future to those that are Masters of it: for yourself know, Madam, what you have formerly wished, and what you now desire, but yet you cannot warrant what you may desire one day. There sometimes happen Revolutions, which in spite of ourselves carry us whither we never thought of going; and to speak according to universal experience, we can never foresee any passion with certainty. Hatred, love, jealousy, anger, and ambition, arise in our breasts when they are not expected; they always surprise all those of whom they become absolute Mistresses; and 'tis principally for this reason, that it is a matter of so great difficulty to defend ourselves from them. Do not therefore so firmly assure yourself, Madam, of your own sentiments, and give me leave at least to believe that it is not absolutely impossible, but that I may one day be happy; for should I not believe so, perhaps virtue would abandon me at the same time with hope. Claelia was going to answer, when a great noise was heard in the street that led towards the Sublician bridge, which was within the prospect of Clelius' house. Whereupon, as in time of War, every kind of noise excites curiosity, the Ladies who were with Sulpicia, desiring to see what the cause of it was, interrupted Horatius, and forced him to look out with the rest, to discover the occasion of so great a stir among the people. The windows were no sooner open, but they beheld a magnificent Chariot upon the Sublician bridge, (in which was a man of a very graceful aspect, richly clothed with a wreath of Myrtle upon his head) which in spite of all the resistance of him that managed it, came with such violence that it overthrew every thing that obstructed its passage. For hurrying impetuosly before the Guards which stood at the end of the Bridge, it passed rapidly till before the Gate of Clelius' house, where it overturned; but by good fortune, he that was the Master of it, received no hurt, and got clear from the fall of the Chariot, the Axletree of which broke in that place. As soon as Horatius beheld him, he knew him to be a Nephew of Mamilius, at whose house he had been captive at Veii, and who was an especial friend to Clelius: So that not being able to divine what this adventure meant, nor to behold the relation of a person, by whom he had been favourably treated; in that condition, without offering to do him some good office, he informed Sulpicia what he was, and went to embrace him very obligingly; for, during the few days he had been at Veii, he was very familiar with him. When Horatius had made himself known to this young Veientine, whose name was Telanus, he led him to Sulpicia, who received him very civilly. Being a person of much gallantry, he desired pardon of the Ladies, for appearing before them with a Crown upon his head; and to satisfy the curiosity of the company, who requested it of him, he told them that the people of Veii, the better to testify their averseness, to deliver to the Romans that rare Figure which Tarquin had caused to be made, with intention to place it upon the top of Jupiter's Temple, had proposed it for the principal Prize, at a magnificent race of Chariots, which they appointed without their City. The race being accordingly ended, and he having gained the prize, which was set up at the end of the Course, to excite those that were to run, as he was going to receive the guerdon of his Victory, after he had been crowned, his Horses were terrified in such sort, without any apparent cause of that affrightment, that they hurried him, maugre all his reluctance, to the place where his Chariot was overturned, nor could he tell, by what miracle it was not broken before he arrived at Rome. But in conclusion (added Telanus at the end of his relation) I do no longer complain of my adventure, since I am arrived in a place, where I find so many fair persons. with so great civility. As he was speaking thus Clelius entered, who understanding the person he beheld was Nephew to Mamilius, received him with great expressions of civility. He desired him that he would make his house his residence, and gave order to his domestics, to take care of his Chariot. In the mean time, for that it was important the Consuls should be informed of what had happened, Horatius took that charge upon him; but the next morning there came a Herald in the name of the Veientines, to offer the Romans, to deliver the Figure demanded by them; for their Augurs being consulted, concerning all the accidents that befell them, the adventure which was arrived to Telanus, who could not enjoy the prize of his victory, caused them to think that the gods would be provoked against them, if they did not deliver it. But it being resolved Telanus should not be delivered till the Figure were brought to Rome, he for some time increased the noble company, which was every day at the house of Valeria, whither Horatius led him. Being young and gallant, the humour of Plotina pleased him infinitely, from the first hour he saw her, and as if there had been some project of Fate to bring it so to pass, that this amiable Virgin should see all her Lovers together, Persander, who went to Ardea some days before, returned back, and brought two of his friends, who were her passionate adorers. There arrived also at Rome, a man of Metapont, named Damon, who extremely loved her, and who was become amorous of her, during a residence of six months, he had made at Ardea, But as for this last, though he was a person of ingenuity, probity, and honour, yet he was one of those well-meaning people, whose conversation affords not much divertisement. He was likewise one of those, who in matters of Religion affect all novelties, or extraordinary singularities; who rather believe that which seems impossible, than that which is profitable, and are very zealous in defending what they do not understand, only because they imagine they do. For this man had so ardently embraced the opinion of Pythagoras, that he accounted those extravagant, who did not believe, that souls continually transmigrate out of some bodies into other bodies. Amilcar now beholding four Rivals at once about his Mistress, was not remiss, but acquitted himself better than any other from this perplexity, which contributed to render the conversation, much more agreeable than usual; for one of Plotina's Lovers named Acrisius, was a person more loquacious than ever any other was; Sicinius spoke almost not at all, Telanus discoursed agreeably of every thing, and Damon extremely affected to speak of his own Sect. Whereby, when Amilcar found all his Rivals with Plotina, there was none of them, whose conversation was not divertising, as Amilcar's pleasant humour ordered it: and when they were not there, he diverted himself yet more admirably, sometimes imitating the silence of the one, sometimes by speaking too much as the other, and sometimes pleasantly examining all the opinions of the new Sect of Pythagoras. By which means, he prejudiced his Rivals, and pleasantly entertained his Mistress, without vexation to himself. One day amongst the rest, Acrisius talked so much, and to so little purpose; and Sicinius spoke so little, that both of them were extremely tedious, for they were with Plotina one after the other, who complained agreeably of them to Amilcar, who came to wait upon her after they were departed. I beseech you (said she to him) promise me two things I have to request of you; one, that you will not speak so much, but that I may have liberty to interpose a word if I desire it; and the other, that I may not be obliged to speak continually, but that you will sometimes partake in my discourse; for I have seen two men to day, of which, one would not permit me to speak one word, and the other did not speak four to me. I easily conjecture (answered Amilcar) that Acrisius and Sicinius came to wait upon you; but amiable Plotina, since you have experienced both those imperfections, tell me, I beseech you, which is the most insupportable, to the end I may know which most to avoid, I assure you (replied she) that both of them were very troublesome to me; for 'tis a thing very disgustful, to see a conversation stifled every moment, As for my part (added she smiling) I should as soon choose to attend the sacred fire of the Vestals, as to be obliged to entertain such people, who supply nothing to conversation, which always requires new arguments, and who are professed enemies to long sentences, and scarce ever speak any thing more than Yes or No, and sometimes to spare the pains of pronouncing a syllable, make a little sign with their head, to testify that they understand you: In good earnest (continued Plotina) I know nothing more tedious than that kind of profound silence, which happens every moment between two persons, of which one is mute and reserved. Silence in all other occasions, is not without something of pleasingness, but in this it is fastidious, and there is no noise so disagreeable but satisfies me better. Seriously (answered Amilcar) the noise of those incessant speakers, is as troublesome, as the silence of those that speak but little; and, if you will consider it, you will find it as inconvenient. For is there any thing more irksome, than to hear the great number of falsities and impertinences, uttered by those perpetual discoursers; since 'tis not to be doubted, but they who speak excessively, are not over-scrupulous of relating untruths, or at least, such matters as do not countervail attention. But the inconvenience is, that these people, at the same time they make their long Narratives, which might perhaps be dispensed with, hinder others from speaking such things, as are desired to be known. For Acrisius, Sicinius, Telanus, and myself, were yesterday together upon the banks of Tiber: and as the curiosity of Telanus induced him to inquire of me exactly, in what place the Founders of Rome had marked out the first Trench of their City, when I was going to answer him, and began to tell him, Romulus— Acrisius interrupted me; and seven times one after another, like the best echo in the world, I attempted again to speak, and pronounced only Romulus, not being able to continue my answer to Telanus, who could not refrain from smiling at my obstinacy and my patience. But at length it was necessary to yield to Acrisius, and resolve to hear him, though his discourse might well have been spared for all his life-time; for, besides that, as I said before, they who speak too much, are subject to speak untruths, or impertinencies: the subjects of their discourse are frequently fastidious and disgustful. The means to avoid these defects, by those who have not sufficient judgement, is, to permit them to speak who are in presence, to understand that society ought to be free, that tyranny is insupportable in conversation, that every one has his part and right to speak in his turn; and lastly, that this can never be, without the attention of those that hear, and unless they who speak well, may have the privilege to speak more than others. As Amilcar was speaking this Valeria and Cesonia entered, and a little while after Herminius, Horatius, and Zenocrates. Plotina seeing present so many capable Judges of the subject of her discourse with Amilcar, told them the disgust she had in the entertainment of Acrisius, who was too full of words, and of Sicinius who was too reserved; desiring them to deliver their opinions upon these two defects, For my part, who am an un-active person, (said Valeria) I think I should rather choose to speak too little than too much. You have reason (added Cesonia) for though Women are generally charged with being excessively loquacious, yet I look upon a great talker of our Sex, as more troublesome than one that is so of the other. For when women are given to affect much speaking, their discourse is usually nothing but a mass of trifles, and superfluous words, which are very disgustful to such as have any measure of judgement and understanding: For my part (said Amilcar smiling) I am not of your opinion; for when such a great talker is young and fair, and makes not uncomely faces in speaking, but on the contrary, shows her white teeth, and ruddy Lips, I hear her with less pain than over-talkative men, whose audacious and insolent aspect as much offends the eyes, as their long wound discourse the ears. As for me (said Herminius) who do not condemn silence at all times, I confess I would not be a great Speaker; but in others, I should better comply with a man who was always speaking, than one who must always be spoken to. I assure you (said Horatius) that though all the world speaks, few people know how they ought to do it. You have reason, without doubt (answered Herminius) and I dare maintain, there is scarce any thing, about which men universally agree, unless it be that Health is a Good; Beauty itself is not exempt from contestation; Riches are looked upon as noxious instruments; the Arts and Sciences are placed by some, in the rank of things uncertain and dubious; Physic, whose object is the restitution of health, and prolongation of life, is yet accounted by some people a dangerous Art, that does more mischief than benefit; so true, is it, that weakness and uncertainty reigns in the minds of mankind. Some approve the same that others condemn, and there is scarce any thing extolled and commended by one, but is as much decried and deprecated by another. So some believe, that speaking little is a defect, others, that speaking very much is a perfection; some, that to speak eloquently, is to speak bombastick words; others, that to speak well, is to speak naturally, and with facility; some affirm, only choice and select words ought to be used, and others, that we ought to speak negligently in avoidance of affectation; without considering that affected negligence is the worst of all. There are some likewise who are of opinion, that to speak well, it is requisite to speak with the same exactness that Books are written in; whilst others on the contrary, to avoid this defect, speak as impolitely as the Vulgar; without observing, that all excess is equally condemnable; and that if it be dangerous to speak too well, it is no less to speak extremely ill. But as I understand, there is a thing in Language generally and deservedly blamed by all the world, namely, a fustian dialect and obscurity; since 'tis true, that whosoever attends, desires to comprehend what is spoken to him; and whosoever speaks, is obliged to make himself intelligible. No doubt, Herminius has reason (answered Zenocrates) when he says, the Coiners of bombast words are condemned by all the world. Yet there are abundance of that profession (said Plotina) but, which I wonder at more, I know several sorts of people addicted to it, and some amongst them not absolutely un-ingenuous. That is not to be doubted (answered Herminius) and hence it proceeds, that there are divers sorts of gibberish. But can you give any reasonable cause (said Plotina) why people that have some measure of wit, do not express themselves purely and clearly without in tricacy? Most certainly (answered Herminius) they are such people whose thoughts sometimes, come near to the understanding of matters, but their words so intricate their conceptions, that it cannot be conjectured, what they would have understood: There are others, (added Zenocrates) whose expressions are bad, only by reason they do not understand themselves; and they are not only put to seek the words they would utter, but the things they would apprehend. You see then (replied Herminius) I am not destitute of reason, when I assert the multiplicity of bad language and gibberish. For the people I mentioned first, are obscure in their discourses, only because they choose not out the words which might express their thoughts; and the second mentioned by Zenocrates, are so, only because their thoughts being confused, there is no expression that suits with them, and can make them intelligible. There are also some sorts of innocent gibberish, (if I may so speak) of which some are capable of being amended. For I know some persons, who to show the vividness and promptness of their fancies, give not leisure to those that speak to them, to finish what they intended. Whereby endeavouring to make unsuitable supplies by conjecture, they interrupt the course of them that were speaking; and speaking themselves with precipitation, they seem to answer before any thing is perfectly propounded to them; since a person, who has not wholly ended what he was about to speak, has as yet spoken nothing upon which to ground a pertinent answer, the last words of a discourse not rarely overthrowing the beginning of it. Thus it almost always falls out, that these people who interrupt others so peremptorily, and interpose their unseasonable supplements, speak things without sense, and cause a strange intricacy, though otherwise their apprehensions be sufficiently clear. For my particular (said Valeria) I know some obscure clouded speakers, the occasion of whose fault is, that their minds are distracted; for not attending well to what is spoken to them, and through custom, not awaiting to answer, they usually acquit themselves after an ill manner. There are likewise certain gibberish speakers, who become such out of an affectation to seem subtle, and imagine, that not expressing themselves clearly, is the way to be accounted owners of deep judgements and great abilities. For my part (said Amilcar) I know there are persons of both Sexes, from whom sometimes discourses proceed not warrantable in sense, and that only because they desire to be the first that use those new-coined words which chance introduces, and the humour of the world makes currant for a while, and which sometimes are authorised by time and custom; for these people not knowing the true signification of the new modish words, place them impertinently, and oftentimes speak the contrary to what they intent to express. There are also others (answered Herminius) who understand not what they say, because having resolved to speak confidently of every thing, they venture with a very mean wit, to speak of certain things, which can never be rightly spoken of, unless they be well learned before. In the mean time; 'tis much a greater shame to pretend a sufficiency without reality, than to be judiciously silent, and to confess ignorance of the things that are debated of. I beseech you (said Plotina) let us leave these gibberish speakers, who are unworthy the notice and minding of so many persons, that speak so handsomely and clearly; and let us only consider those who speak either too much or too little; for as for myself, I confess the latter seem so troublesome themselves, by occasioning the trouble of others, that I should choose rather to speak too much than too little, since, at least, by importuning my friends, I should divert myself. Though it seem not possible (answered Hortensius) to be of an opinion contrary to yours, without undertaking a bad side, yet I shall not forbear to declare once more, that I like rather to speak too little than too much, that nevertheless, I should sometimes fancy the conversation of a loquacious person, more than that of one that seemed almost perpetually tongue tied. For it may indeed happen ofttimes, that a man who speaks not much, may have a good capacity, but it can scarce ever happen that one who speaks too much, is endued with a tolerable judgement. True (said Amilcar) but withal it does not often happen that those who almost wholly decline speaking, are owners of much wit; and on the other side, it is frequently enough seen, that a great talker is sufficiently ingenuous, for 'tis my opinion, that wit has a resemblance with fire, and so cannot but discover itself in some manner or other, where ever there is any of it. Yet great men have been seen (answered Horatius) that have not affected speaking. 'Tis true (replied Herminius) but than they have manifested their wit in their writings or actions, if not by their words; for I concur with Hamilcar's sentiment, that wit cannot absolutely be concealed, but must of necessity make itself apparent. Yet we may see great Princes, great Philosophers, great Poets, great Painters, and excellent Artists, very sparing of their speech; but their actions, or their works will speak for them, and convince all that know them, that their silence is not a silence proceeding from stupidity. The case is not the same in those people whose wit resides in their tongues, and whose utmost performance and employment is only the multiplication of words, for I am confident their actions for the most part, are wholly dumb to their advantage. Nevertheless (answered Zenocrates) all persons endued with judgement are not so resolved friends to silence. I do not affirm (replied Herminius) that all those who speak very much are destitute of judgement, for I should therein commit an injustice against many worthy persons; but only that such as speak too much can have none. Believe me (said Plotina) there is ofttimes very little difference to be found between speaking very much, and speaking over much. Liberality and Prodigality have some kind of resemblance together (answered Herminius) and yet 'tis very well distinguished that the latter is a vice, and the other a virtue; So 'tis easy enough to distinguish him that speaks very much and well, from him that speaks too much and ill, or at least ill to the purpose. But I beseech you (said Valeria) are there not some who speak too much, and nevertheless fail not to speak well? No doubt there are (answered Amilcar) and I knew a Greek in Sicily, whose language, though eminent for the most exquisite Attic purity, was notwithstanding fastidious, because he spoke more than he ought. For the description of a man too loquacious, is chiefly taken from the thin number of things, and prolix series of words, wherewith he useth to comprehend the same; he is Characterised by the little necessity he has for endless speaking, by his forwardness to deliver his judgement of every thing, to interrupt the speech of every one, and snatch all occasions to speak, to talk perpetually, without taking notice sometimes, whether he be listened to or no, and not to be able to hold his peace, though in the presence of persons of greater quality, or capacity than himself. Not but that I believe those very great speakers are not sometimes obnoxious, (though they speak well too) to be adjudged pragmatical by those who love to speak as themselves; but, for that this does not always happen, the pleasure of a small number of persons ought not to authorise the condemnation of those who speak very much and well, and afford a thousand delights by their conversation, because they never speak any thing that is not either necessary or agreeable. For when a man loves to speak, only because nature has given him a facility of expression, a capacious mind, a quick fancy, a memory stored with choice and rational notions, when his judgement is master of his wit and fancy, and his conversation perfectly accommodated to the genius of the World, no doubt, 'tis possible for him to speak much, without being chargeable for excess; for I am confident, that if this man be such as I have described, he will be able to hold his peace as often as he pleases, he will yield a liberty of speech to all that desire it, and will not do like a grand talker I met with at my first arrival at Syracuse, to whom I was, at his own request, going to represent a great danger I encountered with at Sea, by reason of a storm that surprised us; I had scarce begun to tell him that the Sea was agitated by a sudden commotion, but cutting me off, This makes me remember (said he) that the like case once befell me when I was making a voyage at Sea. For you must know (added he, without remembering what he had requested of me) that after I was embarked at Tarentum in a very good ship, the Pilot of which was a Native of Cuma; and which was freighted with several sorts of merchandise (for Tarentum is a potent and rich City; and much frequented, by reason of the great Traffic of all kind of Commodities exercised in it) the wind changing of a sudden, the ship was constrained to stay yet fifteen days longer in the Port of Tarentum, where there befell me a sufficiently pleasant adventure. For when embarked, I took my leave of a woman of no contemptible beauty, with whom I had been gracious for some time, and who, for my sake, had banished from her house a Lover which she had, before I was hers. But for that she believed I was departed over night, the next morning when I returned ashore, and went to her to let her know I should have the pleasure of seeing her some days longer, I found her laughing heartily with my old Rival, though she had bid me adieu with tears. Whereupon, choler incensing me, I fell to quarrelling with my Rival and my Mistress; which fit of indignation cured me of my love; and at my going from this visit, I made another, at another house, where I became amorous of a brave Girl, to whom I addressed Courtship, and was so passionate a servant of hers, that I suffered the Vessel to sail away without me, in which I had embarked before with intention to depart. But, (said I to him, taking occasion to interrupt him) when you interrupted me, I thought it had been only to represent to me some tempest resembling that which you desired me describe to you; yet it seems after you took ship, I find you again upon Land, and engaged in a Love-design. Give yourself a little patience (said he to me) we are not come to it yet. And indeed I stood in great need of it; for out of his prodigious eagerness of perpetual speaking, and silencing all others, he recounted to me every particular circumstance relating to his new affection; he caused me to read the Letters of his Mistress, he repeated Songs to me, he took ship once again, and made a voyage without a Tempest, before he came to tell me of that, where indeed he was in danger of perishing: Thus this man, who had a purpose to know the manner of my hazarding and escaping shipwreck, knew nothing at all of it, but informed me of a hundred matters wherewith I was wholly unconcerned. In the mean time his language was commendable, and supposing it had been material for me to have known all that he told me, the man would have spoken admirably well: but being I had nothing to do with any of his stories, and had not related the danger I incurred above once or twice, (all the world naturally delighting to recount a Tempest, or such like imminent dangers from which they are escaped) 'tis beyond your imagination what I then suffered; and his eloquene was so offensive to me, that had I not resolved with myself to deride him secretly, I should have had but a very odious divertisement. You have made this relation so pleasantly (answered Plotina laughing) that it would have been ill, if there had never been people that affect much speaking; and the best is, (added she in raillery) that in imitating a man that speaks very much, you seem not to enforce yourself as much as another. 'Tis true (replied Amilcar), beholding her with infinite affection) I speak sometimes freely enough; but to prove to all the company that I know how to restrain myself from speaking when I please, I need only inform them, that I have loved you more than eight days without declaring it to you, though I had a desire to do it every moment. I beseech you (said Plotina) let us not so soon change the discourse, and amuse ourselves with speaking of follies, which are no more necessary to be known to the company, than the relation of the adventures of your Greek were to you, But for that I am no very great hater of speaking, and 'tis one of the things in the World we most frequently practise; I should not be unwilling to be informed what are the requisites to speaking well. In the first place (said Amilcar) it is requisite to have a good wit, sufficient memory, and excellent judgement. Next, it behoves to speak the language of the better sort of people of the Country where we reside, and equally to avoid that of the low and courser Plebeians, that of fantastical wits, and that which certain people use, which having a smack of the Court; a mixture of the vulgar, somewhat of the former age, a little of the present, and very much of the City, is the most confused and various of all. But yet (said Plotina) I do not account this sufficient; for you well distinguish how we ought not to speak, but you do not not express directly how we ought. I assure you (answered Horatins) it is necessary only to speak as you do, to speak exactly and agreeably. Verily (added Herminius) the amiable Plotina speaks as a brave Lady should, to speak agreeably; for all her expressions are both noble and natural together, what she speaks is not far fetched and elaborate, there is no constraint in her words, her discourse is clear and facile, there is gallant sprightliness in her manner of speaking, no effectation in the sound of her voice, very much liberty in her actions, and a wonderful resemblance between her eyes and her words, which is a grace that contributes to render speech infinitely more agreeable. But how can all you speak of (answered Plotina) be competent to me, who scarce ever premeditate of what I am to say. Should you study more attentively, Madam, (replied Zenocrates) you would not speak so agreeably as you do; for when we are so solicitous and considerative, we never speak any thing commendably. But I would desire to know (interrupted Cesonia) what must the difference be which is required between a man that speaks well, and a woman that does so too; for though I certainly know, there ought to be some distinction, yet I do not fully understand wherein it consists. The same words are used, the same things sometimes spoken of, and the minds of both, are frequently possessed with resembling thoughts; yet, as I said before, it does not always become an ingenious woman to speak in the same manner as an ingenious man; and there are certain expressions, which either Sex may suitably enough employ distinctly, but cannot be promiscuously used by the other with decency. There are certain things indeed (said Plotina) which seem extremely uncowth in the mouth of a Woman, and yet are not at all surprising in that of a man. As for example, if I should go to swear by the holy Fire, or by Jupiter, I should frighten those that heard me; if I should offer to judge decisively of some difficult question, I should be accounted ridiculous; if I should only affirm that which I speak, with something too strong and fierce a tone of my voice, it might be doubted whether I deserved the name of a Virgin; if I should speak of War like a Military Tribune, all my friends would deride me. Nevertheless it behoves us to speak commendably, as also to take care from falling into another defect, namely that of speaking with a certain affected simplicity, which relishes of Childhood, and is very unbecoming. In the next place we ought not to speak heedlessly, but yet less ought we to attend to our own speech, as some woman do, who really listen to the sound of the words, which they pronounce, as they would do to a Harp when they are tuning it; and who with a certain tone of satisfaction, oftentimes cloth very bad things in very gay expressions, That which the amiable Plotina speaks (answered Amilcar) is admirably well spoken; but to mention a defect that agrees equally to men and women, it is requisite to avoid diligently a certain vulgar pronunciation which renders the most excellent sense disagreeable. For I assert, that it would be incomparably better that I had something of African-accent in speaking the language of Rome, than if I should use that odd accent which is peculiar to the meanest sort of artisans. I dare confidently maintain, there is scarce a place in the world, where there is not a difference between the pronunciation of the better rank, and that of the vulgar; and I add moreover, that a stranger is not blameble for preserving that of his Country; but a man or woman of quality are, if they speak like their slaves. For my part, having a nice and delicate gust, in reference to all things whatsoever, I am sensibly affected with the sound of the voice, with a pure and sweet accent, and an unexpressible kind of nobleness, that I find in the pronunciation of certain persons whom I know, and chiefly in that of the charming Plotina. But I beseech you (said Cesonia) tell me what they must do, who speak not like Plotina, to attain the gracefulness of her speech, and lose the ill-becommingness of their own. Love people of the better rank (answered Herminius) and converse with few others; for it does not belong to Books to teach to speak, and they who content themselves with reading, to become fit for conversation, strangely delude themselves, and understand not the advantages of familiarity with good Writers. Reading is, without doubt, necessary to adorn the mind, to regulate the manners, and to compose the judgement; it may likewise serve to learn a tongue, but as for the handsomeness of language, it is attainable only by conversation, which withal, must be a conversation of people of the World, whereof Women make the greatest part otherwise it will be too sublime and learned, dry, rude, or affected, by those who endeavour to regulate their fashions of speaking according to what they read. For, as Books for the most part speak not as men do in conversation; so it does not become men to speak in conversation, after the same manner they read in Books. Verily (said Plotina) I wonder all the world does not addict themselves to learn to speak well; since, methinks, nothing is more easy than to be always in the company of worthy persons; for the case is infinitely otherwise in all other things that we desire to learn. It is sometimes tedious enough to attend the directions of those that teach to sing, to paint, or to dance; but since to speak handsomely, there needs nothing more than to converse with people of the World, and with those too that speak gracefully and agreeably, I make a vow to learn to speak during my whole life, and never willingly to converse with any others. Others ought rather to apply to you, Madam (said Zenocrates) than you to others. You have reason (answered Amilcar) but there is another kind of thing which the amiable Plotina has need to learn, which is to hear a little more favourably what I sometimes say to her. As for that (replied she) 'tis learned but too soon, but there is another which I would have all them taught who know it not, which is to consider what is spoken to them, and not to wander into unseasonable fancies from the purpose, in company. A little distraction (added she) I can pardon, but for that multiplication of continued extravagant fancies some people are addicted to, who never are present where they are seen, and are scarce ever in any place, I think it fit they were reform of it. For he that has so many things to muse of, better than those he intends to speak, aught to abide in his Closet, and entertain only himself, since 'tis undoubtedly an incivility, not at all to attend to that which is spoken in the place where you are present, and to make no account of the company; and for my part, I am persuaded there is nothing but the murmur of a rivulet, or the prilling of a Fountain that can be civilly heard while we are meditating. What ever you are pleased to say (answered Amilcar) the liberty of musing is infinitely pleasing; and you are not ignorant that there are certain houses in all places which are accounted more agreeable than others, only because the Masters of them lay no constraint upon any person. There a man may be either pensive or sociable, he may either laugh or sing, entertain himself with whom he pleases, come in, and go forth without speaking any thing, and in a word enjoys a liberty in such houses, attended with so much sweetness, that they are deservedly preferred before all others. However it be (replied Plotina) I consent to what Herminius affirmed; for without learning so many several things, it will be most convenient for me only to converse with persons of ingenious accomplishments, and therefore I am resolved to consort with no others hereafter, if it be possible. You had reason to add those last words (answered Amilcar) for according to the course of the World it is sufficiently difficult to converse only with such persons as you speak of. He had scarce ended these words but one came to advertise Herminius, that Valerius enquired for him concerning some urgent affair. Another also came at the same time to tell Horatius, that the second Consul, who was his Kinsman, had some occasion for him, so that this honourable company broke up; for Valeria having a curiosity to know what her father's business was with Herminius, departed presently after him, and afterwards Amilcar and Zenocrates retired, and left Cesonia and Plotina alone together. Those two gallant persons were no sooner in the street, but they met Aemilius, who told them there was a man come from Clusium, that had brought some intelligence which obliged the Consuls to assemble the Senate extraordinarily. And indeed it was a Messenger sent by Artemidorus, who advertised Valerius, that they were already about raising forces in the States of the King of Hetruria, and preparing to advance the Troops of the Veientines and the Tarquins. It was also informed that the Queen Galeritia, accompanied by the Princess of the Leontines, was gone to the Island of Saules, where Aronces was confined, with intent to persuade him to yield absolute obedience to Porsenna, and that it was not doubted but he would be won to it, there being no appearance that he could refuse to beat Arms against all those whom the King his father declared, and adjudged for enemies. Valerius receiving this intelligence, judged it important to seize upoh a considerable Passage, and cause a Fort to be built there, before the enemies had time to perceive how necessary it would be for them to be masters of it.  
But the second Consul being as much a savorer of the interests of Horatinus as Valerius was of those of Aronces, though both of them sought the public good, there became a kind of disposition to discord between them. Valerius knowing of how much concernment it was, there should happen no breach between them, desired to avoid a contest which might prove prejudicial to the public affairs. To which purpose being to act two important matters at once, one of which was to know which of the two Consuls should go Commander of the forces designed to fortify that difficult passage between Rome and Clusium, and the other to know whether the Consul Horatius or Valerius should be the person that should Dedicate the Temple of Jupiter, Valerius propounded to refer the decision of it to the event of Lot, perceiving the urgency of the matter; for the people imagined all would go ill if the Temple were not dedicated, and intelligent persons foresaw it was necessary to seize of a place that might hinder the enemies from coming so suddenly to besiege Rome, and consequently allow leisure to fortify it. And it was to consult of this affair, that Valerius sent to seek Herminius, and the second Consul desired to speak with Horatius. Valerius would rather have stayed at Rome, where he believed his presence necessary, but the Dedication of the Temple of Jupiter being an honour desired with immense passion by his Colleague, he put the matter into the power of Lot, which decided it in favour of the second Consul. So that Valerius was obliged to go and command the Army for that secret expedition, which was judged so necessary. Horatius, as amorous as he was, resolved to accompany him, and would not remain behind a peaceful Spectator of the Dedication of a Temple, while there were Forces in the Campagne. Themistus, Herminius, Amilcar, Zenocrates, Aemilius, and all the other friends of Valeria would have done the same, but he judged it necessary for himself that his true friends should continue at Rome during his absence. And moreover his attempt requiring to be executed by surprise, he did not deem it needful to carry so many brave persons with him for such a purpose. Nevertheless, he consented that Mulius should go with him; for knowing his imperious honour, and what his passion was for Valeria, he was not unwilling to separate him from Herminius and Aemilius, whom he very highly affected. As for Spurius, he remained at Rome, to importune Valeria; and Themistus likewise continued there for fear, lest if the Prince of Messenia should come thither to seek him, he might imagine he intended to fly away, Meleagenes stayed with his friend, Calianius followed Valerius, and Merigenes, stayed behind for the same cause with Themistus. The second Consul, though he had but one only Son, sent him to the Army, which in three days was ready to depart. When it was marched away, the Consul Horatius only prepared for the Honour to dedicate the Temple of Jupiter. In order to which it was purified, according to the custom, with the most ancient ceremonies of Rome: all the people left their works this day, Sacrifices were offered in all the other Temples, that which was to be dedicated, was adorned with above a thousand magnificient Lamps, all the persons of quality of either Sex were present in it, the chief Vestal, and the Salian Priests repaired thither, and it was not suspected any obstacle could happen, to obstruct the accomplishment of the Ceremony. When the time came, that the second Consul was holding the Gates of the Temple half open, and, according to the ancient custom, was ready to pronounce the solemn words, in which consisted the dedication of the Temple, a Brother of Valerius, who stood directly against the gates, lifting up his voice, Know (said he to him) that your son is dead in the Army, and therefore being obliged to take care for his Funeral, it is not meet for you to do what you are going about; for it is a profanation to shed tears the same day a Temple is dedicated to Jupiter. If my son be dead, (answered Horatius without being moved) he is dead for the cause of his Country, and it being so, the gods preserve me from lamenting his loss. Let the Romans than take care for his Sepulture, (added he) for he was more Rome's than mine; and since he is dead in defence of his liberty, I ought to rejoice for it, and finish the ceremony. Herminius, who was on the other side of the gate, knew well, that what the Brother of Valerius said, was but an artifice excogitated by him, to impede the ceremony, imagining the Consul would be so troubled at the news of his only Sons death, that he could not proceed and finish it. He apprehended also that he had been instigated to this artifice by Spurius, who was his Friend: wherefore understanding how greatly it would displease Valerius, who was a declared enemy to untruth, as well as himself, he could not contain from speaking aloud, that this intelligence was not sent by Valerius. However, the Consul, whether that he knew what was spoken to him to be untrue, or had a resolute and constant Soul, or that the desire of glory, rendered him insensible, testified no sign of grief, and finished the ceremony. But just as it was almost ended, Horatius and the Son of this Consul arrived from Valerius, to advertise that the Passage of so considerable advantage was easily seized on, and that he would return as soon as he had caused it to be fortified. Whereupon, Herminius, beholding him to arrive, who was said to be dead, and knowing from him the intelligence he brought, would himself conduct him to the Consul Horatius, to the end he might clearly manifest, Valerius and he had no part in the artifice which was made use of, to disturb him in the ceremony. And indeed it was easy to discover who were principals in the fraud; for the Brother of Valerius and Spurius, withdrew themselves, but Herminius, Aemilius, Amilcar, Zenocrates, and all the other Friends of Valerius, remained to congratulate with the Consul, for the return of his Son, and the news he had brought. In the mean time Clelius, who was sufficiently joyful, because he was assured of the recovery of Octavius, understanding it was believed Aronces would be obliged to bear Arms against Rome, called Clelia, and speaking to her with the authority of a Father, and a Roman whose Virtue was severe, Daughter, (said he to her) you are not ignorant, what hatred I ought to bear against Tarquin; and yourself have been sufficiently persecuted by him, to hate him in perfection, and not to scruple to forget a Prince, who has bathed his Sword in the Blood of your Brother, and who apparently is going to put himself into a condition to kill him and me too, if it be true, as 'tis reported, that he is obliged to make War against Rome. But my Lord (answered Clelia dejectedly,) if Aronces has wounded my Brother, it was by reason he knew him not; he served Rome importantly against Tarquin, in the last Battle, and if it be true that he changes his party, no doubt 'tis only because the King his Father, having embraced that of Tarquin, honour will no longer permit him to fight for Rome, since he cannot do it, without fight against him, to whom he owes his life. Therefore I acknowledge to you, without violating the respect incumbent on me by duty, that I think, after your so frequent commands to me, to look upon Aronces as my designed Husband, and who had effectually been so, had not that dreadful Earthquake interrupted your intentions, I cannot so easily forget Aronces as you require, for it is not in my power, not to remember all those obligations I have to him. I perceive well (interrupted Clelius roughly) you would intimate to me, that I ought also to remember those you pretend I have to Aronces; but without amusing myself to answer all you have now spoken, I declare to you, that I revoke all the commands I laid upon you in favour of Aronces, and that I now lay more powerful ones upon you in favour of Horatius, whom I intent you shall marry at the end of the War. I would cause you to marry him to morrow, (added he) were it not that Valerius instructs me by his example, that it is unfit to be solicitous about accomplishing Marriages, whilst our Country is in War; since he has deferred that of Valeria, for this only reason. And withal, being unwilling to treat you severely, I consent that you take some time, to resolve to obey me with a good will. But my Lord, (replied Clelia modestly) what shall become of the promises which you have made to the unfortunate Aronces? I promised all things to the unknown Aronces (answered he) but I promised nothing to the Son of Porsenna, and the Protector of Tarquin, and moreover, (added Clelius fiercely) to tell you my sentimen, you are not to imagine that Aronces is the same at Clusium, that you saw him heretofore at Carthage, and more lately at Rome. His example will perhaps soon teach you to obey your Father, as he will do his own: and therefore it is better, that you endeavour to prevent him. Resolve then upon it, for it will be unprofitable for you to resist me, I am going to publish the resolution I have taken in such a manner, that it shall be sufficiently difficult, but some of Aronces' Friends will discover it to him, as soon as he shall be at liberty. No question my Lord, (answered Clelia,) you may publish your resolution to all the World; but you can never alter that which I have made, never to be possessed by any person, if I cannot be by Aronces. Clelius was transported with very much violence at these words, and left Clelia in incredible sorrow. 'Tis true, Sulpitia comforted her with extreme goodness, for being she loved Aronoes' and hated Horatius, she interessed herself in the affliction of Clelia, and omitted nothing conducive to her consolation. Octavius likewise gave her all the occasions in the World, to commend his generosity, but in fine, Aronces was absent and prisoner, and if he were set at liberty, she judged it would be only to manage the War against Rome, and so she should become more miserable. She likewise feared, lest time might change the heart of Aronces, and Horatius return to be as violent as he had formerly been whereby finding no advantage either in Peace or War, she perpetually found herself unhappy. But if she were unfortunate, Aronces enjoyed no felicity: for it was true, the Queen his Mother, accompanied with the Princess of the Leontines, went to him in the Island of Saules to propound to him in the name of the King, either to resolve upon perpetual imprisonment, or to take Arms against Rome, in favour of Tarquin. The very first thought of changing his side excited horror in him, especially when he reflected that he should see himself with his Sword in his hand, against the Father of Clelia, and so many of his Illustrious friends; but when he proceeded to consider that his Rival was at Rome, (for he had been informed of his deliverance) and imagined that during his imprisonment. Horatius might make advantage of his misfortune, he concluded nothing could be more prejudicial to him, than to continue in prison: Knowing therefore that the Queen his Mother, and the Princess of the Leontines favoured his interests, and were informed of his passion, he would not conceal his sentiments from them. I beseech you Madam, (said he to Galerita) remember that I am in the same prison, where Love heretofore occasioned your confinement; recall all the dearness you have had for the King, and compassionate the condition of an unfortunate person, who lost his liberty, before he knew he owed his life to you. Consider the deplorable strait I am at present in. If I obey the King, I shall see myself with Sword in hand, against the Father of Clelia, and be obliged to serve Tarquin and Sextus, to the utmost of my power, who have been, and perhaps still are, Lovers of the person that I love, and both her persecutors and mine. If I seek to escape out of prison, and put myself into Rome, I commit an action horribly criminal against the King my Father, and I side with Horatius, who is a formidable Rival, and if I continue in prison, I do nothing either for the King, or Clelia, or myself, nothing against Horatius or Tarquin, and only suffer unprofitably. Thus I find myself in an estate more miserable than ever any Lover fell into. The Princess of the Leontines, desirous at least to give Aronces some consolation, informed him, that the Prince of Numidia had ceased to be a Prince, and was Brother to Clelia, though concealing from him the report that he had wounded him, which she understood from Artemidorus, and Zenocrates, for fear to afflict him. If it be so (answered Aronces,) I shall have lost a Rival, and gained a Protector, for I have no reason to doubt, but that between Horatius and me, the generous Brother of Clelia will declare himself to my advantage. Alas! (said Galerita then sighing) what will it be the better for you by his declaring to your advantage, if Fortune be against you? For in brief, to tell you the state of matters in reality, I have order from the King, to offer you liberty and his favour, on condition you will marry the Daughter of the Prince of Cere, who is propounded to him by Tarquin; no other assurance (he says) being to be had of you, after your once already escaping from his Court. Ah! Madam, (cried Aronces) I will die a thousand times, rather than do what the King propounds to me; I prefer dying incomparably before injuring my Love, and my Honor. Yet in the condition wherein I am at present, it is so difficult to do any thing for the first, without violation of the latter, that death is the sole remedy I am able to imagine. Cease therefore, Madam, (added this afflicted Prince) cease from having any longer kindness for me, since I can do nothing but occasion sorrow to those that love me. Hope is so sweet a good (answered the Princess of the Leontines) that it ought not to be cast off so easily. Wherefore, I wish you would leave the Queen, the power to manage the interests of your Love, and your Honour, without being solicitous what she intends to report to the King. Alas! Madam, (replied Aronces sadly) it is extremely difficult, to retain hope in a condition resembling mine, when reason is as yet not wholly lost. However it be, (said Galerita) leave yourself to be guided by me, unless you intent your own destruction. But Madam, (said he) what can I, or what can you yourself do? I can tell the King (answered she) that you are in despair not to find your Soul capable, to yield so ready obedience. But Madam, (interrupted Aronces) I will never obey him, if he always commands me not to love Clelia. Have patience (answered Galerita,) and suffer me to end what I was speaking. I intent (added she) to inform the King as I told you, and endeavour to persuade him, to permit you the liberty of being guarded only in his Palace, and to suffer all that please to come to visit you. But what will be the advantage of that (replied Aronces) since I resolve not to marry the Daughter of the Prince of Cere? While matters are at that pass (answered Galerita) it shall be attempted to cause the King to alter his sentiments; and in case he persist in them, it will be expedient to have recourse to an artifice which I have contrived, wherein the assistance of the Princess of the Leontines is absolutely necessary. If it be, Madam, (said this generous Princess) you need only to inform me what I ought to do, and I will obey you immediately. It is only desired of you (answered Galerita) that you will come and see Aronces as often as I shall visit him. And in the next place, it will be requisite for him to act, as if he were become amorous of you; and being you are not in a condition to dispose of yourself, so long as you are at difference with the Prince of Leontium, the matter will be protracted a long time. Porsenna, who seeks to cause Aronces to marry the Daughter of the Prince of Cere, only to extinguish his passion for Clelia, will be more solicitous about it; so that the obstacle arising only on your part, he will let the business rest till affairs change their present state. Though there may seem something in this contrivance, not consistent with decency (replied the Princess of the Leontines smiling) to admit an affection apparently, of so goodly a person as the Prince Aronces, yet I take so great interest in that which concerns him, that I shall consent to this innocent fraud, which may otherwise be serviceable to me, in reference to the Prince my Brother. But Madam, (said Aronces) would it not be a crime to counterfeit a love to a person so lovely as you are? 'Tis true, I have so great an esteem and friendship for you, (if I may so speak) that you have no cause to reproach me, since I had not the honour to see you, till after I had no longer a heart to lose. But, in brief, should this fiction succeed, it would be sufficiently dangerous for me, unless Clelia be informed of it, and as I conceive, it will be no very secure course to trust this secret in a Letter. Take you no care for that (said the Princess of the Leontines) for I shall lay that charge upon myself, when time requires, to write to her in my own name, to prevent her misapprehension, and accompany it with a Letter of yours to that fair person This being granted (replied Aronces) I conceive the fiction may break off my intended nuptials with the Princess of Cere, but I see not how I shall be able to avoid following the King to the War, nor how I can serve in the Siege of Rome, without incensing Clelia, and being hated by her Father. If Clelia be equitable (answered Galerita) she will pity instead of accusing you; and if Clelius be generous, he will commend you for defending the life of your Father, and not love you less. Ah! Madam (replied Aronces.) you know not what a zealous Lover Clelius is of his Country, how immensely he hates Tarquin, and what great cause he has to detest him in perfection. But without diverting to matters so wide from the purpose, (said Galerita) let us only debate how to effect pour deliverance from the Island of Saules, that you may come to Clusium, that your friends may see you there, and the Marriage of the Prince of Cere's Daughter be no longer insisted on: for really (added she) the constant affection you have for Clelia, makes me commiserate you; and did the King remember so tenderly, as I do, the love that rendered him unhappy during so many years, he would be as ready to excuse it as I am, since you love a person, eminent for beauty, virtue, and descent; for as I have understood by one of our ancient Augurs, who is a knowing person in all things and particularly in Genealogies, Clelius is lineally descended from the race of the Kings of Alba, though he dares not discover it at Rome, by reason of the ancient differences between the Sabines and the Romans, and at this day when those two Nations are united into one, he seeks no greater glory than that of being a Roman. Aronces hearing this discourse of Galerita, used all the sweet and persuasive Language he could, to mollify her heart, by which means he obtained permission of this Princess to write to Clelia; for since she believed that after his having been so near the accomplishment of his happiness, to prejudice so innocent an affection, would be to provoke the gods she was willing to give this consolation to a Prince, whom she loved with an infinite dearness. Accordingly, during Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines went to walk upon a Terrace he writ to Clelia, and delivered his Letter to the Princess of Leontium, who promised to procure it safely rendered to her hands. In order whereunto, as soon as she was returned to Clusium, she gave it to the Prince Artemidorus her Brother, who saw her every day privately; and forthwith dispatched a slave on purpose to Rome, to carry that Letter to Zenocrates, to the end he might deliver it to Clelia. To which end, he had no sooner received it, but he went to the House of Sulpicia, who was not at home, having not taken Clelia with her, he delivered her the Letter of Aronces, which she received with the greatest transport of joy in the World. Opening it hastily, and finding another enclosed for Octavius, she laid it aside, and began to read that which was addressed to herself, in these words.  
ARONCES to CLELIA.  
IF I love you not more ardently than ever, and be not resolved to love you so eternally, I wish I may never go forth of this prison wherein I am, though it be insupportable unto me. After this sincere protestation, permit me to conjure you, not to judge of me according to appearances, for perhaps the passion I have for you, will oblige me to do things that may seem to you criminal, though they be not so: but I protest once again, that I will be eternally and absolutely Yours, and Yours alone.  
Clelia having done reading this Letter, resented some cause of inquietude, from the request made to her by Aronces; but at length the assurance of his perpetual affection, inspired a joy into her more sweet and lively, than she had a long time been possessed with. Nevertheless, she dissembled part of it before Zenocrates; for though the love of Aronces and Clelia were no secret, yet the modesty of this virtuous Virgin ever obliged her, not to manifest more than part of the tenderness she had in her Soul. Which the better to conceal in this occasion, she lead Zenocrates to the Chamber of Octavius, to whom she delivered the Letter directed to him. At his receiving it, he could not contain from sighing, imagining that Aronces desired his friendship again, after his knowing that he could no longer be his Rival; breaking up the seals, he found both much generosity and dearness expressed in these terms.  
ARONCES to his dear OCTAVIUS.  
I Do no longer wonder I could never hate you, so much as my other Rivals, since you are Brother to the admirable Clelia. My heart, no doubt, by some divine instinct discerned Octavius from the Prince of Numidia, for notwithstanding all our feuds, it was ever possessed with respect for your Virtue. But I beseech you, do not content yourself with freeing me from a Rival; restore me a Friend, and vouchsafe to be my intercessor with Clelius and Sulpitia. I shall perhaps have the unhappiness to be in a party opposite to that of Rome, but if Honour and Love force me thereunto, pity me, and believe I shall not be less sincerely Yours.  
Octavius having read this Letter, showed it to Clelia, who could not read it through without sighing; for she well apprehended Aronces would be forced to bear Arms against Rome. She likewise knew, Honour would not permit him to come and side with Rome, since the King his Father made War against it: and she conceived too, that Clelius was so zealous for his Country, that he would hate Aronces more for being in the enemy's Army, than he did already, out of the thought that 'twas he that wounded Octavius in the Battle. But at length, she was not insensible of much sweetness, in receiving testimonies of Aronces' constancy, besides that, the Letter he writ to Octavius, made it so evident, that if he was the person that wounded him, it was through his not knowing him, that she asked her Brother, whether it would not be fit to show it to Clelius? The generous Octavius approved her request, and accordingly delivered it to his Father. But Clelius being at that time very ill affected towards Aronces, and extremely favourable to Horatius, he said, he perceived nothing in this Letter, that might justify Aronces, but that on the contrary, he saw it was written by a man, who was preparing to be the Protector of Tarquin, and the enemy of Rome. Octavius answered, that Nature and Honour not permitting Aronces to abandon the King his Father, he ought to be pitied, for being engaged among the enemies of Rome, and not to be looked upon as an Enemy. But this fair answer nothing moved him, for in the sentiments he then had, all that was favourable to Aronces displeased him, and all that was contrary to Horatius, put him into choler. In the mean time Valerius having dispatched so important an affair, and policy requiring the improvement of this advantage as much as possible, to the end to retain the people in a favourable disposition for the continuation of the War, all the principal persons affected to testify their joy of it. Nevertheless, the house of Racilia was always melancholy; and Hermilia and Collatina were almost continually alone lamenting their misfortunes. At the same time they of Veii having demanded fifteen days to consult with all their Augurs, whether they should deliver that Figure which was to be placed upon the top of the Temple of Jupiter, Telanus remained free at Rome, upon the word of Claelius, to whom he had engaged his own. But indeed he was not very much unpleased with it; for he was so much taken with Plotina, and found so many worthy persons, and amiable Ladies at Rome, that he could willingly have desired to continue there, all his life. Nor was it strange he should delight in a place to which both his own inclination retained him, and where no care was neglected to divert him. For Horatius, out of an honourable gratitude for the civil usage he had received from Mamilius, was very solicitous in his favour, and Claelius looking upon him as a Kinsman of his ancient friend, commanded Sulpitia and Claelia to contribute their utmost to his contentment. For Octavius being then out of danger, his mind was sufficiently serene and composed. And indeed Telanus himself was a person of so lovely and desirable a converse, that every one was forward to express their endeavours in favour of his content. Whence Horatius, Herminius, Themistus, Meleagenes, Zenocrates, Spurius, Aemilius, Merigenes, and Amilcar too, how much soever his Rival, did all they could to cause him to pass agreeably the time of his residence at Rome, Claelia, having then less affliction upon her mind, was also more Mistress of herself, and more easily concurred with the desires of her father, and the endeavours of the rest; Valeria, Cesonia, Plotina, Flavia and Salonina, being of themselves sufficiently disposed to divert him, the conversation was always extremely pleasant, in every place whatsoever. And besides it being the custom to celebrate three festival days upon the Dedication of a Temple, mirth; and rejoicing became at that time universal. Sulpicia in compliance with the custom, and obedience to Clelius ●r had an intention to go and sup in one of the Gardens of Numa, which was at the foot of that little Hill beset with Laurels, whither he was wont to resort in secret to receive the inspirations and documents of the Nymph Aegeria. To which the principal Ladies of Rome being invited, besides Valeria, Cesonia, Plotina, Flavia, and Salonina, they all went thither in Chariots. And as for the men of quality, they repaired thither by themselves on horseback. But as the Ladies arrived at this place, they beheld a broken Chariot before this Gate of the Garden into which they were to enter, and observed the persons that were taking care for the reparation of it, were not Romans. Upon which, they enquired of the Gardener who stood at the Gate, whose Chariot that was, who answered that it belonged to some Ladies of Sicily, that were newly entered into the Garden, and who after their landing at Ostia, had taken a Chariot to come to Rome, after which Sulpicia entered, being accompanied by all the other Ladies, and Horatius, Amilcar, and Zenocrates being arrived there before Aemilius, Spurius, Themisius, and Merigenes, they gave the hand to these Ladies, and conducted them into the Garden. Zenocrates, who waited upon Clelia, because Horatius found himself obliged to give the hand to Sulpicia, had scarce walked twenty paces, but he beheld two fair persons sitting by the side of a Fountain upon seats of Turf, who without taking notice of the company, were very intent in their discourse together, whilst two young Virgins that belonged to them, were gathering Flowers in the Garden: but as soon as he behold them, he perceived they were Clidamira and Berelisa, Mistresses to Artemidorus; which giving him a pleasing astonishment, he could not contain from testifying his surprise and his joy: O gods (cried he) is it possible I should find the two persons together; whom of all the world I most affect, and who love one another least! I beseech you, Madam, (said he to Clelia) oblige the generous Sulpicia to make a civility to them, since the persons you behold, are of the highest quality of Agrigentum and Leontium, as you will acknowledge when I shall have told you, their names are Clidamira and Berelisa; for I presume Valeria has recounted to you the relation I sometimes made to her of the adventures of Artemidorus.  
Clelia hearing Zenocrates speak in this manner, advertised Sulpitia of the quality of these Ladies, who at length turning their heads towards this fair and great company, let fall their veils, and arose up with intention to go into a Walk by themselves, to avoid the company which they beheld. But Zenocrates having demanded Clelia's permission to leave her, went towards the two Ladies whom he no sooner saluted, but they remembered they had seen him at Leontium and Agrigentum: Whereupon they lifted up their veils, and sighed as they beheld him; for knowing he understood all their adventures, they could not repress this first emotion. Nevertheless they were well pleased in having met thus accidentally with him; though at the same time reflecting that Artemidorus might possibly be in the same Garden too, their hearts were sensibly moved with the apprehension: But Zenocrates soon undeceived them; for after the first civility, he told them the Prince Artemidorus in the place he was in, little thought of the adventure now befallen him. After which, informing them who the Ladies were they beheld there, he conducted them to receive the civilities of Sulpitia, who undrstanding their quality and merit, offered them the utmost of her abilities to serve them, and then inviting them to pass the rest of the day in the Garden, assured them she would carry them back in her own Chariot, whilst theirs was rectifying at leisure; and moreover, she generously offered them the entertainment of her house. I assure you▪ said Telanus agreeably) strangers are admirably well received at the house of Sulpitia, although they be enemies; so that there is reason to believe such fair strangers as you can find no other than noble reception. To speak for myself (answered Berelisa) I so little merit the title of Fair, that I cannot think myself concerned in your obliging language; And as for my particular (added Clidamira pleasantly) though I should have been sometimes accounted fair in Sicily, I should esteem myself at present very deformed in a place where I behold more fair persons, than I have otherwhere ever seen. I conceive (said Valeria, addressing to Clelia) it concerns you to answer, for you have more interest than all the rest in the commendations of Clidamira. I am so little persuaded of the truth of what you say (answered Clelia) that I was preparing to hear you, and thought not at all of answering. 'Tis beyond doubt (added Plotina) that you have not the power to oppose yourself against a truth that cannot be contested by any that own the faculty of sight. But though myself am not (added she smiling) one of the number of those grand Beauties that excite admiration, yet I am not timorous to claim some share in Clidamira's praises; for I should be very sorry not to please a person, who pleases me infinitely already. Clidamira (said Berelisa, addressing to Zenocrates) is wont to please as soon as she is first seen: but as for me, who make not so sudden Conquests, nevertheless I have some hope, that if I continue at Rome, my commendations will be accounted something, though at present, only those of my fair Sister, are taken notice of. You speak in so subtle a strain (answered Plotina) that I well perceive the more knowledge any persons have of you, the more desirous they will be to know you, and that you well understand how to preserve what you have acquired, You know her so well already (replied Clidamira, with a cunning smile) that I believe you have formerly seen her; for she not only preserves what is given her, or she acquires; but she takes away from others what they have acquired, without ever making them restitution. When any person finds a thing another has lost by his own fault (answered Berelisa) and which ought to be possessed by some other, it is as good to take and keep it, as to leave it, for those, who perhaps will have no care of it; and therefore (added Berelisa, beholding all the fair persons that environed her) if it happen we make some stay at Rome, you must prepare yourselves to love me more at the end, than at the beginning. At present, for that it is not meet to trouble your divertisement, and be at a Feast, whereunto chance causes our invitation; if my Sister consents, we will accept the Chariot offered us, and leave you to that liberty, which is most necessary to render your Walk agreeable; since oftentimes one strange or troublesome person prejudices the pleasure of many. As for being troublesome (answered Sulpitia) you know you are not such. And for strangers (added Plotina) you are less so at Rome than you imagine, it not being possible to have conversed so much there with the Prince Artemidorus and Zenocrates, and not to know you perfectly. Clelia accompanying the requests of Sulpitia with her own, and all the other Ladies testifying the same desires, Clidamira and Berelisa were persuaded to stay with them: Though they made some further scruple by reason of the carelessness of their attire, unsuitable for an appointed feast; but that being sufficiently becoming, their excuse was ineffectual, and they were constrained to make an addition to this fair company. Wherefore giving order to their attendants, to go and advertise a friend of Spurius, at whose house they intended to lodge, that they would be there at night, they mingled themselves in the conversation of all the Ladies, with as much liberty as if they had been of their most ancient familiars. Clidamira and Berelisa handsomely extolled the beauty of Clelia; for no question there is an art to commend with a good grace of greater difficulty than is believed. But the modest Clelia averted the praises given her after so gentle and pleasing a manner; that, without either refusing or accepting the same; she caused them to change their discourse. For beholding a man of a comely personage, and a noble and sprightly air enter into the Garden, I wish (said she) he that I see there were some stranger as agreeable as you. He is without doubt much more (answered Clidamira, who knew him) and I think Berelisa will not but acknowledge it. You know him then? (replied Clelia) We know him (answered Berelisa) only by occasion of passing from Sicily to Ostia in the same ship, but I assure you, there is not a more agreeable person than Anacreon, How? (said Herminius) is he that comes there, Anacreon, whose works charmed me in Greece? and whose reputation is so famous? who has so gallant a fancy, delicate wit, and natural expressions? who generally loves all pleasures, and in particular, is no great hater of genial entertainments? 'Tis that very person (answered she) As for me (said Amilcar) who am charmed with his writings as well as Herminius, I am ravished to see him. Berelisa hearing what was spoken of Anacreon, went to meet him, and addressing to him, Come, said she, come to a place where you have more friends than you believe, and where perhaps you may have occasion to break the oath you have made to love no beauty at Rome; for you will see some sufficiently charming in this Garden, it may be, to change your resolution. Since I have had only admiration, and esteem for you and Clidamira, ever since I had the honour to know you answered he, speaking the Roman language tolerably well) I conceive no fair ones in the world ought to be offended, when they excite not in my breast the tender passion of Love, Perhaps (said Plotina pleasantly) we should be culpable in being offended at it; but if you are such a person as description represents you, perhaps we shall have reason to be discontented, since there would be no want of pleasure in detaining so worthy a person as you at Rome. I assure you, answered he, that good company may detain me any where, and being that where I am present, has a very agreeable appearance, it shall only depend on them, if I stay not here as long as they please. After this, all these Ladies made a thousand civilities to Anacreon, and effectually obliged him to sup in that Garden with all the company, To speak my thoughts, (said he, when the Ladies were beginning to walk) I apprehend a happy presage of my abode at Rome, since at my first arrival, I find myself at a noble entertainment, I, who am the protector of joy, and who in defiance of all the Sages, who glory only in solitude and simplicity, am of opinion, that the society, and jovial Collations of honest persons are necessary to the felicity of life. As for society (answered Clelia) I believe, who ever is owner of a Reason, not perfectly Savage, consents with you; but as for great Festivals, I conceive 'tis possible to be absent from them during all our lives, without loss of any great pleasure; and consequently, that they may be dispensed with for ever. When I speak as I do (answered Anacreon) I do not mean those Feast that are made at nuptial Solemnities where there are assembled a multitude of persons, for the most part strangers to one another, who know not what to speak of; where there are more impertinents than intelligent, where there is much talk but little discourse, where the conversation is rather a confused noise than a real society, where ceremony is supreme regent, where molestation and tediousness always meet, where multitude excites longing desires of, and gives extraordinary endearments to solitude, and where oftentimes people die for hunger in the midst of abundance, because freedom, property, order, and decency, are excluded from such entertainments. There arises at such times a disgust in us, that causes us to fancy nothing good; we are oftentimes placed directly against persons whom we do not affect, others on each hand who disturb us, and on what ever side we turn, there is nothing to be found but disorder, set off with tedious ceremony, and consequently occasioning much dissatisfaction. The description Acacr●on has made of a troublesome feast, is perfectly handsome, (said Amilcar) and if he will represent a pleasant one, I believe it will be very acceptable to the company. As for my part (said that lover of Plotina, who was of the sect of Pythagoras) I never understood that the joy of virtuous people could depend on high fare, or that the delicacy of taste was necessary to the felicity of a rational man. On the contrary, I believe the owners of this inclination, are for the most part, enemies of all Becommingness and Virtue, and that there are few vices to which they are strangers. When Anacreon spoken of an agreeable Feast (answered Amilcar) he does not mean one of those exorbitant Feasts, which admit not the presence of virtuous Ladies, from whence decency is banished, where licentiousness takes the place of liberty, where 'tis a glory to lose reason, where disorder causes the greatest pleasure that is found there, where the discourse is oftentimes without coherence, and without wit, where they that speak are not harkened too, where they who attend, understand nothing of what is spoken to them, where one while there is good singing, and another while prodigious roaring; where Virtue and good manners are made a mockery of, and where insolence and rudeness pass for agreeable deportment and good company: for, to speak determinately, I account men that spend all their whole lives in Feasts of this nature, much inferior to beasts. No doubt, you have reason (replied Anacreon) for these sorts of jollities have more correspondence with the extravagances of Bacchanals, than with true joy. But that which to me is most agreeable, is, to find five or six friends together, free from business and melancholy, and who looking upon good fare only as a tye that draws them together, and as that which affords liberty and contributes to joy, really find all the pleasure therein they are able to wish for. There the conversation is free, cheerful. and pleasant; we speak what we please and what we think, we impart as much delectation as we receive; the fancy is raised, and the wit displays itself more than at other times, without constraint or ostentation; we remember our absent friends, we talk of our loves, we premeditate new pleasures, by making an appointment for another entertainment; and intermixing the Feast with agreeable Sonnets, Music, now and than a little walk, and a little discourse, it may be concluded, both the body and mind are highly refreshed and satisfied, and there remains nothing to be desired, but the renovation of the same pleasure. But to cause this pleasure to be perfect, it is requisite the familiarity of the guests afford them more joy in being together, than the nearness and rare skill of the Officers of him that treats his friends, can give them. Not that I blame those who have a delicate palate; for 'tis an advantage of Nature, as well as to have a quick sight: but the principal part of pleasure ought not to be placed in it. Nor ought an agreeable entertainment to resemble a great Feast; there ought to be order, choice, neatness, property, and handsome abundance, nothing superfluous in it, with joy and freedom. Your discourse extremely pleases me (answered Plotina) but that there is one thing I am unsatisfied with, which is, that you make no mention of Ladies in your Festivals, after the Greek mode, as if there were none present at them. 'Tis true, added she, before the War, the Ladies at Rome did not much frequent them; but we draw this advantage at least from our unhappiness, to have a little more liberty than we formerly enjoyed. As Plotina was speaking thus, Clelius was seen to enter, and with him Artemidorus, who was newly arrived, and having first acquainted the Consul Horatius, with the oceasion of his coming, suffered himself to he conducted by Clelius to this Garden, without knowing any thing of the arrival of Clidamira and Berelisa. Which caused him to be strangely surprised, when he beheld those two fair persons amongst all those Roman Ladies. Berelisa and Clidamira were as much surprised when they perceived him, and could not contain from blushing. They looked one upon another, as if to read what each thought, in their eyes; and they beheld Artemidorus likewise, to discover which of them he looked upon most favourably. But he avoided the eyes of Clidamira, as if he had feared to meet them, and endeavoured to encounter with those of Berelisa. Clelia, on the other side, who knew he could give her some intelligence of her dear Aronces, approached to him, with as much ardency as his Mistresses, who both made a compliment to him, in which there appeared some reservedness, because indeed they durst not speak according to their real sentiments. But when they observed Artemidorus in a place where there was so many fair persons present, they were possessed with very different thoughts; Berelisa fearing lest he should fall in love with some one of them, and Clidamira almost wishing it, only for the pleasure to see him no longer Berelisa's Lover: but being in a great company, they constrained themselves, and checked their sentiments. As for Artemidorus, the first agitation of his heart being passed, he sought to approach Berelisa; but this amiable Virgin having perceived the company knew her adventures, after telling him in two words, she should gladly entertain him, when she could do it without being observed by so many eyes, entreated him not to oblige her at that time to a particular conversation. Now this day being designed for the jollity of all the company in general, Clelius; to whom these fair strangers and Anacreon were presented, and by him civilly received, signified that according to the order of great Feasts made at Rome, a Thaliarch, or King of the Feast, aught to be nominated, who might be a fit person, to choose the divertisements for the company. Amilcar propounded Anacreon, as being the best qualified to dispense joy at such an entertainment; but he desired to be excused, pretending his ignorance of the customs of Rome: But Clelius telling him Herminius should teach him them, and likewise cause his Orders to be executed, he took upon him the Office; and the first thing he commanded, was, that every one should walk and discourse with whomsoever he pleased, during the time, Herminius and Amilcar instructed him in what was requisite for him to know, Which the company obeying, divided themselves into several little ones Sulpicia seated herself in a verdant Arbour, with two or three women of quality, which arrived at that time: Clelius betook himself to discourse, concerning the public affairs with one of his friends: Artemidorus walked between Berelisa and Cesonia: Horatius consorted himself with Clelia, who, to hinder him from speaking of his passion to her, retained Plotina, with whom were Sicinius, Telanus, and Acrisius; Zenocrates entertained Clidamira: and Valeria was involuntarily obliged to endure the company of Aemilius and Spurius, though she soon after desired Flavia to continue with her. This fair company being thus divided, several little knots of them were seen in almost all places of the garden: but Zenocrates being desirous Clidamira should not have leisure to observe Artemidorus, and having an extreme longing to know what occasioned her to he with Berelisa, and for what reasons they were come into Italy, he asked her the question. And for that he had formerly been sometimes her Lover, and sometimes her Confident, she told him, the Father of Berelisa being married again, out of love to a person, who was unwilling this charming Lady should dwell with her, her Father absolutely commanded her to enter into the order of Veiled Virgins, where the Princess Philonice was, and to enter into it, never to come forth again; or else to go and dwell with her at Leontium, and that whatever jealousy Berelisa was possessed with, she liked rather to dwell with her, than for ever renounce the pretensions she had for Artemidorus. I see well (answered Zenocrates) Berelisa has had cause rather to choose to live with you, than to enter into the Order of Veiled Virgins, for her life time: but I do not so well understand, why you consented to have with you a Sister-in-law, whom you do not love. Ah! Zenocrates (replied Clidamira) I perceive you no better understand Love, than you did the time I saw you last; for if you were more knowing in true Love, you would apprehend, that notwithstanding my jealousy, it was a sufficient satisfaction to me to have my Rival in my power. When she was at Agrigentum, I always believed Artemidorus was there disguis d, or writ to her every day, and I was then far more tormented, than since her being at Leontium, where no doubt, I have so much credit, that Artemidorus and the Princess his Sister, shall never return thither, unless I negotiate their accommodement with the Prince. But wherefore (said Zenocrates) do you not make that negotiation, and so oblige Artemidorus to forget your pretended inconstancy? Ah! Zenocrates (answered she) if he could forget Berelisa, he would soon forget my pretended inconstancy. But to make an end of telling you what you desire to know, your must understand, my Sister-in-Law and I have had a thousand contests, for Artemidorus since we were together; for I have told her a hundred times, I would never procure that Prince's revocation, unless she would promise me to think no more of him, and she has told me, a thousand and a thousand times, that she knew with infallible certainty, that Prince would never love me, though he should desist from loving her, and so I should but render him unhappy, without being able to draw any advantage from the infelicity that I caused to him. Upon which, being desirous to be informed of the future, by all the ways that people endeavour to know it, and a friend of mine assuring me the Praenestine Lots give an absolute decision in all cases wherein they are consulted, we took a resolution to come into Italy for that purpose; for as for my part, I confess to you, being I excited the first passion in Artemidorus, I cannot think but that he will return again to me. Berelisa on the other side, believes Inconstancy can never be forgotten, nor a dead Love revived; For which reasons we are desirous to be satisfied, whether of us two is mistaken, and to order our lives accordingly after the determination. In the mean time, I fear this casual meeting of Artemidorus, will decide the matter sooner: Nevertheless, since he flies me (added she) ' 'tis a sign he fears me still, and I must not despair but the Lots of Praenestine may prove favourable to me. Whilst Clidamira was speaking this, and all the rest of the company entertaining themselves according to their own inclination, Herminius instructed Anacreon in the customs of Rome, to the end he might better acquit himself of the charge that Clelius had given him. But amongst the rest, he told him, that since the fair and potent City of Alba had been united with Rome, there was introduced a kind of a game of chance, of sufficient pleasure; for it having been necessary at that time, to lodge all the remaining Inhabitants of Alba, in a quarter of Rome, to take away all contest about places assigned them for their particular habitations, the business was referred to lot by little tickets, in some of which were written the names of the Inhabitants of Alba, and in others the houses designed for them. And ever since (said Amilcar) it has been accounted a piece of delight to make use of chance in pleasant affairs; so that when the King of a feast is liberal, he bestows a great number of magnificent gifts, which are distributed according to chance, by putting all the names of the persons present into tickets, and expressing all the things intended to be given in others. But to discover the good luck and the bad, there are fewer Presents put in, than there are Persons at the Feast, that sothere may be some unfortunate, to be either pitied, or derided in the way of raillery. This custom seems to me extreme handsome (answered Anacreon) but being I am a stranger, and have nothing to give, some other invention must be devised to employ chance in a divertising manner. Accordingly Herminius and Amilcar being agreed with him concerning all things, Herminius took upon him the execution of them, and Anacreon and Amilcar re united with the company. But by the way they beheld together in a walk, the person who was wont to speak too much, and he who used to speak too little, who were constrained to be a part by themselves, by reason Plotina had rid herself of them, and every one avoided him that was over talkative, and no body cared for him that was little better than a mute. Amilcar taking notice of them, told Anacreon the different humour of those two men, which were well matched together, since the first was always speaking, and the other scarce ever spoke at all. In the mean time, Clelius being sent for away by the Consul Horatius, the company became more free; for Sulpitia was one of those Ladies whose Virtue is not severe, and who never interrupt the divertisements of young persons, provided they exceed not decency; and besides, having lived so long a time in Africa, she was thereby become something less rigid. Now all these little Companies being again assembled in a large round place, beset about with seats, they all sat down, and made a very gallant appearance; for the Ladies having walked for some time, the colour of their complexions appeared more fresh and vivid, when they came to lift up their veils; but though all the Ladies present were very fair, yet the beauty of Clelia much transcended that of all the rest, though she were not at that time possessed with all the joy necessary to set off, and enliven a great Beauty. The men were sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, and sometimes upon their knees before the Ladies, according as they pleased: but being Clidamira and Berelisa were strangers, Clelia and Valeria were very careful to entertain them, as likewise to discourse with Anacreon; for though the language he used was something broken, because he learned the Roman tongue in Sicily, yet he spoke so agreeably, that all the world took pleasure in hearing him; for he discoursed of a hundred different things, and always admirably well. I beseech you (said Clelia to Berelisa) be pleased to tell me, what Country Anacreon is of. He is of one of those Islands which are generally called the Cycladeses (answered she) and was born in Teia, which was not far from Delos, but has spent a great part of his life at Samos, in the Court of Polycrates, by whom he was very much beloved. Yet Love subverted his favour with him after a while. Was it because he was Rival to the Prince? (said Valeria) There's probability of it (answered Berelisa) but I know not exactly; for though Anacreon has testified much kindness to Clidamira and me, yet we observed he cared not to make us privy to his Love; and all I know concerning it, is, that he told us Polycrates one day causing several eminent Ladies of his Court to dance before him, attired like gods and goddesses, and Nymphs, and Muses, there was one person that represented Apollo, who so affected his heart, that he commended only her; by reason of which Polycrates afterwards conceived so horrid a jealousy, that transported with indignation and fury against this fair person, whom he suspected to correspond with his passion, he caused her hair to be cut off, to the end she might appear less fair in the eyes of Anacreon; who became so afflicted at it, that to eternise the memory of that lovely hair, he made the handsomest Verses in the World, upon that subject. I have heard this adventure related after another way, (said Amilcar, who was present) but since you know it from Anacreon, you ought to be believed, For my part (interrupted Anacreon not knowing what Amilcar was speaking of) I conceive it good to doubt of every thing: Nevertheless (said Clelia) your aspect does not speak you of a distrustful mind: You have reason (answered he) but to show you that I easily doubt of what is told me, I even doubt, whether what I spoke last be rational or not, and I cannot presently name above one thing that I do not doubt of, which is, that you are the fairest person that ever I beheld: Anacreon speaks this with such an air (said Clidamira) that I believe he will shortly love you as much as he loves Roses, though he loves them sufficiently, to give them immortality by his writings. And indeed (added Berelisa) he has composed Verses extremely pleasant; only upon the prerogatives and excellencies of Roses. No question (said Anacreon) I prefer Roses above all other Flowers; but 'tis not the Spring alone, that causes me to have such a peculiar affection for them, but some other I cannot tell what thing (added he smiling) which has great resemblance with the Spring. Namely (said Amilcar) the love you have had, or have for some fair and young person, who loved Roses, has caused you to affect them, more than otherwise you would have done. I confess it (answered Anacreon) and I acknowledge also, that her memory is still so dear to me, that I can never see Roses, nor Rose-bushes, without resenting some kind of sweet, though with all troublesome, emotion in my heart. Yet you have a very joyful aspect (said Herminius) for one, subject to great passions; at least, we are not wont to suspect cheerful persons at Rome, to be capable of any great invasion by them. I love Joy, no doubt, extremely (replied Anacreon) and if love were without pleasure, I should never be amorous. But as there are some melancholy persons by constitution, who notwithstanding are not uncapable of resenting joy, so there are some naturally addicted to mirth, yet sufficiently sensible of sorrow. Thus, though I am sufficiently jovial, and seek pleasure in all places, oftentimes also carrying it whither I go, yet I do not cease to be discontented, perplexed and jealous, when I am possessed with love; for there aught to be a difference made between melancholy and sorrow, as likewise between cheerfulness and joy. Yet methinks (said Plotina) there is a great resemblance between cheerfulness and joy, and with all the wit you have, you can never manifest to me any considerable difference between them. To perceive it distinctly (answered Anacreon), you must know there is no person in the world, but may be capable of some kind of joy, and there are only a certain number of persons in the world capable of cheerfulness. For this latter is a quality peculiar to those of a jovial constitution: but as for Joy, when ever it pleases Fortune, it may be found in the hearts of the most melancholic persons. Yea, 'tis sometimes more sensible there, than in those of the most mirthful inclinations, (added Herminius) not only, because contraries are advanced by proximity, but because persons of this temper having usually more violent desires, have also a greater joy when they can satisfy them, than they have, whose desires are more moderate. We see it happens that joy sometimes causes sighing, when it is extreme, whereas laughter is the perpetual effect of cheerfulness. Joy can never arise of itself alone, it must always have some extraneous cause. 'Tis not so with cheerfulness, which arises of itself, and there needs nothing but health to such as are of a jolly and airy humour. Joy is an infallible consequent of all passions when they are satisfied; cheerfulness subsists without aid, though it may be augmented by causes from without. Indeed we may observe at this present I am speaking, that the presence of these fair strangers and Anacreon, redoubles the cheerfulness of the amiable Plotina, and Amilcar, as may at least be gathered from their eyes. But why do you not also add Zenocrates? (said Clelia;) 'Tis certainly (answered Plotina, without giving Amilcar leisure to speak) because Zenocrates is sometimes sad and sometimes jovial: and giving himself frequently to musing as he does, it cannot be easily determined, whether he be serious, though it may be assured that he is always agreeable. But in brief, if he take not some course to correct those little distractions, his dear Friends reproach him with, I foresee there will one day happen a War between the Pleasant and the Melancholists; for being a person of Merit, one side will claim him for theirs, and the other challenge them wholly to themselves. Yet I am not so much wandered in my thoughts (answered Zenocrates, smiling) but that I perceive you employ a very ingenious raillery against me; and if I were as vindicative a person, as you are a derider, would reproach your pleasantness to you with as much mockery, as you do my Muse to me. After which Sulpitia, who was entertaining herself with several Ladies of her friends, led the Company to the place where the Feast was prepared, where there wanted nothing that could render it agreeable. The place was well furnished with lights, the Tables magnificent and very decently served, and the Men were the Lady's Attendants at this entertainment; there was an excellent consent of Music, and after the repast there came some women to dance, and divert the Ladies, whilst the Men went to their Collation in another place. But when this was done, the King of the Feast, being counselled by Herminius and Amilcar, who better understood the Roman customs than he, propounded the abovementioned Game of Chance to the company. Anacreon excused himself as a stranger, and for that he was not wealthy enough to render this pastime as magnificent, as he understood it had sometimes been in the reign of Ancus Martius, when an illustrious Roman, whose Family was descended from the ancient King of Sicily, had the liberality to give three hundred magnificent presents, and to choose three hundred persons, to whom Fortune alone had given all the excellent things he parted with for his humour, without reserving to himself any other right in them, than to manifest to all that were chose, that he judged them worthy to possess the most valuable presents, since he empowered them to obtain the same by hazard. This magnificence (continued Anacreon) was, no doubt, worthy of a man who had all the qualities necessary to govern States gloriously, and aggrandise them; but as for me, (added he) I find myself enforced to supply my defects, by some shift of wit, and to render the game as divertising otherwise as I am able. To begin therefore (said he) according to the power my dignity gives me, I require that all the hearts of the Men and the Ladies, be put into tickets, and that every one without distinction draw a ticket, to see if Fortune, who is blind as well as Love, will haply match the success. It will be requisite then, (said Horatius) that the hearts of the Men be put apart by themselves, and those of the Ladies in another place. By no means (answered Anacreon) but observe how I intent the matter. If a Lady happen to have the heart of a Man, it signifies that she is loved by him; if a man have the heart of a Lady, it shall be free for him to hope, that he shall one day be not ill-treated by her: If the heart of a man falls to the lot of another man 'tis a sign he is more inclinable to friendship than to Love; and if it he returns to himself, it denotes that he loves himself more than all the rest of the World, and loves nothing else but for his own sake. For as for myself (added Anacreon slily, who understood the cause of Clidamira and Berelisa's voyage) I shall give as much credit to this Game, as to the Lots of Praeneste. Though you are much in favour with a certain god, that empow'rs to divine of the most occult matters (answers Clidamira smiling and blushing) yet I shall not be over-credulous to your pastime of Chance. But though it were only to try what hazard may do, I consent my Heart be put to the venture. Which all the Ladies and the Men likewise, doing, every one was constrained to write his own ticket. All the company therefore writ their names with what they pleased under them, suitable to the occasion. So that, excepting Sulpitia and two other Ladies her Friends, who were discoursing together in a Closet near the Chamber, wherein the company than was, there was none but writ their names. Clelia, Plotina, Valeria, Clidamira, Berelisa, Flavia, Cesonia, Salonina, and some other Ladies writ their tickets; so also did Horatins, Artemidorus, Telanus, Herminius, Amilcar, Sicinius, Acrisius, Damon, Spurius, Anacreon, and some others; after which, all the tickets were put into an Urn, and Anacreon going round the company in order, began at Clelia, who trembled as she drew the ticket it behoved her to take, because she feared lest the heart of Horatius should fall to her Lot. For though it was but a trifling pastime, yet she perceived an unwillingness in herself to give him that false joy. Horatius on the contrary, wished the heart of Clelia might come to his hands after this manner; and though this sport was merely frivolous without consequence, yet every person that had any concealed interest, could not contain from resenting some kind of light inquietude, the vehemence of affection being apprehensive of what ever events. But amongst the rest, Clidamira and Berelisa had a curiosity to see, to whose lot the heart of Artemidorus would happen. But to proceed, Clelia having drawn the first ticket, unhappily lighted upon the name of Horatius, with these words underneath;  I am ignorant what Fortune will do with my heart, but I well know how Love has disposed of it. 
Clelia blushed after she had opened this Ticket, and refused to show it; but the order of the pastime requiring it to be seen by all the company, Horatius had the joy to see Fortune had well guided his heart. At which, Artemidorus was not able to put off all fear, lest his should not be so happy as that of Horatius. But in the next place, Anacreon having obliged Zenocrates to take a ticket, he found that his own heart returned to himself, which occasioned the company sufficiently to laugh, because he was accused by all the fair ones, to do no more than lend his heart, and suddenly withdrew it again, out of the hands of those whom he suffered to take it. They desired to see what he had written under his name, but it could not be, for being something moved at the raillery made against him, he tore his ticket into pieces; and so it behoved Anacreon to proceed: Next therefore he presented the Urn to Plotina, who was some time in suspense without resolving, what ticket to choose, during which, Amilcar, Telanus, Acrisius, and Sicinius, were anxious in conjecturing whom she wished to light upon; for you would have thought she intended to choose the heart that should happen to her lot, though she was not able to distinguish amongst them: Whereupon Acrisius who loved to speak much, was not contented to be silent in this occasion, but began to request her with as much importunateness, as could be employed by an ardent desire, to leave the event to the hazard of the Game, and not to pick out whom to choose. And Plotina, only to silence him, hastened to draw a ticket, wherein she found the name of Sicinius, who having not followed his own humour of speaking little in writing, as well as in conversation, had written these words underneath his name;  'Tis only in the fair Plotina 's power to dispose of my heart, and not in Fortune's. 
Plotina had no sooner opened this Ticket, but Amilcar, Telanus, and Acrisius, were enraged against Chance, for having favoured Sicinius rather than themselves; and Acrisius made his complaint with such abundance of words, that the continuation of the pastime was almost forgotten. As for Sicinius, there did not want much but that his joy was dumb, for he expressed it only in three or four words. Then Valeria drew her ticket. If the Lot had been equitable, without doubt she had drawn the heart of Herminius, or that of Aemilius; but it happened to be that of the revengeful Spurius, who had writ these words in his Ticket;  I defy Fortune to take me from her, to whom I have given myself, since hatred and jealousy have not been able to do it. 
Valeria blushed with extreme vexation, for having happened upon this ticket; which served something to comfort Herminius and Valerius for their unhappiness: for though 'tis possible for one to blush obligingly, yet the eyes of a Lover are well able to discern a ruddiness proceeding from choler, from one that is favourable; whence Spurius also knew as well as Herminius and Aemilius, what interpretation to make of the blushing of Valeria. In the mean time Anacreon having caused Amilcar to draw a ticket, he made a hundred shifts before he opened it. He beheld all the beauties one after another, though he stopped at Plotina, and told her, he passionately wished the ticket fallen to him, were that which she had written. But at length having opened it, he found chance had given him the heart of Anacreon, who had writ these words in his ticket;  I know not to whom Lott will give me; but I know well, that joy is the true Mistress of my heart. 
Ha! my dear Anacreon (cried Amilcar with a transport he was unable to suppress) we are Rivals; but the Mistress we serve is so gentle, that she yields to whosoever takes her, so that we shall never be jealous. I am very glad of the declaration you have now made (said Plotina smiling) for being your Mistress is one of my friends too, I may— Alas! I beseech you (interrupted Amilcar) do not triumph over me for what I have spoken; for I swear I am no lover of joy, but because I see it in your eyes, I find it in all your discourses, and in loving and serving you, and for that I know it always resides in your heart; and did I find it any other where, perhaps I should not love it at all. As for my part (said Anacreon) who spoke sincerely, I acknowledge I am a Lover of it, where ever I find it. After which, he obliged Artemidorus to take a ticket, who drew that wherein Clidamira had writ these words;  Did I dispose of my heart, it should never be but my own. 
I assure you Madam, (said Artemidorus to Clidamira with a low voice) it has always been yours more than mine, and shall still be so, more than any others in the world. I wish to the gods it were so, (answered Clidamira) and I would stop my journey to Praeneste. Mean while Berelisa, who heard not what these two persons were speaking, conceived jealousy at it, as well as regret; for that lot had given the heart of Clidamira to Artemidorus. Nevertheless, being obliged to choose a ticket, she constrained herself, and drew one; but instead of finding in it the heart of Artemidorus, as she desired, she found her own, which Fortune had returned to her. And that which was remarkable, was, that she was almost as much troubled, as if Artemidorus had refused it. Yet this Prince desired to see what she had written in the ticket, and found these words;  It belongs not to Fortune to dispose of my heart. 
You have reason, Madam, (said Artemidorus to her) and the most precious thing in the world, ought not to depend on one that is capricious, and dispenses all her liberalities without choice. After this, Anacreon caused Aemilius to draw, who found the name of Plotina with these words;  Take my heart who pleases, but I intent it to be restored to me as often as I will. 
As for my part, Madam, (said Aemilius to her) who have always thought, that could never be well possessed, which was possible to be lost, I conceive I should do very prudently, not to accept a Present which Fortune has given me, against your will; and besides, I am not able to return you heart for heart, for I had no longer any to dispose of the first time I had the honour to see you. Then I resume mine very willingly (answered Plotina) for 'tis a thing we always have need of, and more convenient for it to be at home than elsewhere. But have you it there, (said Acrisius) and may the word of a person be relied on, that scarce ever speaks seriously, who makes mirth of every thing, and perhaps glories in deluding those, who would by a thousand services, oblige her only to suffer them to be her servants? All that you say, is very well spoken (replied Plotina craftily) but 'tis good not to speak so much at a time, while there are yet so many hearts to be matched. Since it is no longer possible for me to obtain a heart, which is desired by many others besides myself (said Telanus) I do not much care for continuing the pastime. That which I desired being also already given, and returned, (added Acrisius) I shall be well enough satisfied if it do not proceed, for when there's no longer hope left, nothing can be delectable. If I loved to speak as much as you, (answered Sicinius coldly) I should say the same that you do. For my part (said Damon, the Disciple of Pythagoras) since I believe not that hearts love as much to change place, as Souls do to change Bodies, I consent to the change of the divertisement. Flavia, Salonina, and the rest of the company perceiving the pleasure of it was past, Berelisa, Clidamira, Artemidorus, Plotina, and Amilcar, having already drawn their tickets, told Anacreon they would dispense with him, from proceeding in the distribution of the hearts which remained; for 'tis probable too (said Themistus) they will not continue where lot disposes them. Since 'tis so, said Anacreon, we will leave all the hearts that are left, to go whither they please. But because I love such pleasures as occasion the production of others, I must make this pastime after another manner, and instead of those hearts, disposed of by Fortune, we will write tickets, in which there shall be both pleasures and punishments, and every one shall be engaged to receive the first, and undergo the latter. Provided there be a Lady of your counsel, said Clelia, I believe the company will obey you without repugnance. I find your caution equitable, answered Anacreon, and I engage to resolve on nothing but with your consent. The amiable Plotina, replied this fair Lady, is much more fit than I to be of your counsel, and therefore I advise you to make choice of her. Though I am not worthy to possess a place that was designed to you, said Plotina, yet I shall not refuse to take it, if Anacreon pleases. And accordingly this illustrious Greek placed himself near her, and imparted to her his purpose. After which, having with the assistance of Amilcar, made new tickets, each of which contained, either a pleasure or a penalty, they were mingled and distributed; all the company promising they would punctually do what ever was appointed to them by their respective tickets. In the mean time Artemidorus being placed between Berelisa and Clidamira, was sufficiently perplexed, and so much the more, that Themistus having engaged Berelisa in a discourse, he became forced to answer to Clidamira, who used to him the most insinuating and moving expressions in the world. So that as a virtuous man is much put to't to become cruel, he answered civilly enough, and contented himself handsomely to put off part of her blandishments and sweetnesses. Berelisa, who had a delicate and tender mind; easily sensible of trouble, as a person who really loved, was possessed with vexation and jealously even so as to change her colour, and not to answer very directly to that which Themistus said to her. At length Anacreon, having distributed his Tickets, every one opened their own, and beheld the pleasure they were to have, or the punishment to which they were condemned. Valeria being the most diligent in opening that which fell to her, found herself empowered to cause a Sonnet to be sung by whom she pleased of the company. Clelia found that she was obliged to entrust a secret with Anacreon. Themistus to tell his opinion concerning a Love-question that Anacreon should propound to him, Berelisa to recite some amorous Verses, Acrisius, who always spoke so much, not to speak at all, the rest of that evening, Sicinius, (who as much hated to speak,) to relate his own life, Clidamira, to declare what she hated most, Plotina to command Amilcar whatsoever she pleased, and he not to disobey her, Artemidorus to give a Musick-entertainment in the same Garden two days after, Telanus to give the Ladies a handsome Collation before the Music, Spurius to promise to hate no person, Aemilius to tell whither it were possible to love without desires and without hope, Amilcar to relate a handsome amorous History on the evening of the next Collation; Herminius to make a description of all the divertisement of this day. For Anacreon being counselled by Amilcar, had so well ordered the matter, that that which seemed chance was really not so, in the most of tickets distributed, except in those of the rest of the Company, which contained nothing suiting to any person in particular. But when Valeria had opened the ticket which permitted her to command whom she pleased to sing a Sonnet, Clidimira gave her to understand, that Anacreon sung well, whereupon addressing to him, as there is sufficient glory, said she to him, to command those who command others, do not take it ill that I choose you to obey me, and command you to sing: And since there is no better example, answered he, than to see those that make Laws observe them, I shall not scruple to obey you. And accordingly Anacreon sung several couplets of one of his Odes, with so much grace and exactness, that it being a very handsome air, it pleased even those who understood not the Greek, but it charmed those who did; for he feigned that he desired to tune his Lyre to sing the high exploits of Heroes, and thinking he had tuned it right, when he went to use it, he found it would play of nothing but Love; and then endeavouring to sing of divers Subjects one after another, he continually happened to say at the end of each Couplet;  I cannot sing of aught but Love. 
All this company desired to oblige Anacreon, to sing the same Sonnet again, but he alleged the Ticket of Clelia, obliging that fair person to intrust him with a secret. His desire to know it would not allow him patience to sing longer; and so approaching respectfully to her, she began to whisper to him and tell him a fictitious secret, not judging it fit to discover a true one to a person she saw but the first time But Anacreon delighting to speak to her, pretended that what she told him was no secret, and so endeavoured to bring her into the necessity to prove to him it was. But if I should speak aloud what I have told you, (answered Clelia,) my secret would cease to be such; therefore it is requisite, if you please, that you take it upon my word. This reason having seemed good to the Company, Anacreon propounded a Love question to Themistus, to tell his opinion of. It was, whether he believed Love could subsist, during an absence which was known would be perpetual, and if Love could remain constant in the heart of a Lover and a Mistress, while they were certain of never enjoying one another's sight again. For eternal absence (added he) is a kind of death in Love, and seems fatal enough to extinguish it. That which you propound to me (answered Themistus) cannot very easily come to pass, for the mind is always soothed up with some relic of hope. But 'tis possible, two persons that love one another, may find so little probability of meeting again, as to believe they never shall; whereby there may be no hope left in their minds of ever attaining any satisfaction of their Love. Nevertheless I conceive, if a man's heart be really touched, and the person he loves return him affection for affection, if it be only the crossness of Fortune that separates such two persons, without their own contributing aught thereto on one side or other, if they behold a deep sorrow in one another's eyes at their separation, and be absolutely assured of their reciprocal dearness, I conceive (I say) their affection may subsist, notwithstanding their eternal absence. The grief arising from their separation, may no doubt be diminished, since it is not possible to live always in lamentation. But Love will not wear away, yet it will remain less sensible in process of time, though always sufficiently strong to keep itself from being destroyed by an other passion, and to cause us to love nothing but that we have fixed our affections upon, though without hope of ever receiving contentment from it. At least I have found sentiments in my own heart, which persuade me I should be capable of such an unusual fidelity (for we oftentimes see absence of no great duration, proves destructive to very ardent passions.) There are some people (interrupted Plotina) who in the very places where their Mistresses are present, are liable to absences of heart worse than the other. But to make an end of my sentiment, (continued Themistus) I am of opinion, a violent Love will not become absolutely extinct during a long absence, if a new passion do not destroy it; for there is something so sweet in Loving, that when we once love well, our minds are unable to resolve to love nothing at all, after having tasted the sweetness of this passion. You have so well satisfied what I enjoined you (answered Anacreon) that if the lovely Berelisa acquit herself as well of what is commanded her, she will repeat very amorous Verses. Nevertheless (said she blushing) I shall not repeat many; for I have a memory as unfaithful, as others have their hearts. But since 'tis unlawful to disobey you, I shall repeat some Verses I learned heretofore, made (as was said) by a Woman, whilst she imagined a Lover whom she affected, returned to love a former Mistress, whom she accounted unworthy of his affection. And accordingly Berelisa being lead by a jealous passion, recited the following Verses which she had made at Agrigentum, in the height of her jealousy, and had never showed to any person till then; so that Artemidorus was surprised to hear that which follows;  
Tell me, poor slave, what meant those shows  
Of tenderness, or all those vows;  
If thou intendest not to prove  
By them, thou truly wert in love?  
But since thou'rt turned disloyal, go  
Condemned to disgrace and woe:  
Mean while I'll bless myself and smile  
Thy falsity did me beguile.  
Berelisa repeating these Verses, turning a little towards Artemidorus, made the Company esteem them sufficiently amorous. Clidamira smiled deceitfully, and Artemidorus was troubled, knowing Berelisa too well to be ignorant of the sentiments of her heart. But the best was, Acrisius who was so addicted to loquacity, not remembering that his Ticket enjoined him silence for all the remainder of the evening, could not contain himself from making a long acclamation in praise of these Verses. But Anacreon checking him for it, lengthened the time of his silence from the next morning to noon; after which Sicinius, who loved not long discourses, was obliged to relate his whole life in order to satisfying his ticket, which he did in this manner.  
Whereas I am of opinion, a man cannot be said to have lived while he did not love, the relation of my life will not be long; for my love is but of six months' date, and during that time I have had nothing else to do but to bemoan myself for the rigour of my Mistress, and uneffectually to endeavour to love her no more.  
After this, Sicinius held his peace, and nevertheless made apparent by this short relation, that those who speak little, have sometimes as much wit, as those that speak excessively; for he handsomely enough quitted himself of the perplexity he was designed to be put into. In the next place Clidamira being to declare what she hated most, answered roughly, Not to be believed when she spoke truth. I conceive (said Berelisa craftily) it is more troublesome not to be believed when we speak an untruth, because it seems to be more cause of regret for a man to have invented a thing he is unable to make believed. Assuredly Berelisa has reason (answered the Prince Artemidorus,) but since it remains only for me to promise Music, when the Ladies require it, I do it with pleasure. I do the like for the Collation enjoined me (added Telanus.) And as for me, (said Spurius) since I am obliged to promise not to hate any person, I do it with condition to break my word; for I foresee I shall not be freed from hatred so long as I am votary to Love. Now it belongs to me, (said Aemilius, looking upon Valeria) to determine whether it is possible to love without desires, or without hope. But because it seems too late to make a long discourse, it will be more convenient for me to tell you the opinion of a Lover of my acquaintance, who one day made Verses upon this Subject, and in one place of that Work speaks thus;  
Cold and fruitless is Love's fire,  
Whence is banished all desire.  
If so, our hopes are gone; Love's state  
Makes such an one unfortunate;  
Nay, he is beyond man's thought  
A miscreant or else a sot.  
Aemilius spoke these Verses with so passionate an air, that Valeria changed colour, and Herminius resented a kind of vexation at it. Nevertheless he took upon him to be the Historian of this gallant Feast, and Amilcar to recount an amorous History as his Ticket obliged him. After which, it being late, all this fair company retired. Sulpitia led Clidamira and Berelisa to the place where they were to lodge, and Herminius constrained Anacreon to go and lodge at the house of the virtuous Sivelia, who was friend to all the friends of her Illustrious Son, and loved worthy persons, sufficiently to be induced to give handsome reception to a stranger upon information of his merit. As for Artemidorus, he was sufficiently sad; for he had observed Berelisa, was possessed without just cause for it, since he had only such civility for Clidamira, as a virtuous person can never disclaim, but had a very tender passion for Berelisa. In which regard he was extremely impatient till he could get an opportunity to entertain her in private; which he could not easily bring about; for the next morning there was a great Company with Clidamira and her, so that he could do no more than tell her after a confused manner, that he ever loved her dearly, and that she was injurious to him, in apprehending any cause of jealousy. Berelisa blushed at these words, and not being able to suppress her first thought, but casting her eyes another way, you might more properly say, (answered she) that I am injurious in loving you, than in being jealous, since this cruel passion is an infallible concomitant of a tender affection. Indeed my mind (continued she) is in a miserable condition; if I am generous, I ought to counsel you to desert me, and to put yourself in a capacity of being once again deceived by Clidamira, since she alone is able to re-ingratiate you with the Prince of Leontium, and without her you will be perpetually exiled. On the other side, if I follow the pure sentiments of my own Soul, I should rather choose to see you in eternal banishments, than to see Clidamira deprive me of that which she has lost by her own fault, and I have merited by an inviolable fidelity. Now judge what quietness my mind is capable of, especially when I see you have still as great civility for Clidamira, as if she had not been unfaithful. But is it possible, (replied Artemidorus) that you conceive an intelligent person can be uncivil to a Lady, and to a Lady he once Loved, and who would still persuade him that she does not hate him? But is it possible, (answered Berelisa passionately,) you can understand a true Lover can innocently have civility for a Lady who causes jealousy in the person by whom he would be loved? However, (added she) because I will not make my grief apparent to the eyes of so many persons, who know me not, I will conceal my sentiments the best I can, and observe yours with the greatest care possible, for, in my conjecture, you know them not yourself. In earnest, added she, you love Clidamira, more than you think you do, and love me less than you believe; and so undavertingly commit infidelity against me. Alas! Madam, interrupted Artemidorus, I beseech you do not accuse me with injustice. But moreover, said Berelisa, you know not well what passes in you own heart, and take nor sufficient notice of the proceedings in mine. As Artemidorus was going to answer her, there came a great number of people who interrupted him; yet he began to speak and tell her, that he was necessitated to leave Clusium, for fear of being discovered by a man whom the Prince of Leontium had sent to Porsenna; of which having received notice by the Princess his Sister, he came back to Rome, the Princess also having taken upon her to send him intelligence how her affairs proceeded. After which, Herminius being arrived with Telanus, told the company that the Festival appointed, was to be hastened in favour of this generous Veientine, because the Veientines were within two days to send the Figure which they at first so peremptorily denied, and so Telanus would be obliged to depart, and without obeying the command which Lot had laid upon him, being the person designed to give the Collation. Sulpitia coming thither with Clelia, a moment after, it was concluded it should be the next day; and so Telanus took upon him to prepare for the Collation, Artemidorus to give the Music, and Amilcar to make the relation he was obliged to. Yet he declared that he would not trust to his memory nor his eloquence, but for the contentment of the Company, read them a History, famous for the name of the person principally concerned in it, which he not many days ago had translated out of the Greek into the Roman Language. All the Company required he should relate some adventure, wherein himself was interessed; but Plotina craftily alleging, that being obliged to recount an amorous History, it was not fit he should speak of his own Love, because he knew not how to manage that passion, his choice was allowed, and the next morning the same persons, who had been at the former entertainment, being met together in the same Garden, it was resolved Amilcar should read the History which he had translated, and that before the Collation or the Walk, because it was not unreasonably presumed, the passages of his Relation would supply matter for the conversation of the rest of the day. Wherefore all this fair Company being seated in a magnificent Hall, out of which was a very delightful prospect, Amilcar placed himself in such a manner, as he might be most easily understood by all that were present, and began to read the History of hesiod, in which some are of opinion, that in the place of Apollo's prediction, some thing has been added in latter Ages. But to leave that in suspense, Amilcar began to read in this manner.  

The HISTORY of hesiod.  
I Beseech you (interposed Plotina) stay a little, and first tell me, whether this hesiod be not a great Poet, I have heard say lived many Ages ago? For if it be, I confess to you I should find it difficult to interest myself sensibly in the adventures of people that have been out of the World so long. For my part (said Clelia,) I am not of your humour; for I am almost inclinable to lament the miserable adventures which are no more than fictitious, if they be invented with any resemblance of truth. That cannot I do, (replied Plotina) for that which passes in the same City where I am, affects me more than that which passes in Greece, and that which arrives in my own times, makes greater impression upon my heart, than that which happened in the days of Romulus. In reference to such things (answered Clelia) as we see with our own eyes, or which befall people that we know, I consent with you, that they move more than others do, but in the telling of an History relating to persons not of your knowledge, I confidently believe, we ought to be as much affected with an Adventure happened in Greece, as at Rome, and there is no distance of places which takes away the sensibility of the heart, no Age so remote, but the fancy becomes near enough to it to excite compassion: for 'tis the things themselves we are moved with, and not so much the places or the persons; since every place or person you know not, is indifferent to you, and cannot affect you more one way than another. 'Tis the representation made to you of their sufferings that mollifies your heart; and if any man should invent a deplorable sad Story, I conceive yourself would be unable to resist all sense of pity: for in my judgement such as have greatest wits, suffer themselves to be most of all taken with things happily invented. The way to determine your controversies (said Herminius) is, to permit Amilcar to read. You have reason, (answered Anacreon for if the amiable Plotina have no compassion for hesiod, I think her the most cruel Virgin in the World, though the History Amilcar is going to read of him, should add nothing to the truth. Read then (said Plotina, beholding Amilcar) for it is not fit I should longer deprive the Company of the pleasure they expect from a History you have chosen to divert them. Yet you will please to remember, answered Amilcar, that I am engaged to relate none but an amorous History, and so the more love there is in that I shall read, the more I shall satisfy my Word. After this, the silence of all the Company intimating their expectation he should begin to read, he did so in these Words.   

The History OF hesiod.  
hesiod was of a very Illustrious Lineage, for 'tis affirmed he was descended from Orpheus, as well as Homer, who was his very near Kinsman, And indeed this pedigree is so particularly deduced, that there is no ground to believe it fictitious. They say, Orpheus was the Son of Aeacus and of the Muse Calliope; that Orpheus was Father of Drez, and Drez Father of Eneleus; that from this latter, successively descended Jamonides, Philoterpe, Euphemus, Epiphrades, and Menalopus. This Menapolus had two Sons, Appelles and Ampelis; Appelles was Father to Maeon, who going to Smyrna married Eu●●●is, by whom he had Homer. Ampelis on the other side married at Cuma, and had a Son called Dius, who was the Father of hesiod. It is also recorded that his Family was very rich; but his Father having been rather prodigal than liberal, so intang led his affairs, that not being longer able to live at that height of expense he was wont to do, he left Cuma of jonia where he dwelled, and went into Boeotia, where he rather made choice of the Country than the City for his ordinary residence, and dwelled at a Town called As●ra, the situation of which was infinitely delectable. Besides also, Dius marrying in this place with a Virgin of a sufficient Fortune, whose name was Pysimeda, he continued there as well out of interest as inclination. At the end of the first year of his Marriage, hesiod came into the World, and the year after, Dius had another Son named Perses, who differed much from the first; for hesiod was a great and excellent person, and Perses was the true pattern of a wretched Poet, dull, lazy, envious, and full of vanity. The childhood of hesiod was always delightful, and his education better than might have been expected from the Country. For Dius having contracted a particular friendship with an eminent Priest of the Muses at the Mount Helicon, left the young hesiod to him for some years. Now this famous Mountain, which is not far distant from that of Parnassus, being peculiarly consecrated to Apollo, and the Muses, all the considerable people throughout Greece, go thither at lest once in their life time. And as places of great resort have always more politeness than others, Hesiod's wit became very gallant and polite, even in his tender youth. He had both boldness and discretion; and that which is always a good sign in the mind of a child, he had a general curiosity to get every thing explained to him which he did not understand. He loved much to walk alone by himself, though otherwise his genius was sufficiently free. He was of a handsome person, civil, and of a pleasing conversation; but before he was eighteen years old, he never thought of employing himself in making Verses, although he was in a Country consecrated to the Muses, and indeed the pleasures of hesiod at this time, seemed sufficiently contrary to Poetry; for he loved Hunting more than Study, notwithstanding the general curiosity I told you he had from his Childhood, which incited him always to inquire the reason of what he saw. Now being exactly at that age in which the heart of young people is as yet undetermined to any thing, and capable of taking to all whatsoever, wherein Vice and Virtue seem to dispute who shall possess it; hesiod at his return from hunting, went to sit down at the brink of that famous Spring Hippocrene, which is at the foot of Helicon, which they say, arises out of a rock, and was first made by a stroke of Pegasus' foot, and which is so famous for the admirable virtue ascribed to it, of inspiring those that drink of it with an exquisite faculty of making Verses. hesiod therefore being something weary with the hunting he had been at, and finding a very pleasant shade near this Fountain, sat down there, and leaning against the body of a tree, betook himself to muse with sufficient pleasure, by reason of the purling of the stream, and the whispers of the leaves which were gently waved by a soft fresh wind; for it was exactly in that season of Roses, in which the West-winds are most agreeable, and in which the Festivals of Love was ready to be celebrated at Helicon, which was wont to be so emnized there every five years, as constantly as that of the Muses; to signify, that, as Love cannot want the Muses, so the Muses cannot be without Love. hesiod entertaining himself in this manner, without having any great joy, or great sorrow, or other particular object, to employ his mind, and awaken his imagination, he fell by degrees into so profound a Musing, that he no longer took notice of that which he heard, or saw, or was thinking of. So that slumbering by little and little, he supported himself against a Tree, and fell asleep. His eyes had not long been shut, but his fancy being guided by the gods, presented him with an admirable and surprising object; for on a sudden, he thought he beheld all the Muses about him, in that manner as they are pictured, to wit, in the attire of Nymphs with loose Robes, with dishevelled hair, with garlands and flowers upon their heads, and several instruments in their hands, correspondent to the several things invented by them. hesiod on a sudden beheld this Celestial Troop about him; he heard so melodious a Consent, that he was charmed with it; he fancied also that he beheld several little Cupids amongst them, who leaving off their sport to listen to them, seemed to hearken very attentively. But at length the Music being ended, Calliope advancing towards him, after having had the consent of her companions, to do so, spoke to him almost in this manner, if yet it be lawful to fancy how the Muses speak.  
Upon what thinkest thou, hesiod? dost thou not fear that the gods will call thee to an account for the wit which they have given thee? what hast thou done with it since thou camest into the world? art thou not ashamed to dwell in the hill of Helicon, to be neighbour to the Mountain from whence we took our birth, to be so near Parnassus, and to sleep on the brink of Hippocrene, without ever having had a thought of composing Verses? Thinkest thou that the gods have given thee wit, memory, fancy, and judgement, to employ upon nothing? A waken thyself from this drowsiness, wherein sloth still detains thee, consider that the life of men is too short, for them to be contented with it, and that there is nothing so sweet as for a man to acquire immortality to himself. Consider what glory it is that attends thee, if thou believest the counsels which we give thee; and to encourage thee to follow them, know, that if thou wilt, thy name shall be celebrated throughout all Ages, and amongst all Nations, and thou shalt be universally acknowledged for the Father of all the Poets, which shall arise in the whole extent of the world. Do not imagine that what we tell thee is a small matter, for I can assure thee (upon the word of Apollo, who knows things to come) that they who are descended, or who shall descend in the sequel of time, from the greatest Kings, or the most illustrious Heroes, shall not be owner of so great a fame, as they who shall follow thee. But to give thee a light Idea of it, redouble thy attention; follow me to the top of my Helicon, take good notice of all that I shall show thee there, harken with respect to the great things which I am going to inform thee of, and believe all that I shall tell thee cannot miss coming to pass; for the most secret books of destiny are always open to Apollo, from whom it is I speak to thee.  
After this, hesiod thought that he was transported to the top of Mount Helicon, from whence discovering all Greece, as he thought, he beheld the fairest object that ever he had seen. But though he conceived himself elevated very high, yet he perceived the most remote objects, as distinctly as if they had been very near; for when we see things only in imagination, we see them as well afar off as near. In this place under a great Laurel which made a handsome umbrage, Calliope all alone appeared to him again, and addressing to him with a majestical air, and full of sweetness and charms;  
Rouse up thy mind, hesiod, said she to him, receive respectfully the favour Apollo does thee, of rendering thee capable to penetrate into futurity, and to enjoy true glory, which is never found till after death, and consequently is not very considerable during life. But to cause thee to enjoy it amply, it is requisite that I make thee a description of Poetry, that I recall what's past, and reaching forth unto that which is to come, make thee know, what none other shall know during thy generation; but as they who intending to show a great River to a stranger, would not go to take view of it near its Spring, because it would seem too little; so likewise in going to show thee the progress of Poetry, I must not trace it back to its original: because being it is really the offspring of Heaven, I cannot conduct thee to the place of its nativity. It suffices to tell thee, that 'tis the language of the gods, and that Love and Glory have brought it intouse amongst men; That without it the Heroes would die unrewarded, that their names would perish soon after them; that Lovers would sigh without pleasure, that the art for one to render her himself immortal, by immortalising others, would be unknown in the World. In the next place, look upon all Greece, as the first place wherein Poetry began to be celebrated, and from whence it shall pass successively to the other parts of the World. Dost thou not see a Woman of a goodly aspect, at the gate of the Temple of Delphos? 'tis Phemonoe, the first Prophetess of that Temple; who invented the handsomest form of Verses; For by a privilege granted to Women, it may be affirmed that they have more share in poetry than men, since if they do not make Verses themselves, yet at least they inspire others with the desire of making them. Dost thou not see near her, that young man that plays upon the Harp? 'tis the famous Amphion, who added three strings to that instrument, to make them up seven, there having been but four before. It is also reported, that the stones, drawn by his harmony, ranked themselves one upon another, to build the Walls of Thebes: but the truth is, he became of such reputation among the Thebans, that he easily persuaded them to enclose their City. Look a little towards the right hand, and thou wilt see a venerable man: 'tis the most ancient of three Poets, who bear or will bear the name Linus, and the first whom Apollo taught the measures and numbers of Verse. He writ a Poem concerning the World, which got him such honour, that some have not stuck to call him the Son of Apollo; and indeed his name will be always celebrated by the Geek Poets, who will make Hymns upon his death, and particularly by the famous Sapph of Mytilene, whom I shall by and by show you.  
In the mean time, look upon him who appears so handsome, and so sad; 'tis Orpheus, from whom thou art descended, who was able to charm Hell, and recover Eurydice from the shades of death, by the power of this melody, and who not being able to contain one moment from looking upon that beloved person, lost her again for ever. This excellent Poet has composed thirty nine Poems, but time shall bereave posterity of them, excepting one Book of Hymns to the gods. and a Treatise of precious Stones, of which some fragments shall remain preserved from age to age and it shall be known in general, that he loved to treat of grave Subjects, as of the World, the Stars, and Morality.  
He that thou seest behind him is Musaeus, to whom Orpheus addressed several of his Works, and left his Harp at his death; 'tis he that made the handsome Poem of Leander and Hero; although in process of time, some will go about to ascribe it to another Musaeus.  
Then take notice of Melesigenes, who is thy kinsman, and whom thou must overcome at Chalcis. I shall say nothing to thee of his lineage, and the place where he was born; for thou knowest it well; but I shall assure thee, that he shall be so famous, that in future ages, seven Cities shall contend for the honour of having him their Native; namely Smyrna, Rhodes, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, and Athens. He shall be indigent of the goods of Fortune, but rich in the gifts of the mind. He shall make several voyages, and shall be almost continually unhappy. He shall lay aside the name of Melesigines, and take upon him that of Homer, because he shall become blind. After this accident, he shall become so poor, that he shall be constrained for a long time to beg alms. Yet he shall find charitable friends to assist him, and the gods themselves shall do a miracle for his sake; for the Seamen refusing to take him into their Vessel to go to Chios, shall be overtaken with so great a storm, that, imagining it befallen them, because they refused Homer, they shall return to the shore to take him in, and afterwards make a happy voyage. But at length Homer shall become a little more happy; he shall marry, and have two Daughters, and then it shall be, that he shall compose one Work, which he shall entitle Odysseus, and another, Ilias. The latter of which shall be more admired than the former, in the first ages which shall follow him; but in aftertimes, they shall be judged of quite contrary: but in truth, they shall both be worthy of the highest applauses. Homer in acknowledgement to those, by whom he shall be assisted, shall introduce them in his Works, to the end to immortalize their Virtue. For Phennius his Father-in-law, and his first Master, shall find a place in the Odysseus; Mentor shall be highly celebrated there; he shall also speak advantageously of Mentes, and shall not forget a plain Mechanic, who shall entertain him for some time at his house; and thus he shall give an heroical testimony of acknowledgement, in an age that shall be ungrateful to his Virtue. But posterity shall at least tender justice to his merit, and acknowledge him to have been Master of a grand and prodigious genius, with a natural, facile, and delightful style. He it is, that shall invent to begin a History in the middle, to the end, to suspend the minds of the Readers, and give them a kind of pleasing inquietude; it shall be he that shall introduce that admirable diversity of styles, in which he shall never be surpassed by any; he shall be admired by the most eminent wits of Greece, and acknowledged in all ages for a Poet, worthy to be imitated in every respect by all others.  
Judge then what glory will befall to you, in overcoming a man, whose name shall be famous, as long as Reason shall be amongst men.  
Hitherto I have told you of the past and the present; I must begin with the amorous Mimnermus, to discover the future to you. Do not you perceive by his air and his aspect, that he will be able to sing of nothing but Love? 'Tis he that shall invent the way of the bewailing Elegy for the fair Nanno his Mistress, who, by the sweetness of her voice, shall inspire him with the sweetness of his Verse: Nevertheless, the Works of this excellent man shall perish, and not live among those of others; but yet there shall be enough to judge, that he must needs have been a most delicate and amorous wit.  
After this, hesiod believed he saw only all Peloponnesus, the Sea that encompasses it, and particularly the Cape of Taenarus, and upon that Sea, not far from the Cape, a comely person carried upon the back of a Dolphin, playing upon an Harp, and looking sometimes towards the shore, and sometimes towards Heaven, as if he thanked the gods for some favour. After which, Calliope beginning again to speak, He that thou seest, said she, is the famous Arion, who shall invent the manner of Tragic Verses, and the introducing of a Chorus; he shall be ready to be slain by the mariners of a ship, out of intent to possess his Money; but having obtained permission to sing some Verses to his Harp, he shall do it so well, that the melody of his Song shall draw several Dolphins about the ship; upon which, Arion abandoning himself to them, shall leap into the Sea, and be received by one of those Dolphins, who shall carry him to the shore; and thus he shall find more humanity amongst Fishes, than amongst Men.  
Then all these objects passing away, hesiod beheld an Island, and upon the top of a Rock, a brown Woman of indifferent stature and beauty; yet she had quick and sprightly eyes, and was of a very comely shape: she that thou seest, said Calliope then to hesiod, is the famous Sapph of Mytilene, who shall be celebrated throughout all ages, for the handsomeness of her Verses, especially for a certain passionate and amorous style, which shall be almost inimitable. She shall invent the use of the Bow belonging to the Harp, which shall highly advantage the sound of it; she shall love a disloyal person, which shall be the cause of her death; but though almost all her works shall perish, yet her name shall live eternally; she shall be styled the tenth Muse, and in all Ages new Honours shall be ascribed to her.  
But there is enough spoken, concerning this Illustrious Lesbian; therefore behold Alcaeus, who shall live at the same time; do not you see he has the aspect of a man of quality? his birth shall be very noble; he shall command the Armies of Mytitilene, with his Brother Antimenides: but one of the seven Sages of Greece named Pittacus, shall possess himself of the Tyranny, and eject them; so that Alcaeus, an excellent Lyric Poet, being incensed in mind, shall begin to write against him, and in general, against Tyranny and Tyrants, and make Verses, which shall be accounted seditious. His works shall be grave, and strong; he shall sometimes descend to Mirth and Love, and succeed very well therein, although more excellent for other things. He shall have so passionate a soul, that he shall desire to immortalize a little mark the person he shall love, shall have upon her foot; but he shall have the unhappiness to fall into the hands of Pittacus, who contenting himself with the power to be revenged, shall send him back again without harm, and by that handsome action, confirm to himself the prerogative of bearing the glorious title of Wise.  
After this, hesiod beheld Alcaeus no more; but saw a man disguised with a vizard in a Chariot, who went to and fro in the middle of a spacious place in Athens, encompassed with the people. He that thou seest, said Calliope, is Thespis, who shall himself act the Tragedies which he shall compose, and shall be famous for this sort of Works.  
But then, Dost not thou see a man, who has a countenance sufficiently cheerful? 'tis Epicharmus, who shall be born in Sicily, and be the first inventor of Comedies, which shall perish by time, after having served for a pattern to those that shall follow.  
In the next place, behold two Poets with grave looks, marching together; one of them is Theognis, who rejecting Poetical fictions, shall write Precepts of Morality in Verse. Yet he shall sometimes intermingle Love in his Works, and that with some freedom. The other is Phocilydes of Miletum, something more serious, who shall write of moral matters full of instruction, and draw the greatest part of his Sentences from the Books of certain Women who shall be called Sybyls, he shall be imitated one day by a French Poet, whose Verses shall for a long time be the first. Lessons of Virtue for the young children of his own Nation. They shall both begin their Works in recommending the worshipping of the Divine Power, the honour of Parents, and judging with Justice, and fear of another Judgement, which attends both the good and the wicked. Then behold a man of a very comely person, but blind! 'tis Stesichorus of Sicily, a Lyric Poet, who shall come near to the grandeur of Homer. 'Tis true, he shall be condemned for being too abundant; but there shall remain nothing of him besides his reputation. While he shall be yet in the cradle, a Nightingale shall sit and sing upon his mouth; he shall lose his sight for having spoken ill of Helen, but recover it again by making a Work in her praise, which he shall call a Palinode or Recantation. But after having shown thee Stesichorus alone, I must also show thee him in company; dost not thou see eight Men and a Woman? they are the nine Lyric Poets, who shall be put together in resemblance of the nine Muses. The first without comparison, shall be Pindar, of whom I shall tell thee afterwards: and thou mayst see the rest about her, who are Simonides, Stesichorus, Ibycus, Alcman, Bachylides, Anacreon, Alcaeus, and Sapph, who shall likewise be called the tenth Muse, as I told thee before.  
But to speak at present only of Pindar, when he shall be in the cradle, the Bees shall make Honey upon his mouth. Dost thou not see that he is separated from the rest that environ him, and that he has none near him but a fair Virgin, with a Crown upon her head? 'tis Corinna, who shall have the glory of surpassing him five times publicly, and gain the prize for making better Verses than he. Nevertheless, he shall be a Poet of the first Order, in the judgement of the greatest Poets, that shall follow him. He shall be so sublime, that it shall be hard to follow him; his style shall be lofty, pure, and chaste, and truly worthy to entertain Kings and Princes. He shall love chiefly to sing the praises of those who shall have been Victors in the Olympic Games; However, as I mentioned before, Corinna shall overcome him five times:: Some shall say, the reason shall be, for that being very handsome, her Verses shall thereby seem so much the more amiable,; others that making use of the Aeolian Dialect, and Pindar of the Doric, which shall not be so elegant, this shall give her the advantage. But to discover a truth to thee which shall never be known to any other, he shall be amorous of her, and therefore take pleasure to suffer himself to be overcome by her: Not but that this Woman must be so admirable for her Verses, that the Tanagrians shall erect a Statue to her: she shall also give profitable council to Pindar, for as he shall one day be boasting of himself in her presence, she shall pleasantly mock him, and tell him that he knows not how to make any thing, since he knows not how to feign; maintaining peremptorily, that fiction is necessary to handsome Poetry. Pindar afterwards endeavouring to improve this admonition, shall offer her a work wholly filled with fictions connected together; but this fair Virgin deriding him again ingeniously, and beholding him with a mocking smile shall tell him, they ought to be interspersed with judgement, and not cast in by handfuls as he has done. And accordingly, Pindar shall so well profit by her Counsel, that he shall become the wonder of his own age, and of those which shall come after him. The most famous Conqueror of the World, shall esteem him so highly, that having taken Thebes, he shall cause the house to be shown him where Pindar dwelled, to secure it from being pillaged, and shall preserve the goods of another Pindar, only in respect to his name. He shall also be happy in dying; for after having requested of the gods, that which is sweetest in life, he shall have the advantage to die without pain, sleeping upon the knees of a person whom he shall love, at the public Shows. After which, a Statue shall be erected to him.  
But in the next place, dost thou see a goodly person, well made, and of a comely stature, who has a Crown of Flowers upon his head, and a very rich cup in his hand, who is near a Table well furnished, and encompassed with people that are dancing? 'tis the famous Anacreon, the great protector of Joy and Feasts. Oh, I beseech you (interrupted Anacreon) let me see whether you have not craftily adjoined me to so many Poets, that have appeared to me as well as to hesiod, since you began to read. Sincerely (answered Amilcar) I have made no alteration in translating this place, and I engage to let you see all I am going to read, in the Greek Original. Let Amilcar read on, (said Plotina) for perhaps we shall hear what you would be unwilling to tell us. Indeed (added Valeria) I have understood by Berelisa and Clidamira, that you will not relate any thing concerning your Loves. 'Tis true (answered Anacreon) That I do not affect to tell my amorous adventures; and therefore I am loath to let Amilcar read this place; for I should not care to have Calliope discover to you all my secrets. Fear nothing (replied Amilcar) a Muse never speaks indiscreetly; and the Translator is intelligent enough. Proceed then (said Anacreon) And accordingly Amilcar began to read again in this manner, at the place where he had left off.  
But in the next place, dost thou see a goodly person, well made, and of a comely stature, who has a crown of Flowers upon his head, and a very rich cup in his hand, who is near a Table well furnished, and encompassed with people that are dancing? 'tis the famous Anacreon, the protector of Joy and Feasts. He shall have a jovial wit, gallant, delicate and natural; his Odes shall last as long as the Empire of Letters shall endure; he shall invent a sort of Verses that shall bear his name; he shall make Elegies, he shall sing the Loves of Circe and Penelope, Lovers of Ulysses, but this Work shall perish, and he shall at length be one of the most famous Poets of all Greece; he shall love after all the ways, wherewith 'tis possible to Love; his principal Mistress shall be named—  
Hold, I beseech you (interrupted Anacreon again) and do not name her. I must of necessity name her (answered Amilcar) for Plotina makes me a sign to continue my reading; which he did accordingly, thus,  
His principle Mistress shall be named Euripile; posterity nevertheless shall believe, that he loved two other persons more ardently. He shall be very well beloved by the Prince of Samos, called Polycrates, who shall one day give him two talents, but Anacreon shall restore them back two days after, and tell him (to refuse him without incivility) that he was two nights without sleep, for thinking how he should employ them, and that he will not be rewarded with a thing that affords nothing but anxious and inquiet cares. In his first youth, returning from a great Feast, he shall meet a Nurse holding a Child in her arms; whom he shall justle so rudely, that the provoked Woman shall pray the gods, that one day he may as much honour her Son whom he then despised; and accordingly, that child shall one day excite love in Anacreon. He shall invent a kind of Lyre with one and twenty strings; and he shall die by an unexpected and inconsiderable accident, in the midst of a Feast, at the age of fourscore and five years, and shall enjoy after his death an immortal glory.  
Whatever the accident be, (interrupted Anacreon) that shall occasion my death, in that age I think I have no great cause to be troubled at it: but whatever Calliope has spoken of it, I conceive I shall not do very ill, to take care always to keep myself from dying young. As for me (answered Plotina) I am not disposed to contradict you; for besides that in my judgement I apprehend you have reason, I have also a great desire that Amilcar continue his reading, both to let me know those who are to succeed, and to resolve me whether Rome is not likely to have a Poet famous enough, to deserve mentioning by Calliope. After which Amilcar proceeded in this manner. Seest thou that old man with the bald head, in the middle of a field, and above him a great Eagle, holding a Tortoise in her beak? 'tis Aeschylus the Athenian; he shall be the first that shall publish Tragedies; he shall add very much to the ornaments of the Theatre, and first establish that maxim, not to bloody the Scene. He shall compose fourscore and ten Tragedies, and shall overcome twenty eight times; but being grown very old, he shall be outdone by Sopholes in the spring of his youth; which shall be so grievous to him, that he shall forsake Greece, and go into Sicily; He shall be sublime, grave, magnificent, in his expressions, sometimes even to excess, but often rude and impolished, Wherefore the Athenians in following ages shall permit the Poets to correct the Tragedies of Aeschylus, and afterward make them pass for new, and obtain prizes with them. Nevertheless, that famous Lycurgus the Lawgiver, shall so highly esteem his Works, and those of Sophocles; that he shall cause them to be kept in the public Archiv's, and erect Statues of Brass to both of them. Aeschylus shall be threatened to be killed with a blow on the head; to avoid which unhappiness, he shall very much affect to walk much in the plain field; but the gods shall punish him for the boldness, to go about to resist destiny; for a great Eagle holding a Tortoise, and taking the bald head of Aeschylus for a stone, shall let the same fall upon him to break it; and thus seeking to avoid death, he shall find it, after having had the grief to hear it reproached to him by the young Sophocles, that when he did well, he did not know for what reason he did so. In the next place, behold Sophocles the conqueror of Aeschylus, and many others: Dost thou not guests by his aspect, that he shall be inclined to Love? Theorida and Archippa shall be famous for having been his Mistresses, He shall be the greatest of Tragic Poets; his Works shall have an incomparable beauty and elegance; all shall be exact in them, polite, and accomplished; they shall have both sweetness and loftiness: Some shall go about to parallel him to Euripides, of whom I am to speak next; but the more sage opinions shall be for Sophocles. Some shall surname him the Bee, intimating that he shall take only the flower of things; others the Siren, because he shall very much allure the minds of those that shall see his Works. In his extreme old age, not thinking of aught but to acquire glory, and neglecting his domestic affairs, one of his children shall accuse him of dotage, and go about to deprive him of the management of his estate; but he shall show the Judges a very handsome piece, which he shall then be making; upon which the accuser shall be more in danger to be declared a fool than the accused. He shall make six and twenty Tragedies, and shall overcome in twenty four; but at last he shall die of joy, having first overcome once in his decrepit age, and gotten the advantage to preserve all the excellency of his wit to the last. For one telling him, Thou art unhappy, Sophocles, in being no longer capable of Love; he shall answer gallantly, I esteem myself happy for being escaped from his Tyranny, as from that of a furious and insolent Master.  
But it is time to show thee Euripides: dost thou not see a man encompassed with several Soldiers 'tis he of whom I speak: he hath, as thou seest, a fierce, melancholy and proud aspect; yet his birth shall not be great, and he shall be born in poverity; but he shall have boldness and fierceness. 'Tis true, his merit shall bear him out. In his first youth he shall overcome several times, in the places where there shall be prizes for the exercises of the body. Afterwards, he shall make a great number of Tragedies, of which eight shall be Satyrical. He shall overcome fifteen times, without any sign of Joy discernible in his eyes. Indeed Euripides shall scarce ever laugh, and it shall not be known whether he loves or hates Women, so uniform shall he appear in all his actions. Yet Sophocles shall reproach him not to hate them, but in the Theatre. The people shall one day pray him to change a Verse; but he shall answer, That he writ to teach the people, and not to be taught by them. He shall sometimes take pains with difficulty, and a Poet shall reproach to him, that he made but three Verses in three days. I acknowledge it, shall he answer, and you have made a hundred; but your hundred Verses shall not last three days, and my three Verses shall last not only three hundred years, but even to eternity. In effect, Euripides shall have so great a reputation, that after the Athenians shall have been overcome under Nicias and Gilippus, the Sicilians, who shall be the Victors, shall spare the lives of several prisoners only because they shall know of the Verses of Euripides, wherewith they shall be so charmed, that they shall cause them to be continually recited, to the end to learn them, and give the like liberty to those from whom they shall have learned them. There shall be some also that shall stay in Sicily, and enrich themselves by reciting those Verses which all the World shall admire. But as for the others, who shall return to Athens, thou seest them at his feet, to thank his as their Deliverer, and leave him wholly surprised with this glorious adventure. He shall have the honour to be a great friend to Socrates, who shall, for the time to come, be the pattern to all the Sages; and he shall also have the generosity to give him testimonies of his amity after his death. But at length Euripides shall have the unhappiness to discover that his wife shall be unfaithful to him, and love a Comedian; upon which, fearing the mockery of the Comic Poets, he shall forsake his Country, and go into Macedonia, where he shall be in favour with the King Archelaus. During his being there, one of those Poets who never make Verses but to beg, and of which kind there shall always be some in the Courts of Princes, shall request something of considerable value of the King of Macedonia; but this Prince being ingenious both to refuse and give, shall command that to be given to Euripides, which the other desired of him; for (shall he say to this importunate person) you deserve to ask without receiving, and Euripides deserves to receive without ask. But at last Euripides shall die miserably; for he shall be torn to pieces by the dogs of that King at a famous hunting. The people shall say, the cause of it was because he interceded for a man who had slain one of those dogs; but the true reason shall be, for that the King scarce minding his hunting any longer, and being almost continually in discourse with Euripides, jealousy and hatred shall both enter into their hearts; so that finding him one day wand'ring alone, they shall tear him to pieces; and thus shall the famous Euripides die, whom many judicious persons shall scarce dare to place above Sophocles.  
But after having seen this illustrious Poet, fix thy eyes a while upon a very little man, who stands there on one side: he is a Poet, and named Philetas; he shall make Elegies full of very handsome fancy. He shall be so lean, so little, and so light, that the people shall report he always carries lead about him, for fear the wind should carry him away. He shall have a Mistress named Batthis, and shall die through grief, for not being able to resolve the argument of a Sophister.  
He that thou seest in the next place, is the incomparable Menander, whose glory shall be immortal; he is the man that shall refine Comedies, who shall take away the insolent satire from them, and banish all that encounters modesty. He shall have an inclination extraordinarily amorous; for which reason there shall be much true modesty in his works, He shall apprehend perfectly, that a handsome Comedy ought to be a description, or picture of the World, and the passions ordinary to all men; for no Poet shall go beyond him in skill, and exact observation of manners, customs, passions, and inclinations of each particular of mankind. There shall be other Comic Poets after him, who shall confound all his different styles, and without observing all those varieties which are so necessary to these kind of Pictures, they shall make Kings and Slaves speak after the same manner, and confound the Tragic style with the Comic. These cannot without injustice be equalled to Menander, who shall be gallant and polite throughout, who shall have nothing but what either instructs or diverts. Whence there shall be in the sequel of time, a most grave and famous Author, who shall prefer Menander a thousand degrees above him, that shall be the most excellent amongst all others: Menander shall be accused by one named Cratinus, to be sufficiently addicted to play the plagiary in Authors that preceded him; but this Cratinus shall be one of those dangerous sons of Envy, of which there shall always be some, as long as there are persons of virtue: that is one of those malicious critics, who seek not to instruct their age they live in, but only to injure those they see more esteemed than themselves. Menander shall compose an hundred and nine Comedies, and shall be Victor only in eight; but posterity shall do him the justice to believe, that it was by reason of the factions of his Envyers. He shall be Disciple to Theophrastus, a great friend to Demetreus Phalereus; and so esteemed by the Kings of Egypt and Macedonia, that they shall send a Fleet and Ambassadors to him, to oblige him to come to them. But, in fine, being yet in the flower of his age, he shall be drowned as he is swimming in the Port of Piraeus.  
Look upon him that I show thee next; he shall be named Philemon, and shall overcome Menander several times, rather through good fortune than merit, though there will be handsome fancies in several places of his Works: but Menander speaking to him of his victories, shall smilingly say to him, Art not thou ashamed to have overcome me? He is destinated to die with laughter, at the sight of some uncouth spectacle; he shall live fourscore and seventeen years, and shall make fourscore and ten Comedies.  
He that thou seest upon that great Theatre, and whom such a crowd of people attentively listen to, is Aristophanes; he shall be of low birth, and yet of great reputation, and taking to himself a middle way between the excessive licentiousness of ancient Comedy, and the regularity of the New, he shall please the generality of people. His style shall be sharp, subtle, elegant, full of ingenious setches and railleries; but he shall not scruple to offend the fancy of the virtuous sort of people, so that he may but give divertisement to the multitude. He shall be extraordinarity bold in speaking against all the World; insomuch that he shall make a Comedy against a Tribune of the people wherein he shall speak so sharply, that no Comedian will venture to act that part; whereupon being led by his Satirical inclination, he shall act it himself, and for that reason be condemned to pay a great Fine. That which shall blot the reputation of Aristophanes, is, that he shall be an enemy to Socrates, and make a Comedy against him; but on the other side, he shall have the honour to have his Epitaph made by a great Philosopher, after a glorious manner; which shall serve one day for a document to the World, that all great men are not always of the same judgement, since another great Author speaking of Aristophanes, shall say that in his works the Tragic and Comic style are confounded together, the high and the low, the sublime and the familiar, very many superfluous words, cold railleries, and impudence diffused throughout. He that thou seest next is Lycophron, an Author famous for his obscurity. He shall be of the number of those seven Tragic Poets, who shall compose the Pleyades, and he shall be ingeniously compared to a certain obscure Star, which is in that constellation. He shall be born in the City of Chalcis in Eubaea, and shall be slain with the shot of an arrow.  
Now take notice of that man who goes forth of a Temple, and seems to be in amazement; 'tis Callimachus the Cyrenian, who shall make Elegies, Epigrams, and other Works, with sufficient approbation. He shall make one among the rest that shall live a long time, of which I will tell thee the subject, to the end thou mayst understand, Poets may sometimes have boldness which lead them out of the common road, provided they be managed with judgement. Berenice, Queen of Egypt, seeing Ptolemy her Husband going to the War, shall devote her hair, which shall be very graceful, to Venus, in case he return victorious: after which, this Prince coming home Conqueror, Berenice shall cut off her hair, and carry it herself to the Temple of Venus, where it shall not be found the next morning. A famous ginger who shall desire to court that Queen, shall profess that he saw it in the Heavens, and that it makes a new Constellation there. And indeed having really discovered one that he had never seen till then, it shall for ever after be called, The hair of Berenice: This is the subject of Gallimachus' Poem, wherein making use of the boldness permitted to great Poets, he shall introduce the hair of Berenice speaking, to the end it may appear, there is nothing which an excellent Poet cannot make to speak becomingly.  
The next thou seest is Aratus, who shall be born in the City of Soli in Silicia; he shall not be very learned in Astrology, and shall nevertheless make a very handsome Poem concerning the Stars and their courses: He shall also compose another very elegant work, and posterity shall judge of it by the merit of those who shall translate it; for the first shall be the Father of Latin Eloquence, who shall be named Cicero; the second shall be a Prince of high accomplishments, who shall be called Germanicus; the third a very amorous Poet, whose name shall be Ovid; and the fourth a man of principal quality called Ruffus Avienus; so that I assure thee no other work shall ever light upon more noble Interpreters.  
Then turn thine eyes upon the admirable Theocritus; he shall be born in Syracuse, and shall make Elegies, which shall acquire him immortal glory; he shall speak ill of Hiero, the Tyrant of his Country, who shall pardon him the first time; but as Poets do not easily hold their peace, the second time the Tyrant shall put him to death, and there shall remain no more of Theocritus but his Works, and his fair reputation.  
He that thou seest next him, is Moschus, a Poet of the same strain, who shall have a gallant and delicate wit. He shall make an Idyllium upon Runaway Cupid, which shall be imitated in all Languages (so gallant shall the invention of it seem) and happily expressed in few Verses.  
Those two Men whom thou seest together, are the two Parthenii, of whose Writings nothing shall remain, and of whom I shall speak by and by, when I come to speak of Virgil and Ovid.  
Lastly (hesiod) behold the last famous Poet among the Greeks; he shall be of Cilicia, of the City of Anazarba; he shall be called Oppian, and shall be son of one of the principal Citizens, named Agesilaus, who after having governed a long time, shall addict himself entirely to Philosophy, to the end to instruct his Son therein The Emperor Severus passing through this place, neither Oppian nor Agesilaus, shall go to salute him; which the Emperor taking ill, shall banish them into an Island almost desert at that time, which in the revolution of ages shall be inhabited, by people very courageous, and of a most noble race. During this exile, Oppian shall compose five Books concerning Fishing, and six concerning Hunting; he shall dedicate his Work to Antoninus, son of Severus, who not only shall recall him from exile, but being charmed with his Verses, shall recompense each of them with a piece of Gold; whereupon thenceforth they shall be called, The Golden Verses of Oppian. Besides that, they shall be worthy of that Title, only in respect of their Elegance. After this, he shall return into his own Country, and die there at the age of thirty years; his Citizens shall erect a Statue to him, and inscribe an Epitaph upon his Tomb, which shall intimate, that the gods caused his death out of envy; because, if he had lived long, he would have surpassed all mortals.  
Thus hesiod, thou seest who shall be thy successors in Greece; but if Poetry die amongst the Greeks, 'tis only to revive again among the Romans, who shall learn it of them. So that thou shalt not be less the Father of the Latin, than of the Greek Poetry, and in what place soever Verses shall be made, the name of hesiod shall be in esteem. No doubt thou art willing to have me tell thee, whether the Latin Poetry shall be able to surpass the Greek, which question shall be the subject of very great dispute. Yet let it suffice thee to know, that the Romans shall take Poetry from the Greeks, and that the most curious Critics amongst them, shall believe they do much, when they shall equal the Poets of their own Nation, to those of the Greeks. They shall even oftentimes prefer them before them; because 'tis the custom of all men to be prejudiced against their own age; and a very great Conqueror shall one day call a Poet, who shall be named Terence, but a half-Maenander, though that Terence must be one of the most perfect Latin Poets. However, I will tell thee, that the Greeks and the Romans shall on either side have their peculiar excellencies and defenders. The Greeks shall without doubt have the glory of invention, and withal a certain kind of greater sprightliness and pleasantness, and be more proper for divertisement. But otherwise, they shall be less exact, more diffuse and prolix, more subject to speak things unprofitable, attributing less to Art than to Nature. The Romans shall render Poetry more solid and more judicious, their Works shall have more Rule and Art, and consequently some kind of less licentiousness: and there shall come another time, wherein Poetry being become French, shall seem, in growing old, to have taken yet more severity, than the Greek or the Latin; for it shall indulge fewer things to itself than the rest; and withal, it shall very rarely have any of their graces and elegancies. In the mean time, to tell thee concerning Latin Poetry in particular, and to let thee see that famous Poetic Genealogy, which I have promised thee, I must—  
I beseech you (said Plotina then to Amilcar) suffer me to interrupt your reading, to tell you that I die with desire, not only that the Latin Poets may surpass the Greek in the excellency of their Verses, but likewise in riches and good fortune; for I have so much pity to see some of those great Poets poor, that I should be infinitely troubled, that that should one day be reproached to the Romans, which I reproach to the Greeks. And moreover, to speak truth, I know not how it should come to pass, that many persons will willingly take upon them an employment of so little profit. If you please to consider (answered Herminius) how many people go to the War with little profit, you will not wonder at the number of those that addict themselves to make Verses? although Poetry very rarely improves the fortunes, but is rather prejudicial to them; for this employment is of less danger, and greater pleasure. You have reason (replied Amilcar) and besides, the greatest part of those that addict themselves to make Verses, are born Poets, and cannot hinder themselves from being such. But yet I would know (said Plotina) why Poverty always follows Poetry: The reason is (answered Amilcar) because great men are either ignorant or covetous. For my part (added Plotina) I look upon it as a just punishment inflicted by the gods, for that the most part of Poets, as I have heard, oftentimes give a thousand praises to people that deserve them not; and for that they sacrifice rather to Fortune, than to Virtue. But however, I conceive it fit to leave you to continue your story. Accordingly Amilcar resumed the place where he stopped. But it is time to make thee change thy object.  
Therefore lift up thine eyes and see proud Italy (such as she shall be one day, when she comes to be Mistress of the World) in the same place where thou sawest all Greece.  
But, to arrest thy sight to one single object, look upon that man with a severe countenance; 'tis Livius Andronicus, who shall write Tragedies, of which in time, nothing shall be left but some fragments, which shall give posterity to know, that he had a kind of dryness and rudeness in his Wit.  
In the next place take notice of Ennius, and thou wilt observe by his aspect, that he will one day become a gallant man, and a lover of joy. He shall be a Native of Tarentum; he shall imagine himself to have the soul of Homer: he shall write the History of his own Country in Verse, and making his own Epitaph himself, he shall forbid all persons to lament him, because he lives still, and shall always live in the memory of men. Nevertheless his Works shall perish, and nothing be left of them but some fragments, which shall evidence that he was nervous, and of good invention.  
Then fix thy sight ugon that man, whose attire is plain, and whom thou seest employed in turning about an Engine, which serves to make Meal, thou wouldst think he were able to make nothing worthy of immortality; yet he that thou seest, and who shall be called Plautus, shall write Comedies, which shall resist the depredation of time. He shall he born in Umbria, of low parentage; at first he shall sell his Comedies, afterwards he shall become a Merchant, and undo himself; and then poverty pressing him very heavily, he shall serve in those matters thou seest him employed about, But while he is at this Trade, he shall compose some of his Works, and it shall be said one day of him, That if my companions and I were to speak Latin, we should speak like Plautus; though this Elogium be more suitable to Terence, whom thou shalt see by and by, whose style shall without doubt be more noble, and more pure Plautus shall principally propose to his imitation, Epicharmus and Aristophanes, two Greek Poets, whom I showed thee; his Comedies shall be full of Wit and pleasant Conceits, but not very modest. Indeed he shall better represent slaves, courtesans, and those of the base sort of people, than honest persons; like some Painters, whose odd fancy is better at representing poor crippled and deformed soldiers, than Princes and Heroes. In process of time he shall seem something obscure, because he shall love to take the liberty of making extraordinary words, and employing those which are peculiar, to the eloquence of the vulgar. But however, there shall be handsome strains in his Works, and raillery shall be neatly couched in them.  
Look next upon Statius Caecilius, a Gaul, he shall have the glory to be preferred by many, above all other Authors of the Theatre; he shall be a great friend to Ennius, and so highly respected by Terence, that he shall compose nothing but what he first exposes to his censure. Nevertheless, time shall not respect his Works; for there shall scarce any thing of time survive.  
As for Accius Pacuvius whom thou seest there, there are not things enough to tell thee of him, to detain thy sight longer upon him.  
But 'tis not so with that African whom I show thee, for he merits to have all thy attention; 'tis that Terence I but now mentioned; he shall be born at Carthage, and bred up a slave at Rome, by Terentius Lucanus a Senator, who shall cause him to be educated with very much care, and set him at liberty when he comes beyond the years of Childhood. Terence shall take the famous Menander for his pattern, as Plautus took Epicharmus and Aristophanes for his. He shall have a particular amity with all persons of eminent quality in Rome, especially with an illustrious man, named Scipio, and another called Laetius, who shall also assist him to compose his handsome Comedies; for they shall not be like those people of quality, who conceive ignorance best becomes persons of condition, and that it is either shameful or unprofitable to be learned. There shall be nothing so pure, noble and delicate; as his Writings; nothing that can better express the manners and genius of persons of all sorts. His Comedies shall seem better at the hundredth time's reading, than at the first; and they shall be the delight of all those that have an exquisite gust; yet only six of them shall be transmitted to posterity, which also shall be for the most part imitated from Menander, who shall be his great Original; nevertheless, they shall not favour of the constraint or lowness of imitators, but they shall be as so many Masterpieces. He shall die with sorrow, as he returns from Greece to Rome, for having lost by shipwreck, an hundred and eight Comedies which he had made, and some incomparable Satyrs.  
He that thou seest next, is Caius Lucilius, who shall be a person of very great honesty; and so it shall be out of a sentiment of Virtue, that he will compose Satyrs. There shall be something extremely divertising in his Writings, but much inequality shall always attend them. 'Tis true, his defects shall not be long reproached to him; for his works shall perish, as well as those of Turpilius and Africanus, two Comic Poets, whom thou mayst see standing on his right hand.  
But the same fate shall not attend Lucretius: Look upon him as a Poet of an admirable genius, yet he shall have something of rudeness and impoliteness in several places: but the fault of the age he shall live in, and the quality of his argument, shall be the cause of it. In some excellent places, and in his poetical digressions, it shall be as much as the greatest Poet of the world shall be able to do to surpass him. He shall die mad, by occasion of being too much beloved; for a Mistress whom he shall love, thinking herself not sufficiently loved by him, shall give him a water to drink, which shall cause his death, in stead of augmenting his love.  
In the next place take notice of Lucius Pomponius, who shall invent a new sort of Comedies, called Atellanae, see also near him a man that has a cheerful and sufficiently ridiculous countenance, 'tis Laberius the Author of the Mimics, that is, of a kind of sportful Comedy, set forth in gestures and postures.  
See then a man of quality, named Quintus Catulus, he shall make two Epigrams, which shall pass happily to the latter ages, though all his other Verses perish, and there shall be one of those Epigrams, which shall one day give occasion to the composition of several little works, which shall bear the title of The fair Housewife.  
After him, behold several mean Poets in a crowd, and amongst the rest Publius Syrus a slave, freed for his Wit's sake, who shall surpass all others in the Mimics, and Laberius himself that invented them: but I hasten to show thee the famous Catullus.  
Observe him therefore as one of the most gallant and elegant Latin Poets; but see near him also the fair Lesbian his Mistress, who shall be reported to assist him in the composition of his verses.  
Catullus shall be born at Verona, and be universally esteemed; his Epigrams shall be divine, although they be not always piquant, as those of Martial, whom thou shalt see by and by, but they shall have an admirable gracefulness, both for the manner and for the expressions. He shall look upon Callimachus as one of his originals, and shall translate that work concerning Berenice's hair which I told thee of: In brief, his Epigrams shall be of an extreme sweet strain, and of so peculiar a gallantry and politeness, that none shall be able to equal him. He shall make several against the chief man of his times, and the master of his Country, under the name of Mamuna, but that great man shall not revenge himself, but favour him as formerly, because he shall have more esteem for his works, than indignation against his person, he shall die at thirty years of age, but his glory shall be out of the reach of Fate.  
Now redouble thy attention hesiod, for I am going to show thee the greatest and most excellent of Latin Poets. Dost thou not perceive a house sufficiently rustical, before the door of which are all conveniences requisite for the making of earthen vessels? and dost thou not see at a little distance from thence, a great Poplar, which surpasses all those round about it; 'tis the birthplace of the great Virgil, whom thou mayst see musing along a meadow; as he shall do one day when he shall compose some of his Eclogues. He shall be the Son of a Potter, near a City that shall be called Mantua; his Mother shall dream that she shall bring forth a Laurel, which she shall see grow to infinity; being delivered, she shall plant a sprig of poplar according to the custom, which shall in a little time become a great Tree, surpassing all those of the Country, and which afterwards shall be looked upon by the people with veneration, and named Virgil's tree. This excellent man shall addict himself to the study of Natural Philosophy, the Mathematics, and Physic, which he shall choose for his profession, and wherein he shall excel. Afterwards by his great worth, he shall acquire the friendship of a great Emperor, named Augustus, and of his Favourite, the famous Maecenas, our love and delight. He shall never offend any person, and never show the least token of vanity, though Poets in general will be sufficiently subject to this defect. He shall have modesty in perfection; and in brief, shall be a real honest person, as well amiable for his virtue, and for his manners, as admirable for his wit. He shall compose Eclogues in imitation of Theocritus, which shall be infinitely charming; thou shalt have the same glory of being imitated by him, when he shall compose a work, which he shall entitle Georgics; and which amongst the great Masters, shall pass for his Masterpiece: it being certain, that in respect of art and verity, it shall transcend all other things whatsoever; though very many persons, and those judicious too, shall wish rather to have been authors of his Eclogues, or some book of his Aenaeis, for 'tis indeed a great glory, to be exact and accomplished throughout, but 'tis a greater in Poetry to effect, to charm, and to ravish. He shall imitate Homer in his Aenaeis, and the advantage shall be attributed to him, for having far surpassed him, as well as Theocritus, in the things wherein he shall have imitated him. But though Homer be less regular than Virgil shall be, yet he shall not fail to have his graces; for he shall be more divertising and less severe, and shall abound much in different styles, of which Virgil shall be wholly unfurnished. But in brief, it shall be said to the praise of Virgil, That never man had with an extreme handsome genius, and great stock of wit, so excellent a judgement, nor knew so perfectly as he, how far 'tis fit to go in Poetry. and where to stop. But in the middle of his glory he shall die at Brundisium, whither he shall go to salute Augustus at his return from the East. At his death he shall command his Aenaeis to be burnt, not being able to resolve to leave it imperfect to posterity; but Tucca and Varus, his friends, assuring him that Augustus will never permit it, he shall consent that it be preserved, on condition that ' it be published according as he shall leave it, without changing any thing in it, not even so much as some Verses, which shall be but half made. But to render him as glorious after his death, as he shall be during his life, Augustus shall make excellent Verses against that unjust clause of his Testament. Judge then hesiod, what glory attends thee, being able one day to count Augustus and Virgil amongst thy descendants.  
But this is not all yet; for behold him that appears there, 'tis Horace, whose name shall seem to be fatal to extraordinary men; he that thou seest shall be, without scruple, the most gallant of all the Latin Poets; his Father shall be a native of a village of Apulia, and a Son of a freed man, but for that he shall have a mind above his condition, he shall educate his son with as much care, as Princes ought to bring up their own Children. Horace shall have a particular friendship with Maecenas, and likewise with Augustus, who desiring to make use of him for his Letters which he shall write to his friends, shall see himself refused by him without being offended Horace shall have as much wealth as he shall desire; and he shall say one day, to the glory of Maecenas, and his own, I have as much as I need, and if I desired more, you would not refuse it me. Horace shall be sufficiently choleric, he shall have a voluptuous soul, and be of the sect of Epicurus, which he shall disclaim at the end of his days, he shall love liberty above all things, and so shall pass his life absolutely free, and please himself chiefly in the Country, because there is greater freedom there than otherwhere. He shall make two sorts of works, his Odes which shall be perfectly divine, and his Satyrs, which shall be incomparable not to mention a discourse of competent length, concerning the art of Poetry, wherein shall be very excellent things. There shall be some Odes of Love, others of carousing, and others perfectly grand and heroical, and all inimitable; so great freedom and facility of Wit shall be seen in them, happy boldness, gallant conceits, and above all, a choice of noble and natural expressions, which cannot be too highly valued. His works shall be throughout affecting, they shall surprise by their little constraint; for he shall pass from one subject to another, without scrupling to forsake any, where it seems good to him, and to go where he shall not be expected. As for his Satyrs, they shall contain the most exquisite and delicate morality, mingled with the most subtle and real raillery, and never shall any other so pleasantly deride vices, as he; nor so ingeniously render them ridiculous. Yet it shall be less impossible (if I may so speak) to imitate him in his Satyrs than in his Odes. But to conclude, he shall die at the age of fifty seven years, after having acquired a glory which nothing can destroy.  
After him, cast thy eyes upon Tibullus, a Roman Knight, handsome, well made, and of a good port; he shall be rich and become poor; he shall have so amorous an inclination, that the multitude of his loves shall proceed less from his inconstancy, than from his inclination to love. He shall chiefly celebrate in his Verses, four of his Mistresses, Delia, Sulpitia, Neara, and Nemesis. He shall have a particular amity with one of the eminentest persons of Rome, named Messala Corvinus, and shall die in a voyage that he shall make with him, after having had the glory to be the first Author of the Latin Elegy. The style of his Verses shall be amorous, soft, easy, clear, neat, and of extreme sweetness and elegancy.  
In the next place behold Propertius, an other Roman Knight, he shall imitate Callimachus, Mimnermus, and Philetas, whom I showed thee before. Behold also near him, the fair Cyntbia his Mistress, who shall sometimes help him to make Verses, as Lesbian shall Catullus. His Elegies shall be so handsome, that though the best Judges shall prefer Tibullus before him, yet others shall be of the contrary opinion. There shall be more wit, more conceits, and more amorous sentences in his Verses, but less passion, facility, and elegance.  
Dost thou not see at the right hand of Propertius another Poet? 'tis Varus, who shall live at the same time. Horace, and all the rest of the same profession, shall celebrate him as a great Epique Poet, but there shall remain nothing of his but twelve or thirteen verses; so that one day his writings shall not be known, but by the commendations of others.  
But it is time to show thee the famous Ovid, a Roman Knight; dost thou not also see near him a very comely person? 'tis his wife, who shall be named Perilla, and taught by him to make. Verses. He shall be born at Sulmo, the Metropilis of the Peligni in Italy, near the Marsi, he shall be at first designed by his father to the Law, and shall succeed well in it; but having all his life had a great inclination for Poetry, he shall renounce that profession, and give himself wholly to the other. He shall be a particular friend to those of the highest quality in Rome, and of very delightful conversation. He shall marry thrice; he shall divorce his two first Wives, and keep the third, which thou seest near him. He shall be banished by Augustus, for having made love to the Princess Julia his daughter, whose deportment shall be very disorderly; some shall believe the cause to have been for being amorous of Livia, wife of that Emperor; but the true reason shall be so concealed, that many different and improbable conjectures shall be made of it. The place of his exile shall be Pontus, a Province of Asia, near the Geteses and the Sarmatians. He shall compose many works, the greatest of all which shall be his Metamorphosis, which he shall imitate from the Greek of Parthenius, of the Island of Chios, as to the design only; for he shall much more amplify them; his stile shall have much wit, facility, and copiousness, but more of native Ornament than Art. For the most part he shall abandon himself to his own genius, and not always allow himself the leisure to choose his conceits and expressions; but yet he shall be so extremely amorous, so passionate, and full of wit, that he shall be accounted admirable throughout all Ages. His Books of the Art of Loving, and the Remedies of Love, shall get him a great reputation. But it may be said, the Flower of Latin Poetry shall die with him, for his successors endeavouring to imitate his Wit, his copiousness, his conceits and subtle fancies, shall leave the good way, and wander, so that insensibly, after his days, the Latin Poetry shall begin to lose that sweetness and natural Majesty, which during so long time, rendered it admirable.  
For behold that Spaniard with the fierce countenance thou seest appear there; 'tis Seneca the Tragedian; he shall have much wit, but he shall favour of the tumidness of his Nation: he shall be born at Corduba, and in process of time, some shall attribute part of his Works to a Philosopher of the same name, whose mind shall be of the same temper with his.  
In the next place, behold Lucan, who shall be born in the ●●me City; he shall have many admirers, but whose Work, to speak equitably, shall not be perfectly admirable saving in its pieces. He shall be justly accused for not making a conclusion, and for flying always so high, that he cannot be followed without weariness. He shall one day have a Translator among the Gauls, who shall get much glory by his traduction. His wife Palla Argentaria, shall make Verses as well as he, but at length an Emperor called Nero, shall put him to death, not so much for having conspired against the State, as to deliver himself from a Rival in Poetry whose Works shall be better received by the people than his.  
After him, see an imitator of Virgil, called Statius; and near him his wife Claudia, who shall be illustrious for her wit; she shall make Verses too, as well as that of Lucan. This Poet shall fall much short of Virgil, by endeavouring to surpass him. In brief he shall be great and sublime, but most often inflated and obscure.  
Then consider Silius Italicus, a Spaniard also so great an admirer of Virgil, that he shall reverence his Tomb. He shall write a Poem of Seventeen Books, concerning the War of the Carthaginians against the Romans; he shall be Consul of Rome, the year wherein the cruel Nero shall be slain.  
So likewise Valerius Flaccus, who shall write of the Argonauts: but do not stay upon this sight; for though these must be good Poets, yet they shall not be of the same rank with the others thou hast seen.  
But I am going to show thee two that shall better deserve to detain thy view; they are Juvenal and Martial; for though they are not to have all the excellency of the Age of Augustus, yet they shall have the advantage to be the first in the style they shall choose.  
See therefore Juvenal, who appears first; his Satyrs shall be less mirthful and delicate than those of Horace, but full of wit and life. Horace shall always laugh, and never be in choler; Juvenal shall frequently be enraged, and laugh more rarely. These two sorts of Satyrs shall divide the Wits, and there shall no doubt, be some very handsome things, and sometimes also very pleasant, in Juvenal. He shall live under Domitian, he shall be son of a Freedman; but having in one of his Satyrs reflected upon one of the persons in favour, he shall be sent in Commission at the Age of fourscore years, to the farthest part of Egypt, where he shall die in a kind of exile.  
But then behold Martial, who advances a famous Author of Epigrams, and who shall merit to be the first in his kind, Not but that the Epigrams of Catullus shall please more, because they shall be Epigrams throughout (as one day a great Man amongst the Gauls shall say) whereas those of Martial shall not be so but at the end: but indeed they shall be in a manner of two differing kinds. Catullus shall be full of elegancy, delicacy, and the neat raillery of the better sort; Martial, on the other side, shall have a raillery less polite, but quick, piquant, and subtle, and shall not want elegance in some places. That which shall be good in him shall be excellent, but there shall be several mean Epigrams amongst others, and several which shall appear flat in remoter Ages, because the difference of manners and custom shall cause their agreeableness not to be comprehended. Martial shall be born in Spain; he shall be a very gallant Man; and shall live under an Emperor whose name shall be Domitian.  
Next to him I must show thee a Poet named Persius, although he is to precede Juvenal, under the reign of Claudius. His Works shall have resemblance with those of that famous Author; they shall be very highly esteemed of in his own days, but in more remote times he shall appear very obscure to the most Learned, yet he shall have this glory; that a person of high quality, great courage, and excellent Wit, after having been dangerously wounded in War, in an occasion wherein he shall signalise himself, having no other Book to divert him during his sickness but this, shall translate it admirably for his pleasure, and make a Copy which shall far transcend the original, though he must also make some things of his own incomparably more handsome. But in brief, after Martial, Poetry shall resemble nothing but old age, and decrepitude.  
Yet there shall be under Theodosius one Claudian, who shall have a handsome facility. There shall also be born in Gaul upon the bank of the Garoone, a Poet called Ausonius, who shall be Tutor to an Emperor, and afterwards Roman Consul, and shall compose things full of Wit and Learning. But after all, it may be said, that Latin Poetry shall die together with the Language. 'Tis true, after this Language shall be no longer in use but among the Learned, there shall be Italian Poets in the Ages remote from that of Augustus, who shall cause Latin Poetry to flourish again miraculously. But since the multitude of Poets can never be found but amongst the living Languages, I must show thee in the same Country, as it were another Nation and another Scene for Poetry.  
For my part (said Plotina then) I am highly pleased with the Prediction of Calliope, and though I am sufficiently glad to be living at present, yet I think I should not be very sorry to be in the days of Augustus, to see the Poets rich then, and great Lords worthy persons. Being I am not certain what I should be at that time, (answered Amilcar) 'tis as good to content myself with being what I am, and proceed with my reading. Which he continued thus,  
Behold now, O hesiod, the same Italy again, but imagine to thyself, that it has been overrun by an inundation of foreign Nations, that it has changed its government, manners, and language, that it has groaned for several ages under barbarism and ignorance, that it is now beginning again to understand good literature, and to remember its ancient politeness. Thou seest there the first Italian Poet, who shall one day be famous; but consider him as a man, who shall choose a very difficult Subject to treat of in Verse, and express himself so obscurely, that he shall scarce be understood by them of his own age. He shall be born in a City that shall be named Florence; he shall be known by the name of Dante, and have scarce any thing but Fiction in his Verses.  
But now turn thy eyes upon that pleasant Valley, bounded by a great rock, at the foot of which is a famous Fountain, which alone gives rise to a River, and which being six months high, and six months low, shall pass for one of the wonders of Nature. See on the right hand of this lovely valley (in which are seen an hundred Rivulets of living water and inartificial channels) a little Meadow, wherein is a man who appears very sad, and muses profoundly; 'tis Petrarch, who shall be born in the Town of Arezzo, He shall love a fair and virtuous Virgin, whose name shall be Laura, and shall have a very handsome house in Valchiusa; so shall the Valley thou seest, be one day called, because 'tis enclosed almost on every side. 'Tis he that shall give a perfect example of constant and honest Love; He shall love Laura both living and dead, and he shall preserve so much respect in his passion, that it shall be hard to conjecture, whether he were loved again or no, so full shall his Verses be of discretion. Nevertheless, they shall be very amorous, and he shall compose more in lamenting the death of Laura, than in extolling her during her life. He shall love her one and twenty years with an equal ardour, and they shall both love with so great innocence, that the glory of their Love shall last, as long as that of Petrach's Verses, who shall have the honour to be the first of his Nation, that understood to speak handsomely of Love in Verse. He shall be as deformed as his Mistress shall be fair, but he shall have so handsome a Wit, a Heart so noble, and a Soul so virtuous, that he shall be esteemed by all the most considerable persons of his time. Whereby he shall have many marks of honour during his life, and shall be crowned Poet with magnificence in the chief City of the World.  
In the next place, behold Ferrara, a very famous City, and in the principal place of it a man who has an ingenious aspect; 'tis the famous Ariosto, who shall make very handsome Comedies and Satyrs; but above all a great Poem, so full of different inventions, that though he ought to be accused for being unequalled, yet he shall not fail to be admirable in a thousand respects. For he shall have a certain kind of divertising variety, which shall charm his Readers. He shall have a Style easy, natural, and amorous, the negligence of which shall not hinder its facility from being extreme delightful, and though regularity must sometimes be wanting in him, yet he shall please almost perpetually. It were to be wished indeed, that he would retrench some places of his Works, which will not be modest enough, but there shall be several others, in which nothing shall be found wanting. His defects shall be his diffuseness, and excess of fancy, and a certain negligence which shall hinder him from rejecting some of his conceits and inventions. But to conclude, he shall be excellent among the excellent of his own Nation.  
But then turn thy view upon an illustrious and unfortunate person, lawful Heir of the glory of Homer and Virgil. He shall cause shame to the Princes of his own times; and he shall be the greatest honour of Italy for Poetry. 'Tis the famous Tasso I speak of, the greatest genius of his Nation, and one of the most judicious Poets of the World. Almost in his childhood he shall make an heroic Poem, extremely ingenious, and begin to give the World an essay of his abilities, for great Poetry. Afterwards he shall make another, the Fable of which shall be wonderful, and yet probable, and the styles of it various, agreeable, and natural; the texture of his Works shall have no confusion, he shall relate things handsomely, he shall excite compassion and admiration, he shall be very amorous in several places, and shall sometimes express very much in few Words, though the language in which he is to write, be not so proper for that purpose as the Latin. He shall first begin to introduce Shepherds upon the Theatre, and shall make a Pastoral Comedy, which shall be the pattern of all others, and a Masterpiece which many shall imitate, but none ever equal: he shall also make several other commendable Works; but it sufficeth to tell thee only of the most famous. Tasso shall be born in a Town near a very fair City, which shall be called Naples, at that time; yet it shall one day befall him as it did Homer, that several places shall challenge to themselves the honour of his birth: he shall be of a race so illustrious, that his Ancestors shall have been Lords of a considerable City; but his family being ruined, his Father, whose name shall be Bernardo Tasso, shall desire to addict him to employments of profit, and hinder him from following Poetry, though himself also should have a good faculty in Verse. But in brief, through many adventures Tasso shall go to Rome, afterwards to Ferrara, France, Mantua, and return back into his own Country, and then again into Ferrara; but into what place soever he goes, he shall find glory and poverty. Fortune shall begin to persecute him in Ferrara; Love shall be the principal cause of all his unhappinesses; for he shall be enamoured on the Sister of his Master, and render the name of Leonora, famous by his passion and his Verse. Yet he shall conceal his Love as long as he is able, and amongst three Women of the same name endeavour to disguise the truth. He shall also fight, with heroical courage, against a man that shall have discovered something of it; but at length he shall forsake Ferrara, and spend several years wand'ring and roaming about, without any subsistence. He shall be in prison, and have a fear to be poisoned; and at length see himself so unhappy, and overwhelmed with misfortunes, that the very greatness of his mind shall serve to render him more miserable, since it shall be one of the causes of the loss of his reason. He shall not have so much happiness as to be ignorant of his folly, and he shall have intervals of Reason, which shall let him know, that he is the most unhappy of all men: however, he shall see his Virtue respected, even by a Captain of Thiefs, who having besieged a place without knowing of his being there, shall change his resolution as soon as he knows it, and deprive himself of a great booty, only for his sake; thus he shall be the object of all the World's admiration. In the mean time, the injustice of the great ones of his times, shall be detested by all honest people of the following ages, who shall judge it strange, that the greatest Wit of the World, and most illustrious person of his age, should live without being Master of so much as a poor Cottage of his own, to hide his unhappiness, although he has been universally esteemed, and lived in several of the greatest Courts of Europe. But this shall not be the last time, that this kind of injustice shall be seen amongst Grandees, who, for the most part, are totally ignorant of the art of rewarding Virtue. But in fine, Tasso after having endured a thousand misfortunes, and feared all those that might possibly befall him, and so consequently undergone them, shall die when he shall be ready to be crowned Poet at Rome, as Petrarch shall have been; but as for his glory, it shall never die, and his Amynta shall come in time to be translated into the French, Spanish, English, High and Low Germane Languages.  
But having now shown thee Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto and Tasso, behold also Bembo, Caro, and Guarini; the first shall have in admirable purity of style; the second a rare faculty of conceit in all his Verses; and the third shall have so much wit, that he shall be blamed for it as an imperfection.  
After these, behold four Poets, whose Poetry, though wholly of a different kind, shall deserve all the praise that can be given to things of that nature namely, le Bernia, le Maure, le Molza, and le Caporale.  
Next them, see there Tassone, who by a Poem ingeniously pleasant, shall merit high applause.  
Behold also Marini, who with his multitude of Writings, shall astonish his Readers. See, in the next place, one Fulvio Testi, whose magnificence and purity shall have an air, both great and natural together, and who shall in a manner, revive the genius and style of Horace.  
See likewise one Gratiani, who, by a great Poem, shall acquire much honour.  
And then see several Italian Poets in a crowd, which I do not name to thee, because I am impatiently desirous to show thee a lovely Country, where my Companions and I, after having gone almost round the World, shall one day fix our residence.  
'Tis France, hesiod, I tell thee of; consider it as a place which must be our new Sanctuary.  
But to let thee see the progress, Poetry shall make there, behold a man whose aspect is sufficiently uncouth, and his attire extraordinary; he shall be named John de Meun, and shall compose a Work which shall bear a great vogue a long time; but he shall be rather inspired by his own capricious humour than by us.  
Dost thou not see in the next place a Poet of quality? he shall live under a King that shall love the Muses, and who shall make four Verses upon the Tomb'of the fair Laura, Petrarch's Mistress. This Poet shall be named Melin de Saint Gelais; his aspect shall be sweet, simple, lively; and his profession shall oblige him to a particular modesty. Yet his humour shall be naturally inclined to a kind of raillery not very scrupulous: he shall have an ingenious and quick mind, and so near a subtlety that way, that it shall not be possible to be foreseen, and oftentimes it shall not be known what he aims at, till he has done speaking.  
Then behold Marat with a grave countenance; no doubt thou wouldst take him for a person that were not fit for any thing but to teach morality. Nevertheless, no wit shall ever be more sportful than his. There shall be always good sense in his most foolish raillery, and pleasant passages in his most grave discourses. He shall be entertained in the service of the King, under whom Melin shall live. His style shall be sprightly, easy, natural, and divertising. This Poet shall have the honour to be imitated by all Poets that would be pleasant; and yet be always inimitable.  
In the next place, behold the Prince of the French Poets; he shall be a goodly person of a handsome stature and aspect; he shall be called Ronsard; his descent shall be noble; he shall be highly esteemed, and deserve it, in his own days; for he shall have a very great genius. He shall also be sufficiently learned; but being he shall be the first in France, that shall undertake to make handsome Verses, he shall not be able to give his Works the perfection necessary to assure him lasting praises. However, it shall always be known by some of his Hymns, that nature has been very liberal to him, and that he merited his reputation. His fortune shall not be bad, and he shall die superior to poverty.  
But now behold Belleau, who shall not be without merit; he shall be one of the most eminent of seven Poets of the same knot, who shall be called the Pleyades, after the example of those among the Greeks. It shall be said of him, that he built himself a Tomb of precious stones, because in imitation of a Greek Poet, he shall write upon that subject. He shall one day translate the Odes of Anacreon, but he shall deprive them of a great part of their graces.  
But if I please (interrupted Anacreon smiling) I can spoil the truth of Calliopes' prediction; for I need only burn all my Odes, to hinder that pretended Beleau from translating them to their disadvantage. By no means (answered Amilcar) for there was never any Poet that sacrificed a handsome composition after he had made it. Since 'tis so (replied he) proceed then to read, and let him translate me as he pleases. And accordingly, Amilcar went on in this manner.  
See next a Poet of quality; he shall be named Bellay; he shall compose very lofty and elegant Verses, and especially Sonnets upon the subject of Rome, which shall give him much reputation in his days:  
After him, behold Jodelle, Cretin, Passerat, Olivier, and de Magny; all these Poets shall be sufficiently esteemed during their lives: but their Works savouring of the infancy of the French Poetry, ought not to be named to thee.  
Behold, next, the French Poet that shall make Tragedies with any reputation: his name shall be Garnier, and he shall be of a considerable lineage.  
But dost thou see there a Poet with a very agreeable aspect? he shall be called Desportes, and shall aspire to be the most amorous of all the French Poets. Indeed he shall have a very sweet and passionate stile in his time; he also shall have the happiness to live in a Court, where Princes shall delight in ingenious Productions, and be inclined to magnificence. By which means he shall become sufficiently rich, much esteemed by all the Grandees, and much in favour with Women of quality.  
Then consider a man of great Dignity in France; he shall be named Perron; he shall learn all the Sciences of himself; he shall be interessed in the most important affairs of Europe, and be highly esteemed. He shall have a great affection for Poetry, and notwithstanding his great employments, shall not cease to busy himself very frequently in making Verses, but his multiplicity of affairs shall hinder him from composing any considerable number.  
Behold, next, an excellent Poet, who shall live at the same time; his name shall be Br●taut; Fortune also shall be favourable to his merit: he shall be endued both with virtue and probity: his Verses shall be full of Wit and Love, and there shall be some so excellent in his Works, that there shall never be any French Poet so famous, but would wish to have been the Author of them. He shall be of considerable degree in his Country; his aspect shall be sweet and agreeable, and shall be at that time, the most amorous Poet of France, though Desportes, whom I showed thee, will dispute that title with him. He shall be accused of not knowing when to make an end in some places, and to be something harsh in some others. But, to conclude, he shall be good amongst the good of his own times, and shall see none above him.  
After him, look upon that man carelessly and unsutably attired: his name shall be Regnier; he shall be Nephew to Desportes, and deserve very much glory. He shall be the first that shall compose Satyrs in French; and though he cast an eye upon some famous Originals amongst those that preceded him, yet himself shall be an Original in his time; his compositions shall be excellent, and the meanest of them shall always have life and quickness. He shall paint out vices to the life, and the vicious very pleasantly; lastly, he shall read in a peculiar way among the Poets of his age, in which those that would follow him, shall frequently be subject to err.  
Consider, next a Poet, whose genius shall be great, and style sublime; he shall have both vigour and boldness, and shall deserve to be translated into Latin and Italian. His name shall be Du Bartas, and he shall affect only high arguments. But for that the French Language shall not as then have attained to all its perfection, his Works shall soon after seem to have something antiquated in the style. After this, redouble thy attention, and behold with pleasure a man who shall have the honour to have altered the Language of his Country, and brought French Poetry to such perfection, that he shall be the pattern of all the eminent Poets that shall follow him, and be alleged as an authority by all those of his own Nation. He shall be named Malherbe, and shall be of a very honourable lineage, but so disfavoured by fortune, that he shall always be unhappy. 'Tis he that shall perfectly conceive the Idea of excellent French Poetry, and find out the art of making the same Verses both stately and natural, majestic and sweet, harmonious and exact. He shall not appear to have more wit than another, but the handsomeness of his expressions, shall advance him above all. Yet he shall have no delicate Soul in respect of Love, though there will be exquisite wit in his Verses. But in brief, he shall be universally acknowledged worthy of all the praises due to excellent Poetry, and so shall be generally extolled by all the World, though himself be designed scarce ever to praise the Works of any.  
Next, observe that black and swarthy man; he shall be named Theophile; his destiny shall not be happy; he shall come into the World with a great genius for Verse; his fancy shall be quick and confident; and if his judgement could retain his impetuosity, and correct the imperfections of his versifying, he would be Author of admirable compositions; but this he shall not be able to do, and all the good inventions of his mind shall be like Gold in the Mine, which is seen always mingled with earth and dust.  
After him, behold Montfaron and De Lingendes, two Poets, who shall deserve well: the first shall have a handsome faculty in his conceits and expressions, and the second an amorous, and passionate strain in his Verses, which shall please all those that have tender hearts.  
But now prepare thyself to see an Illustrious Protector of Poetry, who shall be one of the greatest men of the World: Dost thou see him that holds the Ocean fettered, whom victory waits upon, and glory accompanies? 'tis the famous Armand, who shall be renowned in all histories; his birth shall be very illustrious, the grandeur of his mind shall surpass the extent of all imagination; his heart shall be incomparably greater than his fortune, and yet his fortune shall be so high, that his resolutions shall make the destiny of all Europe. He shall be faithful to his Master, dreadful to the enemies of his Country, Victor over all those he shall encounter with, and the grand Protector of Virtue and the Muses. I shall say nothing of his victories, nor of all his virtues; for it would require too much time; but thou shalt only know that that Hero of the latter ages, in the midst of his great affairs, and in the heat of War, which shall involve almost all the Universe, shall afford us a Sanctuary under him; and my Companions and I shall find a Maecenas in him, and almost the age of Augustus in the Court of France. For that he will not take much time for the King's service to employ in composing many Verses, he will at least take care for the protection of those that shall; and by that means cause his pleasures to be placed in the rank of his virtues. For he shall give so favourable reception to all persons of worth, that he shall revive all Sciences and excellent Arts. Then shall Music, Architecture, Poetry, and especially Comedies, resume new lustre; and even all handsome compositions made after his death, shall be looked upon as caused by his influence,  
Yet after him we shall have Protectors in France, and amongst others, there shall be a person in a principal office of State, who shall sometimes hear us favourably by the side of his Fountains. He shall have a very great capacity for all grand affairs, he shall dispatch the most difficult matters without enforcement, and perform most noble actions without vanity; he shall have a lively and piercing mind, and unparallelled modesty, gravity, goodness, justice and probity; he shall never be false to his word, or his friends; whereby he shall be particularly reverenced by all persons that are endued with Virtue; and my companions and I will inspire all the Poets of his time, who shall not be few, with the desire of singing his glory. He that should go about to reckon up all the famous Works that shall be made from the time the great Armand shall have favoured us to the end of that age, shall find the number almost infinite; for never shall there be seen so many great and sublime Heroic Poems, handsome Comedies, charming Eclogues, ingenious Stanzas, elegant Sonnets, agreeable Epigrams, pleasant Madrigals, and amorous Elegies.  
But to do thee a considerable favour, behold that Woman who appears to thee; she hath, as thou seest, the resemblance of Pallas; and there is something so sweet, languishing, and passionate in her beauty, that it perfectly represents that charming air which Painters give to Venus. This Illustrious person shall be of so noble a descent, that she shall scarce see any but Royal Families above her own: But to speak only concerning herself, know that she shall come into the World with a more admirable mind than beauty; though as thou seest, she shall be Mistress of a thousand charms. She shall also have a generous goodness, that shall render her worthy of high commendations; but to omit so many other surprising qualities as Heaven shall conser upon her, know, she shall compose Elegies, so handsome, so full of passion, and so exactly accomplished in all that is required to the perfection of such compositions, that she shall surpass all those that preceded her, and all that shall attempt to follow her.  
In the same times shall be sung a thousand exquisite Sonnets in France, which shall pleasantly comprise all the Morality of Love; and it shall be principally in this age, that a particular way of gallant and pleasant kind of Poetry shall be in use, wherein Love, Praises, and Raillery shall be mingled together: but that raillery shall be in the most delicate and ingenious manner: for there is a difference between causing divertisement, and causing laughter: Nevertheless there shall be several Poets, who shall confound the gallant and pleasant sort of Poetry with the Burlesque or Mocking, which the French shall receive from the Italians; although there is much difference in the way of composition of either. There shall likewise be several kinds of Burlesque Verses; the pleasantness of some of which shall consist in the inventions and conceits, and not in the style; Others shall not be truly Burlesque, saving in the expressions: and there shall be one sort so vulgar, mean, extravagant, and gross, and which shall make such unhandsome representations, that my companions and I shall almost eternally disown the Poets that shall be capable of it. Withal, there shall be a numerous Sect, who shall judge it fit to speak no otherwise than the people do, and to be pleasant with no other than vulgar conceits. Not but that 'tis possible to make Works of this kind with very much art, and I assure thee, some shall deserve to be commended and desired. But to speak reasonably, as there are few great Architects that attempt to build Palaces with Clay, so also few great Poets can design to make handsome compositions in a popular style. There shall also be other Burlesque Poets, who shall believe themselves sufficiently pleasant, provided they asperse the reputation or the Works of others, and who trusting to the malice of their Readers, shall not be so solicitous, as to seek to detract with Art, so that without affecting any particular style, they shall sometimes rise high, and sometimes fall low, according as the necessity of their Rhyme, or the wildness of their Fancy leads them. But as for gallant and pleasant Poetry, it shall have more affinity with that of the Greeks, than of the Latin; it shall be noble, natural, easy, and agreeable; it shall sometime, deride innocently, it shall commend without much exaggeration, it shall reprove sometimes without sharpness, and shall be ingeniously sportful and recreative. It shall sometimes be soft and compassionate, and sometimes sprightly and cheerful; it shall likewise admit some small glances of Morality, delicately drawn; it shall sometimes be full of agreeable inventions, and ingenious fictions; Love and Wit shall be mingled together in it; it shall have a certain air in the World; that shall distinguish it from all the other sorts of Poetry; and lastly, it shall be the flower of their Wit, who shall be excellent therein. France shall have three or four Poets of this kind in the same age, which shall be admirable, though there will be considerable difference between them: On the other side there shall be during some time, such a multitude of Burlesque Poets, who shall cause no body to laugh, that nothing shall be made so great, as to exempt it from the burlesque of those persons: 'Tis true, in the same age, there shall be so many excellent persons of all conditions, that there shall be some ground of comfort against the multitude of mean Poets. But alas, I shall tell thee hesiod, that I fear so many excellent pieces of Poetry will not find censors sufficiently equitable, and that that age so full of wit, will not—  
'Tis sufficient (Calliope interrupted Apollo, who appeared to hesiod with the rest of the Muses;) it is not fit a Mortal should know as much as we, and thou hast told him enough to raise up his mind, and to instruct him. Apollo having done speaking, and the Concert beginning again for some moments, hesiod imagined Calliope gave him a wreath of Laurel, which she held in her hand. Upon which awaking suddenly, Apollo and the Muses disappeared. In which instant he beheld a kind of light that dazzled his eyes, and rose up without knowing what he was going to do, having his mind so filled with what he thought he had seen and heard, that he was perfectly astonished; which he was likewise again, presently after he had something recollected himself, whereupon, beholding a fair and young person, about twelve or thirteen years old, followed by three or four Women, and two Men, who after they had descended from their chariots, considered the native handsomeness of this famous Fountain, by the side of which he had slept. hesiod had never loved any to that time, but he had no sooner beheld this fair Virgin, than his heart was affected with the sight. At first he considered whether it were not one of the Muses that stayed by the Fountain's side; but this error was soon resolved; for he perceived this person was come thither only out of curiosity, as many others used to do. He saluted her very civilly with the rest of her company, and was troubled for having been seen asleep: Not but that the former apparition of the Muses, did still sufficiently possess his mind, but the sight of this fair Virgin surpassed all other imaginations; whereupon making use of the liberty taken by persons that are at such places, which people go to see out of curiosity, hesiod approached these Ladies, and handsomely addressing to them. May not I render a civility (said he) to such fair strangers in informing them at least of some particularities of a place they come to see? We have so little time to be here (answered Clymene) that it will certainly be very advantageous to us, if you, being, as probably it seems, one of the Country, please to instruct us a little better concerning this famous fountain, the pleasantness of whose water seemed to invite me to drink of it immediately upon my arrival. But they tell me (added she smiling) 'tis the fountain of Hippocrene, and if I take not heed, I shall not be able to hinder myself from making Verses. And being not assured to have so good a faculty as Sapph, I am in a strange perplexity; for there is nothing in the world I should more hate to make ill, than Verses. You speak so agreeably what you intent (answered hesiod) that I believe you will always admirably accomplish what you design to make. But as for my part (added he, smiling) though I dwell sufficiently near this fountain, yet I dare assure you, that your eyes are more powerful to make a versifier, than the fountain which I see; for I have walked a hundred times upon its banks, without having had the least temptation to compose verses; and nevertheless within a moment that I have had the honour to see you, I find a strange desire in myself, of being able to tell you, as well in Verse as in prose, that I have never beheld any person so transcendently fair, as you. Clymene blut at the flattery of hesiod, who by that means conceiving her more lovely than before, enforced himself to speak to her again. Whereupon, the rest of their company mingling in their conversation, they continued above an hour in that place; after which, they all went together to the City, which bore the name of the famous Mountain, consecrated to the Muses; for this fair company came to see the Festival of Cupid, which was to be celebrated. Now hesiod being a person of much civility, and highly taken with Clymene, he took all imaginable care for her convenience, in seeing the solemnity of this Festival. But it was remarkable, that having never before thought of composing Verses, he notwithstanding made some before he went to his rest that night, and could not hinder himself from it; so that he knew not whether it was the Muses that had inspired him, or the fair eyes of Clymene; for the commendation of them was his inducement to the undertaking. In the mean time he understood Clymene was a person of quality of the City of Locri, whose fortune was not very happy, because she was not very rich. He likewise contracted familiarity with one of her brothers, who was then with her, and whose name was Antiphanes. While the Festival of Cupid lasted, he was inseparable from this agreeable company, and composed several pieces of Courtship in Verse, with a facility himself was astonished at, not knowing, as I said, whether the Muses had inspired him, or the beauty of Clymene unloosed his wit. The departure of this fair Virgin, after having afflicted him for some days, occasioned his making of more Verses. But being of an age which easily admits consolation of any thing, his grief did not torment him long. 'Tis true, the applauses which all the World gave to his Verses, contributed much to comfort him, for Glory is a Mistress, whose first favours are always sweet. Whereupon he addicted himself wholly to Poetry, and really acted as if he had been inspired; for he studied with such speed, that in very little time several Works of his were seen upon divers subjects, which required different sorts of knowledge; whereby it came to be reported over all Greece, that in a moment the Muses had taught him all the Sciences. He writ a Tract concerning Agriculture, which he addressed to his Brother; he made another of Astrology; he celebrated several Heroes, and Heroesses of antiquity, and spoke much more to the advantage of Women than of Men, to be contrary to the custom of Homer, who had more highly extolled Men than Women, relating several examples of illustrious and virtuous Women, which had consented to marry with worthy Men, for their virtue only. Moreover, he made the Epithalamium of Peleus and Thetis; a lamentation upon the death of Batrachus, and a Work which he called The Shield of Hercules; at the same time also he began that which he called Theogonia, in which he speaks of the original of the gods; he discoursed likewise concerning the art of Physic and Divination; and which is remarkable, having in one of these Works, introduced a Nightingale and a Hawk speaking together, he gave the first pattern of those ingenious Fables of Brutes, whereby Aesop afterwards rendered himself so famous. So that having acquired a high reputation by this great number of Works, which he composed in the space of five or six years, his heart no longer appeared sensible to any thing but glory and ambition. Then he made several voyages with very much pleasure; because into what place soever he went, his reputation outstripping him, he found friends every where. But that which caused him to be most spoken of, was the advantage he got over Homer, by the judgement of Panis King of Chalcis; for having both made Verses at the celebration of the funerals of Amphidamas, hesiod was declared Victor; and for having explicated a Riddle, which Homer was unable to do, he obtained a Tripod of Gold, which he consecrated to the Muses. Indeed the judgement of Panis was not approved by all the World; for the siders with Homer, and the enemies of hesiod, when they observed some person to judge unsutably of any thing, took up a byword in derision, saying, That it was a judgement of Panis: But however, hesiod having obtained the prize, and placed it in the Temple of Delphos, with an Inscription, that signified the glory which he had gained, the advantage remained wholly on his side, and the Victor of him that had overcome all others, could not fail to be glorious. Ambition thus possessing the heart of hesiod, he studied only to preserve the glory, which he had gotten, and that in such a manner, as it might prove beneficial to his Fortune. To which end at his return from Chalcis, he consulted the Oracle concerning the conduct of his life, which answered him, that he ought carefully to avoid the. Temple of Jupiter Nemaeus; for which reason he removed far from Peloponnesus, where that famed Temple stands. His Father being dead some days before, and having his estate at his own disposing, he resolved to go to the Court of the Prince of Locri, who was reputed a Lover of Verses. Indeed, it seems the Locrians are more obliged than others to esteem Verses, and those which make them; for the famous Mountain of Parnassus divides their Country. The Opuntines call the Locrians Orientals, and on the contrary, the Osolians count the Locrians Occidentals; the first bear in their Ensigns Aurora, as it uses to be painted, and the other the Evening Star. Now hesiod having chosen the Court of the Prince of Locri, as a Court wherein ingenious persons might advance their fortunes more than elsewhere, and wherein he might have some knowledge since his having seen Clymene, Antiphanes, and the rest of their company at Helicon, took his journey thither, though without having at that time, any sentiment of that beginning Love he had had at eighteen years of age, for a Virgin of thirteen. Another thing which obliged him the more to go thither, was that he was informed the Prince of Locri had a Favourite, who as well as the Prince his Master, delighted to render justice to merit. There was also another reason induced him to make choice of that place; for the chief Priest of Helicon had a Niece married at Locri, to a man of quality, who was in no mean respect with the Prince's Favourite whose name was Lysicrates. hesiod than went to Locri, and was entertained at the house of the Niece of that chief Priest of Helicon, who was named Belintha, and her Husband Artimedes. As soon as he was there, he enquired tidings of the fair Clymene, to whom Belintha was an intimate friend. This Woman who was very amiable and sprightly, answered him sighing, that Clymene was in the Country, that she preferred solitude before conversation, that she had bid adieu to the world, and would return to the City, till the rigour of the winter should drive her thither. But Clymene (answered hesiod much surprised) cannot in my opinion be above 19 or 20 years old, which is not an age in which to prefer solitude before the Court, unless she have lost her beauty by some accident. I assure you (replied Belintha) that Clymene is as fair as ever she was; and though she were less, yet she has so great a Wit, that she would be always infinitely amiable. It must needs be then, (said hesiod) that this fair Virgin be possessed with some great discontent, which causes her to hate the World; but however, (added he) she will at least admit of a visit. By no means (answered Belintha) and unless Antiphanes or Ganetor, who are her brothers, carry you thither, I think I dare not do it; for she hates men principally. Then some one perhaps has betrayed her (said hesiod.) Since several have loved her (answered Belintha smiling) it is no wonder if some of them have deceived her. Oh, I beseech you (replied hesiod) tell me a little more exactly what has befallen Clymene, You shall know soon enough (answered Belintha) but nothing at present from me, Nor did hesiod know more concerning her at that time: And moreover, ambition predominating in his heart, he was more solicitous of getting an interest with the Prince of Locri and Lysicrates, then learning tidings of Clymene, Accordingly he succeeded happily in the design he had made, and in very few days became highly in favour with the Prince and Lysicrates, and consequently with all the Court; for 'tis the custom for those who are favourably respected by Princes or men in government, to be so likewise by all the rest of the world. Thus ambition feeding itself with hope in the heart of hesiod, he considered only how to make this beginning of favour become profitable to him, and thought no more of going to seek Clymene, in the Country, nor informing himself particularly of what had happened to her. Yet he contracted a great friendship with Antiphanes and Ganetor her Brothers; but being it was not of them that he could learn the adventures of their Sister, he knew nothing of them then, but employed himself wholly in the care of his fortune, without feeling in his heart any inclination to love any fair one. He had without doubt a very respectful friendship for Belintha, and Belintha a very tender one for him; but it was absolutely without courtship. At that time the fair Clymene was with an Aunt of hers in the Country, without having any other consolation in her melancholy, than that which she received from the Letters of her dear Belintha, who used all means she could to cure her of her discontent. hesiod lodging at the house of Artemides, had very much freedom with her, and went into her Chamber, and her Cabinet also, though she were not there. And going one day into her Chamber, whilst Belintha was there, he beheld an opened letter lying upon the Table, and though he was very discreet and respected Belintha enough, no to pry into her secrets, farther than she was willing, yet he could not contain from casting his eyes on this Letter, which he perceived was written by a Woman. But that which augmented his curiosity was, that he presently espied his own name in it, which farther instigating him to read it, he took it up, and found it written in these words,  
CLYMENE to her dear BELINTHA.  
I Am very glad you have found an agreeable Friend, who comforts you for the loss of a faithful one, but though the merit of hesiod be not unknown to me, yet I leave you to possess his friendship without envy; for I have so bad an opinion of the hearts of all men, that I can never be capable of confiding in any. But my dear Belintha take heed to yourself, I conjure you; Love sometimes disguises itself in Friendship, and persons are often in love without thinking of it. You know you understood better than I the sentiments I had for the perfidious.— Be wise by my example, fear the merit of hesiod, and distrust yourself; for certainly if I had not been confident of myself, I had never been deceived by him that has forsaken me for Fortune, which will infallibly one day forsake him. Adieu, my dear Belintha; I have not the power to beseech you not to love me more, although it would be almost necessary for my contentment it were so, for I have no regret in my solitude but for you.  
As hesiod had done reading this Letter, Belintha entered and saw it in his hand; so that having unwittingly left it there, she was sorry for it, and blamed hesiod for his curiosity; but he desired her pardon for it in so handsome terms, and told her so ingenuously how it came about, that she did not stick to pardon him, on condition, he would not let any person know of his having seen the letter! However, (added she smiling) you may believe, if you please, that shall never have need of Clymene's counsel, and that without it I have so bad an opinion of men, in reference to Love, that were you as much my Lover as you are my Friend, and I might comply with you innocently, yet I would never engage myself to Love; for in truth, after what has befallen Clymene, no trust is to be given to any thing. But Madam (answered hesiod) do you think I can have seen this Letter of Clymene, and not desire to know her adventures? I confess the curiosity I had to that purpose, was extinguished, but the sight of this Letter has so revived it in my mind, that I can live no longer without knowing them. Sincerely, (added he) I believe there is some kind of enchantment in this Letter: for as soon as I beheld my name writ in it, my heart began to beat; and now I have read it, I have a jealous curiosity to know who it is Clymene complains of, and I hate him before I know him. Yet you are very obsequious to him, (answered Belintha) Is it the Prince, (demanded hesiod?) No, (answered Belintha) but 'tis Lysicrates. How? (replied he) is Lysicrates the man Clymene complains of? Yes (answered Belintha) and she has reason to accuse him. I beseech you Madam, (replied hesiod) tell me all you know concerning, Clymene; for she returns again into my fancy, such as I saw her upon the Bank of the Fountain Hippocrene. Although I know nothing which is not glorious to Clymene, (answered Belintha) yet if I tell you all that I know concerning her, I require that you never speak of it to any person whatsoever. If you require no more (replied Hosiode) you may please to begin, for I am of opinion, that nothing ought to be kept more inviolably, than a secret entrusted to us, though we should not apprehend that what is told us, aught to be concealed. After this, Belintha caused hesiod to enter into her Cabinet, and having given order for none to interrupt them, began to speak in this manner.  
Since yourself have seen Clymene, I shall omit to say any thing concerning her person, saving that as wit advances the esteem of beauty, Clymene is infinitely more amiable than she was when you saw her, because she has a wit, than which none can be more elegant, natural, fit for ingenious things and divertising, and the most charming humour in the World. As for Lysicrates you know his birth is very noble; nor are you ignorant that he is a comely person, and has wit and worth; but however, it may be said you do not know Lysicrates. For before he came to be the Prince's Favourite, he was a thousand times more affectionate to his Friends of both Sexes, for as you know, a man cannot be Fortunes and his own; and has power no longer to give himself to another, when he has no more a right over himself. Now Lysicrates, being infinitely more agreeable than you see him, beheld the fair Clymene, the first time she appeared in the World; and had so strong an inclination for her, and she for him, that the very first day they became friends with a belief, that that kindness would last as long as their Lives. Not that Clymene was yet come to an age, in which she might probably know what friendship was, but having a very forward wit, a tender heart, sensible mind, and sweet nature, she ceased to act like a child, before she ceased to be so. But for that there is something in Clymene's deportment, which infuses awfulness and respect, she being serious and discreet, Lysicrates was a sufficient long time before he dared to speak to her otherwise than as an agreeable Friend. In the mean while, to tell you the truth of things, they were the happier thereby; for the Aunt of Clymene not imagining that Lysicrates was amorous of her Niece, permitted him to speak to her as much as he pleased; and Clymene being averse to imagine that the kindness of Lysicrates proceeded from Love, lived with him with all the confidence and liberty, that a dear familiarity was capable to give. If there was any little news which was not to be told aloud, they whispered it to one another; if any uncouth adventure happened, they spoke sincerely what they thought of it, if any excellent Sonnet were made, Lysicrates gave it to Clymene, or Clymene to Lysicrates; and thus there being a society of pleasures and little secrets between them, they led a very pleasant life. Clymene without doubt had no great wealth; but being without ambition, she was not therefore unhappy. As for Lysicrates, he was more rich than she, and seemed to be content with his Fortune, and to desire nothing else but to be loved by Clymene. In what place soever Lysicrates heard his Mistress spoken of, he heard of her praises; and in what ever place Clymene heard her Love mentioned, she was obliged to rejoice, for the glory he had in being commended by all the World. Now Clymene being very ingenious, disengaged herself as much as she could from the multitude of visits, and confined herself to a little society infinitely agreeable, because it consisted only of very worthy persons. Lysicrates for his part, delighted in no place, saving where Clymene was, he attended the Prince only out of duty, and pleased himself with none but the Friends of Clymene. So long as the fair weather lasted, we walked continually together in all the pleasant places about the City; for Clymene's humour and mine; having great resemblance, we were much pleased with walking. Lysicrates also had the same inclination. But though these two persons had then a very tender passion one for another, yet Clymene would not think it was Love that was in her heart; because having only innocent thoughts, she would believe she had only a friendship for Lysicrates. But on the contrary, I maintained boldly, she had something more than she imagined; and I remember one day amongst the rest, speaking to her of her affection for Lysicrates; I cunningly urged, that if it were no more but friendship, that which she had for me would have prepossessed her mind enough, to hinder her from having such a dearness for him. I confess to you sincerely, (said I to her) I cannot comprehend why the friendship you bear to me, has not defended your heart against Lysicrates, for you say, you will not have him ever pretend to obtain any thing of you, and that you will only eternally love and be loved. I acknowledge it, (said Clymene.) Why then (replied I) are you not contented with my affection? You know I have been a Lover in our friendship, (if I may so speak) I was the first that sought to please you, I have had a thousand and a thousand little cares to divert you, you have always been Mistress of my will, you have reigned in a sovereign manner in my heart, you have known all my secrets, and have trusted me with all yours. Alas! my dear Belintha (answered Clymene blushing) when two such friends as we affect one another, without Love, they have not many secrets which are agreeable either to relate to hear. But yet, (replied I) you were not formerly weary of me, a trifle diverted you, we spoke a thousand innocent follies, which we would not speak even to a Lover. I agree with you, (answered Clymene) but on the other side, a Lover tells me a thousand agreeable blandishments, which a female Friend cannot. Yet there are not many Friends of our Sex more flattering than I, (added I,) for I scarce ever see you without commending you; sometimes I say you have a rare complexion, sparkling eyes, and a cheerful humour, and at other times I commend your stature; nor do I think Lysicrates extols you more than I. So that requiring nothing but esteem, dearness, care, and obedience, and not pretending that your affection for Lysicrates should ever satisfy the least of his desires, I see not (said I) why you are not contented with my friendship, who have all the love for you, you can challenge, and have this advantage, that it does not expose you to detraction. Ah cruel friend, that you are! (cried Clymene) you take pleasure to insult over an unhappy person. I do so at least (answered I) in convincing you of your insincerity; for you ought to confess that you love Lysicrates, as all virtuous Mistresses do their servants, and that in very truth, you give hope to him that had touched your heart. I confess (replied she) I wish he would hope; but I declare to you withal, that I should be infinitely troubled, if I could reproach myself for having given him just cause to hope. You speak after so strange a manner, (said I,) that I doubt not but at length you will come to love Lysicrates, till you become unhappy by him, and perhaps less loved. That would be hard Fortune, (answered this lovely Virgin) if one should destroy the ardour of a Lover, by giving him tokens of affection, and he must needs have an ingrateful heart, and an illnatured mind▪ But my dear Belintha, (added she) fear not that unhappiness to me, for I shall never love Lysicrates too much. I wish it, (said I to her) for your contentment, because I am persuaded the best Friends are the most dangerous Lovers,, and that all men in general are to be feared. But how confident soever Clymene was of not loving Lysicrates too much, yet she came by degrees to love him with a dearness which caused all her discontent and all her happiness. However, notwithstanding the affection she had for him, her Virtue continued immovable. She suffered him at length to speak to her of his passion, and gave him several innocent testimonies of her own, but Reason and Virtue were always Mistresses in her heart. That which was remarkable in this adventure, was, that in the beginning of Lysicrates love, he offered Clymene several times to marry her, without the consent of his Parents, who by reason of the small fortune of this fair Virgin, would never have approved the match, but she having a great and generous heart, opposed the thing she desired, and told Lysicrates that if Fortune did nothing considerable for her, she judged she ought not to marry him, for fear of rendering him unhappy. For as for my part, (added she) according to the sentiments of my heart, I should account myself happy in a Cottage, provided you were contented there. But since I ought not to believe you can regulate your ambition, as I could mine, I must refuse that which I desire, and resolve rather to be always unhappy, than to expose you to repent yourself of having sacrificed your Fortune to your Love. How? Madam (answered Lysicrates) can you believe it possible for me to change the sentiments I have for you? and that my Soul is so devoted to interest, as to esteem myself unhappy in a condition wherein you can be capable of contentment? No, no, you know not the heart of Lysicrates, and you do him a strange injustice. For were it not that I fear, lest the height of my Fortune is not worthy of you, I would not leave you one moment in quiet. But to tell you the truth, I am so sensible in all that concerns you, that I should fear to become perfectly miserable, if I did not see you perfectly happy. Therefore my dear Clymene, (added he) it is requisite my Love make me ambitious, and I must loosen myself in some sort from you, in order to be conjoined inseparably to you, and go and make an interest with the Prince, if possibly he may be so favourable to me as I imagine. I beseech you, Lysicrates, (replied Clymene) tell me not you will become ambitious through Love, for these are too imperious passions, each of which require an entire heart, and who glory in destroying one the other by turns. If you ever discover that weakness in my heart, (answered he) take your affection from me, treat me as a Villain, and as a Traitor, more criminal than one unconstant. But moreover, Lysicrates (said she) you will attempt a harder matter than you imagine, which is to give bounds to Ambition. When men desire a thing, they do all they can to obtain it; when they have obtained it, they desire another greater, and imagine themselves nearer it than they were to that they obtained first. So that great employments evermore approaching at the rate that favour increases, the desires are heightened, when one would think they ought to be satisfied. Thus all the passions uniting into one single one, it oftentimes happens, that Ambition extinguishes Love, weakens Friendship, changes all pleasures into one sole delight, and likewise in that manner changes the hearts of those that suffer themselves to be possessed with it, that they are no longer to be known for the same persons, nor do they know those they did formerly; yea, they no longer know themselves. You speak this with a certain fierce and melancholy air (answered Lysicrates, smiling) which would almost make me think, that you believe already, I forsake you to follow Fortune; and in the mean time, I have not yet so much as resolved to go and seek it. After this, he added a thousand sweetnesses and blandishments, full of generosity, which pleased Clymene infinitely, who related them to me the next morning. And indeed, during some time, it was not possible to testify more love than Lysicrates did to this discreet Virgin. He thought his visits never long enough, moments were as tedious as ages in all other places; but in her conversation, whole days seemed to him but moments. He writ to her every day, and oftentimes more than once. When he could not see her, he sought out people with whom he might discourse concerning her: he was zealous, assiduous, punctual, and careful, to seek out even the least occasions to please her. Wherefore Clymene, as her ill fate would have it, believing at that time, nothing could ever diminish so strong a passion, laid a foundation of eternal felicity, upon the Love of Lysicrates, and so ingross'd all her joy in her affection, that she no longer cared for any other sort of divertisement, Lysicrates having a house in the Country, very near that, where Clymene at present resides, she liked far more to be in the Country than in the City, provided Lysicrates were her neighbour: on which occasion in the Songs he made for her, he sometimes named her his Shepherdess, and sometimes Amaryllis; and she gave him the name of Thyrsis, in the answers she made to him; for Clymene, no doubt, makes good Verses, for one of her Sex, though she carefully conceals it, and makes no ostentation of being a Wit.  
Thus lived these two persons, till there happened to be a great Hunting made by that Prince of Locri, at which Lysicrates was present, and seemed so promising a person in the eyes of the Prince, that he talked with him a long while: and being well satisfied of his ingenuity, he made him a thousand Caresses, and commanded him to see him oftener than ordinary. ay, who understood this from Artimedes, went to congratulate with Clymene, who was very joyful for the honour the Prince had done to her Lover; who was not less pleased to see Fortune prevent his endeavours. Yet he believed his joy proceeded only from the interest of his Love; so that he used a thousand obliging expressions to Clymene, when he came to entertain her in private. Some days after he was higher in his blandishments; for you must know, that after the day of the hunting, the Prince desired Lysicrates to see him every day. Whereupon, all the Court looking upon him as a Favourite, many insinuated to be his Friends, and endeavoured to testify more respect to Clymene; who being perfectly generous, counselled Lysicrates to take as much time as he could, from his conversation with her, to bestow it upon his attendance with the Prince. However, remember (said she to him) that I claim your heart to be always mine, and presume the favours of Fortune will never be so pleasing to you, as those you receive from me. I also require (added she) that you do not design to go so far as Fortune will lead you; for generally she casts them down headlong who give up themselves wholly to her conduct. Resolve therefore to acquire as much Estate as is competent for an honest person of your condition to become happy, and no more; and do not endanger the loss of all to gain all; 'tis better generally to renounce a great fortune, and live in tranquillity with an indifferent one, than to raise up enviers to yourself by your grandeur. 'Tis glorious to be envied for Virtue, but it is not always to be so for Riches which are gotten; for, to speak in general, all men so pertinaciously maintain what they possess, that when a man becomes extraordinary rich in a little time, people are apt to believe that he became so unjustly. Put bounds then to your ambition, my dear Lysicrates; for if you do not, infallibly you will become both unjust and unhappy. I beseech you, my dear Clymene (answered he) do not suspect me to have a Soul swayed only with interest; for I swear to you, the love I have for you, is the sole cause of the servitude wherein I engage myself; and unless you will be ungrateful, you must be accountable to me, for all the cares I shall have to please the Prince; you must pity me when I am with him, and believe I shall think only of you, and that 'tis you I shall serve in serving him; for unless you promise me this, I shall not be able to deprive myself of the joy of seeing you every moment, and dividing myself between my Master and my Mistress. Clymene hearing Lysicrates speak with so much love, had her heart moved with it, and generously exhorted him, to constrain himself to see her more seldom, and yet to love her always. And accordingly Lysicrates began to be ingratiated with the Prince, who gave him a considerable employment, fifteen days after this conversation. In this beginning, Lysicrates had so much joy when he went to see Clymene, that he seemed more amorous of her. He was so troubled when he was to part from her, he writ to her so frequently, and appeared so careful to do civilities to all those he thought she loved, that she had great reason to be satisfied with him. Nevertheless, she acted with a little more reservedness towards Lysicrates; after he began to be in favour, being unwilling (she said) he should suspect her of doing him favours upon the account of interest. But the brothers of Clymene, whose hearts were not so noble as hers, were desirous that she would treat Lysicrates with more dearness, out of a design they had to raise their fortunes by his means. Yet this discreet Virgin following her own reason, and not their ambition, lived, as I told you, with all imaginable prudence, though she had an infinite dearness in her heart for Lysicrates. Whilst she reflected upon her own deportment, and that of Lysicrates, she began to think it strange, he took no notice of her changing her treatment of him, and likewise took it ill, that in the augmentation of his favour, he no longer mentioned rendering their fortune one day inseparable, as he had done formerly. It seemed to her, his discourse was more sparing than it had used to be, whereof complaining to be one day in the Country, whither she went for two days; Well, my dear Belintha (said she to me) do not you perceive that Lysicrates makes little difficulty to dispense with seeing me almost at all, and does his duty so easily, that if he take not heed, he will soon fail in the first of all duties. But Lysicrates (said I to her, according as I then believed) ceases to see you for for some time, in order to seeing you all his life after in quiet. No, no, Belintha, (replied Clymene) do not deceive yourself, the heart of Lysicrates is already changed, and I am the most mistaken in the World, if ambition do not absolutely deprive me of him. That which most troubles me (added she, blushing) is, that I would certainly know whether they are the favours of fortune or mine, which hinder Lysicrates from speaking to me sometimes, such things as might give me ground to think he believes it not impossible, but that we may one day live together. Lysicrates' Soul (answered I) must needs be much devoted to his interest, if the alteration of his fortune change his heart; and he must be very destitute of reason, if he ceases to love because he is loved. Ah! Belintha (cried Clymene) men are much more unjust than you imagine, and their love more various than I believed. For indeed, to discover to you the bottom of my heart, Marriage in general frightens me; I find there is oftentimes much folly, or at least much boldness in resolving upon it; but though my reason make me know all the troublesome consequences of it; yet I confess to you, when it comes into my mind, that perhaps Lysicrates would not marry me if I should be willing to it: indignation seizes me, and I have almost more desire to hate him, than if he had committed an infidelity against me; because in some occasions one may be unfaithful, without doing any act, and a Lover can scarce ever be unwilling to marry his Mistress when she desires it, unless it be upon some injurious motive. For is there any thing more extravagant than to think that the testimonies of dearness which you have given, should be effective against yourself? Nevertheless 'tis true, that the injustice of men is so great, that after having a thousand times requested innocent favours from a person whom they love, if she comes at length after a thousand services, to grant the same to them, they often times render their virtue suspected, and cause that in desiring her for a Mistress, they do not wish her for a Wife. Moreover, my dear Belintha, I do not conceive that two free persons can love one another perfectly, nor even wholly with innocence, if they have not at least the thought, that it is not impossible for them to become one day inseparable, and if they do not entertain themselves with the hopes of a thousand pleasures, whereof the sole consideration makes them pass hours and days agreeably. Perhaps (added she, sighing) if Lysicrates should offer me to day to marry me, I should not marry him; for having a heart so great as I have, 'tis possible his great fortune might hinder me from it. But, to speak freely, I would, in order to my contentment, be assured of the power to become his Wife when I pleased. However, I tell you once again. Lysicrates does not at present think of it; and I cannot conjecture, as I told you, whether they are the favours of fortune, or my own, that hinder him. But (said I to her) all the favours that you do him being innocent, you cannot accuse him of such a sentiment as you speak of. Did you well understand the injustice of men (answered she) you would speak otherwise, for do not love them, they forsake you; love them, they despise you, and in what manner soever you act with them, you are almost always deceived. As Clymene was speaking thus, she received a Letter from Lysicrates, wherein were only these words.  
Lysicrates to Clymene.  
I Could not visit you yesterday, nor can I wait upon you to day; and I know not likewise, whether I shall have opportunity to see you to morrow: but I know well that I hold all time for lost, which I spend in absence from you.  
Clymene, after she had read this Ticket, answered to it in these terms.  
Clymene to Lysicrates.  
'TIs very much that you remember you ever saw me, and do not forbid me to hope to see you again; for when people are taken up with affairs of profit at Court, 'tis very difficult to attend to any of pleasure in the Country.  
Clymene sealed up this Letter, and delivered it to him who brought that of Lysicrates. In the mean time an urgent affair happening to Clymene's Aunt, which obliged hither; we arrived here in that very evening. Which being known to Lysicrates, he came the next morning to the house of Clymene; but he was no sooner there, but he desired permission to read a packet of importance, which he had received by the way; and he read it accordingly with very much attention. And that which was remarkable, was, that in going to close it up after he had read it, he let fall the Letter which Clymene had writ to him the day before, and which he had not yet opened. He blushed with shame as soon as he perceived it, for he had forgotten to read it; but Clymene blushed with indignation when she observed it. So that perceiving he had not yet seen it, she took it, and breaking it open hastily, Believe me, Lysicrates (said she to him) 'tis fit to write to you no longer any but Letters of affairs; for, as for those of friendship, you have no leisure to read them; and which is more disobliging to continue to write such to you, you have so little care of them, that they may easily be read by others. Lysicrates endeavoured to excuse himself with the multitude of affairs he had had; No doubt you have too many (answered Clymene roughly) and therefore 'tis fit I dispense with all the cares you have been accustomed to take in reference to me; for though you have much fewer than formerly, yet I have robbed you of some moments. 'Tis true, Madam, (replied he) I am less frequently with you, than I was at the time when I was not obliged to attend the Prince; but nevertheless I am there often enough, and no doubt, as often as I can. Ha! Lysicrates (said she) when one thinks that he is long enough present with his Mistress, there wants not much, but that he will be weary of being with her at all; and therefore if you will credit me, give yourself wholly to your Master, and take no further thought concerning me. Lysicrates perceiving Clymene was in choler, was ashamed of what had happened, and addressed to her with so many gentle and sweet expressions, that he made his peace in some manner before he went away: for Clymene having a very great inclination towards him. loved him as greatly culpable as he appeared. At that time there happened some difference between the Oriental and Occidental Locrians; upon which, the Prince went to the War, whither Lysicrates followed him, and perfectly gained his favour by the brave actions he performed During this absence, he writ sufficiently often to Clymene, but they were rather Letters of News, than Love-Letters, and more related to what passed in the Army, than any thing else. Upon which, Clymenes' mind was extremely incensed; yet her indignation was really, only Love disguised; for she was as sensible of Lysicrates' glory as of her own. 'Tis true, that which defended him in her heart, was, that she knew he believed he loved as dearly as heretofore, and did not take himself to be ambitious. At his return he went to see her as soon as he was arrived; but his visit was so short, that the sum of it was only to tell her, he would wait upon her as soon as he could. But his affairs multiplying as his favour increased, he had then so little time of which he could dispose, that it may be said, he had not leisure to love Clymene. Oftentimes when he was at her house, he spent half of the time he was there, in receiving several Messages and Letters, or else in answering them, after having requested her permission to that purpose. He was no longer the same Lysicrates, who entertained her with agreeable discourses and blandishments, he was a restless ambitious person, who found himself happy in no place. Clymene was sensibly afflicted at it; but I can say, I never saw a more tender, nor yet more discreet grief than hers; for she concealed it so well, that I was the only confident of her discontents. One day she would have hid from me some Verses which she had made; but I having gotten them, she was necessitated to suffer me to keep them on condition I would not show them.  
I beseech you (interrupted hesiod) repeat to me the Verses of Clymene. I will (answered Belintha) provided you will never speak of them; for perhaps you will find them sufficiently amorous: I promise you all you please (replied he) provided you recite the Verses to me which I have so great a curiosity to hear. And accordingly Belintha having recollected them in her memory, recited these that follow, which Clymene made for the ambitious Lysicrates.  

SUre you by amorous flames were ne'er possessed,  
Since mine (alas!) do so unhappy prove,  
That fierce ambition drives me from your breast,  
Slighting the charms of Innocence and Love.   

Now new designs are followed, other cares,  
And fresh desires; and your Inquietude  
Is your delight, whilst tumults of affairs  
Are prized above the peace of Solitude.   

My charming Desert, which e'er long so sweet,  
So lovely seemed, is unattractive now,  
My tenderest sighs no longer your delight:  
'Tis Goddess Fortune now to whom you bow.   

Her splendour you pursue, and humorous Laws  
Embrace, no longer now your own or mine;  
Her beauty now your adoration draws:  
Though, Thyrsis, know, her favours are not kind.   

No choice she uses in her Gifts, no Love;  
Oft-times, in one day her caresses cease;  
To dearest friends she does unconstant prove,  
Mocking Men's hopes with guileful promises.   

She loves disord'rous change, and wild confusion,  
And basest flatterers for her Creatures takes;  
Go then, Ungrateful, follow her delusion  
Which seldom Virtue but unhappy makes.   

Pursue her still; to me no more address;  
None but her favours let acceptance find.  
'Tis shame to love a simple Shepherdess;  
That thought suits only with a vulgar mind.   

Ambitious hearts a quiet life despise;  
Fortune's the object of a Hero 's love.  
Whilst in her hands all the World's treasure lies,  
And Sea and Land alike her power do prove.   

A hundred times she can you Victor make,  
Yet has not the disposal of my heart;  
That's in my power, O gods! what is't I speak?  
(Alas!) in speaking so, a sigh does from it part.   

Beholding you, a secret check of mind  
Tells me, My heart no longer is my own;  
Though it repines, and I can only find  
The soothing of sweet words t'appease its moan.   

'Twould be deluded; come, deceive it you,  
Thyrsis, and to your Amaryllis swear,  
That constant to your chains and ever true,  
Her Rival Fortune you'll renounce for her,   

Perhaps, this moment in her eyes you'll see  
Wherewith to cure the mo'st ambitious mind:  
Perhaps, this moment, such fidelity,  
Such ardent passion in her Soul you'll find,  
That you'll account to be beloved a pleasure  
Greater than that of gaining flitting Treasure.   

Oh precious moment! haste to ease my pains;  
Your presence to my griefs would comfort speak,  
I can no longer bear such heavy chains;  
Support them, Thyrsis, or I shall them break.   

But yet in breaking them I shall expire;  
Rather connect them with a faster tie.  
'Tis Love that quickens me; for were that fire  
Extinct, my heart would forthwith faint and die.  
This torment I had rather ne'er forgo,  
Than be without it and my Lover too.   
How? (cried hesiod after Belintha had recited these Verses) did Clymene, that very Clymene, whom I saw by the side of the famous spring near Helicon, make such amorous Verses as those I have now heard? Yes (answered Belintha) but although they were very pertinent to affect the heart of Lysicrates, yet the generous Clymene, who was unable to restrain herself from composing them in the transport of her sorrow and affection, could not resolve to let them be seen by him for whom they were made. On the contrary, she affected rather to disguise her regret: So that Lysicrates believing her well satisfied with him, was very merry, whilst she was extremely melancholy and pensive: for what resolutions soever she made, it was impossible for her to cease loving Lysicrates. How unhappy am I (said she to me one day, when I endeavoured to comfort her) for I resent a grief of so strange a nature, that I cannot almost hope to be cured of it. If Lysicrates were unfaithful, as many Lovers are, and transferred his affections from me to another, despite would suddenly cure me; I should pass from Love to Hatred, and from that to contempt, which would afterwards leave me in a quiet indifference. But as for the manner after which he ceases to love me, they whose hearts are not very nice in love, would almost believe Lysicrates not absolutely culpable: But, according as I apprehend things, inconstancy would seem less horrible to me, than the change which is happened in his heart, since the alteration of his fortune. There is frailty and weakness in ordinary inconstancy, but there is unworthiness and poorness of mind in the change of Lysicrates; but though I should die of discontent, I will drive out of my heart a passion which is not criminal, but only because he that excited it is not worthy of it. Moreover, though he should be willing to return to me, he would not have leisure to think of it, he has so many important affairs in his head, which all the punctualities of a dear passion could not consist with. But (said I to her) why do not you change, as well as Lysicrates? Be ambitious as well as he; and without considering whether he loves you as much as he did heretofore, dissemble your sentiments, and engage him, at least to establish your fortunes, since he is able to do it. No, no, (answered this generous Virgin) I will never have any obligation to a man who loves me less than he ought, and whom I intent to love no longer. And though my fortune were much more unhappy than it is, I should be absolutely uncapable to receive any thing from a person that had deprived me of his heart. I know my brothers are of a different opinion, and would have me sacrifice myself to their interests; but they shall never oblige me to follow their inclinations. When Lysicrates was not in favour, they condemned the affection I had for him; and now they think it necessary for their preferment, no doubt they will blame the manner, after which I intent to treat him for the future. However, I will continue firm in my resolution. But (said I to her) at least give Lysicrates to repent. I shall give him sufficient (answered she) for I find my heart will not so soon obey my reason. Accordingly Clymene continued to love Lysicrates in spite of her own resolutions; that which sustained her passion was, that Lysicrates some days spoke to her with as much love as ever he had done. Indeed it was sufficiently seldom that he discoursed with her in private, for he had always so many affairs, that he ever began to speak to her with these words, I have but one moment to spend with you, or two at most, I have not leisure to tell you any thing; or some such like expressions. Things being in these terms, there was a great assembly, wherein Clymene was obliged to be present; whereupon, desiring to appear handsome there, that Lysicrates might see she deserved his affection, she omitted no ornaments that might render her more amiable: And indeed, she outshined the beauty of all the other fair ones, and so pleased the Prince that he spoke not to any Lady but Clymene; not but that the Prince had heard Lysicrates was amorous of her; but he beheld him so assiduously at Court, that he thought it was no very violent Love. Clymene who beheld the Prince's civility towards her, interpreted it at first as an indulgence to his Favourite; but at the end of the Ball, when he entertained her a part, she changed her opinion; for after having given her a thousand praises, I find you so charming (said he to her) that I cannot but wonder at the assiduous attendance of Lysicrates at Court; for had I such a Mistress as you, assuredly my Master, if I had any, should be worse served than I am by him. Clymene blushed at the Prince's discourse, and answered to it with so much wit, that she seemed to him still more fair. So, that having his fancy filled with the Idea of her he spoke of none but Clymene all the rest of the evening. He likewise spoke to Lysicrates concerning her, with earnestness; but in case (said he to him in the presence of a friend of Clymene's, who informed her of it the next morning) I should maugre all my reluctancy, become amorous of your Mistress, and if you saw me ready to die for love, would you be generous enough to yield her to me, and not hate me? No doubt (answered the ambitious Lysicrates) I should be very unhappy, if that should come to pass, but however, my Lord, (added he) it would be so great an honour to Clymene, that, her interest considered, together with the respect I have for you, I think I should resign her to you; and that your happiness, and that of this fair person, would comfort me for my infelicity. Lysicrates spoke this with so free an air, that it was perceivable he spoke his real sentiments: whereupon the Prince, who till then had looked upon the inclination he had for Clymene, as a thing he was to oppose, with the friendship he bore to Lysicrates, now perceiving Clymene not so deeply fixed in his heart as he imagined, flattered his beginning passion so sweetly, that having seen Clymene five or six times in a very few days, he became infinitely amorous of her; for he is a Prince whose passions are violent, during which he is not scrupulous of doing any thing to content them. In the mean time Clymene understanding what Lysicrates had answered the Prince, became extremely exasperated in her mind, though she dissembled her discontent. Indeed within a little time she had occasion to discover it; for the Prince's passion being grown too great to be kept in his own breast, he discovered it to his Rival, before he made it known to his Mistress; but it was in such powerful terms, that Lysicrates saw clearly he must either lose Clymene, or his fortune; wherefore not sticking a moment what choice to make in this difficulty, he told the Prince, he sacrificed all his pleasures to him, that he would be his confident, and intercede with Clymene for him: And the truth is, Lysicrates, who had always oqserved Clymene to have a very great mind, imagined the hope of marrying the Prince, would cause her to approve his action; not considering that sometimes there is more grandeur of courage in despising fortune, than in seeking it. Yet he did not absolutely resolve to renounce the affection of Clymene, but intended to make it serviceable to him, for the further augmenting of his greatness and wealth. In which thoughts he went to visit her when having desired a private conference with her, and seeming more sad than he was, he prepared her mind with much address to hear some unwelcome matter, which he seemed to be very loath to tell her. Clemene immediately believed his business was to inform her, that the Prince intended to marry him to one of his Cousins, who was a very rich young Lady; but at length he told her the end of his visit was to acquaint her that his Master was his Rival; not but that (said he to her) I am generous enough to sacrifice all my joy to your good fortune; and after having been your slave, am willing to become your subject; for I doubt not but if you menage the Prince's love well, he will at length sufficiently affect you to make you his bride; but indeed I find it no easy matter for one to deprive himself of that which he loves, how generous soever he be. 'Tis true (added he) our affection has been always so innocent, that it might subsist all our lives; at least I know I shall be always a devoted servant to the fair Clymene, and no change shall ever happen in my heart: It shall not be so on my part (answered she hastily) for I declare to you, I will never be yours; however, think not 'tis out of any purpose to menage the Prince's love, as you speak. I hate ambition, which has driven me out of your heart, too much to receive it into my own, and you occasion me so to contemn all men in general, that I believe it not possible for me ever to esteem one particular person. Do not expect therefore that I should confirm your fortune; for all I can do, is only to contrive how to ruin it; and if any thing could induce me to admit of the Prince's love, it should be only the opportunity of bringing you into disfavor with him. But to speak truth, I look upon you as sufficiently punished, by being no longer in favour with me, and therefore I shall not seek a revenge which would fall upon myself; for in the sentiments I am in, I abhor the love of any whatsoever. I intent now to love nothing but solitude, and I hope to live more contentedly in it, than you will do at Court with all your favour; for where there is private satisfaction and pleasure, there needs not much care to be taken for the favour or disfavor of those that are in government: But to do you a good office this last time, know that all those who flatter you, deceive you, that they whom you take to be most your friends, are envious and disguised enemies, that all those who see you think themselves better entitled by desert to the Prince's favour, than you; that as soon as you are turned out of favour, you will find yourself left alone by all your party, and that there was only Clymene in the World, that could not desert you in adversity. But since you forsook her as soon as you were a favourite, she takes her turn to abandon you, and casts you off for ever. Therefore hinder the Prince from coming to speak to me of his pretended passion; for looking upon him as a man that loves one whom I ought to hate, it would be difficult for me to preserve the respect which I owe unto his quality. Lysicrates hereupon offered to swear to Clymene, that he was sorry his Master was his Rival, that he had not spoke to him as he did, but only not to incense his passion; and that as for her, since she was sufficiently generous, not to be flattered with the hope of marrying the Prince, he desired nothing of her, but to act with such address, that he might be cured of his passion, without occasioning a breach between them. Whereby Clymene always perceiving his Ambition superior to his Love, became so incensed, that she absolutely commanded him to depart; which accordingly he was enforced to do. Not long after which, I went to give her a visit, and I assure you I never beheld a person more discontented and enraged. As it fell out cruelly for her, the Prince came to see her the same day; when being still disturbed in mind, she spoke to him with a resoluteness that surprised him, for as soon as he began to tell her he loved her, and would love her eternally, I beseech you my Lord (said she to him) forbear to engage me in a design which can never give you any satisfaction. For though I appear gentle and am so really, yet I have an inexpugnable constancy to remain in the resolution which I have taken; by reason of which it would be impossible for you to persuade me, that I ought to admit of your affection. 'Tis enough that Fortune has placed you above me, to cause me to suspect all your discourse: and I am so much a friend to equality, that since you have advanced Lysicrates, I can no longer look upon him as formerly. I love Merit and Virtue, but I love them principally without splendour, and without being set off by any thing else, which prepossesses my judgement; Leave me therefore, my Lord, as a person who accounts it a glory to be an enemy to ambition: you will find a thousand who will love your fortune more than your worth, and receive that with joy which I refuse with respect. How ever, upon the account of equity, I am obliged to tell you, that Lysicrates has spoken so well of you to me, that he has wholly ruined himself in my opinion. After which, my Lord, desire no more of me; for it would be to no effect. Clymene spoke this with an air, that so well manifested to the Prince that she loved Lysicrates, was incapable of ambition, and could not love him, that his heart being not yet so strongly engaged, but that he might hope to disengage it, he spoke to her with very much civility, and like a man that would owe nothing to his high condition. But at length, said he to her, after many other things, The favour which I request of you, is, that you will continue to love Lysicrates; or if you cannot do that, that you will permit me to hope, that perhaps you will one day love me. These two things which you demand, my Lord (answered she) are not in my power; for I find that I shall hate Lysicrates, and I see no appearance that I can or ought ever to love any. After this the Prince departed: The same night she entreated me to require of Lysicrates, all the Letters she had written to him, and charged me to deliver to him all those she had received from him, and to assure him she contemned him as much as she had esteemed him, and wished, with all her heart, she could as much hate him, as she had formerly loved him. But, my dear Clymene (said I to her) are you well assured that Lysicrates will restore you your heart, when he gives you back your Letters? go not so fast, I beseech you? and take time to examine yourself. Ah! no, no, (answered she) I will never, while I live, love a man who loves Fortune better than me, who can love me without ever thinking to render our destiny inseparable, who can even sacrifice me to his Master, and be a confident to his Rival. The heart of Clymene is too tender, too sensible, and too generous, to suffer such indignities. I had much rather be always miserable; the little wealth I have is an ordinary effect of the blindness of Fortune, which is not opprobrious to me; but were I so poor-spirited, as to pardon Lysicrates, it might be reproached to me eternally. Clymene thus continuing firm in this resolution, obliged her Aunt, over whom she had a great influence, to go the next morning into the Country. For my part I went to Lysicrates, in whom I found such a combat of contrary thoughts, that I could not but commiserate him; for he loved Clymene still, but ambition was always most powerful in his heart; and though he were still a Lover, yet it was not with his first ardour, and consequently Clymene could not be satisfied with it, because all diminution of Love is a crime. He made some difficulty to restore me her Letters, but at length he delivered them, and received his own. Since that time the Prince has changed his sentiments, and Lysicrates has continued ambitious, and caused his Love to yield to another passion. Nevertheless he offered two or three times to do something for the Fortune of Clymene, but she generously refused him. So she has spent a whole year in the Country, busying herself sometimes in Reading, sometimes in Painting, and sometimes in Walking: She loves Gardens and Flowers, and and an universal sentiment of goodness causes her to divert herself with keeping Birds, and divers rare and domestic Animals, which afford amusement to her Melancholy. Yet she is come at length to have only an indifference for Lysicrates, so that she is as fair as ever, and something more amiable; for a little cast of melancholy, makes her countenance charming and sweet, that the sight of it cannot but ravish.  
Your relation concerning Clymene (answered hesiod) gives me extreme contentment, and I shall have cause of complaint against you, unless you bring it some way to pass, that I may see her. Yet I am very sorry she hates ambition, for I confess to you, I am born naturally ambitious. My reason tells me, that ambition is the foundation of all great actions; that without it there would be no Heroes, and scarce any eminent virtues; but however, I absolutely contemn Lysicrates, because I am not of opinion, that Love and Ambition, are two Passions incompatible. I conceive a man's love may make him ambitious, as in some cases he may become amorous through ambition: Had Lysicrates been an ambitious person, honourably and worthily, he would have shared his fortune with the fair Clymene, and not changed his sentiments by changing his life. But in fine, (added he) I am resolved to see her, and though I should go to visit her alone, I will go and do it before three days be expired. Belintha making some difficulty to carry him to her, he went alone to see the charming Clymene. But it fell out, by chance, that Belintha was there the same day; for it being a journey but of two hours, she frequently made visits to her, though she designed no such matter in the morning. And hesiod also desirous to make a secret to her of his design to see Clymene, till he should have executed it, acquainted her not at all with it. When he arrived at the place where Clymene was, her Aunt was gone to make a visit to some of her neighbours, and herself was seated amongst the Willows, upon the bank of a River, and was reading that Work of hesiod, where he makes a Nightingale speak to a Sparrow. A Virgin that waited upon Clymene, was at work in making a collar of several sorts of Ribbons, wreathed together, for a very handsome Dog, which Clymene much affected, and which then lay negligently upon the bottom of her Robe, which by chance was stretched upon the grass. At Hesiods' approach, Clymene's Dog rose up; but instead of barking at the sight of him as a stranger, the pretty creature, by that instinct which makes brutes know those that love or hate them, went to fawn upon him, who answering his kindness, the first thing Clymene beheld, was hesiod stroking her little Dog; for though it was a very long time since she had seen him, yet knowing that he was at Locri, she soon was ascertained it was he, wherefore rising up, and advancing towards him very civilly, I think (said she to him smiling) this Animal, who is of a kind that was never accused of ingratitude, would help me by his carresses to acknowledge the pleasure you have given me this day by the Verses you have made, the reading of which has been so delightful to me, that I was reading them the third time, when you arrived. I am extremely proud (answered hesiod) of being able to entertain you in your solitude, and I draw no unhappy presage, from seeing that an Animal you love, has already begun to love me. If Belintha were here, (replied Clymene) she would blame you for the compliment you make me; for she so much decryes my too great affection towards brutes, that she would venture to maintain, you have a blind complacence which would pervert me. She had scarce spoke these words, but Belintha came thither, who having left her Chariot in the out-court, went to the place where it was told her Clymene was. You come very opportunely, (said this fair Virgin to her) to hinder hesiod from being perplexed; but why did not you come to gether. For my part (answered Belintha) I knew nothing of Hesiode's journey, and he has made a secret of it to me. After your having had the cruelty (replied hesiod) to refuse to bring me hither, I did not think I ought to tell you my design, for fear you should make use of the credit you have in this place to prevent my admission. In truth (said Belintha, obliging them to walk) you are to be blamed for coming to see Clymene, for she is the most unjust person in the World, in preferring her Desert before her friends. And moreover, (added she smiling) I am to advertise you, that with all your merit you shall never be so much loved by Clymene as that Dog which you see. hesiod (answered this fair Virgin smiling) shall certainly not have so great a share in my caresses, but he has sufficient in my esteem to be satisfied, and I thank him for bringing in a Nightingale, and a Sparrow, speaking together in one of his Works; for 'tis assuredly a sign, that he is not in the error wherein you are, to the disadvantage of all Animals in the World, to whom you are so much, an enemy, that you go about to take from them that little beam of light the gods have given them, which guides them so exactly in things that are profitable or delightful to them, and gives them this prerogative above men, that there is never any ingratitude in their hearts. Acknowledgement is found in those of Lions, and no question would be too in those of Tigers, if they were gently used: caresses and benefits are never lost amongst the most savage Animals, but frequently amongst Men. Dissimulation and deceit are scarce ever found amongst brutes, and if they have subtlety, 'tis only to avoid dangers, or seek wherewith to subsist. It seems (said Belintha with a low voice) one single ingrateful Man makes you judge all Animals acknowledging; but however (added she aloud) though hesiod were of your opinion, I should not disclaim my own, nor hinder myself from decrying the inclination you have to love brutes. For that you may not mistake, (continued she speaking to hesiod) you must know that if Clymene were even amorous of any one, she could not resolve to give him a beast which she loved; and if at any time you would be assured of her heart, desire her Dog of her, and you shall see whither it will not be more hard to obtain the one than the other. You speak very excellently, (replied Clymene) in comparing my Heart and my Dog together; yet I am not offended at it, (added she) for they are both faithful and can love well. But are you not ashamed (said Belintha) to attribute Reason and Friendship to beasts? But do not you deceive yourself, (said Clymene) when you will not know, that a little Bird, who makes its nest very proportionably, is more ingenious than a hundred dull Men whom I know, and that a poor Dog, who follows me every where, and moans when I forbid him, has more friendship than a Man who is obliged with nothing, and who injures all those whom he ought to serve. For my part (said hesiod then) I confess I could willingly amuse myself in observing the Reason of Beasts, if it be fit so to term that Light which Nature has given them; and I am also sensible of their kindness. I have always observed (answered Clymene) that cruel Men hate Beasts, and usually good persons love them, or at least, cannot endure any hurt should be done them. But as for ambitious people, who are so satisfied with themselves, and cannot think but of great things, they take no care to observe the Nest of a Swallow, to admire the labour of Pismires, the singing of Nightingales, the love of Turtles, and the kindness of Dogs, nor to amuse and divert themselves innocently with the caresses of these poor Animals, whose felicity is so easily accomplished. For it suffices to that of my Dog, that he suffer not hunger, that he find a little Brook to drink at, that he lie upon the corner of my Robe, and that I make much of him. He comes not but when I will, he goes away when I please, he is silent when I think good; if I chide him, he does not remember it a moment after, and is not less ready to caress me. Judge therefore I beseech you, whither that person would not be happy, that should find another whose heart were so tractable. But however, (replied Belintha) I cannot suffer that that should be called Reason in Beasts, which is only a blind instinct, and makes them act whither they will or no. Ah! my dear Belintha, (answered Clymene) how noxious is the power of choice oftentimes unto us, and that supreme Reason which arrogates so much to itself, and makes no account of instinct, but causes us to commit faults, against Virtue, and even against our own pleasures. 'Tis certain, (said hesiod) that the power of choice occasions all the errors of Men, and that at least brutes have this advantage in their misery, that they precisely know every thing that is fit for them. Some avoid heat, and seek cold: others flee cold, and follow heat, without any variety in their kind: but as for men, though they are born and die alike, and that considering them in themselves, it seems they have need only of the same things to be happy; yet it is certain, that their reason, which is various according to their different tempers, is oftentimes that which causes the happiness of one, and makes the infelicity of another, and they apprehend things so differently, that they agree neither in reference to the gods which they adore, nor the Laws which they follow, nor vices, nor virtues, nor even in their peculiar pleasures. 'Tis not so with Animals; that which is good to one Nightingale, is good to all the Nightingales of the World; all fierce beasts have need of Dens; all Nests of Swallows are alike, there is no different architecture in them, and every species of animals has an immutable reason that governs it (as I may so speak) which pleases and charms me: for amongst us every one makes himself a reason after his own mode, so that when we would find out true reason among so many different reasons, 'tis a very difficult task. You speak admirably well (answered Clymene) for a discreet man who flies the World, and an ambitious man who pursues it, may both have Wit indeed, however differently they reason. This proceeds (replied Belintha) for that men are as different amongst themselves as Animals are in their kinds, and there is oftentimes as great a dissimilitude between one man and another, as between a bird of prey and a Turtle, so that every one must reason according to himself, and not according to another.  
But however, it must be acknowledged, that humane reason has something very noble and sublime in it, by attempting to raise its knowledge even to the Heavens, and to the Centre of the Earth, and he that shall consider the infinite number of profitable and delightful Arts which men have invented, the great number of Sciences whereof they are capable, the wise Laws which they have made, the different Ornaments which they have brought into the World, will laugh at the Nests of Swallows, the labour of Bees, and the Husbandry of Pismires. I confess (answered hesiod) that the reason of men is worthy of admiration for its vast extent, that considering it in itself, that half-reason of animals is but obscurity in comparison; but to speak truth, the bad Use men make of it astonishes me, and causes the possession of so great a good to seem less advantageous to me, since 'tis so difficult to employ it aright. And on the contrary, beasts scarce ever make any bad use of that light which nature has given them. 'Tis true, (said Clymene) there was never any Honey, but what was sweet, nor Pismires which did not providently labour, nor Swallows which made Nests after different manners. But it is not so with men; for they will not so much as build their Houses alike. There is many times folly in their buildings, when they make them too magnificent for their own condition▪ On the other side, beasts who can content themselves with things necessary, and can make and proportionate them to their own uses, aught to make men blush, whose reason cannot bond their desires, whose natural incapacity stands in need of instructors, experience, examples, and practice, for the knowledge of the least of those things which are necessary; whereas the most stupid of all animals have that within themselves which is sufficient for them, without intermeddling with that which does not belong to them. Bees and Butterflies take from flowers that which is convenient for their respective uses, without offering to oppose one another; they have not set limits to their Empire; all the Lilies and Roses of the Spring are to them in common; and men with that sublime reason which renders them Masters of the World, have established War in it by establishing the Laws which divide the Universe. They have brought all kind of Vices into it, by the many inventions subservient to pleasure; they have made all the miseries which are in the World, by looking upon ambition as a lawful thing, since without it all men would be in peace; and in brief, they have introduced all the unhappinesses of which they complain, although the gods have enriched the Universe wherewith to render them all happy. Who would think (interrupted Belintha smiling) that the love Clymene has for this poor little Dog which you see follows her, and understands nothing of what she says, should cause her to speak such handsome things, and that after so serious a manner? who could imagine, that a person who has so much Wit, should take pleasure in trifling with a Dog? I have already told you (answered Clymene) that the love of beasts is a sign of gentleness and humanity, and that it is cruelty to do them harm: but I add also, that all that loves is amiable, that all that insinuates itself with kindness, deserves to be ingratiated, that that which has no ingratitude deserves to be well treated, and that since it is not forbidden to love Flowers, Fountains, and Statues, it may well be lawful to love cheerful and pretty animals which love you, and divert you, without ever doing you any harm. But in brief, (replied Belintha) 'tis not our purpose to extol the demyreason of brutes, and condemn the use of the reason of men; but only to know whether Amity, which is the most precious thing in the World, and which ought to be the greatest recompense of the most considerable services, and the most noble prize of merit and virtue, aught to be employed in loving a little Dog. I am willing (added she) humanity should be exercised toward beasts, that no mischief be done them, and that people delight themselves with them if they please; but I would not have them loved with the same kindness wherewith we loved mankind, and which ought to be so precious, that it ought not to be given to friends, without well examining whether or no they be worthy of it. As for me (answered Clymene smiling) who have not found amongst men whereon to employ my affection conveniently, I must love where I can love without fearing to be deceived. 'Tis not (added she) that I grant I love my Dog with the same kindness wherewith I should love a Friend. But for that, all afflictions mankind is capable of, have the same original all arising out of the heart, Belintha is pleased to confound my kindness to brutes with my true friendship, and thereupon to inveigh against me without any just ground. The fair Clymene (said hesiod) speaks her reasons so agreeably, that instead of condemning her, I wish I were not what I am, and had the honour to be hers in what manner soever. Endeavour then (answered Belintha) to be her friend if you can, and do not wish to be her Dog, for than I should infallably hate you. Ah! cruel Belintha (cried he with some earnestness) I believe it is difficult to be no more than the Friend of Clymene. Did you say, (answered that fair Virgin) it were no easy thing to gain my friendship, you would have reason; for contrary to my natural humour, I am become the most distrustful person in the World, and in my present sentiments I give no credit to words, nor cares, nor services; I know not well whether I should trust time, which they say discovers the most concealed truths. Therefore 'tis better to leave me in my Desert to hear my Nightingales. Perhaps (replied Belintha smiling) you may hear complaints in it as sweet as theirs; for hesiod sings at least as well as they, and I see he beholds you with so much pleasure, and hears you with so great admiration, that I cannot assure but that he loves you a little too much already. I perceive (said Clymene) you have a design to jest, but yet I must tell you that when I saw hesiod the first time upon the Banks of Hippocrene, he loved me a little, in less time than since his arrival. I confess it, (answered hesiod) and I should certainly have always you loved, if I had always seen you. But Madam, your Fortune calling you elsewhere, and mine retaining me then at Helicon, I forsook you for the love of glory, which I have always since ardently affected. You see (replied Clymene, looking towards Belintha) it is my Destiny to lose my Conquests by ambition. Glory and Ambition (answered hesiod) are not wholly alike. However, (said Clymene) I am very glad you are cured, and that I understand it from your own mouth. hesiod blushed at this discourse, and going to answer to Clymene, he could not contain from saying with a great sigh,  
O gods! what is't I speak?  
Alas! in speaking it, a sigh does from me break.  
And secret trouble from my passion grown  
Tells me, my heart no longer is my own.  
As soon as hesiod had spoken these Verses of Clymene, which he had remembered since Belintha showed him them, he became much perplexed; but he found them so exact an answer, to that which Clymene had said to him, and they agreed so well with his thoughts, by changing only one word, that he could not hinder himself from uttering them. Nevertheless Clymene and Belintha both blushed when they heard them. The first looked upon her friend with indignation, and upon hesiod with confusion; and Belintha on the contrary beheld hesiod with anger, and Clymene with shame. hesiod for his part looked upon Belintha as if he desired her pardon, and upon Clymene with much love. But at length Belintha desiring to pacify her friend, began to speak gently to her, and beseeched her to suspend her choler till she had heard her. And accordingly she told her of the accident of the Letter which hesiod had seen, and which engaged her though unwillingly to tell him what she knew concernicg the love of Lysicrates, which hesiod could not but have learned otherwise from a hundred persons. I grant what you say (answered Clymene) but in telling hesiod what he would have known from others, there was no need of showing him the Verses, which no person ever saw besides yourself. Your having made them so amorous (replied she) caused me to think, that by showing them to hesiod when I was speaking of Lysicrates, I should give him the greater aversion against him. But however (added she) I will make my peace with you, and am only troubled how hesiod will make his with me. By desiring your pardon (answered he) and acknowledging to you ingeniously, that the excellent Verses of Clymene, so well expressed my thoughts, that I could not contain from speaking them; for if I should have studied all my life, I could not have made any so pertinent. I perceive (said Clymene smiling) that though I am offended with both of you, prudence obliges me to pardon you equally, and to reingratiate you together; for if I should be angry in good earnest, Belintha would perhaps show my Verses to all the World, and possibly hesiod might think I took that seriously, which he has spoken merely in a frolic: Wherefore I declare to you, that I pardon you, on condition you will never speak of those Verses to any person whatsoever, nor to me as long as you live. Though it be sufficiently difficult (answered hesiod) to forbear commending them, yet provided you do not forbid me to speak of you and myself, I consent never to speak to you of any thing else. After this Clymene handsomely diverting the conversation, obliged them to change their discourse, and betake themselves to walk in several delightful places. In the mean time, evening drawing on, Belintha commanded her Chariot to be brought thither. 'Tis I (said hesiod) that ought first to think of departing, for I promised the Prince to be with him again very betimes; but to speak truth, 'tis easy to forget things in the presence of Clymene. I know not (answered she) whether you forgot the Prince whilst you are with me, but I am assured you will forget me when you are with the Prince; for the Court is a place, wherein people usually think of nothing but what they see, and absent persons are little dreamt of. You have reason (replied Belintha smiling) but for such an absent as you are, I believe you are thought of every where. Our language is so rich and copious, (answered Clymene) that it was not necessary to make a new word to flatter me with. If I may judge of the sentiments of Belintha by my own (said hesiod) she has reason to invent new words to tell you what she thinks; at least I know none that can express what I think of you. After this, hesiod gave the hand to Belintha to lead her into her Chariot, and without remembering what he had said before concerning his promise, to be back early with the Prince; or considering that he might go faster on horseback than with Belintha, he desired of her a place in her Chariot, that he might have as he said, at least the pleasure to speak concerning Clymene, after his departure from her; and accordingly he went with this amiable Lady. During the way, he spoke of nothing but Clymene; sometimes he extolled her beauty, sometimes he admired her wit, he was charmed with her sweet deportment and modesty, the tenderness of her heart pleased him above all things, and he could not conceive how it was possible Lysicrates could cease to love her; for I have a heart (said he) as ambitious as he; but I conceive if I had been in his place, ambition could not have destroyed my love, which would have been more ardent in a great, than a mean for tune. If you become amorous of Clymene (answered Belintha) we shall see how you will act. I assure you, (replied hesiod) I will not examine what I have in my heart for Clymene, for fear of finding in it that which would be little advantageous unto me, if it should be in any great measure, for I know 'tis much more difficult to engage an intelligent person to love the second time than the first, especially when the former Love proved unfaithful: and therefore I am resolved to visit Clymene, as seldom as possible: for I have never had any true sentiments of love, but when I beheld her upon the Bank of Hippocrene, and when I saw her this day. In truth, it must needs have been love that caused me to repeat so precipitously and imprudently, the Verses which I remembered; for I was never before reproached for the least indiscretion. I would not (said Belintha) that you were very amorous of Clymene, for we ought never to desire evil to our friends: But I wish you had persuaded Clymene to come a little oftener to the City, and to desist from so obstinate a love of solitude. Clymene seemed so lovely (answered he) that I believe if I saw her often enough to presume to persuade her not to hate the World so much, she might oblige me to prefer the desert she inhabits above all things; for I confess to you, I was never so much taken with any person as with Clymene. See her no more than (replied Belintha) for it would be too much to lose you, after having lost her. In this manner hesiod and Belintha entertained themselves, till they arrived at the City. Whither, as soon as they were come, hesiod went to wait upon the Prince, who chid him very obligingly, as also Lysicrates did, for returning so late contrary to his promise. And the Prince having caused him to be diligently sought for, understood that he was gone to Clymene's house, though hesiod intended to keep it secret from Belintha. Upon which taking occasion of pleasant raillery upon him, they very much surprised him. Do you know (said the Prince of Locri to him) that I had the most violent beginning of love for Clymene, that ever person had? and that if she had managed the inclination I had for her, there is nothing so difficult but she might have obliged me to, if she had pleased? but her coldness towards me, time, and reason, have cured me. As for Lysicrates, who loved her extremely, and was not hated by her, I am persuaded the respect he had for me; obliged him to renounce a passion, which is sufficiently incompatible with all other kinds of obligement. I did not think, my Lord answered hesiod coldly) that reason and friendship were remedies for love; at least, I am assured they would never cure me, if I were amorous. But are not you Clymene's servant already? (said the Prince.) No doubt (answered hesiod) I have much admiration for her; but as for love, I conceive none would dare to become amorous of that which you have loved. But on the contrary, (replied the Prince) your passion would afford me contentment for I am persuaded you have so curious a judgement, that your weakness would justify that of mine. Perhaps, my Lord (said hesiod) Lysicrates would not be of your opinion. I assure you, (answered the ambitious Lysicrates) that the pleasures of the Prince are so dear to me, that being persuaded the love you have for Clymene, would excite you to make more Verses to divert it, I should counsel you to it, though I could still be your rival; but as the Prince was pleased to say, the purpose of confining myself inseparably to his service, has absolutely drawn me off from Clymene. Since it is so (said hesiod smiling) for the future I shall not defend myself against the charms of Clymene, and give up the reins to my own inclination, in spite of the resistance of my reason. After this, the Prince and Lysicrates diverted to other discourse; but hesiod did not cease to think of Clymene, when he ceased to speak of her, anas long as the evening lasted, he could not with draw his fancy from her. The next morning he made Verses upon her, the day after he sent to know her condition, and writ her a very gallant Letter, which she answered with much civility, though in a manner which signified, she had no desire to renew familiarity with the World, and would not discourse half of her Wit, though there appeared very much whether she would or no. Some days after, Belintha and hesiod returned to the house of Clymene's Aunt, who received them very well, and promised them that assoon as winter began to make the Country naked, she would carry Clymene to the City. Whereupon hesiod at his return, composed very handsome Verses, wherein he prayed Winter to hasten, to appear with his Icicles, and conjured Autumn to make speed away; he wished the spring would be slow in coming, to the end winter might continue the longer: He introduced the several pleasures of all the seasons, and beseeched those which are peculiar to winter, to draw Clymene to the City, and retain her there so long as they could. Have a care said he, (with all the gracefulness that Poetry gives to this sort of things) of suffering yourselves to be driven away too soon by the pleasures of the spring, which would carry her away from us to the Country; for these pleasures are not, in truth, but the pleasures of shepherds and shepherdesses, whereas you are really magnificent: pleasures which serve Princes and Kings, and assembling all worthy persons to the same places, have a thousand advantages above all those other half-savage pleasures, which have need of rivers, gardens, and fountains, to make them delightful. Then addressing again to winter, he exhorted him not to hurt the youth and beauty of the spring. assuring him, that whilst Clymene and he should be together, no person would think of desiring the season of roses. But though these Verses were excellent, hesiod did not publish them, but showed them only to two or three persons; for perceiving his affection to Clymene growing very ardent, and come to a good degree already, and being not ignorant that a public love is a love without pleasure, he kept secret all the compositions which he made upon this fair virgin; by which means there is none of them seen in the collection made of his Works, of which many other things also are lost. One thing was remarkable, that the same day he sent the Verses to Clymene, which he addressed to winter, the Sky was clouded, the wind became violent, and blew off most of the leaves of the trees, as if Winter had began that very day, and granted Hesiod's request. And accordingly the following days happening to be more foul, Clymene being deprived of the benefit of walking, was constrained to return to the City with her Aunt. But though she was resolved to fly all the World as much as she could, yet being unwilling to appear too rustic, she could not avoid being seen by all the honourable persons of the Court. The Prince himself made her a visit, and carried Lysicrates with him; but the Prince's heart being then affected towards another person; he beheld her without love, and spoke of his former passion, as if he had spoken to a Friend. As for Lysicrates, no doubt he could not see her without being troubled; but she treated him with so cold and fierce an aspect, and he was always so ambitious, that it may be said, what he resented then, was rather shame and perplexity, than love. But thence forward he never saw her, except in the presence of the Prince, and by consequence very rarely. The case was otherwise with hesiod, who thought himself well in no other place; for though the Prince and Lysicrates could not live without him, he could not live longer with them, because he could not live longer without Clymene. This very much perplexed him, for being the Favourite of the Favourite, who made use of him to be with the Prince, when himself could not, he had always a hundred businesses to do, which instead of being delightful to him as formerly, were then insupportable, because all that hindered him from seeing Clymene, was distasteful to him. At first, ambition offered to oppose itself to this passion in his heart, but it was already so violent, that changing his sentiments in few days, he thought of nothing which took up his whole mind before, and derided his former ambition. How obliged am I to Clymene, (said he one day to one of his intimate Friends for having cured me of a Passion, whose pleasures are always unquiet, and for having given me another whose torments are ever agreeable. I must have lost my reason, could I have thought it possible to be happy with good fortune only. For indeed, provided a Man be content, what matters it whether it be in a Cottage or a Palace. Things without us, are not those which give true satisfaction, but the sentiments of the heart; so that since I look upon Clymene as a person who alone can make my felicity, and whose beauty, wit, and virtue, are of greater value than all the treasures of the World, wherefore should I confound myself in seeking happiness by other ways. Riches are things which are not desired, but to have several others; but the possession of a person whom we love passionately, and with reason, is satisfactory of itself. I confess to you (said his friend to him) that I find true wisdom, in that which you say; but that which amuses me, is, that thing of things, which you did not dream of a few days since. And yet you are not much improved in Wit in that time. I grant it, (replied hesiod) but I have more Love, and contrary to the custom of that passion, which often enough injures Reason, it fortifies mine, and makes me know, that ambition is for the most part rather a weakness than a true greatness of Soul. If a Man could by just ways become Master of all the favours that a great Prince can confer, I conceive generosity would require him to endeavour to frame himself to do good to others; but however, I know not whether Reason would oblige him to put his Virtue to so difficult a proof. The danger is, (added he) that a man whose inclinations are very liberal when he is in credit, may sometimes be carried to some injustice by a principal of Virtue, and be as unjust as one that is covetous, to the end to obtain wherewith to be prodigal; but though this should not be, yet he is always liable to be accused. All miserable persons believe, if they were in the places of those who are happy, they should do admirable things. In the mean time we see the greatest part of those whom fortune has raised, use their happiness ill, and forget their past infelicities, for fear of having pity of those of others. I could never have believed, (said Hesiode's Confident) your Love could have so well taught you morality. You deride me (answered hesiod) but did you know what sweetness I feel being free from ambition, you would judge I have cause to hold myself extremely obliged to Clymene. Alas! my dear hesiod, (replied he) A person that begins to love, sees only delightful things, hope renders all easy, he is so glad that he loves, and so delighted only in thinking that he may be loved again, that his heart abandons itself to joy, without having cause to do so, but if you continue to love Clymene, you will soon tell me other news. Do not doubt, my dear friend, (said hesiod) whether I shall continue to love Clymene, for I find I shall love her till death, and I take no other care but to be loved, again by her. To which purpose hesiod omitted nothing that might conduce, of all the diligences which an ingenious, amorous, and gallant person is capable of using, when he designs to be beloved. But though Clymene esteemed him infinitely, notwithstanding her reluctancy (for the desired to hate all men, and lived with such reservedness that there was no reasonable ground to hope to become happy) yet it's true, hope so easily arises in the heart of a Lover, who loves ardently, that he can never absolutely despair: besides, Belintha loving Clymene very dearly, could have wished she did not hate hesiod, to the end she might have loved her Desert less; and moreover, having much kindness for hesiod, she could have been glad that the love he had for Clymene, would more straight have confined him to Locri, than he was by the favours of the Prince and Lysicrates, who being always desirous to establish himself more in the reputation he was in, was not unwilling to fasten hesiod to his interests, to the end he might converse with the Prince, and have a faithful friend to accompany him in all his pleasures, when he could not himself. But this was so far from giving hesiod contentment at that time, that he was disgusted with it, and ambition became so weakened in his heart, that he resented no other than that of being loved. He had also so great a contempt of Lysicrates, in regard of what had passed between him and Clymene, that if prudence had not withheld him, he had rejected his friendship; for he not only undervalved all the agreeable qualities of Lysicrates, but hated him, as if it had been himself that had been offended by him. Yet he perceived this sentiment was something strange; for said he, one day to himself, though unworthiness may be found in the procedure of Lysicrates, yet it does not concern me to hate him; for if he were not guilty of this crime, he would be loved and happy, and I a thousand times more miserable than I am. 'Tis not added he, but that he contributes to my unhappiness another way, for he is the cause that all men are suspected by Clymene, and that she defends her heart against me, as she would do against him, if he should attempt to reconquer it. However, I ought not to despair, though I have no cause of hope given me: for as it is out of a sentiment of glory, that Clymene hates Lysicrates, so its possible out of a sentiment of equity, she may love a man who is totally contrary unto him. In the mean time, though hesiod visited Clymene ry often, there was scarce any besides she, that understood he had no more ambition; for he frequently attended upon the Prince too, and Lysicrates, and deported himself so prudently, that there was none but Clymene and Belintha, who observed the great passion he had in his Soul. So that Antiphanes, and Ganetor, Clymene's Brothers, looking upon him as a person that was much respected by the Prince and his Favourite, went to see him every day, and testified much friendship to him. On the other side, hesiod to render them favourable to him, ingratiated himself a little more in the Court, to the end he might do them some good office there, and have the more liberty to visit Clymene. But when this fair Lady in the beginning of the Spring returned to her Desert, it was easy to observe, that the cares of hesiod were divided; for he did nothing but make appointments to go see her, sometimes with her Brothers, very often with Belintha, and sometimes alone; no longer caring for Favor or Fortune, nor any thing but to see Clymene, to write to her, and to make Verses upon her, under the name of a Shepherdess For his inclination leading him to speak of Country matters in his Verses, he conceived Love in Poetry had something more charming and more sweet with that resemblance of simplicity, than with that of Nymph or Goddess. Clymene taking good notice of his sentiments, entreated Belintha several times, to endeavour to make hesiod change his intentions, but his Friend told her smiling, that till she forsook her solitary humour, she would rather send her a thousand Lovers, than free her from one. Things being in this posture, hesiod went for two days to the House of Clymene's Aunt, with her Brother, during which the Prince was gone to one of his houses in the Country, and had dispensed with him for following him. Belintha was likewise of this Company, with two other handsome Ladies her friends; so that the Desert was then very delightful. When hesiod was ready to set forth, a Packet was brought him from Lysicrates, and delivered to one of his attendants; he was minded to read it presently, but being told the Company waited only for him to depart with them, he referred the reading of it till he came upon the way. Yet he did not perform his intention, for Clymene so took up his mind, that he never remembered the Packet he had received, though he did not question but there was something in it which concerned the Prince's interest. So he went to Clymene's house in this forgetfulness, and which was more strange, was there till very late the next day without thinking of it; and 'tis likely he would have returned to Locri in the same manner, had not an accident befallen him. The house where Clymene dwelled being seated in a pleasant Country, walking was the chiefest delight it afforded. So, as soon as the Sun permitted the Ladies to enjoy that divertisement commodiously, Clymene obliged her friends to take the air. The company being one evening in a Meadow beset round with Willows, and divided by a River whose Banks were all covered with various sorts of flowers, they divided themselves insensibly; so that Clymene and hesiod found themselves alone, separated from all the rest about thirty paces; some walked, others sat down, and others sung. As for Clymene, having found a little flowery place on the bank of the River, where the little Dog she loved was laid down, she leaned against a Willow, and showing hesiod the goodliness of the Country endeavoured to hinder him from speaking to her of that which she saw well he had in his Soul. But to employ him the more, she entreated him to show her once again the Verses he had read to her an hour before, wherein he described the Country life after a very handsome manner. hesiod, was willing to obey her with diligence, and sought for the Verses, but instead of them drew forth the Packet of Lysicrates, which he had not yet opened, and had received at his coming from Locri. This sight surprised him; but instead of being troubled at this adventure, as Lysicrates was for that of his own, when be let fall a Letter of Clymene in her presence without having opened it; hesiod laughed at it, and would have put up the Packet again without opening it, if Clymene who knew the hand and blushed at it, had not asked him whither he newly received it. No, Madam, (said he to her) and Artemides at whose house I Lodge can testify to you that I received it when I came from Locri. But why then did not you read it upon the way, or since you were here? (said Clymene.) Because I am wholly unlike Lysicrates, (answered he) and whereas Ambition destroyed love in his heart, love destroys Ambition in mine. Clymene blushed at this discourse, and was very sorry for having been so curious; but because what hesiod spoke might still be diverted, she made no application of it, and without answering to it told him, it was fit he opened his Packet, for fear lest there might be some Order from the Prince in it. For though (added she) I am an enemy to great Ambition, yet I am none to your happiness. If it be so, Madam (said he to her) it will be very easy for you to render me happy. In the interim, if you desire I should know the import of this Packet, be pleased to take the pains to read it; for in a place where you are, I can do nothing but behold and admire you. Though all that comes from Lysicrates displeases me (answered Clymene) yet out of respect to you I will see what he commands you: and accordingly she opened the Packet, and beheld in it a Letter from Lysicrates who desired him to come to the Prince, who had writ with his own hand these words at the bottom of the Letter;  I will not command you to come, because I would be more obliged to you if you come as soon as you know I desire it. 
When Clymene had done reading the Contents of this Letter aloud; But what will you say to the Prince (said she) for not having obeyed him forthwith? I know not (answered hesiod) but I know I care not what he will say of it, provided that without being offended, you will suffer me to thank you for having cured me of Ambition. For indeed, Madam, though you should be all your life ungrateful to the most respectful passion that ever was, I ought always to thank you, for having freed me from one, which has none but false pleasures, to give me another whose torments are delightful, and make me account myself more happy in being with you ●n the bank of this River, than I should be with the greatest Prince of the World if I were his Favourite. You are so persuaded (answered Clymene) of my hatred to ambition, because I hate an ambitious person, that you mind only speaking on that subject. But to hinder you from constraining yourself unprofitably, I will act with you as with a man I esteem, and in whom I see a thousand good and delightful qualities—. I beseech you, Madam, (replied hesiod) go not to cast me into despair, and fear nothing from my passion. If it be disgustful to you, I will conceal it as long as I live; but do not attempt to destroy it, for it would be in vain. And to hinder you from believing that I dissemble, when I say Love has destroyed Ambition in my heart: If you please, I will never see the Prince nor Lysicrates more, I will renounce all kind of society, I will disclaim all the World, and all my Friends; for you are all the World to me, you have united all my passions into one, and I consider only you in all the Universe; I will even renounce glory, if you desire it, though I have always much affected it, and there is nothing which I will not do to testify that I love you ardently. hesiod spoke this with an earnestness so full of love that Clymene was surprised at it; notwithstanding she continued firm in the resolution she had taken, and answering with very much discretion, I confess to you (said she to him) the manner after which you speak, both surprises and afflicts me: for I know you so well, that I think I ought not wholly to disbelieve the truth of what you tell me. And therefore I am sorry to see that so deserving a person as you, constrains me to tell you things which afflict you. But I should be ingrateful, unjust, and a dissembler, if I concealed from you the true state of my Soul. I beseech you, do not conceive an ill-grounded hope of my sincerity; for I will hide nothing from you which may be to your advantage, nor dissemble that which is against you. I confess to you, that 'tis now some time since I understood I was not indifferent unto you, and though I believe you love me a little less than you think, yet I am convinced you love me more than I desire. I shall tell you once again that I esteem you as much as I can, that I see nothing in your heart, but what seems to me noble, nothing in your wit but handsome and excellent, that in renouncing Ambition for love of me, you do that only thing of the World which can be most agreeable unto me. But after all, hesiod, I have so much unjustice, as that I can never confide in the virtue of any whatsoever, after having been deceived. And though you should believe I might in time change my sentiments, yet there is another obstacle which you can never surmount, which is, that you know I have loved Lysicrates, and so I cannot think, if I should admit your affection, but that you would believe I had an easiness in my heart, which I have not, and that there needed no more but saying to one I love you, to oblige me to answer favourably. In the mean time this is so remote from truth, that with all your merit, and all the affection you profess for me, I believe you can never oblige me to love you: the most obliging expression I can give you, is, that if I had always continued to see you, when I first saw you at Helicon, and you had always loved me, no doubt I should never have loved Lysicrates, but should have affected you. But, Madam, (said he to her) since you do me the honour to tell me, that if you had loved me heretofore, you would love me still, why will you not love me for the future, since you love Lysicrates no longer? No question, I am not less worthy of your affection, than I was at that time, and I love you a thousand times more: consider then, Madam, consider well what you say, and do not attempt to deprive me of all hope, for I cannot but hope that the constancy of my Love will overcome all the obstacles, which oppose my happiness, and that you will not be always unjust. I beseech you, Madam, wherefore ought I to be punished for the unworthiness of my Rival, since I do not resemble him? He loves Fortune more than you, and I despise it only because I love you; Ambition grows in his heart in spite of his Love, and Love in mine, in spite of my Ambition. Lysicrates could live no longer without a Palace, without Magnificence, and without a great number of flatterers which encompass him; and I should live happy with you only in a simple Cottage, in the midst of a wilderness, without all society but yours. Moreover, you ought not to imagine that I would think you had a general facility in your heart, if you favoured my passion; for a Lover is not worthy to be loved, if he can suspect his Mistress of so great a defect; and he is not so much as worthy to be esteemed, if he loves a person ardently whom he does not esteem infinitely. And besides, Madam (added he) having refused the heart of a Prince, and of a gallant and deserving Prince, you are sufficiently justified from that kind of weakness. Should all you say be true (replied Clymene) I should still have several reasons, which would oblige me to defend my heart obslinately; and therefore, hesiod, leave me in peace in my Desert, and forsake not Fortune for a person who can never be but her own. Once more, leave her in quiet in her solitude, to enjoy a tranquillity, which gives time for agreeable muse; and continue in the tumult of the world, which has so much pleased you, and pleases you still more than you believe. You are unjust, Madam (answered hesiod) for above these fifteen days I remember every moment four Verses, which I made in an ardency of mind, since I saw you, and repeat them sighing, a hundred times a day.  
O peaceful quiet, happy solitude!  
Could I forsake you for inquietude?  
Farewell Ambition, with Disasters crossed,  
What avails Greatness, when Content is lost?  
After this, Madam, (added he) will you still say you have not inspired me with the love of solitude: and accuse me always of loving the tumult of the Court, and the turmoil of affairs? ay, (I say) who speaking against those who every themselves by unjust ways have declared that they were unhappy in not knowing, that sometimes the half is better than the whole, and that men were miserable in being ignorant, how sweet it is to live with the Herbs of one's own Garden; since if they knew it, the labour of one day would suffice for their subsistence all the year. Judge then, if you have reason to accuse me. The Verses (replied she) which you recited, and those you speak of, please me well; but, you know, Poetry is oftentimes guilty of untruth. However, suffer me to thank you for having spoken so well of musing in few words; for it is really more Mistress of the World than is believed. After this Clymene, notwithstanding Hesiode's reluctance, went to join with the company, who all reassembled together in a place very delightful, Belintha knowing Clymene and hesiod admirably well, perceived, as soon as she saw them, they had been speaking of something which employed their wits, whereupon, when night was come, and Belintha and Clymene were retired into their Chamber, Belintha asked her friend smilingly, if hesiod recited Verses to her all the while he entertained her apart. I wish he had with all my heart (answered Clymene) he would less have perplexed me than he did. But what was it he said (demanded Belintha) that troubled you so much. I beseech you, my dear Belintha, (answered she) do not still oppress me, but suffer me to forget all his discourse. When we desire so much to forget things (replied Belintha smiling) we never forget them at all: and moreover, to speak truth, I cannot conceive that so worthy a person as hesiod, has told you any distasteful matter; for he has not told you that he hates you. No, (answered Clymene blushing) but he has been so bold as to tell me he loves me, and to tell me so in such a manner, that persuades me he speaks no untruth. How? (said Belintha hastily) and is it the declaration of the love of a very worthy person that you would forget? Believe me (added she) do not endeavour it, for I have an absolute persuasion, 'tis the only thing of the World that was never forgotten by any. You speak with so little seriousness (answered Clymene) that I am almost inclined not to answer you any thing. You speak with so little sincerity (replied Belintha), that the best course I can take, is to discourse with you in raillery. You believe then (said Clymene) that I am willing hesiod should love me. No, (answered Belintha) but I have a strong belief, that if hesiod never does any thing but love you very respectfully, and very ardently, you will not hate him for it. Hatred is a great word (replied Clymene) but in the sentiment I am in, you will do me a very great pleasure, if you can hinder hesiod from persisting to love me; for I am persuaded, the kindness you have for me, and that which he bears to you, makes more than half of his passion; and I am confident, the desire you have to draw me out of my Desert, has induced you to put the folly into his head, wherewith he entertained me to day. I should confirm your opinion more (answered Belintha) if I should tell you that he has spoken to you by my counsel, and give you occasion to believe, that what he has said to you is but a fiction; but being I am too sincere to do that, I tell you what I think, which is, that hesiod loves you a thousand times more than Lysicrates ever did. However, (added she subtly) I offer to do all that I shall be able, to hinder him from coming hither again, and I will also peremptorily forbid him in your name, if you please. I spoke to him with an aspect (replied Clymene, without taking notice of her friend's subtlety) that perhaps will deter him from continuing to speak to me of his pretended passion. I will then say nothing to him (answered Belintha smiling.) Ah! cruel friend (cried Clymene) will you always deride me? After this, Belintha discoursed to her more seriously, telling her a thousand things to the advantage of hesiod, conceiving nothing could happen more advantageous to her, for one of her humour, than to be loved by so excellent a person as he, and whose passion was both respectful and innocent Nevertheless Clymene continued in her ordinary sentiments, however, in the bottom of her heart, she was not sorry that hesiod loved her. Wherefore she recounted to Belintha very exactly, all that he had said to her, and the adventure of Lysicrates' Letter, very different from that of that ambitious Lover, towards whom she found her hatred and contempt increased, the more she began to esteem hesiod. In the mean time, having read what Lysicrates had written to him, and the Prince's Postscript, she would oblige hesiod to depart the next morning, to go to him; but he refused it, and chose rather to hazard the Prince's displeasure, than forsake Clymene, and give her ground to believe, that he was not capable of abandoning all for her sake. Yet he returned at length to Locri, without having gained any thing upon the mind of this fair Virgin. At the return of the Prince, he excused himself the best he could, without much earnestness; but from that time, getting always greater familiarity with the brothers of Clymene, he was oftener in her Desert, than at Court: so that having such frequent occasions of speaking to her, and testifying his love, he began to shake the resolution she had taken, of never loving any. Nevertheless she concealed her sentiments for a long time, although she knew none ever had a more tender passion, than that of hesiod for her. He admired all that she spoke, the least of her actions charmed him, he loved the same things that she did; he observed even the places, where she used most frequently to walk, to the end he might go muse there alone, when she was not there, and he could not be with her. Clymene on the other side understanding his worth, virtue, and love more, resented a secret delight in being loved by hesiod; and though she believed not that she loved him, yet she did not wish he would cease to love her. But at length the constancy of hesiod, the counsels of Belintha, and Clymene's own inclination caused her to consent that he might speak the most secret sentiments of his heart to her; and, by degrees, she came to acknowledge that he had moved hers, and that, provided his affection were innocent and constant, he might assure himself he should be tenderly beloved. Belintha also understood this straight engagement, and was the only Confident of this virtuous love. hesiod desired then to oblige her to suffer him to speak to her relations, that he might marry her: but she told him, that having been once deceived, she craved his pardon; if she could not so soon trust his affection, that she was a professed enemy to repentance, and that to the end they might never repent of their mutual affection, it was requisite they made yet a little longer trial, whether it were as firmly established as she desired. In the mean time they did not cease to fancy to themselves a thousand contentments in a sweet and quiet life, which they designed to lead, when their fortune should be inseparable. In which expectation, they enjoyed a thousand innocent sweetnesses; their love was tender, delicate, and ingenious, to make them find out ways to render it secret. Belintha alone knew all that past between these two persons; for after hesiod came to be favoured by his Mistress, he spoke no more of his passion to that friend of his, to whom he had communicated something of it in the beginning. A slave, who was very faithful and ingenious, called Troilus, carried his Master's Letters, and brought him the answers of them. hesiod and Clymene made little presents to one another of several gallant things, which passed not in the sight of the World but for gifts of friendship, though they were indeed testimonies of Love; they told one another all their thoughts; hesiod writ nothing but he showed it to Clymene, and Clymene had not a thought but she told it to her dear hesiod. She did that for him out of gallantry, which Belintha told him she would never do; for she gave him that beloved dog of hers, for her kindness to whom she had been so much reproached. Thus by a thousand little obligations (which afford the greatest pleasures of love, when they are done with a certain way of dearness, which redoubles the sensibility of the hearts of those to whom they are performed) hesiod and Clymene enjoyed a thousand innocent pleasures. In this conjuncture (as all Courts are subject to sudden revolutions) so great a disgust happened between the Prince and Lysicrates, upon occasion of an Office which he had disposed of, that all the favour he could obtain of him, was to have permission to abide at an ancient house of his in the Country, which was near to that where Clymene resided, This disgrace of Lysicrates, no doubt did not much afflict this fair Virgin; nevertheless she was much troubled at his coming to be her neighbour, and much more some days after, when this disgraced Favourite, finding her by chance in a Walk, out of an odd humorousness of love felt his first flame so ardently rekindled, that without sticking a moment, he accosted Clymene: and seeing her alone, with two Women that followed her, while her Aunt was walking at a good distance with an old Priest; You see Madam (said he to her) that bad fortune returns me to you; but I shall take it for good, if you will please to forget all the crimes whereof you have accused me though they be not perhaps so great as you have believed them; for you know I began to be ambitious only for your sake. Is it possible Lysicrates (answered she roughly) that you can have the boldness to speak to me as you do? and can you believe, without having lost your reason, that I am so poor of spirit, as to endure your affection again? No doubt you would be glad to find some consolation during your exile, and that in a time wherein all your flatterers have forsaken you, if I would admit of your flatteries; but, Lysicrates, you are mistaken, it can never be; it will be much easier for you to make your peace with your Master, than to obtain your pardon of your Mistress. Bethink yourself therefore of returning to Court, and leave me in my desert; for if you make a custom to come and trouble me, I shall soon forsake it, only to be at distance from a man, whose discretion has been so bad, as that he has chosen rather to follow capricious fortune, who at length forsakes all whom she favours, than to be faithful to a person who loved you sufficiently, to esteem herself happy without the assistance of her benevolence. I beseech you, charming Clymene (cried Lysicrates) do not cast me into despair; I consent, that all my past services be lost, do but you grant me the favour to begin anew to serve you, without having any other right to your affection, than that which a thousand diligences and respects may acquire for me in the time to come. No, no, Lysicrates, (answered Clymene) I will not do what you desire; he that is once gone out of my heart, never finds re-entrance. If I hated you still (added she with a coldness full of scorn) perhaps it would not be impossible, but that I might love you again one day: but the manner of your acting with me, having made me pass from anger to hatred, and from hatred to contempt, and from that to a total indifference, no change can ever happen in my mind to your advantage. However, being you are unhappy, a little kind of generosity makes me forbear to speak any thing more severe to you; and I content myself with forbidding you ever to speak to me of your pretended affection, or to come to see me. After this Clymene left Lysicrates, who dared not follow her, for fear of incensing her more against him: but love having really assumed its ancient place in his heart, he went the next morning to visit Clymene's Aunt, who received him civilly as an unfortunate person. hesiod was there at the same time; but there was much difference in the manner, wherewith Clymene spoke to these two Rivals; for she spoke not to Lysicrates, except to upbraid him; but to hesiod with extreme sweetness, who notwithstanding could not but resent some small discontent, to see Lysicrates renew his Courtship to Clymene, which he presently took notice of. Sincerely (said he with a low voice to this fair Virgin) the misfortune of Lysicrates afflicts me, and gives me cause to fear; I could wish rather for my own sake, that he were still the Prince's Favourite. I should take this ill (answered Clymene) if you spoke it seriously; but being there's no doubt but 'tis only to show that you apprehend all that can be apprehended of things, I pardon you. However, if Lysicrates does not break off coming hither, I will soon cure your mind of an ill-grounded jealousy. To which purpose Clymene having in vain prohibited him coming to seek her, endeavoured to oblige her Aunt not to admit him more. But she being a good and generous person, believed it would be something unhandsome to forbid an exiled person her house: Whereupon Clymene conjured her that she would please to go to Locri for some time, to the end she might avoid the unwelcome visits of Lysicrates, This resolution gave very much joy to hesiod; Belintha also was extremely glad of it; and Lysicrates in his desert saw himself equally cast off by his Master and his Mistress, and to make him the more unhappy, the two most violent passions in the world, continued in possession of his heart. For being then without any near hope to satisfy them, they did not destroy one another, and he was ready to give himself again wholly to that which should afford him most ground of hope. In the mean time all the world rejoiced at Locri, for the return of Clymene; and hesiod and she carried their affairs so well, that their affection passed rather for a gallant friendship, than a true love; because indeed among ingenious persons there is a certain genius, which makes their affections mutually suitable and correspondent. About this time several Feasts were made, at which Clymene was present with delight; for though she always loved, and much affected solitude, yet she could not but love all companies where hesiod made one, who, without variation of his sentiments, ever preferred her above all things, and was a thousand times more diligent in his attendance upon her, than on the Prince, whom he waited upon no oftener than decency enforced him, Clymene having never been so well satisfied as at that time, had never before appeared so lovely; for besides that joy embellished her, she was of better humour, her wit was more pleasant, and she made so many conquests in a little time, that no discourse was more frequent, than concerning the charming excellencies of Clymene. The Prince himself having seen her again, after having broken off with a Mistress, whom he had at that time, re-engaged himself to love her, and resolved absolutely to conquer her heart by his addresses, without interposing his authority. By this means the felicity of hesiod was strangely checked; for though he had as much esteem as love, for Clymene, and when he listened to his own reason, could not suspect her to be unfaithful to him; nevertheless these two Rivals of his, strangely perplexed him, and excited greater fear in him, than himself could reasonably approve. He was obliged both to the Prince and to Lysicrates, reason and generosity required him to be obsequious to the first, and respectful to the latter: but Love dictated to him to hate and destroy them, since they both employed all their endeavours to destroy his felicity, in establishing their own. But that which afflicted him most, was, that he could not reason to the contrary, but with like regret. If he considered that Lysicrates was unhappy, and Clymene might, out of pity, suffer herself to be regained by him; he imagined also that the Prince of Locri by the lustre of his quality and his authority, might at length come to please her: thus both the happy and the unhappy gave him inquietude. Yet the Prince's love gave him otherwise some consolation; for upon his declaring himself, that multitude of Lovers who thronged to Clymene's house, retired, Lysicrates also in his desert, was troubled to understand, that the Prince began to love Clymene again: that which augmented his grief, was, that he considered his Courtship as well prejudicial to his own passion, as to his ambition, because he feared lest this fair Virgin, to keep him in eternal exile, would admit of the Prince's affection upon that condition. Clymene on the other side, suffered as much as hesiod and Lysicrates: for being a person, whose affection was very tender and sincere for hesiod, and whose great and virtuous soul was above ambition, she was extremely grieved to see the love of the Prince and Lysicrates, and to observe the discontent of hesiod; for she knew not what remedy to use to it. When she was at Locri, the Prince visited her every hour; when she was in the Country, Lysicrates troubled her, as much as he could, and she had no pleasure any longer, but what cost her a thousand regrets. hesiod lived still at the same rate with her; but he sighed so often, when he could do it, without being seen be Clymene, that it was easy to be observed he suffered more than he professed; for out of a deep respect he had to her, he did not let her know that he was desperately jealous: Not that Clymene did one action, or spoke one word, which he could condemn; but the conjuncture of things seemed so cross, that he could not hinder himself from fearing lest the same destiny which occasioned it, reserved some other of greater cruelty for him. Clymene on her part, did all she thought herself obliged to, to content hesiod. She did not speak to him of the sentiments which she observed in his mind, because she would not complain of them; so that this unhappy Lover, not having so much as the comfort which complaint affords, suffered more than can be imagined, especially because he thought it always ●●●fit to make any discovery of his jealousy. For (said he to himself) when any one has ground to be jealous, he ought not to think of complaining, but endeavour to love no longer; and if his jealousy be ill-grounded, it is unjust to go to torment an innocent person. Thus Hesiode's greatness of mind and respect restrained him from discovering his jealousy, and he was more unhappy than all others that are possessed by that passion. That which tormented him yet more strangely, was, That the Prince entreated him to make Verses in relation to his Love; but though he judged he would be displeased with him, he excused himself from it, and told him it was absolutely impossible for him to make Verses of that nature, if his heart were not touched with the same passion, and if he did not express his real sentiments. At this time there arrived at Locri, two Lydians, very skilful in Music, especially in that kind which moves the heart, and excites it to tenderness, languishing, and love. They were persons of wit and honesty, and very great friends one to another; they both played so admirably upon the Harp, that none was heard go beyond them, since Orpheus, whether they played together or apart. But the wonder was, they were so well consorted, that the same Instruments in the hands of an excellent Master, who has an exquisite ear, could not be more harmonious than their two Harps were. There airs were very handsome, and accurately composed; and they sometimes made so mollifying and amorous a sound with the strings they touched, that without the assistance of words, the hearer's hearts were melted, and their minds moved to a transport; whereby disposing the sentiments of those in presence as they pleased, they constrained them to conspire with their harmony, and become merry or sad at their Will. But besides this admirable faculty, one of them not only composed excellent Sonnets, as well as his illustrious friend, but sung after so passionate and affecting a manner, that there were no words but appeared amorous in his mouth. So that these two excellent men being arrived at Locri, were the admiration and divertisement of the whole Court, and consequrntly were caressed by all persons. The Prince caused the fair Clymene to hear them several times; but however, none had so much interest in them, as hesiod, who loved and understood Music, and of whose composure they sung several excellent Songs, having before been a long time in Greece. hesiod knowing the power he had over them, especially over him that had the excellent voice, could not forbear to relieve the jealousy wherewith he was tormented, by making a Sonnet upon that Subject. Which when he had composed, he gave it secretly to that Lydian, who was so much his friend, and whose name was Usclames, entreating him to set it to an air, suitable to the words, and to tell the Prince and all the Court, when he sung it, that he had had it a long time, and knew not who was the author of the Verses: but to the end the business might be more concealed, Clymene was named Iris in the Sonnet, yet he would have the name of Shepherdess remain in it, that she whom it related to, might make the application of it, when she heard it sung. But after he had resolved the matter in this sort, he repented himself, and thought it would be better to use it otherwise, Therefore he requested that excellent Musician, only to make an air upon the words which he gave him, and set it down in Notes, without saying any thing, or taking notice, if it were shown him to sing, that he had ever heard speak of it. And accordingly the matter was executed so; For after the air was composed, and the Lydian had delivered it to him in Notes, he writ the Sonnet all along in a disguised hand, to the end Clymene might read it afterwards. After which he folded it up, and by a slave unknown to his Mistress, sent it to her, with order not to discover who sent him. But the better to know how the thing would succeed, Usclames who made the air, was at Clymene's house, when hesiod sent the Sonnet; and as chance would have it, Belintha was there too; so that hesiod could not fail of being well informed of that which past. The slave arrived, and presented the packet he was entrusted with to Clymene, who presently opened it, conceiving it was a Letter. But she was much surprised when she beheld the following Sonnet in it, and set two Notes after the manner made use of in Music at that time.  

Sonnet.  
IRis when first under your Empire brought,  
The cruelest martyrdom, was sweet, I thought  
And while you tortured, you did chiefly bless,  
Alas! no jealousy did then my heart possess.   

I hoped my constancy, whilst yet no sense  
Of love, had made in you indifference,  
Had undergone your greatest rigidness:  
Alas! no jealousy did then my heart possess.   

Who would have thought, my doubled cares to you  
Should be to please you, and displease you too  
At the same time, ungrateful Shepherdess?  
Alas! no jealousy did then my heart possess.   
As soon as Clymene had read the first couplets of this Sonnet, she knew hesiod had made it, and suspected he that was then with her, had made the air. But that she might not discover herself too much, in case she was deceived when she had read the Sonnet, she gave it to Uselames, and addressing to him, I beseech you (said she) take the trouble to sing this Sonnet to me, before I send away him that brought it, to the end I may know whether the air of it be as passionate as the words. But, Madam, (answered he) I shall sing it so ill, if I do it without having studied it, that I shall do injury to him that sent it you. However (replied Clymene) I request you to sing it as well as you can, and take no care for the rest. The ingenious Lydian made show of seeking out the air, and drew towards a window to study it, and singing half aloud, one would have thought he endeavoured to make strains on the sudden. But at length the love of his own work not permitting him to sing an air of his own composing, he sung it admirably well, and made it appear to Clymene and Belintha, that it was perfectly fitted to the words, and that it would be hard to make an air of four short Verses with more gracefulness, sweetness, and passion than this. In truth (said Clymene then to him smiling) If yourself had been the composer of this air, you could not have sung it better than you have done. After which, calling for her Writing instruments, she writ the Letter which follows in answer to him that had sent her the Sonnet.  I have so good an opinion of him that made the handsome Sonnet I received, that I believe she for whom it was made, can never give him cause of jealousy; yet it would have been pity if he had not been jealous, since that passion has caused him to make such excellent Verses, and so handsome an air. Adieu; When you are willing to be known, you may be so. 
After Clymene had writ this Letter, she showed it to those that were with her, that she might seem to make less matter of it; but for that she feared if it should be published, it might prejudice hesiod with the Prince, she desired Belintha, and Usclames to be silent of it; as accordingly they were. But Clymene did not think that she had a young Slave to her Servant, who had an excellent voice, and without her observation, had heard all that was said, saving the request which she made to Belintha and Usclames, not to speak of this adventure. In the mean time hesiod hearing in what manner Clymene had received his Sonnet, knew she understood he was the Author of it, and finding a sufficient sweetness in her Letter, he was glad he had intimated his jealousy to her without offending her. Therefore he thanked Usclames, and entreated him to keep his secret faithfully; and discovered himself also to Belintha, that she might be the more secret in it; for a sincere confidence is more obliging to fidelity, than that which trusts a thing by halves. The next morning he went to Clymene's house and came thither so conveniently, that he found her all alone. As soon as she saw him, she changed colour, and reproving him obligingly for his jealousy, Is it true (said she to him) that you have so bad an opinion of me as to be jealous? Ah! Madam (answered he) can you think it possible for me to love you without jealousy, when I see I have two such Rivals? Lysicrates as you know, has had the glory not to be hated so long as he was not Ambitious; and the Prince of Locri has so many qualifications to make himself loved, that I could not but fear he might come to be so. So that all I could do, was respectfully to conceal my jealousy from you. What you say, is ingenious, (replied Clymene) and there may be some appearance of love in it; nevertheless, there is none at all, and the jealousy you are possessed with cannot be caused but by a weakness of your heart, or an unjust diffidence of my fidelity. But to testify to you (added she) that I do all I can to comfort you, tell me what course I shall take to cure your mind. You know my unhappy fortune permits me not to be any where else but at Locri, or in the Country: if I am in my Desert, Lysicrates causes your suspicion; if I am here, the Prince's love makes you jealous; and in the mean time I know no where else to be. What then can I do more than I do? that is, I treat Lysicrates rudely, I give the Prince no hope, and I grant you all the innocent favours that Virtue permits me. Speak hesiod; and if I can do any thing more for you, tell it me; but consult your reason a little, and do not follow only your passion. Alas Madam, (answered he) I do no longer distinguish the counsels of my reason from those of my love, and I am so little master of myself, that I am not able to answer any thing. All I can say, is, that my jealousy is caused only by excess of love; for I esteem you more than you can imagine, and I can never believe you capable of doing any thing which is not just. But after all, I do not cease to fear, and I imagine sometimes that perhaps you ought not to love me, and that I am not generous enough in not counselling you to embrace the passion the Prince has for you, and to banish me. But to speak truth, this thought is so weak in my Soul, so little durable, and a moment after I find it so opposite to true love, that I repent of it as of a crime. You have reason (replied Clymene) and I like better your being jealous than generous in that manner, though I very much love generosity. I am obliged to you for this sentiment, Madam, (answered hesiod) and I should be much more if you could take the resolution to prefer the dearness and fidelity of my love above all things. Is it not to prefer you above all things (replied she) not to love any but you in the whole world, and to contemn all mankind for your sake? 'Tis far more than I deserve (answered he) but 'tis not enough, to render me happy; for to overcome all the infelicities that persecute us, it is requisite you would please our fortunes should become inseparable. But hesiod (replied she) do you not consider what you say; for do you think the Prince would leave us in peace if you had married me? and do you imagine my Brothers, whose inclinations are low, and devoted to interest, and who expect all their fortune from the Love the Prince professes to me, will consent to our happiness. No Madam, (answered he) but since you love me so much as to despise the Prince's affection, and consequently have no intention to advance the fortune of Ganetor and Antiphanes, at the loss of your own contentment; It will be requisite to render me happy without their consent, to forsake Locri, and go to Helicon, where I have fortune enough to content a person so generous as you are. Though that which you propose to me, (replied Clymene) be such that I think I cannot resolve upon it, yet I do not take it ill that you have proposed it; because it not being contrary to innocence, I am equitable enough not to be displeased that you desire a thing of me, which seemliness will not suffer me to grant. For though I have neither Father nor Mother, and my Brothers have comported themselves towards me after a manner, which may dispense with me for part of the respect I give them, yet it is something disagreeable to a person who scrupulously loves her reputation, to forsake her Relations and follow the Fortune of a man out of her Native Country though she marry him. Therefore I conjure you, make this proposal no more to me, and let us await our happiness from Time, and our own Virtue. If Lysicrates do not speedily make his peace with the Prince, I am persuaded the Prince will banish him out of his Country, and if Fortune recall him to the Court, he will leave me in quiet in my Desert, whither I will return as soon as he has left it. And as for the Prince, no doubt he will soon change his sentiments; for 'tis not the custom for persons of that quality to make long Courtship. Therefore have a little patience, and in the mean time if you will oblige me considerably, be not jealous at all, or at least be so indifferently; for as to wholly disclaiming that passion, I am not scrupulous to oblige you to a thing sufficiently difficult, if it be true that you love me ardently. Alas! Madam, (answered he) do not you know that 'tis almost as impossible to give bounds to jealousy as to the Sea, and that when a person begins to be possessed with it; he cannot hinder its increase? So that Madam, it is rather in your power than mine to restrain it; for I doubt not but if you will take some care of an unhappy person who loves you infinitely, you will hinder him from abandoning himself to that furious passion which wholly engages all that are possessed by it, and is a greater enemy to reason, than love which occasions it. After this, Clymene discoursed with hesiod with so much virtue and dearness, that part of his jealousy was dispelled. Yet the calm which re-establisht in his mind continued not long; for the next morning there happened an accident which afflicted him sensibly.  
The Prince being in Clymene's chamber where those two famous Lydians made an admirable concert for an hour, which charmed all the company, afterwards obliged Usclames to sing an air; but whilst he was tuning his harp to obey him, the Prince began to reprove hesiod obligingly, for having refused to make Verses at his request: who desiring to divert that discourse, took occasion to tell him that Clymene had a young slave whose voice was so excellent, that had she had the art of Usclames, she would have ravished all the World. The Prince who was willing to take notice of all that belonged to Clymene, desired she might be called, to the end Usclames might hear her, and judge whether her voice deserved the trouble of teaching. Whereupon Clymene, who was more willing to entertain the Prince with singing than discourse, commanded the young slave to be called. She was cheerful, sprightly, confident enough, and very obedient; so as soon as her Mistress commanded her to sing, she began. But Clymene, Belintha, hesiod, and Usclames were strangely surprised when they heard her sing the first couplet of Hesiode's Sonnet, for they had taken no heed to this young slave, and suspected not she could have remembered it. Clymene blushed, hesiod was amazed, Usclames beheld her with astonishment, and Belintha could not contain from bidding her sing another. Upon which the Prince observing these several commotions, asked Belintha why she would not have the Girl sing that song, which seemed to him very pleasant? Because 'tis so old (answered she blushing) that no body sings it. For my part (replied the Prince) I never heard it. In truth, my Lord (said the young Slave confidently, whilst Clymene was whispering something to Usclames,) 'tis probable you have not heard it; for it is so new that a man whom I know brought it yesterday in Notes to my Mistress. This answer raising the Prince's suspicion, caused him to ask her who gave her this Sonnet. This discreet Virgin, judging it more dangerous to deny than confess it, told him she knew nothing of it, and that Usclames was present when it was brought her. For my part (said Belintha) I believe it was intended more to Usclames than to Clymene; for it seems to have been made by some one, who would intimate to him that he is not the only composer of handsome airs. But why did you say (answered the Prince) that the Sonnet was old? In truth, my Lord (replied she) I can give no other reason but that I was so unwilling to hear an air sung ill, which Usclames yesterday sung admirably, that I endeavoured to divert the Girl from singing it. Since Usclames sings it so well then (said the Prince) I desire I may have the pleasure to hear him. Perhaps my Lord, (answered Usclames,) having sung it but once, I shall not well remember it. But being it was sent with Notes to Clymene (replied he) you may sing it as well to day as yesterday. Clymene conceiving it unfit to make so much difficulty to show it, since the Verses were written in an unknown hand, gave it to Usclames, from whose hands the Prince took it, call hesiod to him, to help him (he said) to conjecture who was the Author of it. If it were a greater work (answered hesiod) it would be easier to find out who had composed the Verses; but three couplets of a Sonnet, which run all in the same strain, are not very fit to discover the composer by. Yet there is a certain close (replied the Prince roughly.  Alas! no jealousy did then my heart possess. 
Which makes me suspect one person. But to judge of the air as well as of the words, it is requisite to hear Usclames sing. Then this illustrious Lydian making semblance of not understanding it, sung it as if he were unassured whether he did right or no. But though he dissembled, the Prince understood that he had composed the air of this Sonnet, and suspected hesiod to have made the Words. This suspicion was no sooner in his mind, but he looked upon Clymene, so unhappily for her, for hesiod, and for himself, that he perceived some kind of correspondence in the looks of hesiod, and this fair virgin: so that recalling a hundred past things, he became jealous in a moment, and did not doubt, but that the negligent attendance of hesiod on him, was an effect of his love to Clymene, and that the rigour of Clymene was an effect of her affection to hesiod. For (said he within himself) if she were amorous of no person, it were not possible but she would embrace the affection of a Prince, who is able to advance her fortune. Being of a violent humour, he could not altogether hide the agitation of his mind, yet he did not declare himself then, but went away in great haste, only telling Clymene as he departed, that the next time he saw her, he would tell her who had made both the air, and the words of this Sonnet. You will do me a pleasure, my Lord (answered Clymene coldly) for in truth I know him not. If you did not know him (replied he as he went forth of her Chamber) I should not, and I know him only because you do, and your eyes have told me. Having spoken this with sufficient fierceness, he went away: hesiod was obliged to follow him, and so was Usclames: so that only Belintha was left with Clymene, who did not think it prudent to chide the young Slave much, who had caused so troublesome an adventure, but told Belintha she had not done well in saying the Sonnet was old. Belintha, answered, she was too much astonished; and thus unprofitably blaming themselves, they ended their discourse with complaints; for they very much feared the Prince would banish hesiod if he came to know certainly that he was his Rival, and was loved. As soon as hesiod could get at liberty from the Prince, he returned to the house of Clymene, with whom he had discoursed with very tender resentment. Yet they resolved never to discover the truth, for Usclames was so much a man of honour, that they did not fear he would fail of his promise. In the mean time the Prince having well considered what had happened, resolved not to testify his thoughts openly, till he fully understood the matter: in order whereunto knowing Clymene's brothers were ambitious, and would sacrifice all to their own interest; that Antiphanes was subtle, and Ganetor sufficiently pragmatical, he resolved to make use of them, to discover really whether hesiod were amorous of Clymene, and Clymene loved him. He spoke to them both therefore apart, and gave them ground to hope all things from him, and intimated as if it were possible he might marry their Sister, in case he could be loved by her, and so at length disposed them to be faithful Spies for him with her. But though he had much recommended the secret to them, and told them all he thought concerning the Sonnet, yet they communicated it to one who told it several others. So that within three days, it was noised throughout both Court and City that hesiod was amorous of Clymene, and that he was jealous of her; and Hesiode's Sonnet was so generally known that there was scarce any person but sung,  Alas! no jealousy did then my heart possess. 
By which means the news of this adventure flying to Lysicrates' Desert, sensibly afflicted him, for he conceived that if Clymene loved hesiod, it would be impossible for him ever to regain her heart. Wherefore having then no hope either to re-ingratiate with the Prince, or recover Clymene's affection, he found himself extremely unhappy, and more within a few days after, when Clymene's brothers, relating to the Prince whatsoever they heard or knew, to make themselves looked upon as necessary instruments, told him that Lysicrates was again become amorous of their Sister, although they had received divers good Offices from him during the time of his being a Favourite. The Prince was so incensed with this news, that he sent to command Lysicrates to depart his Dominions, and it was not without much difficulty that he obtained fifteen days to take order for his affairs. In the mean time Antiphanes and Ganetor forgetting nothing in order to discovering the truth, having gained that young Slave to their purpose, who so unseasonably sung the Sonnet, they understood by her that Troilus the faithful Slave of hesiod brought Letters to Clymene very frequently, and that she used to put them in a Cabinet, to the sight of which she admitted no person besides herself. After they had learned this, they made an appointment for a Walk of recreation in a place a good distance from Locri, to the end their Sister might be obliged to be present at the entertainment. But at the very moment they were to set forth, Ganetor feigned himself sick, and went not with the Company. As soon as they were gone, he sent away upon several pretended occasions all those that might oppose his purpose, and having none with him, but the young slave whom he had corrupted in Clymene's Chamber, he sent for a man who was very dextrous at such businesses to cause him to open and shut again Clymene's Cabinet, wherein she carefully kept all Hesiode's Letters. By this means Ganetor came to know the whole secret of the innocent affection of Clymene and hesiod. But though he found nothing but what attested the virtue of his Sister, yet looking upon this Love of hers as an obstacle to the advancement of his fortune, he came on a sudden to hate both his Sister and hesiod. However, he caused the Cabinet to be made fast again, putting into it all the Letters he had seen, and the Verses hesiod had made in secret for her. And he did all this so exactly in the same order he found it, that Clymene perceived nothing at her return. But when Antiphanes spoke with Ganetor, he was much surprised to learn what he told him; but though they resolved absolutely to serve the Prince, even with the loss of their sister's glory if he pleased, rather than not promote their Fortune, after having well considered the matter, they thought it not fit to discover the whole truth to the Prince, because in case he should know Clymene preferred hesiod before himself, he might cease to love her. Therefore they resolved only to say that they had discovered beyond all doubt, that hesiod loved their Sister, but that they could not yet find out whether or no he were beloved by her. They also determined to speak to Clymene, very mildly at first, and afterwards if she would not yield, to threaten her, and to have recourse to the ways of greatest violence. So they told the Prince all they had resolved to acquaint him with, who being assured of Hesiode's love, began to hate him as much as he had formerly loved him, and took up a resolution to banish him as well as Lysicrates. Yet he deferred it for some days, because he was desirous to know fully whether he were loved by Clymene, which could not be discovered but during his abiding there. But upon divers occasions he made it sufficiently apparent that he had changed his sentiments towards hesiod. For falling in discourse to speak of Homer and him, he laughed and said, Homer was the Poet of the Lacedæmonians, because he taught War; but hesiod only the Poet of the Helotes, because he treated very much about agriculture; detracting by this raillery from the glory of hesiod. In the mean time Antiphanes and Ganetor took occasion one morning to speak to Clymene. At first they flattered her, and told her with much sweetness, all they desired from her; but perceiving that, though she answered them with much civility, they could not bring her to what they wished, they fell into strange insolence against her. What? (said Ganetor to her) have you so pitiful a spirit as to prefer a man that pretends to be a Wit, before a Prince? to have no consideration of the greatness of your house, nor the fortune of your brothers, provided you may satisfy a foolish passion that is entered into your head? Ah cruel sister that you are! you shall repent it, and your best course will be, to be cruel to hesiod, if you love him. Clymene being transported with grief, to hear her Brother speak in this sort, could not contain from breaking out into these terms. Alas! (said she) how cruel are ye, who can have the injustice to think of destroying an innocent person, who has done you service in a thousand occasions, and whose virtue is far above the rank of the greatest Princes in the World? how can you be the confidents of the Prince's love, and purchase your advancement with the price of my honour, for without telling you that I love hesiod, or am loved by him, I only intimate to you, what you are not ignorant of, that Sovereigns never marry for love, and therefore according to reason being obliged to look upon the passion your Prince has for me, as criminal, you ought not to be his agents and confidents in it; you ought rather to die with shame, for seeking you fortune by so unjust a course; for if I were in your place, I should rather go seek it at the Wars, and owe it to my Sword, than to my Sister's eyes. Perhaps we will follow part of your counsel (answered Antiphanes sufficiently rudely) and takin his brother by the arm to cause him to go away out of Clymene's Chamber, these two furious persons left her. Clymene then repenting of having spoken so much to them, endeavoured to retain and appease them, but they would hear her no longer, and left her in incredible sorrow. Her grief became yet more perplexing some days after, for hesiod discovered by the faithful Troilus, that Lysicrates, (who during the time of his being favourite, had gotten together wherewith to be rich, into what place soever he went) caused all his most precious things and wealth to be put into a ship; and to revenge himself of the Prince, and satisfy his own love, he laid a de●in to carry Clymene away with him by violence; and being very much beloved by the Officers of the Prince, he was advertised that himself was suddenly to be banished. Clymene was infinitely perplexed at the understanding of these two misfortunes which were designed to her. On the one side, she was in fear for Hesiode's life, knowing that her brothers were capable of the most violent resolutions; she considered his banishment with more horror than death, and was more in fear of being carried away by Lysicrates, than of dying, and she so dreaded to stay alone under the power of the Prince who loved her, that she knew not which of all her unhappinesses to fear most. Alas! (said she to hesiod with extreme sorrow) Is it possible for an affection so innocent as ours to be so unhappy? and are you a criminal for loving one that loves you? Ah! my dear Clymene (answered he) 'tis no crime of yours, for if you loved me perfectly, we should not be long unhappy. I have told you formerly, that I have wealth enough to be happy with a person that can be contented with things handsome and convenient. So that if you were capable of taking up a generous resolution, I would marry you with the consent of your Aunt, to whom alone you owe respect (since your brothers are not worthy to be what they are) and so uniting our fortunes together for ever, we shall escape both the violence of the Prince, and Lysicrates, and the injustice of Antiphanes and Ganetor, for whom I will always have some consideration, though I know well they hate me in perfection. I perceive indeed (answered Clymene) that that which you propound to me, is the only thing which can rescue us from all the pressures of unhappiness together, but (my dear hesiod) I have so little accustomed to do any thing inconsistent with ordinary seemliness, that I find a strange repugnance in myself, to examine only whether this aught or ought not to be done. And if we should not be able to execute our design, but be discovered, we should make our fortunes worse, and be a hundred times more miserable. Alas, my dear Clymene (replied hesiod) Is there a greater unhappiness than to be constrained to be separated, and that for ever? This, no doubt, is the greatest (answered Clymene) but if I should see you a prisoner for my sake, and I should live under the power of the Prince, or in the possession of Lysicrates, I should perhaps be in a condition more deserving compassion. But Madam, (replied he) when I shall have received the command, which must cause me to depart the dominions of the Prince of Locri, if I obey him, will you not find yourself under his Power? will you not be in danger of Lysicrates' violence? and if I do not obey him, as there is great likelihood I shall not be able to obey him, shall I not be in danger of the things which you can most fear? For as for myself, Madam, I confess to you, I cannot resolve to forsake you; and I conceive if you determine not to render me happy, I shall be forced to take some course to conceal myself here in the house of some friend, to the end to be always in place where I may defend you, or at least to have the sad consolation of dying near you. Consider therefore Madam, what you intent to do; but above all things do not constrain your sentiments; and if to my unhappiness, there be in your heart any thought favourable to the Prince, be so generous as to tell me; for if it be so, I have nothing to do but die, and I shall have respect enough for you, to go and die out of your presence. Ah! cruel as you are (cried she) can you only imagine that what you say is possible? If it be not (answered he) why will you not resolve to take the only course which can render us happy; for if you do not take it, I declare to you, I cannot hinder myself from believing that I am not necessary to your felicity, that you can live without me, that you believe I am able to live without you, and that measuring my affection by your own, you are utterly ignorant what a true love requires. For where perfect love is, Madam, a person that is loved cannot be refused in any thing which is not contrary to love. And besides, is there any crime in my request? are not you alone Mistress of your own will? is it not free to choose with whom to spend one's life? and would it not even be against virtue, not to follow my fortune? You have promised me an eternal love, and notwithstanding you are willing to break it, without any other reason to tell me, than that in marrying you secretly, with the consent of your Aunt, who you know will approve it you shall commit, you say something incongruous to ordinary decency. Is it not sufficient (added he) that what I desire is not repugnant to innocence? grant it me then (continued this Lover falling upon his knee, and taking her by the hand, which he grasped with extreme dearness, and do not render me, the most unfortunate of men. As Clymene was considering what she should answer, Belintha entered, who seemed very sad. A moment after, some person coming for some small business to Clymene, she was obliged to go to the door of her chamber: and Belintha took the occasion to speak to her apart: I am infinitely grieved (said she to her) that I must tell you what I newly understood, to wit, that your brothers have conceived so horrible a hatred against hesiod, that you ought to fear all things from their violence: do not ask me farther, but if you will follow my counsel, oblige him to go out of the way for some time. Clymene then resented an extreme grief, though she had not the liberty to testify it; for at that very instant, the Captain of the Prince's guards came thither, who finding her at her chamber door, I desire your pardon, Madam, (said he to her) for the unwelcome commands I have to acquaint you with. The Prince having understood hesiod was here, gave me order to come and seek him. hesiod hearing himself named, advanced towards the Captain of the guards, who told him, with all the civility his office permitted him to have in this unpleasing occasion, that the Prince commanded him to depart from Locri the next day, and out of his Dominions two days after. Hesiode's mind being prepared for this command, he appeared not at all surprised witht, but answered him that brought it, without being moved; who having done his Message, departed, and left these three persons at their liberty, of speaking what they thought for Belintha so well understood all that past between hesiod and Clymene, that she did not prejudice their freedom. Then it was, the amiable Clymene felt her soul cruelly afflicted, and hesiod making his last attempt to move her, desired the assistance of Belintha, as a faithful friend. For my part (answered this generous Lady) though I must lose Clymene if she does what I desire, yet there is no doubt, I had rather never see her more, than see her unhappy. And moreover (added she) having some relations at Helicon, I hope I shall not lose her for ever. Whilst Belintha was speaking thus, Clymene wept, and had not the power to speak. But at length after hesiod had used the most passionate expressions in the world to her, and Belintha had pressed her to take up a generous resolution, she told hesiod, that provided he would consent she should marry him, she would then consent to follow his fortune, and endeavour to get away secretly, in case her Aunt would not forsake her. hesiod then expressed all that a dear Love could inspire him with, to thank Clymene: after which, Belintha went to move her Aunt, and acquitted herself so well of this commission, and so urgently represented all the sad consequences which might attend their adventure, that this woman (who hated her Nephews, loved her Niece dearly, had no children, whose treasure and jewels was easy to transport, and who was persuaded the Prince's love to Clymene was not innocent) easily inclined to that which Belintha propounded. Whereupon going to find hesiod and Clymene, they considered all together what they had to do. The result was, that to take away all the Prince's suspicion, hesiod should depart the next morning from Locri, and should likewise give out, that he intended to leave the dominions of the Prince within two days after; but should go and conceal himself in a little house of Belintha's, upon the seaside beyond Molycria, not far from the Temple of Neptune; in which, two days after, a great sacrifice was to be made, where every year was a great confluence of persons of all conditions. That in the mean time Clymene's Aunt should be at the sacrifice, that afterwards Belintha should carry her to her house where hesiod was concealed, and that the night following they should embark in a little Fisher's Vessel, to deceive those who might have any knowledge of their departure; that afterwards they should land fifty furlongs from thence, in a place where horses should attend them, that so they might go to a Town, and provide a chariot to carry them to Helicon, where there marriage was to be accomplished. hesiod nevertheless, for his own satisfaction, desired Clymene that she would promise him to be his, in the presence of his Aunt and Belintha; which being done, filled him with a joy greater than he was able to express. But, not to give any suspicion, Belintha told hesiod, it was not convenient for him to stay longer with Clymene; and accordingly, having entertained her apart a quarter of an hour, whilst Belintha was speaking to her Aunt, he bid her adieu; and though he knew this separation was not to be long, yet he was seized with incredible regret, and feared in the bottom of his heart (notwithstanding all his endeavours against it) lest some great unhappiness ●●ould befall him, when he was gone out of her sight. He fancied, that assoon as he should be out of Locri, the Prince would attempt to do some violence to him, or that Lysicrates would carry her away when she went to the sacrifice, Clymene perceiving so great a sorrow in his eyes, was so sensibly moved with it, that she could not contain from endeavouring to comfort him. She gave him her hand very obligingly, and looking upon him with as much love as modesty, You seem to me (said this discreet Virgin) so afflicted for an absence of three days, that I am glad I have not condemned you to eternal separation. Go then my dear hesiod, go; but that you may expect me with some contentment, believe, I conjure you, that I should have been as miserable as you, if I had not consented to our happiness.  
May I believe it, Madam (answered hesiod) and may I go and wail for you with the satisfaction of thinking that you leave your Country without repugnance for my sake, and that without me you could not live happy? Yes, my dear hesiod, you may, (replied she) and there is nothing so obliging which I do not permit you to believe, now virtue doth not prohibit me. After this he kissed her hand respectfullv, and left her to go and provide for her departure. But Antiphanes and Ganetor causing Clymene to be always observed by the young slave whom they had corrupted, understood confusedly, that hesiod had had a long conversation with her, Belintha, and their Aunt; and that this Lover parted from Clymene after a certain manner, which might seem to intimate, it was not with intention of never seeing her more; which highly exasperated their former indignation. In the mean time Clymene's Aunt, to give the less suspicion of her design, went to her house in the Country without carrying Clymene thither. The next day after Hesiode's departure, Lysicrates hearing of it, went to see her, and professed so violent a passion for her Niece, that he seemed never to have been more amorous of her, than at that time. And indeed, pretending no longer to the Prince's favour who banished him, Love resumed new force in his heart: wherefore confirming himself in the design he had to carry away Clymene, and knowing she was wont to go to the Temple of Neptune, the day the great sacrifice was to be made there, and then to go and lodge at the house of Belintha, which stood not far from the Temple, he resolved to execute his design that day, and took no other care but in order to it. On the other side, hesiod obeying the Prince's Orders in appearance, departed from Locri, and being unwilling to carry any other attendants with him, besides his faithful Troilus, whom he had brought out of his own Country, he discharged the other slaves he had hired at Locri, and went only followed by this, to whom he carefully recommended the favoured dog which Clymene had given him, as a token of love. All the Court was troubled for Hesiode's exile, the Ladies, repined, and the people murmured after a manner, which made it evident how great his reputation was. As for the Prince, he was extreme joyful, when it was told him hesiod had obeyed his Orders: but at length, the day of sacrifice being come, Clymene's Aunt, who was returned out of the Country, took a Chariot with Belintha and her Niece, and went to that famous sacrifice, where a numerous multitude was assembled. But as for Clymene, she went thither with a joy wholly peculiar to herself, in the thought, that after the sacrifice, she should go to the house of Belintha, that she should there see her dear hesiod, and soon after be out of the jurisdictions of the Prince of Locri, without fearing the violence of Lysicrates, and that she should at length see herself inseparably united to the fortune of that man, whom alone in the world she could affect. Thus she went thither with her mind filled with a thousand delightful thoughts, she was indeed something troubled to think she should leave her dear Belintha; but the hope of seeing her again at Helicon, comforted her for part of that discontent. So they arrived at the Temple of Neptune, which stands on the Sea shore, not far from the Cape of Rium, in a very pleasant situation; for it has a prospect to the delightful City of Molycria, which appears in a half circle towards the Sea, which lies immensely patent to the view, from the gate of Neptune's Temple, which is bedecked with Sea-ornaments. For between the pillars are seen several statues of the Nereids, and upon the bases of the pillars, and the friezes which are about the Temple, several large sculptures, representing the Trophies of prows of ships, oars put across, broken boats, and shattered sails. The day appointed for this famous sacrifice was so fair, that never was a more glorious seen; and the Sea so calm, that one would have thought all the waves had evened themselves for the more decent celebration of this Festival of Neptune. The sacrifice was begun with all the customs requisite; but because there use to be several delightful passages to be seen on such occasions, Scaffolds were erected for the Ladies of quality, before the great Gate of the Temple, where the ceremony was performed. Clymene was upon one of these scaffolds, well disposed to take much pleasure in the ceremony; for though the Prince was present there, yet she was free from trouble, because it belonged to him to be always near him that offered the sacrifice in his name; and that according to the laws of the ceremony, he was not to go out of the Temple till night ended it. So his presence was no obstacle to the secret design of Clymene, wherefore she appeared very pleasant, and took delight in beholding all the various offerings which were brought thither a little before the sacrifice. First, two hundred Fishermen, very agreeably attired, presented themselves with silk lines in their hands, and went respectfully to offer silver hooks to him that received the offerings. After them two hundred others, attired with fillets, and crowned with seaweed, went to present every one a fish, in baskets of bulrush covered with flowers; after them a hundred daughters of Fishermen, attired in green, and their hair dishevelled like Sea-Nymphs, carried little baskets full of cockles, and offered them to Neptune. Then came a hundred old Mariners with Oars painted and adorned with Flowers, which they carried and laid down at the foot of Neptune's statue, to testify by that submission, that it was he that saved them from suffering shipwreck. When all these offerings were made, the accustomed sacrifice was performed, after which was heard a concert of voices, which sung a hymn in praise of Neptune, which hesiod had composed this year, and was accounted so admirable, that never had any comparable, to it, been sung before. While it was singing, and all the rest of the multitude was in profound silence, there was on a sudden heard a strange kind of noise among them that stood furthest off, with a great murmur and confusion of voices. A moment after, the throng was divided, and there were seen four Fishermen, bringing a dead man all bloody upon Oars laid across, who having found him in this condition, not far from the place where the River Daphnus discharges itself into the sea near Molycria, brought him hither where this great assembly of people was, to the end it might be known who he was. This lamentable object troubled the Assembly; but it afflicted the fair Clymene much more sensibly, who after the men had laid the body upon the ground, perceived the Dog she had given to hesiod amongst the Fishermen, and going to lie down upon the Corpse, which she instantly knew to be Troilus, that faithful Slave of hesiod; for the Scaffold whereon she stood was sufficiently near, and his attire remarkable, not to be unknown or mistaken. She no sooner knew him, but she made a great shriek; a moment after, a thousand voices forced her to turn her eyes towards the Sea, where the people imagined Neptune was ready to appear, because they perceived the water rise up after an extraordinary manner, with something moving in it, which they could not well discern. Clymene's mind being then very inquieted with seeing the Slave of her dear hesiod, in this condition, looked upon this commotion in the Sea as others did, though her thoughts were wholly otherwise employed, Thus she stood and beheld, as all the rest of the World did, that this object which appeared so confusedly, coming nearer and nearer, became more visible every moment. So that insensibly approaching it was perceived to be a great Troop of Dolphins, who carried a body upon their backs by turns, discharging the burden from one to another, as they drew nearer towards the shore. This object surprised the whole multitude in such manner, that it fixed the eyes of all the company from the Prince to the meanest Fisher; but especially of Clymene, who no sooner perceived it, but, without well knowing the reason of it, she was seized with such a universal trembling, as fear gives them who are most capable of it. In the mean time these charitable Dolphins approaching always towards the shore, mutually aiding one another, came at length so near it, that they cast the body, which they had carried, upon the Bank, and that so gently, that it remained extended upon the Gravel, as if it had been a man asleep, having his countenance turned towards Heaven, after which they plunged themselves again into the Sea, and departed from the shore. But this body was no sooner upon the Land, but the Dog which lay upon that of Troilus run to the shore, and howling in a most doleful manner, laid himself down upon the body which the Dolphins had brought thither. Clymene, who beheld the action of this Dog, first trembled with fear, and then suddenly blushed again; and advancing towards the side of the Scaffold which looked towards the Sea, she heard several voices which said, It was the body of hesiod, which was seen upon the Bank. Whereupon, resenting a passion not to be expressed, and not being Mistress of herself, she stretched out her hand to a man who helped her down the Scaffold, and was followed by Belintha through the throng to the place where the body lay. But coming thither, she beheld her dear hesiod dead, who having received a great wound in the Throat with a Sword, seemed to have been assassinated. At the same instant Antiphanes and Ganetor, by the Prince's order, approaching towards the body, to the end they might ascertain him whose it was, came thither at the same moment that the unfortunate Clymene did. But as soon as they appeared, the Dog which she had given hesiod, and who then lay upon his body, leapt up with an extreme fury, sometimes against Antiphanes, and sometimes against Ganetor, as if he would fly in their faces, and accuse them of the death of his Master, which Clymene observing, and all the people looking upon it as something prodigious, and perceiving the wounds of hesiod begin to bleed afresh, and Antiphanes and Ganetor appearing astonished at it, Clymene could not contain herself from saying in the transport of her grief, turning towards her friend who was near her; Ah! my dear Belintha, I see not only hesiod dead, but I see also that they which murdered him are my brothers. After, this fair and afflicted Lady being able to speak no more, resented such an excess of grief, that she fell down in a swound near the body of hesiod. Belintha sat down by her, and holding her in her arms, did all she could to revive her. In the mean time the people having heard what Clymene said, comparing her words with the action of that faithful Dog of hesiod, did not doubt but Antiphanes and Ganetor had murdered him; besides that, they appeared so astonished, that their countenances accused them. Now hesiod having been very well beloved, and the people having newly heard a Hymn of his composing in the honour of Neptune, wherewith they were very much affected, believed they could do nothing more acceptable to the God, whose Festival they celebrated, than to sacrifice to him the Murderers of him, who had so excellently sung his glory. Whereupon, the Brothers of Clymene endeavoured to return towards the Prince; but the multitude setting upon them, strangely treated and affronted them. It being not the custom to wear Arms, during the Solemnity of this Sacrifice, there was no difficulty in laying hold upon these two exc●rable murderers: who, instead of justfying themselves, desired they might be led to the Prince, and that the People would protect them from the violence of those that set upon them; but alleging the Prince would punish them for offering to revenge the death of a man whom he had banished, they made their own conviction evident. Whereupon the people crying out, it was fit to kill them, otherwise Neptune would be incensed: This revenge becoming a zeal of Religion, it was impossible for the Prince or the Priest to rescue them from being torn in pieces by the multitude, and cast into the Sea. The unfortunate Clymene hearing the cry on every side, They are dead, and hesiod revenged, understood her Brothers were put to death, after having slain her dear hesiod; for it was presently known by some Shepherds, who had seen it, that these ambitious Brothers had murdered him with Troilus, upon the Bank of the River Daphnus, near the place where it falls into the Sea; that afterwards they had thrown the two bodies into the Sea, one of which was cast up again by the waves upon the shore, and the other brought by the Dolphins near the Cape of Rium. The Prince hearing Clymene was near the body of hesiod, went thither to her, after he had dispersed all the incensed multitude, who so well revenged the death of hesiod, that they pulled down a house standing not far off, which belonged to Antiphanes and Ganetor. But as soon as Clymene perceived the Prince, she shut her eyes that she might not see him, and making a sign to him with her hand to retire, turned her head towards the other side, and swooned with grief in the arms of Belintha. This sad accident so affected the Prince of Locri, that fearing his presence might occasion the death of Clymene, if he should continue near her, he entreated Belintha to take care of her, and retired. In the mean time, partly out of policy, and partly out of generosity, he commanded the body of hesiod to be interred near a Temple of Nemaea, in the Country of Locri, which stood in the midst of a Wood; to the end it might be less in the sight of the people, and that the remembrance of his death might be the sooner worn out. Thus the Oracle which had formerly admonished hesiod to beware of the Temple of Nemaea, was accomplished, though hesiod forsook Peloponnesus, that he might be at greater distance from the Temple of Nemaea, which is seen there. Belintha, after the body of hesiod was removed from thence, caused Clymene to come again to herself, and put her into a Chariot, into which herself and her Aunt likewise entered and commanded him that drove it, to go to a house of hers, which stood thirty Furlongs from thence. But, upon the way, whatever Consolations were used to Clymene, she answered nothing but, hesiod is dead for my sake, and I will die for his. And accordingly this fair Virgin, who till then, imagined herself still upon the Seashore, near the body of hesiod (so troubled was her mind, observing at length she was in a Chariot, and no longer saw her dear hesiod) believed they were carrying her to Locri, where the Prince would continue to importune her. Upon which, making a great shriek, Ah! no, no, (said she) it shall never be said, that I live after my dear hesiod, and go to a place where he can be no more. And immediately, as if she had had the command of her Fates, she fell down in so great a swound, that they were forced to stop the Chariot. Yet their succour to her was in vain, for she expired in the Arms of her Aunt, and her Friend, who were ready to die with grief as well as she. But at length, seeing their tears were unprofitable, they continued on their way in the most sad manner imaginable. They had scarce gone five hundred paces into a Wood, but Lysicrates, without knowing any thing of what had happened, came attended with several Horsemen to stop the Chariot, with intention to carry away Clymene, and to put her into a Ship, which he had provided for that purpose. But how strangely was he surprised, when, instead of living Clymene, he beheld the fair Clymene dead? Come, Lysicrates, come, (said Belintha to him, who knew his design) come see the fatal consequences of your ambition! For if you had never been ambitious, Clymene had been still alive, her Brother and hesiod would not have been dead, nor yourself culpable and exiled; but you would have been as happy as I foresee you will be miserable, for it is not possible you should be otherwise, after having caused so many miseries. Ah! Belintha (cried Lysicrates, alighting from his Horse, and approaching to her.) that which you say is too true, and I too criminal to be excused. But death (added this despairing Lover) shall without doubt punish me for my crimes; for since I am the cause of that of the most excellent person that ever was, I am unworthy to live. And indeed to increase my despair, (continued he) I will believe the unfortunate Clymene did not love Hesiod, but only out of revenge, and that it must be imputed to me whatsoever she has suffered by her affection to him. But since it is not possible for us to live together, yet at least we must reside in the same tomb, and all I have acquired by my ambition, shall be employed in that Structure. Which fatal thought coming in an instant into Lysicrates' mind, Belintha and Clemene's Aunt endeavoured to divert him from it; but in vain: for having a Chariot in that Wood, in which he had designed to carry away Clymene to the Seaside, which is not far distant from it, where a ship attended for him; he caused the body of Clymene to be taken by his followers, notwithstanding the tears and cries of these Ladies, and himself helped respectfully to lift it into his Chariot. After which, he caused it to be put into his ship, and setting fail with all speed; crossed the Ionian Sea, which is on the West side of Peloponnesus, and landed not far from the place where the River, which passes by the City of Elis, discharges itself into the Sea; and commanding Clymene's body to be carried into a Temple of Diana, which was near the Bank of that River, he performed to her, all the honours of Sepulture; which being done, he gave himself wholly to bewail her death, and caused a stately Tomb to be built for her, in building of which, he, according to his promise, bestowed all the riches his ambition had gained him, reserving only enough for his subsistence during that time; and as soon as the Tomb was finished, the unhappy Lover shut himself up in it, and died for grief, in having been the cause of so many fatal accidents; though others have believed ambition had as great a share in his death as Love. Thus Clymene was revenged after her death; but she had not the sad happiness to be in the same Tomb with hesiod, who has had a glory transcending that of all others; for the Orchomenians. having consulted an Oracle, which promised them much felicity, if they could get the body of hesiod into their power, they of Locri to hinder them from it, so carefully concealed the place of his Sepulture from strangers, that there are few persons know it. And moreover the Prince of Locri dying of Melancholy not long after, the Locrians augmented the honours which they paid to Hesiode's memory, whose very name intimates in his own language how purely he writ, and whose glory is so celebrated throughout the whole World, that it may be justly thought, it will be so in all Ages.  
Amilcar having done reading this History of hesiod, perceived the minds of the Ladies were verymuch affected with it, and that instead of delighting the company, he had afflicted them. In truth (said Clelia) the death of Clymene affects me very sensibly. For my part (said Valeria,) I have a greater commiseration of hesiod, than I am able to express. I have the like for Lysicrates (added Clydamira.) I am not of your opinion, (answered Berelisa) for I never have any pity for those that have once ceased to love, though that Passion revive again in their hearts; and I compassionate only hesiod and Clymene. My commiseration goes farther than yours (said Salonina;) for I pity poor Troilus too. But mine is yet greater than that you boast of, (answered Plotina smiling) for I am almost dead for fear, lest that poor Dog, so faithful to his Master, after having discovered his Murderers, be lost in the multitude of people, or died of grief, after having lost both his Master and his Mistress. All the company laughed at the pity of Plotina, and went forth to walk in several troops, except Clelia, Valerius, Plotina, Anacreon, Herminius and Amilcar, who began to assault Plotina with raillery for her pity to Hesiode's dog. No, no, (interrupted Anacreon) do not set upon her with your jests for it; perhaps her pity of that poor Dog, has a more real foundation than ours, for the death of Clymene; for to speak sincerely,, though I am both a Greek and a Poet, and am somewhere mentioned in the Prophecy of Apollo, which you have read, yet I cannot but believe, but the History you have read, is almost all of it invented. Yet it is contrived ingeniously enough, (added he) for methinks, 'tis not only handsomer than the truth, but withal, more probable. History mentions nothing more of hesiod, than that he dwelled at the Town of Ascra in Boeotia, near Helicon, that the Muses inspired him, and that an Oracle which spoke to him, admonished him to avoid the Temple of Nemaea, which is in Peloponnesus; that he travelled into divers places, that he obtained the Golden Tripod, and that he got advantage over Homer, in the judgement of Panis.  
There are some also who affirm these two persons did not live at the same time: however, all that have written of hesiod, agree that he was at Locri, and content themselves to say, in three words, that he lodged at the house of Antiphanes and Ganetor, who had a Sister, and suspecting him to be the confident of a Lover of hers, killed him together with his slave; that the body of the slave was found at a Cape or Promontory, which was afterwards called by the name of Troilus, in reference to him; that the body of hesiod was brought by Dolphins near a Temple of Neptune, where a great sacrifice was solemnising; that Hesiode's dog occasioned the discovery of his murderers, who were torn in pieces by the people; and that for fear the Orchomenians should get away his body, they concealed the place of his burial. As for his Works, he that invented this History, has fictitiously ascribed to him only the Sonnet, the four Verses which he relates hesiod to have spoken, and the Hymn which he makes him Author of for Neptune's Sacrifice. Now it cannot but be acknowledged, that fiction in this occasion has greater verisimilitude, than truth itself. When the purpose is to bring about extraordinary events▪ it is no question handsomer to introduce lover in them than any other cause: which has been practised by the inventor of this History; for by feigning the love of the Prince of Locri, Lysicrates, hesiod, and Clymene, he has made you know all these different persons; and obliged you to love them, which were to be the most unfortunate. In the next place, he has given probability to that which carried not much with it; for there is far more likelihood, that two ambitious and wicked Brothers, should be led to kill a man, whom they looked upon as an obstacle to their advancement, by hindering their Sister from being favourable to a Prince, from whom they expected the making of their fortunes, than to kill him as a confident of their Sister's Lover; for, setting one crime against another, it was better to kill the Lover than the Confident. He has likewise had reason to suppose hesiod Author of that Hymn of Neptune; for besides that, such a kind of composition is sufficiently suitable to his strain, it was a means to conciliate the people's affection to him, who had newly heard those Verses sung: and it seems some such extraordinary cause was requisite, to induce the people to that extraordinary action; It was also pertinent to make his wounds bleed afresh at the presence of the murderers, and to represent Clymene so transported, as to accuse her brothers, without thinking to do it, for otherwise the people would have been very inconsiderate, to tear those two men in pieces, only because Hesiod's dog set upon them. Wherefore I conceive a man that should have invented that which the History speaks concerning this adventure, had done incongruously; but he that composed the Fable Amilcar has read over, has made one according to the rules of Art. In truth (said Herminius) he has made good use of all that History supplied him with: and I am wholly disposed to believe, that if it was not so, it is possible to have been so: since nothing more commends a well-invented Fable, than those historical foundations which are interweaved throughout in it, and cause the Fiction to be received together with the truth. But to speak unfeignedly, 'tis more difficult than is believed, to mingle those two together aright: for they must be so handsomely blended, as not to be discerned one from another, and that which is invented, must generally seem more likely than the true: for Chance indeed may bring such things about as are incredible, but it is not lawful for a man to invent such as cannot be believed. If all that I have heard (said Plotina) be not true, I require Amilcar to restore me the tears which I have shed, or invent some other History as delightful as this is melancholy, or at least to describe how an invented History ought to be made, so as to be good: for, as for my part (added she agreeably) were I to invent a History, I think I should make things much more perfect than they are. All Women should be admirably fair, and all Men should be as valiant as Hector, all my Heroes should slay at least a hundred men in every battle, I would build Palaces of precious stones, I would make Prodigies fall out every moment, and without troubling myself to invent with judgement, I should suffer my fancy to act as it pleased; so that seeking out only surprising events, without examining, whether they were consistent to reason or no, I should certainly, make very extraordinary things; a continual Shipwrecks, burning of Cities, and a thousand other like accidents, which occasion handsome lamentations and descriptions; Plotina spoke this with a certain sprightly air, which made it apparent, she knew sufficiently, what she said, was not that which ought to be done, and that she only designed to draw Anacreon, Herminius, and Amilcar to speak, who no doubt were able to speak excellently upon this Subject. And accordingly she obtained the end she proposed to herself: for Anacreon not knowing her yet sufficiently to be acquainted with all the ingenious subtlety she made profession of, turning towards her, and beholding her with a smile; Should you invent a History after the manner you speak of, amiable Plotina, (said he) you would do a thing no doubt sufficiently strange; for with rare Events, wonderful Descriptions, heroical Actions, extraordinary Matters, and Palaces of precious Stones, you would make one of the lewdest Fables that can be possibly invented; there being without doubt nothing worse, than to see things of this nature made without order and reason: Is there any thing imaginable more strange, than when 'tis in ones power to make such events fall out as he pleases, yet to introduce such as can never possibly arrive? But yet (said Plotina) how comes it to be so, and wherein is my opinion so absurd? Because (answered Anacreon) when you invent a Fable, your purpose is to be believed, and the true art of Fiction is handsomely to resemble truth. For when this rule is deserted, there is no longer any difficulty in any thing whatsoever, and there is no more proper occasion to display the wit, than to invent without judgement. For my part (said Clelia) I well understand what Anacreon speaks; for certainly things which have resemblance with truth, and seem possible to happen, affect far more, than those which cannot either be believed or feared: But if an Historian of this kind (answered Valeria) never relates things but such as appear to be true, and are of easy belief, methinks his composures will be extreme vulgar, and not much delightful. You are upon a tender point, Valeria (replied Amilcar) for in disallowing things incredible and impossible, it is not intended to employ only such as are mean and common; there is a third way to be taken, which is the most delightful of all, and most reasonable. Wonderful accidents are so far from being forbidden, that they are necessary, provided they do not happen too often, and produce handsome effects; only odd and impossible things are absolutely condemned. For 'tis the occasion of disparaging the credit of the whole, when one thing is presented that surpasses belief. When any Slave of mine has told me a lie but once, I afterwards suspect all that he tells me; judge then if I can believe a man, who should recount extraordinary adventures to me, which my reason cannot consider as possible. So that impossible things, and such as are low and common, must almost equally be avoided, and such ways of invention followed, as are at once both strange and natural; for without this last quality, no wonder can please a reasonable person. I conceive, (answered Herminius) whosoever will invent such kind of adventures, as may both instruct and delight, he ought to consider all the World in general, as a Painter beholds his Pattern when he is at work. And as diversity or variety is the Soul of the World, he ought to take heed of making all men Heroes, all Women equally fair, the dispositions and humours of all particular persons alike and correspondent, and Love, Anger, Jealousy, Hatred, to produce always the same effects. On the contrary, he must imitate that admirable variety, which is seen in all men, according to the example of Homer. Which is not unknown to two Ladies I see here present; for there is seen so great a variety of representations in his Works, that 'tis not one of the things which makes me most admire him. Those two Lovers, who, in the beginning of their contest with one another, about a Captive Virgin, being of different tempers, act also after a different manner; and though they are both possessed with the same passion, do not take the same course. There is seen in Paris, a representation of disorderly love, in which Virtue has no part; in Hector and Andromache, an Idea of virtuous love; in Patroclus and Achilles, one of Heroical friendship, and the better to understand this variety of Characters wherewith Homer has adorned his Works, it needs only to take notice in general, of Agamemnon, Nestor, Achilles, Ulysses, Ajax, Menelaus, Diomedes, Paris, Helen, Hector, Andromache, Priam, Penelope, and of so many others, even to the pleasant Characters, as that of Thirsites, which is so particularly excellent, But 'tis moreover worth observation, that the persons which Homer introduces, are presently known and familiar to the Readers, because they always act according to the temper he attributes to them. Wherefore heed must be taken not to confound these different Characters: but above all things, the nature of the passions ought necessarily to be understood, and what they work in the hearts of those who are possessed with them, after having described them for such and such persons: for every one has his manner of loving according to his own humour. You have reason (answered Plotina) and I begin to conceive well what you say: but since any one may invent a History, why is it not lawful to invent all things, and to suppose such Countries as are no where in the World; for it would spare much pains. 'Tis true (replied Anacreon) but it would also diminish much of the pleasure for, if such places and persons only were used as were never heard of, there would be the less curiosity in the minds of the Readers to know them: and the imagination finding all things new, would be inclined to doubt of all; whereas on the contrary, when an Age is made choice of, which is not so remote, but that some particularities of it are known, not so near, as that all the passages of it be too well understood, which notwithstanding is so between both; that events may be introduced in it, which an Historian may probably have been ignorant of, or ought not to have related; there is more conveniency to make handsomer things than if all were invented. For when names of Country's are employed, which all the World hears of, and wherewith Geography is exactly acquainted; and when great events are made use of, which are sufficiently known, the mind is wholly disposed to suffer itself to be seduced, and to receive the fiction together with the truth, provided it be handsomely interwoven, and the Writer take pains to study the Age well he makes choice of, to improve all the rarities of it, and to conform to the customs of places he treats of, not to mention Laurels in Countries where there was never any seen, not to confound the Religions or Customs of Nations that are introduced; though they may with judgement be a little drawn to the usage of the present age, to the end they may be the more delightful; I am confident if this be observed, and they which are introduced in a Fable of this nature, speak well, the passions be well painted out, the adventures be natural and prudently invented, all the little matter which discover the bottom of men's hearts, be pertinently placed; Vice be blamed, Virtue rewarded, and Variety dispersed through the whole, without confusion, if the fancy be always subject to the judgement, extraordinary events be rationally grounded; if there be knowledge, without affectation, delight, ornament, and pleasantness, wherever it is necessary; if the style be neither too high nor too low, and no violence offered to decency and good manners; I am confident, I say, such a Work will please all that read it, be more delightful to them than a History, and withal be more profitable. For a person who writes the History of a Prince, can blame only the vices of him whose life he writes: but he that undertakes to compose an ingenious Fable, may take occasion, if he please, to condemn all Vices, and teach all Virtues. And therefore I wish, with all my heart, Herminius and Amilcar would set about a composition of this nature. As for Amilcar (answered Clelia, I must dissuade him from it; for according to the humour he is of, he will never be able to resolve to blame inconstancy: but for Herminius, who makes profession of being constant, and knows all virtues, I wish he would take the pains to do it. I assure you (replied he) I should gladly undertake it, if I believed I could do it as well as I apprehend it might be done; for I am persuaded a Map of the World, and that a little embellished, would be a very delightful thing, and withal very profitable, But to speak freely, the undertaking is more difficult than it seems, and I believe it is easier to write a handsome History, than to compose an accurate Fable, after the manner I apprehend it may be made. Yet it is requisite an Historian have great accomplishments; he must have a wit of great extent which his fancy must adorn when it is needful, both which his judgement must guide and restrain, when 'tis convenient, and his memory ought never to be unfaithful to him. He must have an universal knowledge of the World, of the interest of Princes, and the humours of Nations; policy must not be unknown to him, nor the art of War; he must understand to describe battles; and, which is most of all necessary, he must be able perfectly to represent those Wars of the Closet, which are met with in all Courts, which consist in intrigues, delusions, and negotiations, true or feigned, and which notwithstanding are of such importance, that 'tis in them the seeds are sown of the most considerable Wars, and on which the ruin or felicity of Nations, as well as the verity of History depends. It is requisite also to be skilful, how to represent the different passions of Princes, as those which govern; not to say too much, or too little of them, and never to write any thing, but what instructs or delights, and is either good or pleasant. However when a man is provided with faithful memorial, has lived himself in the world, and has part of the qualities necessary to an Historian, 'tis easy to make a History not wholly bad. But to compose an accurate Fable, adorned with all that can render it agreeable or profitable, I conceive it necessary, not only to have all that I said was requisite to an Historian, but to have a hundred knowledges more comprehensive and particular. Such a Writer must be (as I may so speak) the Creator of his Work; he must-understand the art of setting forth Virtue, and exhibiting it as a thing not difficult to be practised. He must know the World, not only as the Author of a History ought, but he must understand the handsome mode of the World perfectly, politeness of conversation, the art of ingenious raillery, and that of making innocent Satyrs; nor must he be ignorant of that of composing of Verses, writing Letters, and making Orations. He must also know (as I may so speak) the secrets of all hearts, and be ignorant of not one of all the commendable Sciences; of which occasion may be sometimes offered to speak by the way. But above all things, he must know how to take away plainness and dryness from Morality, and set it off in a dress so natural and so agreeable, that it may divert all those to whom it gives instruction; and as Ladies break not their Looking-glasses which show them the defects which they amend when they know; so they may not hate a Work wherein they oftentimes see things which none durst speak to them of, and which they would never speak of to themselves, Whence it is easy to judge, that it is much more difficult to make a Work of this nature, than to write a History. You discourse admirably well (answered Anacreon). I am of your opinion (added Amilcar): but that which seems strange to me, is, that if it were possible to find one that had composed a Fable of this nature, yet there would also be found a great number of people, who would speak of it but as of a mere trifle, and an unprofitable amusement: and I know divers ancient Senators here, and also several Roman Matrons, who would be so affrighted with a Love-story, that they would absolutely forbid their Children from casting their eye upon any such. That conceit, (answered Herminius) seems very unjust; for Love is not learned in Books, nature teaches it all men; and in all places through which I have travelled, I have found love every where: But I have found it more gross, brutish, and criminal, amongst people of no politeness, and such as are wholly ignorant of handsome gallantry, than amongst persons of worth and civil education. And besides, if it were unfit to read Books wherein Love is treated of, we must forbear reading of Histories, in which we find examples of all crimes, and wherein oftentimes the Criminals are happy, and cause desire in some to imitate them. One day, History will record the abominable action of Sextus, the miserable death of Servius Tullus, the unjust Loves of Tarquin and Tullia, and a thousand other things of dangerous example; which need not be in a Fable according to the way I understand; for therein modesty may always be joined with love, and no criminal loves be ever related, which prove not in the end unhappy. For my part (said Clelia,) I think it more important than is believed, to show that there may be innocent loves and delightful together, for there are but too many who think this can never be. No doubt, Madam, you have reason (answered Herminius) wherefore those good Senators, and severe Matrons are too blame for hindering their Children from reading a Work wherein they might find wherewith to understand the practice of all Virtues, and by the advantages of which they might spare the pains of travelling, to become persons of worth and accomplished; since there may be made so handsome a Map of the World, that it might be seen in Epitome, without going forth of their Closet. And as for Ladies, I conceive likewise that the reading of such a Work as I am speaking of, would rather hinder them from admitting of Gallants, than induce them to entertain them; for if they would compare the love pretended to them, with that they found described in a Book of this Nature, they would apprehend so much difference between them, that they would never suffer themselves to be moved with it. I add moreover confidently, that such a Book might not only teach all Virtues, blame all Vices, and reprove all the little defects the World is full of, but it might also teach to reverence the gods, by the example given in the persons of Heroes, proposed for a pattern; and that of whatever Nation or Religion the Reader be of, he might be profited by it, For when I behold a Roman adore the gods of his Country, I am not backward to improve by the example, (though I am an African) and thereby to remember I ought to worship those of my own Country. Therefore I do not weigh the morosity of some unreasonable people, who blame a Work of this nature; but at the venture of undergoing their injustice, I wish I were the Author of one. For I, being contented with my own intention, should comfort myself against the severity of a few persons with the general applauss of the World, and the peculiar knowledge I had of the profitableness of this kind of Work in which may be had experience without the assistance of old age, precepts without severity, innocent Satyrs, judgement which costs nothing, and the means to learn that art of the World, without which it is impossible ever to be acceptable. If you make one (said Plotina) I promise you to read it with pleasure: For my part (added Clelia) I promise my admiration to Herminius. I promise him more than you (added Valeria) for I promise him to reform many defects which I have. For what concerns me (said Anacreon) I engage myself to sing his glory. And for my part (answered Amilcar) I promise him to read it with delight, to esteem it highly, to commend it in all places, and to do nothing which he shall say, for I never do any thing but what I say to myself. And besides, he has such an inclination to constant love, that I should never conform to it. After this, all the company uniting again, the Music began, and then the Collation was served, which was as magnificent as the harmony was melodious; after which the conversation was extremely agreeable. But it being sufficiently late, the company separated themselves with the sorrow of knowing they should lose Telanus the next morning, because the Figure which the Veientines were to deliver, was to arrive at Rome the day following. Clelia indeed was exempted from this discontent, though she very highly esteemed Telanus, because thinking of nothing but what might have some correspondence with the passion she had in her Soul, she only mused upon the death of hesiod, imagining what grief she should resent, if during the War which was beginning between Porsenna and Rome, her dear Aronces should happen to perish in it,   
The end of the Second Book of the Fourth Part.   

CLELIA. A New Romance. The Fourth PART. The Third BOOK.  
THE people of Rome understanding, the figure made at Veii by Tarquin's command, was arrived, testified an extreme joy thereupon. Nothing so easily communicating itself as superstition in the minds of the Multitude. The Consul Horatius in the absence of Publicola, caused the figure to be placed in the Temple of Jupiter, and gave permission to Telanus to return. So that having no pretext to continue longer at Rome, he was constrained to depart from thence, and take leave of those illustrious persons, with whom he had passed some days so delightfully. 'Tis true, he lest his heart with the aimiable Plotina, and returned with his mind so filled with the excellency of his Lady, that as courageous as he was, he heartily wished the war would soon be ended. He parted from Amilcar with much dearness, notwithstanding his being his Rival; but for the three other his Rivals, he bade them not adieu. His civility was greater towards Clelia, to whom he made a thousand protestations of friendship, as likewise to Octavius, who being better recovered, had a long conversation with him before his departure, to oblige him to serve Aronces to the utmost of his power, since he was going to be of the same Party, entreating him to be confident, that if he could find occasion of seeing him, he would promote his interests faithfully with Clelius, and against Horatius. After which this generous Veientine having thanked Clelius for all the favours he had received from him, departed from Rome, where the same day there arrived news which was not very acceptable. For intelligence was brought, that Porsenna was so diligent in assisting Tarquin, that in a little time the troops of Veii and Tarquinia, would be united with his; and that he had resolved to be in person in the head of his Army. It was also informed that Publicola would return within three days, because having been advertized by Herminius, that there was beginning of division in the Senate since his departure, he judged it more important to take care for the assuring of Rome, than to preserve the out-places of it. Besides his Army being too weak to undertake to sustain the first attempt of that of the King of Hetruria, when the Forces of the Veientines, and those of Tarquin should be added to it, he thought it better to let the Enemies cool and weaken themselves, before he offered to fight them. The virtue of Publicola being highly respected by all the Romans, the news of his return produced a good effect in Rome. They who had begun to divide themselves reunited, and had not the boldness but to appear zealous for their Country, before a man, who had no other interest, and who, having all the People at his devotion, might easily punish them for their delinquency. The return of Publicola was no doubt very acceptable to Valeria; but Mutius coming back with him, diminished part of her joy; because he had such a kind of haughtiness in his deportment, that she had rather this imperious Lover would always have been at the war, than returned to Rome. The forces being also to come back, Clidamira and Berelisa thought fit to defer their journey to Praeneste, till the return of the Army: and moreover Artimedorus being at Rome, they had no great impatience to leave it. But as for this Prince, he ardently wished Berelisa had been there alone, having scarce any opportunity of seeing her without Clidamira; for which reason he took no delight in seeing her, and was more frequently with Clelia than with her; for this aimiable Lady looking upon him as Aronces his friend, and a wise, good and discreet Prince, to whom she might communicate all the secrets of her soul, had very much affection and complacency for him. As they were one day together, a Slave of Artimedorus brought him a Letter, which obliged him to take leave of her, without telling her the cause of it. Tho the same night he returned to her, to beseech her she would please to take a walk the next day with Valeria, Cesonia, and Plotina, in a Garden not far from the Sublician bridge. Clelia not caring for divertisement, desired to be excused, but Artimedorus telling her the business was to do a good office to Valeria, and that he could not discover more of it to her, she promised she would be ready when Cesonia, Valeria, and Plotina should come to call her, knowing Sulspicia would not refuse to let her go with those Ladies, her dear friends. And accordingly the next morning, they whom Artemidorus had named, came to her house, there being no men in the company besides Artemidorus and Herminius. As they were going to the Garden, Clelia asked Valeria what service she desired of her? I should rather (answered she) desire to know what I may do for your service; for Artemidorus has told me you had need of me in relation to some affair. It is to be believed then (replied Clelia) that 'tis he that has need of us: but, in reference to myself I cannot but think him too blame for taking such a course, since I should serve him with joy. In my opinion (said Valeria) it must be for something which Berelisa is concerned. Then they asked Cesonia and Plotina, if they knew what the business was, which occasioned their going to that Garden. For my part (answered the first) I know no more of it, but that Artemidorus told me you both desired me to accompany you thither, and to take Plotina with me. 'Tis some satisfaction to me (said Clelia) that we shall soon know what the business is with us. When these Ladies were arrived at the gate of that garden, where Artemidorus and Herminius waited for them, they lighted from their Chariot, and entered into the Garden, where they found no person at all; wherefore they demanded what was the design of their coming thither. Be not impatient (answered he) you shall know it presently; but you shall not know altogether, but severally, what has induced me to deceive you, and bring you hither; at least Clelia and Valeria shall be together in one place, whilst Cesonia and Plotina shall be in another. If Artemidorus had not been well known to these four persons, this would have occasioned strange thoughts in them: but being ascertained how prudent and discreet he was, their curiosity did not inquiet their minds at all. But (said Plotina) I desire to be satisfied, whether Herminins be more knowing than we are; He shall be so presently (answered Artemidorus) for he shall know all, that shall be told Clelia and Valeria, though not till after them. For my part (said Herminius) I desire never to know any thing concerning my friends, but what they are willing I should. After this Artemidorus having been to give order that none should be admitted into the Garden, led Cesonius and Plotina into a walk which was on the far side, where they found an old man, who no sooner beheld Plotina, but he knew her, although it was a very long time since he had seen her. But this fair Virgin could not know him otherwise than by his voice, and was some time before she could recollect herself. At length calling him to mind, she testified much joy to see him, and believing he was her Uncle, made him a thousand caresses; Alas! (said she to him, embracing him) where have you been for so long time? You shall know (answered he) when I have opportunity to tell you without any other witness than Cesonia, to whom I know you have such great obligations, that 'tis fit she be acquainted with all your fortune. Alas! (replied Plotina) my fortune is very easy to know; for when I have said I have lost my father and my mother, while I was yet in the cradle, and always lived with the virtuous Aegesile your wife, till my departure from Ardea, I shall have said almost all. You so little know yourself (answered this sage old man) that you cannot well speak of yourself, till after I have told you who you are Artemidorus judging that his presence was not necessary in this place, and knowing that it was elsewhere, left Cesonia and Plotina with him that had so many important things to tell them, and returned to Clelia, Valeria, and Herminius. But to accomplish his design; he entreated Herminius to stay with him, and desired those two persons that they would please to go a side into a little Garden separated from the great one, where there was a little knot of flowers, enclosed with pales and myrtles. So that these two fair virgins seeing there was no great danger in doing what Artemidorus desired, entered into it. Which they had no sooner done, but they beheld Aronces appear, coming forth of a little Arbour at a corner of the Garden. This sight surprised them strangely, but especially Clelia, who in the first instant resented nothing but joy in seeing her dear Aronces. Who, as soon as he beheld her, saluted her very respectfully, and approached towards her with all the transport that a true love can cause in a Lover, whose heart is tender and sensible, when he again sees the Person he loves, after a long absence. I have at length, Madam, (said he to her) in spite of all the obstacles that oppose my happiness, at least the satisfaction of being able to tell you all my misfortunes, and to understand from your mouth, what you will command me to do. Being assured Valeria knows all the secrets of your heart, that she is generous, good and faithful, I have been willing she should know I am here; for though I have the unhappiness to have a father who is Tarquin's Protector, yet, I think, I ought not to be suspected by her. You have reason my Lord (answered that discreet Virgin) not to be distrustful of me; for I have so high an esteem of your virtue, that excepting Clelia, there is no person in the world was more affected with your loss than myself: and indeed (added she) I see already so much fright upon Clelia's countenance, for seeing you so near Rome, where you have more violent enemies than you believe, that I cannot but fear lest you should be seen. And therefore whilst you are speaking with Clelia, it will be convenient for me to take care that you be not perceived. Clelia would have withheld her; but she retired back to the gate, where Artemidorus and Herminins were discoursing together, and from whence she might see, but not hear them. Assoon as she was at a convenient distance, Clelia addressing to him, I confess to you, Aronces, (said she) the first sentiment I had in seeing you, afforded me joy, but alas! my reason begins to destroy it; for my father hates you almost as much as he formerly loved you; Horatius loves me more ardently than ever; his Kinsman is the second Consul, and Publicola is not at Rome. My brother no doubt is always for your interests; but my father has so strong a belief it was you that wounded him in the battle, that he cannot endure you should be named in his presence; and when he goes to exaggerate your wounding of his son with the same sword he had given you heretofore, he is so transported against you, that my mother dares not so much as offer to excuse you. I have here understood this unjust accusation by Artemidorus (answered Aronces); but if it were as easy for me to be happy, as it will be to justify myself from it, I should be less to be pitied than I am. For it was not possible for me to have that sword at the battle, in which I served Rome happily enough, and Octavius was wounded, since Tarquin caused me to be put in prison at my departure out of Rome, and it was taken from me; and when I got out of prison, there was no care taken to restore it to me; for I understood the Prince had given it to an Officer who took me. Besides, the sword I had in the battle when I was taken with Horatius, was broken in my hands before I was made prisoner. Thus this accusation falls of itself; and if I had known it sooner, I should have long since been justified in the opinion of Clelius and Octavius. As for my brother (answered she) he has been generous to believe that you wounded him unawares, and to say, it did not belong to the son of Clelius to revenge an injury done to the Prince of Numidia. But, for my father, though he may be convinced, you did not wound my brother, he will not restore you to the place you held in his heart, as long as the King of Hetruria shall be Tarquin's Protector, and Rome's enemy. Not but that he speaks things which seem to have some contrariety; for if you should desert the party of the King your father, and come to side with Rome, he would think the action unworthy of you; and however, when you do all that you ought, he will account you unworthy of me; and to this effect, he speaks to me as often as occasion is presented. But what then must I do (answered Aronces) can I not be the Son of the King of Hetruria? Does it depend on me to cause him to take which side pleases me; Can I be suspected to love Tarquin, to hate so many illustrious Friends as I have at Rome, and not to prefer you above all things? Is it in my power to reverse the Laws and Reason, and to cause Virtue to permit me to bear Arms against the King my Father, and not to bear them against a Rival so courageous and redoubtable as Horatius. I beseech you, Madam, (continued he) consider well the state of my fortune, as I am going to represent it to you, and then pronounce absolutely upon it. I know you have a great mind, a heart very noble, and a soul extremely generous; and I will also believe that you love me as much as you can love, though in a degree infinitely below that in which I love you; therefore I engage myself confidently to do what ever you shall appoint me. But, I beseech you, have some consideration of my glory, as I should have of yours; and if you can find no means to reconcile my love and my honour, and to make me be both innocent and happy, I conjure you command me to die; for death shall be more sweet to me, than the cruel adventure of losing you, or committing a dishonourable action would be. Alas! my Lord, (replied Clelia) what do you desire of an unfortunate person? Would you have her counsel you against her own interests? By no means (answered Aronces) for I have none separated from yours; but I desire you would tell me positively what you would have me to do; and especially (added he) do not treat me as the Son of the King of Hetruria; remember the unknown Aronces, and believe you can do nothing more disobliging to me, than to speak as you did but now. I desire your pardon for it (said she to him) but since you will have me tell you what I think, first tell me how you came hither; for I believed you full a prisoner. Aronces then obeying Clelia, told her in few words, all that had befallen him since he last saw her, though she knew a good part of it before, He told her likewise of the visit he had received from the Queen his Mother, and the Princess of the Leontines, and of the proposition the Queen had made him to feign himself amorous of that Princess, that he might know whether Clelia, who had a scrupulous mind would not take it ill that he consented to it, though it was only to hinder the King of Ceres' Daughter from being propounded to him in marriage. He added, that, seeing himself in so unhappy a condition, without being able to resolve what he should do, he excited so much pity, in him that guarded him in the Castle whereinto he was put, that though he hazarded very much to satisfy him, he let him go forth one night upon his word, with an oath to return the third day, at the same hour. But how will your guards (said Clelia) not perceive that you are not in the Castle? By pretending that I am sick, (answered he) and that I am not willing to admit any person to see me. And the better to colour the pretence, there is a Slave lies in my bed; and another, who is privy to the business, makes show of waiting upon me, according to his ordinary custom; and besides he that commands those that guard me, is so much at the devotion of the Queen my Mother, who, he knows, embraces all my interests, that he hazards himself less in obliging me. But in brief, generous Clelia, the main importance is to consider, what I may, and what I ought to do. If I side with Rome, I am an unnatural Son, I ruin myself in the opinions of all persons of honour, and consequently in that of Clelius; I serve my Rival, I defend his life, and fight for his party; but yet I am near you, I see you daily, and dispute the possession of your heart against the merits of my enemies. On the other side, if I serve the King my Father, I do that which virtue and honour obliges me to, and I see myself with my sword in hand against Horatius; but withal I serve Tarquin and Sextus, whom I hate in perfection, I am an enemy to Clelius and Octavius, my dearest Friends, Virtue, Rome, and to all that is dearest to me; and which is most cruel, I am absent from you, I abandon you in a manner to my Rival, and I have only your constancy to put an obstacle to his happiness. Thus, on which side soever I consider my condition, I am always the most miserable of men. There might be a third course propounded to me; but as for that, Madam, I confess to you, I cannot embrace it, and that it is not possible for me to resolve to continue in prison, without taking one side; and poorly to expect the end of the War, enclosed within four walls, without doing any thing but against myself and you, whilst Horatius is covering himself with glory, and forcing Clelia to recompense his services. This being so there are but two things to be examined; speak therefore, Madam, and pronounce absolutely what my destiny must be. If I were happy enough to see the King my Father, as equitable in his sentiments for you as the Queen my Mother, I should have other matters to propound to you; but although a King's Son, I have no assured retreat to offer you any where, though I where able to persuade you to follow my Fortune. And moreover you have so often told me, you can never render me happy, if Clelius consent not to it, that your virtue supports mine in this occasion. But after all, (added he, transported with the excess of his Love) Why do not we courageously abandon ourselves and the interests of Rome, and go to another end of the World, to seek a Sanctuary where we may live together? Our virtue would find us Protectors every where; and if your sentiments were like mine, we would be unhappy in no place, provided our Fortune were inseparable. I beseech you, (answered Clelia, discreetly) let us not amuse ourselves to speak of a matter, whereof we ought not to think, and which we shall never do. Consider then the two proposals I have made you, (replied he) and then tell the unhappy Aronces what you please shall become of him. You know so well (answered Clelia) that I will never counsel you to do any thing you may be reproached for, and which may be prejudicial to you, that you might spare me the grief of telling you myself, that you ought to follow that which reason directs you to; what that is, would be something difficult for me to tell you; and all that I can do, is to conjure you, that when you are in the War, you will remember my Father and my Brother may possibly be amongst the enemies you fight against, that you may avoid meeting them with your sword in your hand; for if by ill Fate you should wound either of them two, you know I eannot without a crime retain any kindness longer for you. Think upon this my dear Aronces, and be generous enough to serve the cruel Tarquin and unjust Sextus with regret; but above all things (added she blushing) when you feign love to the Princess of Leontines, who I am told is very aimable, defend your heart against her charms, and remember whilst you are with her, there is an unfortunate person at Rome, who will treat Horatius ill for your sake, and who is like to be ill treated herself, because she will persist faithful to you. Ah! Madam, (cried Aronces) can you think me capable of such a weakness as this? No, (answered Clelia) but I can fear it, though I cannot believe it. That distinction is very nice, (replied he) for people use not to fear except that which they can believe, and no person ever much apprehended impossible things. Do not fear therefore, Madam, that I can ever cease to love you, for you shall be always my first and last Mistress; and there is only glory alone that has any share of my heart with you, though I am persuaded I should love it much less than I do, If I loved not you. Live then with satisfaction in this respect, and suffer me to fear with more reason, that whilst I shall act by constraint as an enemy of Rome, the love of your Country may destroy a love so just and innocent as mine in your heart, and that whilst I am fight against Horatius, as a redoubtable Rival, he do not get the advantage of me in your affection. He will see you every day, you will hear nothing but vows made against me, all will be dissembled that makes for my advantage, and you will hear no good spoken of the unhappy Aronces, but what you shall speak to yourself in secret. On the contrary, all the actions of the Romans shall be embellished and extolled, and especially those of my Rival; so that by degrees it may come to pass, that you may change your sentiments, and I shall be left to die with despair. No, no, my dear Aronces, (answered Clelia) do not fear, I will be ever guilty of any inconstancy towards you; or at least do not fear I can ever be capable of loving, after I have loved you. But that which afflicts me, is, that I cannot make vows for your party, but shall be enforced to make such as are contrary to it; and I doubt also whether strict virtue will permit me to make any for you in particular. However, I am resolved I will (added she without giving him leisure to interrupt her) and at the same time that I pray to the Gods Rome may gain the victory, I will beseech them to preserve you, and hinder you from hurting all the persons which ought to be dear to me; and thus accommodating my innocence and my affection the best I can, I shall no doubt lead the unhappiest life in the World. But there is remedy; for as I should not forsake the interest of my Father for your sake, so I will not oblige you to abandon those of yours for mine: Besides, as I told you, it would be no advantage to you with Clelius. Go then my dear Aronces; let us at least have nothing to reproach ourselves for; perhaps our Patience will weary our bad Fortune, and oblige the Gods to render us happy. For when I reflect that it is possible for you to be discovered, and that if the Consul Horatius knew you were here, you would be arrested the next moment, my mind is extremely inquieted. The King of Hetruria would think that you caused yourself to be arrested, my Father perhaps, would accuse me of having consented to to it, and indeed you would not be very happy to be a prisoner, in a place where I should no more see you, than if you were in the enemy's Camp, where you would be prejudiced in all respects, where you would perhaps at last depend on your enemies, and whence you would not be released till the end of the War. Therefore 'tis better for you to be in a place, where you may serve my Father, my Brother, and your Friends, if they happen to become Prisoners to your side, and from whence perhaps I may also sometimes receive tidings from you. You have then absolutely dotermined what my destiny must be (replied Aronces). I have not, (answered Clelia) but being I can never desire any thing that is unjust, I submit my will to reason, and content myself to beseech you to love me for ever, and to believe, that I shall be so faithful to you, that in case you should prove inconstant, I should never love any person after. Be confident, Madam (replied Aronces), you shall never have occasion to testify that kind of fidelity: but if you do not promise me (added he) to be as fully assured of my constancy as I will be of yours, I think, I shall not be able to return; but without considering the particulars of my destiny, I will go find out Clelius. And withal (added he) I will undeceive him of the opinion he has of my wounding Octavius. It shall suffice (answered Clelia) that the Prince Artemidorus will take care to justify you without your intermeddling in it yourself. In the mean time (added she) I think it fit to confide in Herminius, whose probity can never be suspected by those to whom he is known. 'Tis my intention, (replied Aronces): but before I see him, permit me, Madam, to bid you adieu here apart, since my hard Fate will not suffer me to continue with you; for the sentiments of an amorous heart ought not to be divided.  
Tell me then, Madam, that you will love me, that you will pity me, and that as soon as you can I shall be happy: and to assure you yet more of my fidelity, and take away all cause of doubting of it, know, that as often as you please, I will come, and give you an account of my actions, though I be put to enter Rome without a disguise; that as often as you please you shall make my arms fall out of my hands; and in a word, that you shall be always absolute Mistress of my destiny. But permit me also to hope that I shall have a share in all your thoughts, and that you can never be happy, till you have rendered me so. I promise you, (answered this fair person): but alas! (added she sighing) I fear we shall be always miserable, at least, I know I am not able to foresee by what means we shall ever become otherwise. Tarquin may die, (replied Aronces), the interests of the King my Father may change, I may perhaps bend his mind, peace may be concluded, Clelius may cease to be unjust, and Horatius may be constrained to relinquish that which does not belong to him: therefore it is to he hoped, that at length, by ways which are unknown to us, Heaven will render us happy. 'Tis requisite indeed (said Clelia) to take up a hope to ourselves, though upon ill grounds, to avoid despair: but to speak sincerely, Fear is the Mistress in my heart. Yet I will hide part of it, (continued she) and content myself to conjure you to preserve yourself for my sake. And now suffer me to call Valeria, Artimedorus, and Herminius, that you may depart; for though the sight of you causes all the sweetness of my life, yet I shall have no quiet, till I know you are returned into your prison, where at least your life is in safety. Alas! I beseech you, Madam, (answered Aronces) that I may speak only three or four words more to you, Speak them, (replied she) but speedily; for when once one has but three or four words to speak, 'tis almost as good to be silent. Alas! Madam (cried he) you know not what Love is, if you account three or four words nothing, since 'tis true, one favourable word affords a thousand and a thousand pleasures to remember it. Therefore give me some to keep in my memory, and to comfort me during an absence whose continuance is uncertain. Tell me then too, discreet person as you are, whether you love me? Alas! (answered Clelia) can you doubt of what I think, and can it be necessary to tell you that which has been proved to you by a thousand testimonies of dearness? If it be not absolutely necessary, (replied he, looking upon her with much love) yet it is perfectly delightful: tell me then positively that you love me, and that you will love me eternally, to the end I may have something to supply me with comfort in my greatest misfortunes. I tell you all that can comfort you (answered Clelia): but after this ask no more of me, for I have nothing but tears to give you. Clelia had no sooner ended these words, but she made a sign to Valeria, that she should oblige Artemidorus and Herminius to approach towards them; and accordingly having fastened the door of this little Garden, they drew altogether. Then Aronces made a thousand caresses to Herminius; for as for Artemidorus he had seen him the evening before, having first discovered and entrusted himself to him. Yet the discourse of these persons was not long, because Clelia was in such fear, least Aronces should be discovered, that she was not satisfied till he was withdrawn into the Gardener's house, where he had passed the preceding night. Nevertheless Aronces first told Artemidorus and Herminius the reasons which obliged him to serve the King his Father against Rome, he entreated them to disabuse Clelius of that opinion, that it was he that had wounded Octavius, he conjured them to serve him with their mediation to him, to speak always in his favour to Clelia, and to pity him, for being of a side, on which his heart was not, and not to love him less for it. It is so ordinary (answered Herminius) to see brave persons engaged to make war for unjust causes, that there is no intelligent person, but instead of blaming, will admire that which you do; and I am confident Clelius will esteem you more for continuing fixed to the interest of the King your Father, than it the love you bear to Clelia obliged you to come and side with Rome. For after you alone have caused us to gain the Battle, which put us in power to defend ourselves, it is easy to know that if honour permitted you, you would do that again for Rome which you have done against its enemies. Be therefore assured, that for my part, I shall promote your interests vigorously, and that it shall be no fault of mine, if justice be not rendered to your Virtue. After this, these two illustrious Friends parted, but Artemidorus continued with Aronces, till the beginning of night, when he was to go away. Yet this generous Lover took his leave a second time of Clelia, with more dearness and tenderness than before. Herminius would willingly have stayed with Aronces, as well as Artemidorus; but it was feared, that might cause it to be suspected, that there was some person hidden in the Garden; wherefore he went away with Clelia and Valeria, to rejoin with Cesonia and Plotinae, whom they beheld going out at the end of a walk, with an old man whom they did not know: who likewise took leave of them in that place, and went into the little Garden where Aronces and Artemidorus were. Well (said Herminius to Cesonia and Plotina) may I know your secret as well as I do that of Clelia and Valeria's. No question but you shall know it, (answered Plotina) for I have so great need of the generous Sevelia, that without her I should scarce know what to do with the secret which has been revealed to me. In the mean time (added she) since there is no person here in whom I may confide, I shall not scruple to say, that this secret is so important to me, that it has informed me I am not what I always took myself to be; for I believed I was born at Ardea, and I was not; I thought I was the Daughter of a man, who was only Friend to my late Mother, and I am quite another Person than what I imagined. Clelia hearing Plotina speak thus, could not contain, notwithstanding the other employment of of her thoughts, from ask her who she was. Alas! my dear Clelia, (answered she) perhaps you will know but too soon; however, I would tell you at this instant, but having been made to promise not to speak of it yet, I must be contented to tell you, that I am that, which I should never have believed I could be; and I conjure you to promise me, that when you know who I am, you will not love me for it less. I assure you (replied Clelia) that the friendship I have for you being founded upon your merit, though your birth should be less noble than I have believed it, I would not change the sentiment, I have for you. That which you say is very generous (said Cesonia) but 'tis not for that consideration Plotina fears you would love her less; for her birth is nobler than she believed, but however, I am confident she will not tell it you presently; for he that can unfold this riddle, is obliged to return this night to a prison whence he came forth, to expect till a great Princess deliver him from it; and after that he will come back to Rome, to inform you really who Plotina is. Nevertheless (added Cesonia, speaking to Clelia) continue to love her dearly; for though she says, she fears you should love her less, yet I must assure you that, on the contrary, you will think yourself obliged to love her more. After this these Ladies went into their Chariot, and Herminius returned on horseback. On the other side, night was no sooner come, but Aronces, and that old man, who so long entertained Cesonia and Plotina, returned to the prison from whence they came, for this man came along with Aronces to Rome. As for Clelia being she looked upon all secrecy as criminal, she told Sulspicia she had seen Aronces, and she told Octavius likewise, to the end to satisfy him that Aronces could not have been the Person that wounded him, and this prudent Lady so faithfully related to them all the generous sentiments of that iliustrious Prince, that they admired his virtue, and became confirmed in the resolution to serve him still with greater ardour. To which purpose they obliged Artemidorus to tell Clelius he had understood at Clusium, that when Aronces was arrested by Tarquin, his sword was taken way from him, so to evince him that Octavius received not his wound from his hand; adding that he wondered the truth was not conjectured, it being a general order to disarm all such as are put into prison: Whereby continued Artemidorus, it is easy for you to judge, that that sword you sometimes gave to Aronces, and which was drawn out of Octavius' body after the battle, was not in Aronces' hands when he was wounded by it; for when a prisoner escapes out of prison, it is not possible for him, to regain the sword which was taken from him. Besides that, I have been assured Tarquin gave that which was yours to one of his Officers. Tho Aronces were innocent of the wounding Octavius (interrupted Clelius) it should not much advantage him in my favour; for since he is the Son of Porsenna, who is Tarquin's Protector, and consequently Rome's enemy, there needs no more to make me hate him. Yet you do not hate Telanus and Mamilius (answered Artemidorus) though they be Veientines, and the State of Veii a declared enemy to that of Rome. Mamilius and Telanus (replied Clelius) are two particular persons, who in their hearts do not approve the actions of those that govern their City. But Aronces is an illustrious unfortunate person (answered Artemidorus) who resents with much regret, Porsenna's undertaking the protection of Tarquin. Whether that be so or no (replied Clelius), all that I can answer is, that I consider nothing more than the interest of my Country, that there is nothing I do not think myself obliged to sacrifice for it, and that rather than be ingrateful to it, I had rather be so to Aronces. Tho indeed having done as much for him, as he has for me, I do not look upon myself as liable to an accusation of ingratitude, though I should hate him as much as I have loved him. Artemidorus was desirous to pross him further, but perceiving no effect of his mediation, but a further exasperation of his disgust, he broke off his discourse. Two days after Publicola brought back the Army, for the reasons before mentioned; but though the pretence of his return was an intention to spare the blood of the people, to avoid giving battle again, and to cause the enemy's Army to perish before their Walls, if they should dare to march against them, yet his return caused a great commotion amongst the people. For the solicitousness of Publicola and the second Consul, in fortifying all the out-places of Rome, in redoubling the City guard, and commanding all the Corn which was about in the Country, to be brought in thither, and all the the moveables of private persons, who had houses in the Country, the people well understood, that they who were acquainted with the secrecy of affairs, certainly foresaw, that Rome would ere long be surrounded with a leaguer. Whereupon every one taking order for his particular subsistence, it was not possible for this to be done without some trouble and confusion. All the Streets of this spacious City were seen covered with chariots, horses, and with terrified and afflicted people. Some were driving flocks, others removing householdstuff, some were loaden with corn and fruits, whilst others not solieitous of their goods, only lead their Wives and children into a place of safety. There were some that gave out they had seen the forces appear, though it was not true; others lying after them, and increasing their untruth, related stories of the disorders those forces had committed. They named the Villages which they had burned, and told so many circumstances of violences committed by them, that they caused affrightment in all that heard them. The people thronging into the City, the Gates of it were not sufficient to receive all those conveniently, who endeavoured to retire into it; so that there was a great tumult in the ways, gates, and streets; all the Tradesmen desisted from their works, and only beheld all these several passages with extreme sadness. There was also so great a disposition in them to murmur, that there was no person who did not complain. The poor said they only should suffer during the siege, and the rich were very forward to engage in the war, because they knew well, that they should not undergo the inconveniences of it. They who inclined to Monarchy, said it was very incommodious to have so many Masters; Others, that all changes never brought any thing but mischief along with them; some others zealous for liberty quarrelled with these, and maintained it was better to devour one another for hunger, and set fire to their City, than ever to yield to Tarquin. Some said it was not the best course to expect to be besieged, but rather to draw all the Romans out, and go and meet the enemy; others, that they would defend their walls, their wives, their children, their household-gods: but did not think fit to go and give battle: and the wifer and more understanding sort of people, endeavouring to reprove the multitude for their precipitious fear, fell into fury themselves, because they could not satisfy the people. Upon which Publicola having assembled the Senate, it was resolved, the only way to bring the people into their duty was to flatter them. To which purpose several Ordinances favourable to the Commonalty were constituted; for they were dispensed with from contributing to the charge of the war; a reasonable rate was set upon such things as were necessary for subsistence; the public magazines were opened; they were assured of all things necessary, as abundantly as the rich; it was given out by persons appointed to that purpose, that the enemies were not so strong, as was believed; show was made of not fearing them; and the chief of the Senate made feasts out of policy, to intimate to the people, that they did not fear the wanting of any thing. So that as it is sometimes no less easy to appease a multitude than to move them, within two days all the Tradesmen betook themselves to their callings as before; all the people that came out of the circumjacent villages were disposed of in lodgings; and the false news changing the appearance of things, the same people who lately published other tidings so fatal and disadvantageous to Rome, now related a hundred contrary to Tarquin and Porsenna, which though they had no probability in them very often, yet there did not want some to believe them. In the mean time all these divers rumours hindered Clidamira and Berelisa, from finishing their journey to Praeneste, conceiving it better to remain still at Rome, though it were besieged, than to put themselves upon the way, at a time wherein there was yet no established permission, and every one was taken for an enemy; besides that Artemidorus being at Rome, they had no great business any where else. As for Anacreon he thought himself ●o well there, that he could not resolve to depart from thence so soon. Themistus believing he could not pass the time of his exile more nobly than in beholding so important an action as this, which fortune presented to him, resolved to continue there to that end; Meregines and his other friend did the same; Artemidorus and Zenocrates were not solicitous to go away, for several reasons; and Amilcar was then so strongly engaged to Rome, that he did not think he should ever leave it. Amongst these illustrious persons was still enjoyed part of the pleasures of peace, notwithstanding all the preparations for war. Yet the pretences for walking entertainments, were something relating to military affairs; for whereas formerly the Ladies were wont to make a walk to hear music, they now went to behold the forces mustered in the field of Mars, or see the pioners making fortifications in several places of the City. Amidst all these disturbances, Love did not cease to exercise his dominion. Nevertheless, Spurius perceived his affection did not so much proceed from the dearness he had for Valeria, as the hatred he bore to Herminius, Aemilius, and Mutius, who understanding himself not so dextrous as his Rivals, in all those little diligences which Love inspires people with, whose genius is naturally sprightly, took up a thought to surpas' them all in greatness of courage, and to exploit such extroardinary actions during the War, that Publicola should not dare to refuse Valeria to him, and his Rivals have no longer the boldness to pretend to her to his prejudice. As for Horatius, he had then more hope than ever before; Aronces was lost in Clelius' favour, himself was very powerful in Rome, his Rival was in the Party of the Enemies, and he pretended his services to the Republic should be so considerable, as that nothing could reasonably be refused at the end of the War. Octavius, as soon as he began to go abroad, went to visit Hermilia; and finding her still possessed with a sadness which something corresponded with his present humour, he was pleased no where so much as in her company. At this time it was known, that the Prince of Messene, instead of going to Rome, as it was believed, went and sided with the enemy's party, to be opposite to Themistus, who thereby found himself more engaged, to pass all the time of his exile at Rome, and serve that State during the War. As for Clelia, though the posture of her Fortune was very unhappy, yet she resented much consolation in having seen Aronces, and perceived in his eyes, she had all the reason in the World to hope he would be constant, and that all the obstacles ill fortune should obstruct their happiness with, would not change his sentiment. Plotina, after what she had understood from that old man who came with Artemidorus, was affected with a secret joy, which would have been perfectly sweet, if it had not been allayed with the impatience she had, because she could not discover it. But though this sometimes gave her occasion to muse, she was not much the more melancholy, but took all opportunities to delight herself. Amilcar being one day in her chamber, at the same time with Valeria, Berelisa, Clidamira, and Cesonia, there was occasion offered her to exercise her pleasant humour; for as it chanced Acrisius who talked too much, Sicinius who was too silent, and Damon who was of the Sect of Pythagoras, coming thither, Amilcar, and she, diverted themselves much to the disadvantage of these three Rivals, and especially of the last. While this company was speaking of several indifferent things, Anacreon and Herminius entered and said, they had newly learned some tidings which much affected them with compassion. Valeria demanded what they imported? whereupon, Herminius addressing to her, I understand (said he) the unfortunate Calianthus, who, as you know, desired permission to build a Tomb for his two Rivals, who were slain in the last Battle, is himself slain by a party of the enemies, in defending the Tomb which he caused to be built. So that of four Lovers, who contested together, there is none living but Melicrates. Since none could be happy but he, (answered Acrisius) it is as good that they are dead; for what is life good for, when that cannot be enjoyed which only is capable to render it delightful? Acrisius would have proceeded farther, if Plotina had suffered him to speak, but the better to silence him, she began to lament Calianthus, with much exaggeration; the other Ladies pitied him likewise, and Anacreon himself, as great a friend of joy as he was, testified his commiseration of his Fate. For my part (said Damon then, who always spoke according to the sentiments of Pythagoras) my soul is not so sensible of compassion towards those who die, as those who suffer any pain; for according to my apprehensions, such as die, only change their Country and condition, but do not cease to be, so that the continual change which all souls undergo, makes their sorrow unjust who afflict themselves so much for the death of those we know, if they be not absolutely necessary to our felicity. For my part, (said Plotina) I know not how you understand it; but if I were of your opinion, I should not be much comforted in dying, though I should know my Soul were to pass into the body of the most jolly Turtle in the World; and besides, were what you say true, people would have some remembrance of things they had known before. But I am well assured I remember nothing; and I believe too with sufficient certainty, that when I shall be dead, I shall no longer remember any thing which I speak at present. Your education (answered Damon) having been amongst such persons who were not instructed by the learned in the Doctrine of Pythagoras, it is no great wonder if you do not comprehend what I say. However, 'tis certain, there is nothing more consentaneous to reason than the opinion of that Philosopher in this point. For whereas the gods, who are Masters of the World, change nothing in their workmanship, but we see always the same Seas, the same Rivers, the same Mountains, that they have framed a certain number of Stars, which neither increases nor diminishes; it is easy to imagine that they have also created a certain number of Souls, which continually pass from one body to another, according to their pleasure. So that many times we bewail people, who are in a condition more happy than that which they have forsaken. But what serves this present happiness for, (said Plotina) since I remember a past felicity no longer, and I have reason to say, The things we remember no longer, are no longer ours. But; Madam, (replied he, shaking his head a little) it is not be imagined, there is none in the World remembers what has been formerly; for I have heard several Disciples of Pythagoras affirm, there are some, who remember the actions of a precedent life perfectly. But do you remember (said Acrisius) what you have been? I am not so as vain to profess it, (answered Damon gravely;) for this seldom happens, but to persons who are of so exquisite a temper, as that all the faculties of their Souls are in their utmost perfection, by reason that the Bodies which they animate, are so well disposed, that nothing impedes or disturbs their imagination, memory, or judgement. I must then ask all that are present (said Plotina) if they remember any thing. For my part (said Cesonia) I am very unlikely to remember what I was before my being what I am; for I scarce remember what I did yesterday. And I (said Anacreon) am so taken up with the present, that I cannot reflect upon what is past. To speak my thoughts (said Valeria), the future takes up my mind more than any thing else, so that 'tis no wonder if I remember nothing. I remember many past things (said Berelisa), but they are only such as I have seen with my own eyes. I am much like you in that (answered Clidamira), for I know many things which I shall not forget during my life, but they are not of the nature of those Damon speaks of. I confess (said Sicinius then smiling) I so little love to speak of that which befalls me, that though I should remember what I have been, before I became what I am, I think I should not declare it. For my part (said Acrisius) if I remembered any thing I should willingly tell it. I know not (said Herminius) whether it be the fault of my constitution, or of this Doctrine, but I remember nothing at all. Whilst the Company was discoursing thus, Amilcar appeared pensive and musing, and spoke not at all; upon which Plotina, not doubting but he was contriving some subtlety, asked him, whether he would not declare if he remembered what he had been before his last coming into the World. Amilcar, then returning from his feigned musing, answered ambiguously, and forced Plotina to command him to speak what he really thought. Sincerely (said he to her) you are a cruel person, to constrain me to be of the same opinion with one of my Rivals. How? (interrupted Plotina hastily, making show of being astonished) is it possible an African should be of the Sect of Pythagoras? 'Tis to no purpose to deny it, (answered he, with a tone something serious): I am not only charmed with his Doctrine, but convinced of it too by my own experience; and if I were at Metopontium or at Crotona, I should speak more freely of these matters than at Rome, where this opinion is not followed, though it be not generally condemned. At least, I know the memory of Pythagoras is in veneration here, and it is not unknown, that he was the wisest Philosopher that ever more that name, the most gentle and humane. For, to give the more weight to this discourse, (added he) it is sufficiently apparent, that he was truly persuaded of the transmigration of Souls out of some bodies into others; since this, no doubt, was the cause of forbidding the use of any sort of living Creatures for food. You have made a great secret of your opinion (replied Plotina, who understood he derided Damon) but to punish you for your dissimulation, tell us, in brief, whether you, who have so handsome a wit, so quick a fancy, so faithful a memory, and a constitution so perfect, have yet any remembrance of what you were, before you came to be Amilcar. 'Tis cortain (said Damon then) that truth constrains me to say, I neven knew any man so fit as he, to remember what he was before his last birth: for he is of that happy temper wherein the Soul is so disintangled from the combersomeness of the Senses, that she may seem to be able to unloosen herself from them, and act without them, whensoever she pleases. I beseech you my dear Rival, (answered Amilcar with seeming anger) let us not mock one another in so good Company, by publishing things which they will not believe. I engage myself to make you be believed by above half those that are present, (said Plotina pleasantly): therefore tell us whether you remember you were any thing, before you were the same Person which I see you. In the name of the gods (said Damon than speaking to Amilcar) if it has pleased destiny to make your birth so happy, as that you are one of the number of those, who have the pre-eminence to know what they have formerly been, speak it confidently, in the averment of a truth of highest importance, which perhaps you may convince some persons of, who may afterwards propagate it to all the most illustrious in Rome, Herminius observing, Damon's zeal for Pythagoras' Doctrine, made him liable to be abused, for the divertisement of the Company entreated Amilcar to declare, as the rest, all that his memory informed him of. Valeria did the like; Berelisa, Clidamira, and Cesonia added their requests; Acrisius importuned him to it; Acreon desired him to do it, and Sicinius made a consenting sign to him, to signify that his desires were the same with those of all the Company; after which Plotina commanding him to speak, he did so in this manner; I am going to obey you, Madam, (said he to her) but I beseech your favour, not to reveal that which I shall tell you, and withal oblige those who are present to keep fidelity to me; for 'tis no great pleasure to be shown in the Streets for a man, to whom extraordinary things has happened. Amilcar seemed so serious in these word, that Plotina was almost ready to believe that he spoke in earnest. But at length all the Company hiving promised not to promulgate what he should tell them, he studied for some time and, seeming wholly recollected in himself, spoke in these words, addressing his words to Plotina. When you shall have heard what I have to tell you, (said he) you will less wonder at the boldness I have in loving you; for I have not always been a Wit. 'Tis true my Soul has experimented a great variety of different Fortunes, and this very Spirit, which animates me, has passed through several bodies of no mutual resemblance. Moreover (added he, with a grave and imperious aspect) it must not be imagined that I speak without knowing what induces me to it; for though I may seem a person fitter to compose a jovial Sonnet, than to understand the whole doctrine of Pythagoras to the bottom, yet if I embraced it, I would clearly give you to understand the most obscure matters, and so unfold to you the necessity that there be eternally a prefixed number of Souls in the whole Universe, animating all the Bodies in it, that afterwards there would be no place left to doubt of all the doctrine of Pythagoras. For it being constantly true, (continued he, after having made all the appearances of one that has a good opinion of that which he speaks, and who nevertheless studies a little what he desires to express) that the principles of things consist in numbers, that proportion and Symmetry are found every where, and that the harmony which results from this exactness, is, that which maintains the World, it is easy to understand, that the number of Souls is not unequal. The order of the Universe is always equal; there is neither more nor less master in one age than in another; a Tree puts forth leaves in the Spring, those leaves falls at Autumn, and the Tree renders back to the Earth all it received from it, and if it be burnt, the ashes return to the same place with the leaves. People delight to make Watercourses to divide Rivers, and cause Fountains to spurt forth; yet there is not one drop of water less in all the Universe, in which is made a continual transmutation of all bodies. Since therefore matter is always equal, why should any imagine Souls not to be so too? The Stars are always in the same number, as Damon hath well observed; we see but one Moon and one Sun; and, were it not incongruous to make show of learning before Ladies, I should swear to you by the number of Four, which is the greatest oath of Pythagoras' Disciples, you would soon believe all that I do. For my part (said Plotina) I am already almost wholly disposed to believe you; but being I always love Examples more than Reasons, and the principles of things and numbers are otherwise beyond my understanding, I entreat you to imagine I believe there is a certain number of Souls which pass successfully into the Bodies of Men and Beasts; for I am ready to die with desire, to know what beast or Hero you have been. Ah! Madam, (cried Damon, who heartily wished Amilcar had convinced her of his opinion) persons that believe so easily, do as good as not believe at all. Sincerely (answered she) I am the most disposed to hear Amilcar, that possible can be. Permit me then to speak (replied he); for it is not more true that the number of Ten is the most perfect of all numbers, according to the doctrine of Pythagoras, than it is true that I die with desire to tell you all I remember I have been. Speak then (said Plotina) and do not fear being interrupted, unless it be to ask you some particularities, which I shall be desirous to know. Know then (answered he, with a very serious tone) that the most ancient thing I can call to remembrance, is my having been a great Priest in Egypt, a long time before the first of the Pyramids which are seen there, was built. But this I remember so confusedly, that there remains nothing of it in my mind, but the knowledge of Hieroglyphics, which, no doubt, I understand still sufficiently well, therefore I shall not detain you in speaking of it, having other things of more curiosity and divertisement to tell you. After I died in a Temple, my soul passed into the body of a young Prince, of a handsome, comely, and agreeable personage. But the strangest thing is, (continued he very seriously) that I cannot remember, what ever endeavour I make, in what Country I lived; I only know, that I lived in a Court of great splendour, that I had an amorous inclination, that I loved all pleasures of Converse, and could not endure solitude for so much as a quarter of an hour. I had also so great an inclination to all kind of Society, that I remember I promised above half a score of young Virgins to marry them, and I know not whether or no I did not marry two or three of them. Moreover I remember very well I loved flattery, and yet was not over-liberal in rewarding flatterers; that I easily enough forgot services that were done me, that I believed with an equal facility all the good that was spoken of me, and all the evil, that was told me of others, and was no very commendable friend. As for War I know not whether I loved it or no, but I know I died at no great age, and that never having had leisure to think of death, nor made any reflection upon it to compose my mind resolutely against it, I found myself much perplexed when I saw it at hand; and to say truth, entertained it after a very unkind manner. But afterwards I was strangely astonished, after having been in so good company, to find myself a Phoenix in Arabia, and the only one of my kind; for without doubt, you know, Madam, there is but one Phoenix in the World. Amilcar spoke this so seriously, that none of the company had the confidence to dare to laugh; and they constrained themselves the more willingly, to further the mockery of Damon. How (said Plotina then to him) were you a Phoenix? Yes, Madam, (answered he) and if I were a considerable wit, I would maintain that I am one again at present; and that after having been a Phoenix in Arabia, I am again the Phoenix of Lovers in Rome; but because I am in a serious discourse this day, I content myself to assure you that I was really a Phoenix, and that never any thing troubled me more. I was indeed very comely, and, when I beheld myself sometimes in a River, I took sufficient pleasure in the handsomeness of my shape; but being I was destitute of love, and could not be otherwise, my beauty was sufficiently unprofitable to me. If I should desire your picture (said Plotina) now you are Amilcar, I think it would not be seemly; but I conceive there is no great danger in entreating you to give me your portraiture as a Phoenix. Since you command me (answered Amilcar) I will tell you that the Phoenix is as big as an Eagle, that the Feathers of his body and wings are half carnation, and half of the colour of gold; that his tail is of the most excellent blue that ever was seen, and his neck like a Rainbow, that he has a thick and large tuft upon his head of lively and well mingled colours, piercing eyes, and feet resembling sprays of Coral. This is, Madam, the shape of a Phoenix, and such was I at that time: however I was extremely melancholy, though I thought myself very handsome, and was in a delightful country; for there is a certain place in Arabia the Happy, where all Trees, Flowers and Herbs, have an odoriferous smell, where Incense is found in abundance, and where I perched myself when I pleased upon the Cinnamon Trees. Thus a thousand agreeable odours persuming the air, and a thousand handsome objects offering themselves to my eyes from all parts, it may be thought I could not be otherwise than happy. But to speak truth, it being always impossible to be so without love, I was sufficiently miserable. For every year in the Spring, I with envy beheld Nightingales singing and making love. It was in vain for me to seek for any company; I found myself always alone; other birds went together sometimes by troops, whilst I remained alone with my beauty in an enforced solitude, which was insupportable to me. But were you not happy (said Plotina) in not being subject either to love or jealousy, in being free from the trouble of building a nest like other birds, in being always the goodliest bird in the World, and consequently not envious of others? Alas! Madam, (answered he) I accounted it better to be envious than discontented, as the Phoenix is. Wherefore ever since (added he) I have always had very great compassion of those fair women, whom jealous husbands leave in deserts in the Country, where they see nothing they can love, and where solitude is not voluntary to them; for there is nothing so ungrateful, as to be constrained to be alone, when one desires to be in company. And I can assure you, that when I had lived 160 years, which is the ordinary life of a Phoenix, I was infinitely joyful that I was obliged to build my funeral pile, which I did with all possible expedition, with Incense, cinnamon, and other aromatical woods, in the season the Sun is hottest. After which, putting myself upon it after a faint manner, I fell asleep through tediousness of my long solitude. During my sleep, I expired with weakness, the Sun fired the pile which I had made, and reducd me into ashes, to leave something, out of which my successor might arise. Moreover, I remember very distinctly, that my last thoughts, while a Phoenix, were extremely melancholy, for having spent so long a life without loving any thing; for when I called to mind, that I had a hundred and sixty Springs, seen all the birds of my lovely desert making love to one another, I was infinitely discontented; and therefore (continued he) if there be any in the company, who, to their unhappiness, have made a resolution not to love any thing, let them hasten to change it; for there is nothing more tormenting at the hour of death than the affliction of having not been able to love or be beloved. I assure you (said Valeria) I believe it is very troublesome too, to call to mind an unsuccessful or impertinent love. However it be (said Damon, who was unwilling Amilcar should be interrupted) suffer the relation to be finished, which has been so delightfully begun; for though Amilcar always mingles some raillery in what he speaks, yet credit aught to be given to his words, since all the company knows 'tis his custom never to speak altogether seriously of the most serious things. You have reason (answered Plotina) therefore I desire Amilcar to continue his relation. After I had ceased being a Phoenix (said Amilcar) I changed my fortune and shape very much; for I became one of the most ugly men in the World, but in requiral one of the most valiant; for I loved nothing so much as war, which I followed continually; not but that my heart was in some sort sensible of love, though it was a kind of soldierlike Love, which does not cause much sighing, but has something of freedom and jollity in it, but seldom any great matter of courtship; and therefore I took more pleasure in relating a handsome field wherein I had fought, a siege I had been present at, or a particular combat of my own, than in entertaining myself with the favours of my mistress. But perhaps (interrupted Plotina smiling) it was because you had not any great matter to say upon that subject; at least I know if any loved me after the military manner you have represented to me, it should be easy to reckon the favours I would do him. All women (answered Herminius) are not of your humour; for, some fancy those resolute gallants with fierce countenances, who speak with boldness, and have killed men, more than polite and civiler persons, who comport themselves with respect and tenderness. No doubt, Herminius has reason (replied Amilcar) for I was not very ill treated, and my stoutness caused me to obtain as many favours, as my wit and courtship. 'Tis true, I did not care over much for them; and I remember one thing which makes good what I say: One day I lost a picture which I had of my mistress, as I was fight with a man, who had set upon me at an advantage, and I was much more joyful for having taken his sword from him, than troubled for having lost the picture. Indeed when a fancy takes a man to pass for one of greater courage than others, I assure you he is sufficiently employed; for he is possessed with envy, jealousy, and ambition all at a time; danger is sought with eagerness (though to speak sincerely, 'tis never delightful;) he always desires to go beyond the rest, and is altogether uncapable of quiet. Then, 'tis sufficiently troublesome to be sometimes wounded, and sometimes a prisoner; for the Kings and Princes, for whose service you hazard or lose your lives, take little care of you. However, since 'tis the mode, it ought to be followed and I followed it so well, that I was but twenty nine years old when I was slain. 'Tis true, I had served in fourteen companies with sufficient honour to be content with life, were it not that it is always sufficiently difficult to resolve to die. But afterwards (added he, not giving leisure to any to interrupt him) my adventure was strange enough; for after having shown much bravery, the gods to punish me for being guilty of too much vanity in that respect, were pleased the same soul which in another body had been so stout and hardy, should animate that of one of the most pusillanimous men in the world. At first I was not very sorry for it; for I confess to you, I was a little weary with the tumultuous life which I had led, and those former impressions not being yet wholly blotted out, I imagined that choosing a kind of calm life I might spend my days with sufficient sweetness. But, alas! I was deceived, for as soon as it was perceived I was one of no courage, I was exposed to a hundred thousand troublesome occasions, and I assure you the people of the world who suffer most, are they who have the unhappiness to be cowards. For I dare maintain, it is a thousand times more pain to be void of valour, than to be too courageous; for a man who is valiant resolves upon death without fear at the beginning of the fight; whereas a poor wretch who is not, fears it in places where it is not to be met with. For my part, whilst I was a coward, I feared both my friends and my enemies; when I was forced to go to the war, and shame engaged me to be present in any encounter, the torment I suffered was above imagination. Example did not animate me, the noise of arrows elashing together made my heart quake; I was always prepared for a retreat, and always observed to be last at the battle, and the for most in the flight. I went whither I was unwilling to go, I did not go where I desired to be; I was possessed with fear and shame: and amidst all this, with a sottish pride, which caused me to do things of which I repented a moment after. But that which afflicted me most, was, that though at my return from the war, I spoke as if I had been courageous, yet I knew it was understood well enough that I was not. Therefore I say once again, there is nothing more painful than to want courage; and a brave person that engages in a hundred thousand dangers, suffers much less than a man who continually fear things which are not to be feared. Now therefore (said Damon) can what Amilcar says be doubted of? for could he invent an adventure of this nature, were it not truth that forces him to speak? Damon pronounced these words after a manner which surprised all the company; indeed he was a person not absolutely without wit; but when a man is once capable to give himself up to believe a difficult & extroardinary thing, he maintains it more obstinately than if it were easy to be believed, and is so prepossessed with it, that he is easily persuaded of any thing that may serve to authorise it. Thus the poor Damon, not perceiving that his Rival made sport with him, conjured him that he would proceed. Cesonia and Valeria did the same; Anacreon, Herminius, Acrisius, and Sicinius, pressed him to it; so that resuming his discourse, I assure you, (said he) that Life, which they say is a thing very precious, is notwithstanding more painful than 'tis thought to be. For though I remember every thing that I have been, yet I do not remember I was ever perfectly happy. Nevertheless, I was not altogether miserable after having been so fearful; for I was destined to become a Swan; I had also the good hap to be in one of the goodliest Lakes that ever I beheld, and to feed very frequently from the fairest hands in the world; for the place I was in, belonged to a very beautiful person who loved me extremely. But at length it behoved me to sing in order to my death; on which occasion I found, that, though they say the singing of Swans is very agreeable, it is so troublesome to the singers, that I was extremely willing to change my shape. I repented me soon after that wish; for, the gods, to punish me for being dissatisfied with my condition, when I was one of the fairest Swans that ever was in the world, made me a bad Poet. This was a state of great misery to me; not but that I accounted all that I composed, very good, and admired myself for it; but always some adventure happened, which made me know I was my own sole admirer. I bethought myself one day unhappily, to go show some Verses I had made in a great Company, without declaring myself to be the Author, hoping thereby to be commended the more. But I repented myself of it extremely; for there was no person but judged them bad, and made a mockery of them. But that which afflicted me yet more, was, that I defended them in such a manner, as gave those who derided them, to understand that I made them; upon which, beginning to moderate what they had said, they wholly cast me into despair. Not but that I believed they judged badly of my Verses; but this did not hinder me from being possessed with infinite indignation. I looked upon the Age I lived in as ignorant, that people did not judge but according to their capricious humour or favour, that I deserved better than they who were commended above me; and at length I died in the error I had lived in, that is, I always believed my Verses were good, though I remember well at this day, they were extreme bad. But for that I had always devoured myself, the decree of fate was, that I should become a Pelican, which notwithstanding, is a Bird sufficiently rare, and of which kind, there are not many more than of that of the Phoenix: but at last dying to give life to my little Pelicans, which were very sprightly, my Soul was sent to Sparta, to animate the body of a young Lacedaemonian, who was the most dexterous Thief that ever lived. There I robbed so cunningly, that one day a young and fair person, confessed to me, I had stolen her heart above six months before she perceived it. How? Amilcar, (cried Plotina, who only took an occasion to laugh) you put me in great fear, and I should be circumvented, if you should have taken my heart without my knowing any thing of it. As for that point, (answered Damon coldly) 'tis apparent, Amilcar is pleased to add an agreeable Fiction to Truth, though he would do better to speak a little more seriously of a matter of such importance I will do what you desire, (replied Amilcar, without being moved) and tell you that after this I became a jealous Husband; then, a jealous Mistress; shortly after, a jealous Lover, a jealous Wife, a jealous Friend, jealous without cause and reason; and, in brief, experienced jealousy in so many manners, that I may say, I was for several Ages extremely miserable. But that which is remarkable, (continued Amilcar) is, that I never was an old man, and therefore I am desirous, out of curiosity only to become so once. I believe it, (answered Plotina smiling) but not to let slip the occasion of contenting my curiosity, since you have made trial of jealousy of all sorts that can be, tell us a little, whether a jealous Wife be tormented more than a jealous Husband? No doubt she is, (answered Amilcar) for the passions of Women when they love being more violent, it is easy to judge, that their jealousy is more tormenting to them than that of Men; besides, having not so much liberty to act in order to clearing their suspicions, nor so much power to be revenged, they must needs suffer far more. For my part, (said Anacreon) I would ask of you whether the jealousy of a Husband be more troublesome than that of a Lover? That of a Husband (answered Anacreon) is more troublesome for the Wife, than that of a Lover is for his Mistress: but as for him that suffers, I assure you, that according to the experience I have made of it, it is more incommodious to be a jealous Husband, than to be a jealous Lover. For my part, (said Herminius) I conceive, that instead of enquiring of Amilcar, those different degrees of jealousy, it were better he told us what jealousy is; for after having tried it so much, methinks he should better understand it than we do. Herminius has reason, (said Damon) for by so many several effects as Amilcar has seen of jealousy, he may have discovered its true cause and nature. I assure you, (answered he) jealousy is a thing harder to be known than is believed; and when I consider all my several jealousies, I find myself sufficiently perplexed, to tell you what I conceive of that passion. Yet 'tis certainly a very powerful one, and more powerful than Love; since it sometimes extinguishes it. But that which is constantly true, is, that as a stone does more or less mischief proportionably to the strength or weakness of the arm that flings it; so jealousy is greater or less, according to the measure of Love, from whence it arises. But yet I desire to know, (said Anacreon) whether jealousy arises from the greatness of Love, or from the distrust one has of himself, or of the person loved? Why one cannot love vehemently without being a little jealous? and why it is necessary that the greatest punishment of life, should be inseparably conjoined with the greatest pleasure in the World? The reason is, (answered Amilcar) because Love is nothing but a desire, desires are scarce ever without fear, and fear in Love not without jealousy. For as of necessity Love must precede jealousy, so of necessity likewise jealousy, must be preceded by fear. For, were it not feared a woman might prove unfaithful, no person would ever be jealous; if it were not feared a Rival might be loved, none would be possessed with jealousy; so that it may be said, if there were no fear, there would be no jealousy; if nothing were feared, there would be no desires; and if no desires, no Love. But because people desire, therefore they love; because they love, they fear; and because they fear, they are jealous: So that to determine the original of jealousy, it must be held to be the daughter of desire and fear, and because one cannot love without desire and fear, it is almost an impossibility to love long without jealousy. Your discourse is extremely rational, (answered Damon), but yet it would be better to proceed, to inform us; what you have been in latter times. Of a jealous Husband, (said Amilcar) I became a Tiger in Lybia, a Shepherd in Arcadia, a Carver at Corinth, a Peacock in Sicily, a Painter at Athens, a Musician in Lydia, and an Owl at Praeneste. But for that the relation of my adventures while an Owl, would not afford you much Pleasure, I shall content myself, to tell you only what I was before I was Amilcar. I beseech you tell us that presently, (said Plotina). I was Servius Tullus, (answered he, with a strange confidence). How? (said Plotina, with a feigned astonishment) were you a King of Rome? Yes (answered he) and therefore it was I told you, in the beginning of my discourse, you would no longer wonder at my boldness in loving you, after you knew all that I have been; and this is the reason also that I hate Tarquin so much, and have ligned myself to the service of Rome. For they who have any remembrance left of their several changes, have also some inclinations, in their present condition, correspondent to what they have been; and therefore you ought not wonder that I love Rome, although I am an African. No, (replied Plotina maliciously); for Rome is sufficiently lovely of herself, to attract your affection: but I wonder very much at your so exact remembrance of so many things, and at my own remembering nothing at all. For, as for my part, I declare to you, I do not remember I was ever any other than Plotina. But perhaps (answered Amilcar similing) it is, because you have not considered on it; for certainly it is not without the strength of deep reflection, that I have been able to recount to you all I have done. Amilcar spoke this with a certain air, beholding Plotina, which suddenly signified to Damon, that this Rival had made pastime of his opinions, and feigned these stories to divert the Company. For my part, (said Acrisius then, who sought occasion only to speak) I will endeavour to recite all the changes Amilcar remembers of himself. Do not give yourself the trouble, (answered Damon rising up) for I am assured that though it be true that Amilcar remembers what he has been, when I am gone, he will say, his intention was only to make pastime, and divert you with pleasant mockery; but whatever he says, it is cetain, the opinion of Pythagoras is that alone, which can be followed with reason. Damon spoke this with something a sharp tone of his voice, which signified, that he at length perceived Amilcar only to deride his belief. Plotina therefore was offering to say something to to pacify him, but he went away, and would not continue longer. 'Tis true, he afforded great pleasure to the Company, and especially to Plotina, who had an extreme desire to laugh in liberty at Amilcar's confidence, in relating all those odd changes. For my part, (said she) I cannot understand how a man otherwise endued with reason, can be capable to believe things so extravagant. I am not of your mind, (said Anacreon) for I never wondered at any thing, and less at these kind of things than others; because there is never any prepossession of mind so strong, as that which has some appearance of Religion and Piety. For the morality of Phythagoras, having pleased Damon, because it was full of humanity and sweetness, he afterwards submitted his mind, to believe all that has been taught by a Man, whose Virtue charmed him. For as we more easily believe what our Friends tell us, than what we learn from our Enemies, or people who are indifferent to us; so it often times falls out in the reading of Books. Men take an affection to the opinions of some persons, in certain matters; and when their affection is so settled, they are afterwards capable to believe all that he says, upon his word, and in the mean time, thinks they are persuaded to do so by their own reason. But in brief (interrupted Plotina) should the best of my Friends tell me, 'Tis further from the top of the Capitol to the bank of Tiber, than from the bank of Tiber to the top of the Capitol, I should not believe him; because my reason would inform me otherwise. As often as any one goes about to tell things contrary to a truth known to all the World: (replied Anacreon), you will not be persuaded to believe them; but when a person for whom you have a very great esteem, endeavours to persuade you to follow his opinion blindly, no question, it must be some thing of that kind, which no person can ever know perfectly, unless the gods reveal it to him, and which cannot be judged of but by conjectures; the testimonies are so frequently dubious, that they sometimes occasion great errors in the world. Which being so, it is not to be wondered, if a person who by his own reason cannot penetrate into the truth, gives credit to a man whom he otherwise infinitely esteems, and believes him to have discovered what he is unable to do, blindly embracing his sentiments upon a false conceit of being induced to do so by a thousand reasons. Therefore they are to be excused, who are not of our sentiments; for the belief we have of things supernatural, does not depend absolutely of ourselves, If I were an Aethiopian, I should not believe that which I now do; if Amilcar were a Roman, he would have other sentiments; if Herminius were a Greek, he would have opinions which now he has not, although the Greeks and Romans agree in several matters. Wherefore, I think, I have reason to say, 'tis injustice to accuse those of folly, who endeavour to defend the opinions of their Forefathers, and their Country; and that their unhappiness is justly to be pitied, in being educated with a prejudiced reason, which hinders them from discerning the truth; and it is charity to pray the gods to enlighten them. Let us therefore pity the poor Damon, (answered Plotina) for he his really worthy of pity for believing Amilcar was a Phoenix. After this, the Subject of the conversation being changed, they discoursed of a thousand delightful matters, till Artemidorus coming thither, informed the Company, intelligence was brought that the Siege of Rome was resolved upon by Porsenna and Tarquin, and that in a few days they must look to see the enemy's Army about the walls. This news changed the discourse and obliged this noble company to retire. Three days after, there was a magnificent Ceremony in Rome; for, the Chief Vestal being dead suddenly, she that was to succeed her, and to whom she had voluntarily a little time before resigned all authority, was put in possession of it, by the Chief of that Order, in presence of the Senate, and all the people. The deceased Vestal being Sister to Clelius. Clidamira and Berelisa, thought ●●t to go and comfort Sulspitia and Clelia; but Valeria withheld them, telling them, that when a Vestal dies, after having satisfied all the engagements she was obliged to, it would be an injury in her Relations, to be afflicted for her death, there being nothing so glorious, as to have passed her life in keeping the sacred Fire, without having ever committed the least fault. And moreover (added Valeria) those two persons are at present sufficiently employed in conjecturing what the great Vestal intended to say at her death; for finding herself not well, she gave charge to one to desire Clelius to take care of Plotina, and to tell him she was the Daughter— She would have said something more, but Death intercepted her speech: so that none can devise what to think of this adventure. In the mean time, great rejoicing was made at Rome by the People, when they understood, she that was going to be chief of the Vestals, was worthy of the honour she was to possess. Since we are Strangers here (answered Berelisa) I shall be glad you would please to make me know that person before I see the ceremony, which is to be solemnised this day, for according to the sentiments I have at present, if it were permitted to become a Vestal at the age I am of, and a Stranger might be one, I should gladly embrace that retirement. But since it is not I must be contented to be one of the friends of the Chief Vestal. And indeed Berelisa, whose jealousy daily increased, being weary of residing all her life with Clidamira, had a desire to obtain the friendship of the grand Vestal, to the end that she might make use of her power in Rome, in case she should stand in need of it: wherefore pressing Valeria to describe her to her, and Clidamira not opposing her curiosity, Valeria satisfied her in the following words.  
The prudent Octavia (for so is the Chief Vestal called) is so worthy of the rank she is going to possess, that since the first Original of that Order, there never was any whose birth was more illustrious, and virtue more glorious. For she is of a descent so noble, that none is more, whether you consider her Father's Family or that of her Mother, whose beauty was so admirable, that they who have seen, affirm the splendour of Lucretia's was in-inferior to hers. She had also this extraordinary advantage, that time had respect to her beauty; for though she was not young when she died, yet she then went beyond all other fair ones. She had likewise the glory, not only to die with all her charms, but also to behold Death with so great Constancy, that she seemed to triumph over it, though she was constrained to yield to it; such admirable courage did she testify in that fatal encounter. But to return to the virtuous Octavia. You must know she was shut up in the Cloister of the Vestals, when she was but seven years old, and being of a race to which beauty seems necessarily appendent, she was then the fairest Child in the World, and is yet at this day so fair, so lovely, and of so good and charming an aspect, that it is easy to conceive the truth of what I say. Octavia is tall, has much modesty in her countenance, and goodness in her looks, a thousand charms in her mouth, spirit and sweetness in her eyes, and sometimes cheerfulness too, though she has the most prudent aspect in the World, and is really one of the wisest persons upon the face of the Earth. Octavia has a clear complexion, a round visage, little dimples in her cheeks and chin, blue eyes admirably handsome, and a certain air of freedom, goodness, and modesty, which is perfectly pleasing. Yet that modesty of hers has something of greatness in it and does not detract from a certain noble aspect, which is peculiar to those of her Family. She has a young Sister, who has been brought up with her, and tenderly loves her, who is one of the fairest persons in the World; whose beauty has all that can aspire respect; for she is tall and of a handsome shape, her hair is of a light ash-colour, her complexion is the fairest that ever was beheld, she blushes after the most charming manner that ever any person did, she has extreme lovely eyes, of a kind of blue, which renders them so sweet, that never was there more agreeable looks than hers. Yet the casts of her eyes are negligent, but so full of Love, that they inspire it to all such as are capable of it. Another wonder of the fair Cerintha is, that her whole Countenance is so graceful, her mouth so handsomely shaped, her lips of so pure a carnation, and her smiles so charming, that nothing can possibly be fancied of greater perfection. Moreover her neck is so comely, that 'tis hard to know to what part to give the pre-eminence; but with so many perfections, which might excite her to pride, Cerintha is modest; she makes no account of her beauty, she passionately loves glory, and begins to see the World with as much prudence, as if she had had the leisure to know it. It may be said her virtue surpasses her beauty, and that she will get as much esteem by her wisdom, as she will excite love by the charms she is Mistress of. But to return to Octavia, though she has been shut up amongst the Vestal Virgins in her tenderest intancy, and be now of an age, in which it cannot be said she has had leisure to have much experience, yet she has a wit of excellent capacity, a Soul confirmed in virtue by a thousand reflections upon the condition she has chosen, which she admirably acquits herself of. For though Octavia be naturally sufficiently debonair, yet she has been always one of the most exact persons in the World to do her duty; and since the first being of Vestals, there never was any so careful and so punctual in observing all things which her profession requires. Whilst she was in the age of obedience, she obeyed with submission; when she came to command, she commanded with an authority that makes her be feared, and nevertheless makes her be beloved too, even by those that fear her. She vigorously maintains the privileges of the Vestals, and gently remits her severity in favour of her Companions upon several small inconsiderable occasions, when nothing is concerned but her own interest. Order is admirably observed in that Society, the Temple is well served, modesty is eminent in all her deportment; there is constancy and sweetness, justice and mildness in her mind. Moreover Octavia speaks excellently well of all things, without affecting a certain capacity which reasonable persons cannot endure; and when any occasion is presented for her to speak to the other Vestals, to exhort them to their duties, she does it with so much eloquence, that they as much admire her wit as they love her person. 'Tis also very considerable, that though Octavia is a very fit person for the World, yet she continues most strictly confined within the bounds of her profession, and which is yet more strange, all her sentiments are heroical; she considers matters very scrupulously, she speaks and writes exactly, and, which renders her infinitely lovely, understands all the dearness of true firiendship, and prudently chooses such as she makes happy with her own. She has also the good fortune that the other Vestals are worthy to be with her, especially three, who are all extremely amiable; but there is one amongst the rest, who has a great interest in her heart, and that deservedly: for she is a very rare person, of a graceful and lovely aspect; her birth is very noble, her heart is generous and tender, she is infinitely ingenious, her humour is sweet and complacent, and with all this she has the true aspect of a sincere honest person, and a tender, and a constant friendship for the admirable Octavia, who cannot be commended after all the manners she deserves, because she will not suffer herself to be commended with exaggeration. Yet it must be said further to her honour, that she loves glory passionately, that nothing affects her so sensibly, and when any thinks to commend her before the other Vestals, they say half of the rare qualities she possesses, and the charms which render her so admirable are not known. Do me then the favour which I infinitely desire (replied Berelisa) to bring me into the affection of the grand Vestal; you are so accustomed (answered Clidamira tauntingly) to make yourself beloved by whom you please, that, if you have the desire, you need only seek out an occasion to make yourself known. You seem to speak obligingly (replied Berelisa) but yet I assure you, I understand you as I ought.  
After this Valeria having told them it was time to go to the Temple, if they intended to see the Ceremony, these fair Strangers accompanied her thither. Where being well placed they saw Valeria had not flattered the grand Vestal, and that she was fairer than she had described her. She performed this Ceremony with so much Majesty and so good a grace, that she charmed all those that heheld her. Berelisa in particular looking upon her as a person from whom she expected to be protected, was engaged to love her from that very moment. Clelia having lost her Predecessor was considering to gain her affection, to the end she might make use of her authority if she should need it; for the Vestals have a great interest in Rome. Plotina also hoping to know more fully by Octavia what her deceased Predecessor had spoken concerning her at her death, was solicitous of getting a place in her affection: Thus these several persons for different reasons purposed to acquire the friendship of the grand Vestal, who at the end of the Ceremony continued alone standing by the holy Fire, to show an example to all the other Vestals. The next day a rumour was spread abroad that the enemy's Army was upon their march with all speed. This news indeed was true; for the King of Hetruria, understanding the preparations that were making for the defence of Rome, thought fit to give no leisure to fortify it more; and therefore hastened his design. And besides Tarquin himself pressed him him foe assiduously when he was arrived at Clusium, that he gave him no rest. 'Tis true Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines did all they could to protract matters in length; but being unwilling to become suspected, they dared not employ all their credit to that end. So that they could not much retard the execution of that grand design; but for that they desired at least Aronces might be free, they performed their promise made to that illustrious Prisoner, and persuaded Porsenna it was fit he should be brought out of prison on condition to serve in the Army intended for the siege of Rome; and told him, during that time, they would incline him to embrace the propounded marriage of the Princess of Cere, who was reported to be a great beauty. Galerita having promised in the name of Aronces, more than Aronces would have promised himself, Porsenna sent order to him who commanded in the Island of Saules to bring Aronces forthwith for Clusium. But when he received this order, the Prince was not yet returned from that secret voyage, which he made to Rome, accompanied with the old man who informed Plotina of so many things; so that this man was in a strange perplexity. At first he told him that brought it, the Prince was sick and not to be seen, and that a little time ought to be waited for his recovery, to carry him to Clusium. But though he set a good face on the business he was in extreme trouble, Which nevertheless did not torment him long; for towards midnight Aronces according to his promise returned into the Prison, to go forth again the next morning. For as soon as it was day, it was told him that brought the Order from Porsenna, that the Prince having slept well that night, was something better and would obey the King of Hetruria, and that he might go and assure Porsenna of as much. He was also introduced to Aronces, who spoke to him very respectfully of the King his father: but at length when this messenger of the K. Porsenna was gone, Aronces prepared himself to depart, and promised that Kinsman of Plotina, that he would in that time procure his deliverance out of prison, not doubting to obtain it by his interest in Galerita. But when he considered upon the way, that he was going to Clusium, only in order to go and besiege Rome, and that it behoved him to live with Tarquin and Sextus, he was in extreme despair. As for the Prince Titus, he was his friend, and he hoped some consolation from his presence; but when he imagined the war was ready to begin, that he could not think of seeing Clelia so long as it lasted, nor reasonably hope to be happy, he suffered more than can be expressed; and if a sentiment of glory had not supported his virtue, he had taken some extreme resolution, and could not have resolved to go serve Princes whom he despised and hated, against people whom he loved and esteemed. But when he considered, that Horatius would defend Rome, he felt a secret desire in his heart to be enemy to it, notwithstanding all his reluctancy. With these thoughts Aronces arrived at Clusium; as soon as he was there, the Queen his Mother visited him to instruct him in the manner it was fit for him to speak to the King his Father, whom he saw the first time in private. Aronces being the goodliest Prince in the world, Porsenna could not behold him without having his heart mollified, & Aronces was so absolutely Master of it in this occasion, that Porsenna was highly pleased with him. Indeed Galerita had prevailed with the King of Hetruria not to say any thing to Aronces concerning his Love; but that which was most troublesome to Aronces was, that Tarquin and Sextus being then at Clusium, he could not avoid seeing them the same day. 'Tis true, it was in the presence of Porsenna, and so the matter was dispaeht a little more easily. And besides, Tarquin being a subtle Prince, and one that had a great faculty of dissimulation, and Sextus being of a jovial easy nature, and capable to forget all things past, in a moment; they both received Aronces as if they had always loved him, & as the son of a King from whom alone they could expect their reestablishment at Rome. As for Aronces, it was easy to perceive that the respect he would render to the King his Father, obliged him to receive the civilities of Tarquin and Sextus; he had also the generosity to express some tokens of the difference he made between the virtuous Titus and them, for he deported himself after another manner towards him in the sight of all the Court. After this Aronces to follow the counsel of Galerita in all things, went to visit the Princess of the Leontines, whom he honoured infinitely; for out of the design he had, not to be persecuted with the marriage of the daughter of the King of Ceres, he resolved to give Porsenna occasion to imagine that the Princess of the Leontines might cause him to forget Clelia. Not but that this kind of Artifice was displeasing to him; but having advertised Clelia of it, he resolved upon it, with the thought that at least he might often be at liberty to complain of his unhappiness, with a most generous Princess. When he went to wait upon her, he found a Lady there one of the most virtuous in the world, and who was extremely beloved by her, as well as by Galerita. Her name was Melintha; for her descent being from Greece, her name came also to be of that Country. And being very powerful in this Court by the great number of Friends she had in it, the Princess of the Leontines was desirous Aronces should contract a friendship with her. And accordingly finding her at first gentle, sweet, ingenious, and compassionate, he desired to have some place in her affection, and entreated of her so obligingly, that she promised it him with joy; for she saw his unhappiness was as great as his virtue, and she was very willing to be one of his friends, especially because she had power to serve him. Upon the return of Aronces all the Court was filled with joy, all the young Persons of quality presented themselves to him, the people made a public rejoicing, and there was no one fair Person, who did not hope to dispossess Clelia of his heart. Yet it was a very rash design, and proved very ill to those who attempted it; for Aronces though civil and complacent, could take no pleasure but in the company of the Princess of the Leontines, with whom he talked in freedom, or with Titus, who loving Rome as well as he, pitied him with much dearness, and did not act like a Son of Tarquin, but as a real and faithful friend. In the mean time, as the friendship of Princes, especially when they are young, is easily misconstrued for Love, in a few days it was reported in the Court of the King of Hetruria that Aronces was become amorous of the Princess of the Leontines, though he did not profess Courtship to her; besides that, Galerita being desirous Porsenna should believe so, to the end the Prince her Son might be more ingratiated with him, contributed very much to make the rumour credited, notwithstanding Aronces' reluctancy, hoping this would hinder the King from urging his marriage with the daughter of the King of Ceres, which was only designed to disengage his heart from the love of Clelia. And moreover Aronces was so frequently with the Princess of the Leontines, that it was imagined that the occasion of it could be no other but Love. Yet he entertained her only with discourse of his Passion for Clelia, and the excellencies of that admirable Lady. But as the Courts of Princes are never so splendid nor populous, as when a war is to begin, that of the King of Hetruria was at this time magnificent, and extremely numerous. Tarquin, Sextus and the Prince his brother was there; an old Lover of the Princess of the Leontines was there also, not so much to serve Porsenna as to importune that generous Lady. The Prince of Messene arrived there, who was sufficiently surprised when he understood the sister of Artemidorus was there; for it was reported that when she was in Sicily she was amongst the veiled Virgins. Nevertheless, the case being otherwise, he rendered all the civility he ought her, though he was Rival to the Prince her brother. Besides all these Princes, all the people of quality of Tarquin and Veii came to Clusium; Telanus amongst others repaired thither, and acquitted himself punctually of what he had promised Clelia and Octavius: for he offered himself to Aronces as one wholly at his devotion in all occasions whatsoever. Artemidorus and Zenocrates being at Rome, the Princess of the Leontines was very desirous these combustions might be pacified. She wished herself able to contribute to this great design, though she saw no great likelihood in it; but she conceived, if the War could be deferred for one year, she might possibly be then in a condition to hinder it; Tarquin was old, and several accidents might fall out to change the face of affairs: She imparted her thoughts to Galerita, who finding she had reason in her opinion, endeavoured to bring it to pass, that some secret Negotiation might be undertaken. Yet she did not acquaint Aronces with her design, imagining that any thing, which might draw matters out in length would not seem advantageous to him, because Love causes prejudice in the minds of those that are possost with it. And accordingly these two Princesses acted with so much address, that Porsenna consented to the attempting to find out some expedient for the accommoding of affairs, to the end the War he intended to make upon Rome, might appear more just, if an equitable proposition were refused. Tarquin was extremely backward to consent to this delay, but Porsenna having promised him, that this Treaty should last but fifteen days, he resolved upon it, on condition the business might be carried privately, that so in case it should not succeed it might not be reproached to him, to have asked a peace of Rome. Galerita improving this occasion, propounded to request the Princess of the Leontines, who was of a condition fit to intermeddle in such affairs, and had as great a capacity as was necessary for the like transactions, that she would go to Rome, accompanied with two men of quality. This proposition pleased Porsenna, because believing his Son enamoured on this Princess, he thought she would preserve her conquest, and out of the desire of coming to be Queen of Hetruria, do nothing that might be advantageous to Clelia. The difficulty was, to propound something which might have some probability of succeeding; but several dextrous persons undertaking this affair, it was resolved it should be demanded the form of Government should continue Monarchical, that the Title of King should remain to Tarquin, and, that to satisfy the Romans, he should continue a year longer out of Rome, and so should Sextus too, provided the Prince Titus, who was not hated, should be admitted to dwell there. Tarquin did not oppose this proposition; not that it pleased him, but because he conceived Rome would never accept it. When Aronces understood the business, he was extremely afflicted at it, but considering it well, he thought it would be advantageous to him, for the Princess of the Leontines to see Clelia. This design was soon put in execution. To which purpose Telanus was chosen to go to Rome, to demand safe conduct for the Princess of the Leontines. In the mean time Aronces moved Galerita to procure the deliverance of Plotina's Kinsman, who was prisoner in the Island of Saules; she promised to do it, and desired some time to oblige Porsenna to set him at liberty. Aronces writ to Clelia by Telanus, and Telanus acquitting himself readily of his Commission, brought back all the assurances that were desired for the Princess of the Leontines, who knowing the credit Artemidorus and Zenocrates had at Rome, would not have feared to have gone thither without any other assurance than that she might have expected from their interest. But at length having received instructions from Porsenna, and the most passionate expressions imaginable to Clelia from Aronces, who likewise gave Telanus a second Letter for that fair Lady, the Princess put herself upon the way to Rome. In the mean while, Publicola was not sorry for this delay, because it afforded him time to fortify the City, and provide for its safety. The Princess of the Leontines had in her company, besides Telanus, two men of good years. And whilst this Negotiaation was secretly treating at Rome, the Princess was received there only as a Stranger come thither only out of curiosity. But Publicola and several others knowing what relation she had to Artemidorus, that her heart sided with Rome, and she was troubled at Porsenna's protecting of Tarquin, treated her in private with all imaginable honours. As for Clelia, she was very joyful for her arrival, out of a thought to get some place in her friendship, and to engage her to be more favourable to her interests. Plotina was also very glad to understand by Telanus, that he who was to inform her what she was, was to be set at liberty. Horatius being ignorant of the great intimacy she had with Aronces, rendered her all the honour which was due to her quality; but as for Themisius, Meleagenes, Herminius, Amilcar, Octavius, Merigenes, Anacreon, Aemilius, and several others, they waited upon her every day. Clidamira and Berelisa likewise visited her constantly; and, the former desiring to obtain her favour, proposed several things to her, relating to the conclusion of the peace, and her return to Leontium. Valeria, and Plotina were very diligent in waiting upon her. Sulpicia, Sivelia, and the Aunt of Brutus, who were the principal Ladies of Rome, went frequently to see her, and Clelia took occasion to do the like as often as she could. Artemidorus was very serviceable in rendering this society more free, for he told his sister so many things in commendation of Clelia, that nothing could be added more; and assured Clelia so fully of the good intentions of that Princess, that when they saw one another they were presently persuaded of their mutual friendship. The Princess of the Leontines found Clelia so fair, so lovely, and so charming, that she could not but commend Aronces for his constancy; and Clelia looked upon the Princess of the Leontines as a person so Amiable, and capable to induce to infidelity, that she feared it might be dangerous for her interests, that Aronces should see her too often; and this thought made so strong an impression in her heart, that she could not contain from testifying something of it to her one day, as they were discoursing together with very much dearness. I confess to (you said the Princess of the Leontines then to her) I am so great a Lover of constancy, that I have hitherto served Aronces to the utmost of my power, only because I saw he was faithful to you. But after having seen you, I shall serve him with greater ardour, because, having much friendship for him, I should be glad to assist him in the preservation of a good which is of infinite value. For, is there any thing so precious (added she) as the affection of a person endued with beauty, wit, virtue, goodness, and fidelity? I beseech you, Madam, (answered Clelia) do not extol me so much, and suffer me to take my turn of commending you, and to tell you, I find you have so many charms, that I fear much, lest Aronces become unfaithful. For lincerely I confess to you I know not how he can resist you, and I find you so far above me, that I cannot but look upon you with as much fear as pleasure. Your discourse has too much of Compliment (replied the Princess of the Leontines) and is so ill grounded) that it would be a piece of vanity to answer it seriously. And moreover, (added she, smiling) you know yourself better than you speak; but though it were not so, and your modesty concealed from you part of your charms, yet you are well enough acquainted with the heart of Aronces, not to apprehend it impossible for him to be inconstant, Alas! Madam, (answered Clelia) I do not conceive there can ever be any assurance of not being liable to lose a thing, the possession of which is sweet. I agree with you in that, (replied the Princess) that it may be feared; but I dare say you cannot without injustice apprehend it possible for Aronces to cease to love you. Give me therefore your friendship without scruple, I conjure you, and believe, that Prince has the most tender and faithful affection for you, that ever any person had, and that I am disposed to love you with the most sincere and constant friendship that ever was. If it be so, Madam, (answered Clelia) I am perfectly glorious; for I look upon you as a person so lovely, that it will be an infinite contentment to me, to think I am beloved by one that cannot be seen without being loved. This conversation would have continued longer, if word had not been brought to the Princess of the Leontines, that Publicola desired to speak with her. Clelia judging it was a visit concerning affairs rather than of civility, offered to depart; but the Princess entreated her to go into a great Closet, which was in her Chamber, with a Lady of quality that came with her, whose name was Amiclea, and who was a person of very much wit. A moment after, Valeria, Plotina, Herminius, and Telanus, came thither; so that there was a conversation not meanly delightful amongst these six persons. But that 'tis a civil custom to discourse with Strangers about such things as they know best, not only for that reason, but also to understand something unheard of before, all these Ladies addressed their discourse to Amiclea, either concerning the Princess of the Leontines, or the Court of the King of Hetruria. Valeria, also so well understood that she did a pleasure to Clelia, by making a curious inquiry of all that past at Clusium, that she asked a hundred things of the amiable Amiclea, which otherwise she would not have spoken of. I beseech you (said she to her, after several things, which directly concerned the Princess of the Leontines) tell us, what Ladies Aronces has most frequently visited since his coming out of prison, and whether it be true, that there are abundance of amiable women at Clusium. There are so many beauties there, (answered Amiclea) that handsomeness is there scarce accounted of. Yet that is not much the custom (replied Plotina); for amongst young persons Virtue is far less extolled than Beauty. 'Tis true, (answered Amiclea) but it must be spoken, in the praise of our Court, that a Woman who is no more than barely fair, draws some gazers, but does not acquire much esteem. Beauty, no doubt, is looked upon there; but, above all, agreeableness, wit, excellent deportment, and a kind of secret charm, not consistent with stupidity, are principally sought after. But I beseech you, (said Valeria) answer what I desired of you, and tell me who those persons are Aronces visits most. I assure you, (answered Amiclea) though that Prince be very civil, and enforces himself to be so, as much as he can; yet it is well enough seen, that his heart is at Rome, that he takes not much notice of what he sees. Nevertheless, there are two persons which he visits very frequently, and who are his principal Friends. The Princess of the Leontines is certainly one, (said Clelia). 'Tis true, (anwsered Amiclea); and the second, is a Lady of quality, who has a very great interest in his esteem, and is so highly considered at Court, that there is none more admired. Clelia being then very desirous to know a little more exactly who this friend of Aronces was, made a sign to Valeria, who understanding what she meant, requested Amiclea, that she would please to tell her what excellent qualities the Lady had, of whom she spoke. You ask more things at once than you imagine, (answered Telanus) for Melintha is a Lady of so great worth, that there are few her equals. I beseech you then, (said Plotina smiling) make me acquainted with her forthwith, in the best manner you can. That is, in a word, (added Valeria) all the Company are desirous you would please to make a faithful description of that Friend of Aronces, that we may know, whether or no we ought to fear he loves her more than us. I assure you (answered Telanus) if the lovely Amiclea draw her portrait exactly, you will find she cannot be loved too much, and all the Company will be persuaded she ought to be Aronces' Friend. For my part, (said Herminius) methinks I love her already, I fancy her so rarely accomplished. Speak then I conjure you, (said Clelia) and omit nothing, which may serve to make us perfectly know this Friend of Aronces. Since you desire it, (answered Amiclea) I shall tell you that Melintha is a Lady of so rare a Virtue, that she deserves to be proposed for an example to all others; there is something in her heart so noble, so great, so good, so tender, and so heroical, that it may be said the gods have atcheiv'd their masterpiece, in making her. For there is nothing more difficult to find, than a Woman who possesses all the riches together, which go to the making up of a Man of honour, and which accomplish an excellent Woman, The same temper which gives a great heart and high generosity, is not always well accommodated for modesty: that which causes to love exact Justice, does not very often consist with that sweet and sociable complacence, which is so necessary for Ladies who converse in the World. That which gives constancy in important affairs, does not give mildness in less matters, that which makes capable of great actions, does not stoop to certain trifles which are nevertheless a piece of decency almost necesary to women in some occasions. Now Melintha having really in her breast all the virtues of an honourable Man, and all those of an excellent Woman, deserves all the commendations that can be given severally to both sexes, As for her person, though she be infinitely amiable, of a handsome stature, and slender, has hair very bright, eyes full of spirit and sweetness, a sprightly, modest, and agreeable countenance, a certain languor full of charms, a peculiar kind of sweetness and tenderness in the tone of her voice, which affects the hearts of those to whom she speaks, and sings after the most passionate manner in the World; yet I may say, all this ought not to be mentioned, and that Melintha's virtue, wit, deportment, generosity, and prudence, aught to be opposed to all the other commendations she deserves. 'Tis not without cause that I am impatient to speak of that sweet, insinuating, agreeable, and solid wit, which renders her capable of pleasing all sorts of persons, and which by its extent, capacity, and address, deserves to be interested in affairs of highest importance, which she is able to dispatch with prudence equal to the secrecy and probity of which she makes profession. Never was there a person more faithful, more sincere, or more generous than she. And that which is admirable in this illustrious Woman, is, that, together with that sweet and complacent air she has, and a delicate constitution, she notwithstanding has all imaginable greatness of heart, and is continually as active, as if the strength of her body equalled that of her mind, especially when she finds occasion to do a civility to any of her Friends, or only to some unfortunate person, of whose merit she is informed. She neglects even her own affairs for those of others; she is incapable of ever failing of her word; she expresses humanity towards all miserable persons, her heart is the tenderest in the World, she loves all that she ought to do, and knows how to love, both with choice and constancy. She affects ingenious things, and understands them; as Music, Poetry, Peinture, and the like; and though she is of a temper something inclined to Melancholy, yet she inspires a pleasing joy into those who converse with her, and though she seems not to intend it, suddenly wins the hearts of such as have the happiness to approach her. But not to suffer the tenderness her heart is capable of to be idle, and to afford her innocent objects worthy of it, the gods have given her an illustrious Husband, illustrious Brothers, illustrious Friends, and lovely Children. But, to her unhappiness, the valiant Belisantus was slain in the Wars, when fortune was ready to reward him for an infinite number of glorious actions, which gained him an immortal renown, and rendered him worthy of the love of the virtuous Melintha. In that illustrious Husband she found all that could be desired in a Man of honour: He was of a very Noble race as well as she; he had wit and courage; he was good and generous; he loved glory more than all things, and Melintha as much as glory. This generous Lady, happened to be shut up in a besieged City, which her illustrious Husband defended with excellent valour and resolution, he endeavoured to oblige her to go away out of it with her children; but she would never desert him, and, as long as the Siege lasted, afforded very great succour unto him. For during the few hours he took to rest in, she made it her care, that the orders of her dear Belisantus might be exactly observed, and gave some herself, with as much judgement as a great Captain could have done Being very well ascertained of her illustrious Husband's conduct, she never offered to oppose his courage. So that after Belisantus had defended the place beyond all appearance of possibility, he could not resolve to capitulate, but preferred a glorious Death above a Treaty, which notwithstanding could not have been otherwise than very honourable. Nevertheless, a sentiment of dearness for Melintha, obliging him to desire her consent, he propounded to her not to yield at all; and since the City was to be abandoned to the enemies, to make a Sally forth with all the people he had left, and attempt by his valour to make his way with sword in hand, and beat the Enemies at the same time he yielded up the place. The wise Melintha well understood all the danger of this resolution, but perceiving the aversion of Bellisantus to surrender, she courageously consented to what he desired, and accordingly he disposed all things for that design. The Chariots of Melintha and her Children were made ready, and to show the tranquillity of his mind in the sight of greatest dangers, he took care to cause several things to be put into them, which served only for his pleasure. After which, being obliged to call a Council of War, the Officers so urgently represented to him the reasons which should oblige him to render himself without scruple, that at length he made a very glorious Capitulation: and thus the generous Belisantus marched out of the place, the gaining of which was less glorious to them that took it, than to him that delivered it up, after he had destroyed a great Army before it, and defended it two months, though it was thought unable to hold out two days, and had no other strength but the courage of him that defended it. But to let you further see, that the heart of Melintha was as tender as resolute, amongst so many generous actions as she did, during that Siege, I must at last relate one to you. Her children being in a House which was not far distant from the Walls of the City, it happened one day that the Enemies suddenly bethought themselves to place Engines upon a Tower, which they had erected on that side. So that a great storm of stones was seen to be discharged in that place. which by the violence wherewith they were cast, overthrew all they fell upon, and slew such as were struck by them; Melintha was at that time at the house of one of her friends, on the other side of a large place, where that house stood, and seeing the fatal storm and horrible havoc made by the Engines, both upon the house in which her Children were, and in the place which it behoved her to cross to go to it, did not deliberate a moment, but being impelled by the true tenderness of a generous mother, ran courageously through the hail of Stones to fetch her children out of so dangerous a place, and that with so much ardour and haste, that she scarce made any reflection upon so great a danger, till she had escaped it; having at that instant nothing else in her mind but to save the life of her Children, and preserve them for her dear Belisantus, whose love she will be eternally sensible of. Which indeed she has in some manner repaired, by choosing for a very lovely Daughter of hers an illustrious Husband, whose rare valour and activity resembles that of the greatest Heroes, and who by an hundred gallant actions has made it apparent how great a Lover he is of Glory. Besides, Melintha having two Sons very goodly personages, and whose inclinations have appeared extremely noble from their infancy, it is to be hoped they will prove worthy to be Sons of their illustrious Father. Melintha moreover has four Brothers, each of which in their way deserve, a thousand praises; she has also Friends, whose virtue is so great, that though Fortune has been very liberal to them, yet they enjoy much less than they deserve; and perhaps some other occasion will be offered, wherein I may present you with a fuller description of all the persons I have mentioned. I beseech you (said Plotina agreeably) since you have the colours and pencils in your hand be pleased to draw the pourtraits at least of Melintha's virtuous Brothers. For my part (said Clelia) I desire only to know one of her Friends. You ask too much for one day, (answered Amiclea); for Melintha has a Friend whom I cannot tell you of without recounting the History of all Hetruria, because the rare virtues of him I speak of are, at this day, one of the strongest props of his Country. therefore I will expect some other occasion, to let you know that incomparable Man, whose virtue is above envy, and whose moderation makes his virtue more eminent; and I will only tell you that Melintha is a Lady, who serves her Friends without interest, without vanity, and with all imaginable zeal. She conceals herself sometimes to do good offices; and I know a person whom she obliged after the noblest manner in the World, who durst not speak of the obligation he has to her, for fear of displeasing her, though he is extremely desirous to testify his acknowledgement of her generosity, by publishing it. In brief, Melintha is one of those Women, who are so rarely found, that no Age or Country reckons above two or three whose accomplishments equal hers. After this that you have spoken (said Herminius) I am her friend for all my life. For my part (said Valeria) I shall not repine if Aronces has more friendship for her than for me. And I (said Plotina) should account myself extreme happy, if I could have an interest in her Love. You have reason (said Clelia) since nothing is more desirable, than to have a friend of such worth; for 'tis not only an advantage to be loved by such, but the friendship of a person of great virtue reflects to the honour of those who possess it; you are a friend to almost all her friends, and after a manner enjoy her glory as your own, though you merit not so much as she, and be far inferior to Melintha. Clelia would have proceeded further, if the Princess of the Leontines had not returned to her; but for that, as she entered into the Closet, she heard the name of Melintha, she could not refrain from demanding what the discourse was concerning the most virtuous Woman in the World. And understanding Amiclea had newly finished her Character, she confirmed all that was said of her with a thousand praises. This Princess being a very graceful Speaker, afforded much pleasure to the Company; but she discontented them at length, when she told them her stay would be shorter at Rome than she imagined, and that matters were not in a posture to hope for an accommodement. After which she continued there only four days; during which, Zenocrates durst not visit her constantly, because Clidamira might have been thereby induced to do some injury to that Princess. Which occasioned this inconstant Professor, who seemed then very sad and pensive, to be suspected of concealing a great Passion under his inconstancy. During the four days the Princess of the Leontines stayed at Rome, she used all endeavours she could to bring matters to an accommodation, but withal was solicitous to do some office for Aronces with Clelia and Sulspicia; which she performed after so handsome a manner, that it could not have rendered her suspected to Porsenna, had he known what she spoke concerning the Prince his Son. But at length the fruit of this negotiation being only apparent in the admiration of the rare accomplishments of the Princess of the Leontines, she returned without being able to obtain any thing on the behalf of Tarquin, but she went away with the esteem of all such as had seen her. At her departure from Rome, Clelia told her all that a person endued with Wit, Love and Modesty could say, to oblige her to persuade Aronces continually, that he ought to be faithful to her: and the Princess of the Leontines on her part, expressed to her all that a faithful friend of Aronces ought to have said, to exhort her to constancy; after which they took leave: Clelia delivered a Letter to Telanus, who brought her one; Artemidorus had a secret conversation with the Princess his Sister, concerning their interests, which were not known to any but to Clidamira, Berelisa, and Zenocrates. Telanus bid Plotina farewell with much dearness, and they parted so well, as to excite some jealousy in the breast of Amilcar. After the departure of the Princess of the Leontines, preparations for War were expedited in good earnest; for it was judged, that as soon as she should be returned, Porsenna would cause his Army to advance towards Rome. And indeed she was no sooner at Clusium, and had given an account of her Journey, but Tarquin fell earnestly to solicit Porsenna, and gave him no rest, who looking upon it as a great piece of glory to re-establish a dispossessed King, omitted nothing, that might conduce to the good success of the War. Now did Aronces see himself brought into a condition, which of all things in the World he most feared, namely to be with his sword in hand against so many persons who were dear to him: but he had however the consolation to understand a thousand things that pleased him from the mouth of the Princess of the Leontines. For she extolled Clelia with such exaggeration, and assured him so confidently of his being loved by her, that he loved more than ever: At least, Madam, (said he to her) I have not mode an ill choice of the person to whom I have given myself, since you judge her worthy of your esteem; but do not you believe (added he) that if the King saw her, he would excuse my passion, and that I cannot be blamed, but by those who have forgotten that themselves loved heretofore, or such as are so insensible, as never to be capable of loving any thing? Then he spoke to her as concerning Horatius, and asked her, if she had seen him with Clelia; and though he were not himself jealous, yet he could not but give several tokens of being so. But in brief, how amorous soever he were, it behoved him to act like an enemy to Rome: Glory no doubt upheld his reason in this occasion; but the interest of his Love was added to it, to persuade him at length, that since it behoved him to appear an enemy of Rome, it ought to be after a manner which might render him redoubtable, and make him worthy the consideration of either party. So he went to a Council of War, which was called before the marching of the Army, wherein it was resolved to make only a show, as if they intended to beleaguer Rome, to see if it were possible to surprise it, and if they who affected Monarchy, were in a capacity to make an insurrection; but in case this did not succeed, as in probability it would not, it was determined to besiege that great City effectively, to seize of all the avenues, to make sure of Tiber both above and below Rome, and to bring to pass, that the great number of inhabitants that filled it, might serve to destroy instead of defending it, by causing a greater facility of taking it by famine. The business being thus resolved on, care was taken for a speedy march; but for that Porsenna judged there was no great likelihood of taking Rome by violence, and that for that reason the siege would probably be long, he was pleased the Queen his wife and the whole Court should follow him, and go to a very stately Castle, not far distant from the place where his Camp was to be, but a few miles distant from the Tomb of the three Rivals, where the unfortunate Caliantus was slain, and which part of Porsenna's Army had already seized on. To which purpose Galerita, the Princess of the Leontines, the virtuous Melintha, and several Ladies of eminent quality of Clusium, prepared to follow the Army, which was gone before. Then it was that an equal desire was seen in either party of gaining Victory. One contriving to assault Rome, and the other to defend it; sacrifices were offered to implore contrary successes; either of them believed they had justice on their side, and right to demand the Protection of the gods; but in the midst of so many opposite vows, Clelia and Aronces no doubt wished always the same thing. Porsenna approaching near Rome, divided his Army into three bodies, out of a design to assault the City in three several places. The quarter on the side of Janicul. was that where Porsenna and Aronces were on; the second which was opposite to Tiber, was the entrenchment of Tarquin; and that on the side towards Tarquinia was taken up by Sextus. At the first appearing of the forces, there were several little skirmishes between those whom Publicola sent to descry the enemies, and those who went to take up the places wherein to encamp. But there passed nothing very considerable in them; for Publicola having a design to suffer the enemy's Army to weaken themselves before he attempted any thing, contented himself with knowing the true manner of their entrenchment, and keeping himself upon his guard. On the other side, Porsenna desiring to put the Romans out of fear, that so he might upon occasion more easily surprise them, made show, as if his only intent was to starve the City. He set a guard upon that River, both above and below Rome, he seized upon all the avenues, he caused Forts to be raised at several distances, to make good the passes more easily; for Rome was not a City fitting to be compassed about with a Trench, as Tarquin had done at Ardea. In the mean time Aronces, to whom the care of causing those little Forts to be raised, was committed by Porsenna, suffered extreme grief in beholding Rome as an enemy, and wished that at least his Rival would come forth to interrupt the works he was causing to be made: that he might have occasion to see him with his sword in his hand. But for that the Romans had laid a contrary design, his desire could not then be satisfied. After Porsenna's Army was encamped without any considerable occurrences in making their approaches towards Rome, Galerita the Princess of the Leontines, Melintha, and several other honourable Ladies, arrived at the Castle which was prepared for them; whither, being at no great distance from the camp, Porsenna, attended with many persons of quality, went to to receive them. The Queen of Hetruria had lately received two young Ladies for her attendants, of infinite beauty, who, whilst Porsenna was entertaining Galerita, and the Princess of the Leontines, under a great porch which belonged to the Castle, passed over a little narrow bridge, which went from the Castle into the garden, and lay cross the large ditches full of water. All the other Ladies continued in the porch, with several Officers that attended on the King, except two men, very handsome personages, who leaning over the portal where that bridge was, beheld those two fair Virgins, and spoke something to them. But that little bridge breaking on a sudden, the two fair persons fell into the water, and were endangered to be drowned. As they fell, they parted several ways, one towards the right hand, and the other towards the left; so that there was a considerable distance between them. They were no sooner fallen, but those two men who spoke to them, cast themselves into the water; but instead of separating themselves to succour them both, they leapt in on the same side, and thought only of saving one whom they held up by the robe, and so swimming drew her to land; for the ditches were very deep. The other looked for nothing but to be drowned, and had been so indeed, if the great noise had not excited the curiosity of several people to come and see what caused it. Upon which, divers persons perceiving this fair one ready to perish, the Captain of Porsenna's guards leapt in with all speed, and saved her life. This accident troubled the whole Court, for these two virgins were generally very well esteemed of. There also happened a dispute upon it, between two famous Soothsayers, who were then with the Queen of Hetruria; for one of them affirmed, the broken bridge was a bad omen; and the other on the contrary maintained, that the bridges being broken upon the arrival of the King, was a very happy presage, and that for his part, he was persuaded if Rome were attaqued by force, the enterprise would succeed. But whilst these two Soothsayers were in this contest, the the two fair virgins were carried half dead into the same chamber, where care was taken for their recovery. The same evening the King returned to the camp; but the next morning Aronces went to see the Queen his Mother, and the Princess of the Leontines. In the mean time the accident befallen the two fair virgins, was all the discourse of the Princesses and the Camp; every one wondered at the ill fortune of her who was ready to perish, and the happiness of the other, who had two men to succour her, while her companion had none at all, though she were as fair and lovely as she. Tho Aronces had no purpose to stay long at the Castle, yet he could not refuse to accompany the Princess of the Leontines to the chamber of those two fair virgins, who were still indisposed by their adventure of the preceding day. As they were going thither, they found the two men in a gallery, who had succoured the same person, and left the other in danger of perishing. Whereupon the Princess of the Leontines not being able to refrain from testifying to them her astonishment, I beseech you (said she to them) tell me why you did not separate yourselves to succour both those fair virgins, since they did not both fall on the same side. Was it because you both love her whom you succoured, or hated her whom you left to perish? Or rather was it because you were loved by the one and hated by the other? Your question Madam (answered he whose name was Aemylius) is more difficult to be resolved than you imagine. For my part (answered the other who was called Theanor) I should be more troubled to resolve it, than my companion; but which is the worst of all (added he) I dare not enter into the chamber of her whose life I endeavoured to save, because she whom I abandoned is there too. And I also (said Aemylius) should willingly go and desire pardon of her whom I left to perish, but for that I fear to find her whom I have served always unjust, I cannot resolve to do it. That which you say seems so intricate (replied Aronces) that I am persuaded nothing but love can be the occasion of this perplexity. You have reason, my Lord (answered Theanor) and were we free both from hatred and love, we should be more happy than we are, and speak more intelligibly. But because we are possessed with both these passions, we desire to be excused from making ourselves further understood. The Princess of the Leontines perceiving these two Lovers had no intention to tell her more of the matter, left them, and went into the chamber of the two fair sick persons, hoping to draw a little more light from them, of what she desired to know. One of them was in bed, and the other stood by, undressed; for she who had been longest without succour, was more indisposed than her companion. There was at that time in their chamber, only Porsenna's Captain of the guard, who had followed Aronces, and saved the life of the fair Terentia, who was in bed, and seemed to be more sad than sick. She who stood by, and whose name was Aurelisa, to testify the greater respect, went to meet the Princess of the Leontines, and Aronces; but though she had reason to be cheerful enough for having escaped so great a danger, yet there appeared some discontent in her eyes. Upon which the Princess observing Terentia's sadness, and Aurelisa's discontent, demanded of them the cause; For (said she obligingly) my intention in coming was to rejoice with you; and, yet to judge of your thoughts by your looks, it seems the Prince and I ought to be afflicted, if we intent to partake of your sentiments. For my part (answered Terentia faintly) I do not look upon life as so great a Good, as to deserve much joy for not having lost it: however, I am very much obliged to Cereontus, whom you see there, for having preserved me, since his intention was to do me a very good office, to which he was not so much obliged as the other, who left me to perish. As for what concerns me (answered Aurelisa) it seems I have been more happy than Terentia; but in reality, I am not of that opinion; for it is sometimes more unacceptable to be too much obliged, than too little. I assure you (replied the Princess then, looking upon Aronces) I do not much better understand what Terentia and Aurelisa say, than what Aemilius and Theanor said to us, as we came hither. How? (said Terentia blushing) are Theanor and Aemilius here? Yes (answered Aronces) they are here, but though they were desirous to follow me, yet they dared not enter into your chamber. No doubt, (added the Princess of the Leontines) because they dare not see you, after having left you in danger of perishing. In truth (replied Aurelisa, changing colour as well as Terentia) I conceive they knew not what they did when they leapt into the water to save my life, and I am not certain but that they might take me for Terentia. As for me (said Cereontus then respectfully, as he was going away) my intention cannot be doubtful, and I very well understood I desired to succour you; but, lest you should believe I look for praises for it, I shall retire. The more you speak, the less I understand, (answered the Princess of the Leontines) yet it would by very fitting (said Amiclea who accompanied the Princess) that you knew the truth of this adventure, for fear some inconvenience happen upon it. You so well understand all the secrets of Aurelisa's, and my heart (answered Terentia), that it will be easy for you to satisfy the Princess; but, to speak truth, it were better to conceal our weakness than publish it: upon equitable consideration, I think there is no person amongst us but has their fault. Terentia spoke this with an air that augmented the Princess 's curiosity, who understanding in effect, that there might be some occasion of quarrel between Theanor, Aemilius, and Cereontus told these two fair persons, she would not go forth of their chamber, till she knew exactly, all that was to be known of their adventures. I beseech you, Madam, (said Aurelisa then) do not give yourself the trouble of hearing a hundred unprofitable trifles, which are glorious to no persons, and will but make you lose time which you might better employ. No, no, (said Amiclea then) the Princess can do nothing more delightful to herself, than to hinder such worthy persons as those that saved your lives, from quarrelling, as I foresee they will do, if care be not taken to observe them, and suppress part of their resentment. Terentia and Aurelisa understanding in effect, that a quarrel might easily arise between those three men, consented to the desire of the Princess and Aronces, who having two hours still to spend in that place, was not unwilling to employ them in hindering amorous persons from destroying one another; for he had heard it confusedly spoken, that Aemilius and Theanor loved Terentia and Aurelisa. Wherefore urging these two fair Ladies to consent that he should know their history, they did so, on condition that only the Princess of the Leontines and himself should know it, and that they two might not be present at the relation, which they could not hear without extreme confusion. But who then shall tell us your adventures (said the Princess)? Amiclea answered Terentia, who knows them as well as ourselves, and who is so sincere, and so faithful, that I do not conceive she is suspected by Aurelisa, more than she is by me. You have reason (answered that fair Lady) and I should more doubt my own memory, if I were to relate my adventure myself, than I do the sincerity of Amiclea. I am very glad you both know me (replied she); but withal, you ought to be assured that I will do nothing to render myself unworthy of the good opinion you have of me, and only relate the pure and naked truth. After this, the Princess of the Leontines went to her own Chamber, whilst the Queen of Hetruria was in hers with the generous Melintha. As soon as the Princess was there, she commanded, No person should be suffered to enter, and then obliged Amiclea to relate all that had befallen her two amiable friends; in obedience to which command she began her story in these terms:  

The HISTORY of AURELISA and TERENTIA.  
I will not detain you, Madam, with telling you Aurelisa and Terentia are descended from very noble families, since you know it already; or that Theanor, Aemylius and Cereontus are persons of quality; for 'tis a thing you are not ignorant of. I shall omit to tell you that these five persons are endued with great merits, because you know them sufficiently to be so; nevertheless, for that the Prince that hears me has not time to observe the humour of Aurelisa and Terentia, you must permit me to tell him that though Terentia be brown and Aurelisa fair, one has black eyes, and the other blue, one be tall of stature and the other low, yet there is more difference in inclinations than in the outside of their persons. Yet they have both very much wit; yea, they had for some time a considerable kindness for one another; but this has not hindered but that they have opposite sentiments, and in brief, can never agree in any thing whatsoever, not even in such matters as are of least concernment. If they be only to walk together, one of them will go in the shade, and the other says she does not fear the Sun, and much affects those great open quarters in Gardens which leave the sight free, and where the air is not confined. If one will have her Curtains drawn before her windows, the other maintains on the contrary that the clear day is advantageous to such as have a good complexion. In brief, they never had the same friends of either Sex in the very time they loved one another, and I may say I am the only exception to this general rule; 'Tis true, since 'tis a happiness I have to be oftentimes a friend to persons who have no resemblance, and whose interests are many times contrary, this ought not to be wondered at. But which is strange, these two persons, whose opinions are so different have yet so much reason that they never had any public fall out, and they have so well concealed their difference that I am almost the only person that have had any knowledge of them. In the next place, Madam, you must know, that these two persons having both almost in the same time lost their Fathers and Mothers, they were placed under the Guardianship of a man of quality, called Tolumnius, whose wife was Aurelisa's Aunt. As for Terentia she was Cousin to Tolumnius, who had two Nephews, not Brothers, to whom he intended to marry these two Virgins who have sufficient fortunes. In order to which, he educated them under his wife, whose name was Elinyssa, though he concealed his determination; however, he so expressly commanded Aemylius and Theanor, (who obeyed him as if he had been their Father) to insinuate themselves into the affection of these two persons, that they began to make Courtship to them, more out of obedience than choice, and consequently without Love towards them, or jealousy between themselves; for they had other things which affected their hearts. On the other side Aurelisa and Terentia having been advertised by one of their relations, that they were to prepare themselves to marry Aemylius and Theanor one day, looked upon them as two men who in time might come to be their husbands. But as they could never love the same things, so they made different desires; for Terentia wished she might be loved by Aemylius, and Aurelisa that she might be so by Theanor. Nevertheless, these wishes were concealed from all the World, and they never spoke of them but when they were alone. Nor did they then think that they spoke very seriously. For my part (said Aurelisa one day) I shall never resolve to become wife to Aemilius: not but that I see he is a person of much honour, but he is not such as I would have a Lover or a Husband: but the case is otherwise in relation to Theanor. As for my particular (added Terentia) I cannot think of marrying Theanor, though he be a person of worth; but for Aemilius, I could easily resolve to do it. What? (said Aurelisa) would you be the wife of such an inconstant person as Aemylius, who has had a hundred Mistresses in his life. I would not marry him inconstant, (answered Terentia) but I should like well enough to cure him of his inconstancy, and should not be loath to marry him when I had rendered him faithful. But can you yourself (added Terentia) resolve to love and to marry Theanor, who you know loves a certain woman ever since he came to the use of reason, who makes a profession of being the most constant person in the World, and yet when he has married you, will not cease to love his former Mistress? No, no, Terentia, (replied Aurelisa) I do not understand it so; but, to speak freely, I should take as much pleasure to render Theanor unfaithful to her that he loves, as you would have, in rendering Aemilius constant. Our two wishes are very different (answered Terentia) for I desire to remove a defect from Emylius, and you would confer one on Theanor. In truth (replied Aurelisa) I think we do not yet very well know what we would have; but the best I see for us, is, that in all probabilities we shall never desire the same things, and so having different pretensions, we shall always live in peace, though our inclinations be contrary. However from that day Aurelisa and Terentia found arising in their hearts a kind of particular esteem for those two men, which had scarce any other apparent cause than the desire of contradicting one another. For, because Aurelisa esteemed Emylius less than Theanor, therefore Terentia loved Theanor less than Aemilius; and for the same reason, Aurelisa knowing Terentia preferred Aemilius before Theanor, she gave the pre-eminence to Theanor to the prejudice of Aemilius. Nevertheless, they so well concealed their sentiments, that they were taken notice of by no person whatsoever. But whilst they contested thus, Aemilius and Theanor who were friends, and mutually communicated most part of their sentiments, beheld these two Virgins as most men do those whom they think they ought to marry, that is with an affection without ardour, and little better than ordinary civility; nor did they so much as inquire how their Uncle intended their marriages should be made; for Aemilius having at that time three or four Mistresses, and Theanor one who absolutely took up his heart, they only considered that they whom they were to marry would be rich, without troubling themselves further, except that they told their Mistresses, A wise man ought to marry only for his family's sake, and to love only for his own. They endeavoured also to persuade them, that a marriage was not a real infidelity; and they were happy enough to be believed; for the inconstant Aemilius loved none but Gossips, and the constant Theanor loving a woman which could not be his, he persuaded her the more easily to what he desired. Things being in this posture, I contracted an intimate friendship with these two young Beauties, and I happened one day to be at Elinyssa's house with whom they dwelled, when Theanor and Aemilius came thither with two Ladies of no discommendable beauty. So that this conversation being wholly composed of young persons (for Elinyssa was gone out of it about some affairs) it suddenly became very agreeable and gallant. ' This happened so much the more easily, for that one of the Ladies who came with Theanor and Aemilius, and whose name was Cleoncia, being much addicted to make sport with her best friends, and to do it sometimes a little too pressingly; cunningly brought it in, to speak of unfaithful and constant Love, intending to give some light gird to those that were with her. She asked the other Ladies what they would do if they were necessitated to choose a husband of two men, whereof one had a hundred Mistresses, and the other but one, whom he loved ardently. For my part, said one of the Ladies, I would have neither of both; for certainly 'tis no great pleasure to be wife to one of those professed Weathercocks, who because they converse with none but Gossips, slight their Wives, and every day do a hundred things very displeasing to be seen; and 'tis yet less to be Wife of a Man who every moment is ready to sacrifice all his family to the person whom he loves, whose thoughts are wholly taken up with her, who never stirs from her, who is weary of all other places, who is prodigal in what concerns his love, and covetous in all other respects, and who will not have any thing that he does, seen; or when it is observed, will not allow it to be complained of. And which is strange, both that husband who lends out his heart to whomsoever will have it, and he that gives his entirely to one person, do nevertheless require their Wives should keep a more exact fidelity to them, than any others. But since I may be mistaken (added she) I would know Aurelisa's opinion upon this case. Terentia then looked upon Aurelisa, calling to mind what they had talked of together some days before; whereupon, (perceiving it was believed, she was going to declare her true sentiments, and consequently to determine, that she liked a Husband better that had one constant Love, than one that had many) on a sudden to have the pleasure of deceiving her friend, she disguised her sentiments, and took the contrary side, with intention to anticipate all that she desired to say. For my part, (said she, smiling) I see no ground there is to doubt; for 'tis better, no question, to be Wife of an unconstant Husband, provided he carry his business discreetly, than to be a Wife to a constant Lover, who perplexes his Wife with continual capricious. For inconstant Lovers, are almost generally of a good humour, whereas, on the contrary, Lovers scrupulously faithful, are for the most part sullen natured. Terentia observing Aurelisa's subtlety, could not restrain herself from contradicting her, though in reality she contradicted herself. There is some wit in what you say, (said Terentia) but yet it is certain, that it were incomparably better, to be the Wife of a man who has a great passion, than of one of those that are inconstant to a thousand Loves, of whom every day a hundred stories are told, which divert the whole Court, and perplex his Wife in all companies, since she can scarce go into any place without finding some Mistress of her Husband's with whom she is at a loss how to comport herself: but it is not so with a Husband that has but one Love; for provided you keep but some measure of civility to his Mistress, if he be ingenuous he will thank you for it, and if he does not love you, yet at least he will esteem you. While these two Virgins maintained the side they undertook, which is sufficient weakness, because it did not agree with their real sentiments, Theanor and Aemilius, to whom this conversation was unpleasing, by reason of their being concerned in it, believed that these two fair persons thought what they spoke, and thereupon Theanor was incensed against Aurelisa, and Aemilius against Terentia. And either of them desiring to make good their side, produced all the reasons for it they couldinvent. For my part, (said Aemilius) I see not how the thing can be doubted; for I conceive nothing is more troublesome to a Wife, than one of those Husbands with a great passion, & nothing more convenient than one that is a Gallant. For he is scarce ever at home, some Feast always takes him up; and, as he is unwilling to be constrained, so he gives the same liberty which he desires to take. On the contrary, a Husband of the other sort, is insupportable; for out of cross intention, that he may have something to blame in the deportment of his Wife, to the end that may excuse his own, he has continually his Spies to observe her. But however, (interrupted Theanor) the Husband you represent so, loves some person, and so his Wife has some ground to hope, if he can cease to love his Mistress, herself may at length get into his affection. But what can be hoped from an inconstant person, who is never capable of loving any thing? If he do not love his Mistresses (said Aemilius) why should his Wife take it ill? But if the Husband who has a constant Love, (answered Theanor) does not cease to use his Wife civilly, what reason has she to complain? since you do not believe it necessary to her happiness, that she be loved. For my part, (said Aurelisa, contrary to her own sentiments again, because she had begun so) I am against Theanor: And I (added Terentia) against Aemilius. In my apprehension, (said I then) you are not against any body; for to speak sincerely, you do not well know what you would do, if both of you had Husbands, which did not love you. It is not material for what reason you are not loved; since in what manner soever the matter is, it is always troublesome. However, whether you be loved or hated, you ought for Virtue's and your own sake, to be as faithful to a Husband that does not love you, as to one that does; for it is not fitting ever to revenge yourselves to his prejudice; nor to offend by example. No doubt Terentia and Aurelisa thought the same thing that I spoke; for they are both very discreet; but they were in a manner not to agree to it, to the end they might have occasion to contest. Nevertheless, seemliliness restrained them, and so the conversation ended; after which, Theanor went away with a secret indignation against Aurelisa, and Aemilius against Terentia, though in truth Aemilius was obliged to love Terentia, and Theanor Aurelisa. When they were returned home, (for they lodged together) they fell to speak concerning these two Ladies, and resolved between themselves, that if their Uncle should oblige them to marry them, Theanor should marry Terentia, and Aemilius Aurelisa. In the mean time, these two fair Virgins being retired, Terentia asked Aurelisa why she would not speak her mind really? 'Twas to hinder you from speaking yours, (answered she, smiling) for I conceived you would not be of my opinion. But by obliging me not to speak what I thought, (replied Terentia) you did not speak your own thoughts, 'Tis true, (said she) but do not you know, that sometimes the mischief you do others, compensates us for part of that we do ourselves? You may judge, Madam, by what I say, in what condition things then stood. But how weak soever this beginning of aversion was which Aemilius had against Terentia, and Theanor against Aurelisa; and how slight soever an inclination Terentia had for Aemilius, and Aurelisa for Theanor, these first impressions were the true cause of all that have befallen them since. For Theanor after having had so long and constant affection in his Soul, was insensibly cured of that Love by another, and had a great dearness for Terentia, always remembering the sentiments he had observed in her mind, at the time of that contest, at which I was present. About the same time too, Aemilius being weary of the turmoil, occasioned by the necessity of entertaining several gallantries together, accustomed himself to take more pleasure than usually in the company of Aurelisa; and thus these two friends by degrees became very amorous of the two fair Virgins. But by a strange crossness of Fate, the first inclination of these two persons continuing, and being not always able to restrain themselves from bearing envy one towards another, Terentia could not endure Theanor, and wished so ardently Aemilius would love her in stead of him, that she seemed to love him already. Aurelisa on the other side, accounting Aemilius insupportable, desired Theanor would please himself less with the company of Terentia, and more with hers. Not but that these four persons were every day together; but it is often seen, that though persons be in the same place, their hearts are far distant from those in whose presence they are. However they all concealed their sentiments, and not knowing preciseely in what manner he on whom they depended, would dispose of them, they expected till he declared his mind, every one of them desiring in their hearts, his pleasure might not check their respective inclinations. But it was in a short time perceived, that some change happened in the minds of Aemilius and Theanor; for the ancient Mistress of this latter, being possessed with extreme jealousy, uttered several expressions, which intimated that Theanor could not but have an other Love. All the Mistresses of Aemilius did the like, and within a very few days it was generally talked of, that Theanor was became unfaithful, and Aemilius constant. It was also added, that the cause of the constancy of one, and of the infidelity of the other, must needs be in Elynissa's house; but however, it could not be conjectured, whether it were Aurelisa that Aemilius loved, or whether it were Terentia that had cured Theanor of his first passion: for these two Lovers not knowing the intention of their Uncle, durst not declare themselves, and lived in partial civility towards these two Ladies, for whom they had notwithstanding very different sentiments, and by whom likewise they were looked upon after a very different manner. I being then their intimate friend, informed them of the rumour that was reported concerning the constancy of Aemilius, and the unfaithfulness of Theanor, and asked them for whose sake Theanor was become unfaithful, and Aemilius constant. For it is not doubted, (added I) but 'tis for the sake of you two, that these Lovers have changed inclinations. For my part, (answered Terentia suddenly, and blushing) I know not whether Theanor loves me, but I know well Aemilius does not. I am very well assured, (said Aurelisa,) Theanor is not faithful for my sake; and as for Aemilius, I care so little for knowing wherefore he ceased to be inconstant, that I have not at all taken notice of it. Yet I wonder, (added Terentia) you have not observed, that he takes more pleasure in speaking to you, than to me. I assure you I have taken notice of it, (answered she), but I have observed upon divers occasions, that Theanor uses all his address to avoid discourse with me, and seeks to place himself near you, as often as he can, without doing me incivility. If it be (so replied Terentia coldly) I have reason to complain and pity myself, and I wish Aemilius be more happy than he. If he have any such intention towards me as you speak of, (answered Aurelisa) he will not be more happy than his friend nor I than you. In truth (said I to them then) I see not, however the business be, how either of you can be unhappy; for Theanor and Aemilius are both such deserving persons, that you cannot make a bad choice of either of them. They were going to answer, but these two Lovers entered, who, to confirm what they had spoken of, handsomely sought to place themselves according to their inclinations. Aemilius approached near to Aurelisa, and Theanor to Terentia, At which both of them blushed; which the Lovers observing, interpreted to their own advantage, (as persons, in their condition, use to take all occasions of flattering themselves) though in truth it was to their prejudice. For Terentia blushed out of spite, to see that Aemilius preferred Aurelisa before herself, and Aurelisa out of anger, to observe that Theanor neglected her in respect of her friend. However, being both intelligent, they suppressed their sentiments, and the conversation was nevertheless sufficiently agreeable at the beginning. For coming to speak of gallantry, the question was put, whether that love were greater that could not contain from declaring herself, or that which was concealed out of respect. Terentia being in a great fear lest Theanor should tell her he loved her, and more, lest Aemilius should declare his mind to Aurelisa, made haste to answer that there was no cause of doubt, and that there was more love in not telling that one loves, when respect alone causes the Lover's silence, than in going to tell it with precipitancy. Aurelisa now found herself a little perplexed; for she loved not to be of Terentia's opinion, and was as unwilling to take upon her to maintain, that it was fit to declare one's love, for fear of encouraging Aemilius to tell her something that might not please her. Therefore she chose rather to say nothing of herself, but asked me, What I thought of the case? For my part who had no interest in it, I spoke sincerely what I thought of the matter, and endeavoured to maintain, that a Lover who could restrain himself from declaring that he loved, had a less passion than he who in spite of the respect he bore to his Mistress, and in spite of his own reason, was enforced to profess that he was in love. Aemilius was of my opinion, and Theanor intending his silence should be a declaration of his love to Terentia, maintained the contrary, and was of her opinion: So that this dispute lasted for a good time. For my part, (said I) I confess to you, I fear people who are not able to contain from saying they love, have nothing in their hearts which torments them very much; and there is no surer token of a luke warm affection, than the long silence of a Lover. For, is not complaint an infallible sign of great sorrows? little diseases are easily passed over in silence, but the wisest complain of such as are great, and all the Philosophy of the most insensible persons, can scarce ever keep from crying out when they suffer very much. So that as, no doubt, it cannot be proved that silence is a sign of great pain in the body, no more can it be made out to be an evidence of great grief of mind. But, do you make no difference (said Theanor) between a great love and a great pain? No, (answered I); for, besides that I am persuaded there is no love without inquietude, which is a kind of pain, I am so also, that a Lover who has not declared his passion, has so vehement a desire to tell it, that he suffers one of the greatest torments in the world. You have reason, Amiclea (said Aemilius to me) and I can answer you, that for certain it is the greatest misery that can be imagined. 'Tis no doubt a great trouble (replied Theanor) but for that reason it is a great sign of love; for is there any thing more obliging to a Lady, than to make her know, that the fear of displeasing her, and the respect you have for her, obliges you to be silent, and to suffer without complaining? and besides (added he) to speak equitably, was a Lover ever believed upon his word? and if he does no more than say, I love you, would any Lady in the world believe him? And if so, the best way or course to prove one's love, is by a thousand cares, and a thousand services, sighs, glances, and a thousand other ways more effectual than words, without offending a fair person, who will not have the respect due to her, lost. Believe me (said I then to Theanor) the sighs, glances, cares and services you speak of, may be compared to metal, (of which not long since money has been made at Rome) whose value is redoubled by the Prince's stamp. For all that is done for a fair person before a man discovers himself to be a Lover, is looked upon but as testimonies of esteem and friendship at most, and, till after such declarations, she does not look upon the services rendered to her, as testimonies of love. What you say, is, no doubt, very well spoken (said I to him) but it must be added, that when people are forbidden to speak, 'tis taken for no great offence if they break that prohibition, in case they be esteemed, and they knew how to do it handsomely. But, Amiclea (answered Terentia) I think you have lost your reason, in accusing women of such a defect as this; For, I conceive, a deserving person can never be more obliged than when she sees her displeasure is dreaded, and that she is feared and respected. 'Tis true (replied I) but if a Lover do not profess himself to be such, how will he ever be loved? I know not whether he will be loved or no (answered Terentia) but I know well, that a Lover who should tell me rudely that he loved me, should be hated. When Amiclea (replied Aemilius) maintains it fit for a lover to declare his passion, she does not mean he should do it after an unhandsome manner. As I was going to answer, the Lady which Theanor had loved so long, arrived with two others; her name was Menesile, and it is not to be doubted, but she is a very confident person, and passionate. This visit very much surprised the company; for she did not use to visit Elynissa. But jealousy exciting a desire in her to see what passed in this cabal, she caused herself to be introduced by one of Tolumnius' friends. Nevertheless Theanor the better to make known his love to Terentia, continued with her, though he did not speak to her apart, for should he have desired it, she would not have given him occasion. When Aurelisa beheld this Lady enter, she well understood that a sentiment of jealousy induced her to make this visit; so that perceiving she still loved Theanor, this redoubled the inclination she had for him, as well as the envy she bore to Terentia; for she was extremely sorry that she was not the person to whom he proved unfaithful. A quarter of an hour after, three of Aemilius' ancient Mistresses arrived; but he saluted them so coldly, and looked upon them so little, that it could scarce be thought he had ever seen them before. Whereupon Terentia observing that this unfaithful person was become constant, was extremely perplexed it was not for her sake that he despised all his former Mistresses. And so she became as melancholic as Aurelisa. However, civility obliging them to entertain those that came to visit them, they fell to discourse of several things; after which the conversation being changed on a sudden, they inveighed very much against men in general. It was affirmed that they were very frequently unjust, vindicative, inconstant, insensible, and given to detraction. Theanor and Aemilius then maintained the cause of their own sex, defended themselves the best they could. But at length, I know not how it came to pass, but one of the new-come Ladies, who did not love Menesile, asked me if I believed that a woman whom a man ceased to love, aught to be more offended than another, who could not gain the affection of a man she loved. This proposition made Menesile, Terentia, and Aurelisa blush, which nevertheless was observed only by myself. Menesile recollecting herself in a moment, had confidence enough to make good her own cause. 'Tis so easy to answer to what you demand (said she) that though many persons be present here, who have more wit than myself, I think I shall have enough to convince you, that 'tis greater shame not to be able to makes one's self be loved, than to be abandoned. For the shame reflects upon the desertor, and not on her that is forsaken. I know not whose the shame is (replied I) but I believe the anger is on her side that is relinquished, if she persists to love. I believe (said Menesile) the cause of the anger is for having been deceived; but however, a person that cannot make herself be loved, is not only angry, but ashamed of her own weakness: and whereas a woman that has been loved, and is so no longer, is possessed only with despite, hatred, and contempt of her Renegade; she that loves without being loved, comes at length, when she has any heart, to hate and despise herself; which, no doubt is the cruelest thing in the world. While Menesile was speaking thus, Terentia, Aurelisa, and Theanor, were extremely perplexed, being enforced to hear an unpleasing discourse, without answering to it. I observing their trouble (answered Menesile) and desiring to make a third party, In truth (said I to her) whether a woman loves without being loved, or whether her Lover forsakes her, she is worthy of pity if she be virtuous; for as for such as are not, they ought never to be pitied. But I would know further (said she who made this proposition) who suffers most of the two. She that loves most (answered Terentia). That is likely (replied a Lady of the company) to be the forsaken Lady; for I cannot understand that he that is not loved, can love very ardently. For my part (said another) I do not conceive a woman can love, if her affection be not answered when she gives some Testimony of it; but I do not believe it impossible but a virtuous person may have a secret and hidden inclination which may lead her to love rather one man than another; though without testifying any thing of it. If it be so (answered Menesile) I believe really she that is forsaken suffers more than she that is not loved; but if she believes that her eyes have betrayed the secret of her heart, and that he that she loves understands her affection without answering to it, I conceive she undergoes the torment of a shame of greater pain to her, than the blackest infidelity can cause. For in this case the remedy is at hand by scorning him from whom the injury is received. Whilst Menesile was speaking thus, Aemilius talked low to Aurelisa, who at that instant liked rather to hear him, than to be obliged to answer Menesile. You are very melancholic to day, Madam, (said he to her) although I do not complain of your silence; for it being a kind of consent, I presume you agree that Amilcar had reason to say: There is greater love in not being able to contain from discovering that passion, than in being silent out of respect; and therefore to avoid giving you leisure to change your sentiments, it is best for me to tell you in the most respectful manner possible, that of the most inconstant of all men you will make the most faithful Lover in the World, provided you will please to fasten the Knots which tie me to your service. I beseech you, Aemilius, (answered Aurelisa much astonished) do not force me to speak more rudely to you than I would: you know I have respect for Tolumnius, and that I should be extreme sorry to displease him. However if you accustom yourself to speak to me as you do, it shall be hard but I will find out ways to deliver me from your importunity. Aurelisa spoke this with a certain severe aspect, which sensibly afflicted Aemilius; but in stead of being repelled by it, he became more amorous; for he was one of those to whom the difficulties of things increases the desire of possessing them. Wherefore he spoke again to Aurelisa to the same purpose, but so respectfully, that she had no pretext to be offended with him. On the other side Theanor observing all Menesile's discourse was only to despite him, designed to take advantage of her anger: so that when all the company was gone, he continued last, and approaching to Terentia who was musing by a window, If you remember, Madam (said he to her with a low voice) all that you have heard spoken indirectly against me, remember also at the same time, that I have suffered it for your sake; and that if I had not an infinite respect for you, I should tell you, that did I not love you, I should not be unfaithful. I assure you (answered she) I will always remember the quality you give yourself, to the end I may not be endangered to love you more than I do; for in brief a man that can forsake one woman for another when he is loved by her, may prove unfaithful to all that shall put confidence in him. After this, going aside to Aurelisa, Theanor was constrained to go away without saying more to her. The rest of the evening Terentia and Aurelisa were sufficiently melancholic, they undressed themselves almost without speaking to one another, though they lay in the same Chamber, and it was not till the next morning that they spoke any thing. When, after they were dressed, according to their custom, they went into a little Closet not far from their Chamber, expecting the hour to go to the Temple. As soon as they were there, Aurelisa (who naturally was more debonair than Terentia) asked her with a something forced smile, whence it came to pass she was so pensive that day; For (said she) they ought not to be melancholic who have gained a victory. You ought then to be more frolic than you are (answered Terentia) for you have triumphed more gloriously than I If you will change your victory (replied Aurelisa) I am content. I assure you, it shall not be my fault (answered Terentia): not that I absolutely agree to what I perceive you think; but I answer to your words rather than to the truth of the business you set upon me for. But I shall always draw this advantage from what you have said, that I see Aemilius has mentioned his love to you, and I did not convince him yesterday. I acknowledge it (replied Aurelisa, knowing it would afflict Terentia): but now confess to me whether Theanor did not make you know he loves you; and that as I have made a faithful Lover of an unconstant one, you have made a man unfaithful who was reputed the most constant in the World. Your sincerity requiring the like from me (answered Terentia) I confess to you, Theanor made me understand he loves me. Ah! Terentia (said Aurelisa) why have you not made Aemilius your Lover? Ah! Aurelisa (said Terentia) wherefore have you not gained the heart of Theanor, which I know not what to do with? The misery is (added she) that I perceive 'tis Tolumnius' absolute pleasure we should marry his Nephews; and that, according as your heart and mine are disposed, we shall be always unhappy. For I tell you again, I shall never be able to live with Aemilius, though he is a person of merit. I say the same of Theanor (answered Terentia). After this, the like unhappiness uniting the hearts of these two Virgins, they promised much friendship and fidelity one to another. But, in order to seek some remedy to their hard fortunes, Terentia promised Aurelisa always to treat Theanor ill, and never to marry him, what command soever Tolumnius should lay upon her to that purpose, whom she obeyed as her own father. And Aurelisa likewise promised on her part, never to speak any thing favourable to Aemilius, nor marry him, whatever command should be laid upon her to it; they promised also to relate sincerely all that those two Lovers should say to them. But alas! (said Terentia) all our providence will perhaps be unprofitable to hinder us from being unhappy; for it is in our power not to marry those we do not love, but if it should be propounded to us to marry those we do not hate, perhaps we shall not be able to refuse them, though they do not love us; and 'tis possible Theanor and Aemilius will have the weakness to obey Tolumnius out of a regard to their interest. However, I confess to you, I should think myself as unhappy to marry a man who should not love me, and I should affect, as to marry one whom I had no affection for, and loved me. You have reason (answered Aurelisa). But since hope is not to be disclaimed to the last, we ought to hope that being united as we are at present, it may fall out that we may change our destiny; Aemilius may come to love you, and Theanor not to hate me. After this they made a thousand caresses to one another, and expressed a thousand blandishments. At the end of this conversation they went to the Temple, where their two Lovers were, who confirmed by their looks what they had spoken the day before. At their return from the Temple, they were told, one of her Friends, delighted they would go in the evening into the Gardens of the Palace, whither, as you know, Madam, the whole Court resorts very frequently in fair weather. Accordingly they went thither with a Kinswoman of theirs, imagining their Friend would take the pleasure to walk with them; but they found it was to hear musick-entertainment which Theanor and Aemilius had prepared for them, and that she in whose name they were requested to come, knew nothing of this gallantry; which, instead of exciting joy in them for whom it was intended, afforded them but regret and discontent. Some days after, these Lovers gave a magnificent Collation to the same persons, in that delightful Grove which is called the Grove of the Spring, because the verdure appears there sooner than any other where, and all the World resorts to walk there in that season: and to make their love more taken notice of, one evening they gave a Ball under a magnificent Tent in the middle of that Meadow, which is called the Meadow of Flora, because indeed it is always covered over with flowers. Terentia and Aurelisa were at a desperate loss with these contrivances of their two Lovers to please them; but yet it behoved to be present at all their entertainments for fear of displeasing Tolumnius and Elinyssa. Not long after, they were joyful to understand that Tolumnius had resolved to go and spend some time in the Country at a very fair house of his near Clusium. They understood also that I was to be of the company; and accordingly I departed two days after with them; upon which occasion, as friendship is more speedily contracted during a little journey into the Country than in the City, they were pleased to make me privy to the fear they were in, lest Tolumnius should determine to marry them after a manner contrary to their own inclinations; and, in brief, they told me all the principal secrets they had in their breasts. I confess to you they caused me to pity them, and finding an occasion to intermeddle with love innocently, I promised to do all I could to change the hearts of their two Lovers, who were both my familiar friends. During our Countrey-journey, there was nothing but continual feasting; but these two Virgins desiring me not to desert them at all, that so their Lovers might not have the liberty to speak to them apart, I did it indeed so handsomely, without Aemilius and Theanor's ever suspecting my design to hinder them from discoursing to them, that they could not say any thing to them concerning their passion. I did not content myself with doing this office to these two Virgins, I spoke severally to both their Lovers, in order to persuade them into sentiments contrary to their own. For speaking to Aemilius I extolled Terentia with exaggeration, and did the like for Aurelisa speaking to Theanor. But, to speak truth, I did not observe they commended them with the same ardour. On the contrary when I spoke of Aurelisa to Theanor he spoke to me of Terentia; and as soon as I named Terentia to Aemilius, he mentioned Aurelisa to me. In the mean time these two Lovers were so solicitous to get themselves loved, that they did not perceive they were loved by those whom they did not affect. 'Tis true, Terentia and Aurelisa being both discreet and virtuous, they concealed their sentiments the best they could, and did not cease to seem pleasant, to be sociable, and show an equal civility to those for whom they had very differing sentiments. That which rendered them the more unhappy, was, that though Theanor were in love with Terentia, yet he did not cease to live much in favour with Aurelisa; and though Aemylius loved Aurelisa, yet he was much complacential towards Terentia. Now it falling out that these two Lovers had Affairs at Court, they made but little journeys on a day. They made very urgent requests to Aurelisa and Terentia that they would permit them to write to them, but they would not grant it. Yet I, who loved news well when I was in the Country, desired one of my friends who was one of theirs too, to send me not only what he knew at Clusium, but likewise all intelligence he should receive from any other place, for he was one that had correspondence throughout all Italy. Not that I cared much what passed in places where I knew no person, but Tolumnius loving to know all that was acted all the World over, I was willing to divert him during my residing at his house. And accordingly, that Friend of mine several times sent me very ample relations of all that passed at Court, with the extracts of Letters which he received from Rome, Veii, Tarentum, Cuma, Volaterra, Panormus, Capua, and divers other places. So that this affording divertisement to Tolumnius, and the news of the World giving sufficient pleasure to Terentia, Aurelisa, and myself, we awaited with much impatience the day that we were to receive Letters. One night we went to walk, expecting their arrival, and thinking to have them a moment sooner. And as we were between two Meadows bordered about with Willows, we saw him arrive who was wont to bring my Packets, and who now delivered me several. Amongst the rest, I beheld one which I did not know, so that the desire of knowing who writ it, caused me to open it first; which done, I found it was a relation divided into distinct Articles like those I was wont to receive, though I did not know the Character of it. Terentia and Aurelisa observing my astonishment, approached toward me; and all three of us sitting down at the foot of a Tree, I began to read the relation which was in effect the same I am going to repeat to you; for I know I shall not alter the sense; however, I may something change the words.  

Of the Court.  
Persons envious, discontented, and ungrateful are always to be found here; they to whom any thing is given, believe they deserve more; they to whom nothing is given, think that robbed from them which is given to others; in the mean time all the World is oftentimes in a hurly burly without knowing wherefore. There are found there ambitions persons without merit, flatterers ill rewarded, false friends resembling true, an out side of goodness which charms newcomers, and yet does not deceive them who have experience; in brief, imposture and fraud is seen every where, and handsome deportment without honesty. As for love, there is little can be called so; although sometimes certain frivolous loves are to be seen there, which are fit only for young idle persons that know not what to do, and many times too know not what to say. Loves of interests are seen there likewise, which inspire only unworthy actions, and there is scarce ever any sincere love to be found unless it be in the breasts of Theanor and Aemylius, Queen's Palace, where thy appear so melancholy that all the Ladies complain of them.   

Of CLUSIUM.  
All the envious Fair ones rejoice here, for the absence of the two fairest persons in the World; yet they do not draw much advantage by it: for all worthy persons are so afflicted with it, that all their conversations are turned into sadness. There are some who affirm two of their Loves are in danger to die of sorrow if they do not speedily return, though it be not the custom to die for the absence of a rigorous Mistress; Otherwise, Clusium is as it is wont to be, that is, the powerful oppress the weak, every one seeks that which pleases him, those which govern are repined at, projects and designs are contrived to no end, little true virtue is to be found there, but much hypocrisy, disorderly magnificence, excessive avarice, injustice, irregularity and confusion.   

Of the Gardens of the Palace.  
All the Ladies who were wont to pull down their Veils, when they feared lest their beauty should be constrained to yield to that of Terentia and Aurelisa, walk with open countenances during their absence; but for that the image of those two fair persons remains in the hearts of all those who have judicious eyes in relations to beauty, they have never the more admirers, and the remembrance of those who are no more seen there, still prejudices the glory of those that are.   

On the Grove of the Spring.  
Tho all the Trees be here as green as usual, yet there is much less company than was wont; not but that there are still a hundred thousand Birds which make the most delightful melody that can be heard; but the reason, no doubt, is, for that the crowd of honourable persons who came to walk here the last year, came not so much to hear the Nightingales sing as to behold the two fairest persons of the Earth, who were seen there almost every day. Now, instead of them, two melancholic Lovers are seen very frequently-there, who came to sigh in the most solitary places of the Grove. Sometimes they lose themselves in it, their grief so possesses them; and there are some also who assure they have made very amorous Verses which have been found carved upon the Trees, by which it appears that one of them loves a handsome fair woman, and the other a beautiful brown, However, this Wood appears so solitary, that there is cause to believe there will be no more resorting to it, if those two fair ones who are absent do not speedily return.   

On the Ball, upon the evening of Juno's Festival.  
All sorts of people are seen here; some dance well, others ill, and many others do not dance at all. There are seen also several Ladies who ought not to dance more, because 'tis too long ago since they begun to dance. There are young people too, who begin to see the World by the Fall, and are so out of countenance, that they cannot dance according to the right cadence. Here are also knots and factions, though the design oftentimes is only to dance ill. But, what is most resented, is, that the fairest ornament of the Assemblies at Clusium is no longer seen here, namely Terentia and Aurelisa. And 'tis for the same reason, that Theanor and Aemilius are not seen here, who like better to be in solitude by themselves than to be seen at the Ball, where they cannot see the only persons that can please them.   

On the Meadow of Flora.  
All the World is much amazed, not to see any longer here that abundance of Flowers which were wont to be seen every year. Indeed, they say the West-winds, which serve to maintain the freshness of Flowers, have followed those two fair ones that love them, and that this is the cause the Meadow has almost no Flowers this year. They speak of sending to request them to return, but very many beauties oppose it, because they like better the Meadow should be without Flowers, than to see the admirable complexion of Aurelisa and Terentia outshine the lustre of their own.   

On the Temple of Venus.  
A great sacrifice is preparing here for two unfortunate Lovers, who cannot be loved by their Mistresses, though they have the most ardent and faithful passion in their breasts that ever was. There are some believe, that if they do not resolve to reward their fidelity, the Goddess they adore will revenge their deaths after a strange manner; for 'tis the custom of this Goddess, when she is offended with Lady's rebellions against the Laws of her son, to take away their beauty immaturely, or cause them to love without being loved. Therefore 'tis to be wished, those two fair persons would reward their Lovers for being so faithful. If they do so, they shall be happy in the highest degree, nothing being more sweet than to love and be loved, nor nothing so miserable as not to love at all.    

Well, (said I to Aurelisa and Terentia, after I had done reading this news) What think you of that which you have heard? Me thinks, (answered Terentia) to my great discontent, Aemilius has a great wit. How? (replied Aurelisa roughly) do not you know 'tis Theanor that made this gallantry? For my part, (said I to them) if you ask me what I think, I shall tell you I believe it belongs to them both in common, that they have joined their brains together, that they have both contrived the design, and afterwards caused it to be written by an unknown hand. No, no, (answered Terentia) 'tis not Theanor that writ these news; no question he has much wit, but it does not lie this way, and 'tis only Aemilius that could invent this folly. On the contrary (replied Aurelisa) it looks so like Theanor's, that I cannot be mistaken. However it be, (said I to them) if the Author of this Gallantry be doubtful, the cause of it is not so too, and you may easily judge that it was made for your sakes. Alas! (answered Terentia) what am I the better, if this contrivance be ingenious and handsome, if Love inspired Aemilius with it only to divert Aurelisa? Good gods, (replied that fair Virgin) what advantage is it to me, that Theanor had a hand in this agreeable folly, since you were the only occasion of it? 'Tis very strange, (said I to them) that by these news it cannot be known, whether Theanor intended it to Terentia or Aemilius to Aurelisa. Alas! (answered Terentia) the matter is not dubious; for after what they have told us, they conceive we easily make the application of what they write. However, all their wit is very ill bestowed in the manner they employ it. But wherefore (said I) do not you both strive to conform your minds to your fortunes, and to love them that love you? Ah! my dear Amiclea, (cried Terentia) how happy are you in being ignorant of the power of a vehement inclination! and how cruel (added Aurelisa) in thinking we do not do all we are able, to love those that love us! At least, I know I have omitted nothing to effect it, nor neglected any endeavours to love Aemilius, and hate Theanor. I have done more than you, (answered Terentia) for I have attempted to bring myself to that pass, as to be only indifferent for both, and I could never effect it, and notwithstanding all my endeavours, I have still an inclination for Aemilius and aversion for Theanor. However, out of respect both to Virtue and Seemliness, both the one and the other aught to be equally concealed, for fear of offending Tolumnius; and that which renders me more miserable, is, that I believe, if Aemilius knew I did not hate him, and you did, it is possible he would love me. I have believed as you do, (replied Terentia) that if Aemilius were not ignorant of your aversion against him, and the inclination I have to love him, in all probability he would love me; but at present I believe it less than I did. Therefore that which pleases me most in this Gallantry of Theanor and Aemilius, is, that these two Lovers however suspect nothing of our weakness towards them, and so I may see them without blushing; for if they had had any such suspicion, they would not have said in this last Article of news, that when Venus is offended, she punishes the fair ones, that have disobeyed her, by causing them to love without being loved. In truth, (answered Aurelisa) our destiny is sufficiently intricate; for according to all probability we are likely to be very unhappy. After this, she took the pleasant news that was written to me, and read it over from the beginning silently, whilst Terentia was in a deep musing, and I stood by observing them both. After Aurelisa had read the packet, Terentia took her turn to read it too; and though it was sent on purpose to divert them, yet it made them both very sad. Nevertheless, they had some consolation the next day; for Tolumnius speaking to me in private, told me he had a purpose to marry Terentia and Aurelisa to his Nephews, and therefore desired me to know of these two Ladies what their inclination was, it being more just (as he said) to know the true sentiments of those which ought to obey, than of those who are to command. Wherefore (taking this occasion to do a service to my friends, though it were against the inclination of my two of the other Sex) I told him it was not necessary for me to speak to Terentia or Aurelisa, and that since I understood them better than they did themselves, I could assure him Terentia would never be happy, if she married Theanor, but that she might be so with Aemilius; on the other side, that Aurelisa would be miserable with Aemilius, and very well satisfied with Theanor. If it be so, (replied Tolumnius) it will be easy for me to content them; for Theanor and Aemilius will not dare to disobey me; and besides, (added he) I believe their hearts are free enough at present, not to make any resistance to my commands. Moreover, both Terentia and Aurelisa are so well educated, that it will be no difficulty for them to comply with my pleasure. I thought to tell him then that he was mistaken, but I was afraid to speak too much; and therefore I left the matter in this condition, and went to find my Friends. Terentia presently blushed at what I had said, but Aurelisa thanked me for it; for I see not (said she) how any inconvenience can follow upon this adventure; for if Theanor and Aemilius readily obey, it will be a sign the passion they have for us, will not be strong enough to hinder us from hoping to be loved by them; and if they absolutely refuse to obey, indignation will cure us, and perhaps lead us to admit of the affection of them that love us, For my part, (said Terentia) I hope nothing, and I fear all; but when all is done, the case having no remedy, must be resolved upon. The same evening these two Lovers desiring to know how their news was taken, arrived, and made show as if they knew nothing of it. But I being desirous to oblige them, commended that Gallantry before them; I showed them it, and I brought them at length to confess in secret, that they had contrived it together, as I had imagined. After all the Company was retired, Tolumnius did not fail to cause them to be called, that he might tell them what he had resolved upon. You know (said he to them) what command I laid upon you, to accustom to visit Terentia and Aurelisa, and that 'tis my pleasure you should marry them; but since it is hard for a Man to be contented with the deportment of his Wife, if he be not loved by her, I have observed and caused the inclinations of the two persons I design for you carefully to be noted by a person of their familiarity. So that it shall be your own fault if you be not happy; for in brief, I know Terentia has for you (said he, looking upon Aemilius) all the inclination a virtuous Virgin can have for a Man whom she looks upon as he that is to be her husband: and I know also (added he, speaking to Theanor) that Aurelisa has a dearness for you, which ought to oblige you to prefer her readily before Terentia. Is it possible, my Lord (answered they both at once) that you should be well informed of that which you speak? Doubt not of it, (replied he) and conform yourselves to my will; for though you should have no great affection for these two Ladies, ye must think of nought but to marry them. They are fair, young, prudent, and rich; and that's sufficient. If you do not love them before you marry them, you will love them after; as well as it oftentimes falls out, that they who love their Wives before, come shortly after not to love them at all. Marriage and Love are two things, which are not frequently long together; and therefore determine only to obey me, for all my estate is for them who obey me, and not for others. As for what concerns me, (replied Theanor) no respect of interest shall ever cause me to do any thing. And for my part, (added Aemilius) nothing can ever induce me to marry Terentia. For, in brief, (added he) since it equally concerns Theanor and myself, to let you know the truth, we ardently love Terentia and Aurelisa. But, my Lord, 'tis because we love them that we cannot marry them in the manner you propound to us; for Theanor loves Terentia, and I love Aurelisa. But since Aurelisa loves Theanor, (replied Tolumnius) and you are loved by Terentia, it concerns you to enforce your sentiments; for it is much more dangerous for a man to marry a Wife by whom he is hated, than it is for him to marry one whom he loves not, if he be loved by her, especially when she is fair and wise. However it be, (said he to them) I will not lay any constraint upon the two young Ladies, whose Parents at their death left them under my Guardianship. But since you depend on me, and have a thousand obligations to me, and since I can ruin you when I please, you ought to yield to my will: do so if you be wise; for assuredly you shall repent yourselves if you do otherwise. Tolumnius spoke this with an aspect of choler, which hindered Theanor and Aemilius from answering him; besides, having made them a sign to retire, they were constrained to go forth of his chamber to their own, but with so much affliction, that they spent the night without sleeping: for Tolumnius having told them he knew the inclinations of Terentia and Aurelisa, they imagined it was an artifice of those two Ladies who hated them, to put an obstacle to their design. The next morning they were so sad, that never was a day passed after a more melancholy manner than that; for Tolumnius was possessed both with grief and indignation; the two Lovers were alike in despair; and Terentia and Aurelisa were both equally afflicted and ashamed. Not long after Tolumnius told me, it very much troubled him, to find that Theanor and Aemilius had disposed of their hearts otherwise than they ought, but he entreated me to say nothing of it to Terentia and Aurelisa, and assured me he knew well how to make himself be obeyed. Yet this news did not rejoice these two fair Ladies, from whom I thought I ought not to conceal it; for when they came to consider, that if Tolumnius persecuted Theanor and Aemilius, they might be hated by those whom they loved, their minds were in a strange perplexity. On the other side, the two Lovers, who were intimate friends, were in an unconceivable trouble; for if they resolved to obey, they should marry Women whom they did not love, either of them remaining amorous of one another's Wives. You may easily conceive that this gave them no small affliction. Indeed in this condition they knew not what to say, either to her that they loved, or to her that they did not affect. Wherefore they chose rather to return to Clusium, than to continue in a place so unpleasing to them. Their departure offended Tolumnius, and sensibly afflicted Terentia and Aurelisa. Sometimes they had sentiments of hatred, sometimes thoughts of love, and scarce ever any other than apprehensions of despair. For my part, I did all I could to appease Tolumnius, and to comfort the two afflicted Ladies; but at length the time was come to return to the City, where all these persons were in a new perplexity. Before Tolumnius had spoken to the two Lovers, they did not perceive that themselves were very much hated or loved; but after he had told them they were not loved at all, and yet that they were not hated, they wondered they had no sooner understood the truth. When Theanor beheld Terentia, he observed in her eyes a forced civility, which caused him almost to die with grief, and when he looked upon Aurelisa, he saw in hers something so sweet and modest, which intimated so much obligement, that he wondered he had not before perceived it. Aemilius on his part, when he looked upon Aurelisa, perceived such a kind of fierceness in her eyes, that he could not see her without discontent; but he observed obliging languour in those of Terentia, though he avoided her looks as much as he could, that it made him think himself still more unhappy. Having taken notice of these different sentiments, the two Lovers became more miserable; for before they comforted one another, but after that time they had several fall out, and accused one another unjustly, for the causes of their unhappiness. But yet from time to time, the equality of their ill fortune reunited them, and they contested again as often, and were possessed with jealousy, although they had no cause for it. For sometimes Theanor accused Aemilius of not being displeased for being too much loved by Terentia, and presently after Aemilius reproached to Theanor, that he was glad for being loved by Aurelisa. In the mean time they were possessed with so violent a passion, that they could not resolve ever to obey Tolumnius. Who being an imperious man, was extremely disgusted with them, insomuch, that he said publicly, he would give all his estate to Terentia and Aurelisa, and marry them to others. And no question it was easy to find persons that would marry two fair, young, rich, and virtuous Ladies; in order to which he proposed to match Terentia and Aurelisa to two men of quality, who were amorous of them. But these two Ladies requested him with very much generosity, not to take away his estate from his nephews, and refused to marry the persons he propounded to them, telling him, that if the business were once accomplished, they that should marry them, would not require what he gave them, and that for their parts it was not possible for them to resolve to see two such deserving persons as Theanor and Aemilius, unhappy, for their sakes. However, 'tis certain Love had a share in their generosity, and it was not in their power to marry two men whom they did not love. Tolumnius esteeming them the more for this deportment, hated his nephews more, who on the other side were desperate at so generous actions, because they found it did not prejudice their love: for their passion increased from day to day, and they were so unhappy, that I could not but commiserate them. Mean while, they to whom Tolumnius pretended to marry these two fair virgins, looking upon Theanor and Aemilius, as the obstacles of their happiness, did not see them but with trouble and indignation; and Aemilius and Theanor on the other side, considering them as persons that intended to make advantage of their unhappiness, sought occasion to quarrel with them, which they soon found, and fought. Theanor encountered him that was to marry Terentia, and Aemilius was matched with him that was to have Aurelisa to his wife. The first of them mortally wounded his enemy, and Aemilius disarmed his. Indeed their victory cost them dear; for they were both very much wounded. This combat further increased the anger of Tolumnius, and caused much grief to Terentia and Aurelisa: for the latter was afflicted to see Theanor ardently loved by Terentia, and the former was so, to observe how much Aemilius was enamoured on Aurelisa; but these two Ladies were much more troubled when they understood their two Lovers were in danger of dying. For, being possessed with great discontent, their wounds became sufficiently dangerous, and it was believed they would die, though their strength was still very vigorous. However, Tolumnius would not see them, but Elinyssa visited them without her husband's knowledge. During their weakness, Terentia and Aurelisa omitted no obliging care towards them both, without distinction. The two lovers requested Elinyssa, she would please to let them see their fair Mistresses before they died. Who being good and compassionnate, promised them they should, and entreated me to persuade my friends; whom with no great difficulty I brought to consent to it, not knowing but in this condition the two Lovers would resolve to render justice to their affection. They requested me that I would be one in this sad conversation; and Tolumnius being then at his house in the Country, Elinyssa lead us to the lodgings of these unhappy Lovers, either of which desired to speak one after another to their Mistresses. After the first civilities, I betook myself to discourse with Elinyssa, whilst Theanor was speaking to Aurelisa, and Aemylius to Terentia. I desire your pardon, Madam, (said Aemilius to her, by whom he was loved) for the trouble I give you; but I find myself so unhappy, and so criminal, that I have not been able to refuse myself the consolation of justifying, or at least excusing myself to you. For, in brief, Madam, when I first began to visit you, I observed my friend loved you; and I have always found him so deserving a person, that I could not doubt but that he was loved again. Wherefore suffering my heart to be surprised by the charms of Anrelisa, I was not in a condition to dispose of myself, when I understood you had an aversion against Theanor, though he had a great passion for you. However, you have not ceased to be good and generous; and, to perfect your being so, (added he), pardon me a crime which I cannot yet hinder myself from committing, and save the life of an illustrious friend, to render justice to the affection Theanor bears you. For, in brief, amiable Terentia, I do not love Aurelisa more ardently than Theanor does you. I wish to the gods (answered she sighing) I could love Theanor, I should be more happy than I am; but however, I can assure you I pity you both, and am much afflicted I cannot contribute to the felicity of either. Alas! Madam, (replied he) for my part I seek nothing but to die a little less criminal in your esteem, and a little less hated by the charming Aurelisa. I understand you well (answered Terentia blushing) and I will make you see that it is not my fault that you are not happy, At these words this fair virgin arose up, and told Aurelisa, Aemilius desired to speak with her. Upon which Theanor, who had an extreme desire to speak with Terentia, told her with much civility, he conjured her to go and revive his friend, by giving him some small hope. Aurelisa not daring to refuse, because Elinyssa was present, went accordingly to speak with Aemilius whom she affected not, after having had a conversation with Theanor, almost like that which he had had with Terentia. When she approached to him, Well, Madam, (said he to her) shall the unfortunate Aemilius be hated when he is a dying? and shall he not have at least the consolation to think that you will pity him, and that if Theanor dies as well as he, all your tears shall not be spent upon that ungrateful person, who loves you less than another Lady, very amiable indeed, but yet much less than you? Terentia (answered Aurelisa) is more amiable than I, and you are so obliged to her, that you are as unjust in not loving her, as I am unjust in not loving you: But, in brief, we are not governors of our own destiny. However, believe that I pity you, and if I could render you happy, I would do it with joy. You may at least let me die with some consolation (replied Aemilius) by permitting me to believe that you would not hate me, but only because you love Theanor; and that, if you loved him not, you would perhaps look upon me more favourably. After this, Madam, I shall desire nothing more of you. Whilst Aemilius was speaking thus to Aurelisa, Theanor used all the sweetest and most affecting expressions to Terentia, that the most tender love could inspire him with; but this lady's mind being disturbed, for having found nothing but generosity in Theanor's heart towards her, answered him so negligently, that this afflicted Lover was ready to die at that very instant, and lost his speech through the excess of his grief, But though Terentia was extremely perplexed to understand how ardent Aemilius' affection was for Aurelisa, yet she left Theanor very hastily, and came to help Elinyssa and me to succour him; insomuch that not being able to suppress his complaint, O gods (cried he lifting up his eyes to heaven) with how many torments, would I have deserved Aemilius' death? In speaking which, this furious Lover offered to pluck off all that was laid upon a wound he had received in the left arm; whereupon Aurelisa leaving him by whom she was loved, to go to succour him whom she loved, though he did not affect her, restrained his hand; and, making use of the power her friend had over him to withhold him. In the name of Terentia (said she to him) taking him by the hand, restrain part of your grief, and believe (added she, transported by an excess of tenderness, which the danger she saw him in, excited in her heart) that it shall not be my fault if Terentia do not render you happy. Yes, Theanor (continued this afflicted beauty) since you cannot live for me, and cannot live without her, I will become the Confident of your passion, and serve you with her, though it be to act against myself. Alas! Madam, (said she to her) 'tis enough that I die with grief, without causing me to die with confusion. Leave an ungrateful person, leave me to die, and succour the unfortunate Aemilius, who adores you, and dies only for your sake. As we were in this perplexity, word was brought to Elinyssa, that Tolumnius was fallen sick at his house in the Country, and sent for her to come to him. So that it was requisite to depart, which nevertheless we did not do till after Aemilius was recovered from his swoon, and those that attended on them were called for. But in fine, Madam, (to shorten my relation as much as I can) these two Lovers were cured in spite of themselves, and Tolumnius died in the Country; but at his death he gave all his estate to Terentia and Aurelisa, and requested Elinyssa to do the like at hers, if Theanor did not marry Aurelisa, and Aemilius, Terentia. These two generous Ladies after the death of Tolumnius, would not accept what he had given them, Terentia resolving to confer her part on Aemilius, and Aurelisa hers on Theanor. But they being as generous as their Mistresses, refused this high munificence. Theanor told Aurelisa, it was sufficient he could not give her his heart, without taking away from her an estate which belonged to her, and Aemilius said the same to Terentia; insomuch, that Elinyssa has been constrained to take care of all the estate of Tolumnius, till these four persons resolve what they will have her to do with it. The relations of Aurelisa and Terentia after the death of Tolumnius desired to take away these two Ladies from Elinyssa, and place them about the Queen, where they have been ever since, with sentiments of equal affection, without being able to succeed in changing their hearts; though, during four months, Theanor, Aemilius, Terentia and Aurelisa, have done all they could to overcome themselves. In the mean time Terentia has not omitted to do any good office for Aemilius, nor Aurelisa for Theanor, either with the King or Queen; so that, with the consent of these two Lovers, I may say there is no person in the world to whom they have so much obligation, as to these two Virgins, whom they can never love. 'Tis true, Theanor has more obligation to Aurelisa, than Aemilius to Terentia, because she has really done all she could, to persuade this fair Virgin to marry him. And therefore 'tis a sentiment of gratitude, which caused that Lover to act, as all the Court has seen, when they were in danger of being drowned. For you must know, Madam, that yesterday whilst the King was speaking to the Queen and you, Terentia and Aurelisa passing out of the porch to the bridge which lies over the ditch to go into the garden, Theanor and Aemilius, who attended on the King, were leaning against the gate to speak to them; and, as (persons that love never speak but what has relation to their passion, when they can) these two Lovers were rejoicing that the Queen being near the Camp, they could at least have the consolation of seeing them sometimes during the War. Theanor offered to speak some obliging words to Terentia, who rejected him uncourteously to speak to Aemilius who was on her side, though his heart was Aurelisa's. So that this unhappy Lover, not being able to discourse with her he loved, was obliged to speak to her that loved him. For my part (said Theanor) all the joy I have in the Queen's being near the Camp, is, that if I die at the siege (as I wish, since I can never be happy) Aurelisa will hear of my death one day sooner, and have the contentment, to see herself delivered from an ungrateful person. However, (answered Aurelisa) than I have cause to reproach you, that 'tis not my fault that you are not happy even at the loss of my own felicity. As she ended these words, the bridge broke, Aurelisa fell on the side where Theanor was, to whom she had spoken so obligingly, and Terentia fell on the side of Aemilius. I having since discoursed with those two Lovers, am informed what they thought in that occasion, in which their passions and their reasons had a contest of a moment's duration, which caused them to act after a very different manner; for Theanor finding himself on the side where Aurelisa was fallen into the water, his first thought was to succour her: for having his mind then filled with what she had spoken so obligingly to him, the affection he had for her, the thousand offices he had rendered her, and the thousand rigours of Terentia, which excited indignation in him, gratitude carried him at that instant above his love: Insomuch, that out of generosity he leapt into the water, and went to succour Aurelisa, by whom he was loved, and whom he did not love. At the same time, Aemilius, though he saw all imaginable dearness in Terentia's eyes for him, and had a thousand obligations to her, no sooner beheld Aurelisa in the water, than forgetting all he owed to Terentia, and all the rigours of Aurelisa, he did not deliberate between his gratitude and his love, but cast himself into the water as well as Theanor, to succour Aurelisa, whilst the poor Terentia was ready to perish in the sight of one Lover whom she loved, and another who loved her. But to her good hap Cereontus, who was always believed incapable of love, was found to have a concealed passion for that Lady, which he discovered very opportunely to save her life: for, as you know, Madam, if he had not leapt into the water to rescue her, she had without question been drowned. Thus, Madam, you understand the adventure of Terentia and Aurelisa, but that which is rare, is, that Terentia, who found no lover to succour her, has at present two, who pretend notwithstanding to dispute her affection; for Cereontus affirms, Theanor has no longer any right to Terentia; and Theanor maintains, that the excessive gratitude he had for Aurelisa, is a pure effect of the innocent love he has for Terentia. But as for this fair Virgin, I assure you, she is to be pitied. Who ever saw (said she to me last night) a misfortune equal to mine? for is there any thing more cruel, than to see one's self deserted in a great danger, by a man that is loved more than all the rest of the world? and withal by another, that has sworn to me so long, that he loves me a thousand times above all the rest of the earth? As for Aurelisa, she is much more happy than I; they whom she hates, and they that hate her, save her life; but as for those whom I love, and those by whom I am loved, they equally abandon me; and for my last unhappiness, the insensible Cereontus comes to rescue me from death, to the end to make me better feel all the rigour of my misfortune, and to prepare also a new persecution for me. But, Amiclea, (said she to me again) I will equally hate both him that I loved, and him that loved me; and since ingratitude has not hindered Aurelisa from being succoured by Aemilius, I will be ingrateful to Cereontus too, and, instead of giving him thanks for having saved my life, I will accuse him of part of the miseries which I suffer. Yea, I will hate him too (continued she) for my weakness is the true cause of my misfortune; and, according to my present sentiments, I find nothing in the World but what is worthy to be hated and scorned. On the other side he used such expressions, that he could not but be pitied. Aurelisa too complained she was more obliged than the desired to be. And Aemilius looks upon himself as more unhappy than before, since the services he renders do not make him loved the more: and Cereontus also is in a strange fear, lest Terentia prove unjust towards him. Wherefore, Madam, it lies in your prudence, and that of the Prince, to hinder such brave persons as these from quarrelling, and to seek some remedy to the unhappinesses of two Virgins so amiable as Terentia and Aurelisa.  
Amiclea having finished her relation, found it was not unprofitable; for Aronces promised to take a particular care of those three Lovers; and the Princess of the Leontines, of the two amiable persons who caused the unhappiness of the rest by their own. After which they went to the Chamber of the Queen of Hetruria, and Amiclea returned to that of the two afflicted Virgins, with whom she found Theanor and Aemilius, who after having deliberated a long time were at length entered into their Chamber, though Terentia was unwilling to see either of them. Theanor was upon his knees before Terentia who lay upon her bed, and Aemilius stood near Aurelisa who sat leaning upon a Table. Whereupon Amiclea approaching to Aurelisa, without Terentia's observing it, Theanor was not at all interrupted. You see, Madam, (said he to her) an unhappy person who confesses his Crime. No, no, (answered Terentia with a Tone sufficiently fierce): do not go about to excuse yourself; you had reason to go, and succour a person by whom you are loved; and to abandon one that does not love you. But as for Aemilius, if you had reason, he is a Criminal; for he succoured a person by whom he could never be loved, and deserted one that would have given her own life to save his. Aemilius hearing himself named, drew near to her, and Aurelisa and Amiclea did the same, upon which there began so pathetical a conversation between these four persons, whose interests together were so hard to be disintangled, that scarce ever was the like seen. Theanor appeared very much afflicted, Aurelisa extremely perplexed, Aemilius absolutely enraged, to see himself no more loved than before his succouring Aurelisa; and Terentia so incensed both against Theanor and Aemilius that she could not endure the sight of them. Go, (said she to them) go, unjust persons as you are, and leave me at least the liberty to bemoan myself in quiet for my unhappiness, in being loved by a man of such gratitude, that rather than be ungrateful to another he suffered the person he loved to perish; and for a second unhappiness in loving one so ungrateful, that he had rather save her life by whom he is hated, than hers from whom he has received a thousand courtesies. But, Madam, (replied Aemilius) if I am ungrateful towards you, are not you so towards Theanor, and is not Aurelisa the same towards me? In truth (answered this fair Lady) I know not whether we be ungrateful, but I know well we are extreme unhappy, However it be (said Terentia) I have this advantage of my infelicity, that I owe nothing any longer to Theanor, and have so great cause not to love Aemilius more, that if indignation do not induce me to mistake, I am ready to hope I shall renounce my passion. As she ended these words, one came and informed Theanor and Aemilius that Aronces was returning to the Camp; which summons constrained them to go away without time to speak four words, or hear one that pleased them. Aronces being more sensible of the misfortunes which are caused by love than of any others, when he was upon the way, did not cease to speak to Theanor and Aemilius; he pitied and comforted them, and pitied himself too though without comfort, not having so much hope as to see a possibility of ever becoming happy. At his arrival at the Camp, he found a Council of War ready to be assembled, so that it behoved him to make truce with Love, and bestow at least part of his mind upon the cares of the army and the siege. Now the Tuscans being a superstitious people, the accident of the broken Bridge, and the interpretations of the soothsayers upon it, gave occasion to several rumours among the Soldiers, some affirming that if Rome, were attaqued by force it would be taken; others on the contrary maintaining, that if the course were attempted, it would not succeed. Nevertheless, the first opinion being more generally prevalent than the other, Porsenna and Tarquin conceived this belief would probably excite the Soldiers to act with greater courage. Whereupon understanding by some Spies, that it was believed at Rome that they had no design to storm it by force, they took up a resolution to endeavour to surprise it. Tarquin being perfectly acquainted with the strength and weakness of the City, and instructed concerning the Fortifications made there since his absence, advised to make the principal onset on the side that appeared most inaccessible (though indeed it was not so) because it would be the least guarded. That for this purpose it was requisite to seize upon Janiculum, and become Masters of the Sublician Bridge, which would afterwards be easily kept, because the Hill that was to be seized on too would command it: That in the mean time no care ought to be omitted in order to such things as were necessary for the happy success of the Siege, in case this design should not take effect. Accordingly Porsenna sent order for the Boats which he had provided, to come away, not only with intent to stop up the Tiber with them both above and below Rome, but also to make two Bridges with them, which might be serviceable for the communication of the several Quarters of his Army. The resolution therefore of attaquing the Hill Janiculus being taken, order was given for the Forces designed for the attempt to be in readiness to march at the first break of Day; and for those who were to make false assaults in several contrary places to be ready also to execute what should be commanded them, and likewise for all the rest of the Army to be in arms. Aronces was the man to whom this bold enterprise was encharged, Titus was commanded to back him, Porsenna and Tarquin remaining in the Camp to give orders according to occasion, and Sextus was entrusted with the care of the false assaults. Nevertheless he was desirous to be in the most dangerous place of all; but Tarquin knowing how violently he was hated by the Romans, conceived if they should know him during the fight, it would make them become the more valiant. This design having more need of Foot than Horse, because it behoved them to seize on a Pass, the access to which was difficult. Aronces put himself on foot at the head of the Forces intended for it, and a Horse was led by, for him to make use of, when he shall see it convenient. There was this difficulty in the thing, that the attaque could not be begun till it was day; because the Soldiers being to pass through rough and intricate places, would have molested one another, if they had gone in the dark without seeing their way. But not to lose time, Aronces marched away in the head of his Forces as soon as the first appearance of day light. The Cavalry kept themselves on both sides of them, either to withstand such as might come out of Rome by the Sublician Bridge, where the Hill Janiculus was attaqued, or to oppose such as might come from the Hill by any other side. Titus' kept in readiness to back Aronces, if there were need of it; and Aronces prepared himself to show the Friends he had in Rome, and the Enemies he had in the Camp, that he deserved all the glory he had acquired in so many several occasions as he was present in. Telanus, Aemylius, Theanor, Lucilius and Cesonius, brothers to the generous Melintha, and all the other brave persons of the Army fought near Aronces, whose mind was then very much employed, not only with the care of coming off handsomely in this great enterprise, but also with the passion he had in his breast. For he was now beginning to draw his sword against Rome for whose interests he had gained a Battle, and he was going to see the house of Clelius, if his attempt succeeded; for it stood at the end of the City, on the side of the Hill Janiculus. He had indeed the consolation of apprehending, that neither Clelius nor Octavius would be in this attaque, for the hill Janiculus was a kind of out-piece of the City, which in all likelihood a man of Clelius' age would not go to defend, nor was it probable Octavius' weakness occasioned by his wounds would yet permit him to come into the field. He had likewise understood by a Spy, that Mutius was upon the guard of that place; and therefore knowing how courageous he was; and looking upon him as Rival to Herminius, and consequently no friend to himself, he went to this assault with a resolution to signalise himself highly in it. He fancied also some pleasure in thinking that after the taking of this Hill, he might be able to seize on the Bridge and the Gate, and that his valour might have the fair eyes of Clelia for Witnesses, it being sufficiently difficult for the last daring Ladies to refrain from beholding that, which nevertheless they would be willing not to see. Aronces therefore went to the fight with all the ardour of an Hero, that would make it the interest of his Love to be courageous, to the end he might be more so. He caused his Forces to advance in so good order, that their march did not break them, though they were necessitated to pass through a way sufficiently troublesome, and they came very near the Hill Janiculus before Mutius discovered thom; for they took a certain by way the which kept them from being taken notice of. Besides that a good thick mist being risen that morning which held for an hours space, it was not easy to discern them. 'Tis true, Mutius did not fail to send forth every night a party of Horse, to serve for a Guard to the Place he was Commander of; but Aronces took a way, by which he did not look to be assaulted. So that he was sufficiently surprised when he saw himself forced to prepare so suddenly to fight; but having an undaunted heart, he soon resolved upon it. However he sent forthwith to advertise Herminius, Who kept Guard at the Gate of the Bridge, to send him aid; and accordingly Horatius in the Head of the Principal Troops of the second Legion, went to assist Mutius to defend a hold of such importance. When he arrived, Aronces had already beaten back the Enemies to their first Trench; for when Porsenna's Troops advanced, Mutius came out in person against his Assaulters; upon which Aronces seeing an Enemy against him, which he could not overcome without Glory, encouraged his Soldiers with his voice example, and went directly up to him, conceiving that if they could kill him, he might then exsily carry the Pass which he guarded. The fight was very sharp, and very Bloody in this place; for the example of two such valiant men so animated both parties, that if it had been possible to resist Aronces long, Mutius had not yielded to him. But this Prince being this day more redoubtable than ever, there was no means to hold out against him. Every blow that he gave was mortal, all his Orders were executed as he could have wished, his example redoubled the Valour of his own Party, and weakened that of his enemies. Mutius himself was amazed at it, and soon constrained to abandon the first Trench, to the end he might better defend the second. But Horatius being arrived in the Head of the Troop which were sent to aid Mutius, Aronces, after having first forced the Trench, found the number of his Enemies redoubled, but as it is the custom of those who have great hearts, for their courage to increase when the danger is so, Aronces being followed by all the brave Persons that accompanied him, charged his Enemies with such vigour that they were astonished at it, and constrained to withdraw from the second entrenchment, as they had done from the first. Now although Horatius owed his life to a Rival more than once, and in spite of his love was loath to be ingrateful to him, yet he did not cease to prepare himself to fight with him in this occasion, after having rallied and encouraged his Forces; for the interest of Rome being contended for, and they in opposite Parties, he made no scruple of defending himself against him that attaqued him, how obliged soever he was to him. So he helped Mutius to bear up against the violence of so redoubtable an Enemy; but though his valour was not easily paralleled in the World: yet that of Aronces was greater than his; for without looking whether he were followed or no, he still charged forward, and suffered none to stand against him. Mutius himself was wounded by Aronces, and carried out of the fight, though it was not mortally. So that Horatius perceiving it would he impossible to hinder Aronces from making himself Master of the Place, judged it more requisite to think of going to defend the Bridge, than to persist in the unprofitable maintaining of a Post which he could not keep. Nevertheless he made a great shock to beat back the Enemies: but Aronces coming up to him, brandishing his sword, This is the day, Horatius, (said he to him) that we may end all our differences, and perhaps our misfortunes. Since 'tis lawful for me (answered Horatius fiercely) to fight against all Enemies of Rome whatsoever, I am willing that we determine all our quarrels with our swords. In speaking of this, these two valiant Men began to fight, which in all probability had not ended but in the death of both, if Publicola, who was advertised of the state of the matter had not sent order to withdraw the Forces from the Hill Janiculus, and to take care only for the defence of the Bridge. 'Tis true this order was in a manner unprofitable; for the valour of Aronces and those who followed him, had already driven the Enemies to that choice. Wherefore Horatius observing the disorder of his Forces, bethought himself of retiring. Which yet he was much put to't to do. For Aronces having passed upon him, seized upon his Sword, and took it from him: but Horatius being strong, disengaged himself from his Enemy, and drawing back towards his Soldiers to get a Sword, they enclosed him, and shrouding him from the sight of his Rival, constrained him to obey the Orders of Publicola. Aronces all fierce with his victory, sought for his enemy, whom he had overcome; but not finding him, he sacrificed to his revenge, all such as dared to resist him, and made himself absolute Master of the Hill Janiculus. After which conceiving it requisite to make sure of the place he had gained, he stayed there to give necessary orders for the guarding of it, and causing fresh Forces to come to seize upon the Bridge, whilst Telanus in the head of a part of the victorious Troops pursued those that retreated, with intention to begin the assault of the Bridge, and so to become Master of the Gate which Herminius guarded. But the Tuscans found this design was not so easy to execute as they had believed; for Horatius, being provided of another sword, stayed at the end of the Bridge, and bore up against all the impetuofity of the Enemies. Aronces indeed was not there, but he had so many Enemies on all sides, that any other but he would never have dared to think of resisting. In the mean time there was a strange confusion in Rome: the affrighted People believed the Enemies were coming in upon them on all sides, the Women went to the Temples to supplicate to the Gods, the Old Men encouraged their Children to the defence of their Country, all such as bore Arms, went whither the Consuls commanded them to go: and Publicola without being terrified gave such orders as was necessary for the conservation of Rome. During this great Tumult, Clelia was at a window of her Closet with Valeria and Colatina, who were then at her house, and who suffered more than can be imagined; for they might propably undergo considerable losses in both parties. It was known by wounded Mutius, that Aronces was in person at the Hill Janiculus, and that the Prince Titus was there too; for his Troops advanced for the winning the second Trench, and Valeria seeing her dear Herminius at the guard of the Gate which was exposed to the Enemies, thought herself every moment in danger of losing all she loved, as well as Clelia and Colatina. They having a true love to their Country in their hearts, prayed the gods for the preservation of Rome: but at the same time they prayed for those that assaulted it, and made as ardent vows for Aronces and Titus, as for the liberty of their native City. No question but they judged it a dreadful spectacle, to see all the Mountain which lay at the end of the Sublician Bridge covered with Soldiers, who thronged down it to back those who attaqu'd the Bridge, and to see the Roman Soldiers at the same time daunted with the approach of that multitude of armed Men, who came upon them, as to an assured victory, and retiring in Confusion, and entering tumultuously into the City, for all the resistance of Herminius, who endeavoured to hinder them from it, and could not so much as cause the Gate to be shut. So that Horatius saw himself left alone, to bear up against the whole power of the Enemies. 'Tis true, Herminius and Spurius soon joined themselves to him, and these three Lovers did prodigious things in the sight of their Mistresses. Whither fly you, Cowards as you are, (said Horatius to the Soldiers that forsook him)? do not you see, that if you abandon the defence of the Bridge, there will presently be as many Enemies, in the Palatine Hill, and the Capitol, as in the Hill Janiculus? At least (added he●) if you will not fight, break the bridge, and leave me alone to bear the shock of those Enemies, who are not terrible but because you fear them. At these words the affrighted Soldiers chose rather to break the Bridge than to fight; and accordingly they began to break down the Bridge with all the diligence of people possessed with fear, whilst Horatius accompanied only with Herminius and Spurius, sustained the whole power of the Enemies, without other arms than their bucklers and swords. 'Tis true he appeared with such a boldness, that the fierceness wherewith he repelled those that assaulted him, struck terror into them, and sometimes forced them to recoil. Herminius and Spurius seconded him likewise with very great valour; but at length the Bridge being almost broken, and nothing left but a small Plank to pass from one side to the other, he told Herminius and Spurius, it was time for them to retire; and accordingly these two gallant persons imagining he intended to pass over the plank as well as themselves, retired. But Horatius led by an Heroical ardour, fiercely commanded the Romans to break down that Plank, and stayed alone for defence of the Bridge, sometimes defying the Tuscans, and sometimes reproaching them for their injustice in protecting a Tyrant; and sometimes threatening them as fiercely, as if it had been in his power to overcome them, though he stood alone against a whole Army. This extraordinary action so amazed the Enemies, that for a small while they suspended the violence of their valour, not knowing almost what they were to do. But at length seeing Horatius going from side to side with his sword in his hand, to the end he might take up all the Bridge, they were so struck with shame, and enraged, that in an instant a storm of Arrows falling upon him, his Shield was broken all to pieces. At which moment Herminius and Spurius perceiving Horatius had not passed back upon the plank, offered to return to him; but they could not, because they, who were set to break it, having done it according to Horatius' orders, and that part of the Bridge being fallen into the Water with a great noise, all the Romans sent forth such loud cries of joy, that the Enemies withheld their fury for an instant, whilst Horatius observing Rome was in safety, lifted up his eyes to Heaven and cried, O god of Tiber, receive favourably into thy bosom, a man who has never been willing to live or die but for his Country: In saying which he leapt into the water, and turning his face towards the windows of Clelia, which looked out on that side, he began to swim, without forsaking his sword or his shield so shattered with the Enemy's arrows. But though this spectacle deserved only admiration, yet the Tuscan Soldiers looking upon Horatius, as a man, who alone had hindered them from taking Rome, began to shoot upon him such a great multitude of Arrows, that he could not have failed to perish, if the valiant Aronces, after having assured the Post which he had gained, had not arrived on Horseback upon the bank of Tiber. Where being informed of what had passed, and being not able to hinder himself from admiring his Rival, the same Prince who an hour before endeavoured to kill him, could not suffer that so valiant a Man as he should perish after so strange a manner. Yet he wished he could have fought with him, and advanced towards the River for the purpose; but Horatius was already so near the other side of the Tiber, that he could not come at him. Wherefore not being able to overcome him gloriously, he would not that he should perish in his presence, after having done so glorious an action; and, out of unparallelled generosity, forbade his Soldiers to shoot upon Horatius. Ah Cowards (said he to them) you ought to have overcome him with your swords, and forced the Bridge which he defended, and not cover him with Arrows when he can no longer defend himself. These words having stopped that clouds of Arrows which darkened the Air, both parties beheld Horatius safely arrive at the other side of the River, and Aronces had the grief to imagine, that Clelia saw with her own eyes the great action of his Rival, and that she beheld at that instant the great honours the Romans were doing him. However there being nothing more to be done, Aronces was enforced to be contented with having gained a very advantageous place, which would extremely inconvenience Rome, and prevented their making of Sallies, which might have much molested the Camp of the Besiegers. But though this days actions were very glorious to him, in as much as he had wounded Mutius, disarmed Horatius, and taken the Hill Janiculus, yet he was excessively afflicted. Not that he was capable of envy; but the Passion of Love in his breast, caused him to apprehend distasteful consequences of his Rival's glory. Accordingly the next morning he understood by a Spy, that the like honour had never been done to any other Roman since the foundation of Rome; that the Senate had decreed a Statue should be erected to Horatius at the end of the Bridge which he had defended, that Clelius was the Man that proposed the rendering the public testimony of gratitude to his valour, and that at the dissolving of the Senate, the same Clelius had carried Horatius to Sulspitia and Clelia. Dispatch, Fortune, dispatch, (said Aronces in himself, as soon as he had opportunity to be alone) render me the most unhappy of all men, by wholly depriving me of hope and possibility of ever to become happy. For what ground is there to retain the least hope after that which is arrived? Clelia hath seen my Rival with her own eyes, doing the greatest action that ever was, and perhaps too she believes I was among those he fought with at the end of the Bridge, and puts me in the number of those that could not overcome him. But, alas! though this should not be so, yet Clelius will make use of Horatius' valour against me: for what can be refused to him, that has preserved Rome? Therefore I must resolve to see Clelia unfaithful, or Clelia persecuted; and consequently I must prepare myself to be always miserable.    
The End of the Fourth Part of CLELIA.   

THE Fifth and Last VOLUME OF CLELIA, THAT EXCELLENT New Romance: Being the CONCLUSION of the Whole WORK.  
Written in FRENCH By the Exquisite Pen of Mounsieur de SCUDERY Governor of Notre dame de la Garde.  
Rendered into English by G. H.  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, at the Anchor in the lower Walk of the New Exchange, 1677.   

THE Fifth and Last VOLUME OF CLELIA, THAT EXCELLENT New Romance: Being the CONCLUSION of the Whole WORK.  
Written in FRENCH By the Exquisite Pen of Mounsieur de SCUDERY Governor of Notre dame de la Garde.  
Rendered into English by G. H.  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, at the Anchor in the lower Walk of the New Exchange, 1677.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ELIZABETH Countess of RIVER'S.  
MADAM,  
The unfortunate CLELIA having since her arrival in this Nation, sought a patronage from many noble hands, doth at length address herself to yours. As if those various adventures, which traversed her illustrious life could not terminate in a complete happiness before she were acknowledging to you for it, and that her virtue had not been sufficiently tried to merit that felicity which was preparing for her before it had received a testimony from you, who are the perfect Pattern of it. That she is worthy your protection I cannot doubt, at least if those excellent beauties of hers which are almost matchless in the original, come not sullied from my unskilful hands. And since it is reported it was not the illustrious Scudery, but that celebrated Vertuosa his Sister who finished the Romance after his decease, I could not make a more apt Dedication than the work of a Lady to the most Noble and accomplished Person of her own Sex. That which may cause you to make some difficulty in the reception of CLELIA, is the person of him that shall assume the boldness to present her to you. Yet it cannot seem strange an unknown person should thus presume, since an heroic virtue, such as yours, commands the addresses and devoyrs of all that honour it; the sense of which I cannot better manifest in myself, than by my humble desires to be admitted together with CLELIA in the quality of  
MADAM, Your Honour's most obedient and devoted Servant, G. haver's.   

CLELIA. A New Romance. The Fifth and Last PART.  

The First BOOK.  
WHilst Aronces was possessed with an opinion that his present condition rendered him the most unhappy Man in the World, Horatius sometimes enjoyed all the delectation that glory together with hope is capable to excite in a heart truly amorous. He tasted the joy of being satisfied with himself; which is the highest pleasure possible for a rational person to resent: He had performed a piece of singular service to his Country; and although Aronces had disarmed him, yet his last action afforded him satisfaction for that misfortune. Besides Clelius being so favourable to him, he had reason to conceive that the end of the War would prove the beginning of his felicity. And indeed he perceived so unanimous a Resolution in the Roman Citizens to defend themselves to the utmost, that he would not so much as entertain in his thoughts a possibility for Porsenna to become Master of Rome. What place soever he went into, afforded him new cause of contentment, saving when he repaired to Clelia, whom he always found affected with the same aversion towards him. When he passed along the streets, the people attested his glory with a thousand acclamations; when he went to the Temple, he beheld Sacrifices offered there in thankfulness to the gods for the great action which he had performed; when he went to the Senate, he understood they had ordained a Statue to be erected to him as an eternal Monument of his valour: to conclude, only the fair eyes of Clelia deprived him of the hope, which fortune every where else suggested to him. And truly this was oftentimes sufficient to disturb all the pleasure, that hope could give him. The next morning after that great exploit, which had rendered him so eminent in Rome, Clelius bringing him to his house, and presenting him to his Daughter, he found cause to believe that what he had done had no influence to change the heart of that fair Lady. At first Clelius having beheld her with a sufficiently cold air, was immediately, out of an excessive affection for his Country transported against her. How? (said he to her with a low but angry Tone) dare you appear sad, when I bring the Deliverer of Rome to you? and have you the boldness to discover in your eyes the tokens of that obstinate and unjust passion which you harbour in your mind? Clelia hearing her Father speak in this manner, blushed and cast down her eyes; so that Horatius not doubting, but that which Clelius spoke low to her, displeased her, was almost sorry for it, though he apprehended the discourse could not but be in his favour. Wherefore advancing towards her, he interrupting the private communication, Permit me to ask you, Madam (said he, perceiving Clelius retire) whether the general fright yesterday did not reach you too, and whether you had the resolution to behold from your windows, that multitude of enemies which would have surprised the City, had not the bridge been broken down, at which they endeavoured to enter. You speak very modestly of one of the fairest actions of the world (answered she) but to show you that I am never unjust (added this prudent Lady) know, that though you seemed appointed by Destiny for the cause of the greatest infelicities of my life, nevertheless I did not cease to make vows in your behalf, when I saw you alone in the middle of the Bridge, sustaining the whole power of the Enemies. For indeed I saw all that passed in that great occasion; and I likewise beheld Aronces forbid his men to shoot at you, when you were in the River Tiber. I should myself have informed you, Madam, (replied Horatius) of that generosity of my Rival, though you had not seen it; for I have heretofore often told you, that I yield to his merit and his virtue; 'tis only in point of Love that I contend with him for superiority. And to testify to you at least, Madam, that I do all that I can, know, I did not interrupt Clelius, but only because I apprehended he spoke sharply to you in my favour. I acknowledge it (answered Clelia) and I shall also acknowledge that you deserve my esteem and my friendship. Nevertheless, observing hope this day become more prevalent in your heart, I shall tell you once more (generous Horatius) that it will be best for you not to flatter yourself into an error by it; since the more Aronces becomes unhappy, the more shall I be obliged to be faithful to him; and the more my Father persecutes me, the more resolvedness shall I have to withstand him. For in brief he has once given me to Aronces, and I have joined in the gift; so that 'tis in the power of death alone to hinder me from being his. Moreover were he no longer mine, I have told you an hundred times, I should never be yours nor any others. Content yourself with being beloved by the whole People of Rome, enjoy quietly the glory you have acquired, and do not render yourself miserable, for a person, that can never make you happy. Other visitants hereupon arriving, Horatius was constrained to withdraw, his heart being so full, that he could not but manifest part of his grief. And therefore he made a low reverence, without being able to speak any thing to Clelia, saving by some glances not less sad than amorous. As he came from thence he found Aemilius, who being unhappy as well as he, seemed a fit person to be the confident of his sorrow. Walking along together, and Aemilius observing him very sad, What's the cause (said he to him) that you seem so melancholy in a day wherein you ought to know no other passion but joy? Alas Aemilius (cried Horatius) 'tis in vain that I have repelled the enemies, since Aronces is not so absolutely Master of the Janiculum, which he hath seized, as he is always of the heart of Clelia; and should Fortune cause me to perform miracles for the safety of Rome, I should not thereby be less unhappy, In which regard, I can assure you Aronces is not at present so miserable as I; undoubtedly no unhappiness being so unsupportable as that whereby we find, that what ought to produce our felicity causes our misfortune. However (replied Aemilius) your misery is not so extraordinary as mine; Clelia loved Aronces before she knew you; she has loved him ever since, and you have not been able to win her affection. But as for me, unfortunate as I am, I have seen the cruel Valeria not to hate me, during the time she believed Herminius was unfaithful and dead: but since she understood his being alive and innocent, she has ceased to love me, and deprived me of all hope for ever. Ah! Aemilius (answered Horatius) that which you say causes your regret, is the very thing that ought to afford you consolation; For according to the transports of Love in which I am at present, I think if Clelia had loved me but only one day in all my life, the remembrance alone of so great a pleasure would suffice to keep me from being miserable the remainder of my days. But when I consider that my Rival is beloved, that according to all probabilities he will be ever so, that I have never been so, for so much as one moment, and that perhaps I never shall be during my life; patience forsakes me, despair seizes me, and I wish for death every instant. Had I the same sentiments as heretofore (continued Horatius) when I carried away Clelia, I could easily induce Clelius to constrain her to marry me. After what I have performed, the people would approve the violence, and the Senate in the present posture of affairs would not offer to oppose my happiness: but (Aemilius) I know to my misery, that unless Clelia bestow herself, I cannot wish to possess her; since 'tis the heart of that cruel person which can cause my felicity. But (alas) that (to my misfortune) is in the power of a Rival whom I admire in spite of myself, for whom I bear as much esteem as hatred, to whom I am so highly obliged, that I cannot injure him without ingratitude, and who sets me such great examples of generosity, that it's necessary to be a Hero to surpass him. Cease therefore to bemoan yourself, or at the best think me the greatest object of commiseration. Yet on the other side generous Horatius (replied Aemilius) did you know what it is to have been loved and to be so no longer, you would change the thoughts; for no favourable glance has been formerly obtained, but then causes a thousand regrets; not an advantageous word heard, but occasions a thousand torments; and the opposition of misery to happiness, produces such a strange hurly-burly in an amorous breast, that the insensibility of a Mistress is an affliction not comparable to what I speak of. Did I love a person insensible in reference to all love (answered Horatius) you would have reason: but I love a person that has a soft heart, that is able to love both with order and constancy, and consequently to resist whatever opposes the affection she has in her soul. When I spoke of an insensible Person (replied Aemilius) I meant in respect to you alone; for, as I said before, 'tis a more exquisite misery to be beloved no more, than to have never been loved at all. I conceive indeed (said Horatius) it would be a greater affliction to fall into poverty after having been rich, than to have been always poor; but 'tis not so in love: for in my apprehension, the thought of never having been loved, not being so at present, and despairing ever to be so, is the most cruel and in supportable of all those that can be inspired by an infortunate passion. Aemilius answered Horatius again, and Horatius yielded not to Aemilius; so that they parted without having convinced one another. But while these two Lovers bemoaned themselves together, there were others also who did the like. All Plotina's Lovers, looking upon Amilcar, as he that of all the rest injured them most, scarce hated one another at all, but hated him excessively, though they dared not to express it. Themistus being always absent, and always discontented, lamented himself amongst his Friends. Artemidorus being always loved by two very aimable persons, had not a little to do. Spurius was displeased with himself that he had not been able to outdo Herminius, who signalised himself most, next Horatius. And Mutius being as ambitious as amorous, was desperately afflicted for that he had not been able to defend the Janiculum, and had been wounded: for although the wound he received was not dangerous, yet it confined him to his Chamber; where abandoning himself to regret, he revolved in his thoughts what ever most difficult attempts a great Spirit incensed both against Love and Fortune could devise to overcome his misfortune. But having a Soul too noble to seek ways that were not honourable, he fancied nothing but what was grand and heroical. Herminius is beloved (said he within himself) and deserv'es to be so; Aemilius is an amiable Person, and was not hated whilst Valeria believed Herminius had betrayed her and was dead; and Spurius is subtle, daring, dextrous and amorous. What then shall I do (continued he) to overcome such formidable Rivals? I must do some action transcending that of Horatius (added this afflicted Lover) and signalise myself so remarkably, that my Rivals may not afterwards dare to stand in competition with me for Valeria. I must save Rome with one stroke, if it be possible; and indeed it is too shameful to see it Captive when it boasts to be free, and to see it more miserable when it has no Tyrants, than when it was under the Tyranny of the Tarquins. After which Mutius having thought upon what he would undertake, took no care to be cured speedily, to the end he might execute the great design he had determined of in his mind. In the mean time Aronces maintaining his Conquest, and taking care to cause the Janiculum to be more fortified on the side towards Rome, suffered more misery than can be imagined: for he well perceived, that since this famous City could not be surprised at first, it would be very difficult to become Master of it by force, unless it were in a time so long, that Horatius would perhaps have leisure to work some change on the sentiments of Clelia: not that he could believe her capable of infidelity; but though he could not believe it, yet he could fear it; and the glory of Horatius, the authority of Clelius, the people's affection towards his Rival, the little probability there was that Porsenna would consent to his marriage, all these circumstances considered, together with his own absence, added weight to his fear, and diminished his hope. Nevertheless he trusted to the fidelity of his Illustrious Friends at Rome, and sometimes imagined secret consolations to himself, which enabled him to support all his misfortunes. Moreover, a sentiment of glory adding itself to that of love, the care of the Siege almost wholly employed his mind. But that which rendered him more unhappy, was, that he was constrained to see Tarquin and Sextus. He knew that the first always loved Clelia; and looking upon Sextus as one that had loved her, that might still love her, and that had caused the death of Lucretia, he hated and disdained him, though he was not ignorant, that as voluptuous and unjust a Prince as he was, he had some qualities in him not unpleasing to such as did not know him. Aronces likewise understood by a spy, that the Senate in testimony of greater acknowledgement to Horatius, had bestowed on him as great a compass of Lands as two Oxen could in one day enclose with a furrow; that all the Inhabitants of Rome had particularly made him a present of something or other, to the end he might not suffer any inconvenience during the Siege; and that Horatius making a generous use of the same, had not only given to the poor all that they had offered to him, but moreover all that he had received from the rich. By which means the good fortune and the virtue of Horatius being alike terrible to him, this Prince was extremely miserable, and found no comfort, saving when he was free to go and entertain the Princess of the Leontines, a few moments, with discourse of his infelicities. Which notwithstanding he could not do often at the beginning of the Siege, by reason his presence was necessary in so many places, that he had scarce time to go see the Queen of Clusin. In the mean time it being resolved at a Council of War not to make more attempts to take Rome by force, order was taken to famish it. To which purpose Porsenna caused little Forts to be raised at equal distances about the City, and the Tiber to be secured both above and below Rome, with Boats fastened together with chains; all these Boats being defended by Towers which were raised to that end on each side of the River; besides that there were also guards of Soldiers placed in several stations, which were relieved from time to time. These Boats serving at that time for a Bridge to Porsenna's Army, the Tarquinians passed over from the other side of Tiber, and extended their Camp into the Plain, after having pitched upon a very advantageous place, where they might easily hinder any thing from being carried into Rome on that side, and from whence they sent parties out to waste, to make spoil in all the adjacent parts about that City. Rome was by this means begirt on all sides; but the more it was straightened, the Romans became the more courageous. Herminius being desirous to signalise himself, and accounting it a disparagement to be cooped up, undertook to fetch provision into the City. Not that he believed that what he could procure brought in, would be capable to make it subsist any long time; but being a person of great prudence, he understood it was requisite to amuse the people, And he had occasion to take this course with them; for as soon as all the avenues and passages of Rome were secured by the Enemy, the common sort began to have an extreme dread of Famine. But although this fear seemed but to increase their hatred against Tarquin, yet there was cause to suspect it might at length administer occasion to a sedition; it being natural enough to the poor to murmur against the rich, and likewise sufficiently ordinary for the rich to have no great pity of the poor. Herminius therefore minding to prevent so great a mischief, told Valerius, it was requisite to send to the neighbouring people, to the end to obtain of them such things as they had most need of; and that, for his part, he would engage to secure the entrance of Convoys into Rome. Whereupon some persons were sent out by night, to go to the people of Latium, and to oblige them to succour the City; and others also to Cumae of Campania, and to Pometia: but the Latins refused to take any side between Rome and the Tarquinians, and they of Cumae answered ambiguously; only the people of Pometia promised provisions, conditionally they might be obliged to nothing more than to furnish the Wagons which were to carry them. Wherefore Herminius to acquit himself of his word, one night when the Moon did not shine, issued forth of the City with some Troops, and taking a by-way, which the Besiegers had not took care to secure, happily executed his design, and brought a competent supply of mouth-munition into Rome. The Enemies indeed being aware of it, there was a very sharp conflict between them and the Troops that guarded the Convoy; but the valour of Herminius held them off, till all the Wagons were entered into the City, without so much as the miscarriage of one; and this Illustrious Roman having born the stroke of the Enemies as long time as was requisite for the executing of his purpose, reentered into Rome, about the break of day, in the sight of all the people, who beheld him as a second Protector, next Horatius. Moreover, to the end this might have the greater effect upon the minds of the multitude, all these Wagons were made to pass through the principal streets, before they went to the public Storehouses. By which means they murmured less for some days than they had done formerly. But for that they were at that time above 300000 persons in the City, this supply was quickly spent; and the dearness of provision increasing from day to day, the repine of the Commonalty began also afresh. It was in vain that Valerius, Clelius, Horatius, Herminius and the rest endeavoured to appease the People; for the fear of Famine, and the present suffering rendered them so perverse that whatever was resolved upon, incensed them. When sallies were made, it was said they were intended only to occasion the slaughter of men, and that there might be a less number to feed; if none were attempted, it was published about as cowardice to suffer themselves to be shut up by so few Besiegers: If the Public Stores were set open, they rumoured that all the Provisions would soon be consumed and that only the creatures of Tarquin gave this counsel, which was far more dangerous than it seemed: If there were any speech of shutting the same up, and preserving the Public Provisions against extremity, presently it was threatened to set fire on the Stores: In brief, nothing could be more difficult than to find out some fit means to compose the discontents of the City. Porsenna and Tarquin having intelligence of this disorder, sent Heralds to demand to speak to the people. Then it was that all the intelligent persons in Rome stood in fear; for they conceived it was to make some Proposition of Peace, with intention to cause the peoto mutiny, if it were not received. Wherefore the Senate was minded to send back the Heralds unheard. But the multitude was so tumultuous, that it was necessary to hear them; all that could be obtained from the provoked people, was, that those Heralds should not enter into the City, but make their Propositions at the Gate. To which being accordingly obliged, they declared there aloud, that Porsenna sent to acquaint the Romans, that if they desired to be delivered from the War and Famine, and to avoid inevitable destruction, it was yet possible, and they needed only to admit Tarquin, to secure their Peace; Porsenna engaging to cause him to pass an Amnesty for all that was past, and to protect them also against him in case he falsified his word. The Consuls trembled at this Proposal, fearing lest the present misery might induce the people to prefer a shameful Peace before a glorious War: but the matter had a better event than they imagined. The name of Tarquin was so odious to the People, that what Porsenna caused to be declared to them, to the intent to cause the sedition, produced a calm; for scarce had the Heralds done their Message, but the multitude who had beset all the Ramparts, relating to one another confusedly the Proposition that Porsenna made to them, cried all with one voice, No, no 'tis better to die, and we will rather set our City on fire, than receive Tarquin into it: and their fury transported them in such sort, that they had shot their Arrows against the Heralds, and violated the Law of Nations, if the Consuls had not restrained them. So these Messengers of Porsenna were enforced to depart; and the people, after this, seeing nothing to be chosen but War or the Tyranny of Tarquin, generously resolved upon suffering, and endured all the inconveniences of this Siege with admirable patience. Soon after, a private Council of War was held in order to attempt to break those two Bridges of Boats which secured the River, since had it been free on one side only, Porsenna's design had been destroyed, and this Prince would have found a necessity of giving over the Siege. It had been sufficiently experienced that sallies served only to weaken the Cavalry which was in the City; for there being no other Forces in the Compagne designed to relieve it, all sallies were unprofitable, and did not sufficiently facilitate the passage of Victuals for the subsistence of it. So that the only way to deliver it, was to render their River free. To which end it was resolved an attempt should be made, and that above Rome rather than below, since by that means it would be commodious for the Vessels to come down with the stream, for carrying necessaries into the City; whereas on the other side it would be requisite to row up against it. The onset indeed was very difficult, but the designing to put good Rowers into all the Boats appointed for the attaque, made that no obstacle. Themistus, though a stranger, was called to this secret Council, and propounded to set the Enemy's Boats on fire, in case they could not be forced; and accordingly preparation was made for this. In order to which, two Boats were filled with several kinds of combustible things as Pitch, Sulphur, Bitumen, and divers Gums; and a hundred others were chosen out and filled with resolute Soldiers. Every Boat had a particular Commander in it; and besides the Soldiers, and the Rowers, there were also men with Axes to break and loosen the Chains which fastened the Boats to one another. This enterprise being accompanied with much danger and difficulty, all the Gallants were eager to be in it. Mutius, who was almost cured of his wound, desired the command of a Boat; Themistus, Herminius, Aemilius and Spurius did the like: Artemidorus and Merigenes were in the same Boat, Amilcar was in that of Herminius, Zenocrates commanded one by himself, in which Octavius was pleased to be; Horatius had the conduct of one of the Fire-boats, which was fastened to his own, and Herminius had charge of the other, although Mutius had used all possible endeavours to get that employment. Damon, Sicinius, Acrisius, and divers other Gallants, were dispersed in all the Boats. In the mean time, though all care had been taken to keep this enterprise secret, yet the Enemies got intelligence of it, and prepared themselves to be assaulted. But for that they could not learn whether they should be attaqued above or below Rome, they were necessitated to divide their Forces; and moreover, the better to deceive them, a false attaque was thought fit to be given on that side which was not intended for the place of onset. The Tuscans and Tarquinians had raised little Forts at both ends of that Bridge of Boats, which stopped up the River, and served for the communication of the distant quarters of their Army: & this no doubt augmented the difficulty of the Romans attempt. But how hard soever it was, it was resolved upon; and all things being ready for it, precisely at midnight, all the Boats appointed for both purposes put forth upon the River. But those which were to make the false attaque, set out first, to the end to divert the enemy's Forces to that side, and a quarter of an hour after, the others moving in order, and taking up almost the whole breadth of the River, in several ranks went to encounter the Enemies with so much greater hope of Victory, for that they knew Aronces was not on that side, pretending to make use of their Fire-boats according to the occasion they should have for them. But, for that it is always a little lighter in the nighttime upon the water than upon the land, the Tuscans confusedly perceived those that were coming to attaque them, and provided for their defence. So that the Bridge of Boats, and two little Forts defending it, were soon beset with Soldiers, and especially with Bowmen, who seeing the Romans within reach of their Arrows, shot with such eagerness, that the multitude of Arrows made a greater darkness thereabouts than that of the night. But because they shot at a venture, this first discharge had no great effect, and hindered not the Romans from approaching the Bridge with cries so fierce, that they seemed to be a presage of Victory. All the Boats as they drew near to those which upheld the Tarquinians Bridge, hooked themselves thereunto, and they planted little Ladders against them for the Soldiers to mount upon the Bridge, whilst the workmen did what they could with their Axes to break the Chains that linked the Enemy's Boats together. On the other side, Horatius and Herminius, who were the chief Commanders in this enterprise, went to fasten Fire-boats to the middle of the Bridge, in spite of the Enemy's opposition; and having left a hidden fire in the two Boats, which would break out suddenly after they retired, one went towards the right hand, and the other towards the left, to encourage their men to make themselves Masters of the Bridge, and to endeavour to mount upon it themselves, which was no easy matter; for the Enemies who stood thick upon it with their swords in their hands, repelled them impetuously either into their Boats or the River. Mutius, Artemidorus and Merigenes mounted twice upon the Bridge, and were as often beat back into their Boat. Acrisius laying hold of a plank of the Bridge, and being almost got up, was wounded in the right hand: Zenocrates also mounted upon it courageously; but for that they which followed him were cast into the River, he found himself alone amidst many enemies, who seizing upon him, threw him into the River also on the other side the Bridge, after he had wounded one or two of them. Nevertheless losing neither his courage nor his judgement, he swum back under the Enemy's Bridge with his sword in his hand, and got into one of the Boats again, to return to the assault. Amilcar being got up the Bridge, and perceiving himself the sole man of his party there, counterfeited a Tuscan, and had the good fortune to leap back into Herminius' Boat without being taken by the Enemies. Horatius was four times repulsed; Spurius had like to have been drowned, and so had Aemilius; but Herminius was so fortunate, that he caused one of the Enemy's Boats to be loosened, at the same time that the Fire-boats doing their effect immediately burnt down the middle of the Bridge, which consisting only of planks and faggots was soon consumed. Then was there heard a most terrible noise, for the Romans sent forth a thousand cries of joy, and the Tuscans contrarily a thousand tumultuous shouts, which testified their astonishment; for the fire having taken away the middle of the Bridge, deprived them of communication from one side to the other, and opened a passage for a great Convoy which they understood was prepared in Boats under the walls of a little very strong Town, where the Romans knew the supply was which they expected. And things were accordingly so happily executed, that the Convoy was already very near, when the middle of the Bridge was burnt. Wherefore so soon as the fire mingled with Sulphur and Bitumen began to destroy the middle of the Bridge, Horatius & Herminius easily caused as many Boats to be loosened as was requisite for the passage of those which carried the Provision: for such as were appointed to that purpose, with great hooks dispersed those burned Boats, which separated one from another, and being driven by the stream towards Rome, consumed by degrees, and covered all the River with flaming wracks not without some terror in the spectacle. In the mean time, as soon as the passage was opened by the flame, the attaque of the Bridge was given over, there being no likelihood of doing any good upon the two Forts, and the only business being to procure a safe entry for the Convoy. Wherefore as soon as the River was free, at the first signal that was given of it, all the Boats drew together, and one half of them following Herminius went to meet the Convoy, and the other commanded by Horatius stayed to guard the passage. At which time the Enemies discharged a storm of Darts both upon those that stayed to guard it, and upon those that conducted the Convoy. Which while they were approaching some Gallants amongst the Enemies got into the Boats which remained at the two ends of the Bridge at the foot or the little Forts, and came forth to chase away the Romans from the place. And indeed they being assisted by those of their party, who still stood with their swords drawn upon both the ends of the broken Bridge, where they had at length stopped the course of the fire, Horatius being unable to master those that guided the Boats, was in a short time constrained to desert the passage of the River to the Enemies. So that when Herminius came back with the Convoy, he found that he was to fight again if he intended to pass. It was about daybreak, and precisely at that time the Prince of Messene coming to second Titus who commanded the Soldiers in the Boats, appeared with his sword in his hand upon the end of the Bridge. But when he perceived Themistus in one of Horatius' Boats, he leaped into one of those that maintained the passage, desiring to take this opportunity to encounter his particular enemy amongst the enemies of the side he had chosen. Themistus also knowing him, caused his Boat to advance nearer than it was, and with a threatening action signified to him that he was glad to see him in a place were he might evince that himself was more worthy of Lindamira than he. Matters standing thus, Herminius appeared in the head of the Conduct of the Convoy; for Horatius was constrained by the advice of all the chief Officers to defer charging those that defended the passage, till they might be attaqued on both sides together. And accordingly Horatius and Herminius advancing at the same time, and being followed by as many Boats as were necessary to possess the passage, went to charge them with their swords in hand. Whereupon ensued a very terrible combat; for from the Forts and the two sides of the broken Bridge, a storm of Arrows like hail was sent both upon Herminius and Horatius. But without taking unprofitable care to secure themselves from a danger which they could not avoid, but by deserting their interprize, they minded only the overcoming those who obstructed them. Horatius leapt into a Boat which Telanus defended, Herminius into another; Themistus and the Prince of Messene having the same purpose, executed it so exactly, that at the same time that Themistus leapt with his sword drawn into the Prince's Boat, the Prince passed into that of Themistus. But perceiving their error, they endeavoured either of them to return into his own Boat; which as they were doing, they grappled together, and fell both into the water. As they fell, they were parted by their own weight; and being both skilful in swimming, as soon as they got their heads above water, they approached to one another and exchanged some blows; and this strange combat would probably have proved fatal to both, had not a Roman Boat drew towards these two Rivals. Which as soon as the Prince of Messene saw, he endeavoured to avoid being taken, and began to swim towards one of the Forts; but finding that he had received a slight wound in the right hand, his sword dropped from him. Wherefore Themistus seeing him without arms, and streaming with blood, would not kill him in that condition; but entering into the Boat which came to his succour, suffered him to get the bank of the River, where he was received by those of his party. In the mean time Horatius and Herminius being seconded by all the other Gallants, maugre the resistance of the Tarquinians, sunk two Boats, slew almost all that were in the rest, and became at length so absolute Masters of the passage, that they got the Convoy clear through it. They had a mind to have maintained it afterwards, but it was not to be done; for the Enemies possessing the Forts still, and the two ends of the Bridge, would not have suffered them in the place. So that it behoved them to content themselves with carrying their Convoy to Rome, which was likewise more considerable in respect of the joy and hope it excited in the people, than of the real succour it brought to the Public necessity: for in these occasions, the multitude always magnifies things, and does not carry their foresight so far as to destroy the pleasure arising from a present relief. This victorious Fleet therefore returned to Rome, which was received there with a thousand acclamations. It had cost the life of some few Soldiers, and their were also certain persons of quality wounded. Spurius was shot with an Arrow that raised his shoulder, Damon was wounded with a sword in the side, Horatius received a slight hurt under the right eye, and Meleagenes on the arm. But however, this Victory did not prove a bloody one, and the action was accompanied with great glory. The better to set it off to the people, thanks were rendered to the gods in all the Temples, the price of Victual was abated, part of these Provisions brought into the City were distributed to the people, and they were put in hope that other Convoys would also shortly come by land. As for those that had made the false attaque, Fortune was not so favourable to them as to the others, and they were enforced to fight more than they intended; for Aronces happening to be on that side, because it was believed it would be the most dangerous, came forth to meet them with armed Boats, and repelled them so vigorously, that they were constrained to return towards Rome. He also took two of their Vessels: but understanding the real attaque would not be on that side, a sentiment of glory made him regret his absence from the place of greatest danger. Nevertheless soon after, a sentiment of Love made him the less sorry, inasmuch as he could not be accused by Clelia for being instrumental by his valour to increase a necessity, in which perhaps she might be concerned, by hindering Provisions from entering into Rome. But being desirous to send her some tidings of himself, and not being able to go where the conflict was, since Rome stood between him and the place, he writ a short Letter in his Tablets, and gave liberty to a Commander of a Boat whom he knew was allied to Clelius, on condition that he would deliver the same to Clelia. This person at his return to Rome made good his word to Aronces, and went to carry the Prince's Letter to that Illustrious Roman Lady, who found these words in it.  
ARONCES to CLELIA.  
SInce it has not been my fortune to be any wise concerned in the danger of this day's action, know, 'tis always with regret that I fight against Rome, and that for your sake I comfort myself more easily for losing an occasion of honour; because I am more solicitous to give you testimonies of love, than to show signs of courage to all the world. The Prisoners I send you back, will tell how highly I respect all that belong to Clelius. This is all can be said to you at present by a Prince, who has the unhappiness to be in an Army that is Enemy to Rome, and who is faithful enough to adore you in the midst of your Enemies.  
This Letter gave much joy to Clelia, but withal it augmented her persecution; for Clelius understanding it, told her, she was infinitely culpable for receiving it; that there could no longer be an innocent correspondence between her and Aronces, since himself prohibited it; and that Rome having daily greater obligation to Horatius, it behoved her to look upon him as the man that was infallibly to marry her at the end of the War. Clelia answered to this speech of her father with her accustomed constancy; & though she said nothing inconsistent with the respect she owed to such a relation, yet withal she said nothing prejudicial to the fidelity she had promised to her Lover. In the mean time, to keep up the people's hopes, who were troubled that the Enemies had again stopped up the passages of the River, sallies were frequently made upon them, and one day the herds of Cattle were driven forth out of the City, both to signify to the Besiegers that they wanted nothing, as also to let the people to see, that it was not so straight begirt. Moreover Publicola had a design to draw the Enemies to a conflict by this Stratagem, imagining they would soon have notice that the droves of Cattle were to go out of the City; for every day some treacherous slaves slunk out of the City into the Enemies Camp. Publicola therefore commanded Herminius to go with a small number of resolute Soldiers and lie in ambush along the great way of the Gabinians, in a little wood two miles distant from the City; and appointed Spurius who was accompanied with a troop of young men lightly armed, to stay at the Colline-gate till the Enemies were passed by it, to the end to intercept their way of return. On the other side, the second Consul went forth at another gate, and getting to the top of mount Clelium with foot only, he appeared first to the Enemies with the Roman Ensigns, to the end to draw them out to fight. And accordingly Tarquin, whose quarter was on that side, first sending his foragers to attempt the driving away the Cattle, commanded other Troops to second them, who hastened to the place whither they were directed, with all the eagerness that useth to be in people that hope to make a great booty. Herminius no sooner saw them advanced, but giving them a smart charge, he drove them towards the second Consul. The Tarquinians thereupon rallied themselves, and encouraging one another to fight stoutly, made head on both sides: but at the same instant a great noise arising about the Colline, and the Nevian-gates, they understood they were enclosed round; so that on a sudden losing their courages, they forsook their ranks, and were all taken or ●ut in pieces. Whereupon the people beholding the Prisoners brought in, and afterwards the Cattle, fell into an excessive joy, without considering that the City was thereby no better provided for than before. But the Consuls, Clelius, Horatius, Herminius and all the other chief Romans well understood that this small advantage was far from being decisive of the main War, and that unless the Forts were taken that defended the broken bridge which the Enemies had repaired, it was impossible to have the River free on that side, and consequently Rome could not long hold out. Therefore they resolved to make a great attempt to accomplish this; which resolution was kept with much secrecy, to the end they might, if possible, surprise the Enemies. Nevertheless they accounted it fit to defer the execution of this design for some days, during which nothing passed very considerable either in the Camp of Porsenna or in Rome. In the mean time Aronces omitted nothing to which honour obliged him, and was deprived of all consolation, saving what the conversation of the Princess of the Leontines, and the generous Melintha gave him. The Prince Titus was also very much devoted to his interest, and Telanus acquitting himself of the promise he had made to Octavius, rendered him all offices in his power. As for Tarquin, his solicitude of regaining the Throne wholly took him up; Sextus lived after his accustomed manner, to wit, as voluptuously in the Camp, as in time of peace: the fierce Tullia bestirred herself continually at Tarquinii to promote the design of Porsenna, who aimed at the glory of compelling the Romans to receive a King from his hand: But although War be a great affair which employ's all the world, even to those which go not to it, notwithstanding there wanted not some persons at Rome who diverted themselves agreeably; and War and Love have such a sympathy, that they sometimes produce one another, and often subsist together without mutual prejudice. Thus there wanted not good company at the houses of Domitia, Valeria's Mother, Sulpicia, Berelisa, Cesonia, and divers other houses of quality: and all the Lovers, how courageous soever, failed not to find opportunities to make visits to their mistresses. They also who were not amorous, but yet had pleasant wits, and were of a debonair humour, frequently diverted themselves with the misfortunes of others. Amilcar found pleasure to himself in a hundred things, which nevertheless had something of sadness in themselves. Damon furnished him with a sufficiently ample subject, for though he hated Amilcar ever since he perciev'd that he derided him, in pretending to remember what he had been before he came into the world, yet he thought him of the Sect of Pythagoras, and that he wanted only firmness enough of mind to own an opinion publicly, which was generally so little received. Wherefore being very ill of the wound he had received at the attaque of the Tarquinians bridge, and believing he should die (though his attendants thought otherwise) out of Zeal to the Sect he was of, he sent to desire Amilcar to come to see him; for one of the principal Precepts of Pythagoras was, Never to sleep with hatred in the Heart. Now Damon having passed many days and nights without being able to cease hating Amilcar, desired to see him before he died, that he might be reconciled to him and admonish him, since they were of the same Sect, not to make a secret of it, but to maintain that important verity; wishing passionately, that he might retain the remembrance of it when his Soul should be enclosed in another body, as he believed it would in a short time. Amilcar at first much commiserated the prepossessed fancy of a man whom he saw really very sick. But there being no hope to cure him thereby, he answered him according to his desire. When he was gone out of his chamber, and had that object of compassion no longer before his eyes, and moreover understood by those that attended on Damon, that whatever he fancied, there was no danger of his dying, his jolly humour could not let pass so ample a subject of divertisement, but at night he composed a Dialogue between himself and Damon, which the next morning he sent to Plotina by an unknown person. When Plotina received the Pasquil, Valeria, Berelisa, Clidamira, Herminius, and Anacreon were in her chamber. The hand being also unknown to her (for Amilcar had caused his composition to be written by one of his Attendants) she imagined it might haply be something to declare her condition to her, and inform her who she was. Wherefore rising up to open it, and withdrawing towards the window, she was immediately surprised upon reading these words; A Dialogue between Damon sick, and Amilcar in health.  
This odd Title excited such laughter in her, that Anacreon told her she would be very unjust if she deprived the company of reading that which made her so pleasant. I assure you (answered she) 'tis not my intention, for I think the pleasure the company will receive in seeing that which is sent me, will augment my own. And accordingly Plotina, having resumed her seat, and entreated her Auditors not to interrupt her, began to read that which follows, with that sweet and agreeable Air that was natural to her.  
A Dialogue between Damon sick, and Amilcar in health.  Amilcar. 
WHat has moved you to send for me? Am I not your Rival, and consequently your Enemy?  Damon. 
Alas! When a man is at a point of death, and perhaps ready to become a Crane the same moment, he has no longer power to hate any person: for, in brief, Amilcar, I may undergo that destiny if the Gods please, and if Pythagoras be not mistaken.  Amilcar. 
Since I conceive Cranes are very healthful (for in my opinion they are birds which do not much torment themselves with the affairs of this world) I should as soon choose to be a Crane in health, as to be sick Damon. But however, for what reason have you sent for me hither?  Damon. 
To conjure you that you would cease deriding the Doctrine of the greatest Philosopher that ever lived; since I am fully persuaded you are of his opinion, and 'tis only out of an evil bashfulness that you dare not own it seriously.  Amilcar. 
But what are you concerned whether I believe that which you do, or no?  Damon. 
'Tis because I would be assured to leave a Pythagorean Lover to Plotina, to the end he might persuade her of so important a truth as that of the Mctempsychosis (or transmigration of Souls) is.  Amilcar. 
How? Would you have me persuade her, that perhaps she has been a Stork, and may possibly become a Hind; which are difficult matters to believe, when one is not accustomed thereto? ay, that cannot persuade her that I love her passionately, though it be sufficiently probable for a man that has black eyes, an airy mind, and a sensible heart, to love the most charming person in the world?  Damon. 
At least be so generous to persuade Plotina, that if the Gods hear my prayers, my Soul shall pass into the body of some pretty little Dog, which may divert her, though she should receive it from your hand.  Amilcar. 
Could I know you in that condition, I should beware of giving you to my Mistress; for you might be so disposed as to retain the hatred of a Rival under the form of a Dog, and to bite me as one of those Creatures when possessed with madness, if I should offer to kiss the border of her robe.  Damon. 
Alas! What then can I wish to be, that I may once again enjoy the presence of Plotina?  Amilcar, 
Verily I think your case very hard herein; according to all likelihood, you can never see yourself her Lover again, though the same moment ensuing your death should be the first of your second life: for twenty years hence you would be quite a new Lover, whom she would much contemn; and besides, she makes so little reckoning of her beauty at this day, that it's likely she would then much less esteem it. But if you will believe me, desire to become a Mouse, and to be hid in her closet. I have sometimes made a Metamorphosis of a Mouse into a woman, do you make one of a Lover into a Mouse.  Damon. 
But you do not consider that she would not love me, but rather do all she could to cause me to be taken.  Amilcar. 
You have reason, and I am mistaken; not but that, according to the example of the Mouse I once told you of, which gnawed Mars' Love-letters, you might have pleasure enough in gnawing all the sweet Letters that should be written to her; and especially mine.  Damon. 
'Tis true; but however, I cannot think fit to become a Mouse.  Amilcar. 
Indeed 'tis sufficiently difficult to choose to be a Beast in the company of Plotina.  Damon. 
Yet I should rather like to be some poor little Animal and made much of, than to be a Lover and ill treated.  Amilcar. 
Every one has his fancy; but in conclusion, what do you resolve upon?  Damon. 
To die without knowing what I would be, that I might still serve for something to Plotina.  Amilcar. 
Trouble yourself no more about this matter; for I swear to you with all the sincerity of a Rival, that whatever you may possibly become, I will make you serve for divertisement to Plotina as often as I shall talk with her about your Pythagorean opinions. And now die with joy, since you can have no greater contentment, having troubled her during your life, than after your death, to serve for the pleasure of the fairest and most amiable person in the world.  
It must needs be confessed (said Plotina smiling) that Amilcar is not over-wise; for certainly 'tis he that made this Toy. Rather say (answered Valeria) that he is an agreeable person, and of an ingenious and diverting humour. For if Damon did not speak what is in the Dialogue, 'tis possible he might, according to the humour that I understand he is of. 'Tis true (replied Herminius) that a man who could believe Amilcar remembered he had been a Phoenix, might say all, that is here ascribed to him. I bese●●● you (said Berelisa to Plotina) give me a Copy of this Dialogue. And I desire the same favour (added Clidamira) and if you please, will writ it out immediately. Amilcar's consent must be asked (answered Plotina seeing him enter) for no question he has more right than I in what you demand. I do not think that can be (said he) though I know not what you speak of. We speak (answered she) of the pleasant Dialogue between Damon sick, and Amilcar in health. How? (cried he) as for the Amilcar you speak of, I assure you I do not know him; but thanks to your eyes, he that speaks to you is more sick than Damon. Since your malady does not appear in your aspect (answered Plotina) it is not easy to believe you; therefore you may please to suffer me to take you for the Amilcar in health who has made Damon speak a thousand follies, and who alone can grant me permission to give Berelisa a Copy of the Dialogue which he has made. Amilcar thereupon said, it was true he had a discourse with Damon which deserved to be witten, but he endeavoured to deny that he had sent any thing to Plotina. Yet it was in vain; for all the company so confidently maintained that it was he, that he could no longer defend himself. Well then, Madam (said he to Plotina) since 'tis your pleasure I should pass for the Author of the Dialogue in question, I consent to it, for I am the most complacent person in the world. Since 'tis so (said Berelisa) you shall give me a copy of what you have made. If Damon dies (answered Plotina) I shall consent to it; but if he does not, I conceive it will be best not to let this toy run abroad in the world, for fear at length he be angry in good earnest. On the contrary (replied Amilcar) if he dies, 'tis fit it die with him; but if he escape, as they who attend him believe, I care not if it be seen: for since Damon is of a Sect according to which it is not lawful to sleep with hatred in the heart, he will do me no great mischief. In truth (said Valeria) I conceive, whether Damon die or no, 'tis best to give no copy of Amilcar's Dialogue, though it be very agreeable. Your goodness extends too far, Madam (answered Berelisa) and 'tis enough to say only that 'tis not fit to publish this pleasant Toy, but too much that it ought not to be given to any whatsoever, since delightful things are not made with intent not to be seen. No (replied Amilcar) but foolish things, as this in question is, ought not to be made common. Nevertheless (said Berelisa) when a copy of them is given to a discreet person who promises not to lend them, and swears to be faithful, to entrust them is not all one as to publish them. The world (said Plotina) is full of such discreet persons who promise all, and perform nothing which they promise. But for my part (answered Berelisa) I am not of that number, and none can be more exact than I am. For my particular (said Clidamira) when only Verses, Sonnets, or such like things are desired I sometimes suffer myself to be persuaded to show them, though I have promised the contrary, because for the most part I believe they who make so great secrets of such kind of trifles, do it not but only to make them be thought the better. All such little infidelities (answered Berelisa maliciously) produce a strong disposition to greater. I am of Berelisa's opinion (replied Herminius) and for that reason I judge it requisite to accustom one's self to be exact even in the concernment of small things. In good earnest (said Amilcar) 'tis more trouble than 'tis imagined to keep a secrecy of trifles: for as for those greater serious secrets (added he) all people keep them that have but a little sense of Honour, or only a little prudence. But as for the secrets of Verses, Sonnets, Dialogues, or pleasant Novels, 'tis very difficult not to reveal them to some or other. Nevertheless, I confess 'tis dangerous enough to give Copies of Letters or Verses, when 'tis not desired they should be common. For the more loath you are to have them seen, the more they are shown; and which is worst, such Copies pass through ignorant hands, who change and pervert the sense of the Copies which they transcribe. I remember I one day made a Sonnet which I was unwilling should go abroad at that time; yet I gave it to a Lady who promised me not to show it to any person living: the first Stanza was this which I shall repeat to you, if my memory do not deceive me.  
Reason and Love are at perpetual strife:  
Who so with that partaker is,  
Becomes an Enemy to this.  
But without Love there's no content in life.  
Nevertheless this faithful friend who should not have shown it to any one, gave it privately to a friend of hers, that Friend to a Lover, that Lover to another Mistress (for I am not the only man in the world that has more than one Mistress at a time) that Mistress to a Kinswoman that sung well, and that Kinswoman to a Master that taught her Music, who immediately made an Air to it. But this miserable Stanza having passed through several hands, was so transformed, that I could scarce own it: see how that simple fair one sung it.  
Destiny and Love are at perpetual strife:  
Whoso with that partaker is,  
Becomes an Enemy to this.  
But without cause to laughs a pleasant life.  
Seriously (said Plotina smiling) I think I like this nonsense Stanza as well as the other, for the last Verse seems to me perfectly pleasant. Since it is so (said Amilcar) I consent that the Dialogue be given; for perhaps it will be as pertinently changed to divert you, as the Stanza of my Sonnets, which nevertheless astonished me when I heard that fair ignorant sing it, and account it the pleasantest thing in the world. 'Tis true (said Anacreon) this is a hard fortune. For my part, I remember I one day made an Ode, in the beginning of which I mentioned a Swallow; and as this composition had the good fortune to please, it was talked of sufficiently at the Court of Polycrates where I than was, and at length was so often repeated, and so many Copies made of it, that I met with one of it, in which in stead of the two first Verses which might be thus translated:  
Thou in Spring-season each year dost return  
Too happy Swallow—  
was put  
Thou as a Locust each year dost return  
Too happy Turtle  
So that this handsome Metamorphosis being made of a Swallow into a Locust, my poor Ode became a strange piece of nonsense. But people that understand a little sense (answered Berelisa) perceive well that it was not made so. No doubt they do (replied Herminius) but sometimes there are things whose meaning cannot be conjectured, and all that can be known of them is, that they are not understood. Wherefore the less a man can expose himself to these events, the better; and yet they would be avoided, if all the world were exact. 'Tis so troublesome to be always exact (answered Clidamira) that nothing requires more pains. All other things have their bounds, but exactness has none: it is diffused every where, and there is scarce any thing in which it may not be found. When exactness is excessive (replied Plotina) I confess 'tis something inconvenient; and if you observe, they that profess it have a kind of a constrained Air, their compliments savour of ceremony, their familiarity is so nice that the least thing hurts it, and there is no quiet from them. He that is guided by true reason (answered Herminius) never addressed himself to any thing in the excess, but acquires a certain habit of being exact, which affords delight in stead of trouble. For I conceive they who are exact, as virtuous persons ought to be, cannot but always continue so. They are so, without perplexity, constraint, or ceremony, and because they understand exactness to be a point of elegancy, that it is necessary to Society, and finally, that without it a man can promise himself nothing from any other person. For when I tell a small secret to a friend who promises me not to reveal it; if I know he is not exact, I am always in fear. Moreover, for a man to comport himself rationally in friendship, it behoves him not only to conceal what he is desired to keep secret, but sometimes also not to divulge things which he is not requested to be silent of; because generosity requires him to have a certain charitable discretion, even towards those that are not wise enough to be absolutely discreet in their own concernments. For indeed, it is never commendable for a man to lose an occasion of testifying to himself that he has more prudence, goodness and virtue than another. He ought to make a secret delectation to himself by acting better than others do, and account it a glory to supply the reasons of others by his own, and not be like those who more frequently speak what they never ought so much as to think, than what is fitting to be spoken. I confess (said Amilcar) they who have no exactness are sometimes injurious to others; for I remember I saw a man at Carthage, that through want of it committed the greatest extragavancies in the World. I remember one day he invited me to dine with him, but being invited himself about an hour after to another place, he made no scruple to go thither, without so much as sending to advertise me of it.  
For my part (said Plotina) I shall never pardon a man who promised me a basket of Orange-flowers, and sent them not; and I shall remember another as long as I live, that sent twice to know whether I would be in my chamber that he might come to visit me. His messages were accompanied with such earnestness, that imagining he desired to speak with me concerning a business relating to a friend of mine, of which he understood something, I broke off an appointment I had made, and sent him word, I would attend him. And so I did to no purpose, and that with very much regret. For it being a fair day, in which all the world went abroad to walk, no body came to visit me, and I was all the afternoon turning my head as often as my chamber door was opened, thinking always 'twas he that I waited for. And which was worst, I understood in the evening that this shuttle-brained friend had spent the day walking with the Ladies which he met as he was coming to me. Judge therefore (said Herminius) whether the little exactness which troubled you in so inconsiderable matters, would not disgust you in more important occasions. Besides, 'tis certain, that when a person makes a custom of not being punctual in small things, he easily fails to be so in great, and consequently many times hazards the displeasure of his best friends. And therefore the surest course is to be punctual. In truth (said Amilcar) I am of opinion, all things are dubious, that there is no side but may be defended; and If I were to establish a Sect, I would have it lawful to doubt of every thing, except matters of Religion. For there is nothing we can be confident of. Many times we are ignorant of what we fancy we know, and know what we take ourselves to be ignorant of. There are whole Nations which have Opinions, that pass for errors amongst others; and as all men have a constitution and temper particular to themselves, so every Kingdom, every Country, every City has its peculiar manners, customs, inclinations, and opinions too; so true it is, that reason varies according to the Climates and Nations: For the most part we believe what our Fathers believed before us, without searching into the reason of our belief; only there are a few sublime Wits who pry into things in their Original, who seek to make a perfect discovery of their Opinions, and after all their pains find it almost impossible to be done. For indeed our Reason from the very first use of it is prepossessed with the sentiments of others, and can't without violence clear itself from all that entangles it. In which respect I am persuaded, men are almost always deceived, even in things wherein they think themselves err least; and the surest course would be, as I said before, to doubt almost of every thing. And to prove what I say; is it not true, that till the days of Pythagoras, the most learned men believed the Evening-Star and the Morningstar to be two distinct Stars? And nevertheless, the knowing Philosopher has discovered to us, that the same Star which we behold so twinkling at the beginning of night, is the same which is so fair at break of day. All men before, judged of it in that manner; and two names were given it, which it bears still: and yet we see manifestly that all men were mistaken. That which you say is true (answered Anacreon) but the same man that could discover a truth that had been unknown before, teaches a ridiculous falsehood in his Metempsychosis. 'Tis in that regard (replied Amilcar) that I have reason to affirm, 'tis best to doubt almost of every thing; since the greatest men are liable to be deceived in something. For my part (said Herminius) I cannot conceive that that excellent man positively believed that which his Disciples teach; for the Moral Precepts are so excellent, that 'tis hard to believe his Doctrine could have been so foolish. As for my particular (said Berelisa) I confess I cannot yet very well believe that he thought he remembered he had been a Cock, and Euphorbus at the War of Troy, could be of any great judgement. Nevertheless 'tis certain (answered Herminius) that Pythagoras was one of the wisest men of the World. But what then (said Plotina) did he teach so Excellent? A thousand things, Madam, (answered Herminius) and to tell you some of them, he commanded his Disciples to honour the Gods, and never to desire any particular thing of them; maintaining, that no man knows exactly what is fit for him, and that 'tis more respectful to submit totally to the order of Heaven, than to endeavour to alter the Decrees of Destiny according to one's humour. What you say, has no doubt something very excellent in it (replied Valeria) for I conceive indeed that all men know not what is proper for them, and that the cause of disorder, division, and Wars in the World, is, for that in general all men desire good, and know not what it is. But to return to the excellent man you speak of, I remember I once heard the Illustrious Brutus (who was an intimate friend of the wise Damo, daughter of Pythagoras) say, that this great man composed a thousand excellent Verses concerning heroical Friendship. 'Tis very probable (answered Herminius) and to the same purpose he established a Community amongst his Disciples; for he confidently maintained, that there ought not to be any distinct interest amongst true friends, and that where there was, there was no friendship but society: and it may be averred, that never any before him so well understood all the duties of true Friendship. But that which makes me love him the more, is, that he was a professed enemy to Lying, which I hate more than can be imagined. No doubt Lying is an evil thing (replied Amilcar) but to say truth, it is sufficiently hard to renounce it absolutely; and upon due observation it would be found, that even they who hate it most, sometimes make use of it, notwithstanding their detesting it. At least I know that I do upon some occasions, and shall do still many times in my life. Not that I love to lie, but it has certain little conveniences in it very necessary. For example, is it possible to make a Story delightfully without lying, or adding some circumstance to render it more pleasant? Can one commend a woman, without speaking a little more good of her than she deserves? Can one speak ill of his enemy without aggravating his fault? Can one bemoan himself in Love, without making his misery a little greater than it is? And to prosecute sincerity to the utmost, could I have composed the Dialogue of sick Damon, if I would have confined myself to the truth? All the company laughed at this which Amilcar said; and as Plotina was going to answer him, Aemilius entered, and asked if they had heard the great news which he lately learned. I assure you (answered Plotina) that we have heard none all this day. I inform you then (replied he) that I am just now assured, there is a great division between Tarquin and Porsenna, and that it may be an occasion of raising the Siege and delivering Rome. As things desired are easily believed, this news was received with joy; and though Herminius made scruple at first of believing that Tarquin would fall out with a Prince without whose protection his case was desperate, yet he yielded at length, and discoursed upon this surprising intelligence as the rest did. A little while after, Flavia entered, and having taken a seat, asked, whether they had heard tell of the apparition of the God of Tiber, who was reported to have threatened Porsenna's Camp; and then making the description of that God, repeating the very words that were attributed to him, and indeed speaking as a person well persuaded of what she affirmed was true. For my part (said Amilcar smiling) I have walked upon the banks of the fairest Rivers in the World, and also upon those of the River Alphaeus, so famous for his love of the fair Arethusa; but none of the Deities that preside over them would never yet do me the honour to appear to me: and therefore Madam, (added he, looking upon Flavia) you must permit me to expect till the news you speak of be confirmed, before I believe it. Flavia was going to answer, but Merigenes being entered hindered her, for beholding Amilcar in the company, he seemed so surprised at it, that assoon as the first civilities were passed, he could not but testify his astonishment. I thought (said he to Amilcar) you had been gone disguised to the Enemy's Camp, to foment the division which they say is between Porsenna and Tarquin; for I just now came from speaking with a man who confidently assured me he saw you depart thither. Well then (said Aemilius) you understand by Merigenes, that I am not the only person that have heard report of the division amongst the enemies. But if it be no more true (answered Herminius) that they are divided than it is that Amilcar is gone disguised to Porsenna's Camp, there is not much ground to rejoice at this great news. But, I beseech you (said Plotina) from whom did you learn it? From a man (answered Aemilius) that I seldom see but in the Public places, where they talk of general affairs. He seems to be ingenious, speaks much and well, is not much to seek for what he would say, and affirms things so positively, that none dare doubt of what he delivers. 'Tis certainly the same (said Merigenes) that told me you were gone disguised to the Camp of the Enemies. May it not be the same man too (added Plotina, smiling) that acquainted Flavia with that wonderful Apparition she tells us of? To speak truth (answered Flavia) I think all our news comes from the same place; for Mutius who informed me of what I have related to you, assured me, he heard it reported by an ingenious person in the Grand Court of Hostilius. 'Tis there I was told of the division of the Enemies (replied Aemilius). And 'tis there also that I was assured (added Merigenes) Amilcar was gone out of Rome disguised, but with all the circumstances so precise, that any other besides myself would have been deceived as well as I have been. Is he a Roman (demanded Berelisa smiling) that told you all this News? No, Madam, (answered Aemilius) and I find his pronunciation manifests him to be a stranger. Certainly then (said Clidamira to Berelisa) 'tis a man whom we know, who accompanied us in our passage from Sicily to Ostia. I doubt no more of it than you do (answered Anacreon) and accordingly describing that person to Merigenes and Aemilius, they understood 'twas he of whom he spoke. But what is this universal Impostor? (said Plotina). He is a person of extraction good enough (answered Berelisa) born at Lylihaeum; he spent his youth in Africa, and has got such a faculty of lying, that 'tis impossible to hinder him from it. So that I think I may safely affirm, he never spoke any truth in his life, but he thought he lied. Nevertheless, as you were told, he is ingenious, speaks freely, and delights those sufficiently who know him not for a Liar; for he always tells new things, his wit is never exhausted, and always forgeing matter of discourse; he talks all his life, and withal hath the art to contradict himself less than all other great Liars. But, for that I am a lover of truth, and very much abhor lying, I cannot endure him, and he comes no more to see me. For an hour or two (replied Anacreon) one may be diverted by him; but continuing longer, his conversation is insupportable; for what heed soever one takes, and what resolution soever one makes not to believe him, yet one is always circumvented by him; and he speaks things with so free and ingenious an air, that he is able to deceive as long as he lives. 'Tis remarkable (said Clidamira) that he has been so horribly encountered for his lying, at Lilybaeum, that he dares live there no longer; and for that he is persuaded 'tis impossible to speak truth always, he is come hither with intention to go to Praeneste, to inquire, whether it be possible there should be a veracious man in the World. If he please (answered Amilcar) I will shorten his journey, for I will assure him sincerely, that no man always speaks truth, and moreover that there are as many great Liars as speakers of truth. As for me (said Herminius) who make a particular profession to love truth and detest lying, I wish people would absolutely conclude that it behoves never to lie. How? Never? (replied Plotina) I do not think it possible. For there are little Lies of civility, which we cannot but sometimes make use of, and decency does not oblige us to decline them. There are also Lies of generosity (added Amilcar) which sometimes are very convenient to be used. As for the pleasant Lies (said Anacreon) I beg favour in behalf of them, For my part (added Clidamira) I approve using a Lie in way of excuse. For that I fear death much (answered Flavia) when I am very sick, I am contented that people should Lie, and tell me always I shall recover, though they do not believe so. As for me (said Valeria) I will never use a Lie, unless when it may serve to save the life of some person. For my part (said Merigenes) I should extremely scruple to tell the least Lie in the world; but I confess, perhaps I might Lie, at the command of a Mistress. In good earnest (said Berelisa) there are more Liars, than I imagined. Some there are to (answered Aemilius) who are Liars, though they do not think themselves to be such. But since we are in the humour of speaking truth (replied Plotina) I beseech you let us establish Laws which may instruct us how far 'tis lawful to Lye. I confess (said Herminius) I am of opinion it behoves to have a general purpose, of Lying at no time, and not to produce in ourselves a habit of those small Lies, which are not scrupled by any, and to which people insensibly become accustomed. For since no crime is so easy to be committed, nor of more frequent conveniency than a lie, we ought to restrain ourselves from it to our power, and look upon Lying as a cowardly, low, weak, and infamous thing, arguing a less fear of the Gods than of men. But on the other side, we ought to look upon Truth as the Soul of Honesty, if I may so speak. And forasmuch as scarce any thing besides Speech distinguishes Men from Brutes, as being the image of their Reason, whoso falsifies it, renders himself unworthy to be a man. Beasts have no deceitful cries, except those terrible Animals that are bred upon the banks of Nilus; there is none but man, whose wickedness perverts the use of the Voice. Moreover, truth is the Universal bond, which maintains order in the World; the Publick-Faith, the Law of Nations, and Justice are founded upon it. It bears the supreme sway in Love and Friendship; without it, the World would be nothing but confusion, all men would be cheats, cowards, and impostors; and there would be neither honour nor pleasure in the World, if truth were banished out of it. There is no greater inconvenience than a servant that is a Liar, that assures you he has done what you commanded him, when he has not so much as thought of it. For my part, I confess to the shame of my Reason, I partly owe the hatred I bear against Lying, to a Lying slave that I had, who caused me to lose my patience a hundred times, and spoiled the order of my affairs by his continual falsehoods. For he was so excessive at it, that sometimes he affected as much to accuse himself by lying, as to justify himself by speaking truth. But to return where I was; is there any thing more insufferable than an Artisan, who promises you what you have commanded him, and deceives you continually? Is there any thing more odious than the practice of those Great persons, who with favourable words cause a thousand favours to be hoped from them, which they have resolved not to grant? Is there any thing more cruel, than to discover that a friend whom you love, did not tell you truth, when he told you, he loved you above all the rest of the World? And lastly, is there any thing more insupportable, than to have a Mistress that swears to love none but you, and nevertheless loves several other persons, or (to speak more properly) loves none? for a divided love is no love. A Lie serves for dissimulation, fraud, perfidiousness, cowardice, and almost all crimes, and 'tis only weakness or imprudence to make use of it. For a man continually incurs the commission of a crime that can never be committed but in public, and by endangering himself to be convinced of it. To lie for nothing, is folly; to Lie for interest, is a great crime, since certainly there is nothing so contrary to the Gods as Lying; the Gods, I say, who are so true in the Oracles which they render. And moreover, do not we see that the search of Truth is the Universal design of all men, and especially of the wise? That which I find yet more pernicious in Lying (said Merigenes) is, that it is a poison which speedily communicates itself, and whose effect is scarce possible to be afterwards stopped. For when any one relates a Lie in company, all that hear it Lie after him with confidence, and cause all others to Lie, to whom they impart such false relation; so that I conceive Herminius has reason in condemning Lying as much as he does. As for all great Lies (answered Amilcar) I think no man can justify the practice of them at any time. I condemn the middle sort too (added Plotina) but as for those small ones which are in use all over the world, I think 'tis no easy matter to be able to disclaim them. For my part (said Herminius. I condemn all sorts; yet perhaps I can pardon some, but if I might prevail, none at all should be permitted. But then (said Plotina) 'tis requisite I should be fully instructed in this point, and propound Questions to the Company, which may teach me and correct me for the future. In the first place (said Herminius) it behoveth never to make either a great or a little Lie which may prejudice any person whatsoever; for since Justice and Generosity require not men to speak endamaging truths, they are far from permitting injurious Lies. What you say, seems so equitable and generous (answered Plotina) that I will not contradict it: but however will you licence those officious Lies which turn to the benefit of our Friends, or serve to conceal their faults? I love my friends very well (replied Herminius) and I am very joyful at any occasion to serve them; but if I should be unable to do them a courtesy except by Lying, I should be extremely perplexed. Then you would suffer me to die for want of a Lie? (said Valeria smiling) I find I could not (answered Herminius) but I confess, I should have very much regret to save your life by a way so little honourable; for in brief, every Lie is a crime, and all I can do in favour of officious Lies, is to account them excusable in certain occasions. But when a Lie injuries none (said Amilcar) and benefits some person, is it not innocent? A Lie (answered Herminius) never fails to hurt him that uses it, though it should injure no other person, and be only his own Lie; since it renders him less virtuous: and all that can be said, is, that to hinder a Friend from falling into a great misfortune, kindness may prevail above truth. But as for what concerns me, I confess, I should scruple to secure myself from a very considerable mischief by a Lye. Sincerely (replied Plotina) my generosity does not go so high as yours; for it I lied in behalf of another, I should also Lie in favour of myself. I am of your mind (said Amilcar) Nevertheless, that which Herminius says is very noble and generous (answered Merigenes) for I think it shameful to Lie for ones self in any occasion; and it were better to undergo the mischief that threatens us, than avoid it by such means: so that I conclude, a man may Lie to save his Friend's life or liberty, but never for his own interests. I maintain too (said Herminius) that Lying is always a crime, and that even when a man Lies to save his friend's Life, he ought to do it with reluctancy and sorrow, because all Lying is unworthy of a man of honour. Moreover it ought not to be conceived, that there is but one sort of Liars, since there are a hundred different kinds. 'Tis oftentimes to make a Lie, not to speak a truth that is requisite to be spoken; and dissimulation is so dangerous a concomitant of Lying, that they may be confounded one with another. I confess (said Plotina) I could sometimes have justified certain persons, if I would have declared what I knew: but I care not to oppose what people speak affirmatively, especially when it concerns only indifferent persons, and who are accused of no great crimes. But why will you by your silence (said Valeria) charge yourself with a Lie which you do not speak? For if you can refute it, you are culpable of it; and I conceive well that Herminius has reason, when he says, there are several kinds of Lies; for there are Lies in deeds as well as in words, Lying looks, deceiving signs, dissembling smiles, and a Lying silence. Valeria has reason (said Anacreon) and I think too there are Lying civilities, and Lying courtesies; for sometimes people do services to some persons whom they hate, because they have need of them in some occasion, and to others out of fear and weakness; sometimes also they make show of being glad to see persons that are extremely distasteful to them. I assure you (answered Berelisa) Clidamira is the person that of all the world has most of this Lying civility you speak of: for 'tis not three days ago, since a young slave came to tell her there was a man desired to see her; Clidamira had no sooner heard his name, but she grew red with anger, because the slave had not told him she was not at home; then she sought all ways possible to cause him not to make his visit long, and gave order that a quarter of an hour after his coming, word should be brought her that she was expected elsewhere. After which, changing her countenance, action, and speech, it may be said she lied all the ways that can be in receiving this man. For she saluted him with an obliging smile, she caused him to sit down with all imaginable civility, and began to entertain him with so pleasing an air, that I am confident the poor man thought he should pass the whole afternoon with her, and that he did her the greatest pleasure in the world in visiting her. Nevertheless it is certain his presence was extremely disgustful to her. I confess it (said Clidamira) but how can we tell unwelcome persons that they are so? It would be discourteous to tell them so (replied Berelisa) but yet 'tis not necessary to make such a false countenance to them; 'tis enough to show them only a kind of cold civility, that is inoffensive on the one side, and on the other is not treacherous, and does not attract people that are not liked. But does not all the world use to do so? (said Clidamira). For my part (answered Valeria) I could not. I confess ingenuously (said Plotina) sometimes I can Lie in this manner, but not so perfectly as Clidamira; for they that understand my glances and smiles, perceive well when they are feigned or sincere. In earnest (said Amilcar) you could not deceive me with them. But I would know further (said Plotina) whether Herminius, who loves truth so much, does not make compliments, as others do. Nevertheless, to speak sincerely, all compliments are Lies. I grant it (answered Herminius) but for that they are known to be such, and no person lays any solid foundation upon compliments, they are Lies without malignity. People know well enough that no great credit will be given to them, they are returned as they are received; and I conform to custom without scruple, yet with such moderation, that I make as few as I can. But as for pleasant Lies (replied Anacreon) you do as little condemn them; and should I go about to make a delightful relation, you would allow me to add something to the History; for truth has for the most part somewhat too serious in it, which does not delight so much as fiction. As for this sort (said Herminius) I think they may be permitted; for since stories are no more believed than compliments, I leave your fancy liberty to invent what pleases it; and morcover, it belongs properly to you to enjoy the privilege of lying innocently. Indeed to speak strictly, there are no lies innocent but those that are related for lies, as all the ingenious Fables of the Poets; yet they ought to have the appearance and show of truth; so true it is, that a lie is foul and unhandsome of itself. Yet there is a sort of lying (replied Amilcar) which is an inseparable companion of vanity; and I should be sorry if there were none of it in the world: for the liars that use it, sometimes give me sufficient divertisement. What liars do you speak of? (said Poltina). Of those (answered Amilcar) who commend themselves, every one according to their fancy: for some people are guilty of the weakness to desire the world would believe them to have a greater reputation than they have, and tell a thousand lies to make it believed. There are Hector's who make long relations of dangerous enterprises, in which they never were; these are false Gallants, who pretend to good fortune, and spend the nights in devising amorous adventures, and the whole days in relating of them, as if they had happened to themselves. I know some such, as well as you (replied Plotina) and I know others as very fools too: for I know a man that had the impudence to tell me he was descended in a direct line from Danae, and yet 'tis known he is of a very mean birth. However, he has made a long Pedigree, with which he tires such as give him the hearing. As for false pretenders to Heraldry (said Anacreon) they distaste me as well as those that would seem wealthy, and think to keep themselves from being poor by lying. I assure you (answered Aemilius) I know some people very rich, that lie as ridiculously as these, who have a fancy to make it believed, that all that belongs to them is dearer than it is really, and devise a hundred extravagant lies to publish their false magnificence. There are some likewise (said Merigenes) who have the boldness to say they have given things which it would not be often in their power to bestow. I know other liars also (added Anacreon) that are sufficiently extravagant, namely, such as when they have been puzzled by some person in discourse, without knowing what to say, make the handsomest answers in the world at home, and which is more notorious, relate the same afterwards as if they made them upon the place. Moreover there are some (added Clidamira) so vain as to report that persons of quality write to them, and go to see them, though they never so much as thought of them. The sum of all is (said Herminius) that there are many fools and liars in the world, and that I have reason to hate Lying●e fictly. They that lie to prejudice others (added Anacreon) are worse than they that lie to commend themselves; but I look upon it as so ridiculous to tell lies out of vanity, that I find my inclination would sooner lead me to utter some lie a little malicious, than to commend myself, like those above mentioned. Yet some of those that lie in their own commendation (answered Amilcar) cause me to pity them, because they do it according to their judgements, and having a better conceit of themselves than there is reason for, lie innocently; but the worst for them is, that though 'tis commonly said, The way to deceive others, is to deceive one's self, yet they do not persuade any to be of their opinion. But I beseech you (said Plotina) tell me further what you think of those that write caressing and lying Letters both together, I think the same of them (answered Herminius) as of those who speak lying civilities. In earnest (replied she after a little musing) if truth were well established in the world, people would speak almost nothing of what they use to speak. This intimates (said Amilcar) that we ought not to trust too much in your words. For the future (answered she) I promise you to be the truest person in the world; for to speak freely, all that Herminius has said in behalf of truth, and against lying, hath so affected me, that I will never lie more at all. And to show you that I have profited well by what he has said, I conclude also with him, that every Lie is a crime, that if it were possible, lying aught in no case to be practised, that 'twere good never to employ a Lie to do a benefit, that it is less criminal to lie for saving the life of ones Friend, than one's own; that lying good-turns argue weakness, that dissimulation is a baseness, that lying civilities are unblamable, that to lie for ones own commendation is ridiculous, and that compliments are lies so known, that they do no mischief to any; that there is an implicit lying in silence, which ought to be avoided; that the custom and habit of the least lies is a great fault, and that the Poets are the only Liars that deserve to be commended. You have undoubtedly benefited by the discourse (said Valeria) but methinks it might be further asked, whether a Lie be not more criminal in writings than in words? Do not doubt it, Madam, (said Herminius) and I wonder all the company has left this to be observed by Valeria. In brief (added Anacreon) I conceive that of all the manners in which lying can appear, there is none more criminal and unworthy than that of certain mean wits, all whose faculties and genius consisting in their own malignant humour, they employ themselves only to heap falsities together, to the end to compose Satyrs of them. 'Tis possible no doubt, to make innocent Satyrs (said Herminius) but they ought to be against vices in general; and such as these do not make use of lying, but altogether of truth, But as for such as are made against particular persons, lying and calumny are inseparable from them, they are always the issues of hatred or envy; and the composers being never able to keep themselves from Lying, are the most criminal of all others that practise it, For they endeavour to fix a Lie (if I may so speak) to render it immortal if they could, to impose upon posterity, and to accuse people even when they shall be no longer in a condition to defend themselves. But whereas the Gods are just, those whose hearts are so ill tempered as to affect making Satyrs, are always hated and despised. even by them that laugh most at their calumniating lies. They are like Tigers and Panthers amongst men; people desire to see them out of curiosity, but not to have them at their own houses. They are feared even when they sport themselves, and no trust can ever be put in them. And to speak freely, there is reason not to desire friends which are declared Enemies of Justice Humanity, Virtue, and Truth. I see well (said Valeria) that all the company approves what Herminius has said; but I know not whether a Lie may be excusable in War and in Love, and whether equivocal and ambiguous answers which seem to be in the middle between truth and falsehood, may be permitted. As for equivocal answers (said Herminius) as they are the products of subtlety and deceit, I have great inclination to condemn them absolutely, saving in certain occasions wherein out of goodness we desire to avoid speaking truths that are disadvantageous to any. Moreover, I should not love to find myself constrained to use them, and to speak sincerely; it behoves always to answer according to the intention or meaning of the person spoken to, and not to endeavour to deceive him. As for lies which are made in war (said Anacreon) I do not account them criminal, because assoon as War is proclaimed, each party distrusts the other. I confess it (said Herminius) but yet I am assured no Hero would take upon him the office of a Spy, or get a Victory to his party, only by a lying speech, without being otherwise instrumental to it. Wherefore without going about to examine whether in general a Lie be lawful in War, I confidently affirm, that I would never take a Commission to lie, and I should always choose rather to fight the Enemies, than to deceive them. But as for Lovers (said Amilcar) if you absolutely deprive them of the privilege of lying, you take away all their strength. For true Lovers (answered Herminius) I think that at utmost I should but permit them to lie in Verse, provided they always speak truth in prose. But the case is not the same in reference to light impertinent Lovers, for I licence them to speak all they please; for since they are in no great danger of being believed unless by Gossips that deserve to be gulled, 'tis not needful to deny them their feigned sighs, and deceitful tears, flattering lies, dissembled despairs, and a thousand other counterfeit toys. Should you have been all your life as very a flatterer as I (replied Amilcar) you would not better understand the practices of extragavant Lovers. If he has not been such (said Valeria smiling) he may be; and I know not if he followed his inclination, whether he would not be so a little. I detest lying so much (answered Herminius) that methinks I ought not to be suspected to be liable to become a fond Lover, especially by the amiable Valeria, who is the fittest person in the world to cure those that honour her particularly, of such malady. Herminius had scarce ended these words, but one came to advertise him, that Publicola desired his presence; wherefore he departing at the same instant, the discourse was altered for a small time, and soon after the Company separated. Yet Plotina made an observation which caused her to judge it harder to speak truth always, than it seemed; for all the civilities made by these several persons, were for the greatest part more flattering than sincere. Herminius was no sooner arrived at Publicola's house, but he understood it was requisite to hasten that design of attaquing the two Forts of the Enemies, because it was known they were making new entrenchments, which would render the taking of them impossible, if it were longer deferred. An hour after, a Council of War having been secretly held, at which the second Consul Clelius, Horatius, Artemidorus, Themistus, Mutius, Octavius, Herminius, Aemilius, and some others were present. It was resolved not to attempt the taking both the Forts at the same time, because the Roman Troops would be too weak, if they were divided; and therefore that only a false assault should be made upon the Fort that was hardest to win, and in the mean time all the Troops should march directly to the other Fort. To this end Gabions, sheds of boards, faggots, platforms, rams, and other engines necessary in like occasions were provided; and for that the Romans would not be commanded but by a Roman, Horatius had the general command, and under him Artemidorus, Themistus, Octavius, Herminius, Aemilius, Mutius, and Spurius, had the chief Offices. Merigenes, Amilcar, Meleagenes, Acrisius, Damon, Sicinius, and all the other gallants mingled themselves amongst the Bands, or ranked themselves near Horatius. As for the Consuls, they stayed in Rome for the security of the City, and to send relief to Horatius in case he needed it, or to succour and receive him in case he were repelled. But as a secret is the most difficult thing in the world to keep, when an enterprise of this nature is in agitation, Porsenna and Tarquin understanding the secret preparations that were making at Rome, did not doubt but they were intended for the storming of one of the two Forts; wherefore their Army being very numerous, they provided likewise to sustain both assaults. Aronces commanded on one side, and Titus on the other; the Prince of Messene, though a little inconvenienced with the slight wound he received at the attaque of the Bridge, did not fail to accompany Aronces. The brave Lucilius, brother of the generous Melintha, was also on that side, and so were Mamilius Tarquin's son in-law, Telanus, Theanor, and several others; Sextus not daring to take any command, out of policy, for fear of incensing the Romans too much, and making them more valiant by their hatred of him, continued near Tarquin, who commanded the Body of the Reserve, that he might succour those that should need it. But at length the day appointed for this grand action being come, the one side prepared to make a stout assault, and the other to sustain the force of the Assailants. Then it was that Clelia had an extreme great agitation of mind, for she doubted not but that this would be a very dangerous encounter, and that Aronces would expose himself to the greatest hazards of the day. And indeed this valiant Prince to comfort himself for not having sought in the most dangerous place when the Bridge was attaqu'd, resolved to signalise his courage this day, especially having understood that Horatius had the command of the Roman Troops for the execution of this enterprise. Not but that when he considered that he served Tarquin who was a Tyrant, who had used Clelia unworthily, and was still amorous of her, and moreover when he reflected that he fought for Sextus who was the cause of Lucretia's death, and afterwards of that of the Illustrious Brutus; he resented an excessive grief, and judged it an intolerable cruelty to hinder provision from entering into a City were his Misteress was enclosed. It was also very hard for him to see himself with his sword in his hand against his dearest friends: but however, honour and nature tying him to the side of the King his father, and his hatred of Horatius animating him to a new desire of glory, he disposed himself to fight with a certain kind of boldness, which raising fierceness in his eyes, made him seem to have a more high aspect when he was at the head of the Troops. The opinion of Tarquin was only to sustain the charge of the Romans in the Fort, but that of Aronces was to march out and meet them, and present them with battle. And this advice being followed, he went to take a stand between Rome and the Fort that was to be attaqu'd, and so marshaled the Troops he had with him, that one would have said all Porsenna's Army was in the place. When the Roman Forces which marched in order, appeared, the two Armies were soon in a posture to join battle. Horatius beholding Aronces in the head of his Forces, was extreme joyful that he had an opportunity to draw his sword against him without ingratitude; and Aronces knowing him, felt all the motions in his breast, that hatred, love, and glory are able to inspire. the Romans being the Assailants, Horatius marched up first to the Enemies, after having encouraged them which were to follow him, both by his voice and action. Almost at the same time, Aronces, followed by all his party, advanced, and so bore up against the shock of the Enemies, that in stead of being broken by them, he broke their Forces. This is the day (cried Aronces speaking to Horatius) that must end all our differences. At these words the valiant Prince redoubling his ordinary valour, charged his Rival with such violence, that he gave him no time to deliberate what to do, because he was constrained to defend himself. Yet he did not forget himself in this conflict, but as he warded off Aronces first blows, since my deliverer (said he) will take away my life, which he has saved more than once, I must show him at least, that I know well how to defend it. Hereupon ensued a furious combat between these two valorous Rivals, and Horatius found himself in more danger by having to bear up against the single valour of Aronces, than he had been when he alone sustained the whole power of the Enemies in defending the Sublician-Bridge. At length, Aronces having slightly wounded him in two places, wrested his sword away, took him prisoner, and delivered him to be guarded by some of his Soldiers, whilst himself pursued his advantage. But when the Romans perceived the taking of Horatius, they made so great a charge to disengage him, that they recovered him indeed, whilst Aronces was fight against many together, who having rallied, encompassed him about. At another place the Prince of Messene who commanded the Cavalry, perceiving Themistus his Rival and fiercest Enemy in the front of him, preparing himself to receive him, he rushed forward with his Horse at the same time that Themistus gave speed to his; so that meeting with equal impetuosity, the Prince was dangerously wounded in the breast, and Themistus' right arm was run through. The former reeling with the blow he had received, was relieved by his Soldiers, who carried him off to a place of security: and Themistus being unable to bear his sword with his wounded arm, put it into his left hand, and drawing back to the second rank, did not cease to give Orders till the end of the fight. In the mean time Aronces seeing the Victory was too long disputed with him, caused Titus to advance, who fight with several Interests that augmented his courage, seconded Aronces so well, that in spite of the Romans valour, they began to give ground on that side. Artemidorus seeing this disorder, and observing Titus in the head of the Romans, which were of Tarquin's party, made directly at him with his sword; but that of Titus breaking as he warded off the blow, he retired into the midst of his followers. But Artemidorus being unhappily carried forward by his valour in repelling the Enemies, received an Arrow into his flank, which was shot by a common Soldier, hid behind a bush; whereupon falling down, the Enemies had taken him prisoner, if Mutius followed by the courageous Merigenes had not arrived there at the instant to rescue him. Then it was that the valiant Aronces stood in need of all his courage and prudence; for he saw that notwithstanding all his endeavours, the Romans on a sudden taking heart again, had put their Troops in order; that Octavius, Mutius, and Herminius were advancing, and that his own Soldiers were ready to turn their backs to the Enemies. The Prince therefore taking up a daring and generous resolution, commanded his guards which followed him to kill all such of his party as offered to stir a foot, or refused to follow him. Whereupon joining a great example of valour to this command, the fight was renewed with more heat than before. Horatius on his part having resumed his place, notwithstanding his wounds, performed his utmost either to overcome or die. So that in an instant all the forces being mixed together, the persons of Quality all came to handy-blows, and signalised themselves. Mutius performed admirable things, Octavius did no less. Lucilius on Aronces' party signalised himself highly; Aemilius fought like a brave and unhappy Lover, that hoped for nothing, and feared not death; and in a word, all acquitted themselves courageously on both sides. But Aronces having too few foot, and for that to go towards a Battalion which flanked him there was a little Curtain to be passed over, where his Cavalry would be unprofitable, and besides, that his Infantry was extremely tired, he turned towards a party of his Horsemen, and propounded to them to forsake their Horses and follow him, they obeyed him, and furiously charged those they were to encounter. Then Aronces' Foot resuming courage, and seeing those of Quality become equal with them in the danger they were to overcome, performed incredible things. In conclusion, in spite of all the valour of Horatius and the brave persons that accompanied him, Aronces defeated them, and forced them to betake themselves to a retreat. Whereupon the Cavalry which were become Foot, in a moment, resuming their Horses, pursued the Romans very near to the City. Yet this retreat was made somewhat orderly; nevertheless it caused terror and confusion in Rome; and had not the Consuls acted with prudence and authority, the affrighted people had shut up the gates against the Roman Troops, for fear lest the Conquerors should have entered together with the Conquered. The great number of the wounded which were brought back all bloody, further augmented the fear amongst the people: and if the love of Liberty had not been strongly impressed in their hearts, they had certainly inclined to a surrender. Nevertheless, in the midst of the great tumult, no Roman was heard to propose the receiving of Tarquin in order to peace. On the contrary, their first fear turning into sury nothing was heard but imprecations against him, and the fierce Tullia; and the most despairing amongst them said aloud, that they ought rather to set fire on the City speedily, than deliver up themselves; that it was better to perish quickly and generously by the flames, than slowly and shamefuly by famine. At length the disorder became so great, that the like was never seen. There was a universal consternation in the streets and public places. Artemidorus being brought in as the other wounded were, occasioned more rumours still, because he was a person of very high Quality, and extraordinary valour. The wound he had received was so dangerous, that the Surgeons would not promise for his life. Whereupon all his friends were extremely troubled, and Berelisa and Clidamira taking no care but for the preservation of this Prince, employed themselves in performing all services he needed in this condition. As for Themistus and Horatius, their wounds were so little dangerous, that they were not necessitated to keep the chamber. Clelia had very different sentiments in so great a disorder; for she loved her Country, she pitied all its calamities, and hated Tarquin: but for that she affected not Horatius, and loved Aronces, it was something troublesome to her not to rejoice that the latter had overcome the other. But judging this secret joy criminal, she soon changed it into a lawful sorrow. Just Gods! (said she to herself, sighing) wherefore do you permit me the use of hatred and affection; since my fortune is disposed in such sort, that I can neither love nor hate without a crime, nor grieve nor rejoice innocently? If I hate Horatius, I am unworthy to be a Roman, since he is a Roman that has saved Rome, that daily hazards his life to defend it, and comes from shedding his own blood for the safety of my Country. On the other side, if I love Aronces, I love a Prince that besieges Rome, whose valour is employed to subject it to the Tyrant, or reduce it to destruction. But again, if I love Horatius, I am perfidious, unfaithful, unworthy to live: and if I hate Aronces, I am perjured, and the most ungrateful person in the world. What then shall I do, unfortunate as I am? (proceeded she) I will submit myself to the will of the Gods (added this admirable Lady) and without arguing so much upon events, or desiring to foresee what is to come, I will have respect towards my Father, pity for my Country, esteem for Horatius, affection and fidelity to Aronces, and innocence in all my actions. In the mean time the Consuls and the Senate were in a very great perplexity; for what course soever they could take, all things necessary for the subsistence of the people became so dear, that this farther increased the repine of the multitude. The Enemies who were advertised of this disorder, taking advantage of it, straightened the City more than before, so that nothing at all entered into it. They dared not so much as drive the little remainder of Cattle in Rome, out of the walls of the City to feed; and all the Inhabitants were in extreme desperation. All sorts of divertisements were laid aside, even Lovers scarce spoke any longer love to their Mistresses; conversation was alike every where; and Amilcar and Anacreon who could not live without joy, professed they were more likely to die of discontent than famine, if the state of things did not suddenly change. Nothing was seen every day but Funerals, either of those that had been wounded in the late fight, or whom the necessity of Fate cut off. There was a mortal paleness in most faces, and the fear of famine anticipating sad effects, caused the people to believe they suffered the misery already which they did but apprehend. Things being in this condition, that which more exasperated the people minds was, that they understood the fierce and cruel Tullia was arrived in the Camp of Porsenna, and demanded to live at a Castle, near that wherein Galerita was, till the end of the siege. But Mutius who had long sought to signalise himself by some eminent service to his Country, and to compel Valeria to esteem him above his Rivals, went to wait upon her one morning; and saluting her with a countenance that discovered he had some grand design in his mind, Suffer me, Madam, (said he to her) to take leave of you alone, and to reveal a secret to you of highest importance. I have long ago known that the passion I have for you is displeasing to you, and that of four Lovers which adore you, at present Herminius is the only affected, Aemilius the pity, Spurius the hate, and you are insensible towards me. Nevertheless, Madam, in spite of my unhappiness, I have taken a fancy to have a share in your compassion, since I can have none in your affection. Prepare yourself therefore, Madam, to bestow a few tears upon me, when you shall understand my death? for I assure you, you have more interest than my Country in the Design which I have laid to deliver it. I cannot speak more clearly to you, time will inform you further, and let you know that bidding you adieu this day, I believe 'tis the last time I ever shall do so: but lest your answer should weaken my resolution (added he) I choose rather humbly to take leave without expecting it. And accordingly without giving her time to answer a word, he went forthwith to the Senate, having first intimated to the Consuls he had something of importance to acquaint them with. When he came before the Assembly, beginning to speak with a heroical stoutness and a firm voice, My Lords (said he) I come to desire two favours of you: the first, that you would permit me to go out of the City disguised in a Tuscan habit; the other, that you would not require me to declare what way I intent to attempt the deliverance of Rome. Secrecy is so absolutely necessary to the execution of my design, that I ought not to impart it to a great Assembly; and withal I have so high an esteem of your virtue in general, that I conceive I should do you injury, if I offered to select any particular person of the company with whom to intrust it. Let it suffice that I assure you it is great, and may prove happy; and moreover, that if I die, I shall account my life very gloriously bestowed, since I shall lose it in recovering Liberty to my Country. Mutius having done speaking, the Senate deliberated upon what he had said; and though there was little probability to think a single man could effect the raifing of the Siege, nevertheless matters were in so bad a condition, that knowing him for a person of illustrious extraction, high courage, very zealous for Liberty, of a resolute mind, and much affected with a powerful desire of glory, they granted him what he requested. Upon which without loss of time, that very evening he disguised himself like a plain Tuscan Soldier, and taking advantage of the darkest time of the night to pass out of the City into the Enemy's Camp, went forth of Rome with a Poniard hidden in his clothes, none besides himself knowing the great design, which affection to his Country, and love of the virtuous daughter of Publicola had together excited him to. Mutius' Nurse having be en a Tuscan-woman, he spoke Tuscan well enough not to fear being discovered by his language. So he passed over the Tiber at midnight, and was so fortunate as to arrive at Porsenna's Quarter without being stopped. When he was there, he thrust himself into the company of a great number of Soldiers, whom he beheld gathered together before a Tribunal raised only two steps high, upon which stood a man of good aspect, giving orders necessary for the pay of the Soldiers, and who seemed to have all the marks of Royalty; for he had a robe of purple on, and guards about him. Mutius approached as near him as he desired; for appearing to have no arms, and being clad in a Tuscan garb, no body had any distrust of him. So he approached the Tribunal, and apprehending the person upon it was Porsenna, not daring to inquire for fear of being discovered, and doubting he should not find another opportunity so favourable to his purpose, on a sudden considering this man as the Enemy of Rome, the Protector of Tarquin, and finally as a Prince whose death was necessary for the deliverance of his Country, in a moment he divides the press, draws his Poniard, falls upon him, and sheaths it in his heart, with such speed, that it was not seen till he had drawn it all bloody out of the body of him whom he took for Porsenna. This desperate act so surprised all that beheld it, that he that committed it might perhaps have saved himself in spite of those that encompassed him, if Porsenna coming at that time forth of his Tent, which was hard by, and understanding the matter, had not commanded his guards to bring the man before him either alive or dead. And accordingly, Mutius, though he easily enough escaped with his Poniard in his hand out of the throng of the terrified Soldiers who Beheld his fact, was constrained to yield himself to be conducted before Porsenna by the guards he had sent to take him. This Prince was at that time before his Tent, where he beheld the preparations of a Sacrifice which he caused to be offered to the Gods every morning, and had standing about him Aronces, Telanus, Lucilius, Theanor, and divers other persons of Quality. Mutius' Poniard wherewith he had committed that bold act being wrested from him, he appeared without arms before Porsenna, but with a countenance full of fierceness, that spoke his regret for having failed in his enterprise, but no fear of the death which he could not but believe was prepared for him. Assoon as he was come before the King, the enraged Prince frowning upon him, Who are you? (said he to him) whence come you? tell me, who sent you? who put you upon this? who are your Complices? and whether your aim was only against him you have slain, or you intended to take away my life too? I am a Roman Citizen (answered he fiercely) my extraction is noble, I am called Mutius, and the action I have newly done may prove to you that I want not courage. Considering you as the most dangerous Enemy of Rome, I resolved to take away your life; but to the end you may not think yourself safe, when you have put me to death, know, I am not the only person that has laid this design, but there are three hundred of us that have sworn your destruction, of whom I am the most inconsiderable in greatness of courage. The lot is fallen upon me first, but I hope some of the rest will be more fortunate than I have been, and that by your death all the Romans shall be revenged for the wrong you commit in protecting an infamous Tyrant. But wherefore (replied Porsenna) have not the three hundred Conspirators you speak of, rather desig'nd to assassinate Tarquin than me? Because (answered Mutius) if the Tyrant were dead, your party would rather become stronger than weaker thereby; but if you were removed out of the world, Tarquin's party would be destroyed. Porsenna being then more incensed against Mutius, and desiring to know the names of those, he said, had conjured against his life, commanded his guards to compel him by force to discover what he desired to understand. But Mutius, to hinder them from executing his order, stepped suddenly towards the fire that was prepared for the Sacrifice, and putting his hand into the midst of the flames, See (said he to him without changing his countenance) by the steadfastness I have to endure the rigour of the fire, how little they fear that ardently love glory, and judge by what I do, whether I am likely to tell by force of torments what you desire to know of me. Mutius spoke this with so undaunted and bold an aspect, and beheld his hand burn with so calm a countenance, that Porsenna and all about him were so astonished with this action, that they expressed their amazement in shouts which they were unable to contain. Porsenna himself advanced towards Mutius, and commanded his guards to withdraw his hand out of the fire. That which you do against yourself (said the King to him then, beholding him with admiration) is far greater than what you designed to do against me; and if I had a Subject that had done as much for my service, there is no reward so high, but the greatness of his courage ought to expect it from me. Yet it were more noble, my Lord, (answered Aronces) to esteem greatness of courage in the person of an enemy than of a Subject. I grant it (replied Porsenna) and to evidence to you that I am of that mind, I give Mutius his life. I thank you for it in his name, my Lord (answered Aronces generously) for he seems to me so fierce as not to care for having a good rendered to him which he was willing to lose; and I thank you in my own, for having given me so great an example to follow. 'Tis true, my Lord (said Mutius) life is very indifferent to me: but for that 'tis an obligation, that the King is pleased to give me a thing which he believes aught to be acceptable to me, I will testify my gratitude to him, by telling him once again, that his life cannot be in safety unless he give peace to Rome, and desert the interest of Tarquin, who is too unjust to prosper long. For, in brief, I am the least courageous of the three hundred that have sworn his destruction. Ah! Mutius (cried Porsenna) if I am so hated by three hundred such brave men as you are, that they resolve to destroy my life, an Army of a hundred thousand men could not preserve it; and to testify to you how highly I esteem your courage, I will add liberty to the life which I have already granted you. Since that is a thousand times dearer to me than life (answered he) I thank you for it, my Lord: but I cannot dissemble my sentiments; know, that as great a benefit as it is, I cannot accept it, if it be on condition to cease being your Enemy, in case you continue to be one to Rome. For inasmuch as I can never cease to be a Roman, so I can never dispense with hating those that would subdue my Country. Therefore do not grant me liberty, if you intent thereby to engage me in your interests. For, 'tis certain (added he fiercely) I can never be absolved from the Oath I have made with those three hundred Romans, who have sworn your ruin. Porsenna being still more astonished at the boldness of Mutius, commanded he should be led into a Tent, that his hand should be dressed, that he should be treated very well, and secured till further Order. After which Tarquin being arrived, expressed to Porsenna very much animosity against Mutius, and asked him what punishments he determined to inflict upon him. You ought rather to ask (answered Porsenna) what way I can secure myself from those three hundred resolute persons, who for your interests have conspired against my life only. That which I speak, my Lord (replied Tarquin) agrees with what you say: for is there any other means to avoid the effect of that Conspiracy, but by striking a terror into the Complices by the dreadful punishments you shall cause Mutius to endure? But what can a man be made to suffer (said Porsenna) that comes in a manner to seek a certain death, that comes with a Poniard only, into the midst of an Army to kill me; that endures the fire without changing countenance, and will not accept either of life or liberty on condition to cease being my Enemy? Voluntary punishments (answered Tarquin) are no punishments at all: but if you force Mutius to suffer, you will see him change his language; especially if the torments you put him to, be long and often repeated. For when all is done (added the cruel Tyrant) fear is the surest guard of Kings in such cases. For my part (said Aronces, who could not endure Porsenna should hear the Tyrant's Counsels) I conceive that instead of seeking which way the King may be secured from so many generous Enemies, it would be the best and surest course to seek the means to have no occasion to be secured from them. But how can that be? (said Tarquin roughly.) The matter would be very easy (answered Aronces generously) if the King would but make Friends of his Enemies. That Counsel (replied the Tyrant fiercely) must be extended further, and it should have been added also, that 'tis requisite for the King of Hetruria to make Enemies of his Friends. The Counsel of Aronces (said Porsenna, not permitting Tarquin to continue his discourse) is worthy of himself and of me; and when my friends betake themselves to consider only their own interests without considering mine, it will concern me a little if they become my Enemies; I shall then be more strong by having fastened generous Enemies to my Interests, than by losing selfended Friends, who care only for their own. Aronces, Lucilius, Telanus, Theanor, and all the other Commanders that were present, having by a confused noise, testified their approbation of what Porsenna spoke; Tarquin became extremely amazed and perplexed: yet being a Prince whom Policy had taught to conform himself readily according to the most unexpected events, he made no long hesitation, but addressing to the King, My Lord (said he) to testify to you that I have regarded only the preservation of your life, I without passion receive what you spoke last, and also advise you to clemency, though according to my judgement, that virtue ought to be practised but seldom, when a Prince intends to make himself feared and respected. Pardon Mutius therefore since you have such a desire, but do not lose the opportunity of taking Rome, which it cannot avoid, if you will wait but a small time longer. It will not cost you the life of one of your Soldiers; famine is ready to destroy three hundred thousand men, and force them to yield without conditions, or make a great bonfire of their City, to avoid falling into your power. Every one has his Maxims and his reasons (answered Porsenna) and the business is important enough to be considered of at leisure. In the mean time (added the Prince) 'tis best to cause the Sacrifice which is prepared to be offered to the Gods in thankfulness to them for my deliverance from the danger intended to me, and to ask Counsel of them, which they alone can give me. Tarquin durst not contradict Porsenna; but instead of being present at the Sacrifice, he withdrew, and went to consult with the cruel Tullia what was fitting to be done. Assoon as he was gone, Aronces causing all his Friends to be assistant, continued the King his Father in the generous sentiments he had possessed him with: but for that this Prince was scrupulous to make an absolute resolution, he required two days to consider. In the mean time, by reason of those three hundred Romans Mutius spoke of, the King's guard's were doubled, none were suffered to come near his person without first knowing what they were; all that approached him were searched, for fear they might have Poniards hidden about them, as Mutius had, and so great care was taken for the guarding of this Prince, that he judged this inquietude worse than death. In the evening he went to the Castle where Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines were, who understanding what had happened, and desiring to incline him to peace, commended him much for having given Mutius his life, and caused him to be advised by his principal Ministers, to send to offer peace to Rome. At first he refused it, alleging, that having undertaken the Protection of Tarquin, honour would not suffer him to desert him; adding also, that it might be thought the fear of being assassinated had induced him to take this resolution, though it was principally because the action of Mutius recalling into his memory all the great exploits that had been done since the War, by Brutus, Publicola, Herminius, Horatius, and all the other Romans, he began to know that Rome was protected by the Gods, and Tarquin abandoned by them. Wherefore having some kind of remorse for having protected a Prince so unjust, against People of so eminent virtue, he would willingly have granted peace to Rome, if he had thought it consistent with his honour. His mind being thus disposed, he understood that Mutius' act rendered the valour of the Romans so formidable to his Soldiers, that forgetting the last advantage they obtained, a panic fear seized upon their minds in such sort, that at the least noise their Sentinels heard, they imagined they beheld the three hundred companions of Mutius coming to fall upon them. Porsenna understood at the same time, that Tarquin had drawn all his own Soldiers to his Quarter, which was on the other side the River; that he had had consultations with the fierce Tullia, that he had sent privily to the Cities of Ceres, Cumae, and Tarquinia, and lastly, that Tullia was coming towards his Castle. Wherefore the proceeding of Tarquin incensing him further, he was easily brought to have such sentiments as Aronces desired he should. But for that Galerita feared the subtlety of Tullia, she took upon herself to receive her, whilst the King going another way returned to the Camp. When that cruel Queen arrived, she was received by Galerita with the civility due to her condition. She seemed surprised not finding the King there, with whom she desired to speak: but having a bold spirit, not easy to be daunted, she discoursed with Galerita as a person engaged in her interests would have done. She conjured her to hinder Porsenna from deserting the Siege of Rome; for in fine (said she to her) should Porsenna desire to keep his Conquest, I should consent to it, and engage myself to cause Tarquin to consent also: there being nothing which I would not rather choose, than to see Rome in liberty. But whereas it may be (added she) that the King of Hetruria desires not to usurp the State of a Prince, whose Protection he hath undertaken; when Rome shall be taken, I offer to take my Daughter from Mamilius, and to give her to Aronces, and afterwards to bring it about, that Sextus shall be contented to Reign in Tarquinia. For my part, Madam, (answered Galerita) I have nothing to say to the proposals you make to me, but only that 'tis easy for you to judge that the Romans will never suffer Tarquin to be King of Rome, that 'tis absolutely impossible to establish him, by reason of the horrible hatred they bear against him; and consequently Porsenna being unable to make war advantageously for Tarquin, may make peace honourably for him. Nevertheless, I know (added this wise Princess) the King will make what instance he can in favour of your interests: but however I am of opinion, it is not to cause the destruction of a great City and of a great Army, for a thing that is well known can never be brought to pass; especially (continued the Princess) when it is attempted in behalf of a Prince who considers only his own grandeur, and takes no care for the interests of those that hazard all for his. Tullia had much ado to restrain from returning Galerita a sharp answer; but for that she would not make an absolute breach, to the end she might have more opportunity to prejudice Aronces and Clelia, she dissembled her resentment, and told the Queen that it was necessary for her to go and satisfy the King of Hetruria, that he should not think strange that Tarquin stayed at his Quarters till he had made his resolutions, for fear lest his Enemies should induce him as well to deliver him up to the Romans, as to abandon the siege of Rome. And so taking leave of Galerita, she went forthwith to the Princess of the Leontines, and handsomely intimated to her, that if she could bring it so to pass, that Porsenna took Rome and re-establisht Tarquin, she would cause her to be married to Prince Titus; after which she returned to her Chariot. Which she had no sooner done, but she was informed that the Soldiers that saw her pass along murmured openly in the Camp, because their courage was employed to replace a Woman upon the Throne, who had driven her Chariot over the body of her Father, and who ought rather to think of rendering an account to the Gods of all her crimes, than Reigning in a City where so many brave people were. This plain advice, which she received by the Captain of her Guards, caused her to change her resolution. So that instead of going to find Porsenna, she returned to Tarquin's quarter, and endeavoured to persuade him to surprise the Kings of Hetruria's Camp by night; or since he could not take Rome, to employ some correspondents she had in the City to set it on fire. In the mean time the proceedings of Tarquin having exasperated Porsenna, the siege being not likely to go on well longer between two divided Camps, and Mutius' courage, together with Aronces' counsel having prevailed upon the heart of the King of Hetruria, he sent Mutius back again to Rome by Lucilius, who had order to offer the Romans peace upon reasonable conditions. Telanus also accompanied Lucilius to negotiate this grand affair. Their instructions were; first to demand once more the restoration of Tarquin, yet without much insisting upon an Article which was known could never be granted: Secondly to obtain at least, that all he had by Succession from the first Tarquin, and all he had gotten since, should be delivered to him: and thirdly that a small Territory near the Veientines should be restored to Porsenna, the Romans having usurped it from him ever since the last War. Upon these Conditions they were to offer up the Janiculum, and withdraw the Army out of the Roman Territories. Moreover, to the end all acts of hostility might sooner cease, he enjoined the Ambassadors to demand twenty Virgins of Quality for Hostages, and twenty Youths of Condition, till the perfect conclusion of the peace: refusing absolutely to yield up the Janiculum or withdraw his Army without this condition. Lucilius and Telanus being well instructed what they should do, departed with Mutius, whose heart was possessed with extreme joy to see his design so happily succeed, and that his Lie was as serviceable to the deliverance of Rome as his valour: for it was not true, that three hundred Romans had sworn the death of Porsenna, and he spoke in this manner only to induce the King to raise his Siege. As for Aronces he was so joyful with the hope of seeing Peace, that he could not contain from going to declare it to the Princess of the Leontines, and the generous Melintha. He was also much pleased that he could send that old Man to Rome, whom Galerita promised him to procure delivered, and Plotina so ardently wished to see, to the end she might learn her extraction, of which she was still ignorant. Wherefore to make use of this favourable opportunity of giving Clelia intelligence of himself, he writ to her by Telanus, and to Artemidorus, Herminius and Octavius, and several other friends, to oblige them to be diligent in promoting the peace. When Lucilius and Telanus approached the Walls, and the people heheld them coming with Palms in their hands to signify their bringing Propositions of Peace, they sent forth shouts of joy, they run hastily to the gate at which they were to enter, and expressed such earnestness to know what they had to say, that 'twas easy to judge they would be favourably heard. So they were immediately conducted before the Senate, to whom Lucilius presented Mutius; after which, relating in few words what had passed, and had handsomely magnified Porsenna's generosity, who was capable not only to give life and liberty to a man that had resolved upon his death, but also to send to offer peace at a time when he might hope a happy event of the War; he dextrously disposed the minds of the Senators to hear the Propositions he had to make. Yet he was stopped at the first Article which he spoke of the re-establishment of Tarquin, and the Senate all with one voice said that death being eligible before servitude, no peace was to be hoped, if it could not be made otherwise. Whereupon Lucilius having order not to insist upon that Article, he said that according to his instructions, that at least it was fit to restore the Tarquins what belonged to them as ordinary Citizens; so that this qualification calming their minds they agreed the restitution of what could be yet found had belonged to them, not as if justice required it, but only in consideration that Porsenna had restored Mutius. After which Lucilius demanded that a small compass of Territory which had been usurped from Porsenna's Dominions should be restored to him; that twenty Virgins of Quality, and twenty youths of condition should be delivered to him in hostage; and told them then, that his Master would withdraw his Forces out of Janiculum, open the passages, free the River, and cause all acts of hostility to cease, without engaging more in the affairs of Tarquin. Lucilius having laid open his King's demands, did not long withdraw, but all those that composed the Senate unanimously declared, they found no difficulty in granting what Porsenna required. Yet there were some that scrupled the Article concerning Hostages; but Porsenna understanding how important that peace was, and that they who stuck at it could not but have some secret inclination for Tarquin (because having no children themselves, they were unconcerned in this Article) he opposed his judgement; No, no, (said he hastily) we ought not to stick at a just thing; for it is equitable that Porsenna, restoring the Janiculum before the final execution of the Treaty that is to be made, have Hostages for security; and it is not to be feared, that a Prince who sends back an Enemy whom he might with justice retain, will keep back Hostages, which he cannot withhold without violating the Publick-Faith. But how is it intended (answered a Senator roughly that was on the contrary opinion) that those twenty Virgins of Quality shall be chosen out? To testify to the Public (replied Publicola) that I have no intention to except my own daughter from the general rule, and that all that is mine is the commonwealth's, my advice is, that the choice be made by order of Lot without any deceit, and that all the names of Youths of Quality in general be put into one Urn, and those of Virgins of condition in another; and that in the middle of the Temple of Janus, which ought to be shut up assoon as these Hostages shall be delivered, a young Child shall draw twenty of these Tickets which shall be well mingled before hand, after which without any contest they whose names shall be found in the twenty Tickets, to be sent to Porsenna. Publicola's opinion seeming just and generous, they who had offered to obstruct the peace, durst not contradict it. But before they broke up, the Senate Voted to give Mutius the Meadow in which he had done that great action of enduring the fire with such extroardinary constancy. And accordingly that piece of Land was from that time called, The Mutian-Meadows, and he himself was termed Mutius Saevola by reason of his burnt hand. After this result had been taken, it was signified to Lucilius and Telanus, who nevertheless could not return till the day following, because the Senate would not absolutely conclude the business without the suffrages of the people. 'Tis true, it was easy to judge they would approve the deliberations that were made, for they had suffered far more than those of the better Quality. Telanus after he came out of the Senate delivered Aronce's Letters to Clelia, and the rest he writ to; he intended also to carry the old man who accompanied him to Plotina; but he requested him to leave him at Clelius' house. However Telanus desired at least to signify to that fair Virgin, of whom he was still amorous, that Aronces had kept his word which he had passed; and to that purpose he went to wait upon her, where he found good company; for Valeria, Berelisa, Anacreon, Amilcar, Herminius, Acrisius, and Spurius were with her, as also Octavius and Horatius. The action of Mutius, and the Peace being two matters new and important, they were talked of alone in all companies, every one magnifying or diminishing the merit of Mutius' act, according to their own judgements or inclinations. For that Telanus was esteemed by all the World, he was received with joy; he was asked tidings concerning Aronces, he was thanked for the peace as if he had made it, and a thousand caresses were made to him, For my part (said Plotina pleasantly) I believe Berelisa, Clidamira and myself see Telanus again with more joy than Valeria; for being they are not of Rome, and I think myself no Roman, (though I know not precisely what I am) we are not in the same fear that she is of going as Hostage to Porsenna's Camp. That which you do not fear (answered Telanus) is that which discontents me; for I should be sufficiently joyful that you were in a place where I could render you any service. 'Tis true (said Valeria) with a melancholy aspect) my joy for the peace is not absolutely pure, and fear lest the Lot fall upon me, sufficiently disturbs me. Confess the truth (said Berelisa to her with a low voice) 'tis not that alone that causes the sadness in your eyes; but your fear left Mutius' action which produces peace to Rome, cause Publicola to change his mind, and be prejudicial to Herminius, occasions your discontent. 'Tis true (replied Valeria blushing) my Father is so accustomed to Sacrifice all things to the Publick-good, that I cannot but fear becoming one of the Victims of the Peace. Whilst Berelisa and Valeria were speaking low, Plotina not being able to contain from turning the most serious matters to raillery: for my part (said she) I confess I have at present the greatest ardency in the world to know who were the three hundred men which 'tis said Mutius affirmed had conspired to kill Porsenna. I know at least I am none of them (answered Herminius). I should be very sorry to be suspected for one (added Horatius) I am of your mind (pursued Octavius.) Anacreon and I (said Amilcar) being not born at Rome, we have no concernment in it, since Mutius said they were three hundred young Romans who had conspired against Porsenna's life. As for me (said Spurius) whereas Mutius and I have not the same intimacy as heretofore, it cannot be believed that he communicated his design to me. And for my part (added Acrisius) I have several reasons for which I cannot be accused for one; as first, I was not born in Rome: Secondly,— Oh! I beseech you (interrupted Plotina laughing, and knowing how much Acrisius affected to speak) stop there, for I hate nothing more than those people who in a great company where every one has right to say something, begin to speak with First, and to proceed to Secondly, and Thirdly, and I am ready to die with fear, left they should go on till they come to Fiftiethly. All the company laughing at the manner in which Plotina interrupted Acrisius, he was a little abashed; but yet he was constrained to bear the raillery whether he would or no, for fear of offending Plotina, of whom he was highly enamoured. However, this fair Virgin that she might not give him leisure to be angry, changed the discourse, and beholding all those that had spoken, But according as you all speak (said she) it might seem an injury to you to accuse you of being any of those three hundred Conspirators. To save you the trouble of searching for so great a number of them (said Telanus then) I shall assure you I believe Mutius was the sole person, and made use of that untruth to induce Porsenna to what he desired; for by the way as he came hither, he spoke certain things which suffer me not to doubt of it at all. If it be so said Plotina) I think this unhappy adventure ought to reconcile Herminius to lying. 'Tis so far from it (answered he) that I shall hate it the more, for though I am zealous for my Country, yet I confess I should not like to deliver it either by a Lie or an Assassination; and if I were to choose either Horatius' action or that of Mutius, I should not deliberate a moment, notwithstanding the success of the last is far more considerable than of the former. But that it may not be thought I speak as a Rival or as an envious person, I shall commend Mutius for the constancy wherewith he endured the torment of the flames that burned his hand, and for his courage in attempting a thing in which it is probable he would perish: but as for the Lie and Assassination, I confess to you, I cannot find any thing in them that does not clash with my inclination. For according to my judgement, to do an action perfectly Heroical, not only the motive to it ought to be just, but likewise the means noble and innocent. Indeed (added Valeria) suppose an indifferent cause in the action of Mutius, he will be the greatest Criminal of all mankind, and the most inconsiderate; and he can not be commended saving for a happy rashness. Should you speak this at present in the Court of the Capitol (answered Plotina) the people would look upon you as an Enemy of Rome. Nevertheless Valeria has reason (replied Octavius). But however (said Amilcar) 'tis good there be Heroes of all sorts, that is, such as are scrupulous scarce of any thing, rash and Liars; for in brief, without Mutius you had had no peace: wherefore I conclude, that the Lie he made use of, be put in the rank of those innocent Lies of which we spoke so much here one day. It will be enough (answered Herminius to put it in the rank of happy Lies. In truth (said Plotina then) I perceive there are scarce any pleasures how great soever, but are mixed with some sorrow. Peace which is so great a good, perhaps will shortly cause several displeasures to me: for I apprehend Berelisa, Clidamira, and Anacreon will speedily go from us: and besides, I am in great fear lest the Lot which is to appoint those twenty Virgins of Quality that are to be given in Hostage, should cruelly deprive me of all those I love best. As Plotina had done speaking, Clelia entered, who came to seek Valeria there. A little while after Cesonia brought Clelius into Plotina's chamber, with the same old man whom she had seen once before, and who was to inform her of her true extraction. Assoon as she beheld him, she changed colour, out of fear it might be less honourable than she imagined. But she was not long in this incertainty; for Clelius in the midst of the company embraced her very affectionately, and presenting her to Horatius, You know, generous Horatius (said he to him) I have treated you as one resolved to give you my daughter at the end of the War, but in the mean time before I make that promise good, I must give you a sister, who is a person unquestionably worthy of that Relation. Receive therefore Plotina as a generous brother ought to receive her. But Moreover (added he, turning towards Clelia) I must give my daughter as well as Horatius a sister; and therefore. (proceeded he, directing his speech to Clelia) embrace Plotina as a person united to you by blood: and you, Octavius (added he) do the same. The discourse of Clelius so amazed all the Company, and chiefly Clelia, Horatius, Octavius, and Plotina, that they beheld one another silently, without making the civilities to one another which this discovery required. But at length Plotina began to speak, and addressing to Clelius, It is so little advantageous to you, my Lord (said she) to give such a person as I am, sister to Clelia, that I doubt not you are my Father, since you profess it yourself: but I confess I do not apprehend how I can be sister both to Horatius and Clelia. Since 'tis a thing which must become public (replied Clelius) it is not unfit to begin the publishing of it before such a Company as this is. For my part (said Horatius) I am so impatient to know how it comes that I have the happiness to be Plotina's Brother, and brother to a daughter of Clelius, and a sister of Clelia, that you cannot more sensibly oblige me than by declaring to me what I vehemently desire to understand. Know then (answered Clelius) that you were son of a woman of very great wit and virtue, for whom I had almost from my childhood the most respectful affection that ever was, and whose memory is still extreme dear to me. You know she lost her Husband during her banishment, that I was exiled as well as she, that I have been so thrice in my life by the cruel Tarquin. During this banishment I became more charmed with her constancy; and whereas melancholy had rendered her health very infirm, she feared to leave you without a careful guardian. Wherefore this consideration rather than that of the affection I had for her, obliged her to marry me secretly, as you may know of an ancient Priest still living, who is at present here amongst the Salians; for you were not then with her. Our marriage was thought fit to be concealed, because if Tarquin had known it, it had been impossible for us to hope ever to return to Rome, since hating us severally, he would have hated us more if he had understood our interests were united. During this secret Marriage, and whilst we were at Ardea, Plotina came into the world, and we concealed her birth. But eight days after, her mother and yours died; and this prudent old man whom you see, being our intimate Friend, took care of Plotina, whom he caused for some time after to pass for his own daughter, and that easily enough; because having one near of the same age that died in the Country, he concealed her death, and substituted Plotina in her stead, without my knowing any thing of it, because I continued not long in that place. Your Mother before her death writ a scroll with her own hand that she left a daughter, and obliged me to deliver that writing to the Grand Vestal who died some days since, and was her intimate friend, to the end it might remain in her hands as an indubitable testimony of the birth of Plotina. Shortly after I was obliged to depart from Ardea, and came back to Rome, where for the interest of my affairs I married Sulpicia; since which, you know I was compelled to fly and go seek a Sanctuary at Carthage. At my departure I writ to that Friend I had at Ardea, but I had no answer from him. When I returned, I enquired of him, and was informed it was not known what was become of him since the War Tarquin made against the Tuscans. I understood indeed he left a daughter, but for that it was after my departure that his died, I did not imagine it was mine. Nevertheless the Gods have been pleased that this prudent old man whom you behold, became first a prisoner of War, and afterwards a prisoner of State for a great many years, without being known where he was: and the same Gods have permitted that by Aronces' means he understood tidings of me, came hither first with that Prince, and has at length been set at liberty by his procurement, to come and oblige the wise Octavia, who is at this day chief of the Vestals, to cause the writing to be sought out which was entrusted with her predecessor, who at her death intended certainly to speak concerning Plotina when she began to declare a thing which she did not finish, as all the world knows. Thus there is no doubt but Plotina is your sister; you know your Mother's writing, since you cannot but have many things by you written by her hand. The quality and virtue of him that brought up Plotina is not unknown to any, and I conceive you are sufficiently persuaded of my honesty not to doubt of what I say. In the mean time I declare to you, I do not intend Plotina should diminish any thing of your estate, I charge myself with her potion; and this sage old man before you, desirous not to cease altogether to be her father, tells me, he gives her all he has. Clelius spoke this with an air that took away all ground to doubt of what he said; and moreover Horatius was so joyful to find he had a sister that was able to do him good offices with Clelia, that he was wholly disposed to believe himself her brother. Plotina was also very much satisfied to understand she was a Roman, daughter of Clelius, and sister of Octavius and Clelia. Not but that I could have wished (said she, smiling) I had not understood this till four days hence, to the end my name might not be put amongst those which are to be drawn by Lot to give Hostages to Porsenna The case is now otherwise, daughter (answered Clelius) and it concerns you it were not; but I hope the Gods will exempt you from that trouble, as well as Clelia, who I ardently wish prove not one of the number of the Hostages. After this, Octavius made a compliment to Plotina, Clelia did the same, and, in brief, all congratulated her for the discovery. Amilcar in particular used a thousand pleasant expressions to her, whilst Clelius and the old man of Ardea drawing Horatius aside, showed him his Mother's Letter to the Grand Vestal, and so manifested the business to him, that he could not doubt of so advantageous a truth. Indeed he did no longer doubt at all, but that now he had cause to redouble his hopes. The end of the War was near, he knew Porsenna had not changed his mind concerning Aronces' love; he understood Clelius was already his Father-in-law, that he had a sister who was an intimate friend to Clelia, and was sister also to that fair Virgin as well as to himself. Wherefore he abandoned his heart to joy, and testified it both by his actions and words. As for Clelia though she had a great affection for Plotina, yet she was inwardly troubled at this adventure; because she perceived Horatius had still more power in the mind of Clelius, and feared lest knowing herself sister to Horatius, she should engage in his interest. But that lovely Virgin made not that use of her affinity; but on the contrary observing part of Clelia's thoughts in her eyes, she handsomely separated her from the rest of the Company, and embracing her with tenderness, I beseech you, my dear sister (said she with a low voice) do not look coldly upon me as a sister of Horatius that intends to undertake his interests against you; for I declare to you, that by becoming his sister, I do not cease to be Aronces' friend, and that I will not employ the right given me by nature of speaking freely to him, only to tell him that since he cannot be loved by you, he ought not to seek his own happiness with the prejudice of yours; and I engage myself also to tell my Father whatever you dare not. And now after this, love me as before, and if possible a little more. I had long since so great an affection for you (answered Clelia) that it would be hard for me to augment it: but after what you have said, I assure you, my dear sister, that if I cannot add to my affection, I will increase my esteem, and will serve you in reference to Sulpicia as ardently as you shall me in respect of Horatius. As Clelia ended these words, Horatius approached the two fair Virgins, and looking upon Plotina, Well my dear sister (said he to her) will you not assist me to overcome the obstinate constancy of Clelia? No, brother (answered she) but to give you the Counsel of a good sister, I will advise you to endeavour to overcome yourself. She would have proceeded, but Amilcar imagining he should do a pleasure both to Clelia and Plotina by insinuating himself into the conversation of Horatius, went to them, and so did Anacreon; whilst Clelius was manifesting to Cesonia, Berelisa, and Clidamira the adventure he had related. Plotina not having changed her humour with her condition, smiled after having mused a little while, and addressing to Clelia, I assure you (said she to her) I gain an advantage this day above you, which I much fear will be much disadvantageous to me in Amilcar's opinion: for at the same time I know I am your elder sister, as being of the first Marriage; I also learn that I am at least four or five years older than I thought my looking glass intimated to me, and I almost believed it, that I was only nineteen years of age; but I conceive by what Clelius has related, I am twenty four. Oh! amiable Plotina (answered Amilcar) you will never be above seventeen to me; for as long as a woman pleases me I account her young. And on the contrary, I know some Virgins of fifteen years, who seem to me above an Age old, because they do not please me. Moreover, to speak the truth of things, twenty four years are oftentimes the age of perfect beauty, and in which reason and beauty may most frequently be found together: for usually when reason comes, beauty departs: but at that time they are exactly together. Nevertheless, there is no general rule; for some women are more beautiful in the midst of their lives than in the prime of their youth; others too, more fools at the end of their days than at the beginning of their lives; and there are some in whom reason is found from their very Childhood. For my part (said Plotina.) I am of this latter sort, and I do not remember that I ever was without reason: for from my tenderest youth, I knew I should one day be no longer young. I know above a hundred women (said Amilcar) that are not of your mind. You have reason (replied she) but I wonder all the fair ones do not foresee the end of their beauty. Yet I know some as well as you, that believe they shall never be above eighteen as long as they live; although 'tis easy enough to judge time passes away very swiftly. Methinks, 'tis but a moment since I was a child; and if I should consider the future in the same manner as I do the time passed, I should think I should soon cease to be young. Believe me, amiable Plotina (said Amilcar) the passed and the future are not alike regarded. But how can that be which you say? (demanded Plotina) We see things passed clearly (answered Amilcar) but there is so great obscurity in the future, that the imagination not being able to penetrate into it, deceives itself, and believes that that which it does not see, is very remote; so that whereas people always love to beguile themselves to their own advantage, they look upon old age as so remote, and flatter themselves so pleasingly, that they do not fear even the things which must undoubtedly happen. That which further has persuaded me (replied Plotina) that I had use of Reason betimes, is, that from my first youth I extremely hated sadness, and loved every thing that was capable to please me. That sentiment is so natural (said Clelia) that I conceive you ought not to boast of it, and on the contrary I apprehend it to be the practice of reason oftentimes to accustom one's self to sadness, and to refuse delightful things. If what you say be true (answered Plotina) I shall never be wise as long as I live; for I cannot much refuse that which pleases me, nor accustom myself to that which does not. After this Clelius calling Clelia commanded her to go and prepare Sulspicia to receive her Sister, assuring her he had acquainted her with the matter before he came. Then he requested Cesonia that she would please to lead Plotina to his house; and accordingly that amiable Lady accompanied with Berelisa, Clidamira, and Plotina, and conducted by Clelius, went to Sulspicia's house. where Clelia was arrived before. But although Sulspicia very much respected her husband, and esteemed Plotina infinitely, and although Clelia had informed her of the generous and noble mind of this fair Virgin: yet it was easy to observe that she had a secret regret in the bottom of her heart, to see that Clelius had heretofore married a Person whom she hated, and had a daughter by her. Nevertheless she received very civilly all that Plotina spoke at her arrival at her house, and this interview passed as it ought among persons of honour and prudence. Moreover, he that had been instrumental to the owning of Plotina, continued also at Clelius' house, who to testify more favour to Horatius, took Plotina by the hand, and beholding Clelia with authority in his countenance, 'Tis your part now (said he to Plotina) to promote the happiness of your brother, and to induce your sister to obey me willingly when the Peace shall be concluded. After which he left these two fair Virgins, without giving them leave to answer. The next morning the people being assembled confirmed the Senate's Votes with a thousand acclamations: which gave Lucilius and Telanus all the contentment they could desire. The people also would not consent that both of them should return to Porsenna, and therefore it was resolved that Lucilius should go to the Camp, and Telanus should stay at Rome to be present at the choice which was to be made of the Hostages by Lot. The multitude on which the hardship of the Siege had fallen, being impatient to see the passages open, and the Janiculum restored into the power of the Romans, according to the conclusion of the Treaty, there was necessity of making haste, for fear of some sedition. Wherefore the Consuls caused notice to be given to all women of quality to bring their Daughters to the Temple of Janus. Things standing thus, Horatius being led by his passion, and forgetting what he one day promised Clelia, went to visit her Father, and addressing to him, My Lord (said he) I come to make a Proposal to you, which I know indeed contains something that may displease you; but being I act for your interest, and the quiet of my whole life, you ought to pardon me. You know (added he) that you have promised Clelia to me at the end of the War; and that lots are to be drawn for the Hostages which Porsenna demands. Now if it pleases fortune to choose Clelia, she will not be long in your power, since the little Territory which is to be rendered to the King of Hetruria will not be soon restored; for besides that such like Articles are never performed speedily, Policy also requires, that Porsenna's party be not strengthened till Tarquin be absolutely discarded by him. Therefore, my Lord, to prevent Clelia's going to a place whither you would be sorry she should go, cause her to change her condition; for if I marry her to day, she will not be tomorrow exposed to the inconvenience of the Lot, since it concerns only Virgins, and wives are exempted from it. I wish with all my heart (answered Clelius) I could grant that which you desire; but I cannot do it with honour: for it would clearly appear that I hastened the match on purpose not to expose my daughter to the hazard of being given in Hostage; which were unworthy of a true Roman. But hoping I shall be more happy than to become obliged to let her go into Porsenna's hands, I promise to make her your wife assoon as the Treaty shall be accomplished. And so let us speak no more of this matter; for I will not be liable to the reproach of intending to effect an especial privilege to myself to exempt my daughter from a troublesome chance in which all others of her condition are concerned. In fine, the business was performed the very next morning, and some Roman Ladies desirous out of generosity to testify their willingness to sacrifice all for their Country, brought their daughters though sick to the Temple of Janus, for fear of being suspected of intending to exempt them from this ceremony. The generous Racilia led thither the fair Hermilia her niece, whose countenance expressed all the grief she resented for the death of her illustrious brother and her Lover; and her sorrow renewing more in this occasion, appeared so affecting an object, that it touched the hearts of all that beheld her. Indeed she was not the only person that appeared sad; for the Lot being promiscuously contingent to all, there was none but feared it might fall upon herself, and accounted it a hard fate to go to the Camp. Clelia, for her part, was not a little apprehensive of being under Porsenna's power, Valeria feared to be removed from Horatius, Plotina to leave Rome, and her Friend, and all in general, to go alone into the hands of an Enemy Prince. But all these fair Victims being at length ranked in the middle of the Temple of Janus, which was enlightened with a hundred magnificent Lamps, the Grand Vestal came, followed with three of her companions to render the ceremony more solemn, and that with such majesty and grace, that she drew the eyes of the whole Assembly upon her. The Consuls placed themselves beneath her in this place. But Clelia transcended all the other fair ones in beauty; Valeria, though less fair, yet did not seem much less amiable; Hermilia, notwithstanding her sadness, wholly gained the heart of Octavius; Colatinia also appeared very fair to all that beheld her, and Plotina with her free, natural, and pleasant aspect and the amiable freshness of her countenance, augmented the love of Amilcar, Telanus, Acrisius, and Damon too, who presently departed. Valeria likewise increased the passion of Herminius, Aemilius, Spurius, and Mutius.  
But to be brief, the Priest having taken the names of all the Virgins of Quality, whose number was very great, put them into a large Urn, and having mingled them together, placed it at the foot of the Altar: after which offering a Sacrifice only of Incense and Flowers, the Grand Vestal in the name of all the fair Virgins tendered their acquiescence to the Gods, to the end that all submitting themselves to the Orders of Lot, all might have a share in the merit of the action, and in the Liberty of Rome. Octavia performed this with so noble an air, that she excited the admiration of all the Spectators. This being done, a young child approaching to the Urn wherein all the names were confusedly mingled, drew forth twenty of them one after another. The first was that of Plotina, who seemed not to be discovered for a Roman, but only that she might be presently given in Hostage. The second was of a sister of Flavia; the third of a niece of Spurius, who was very fair; the fourth of Hermilia, who could not hear herself named without tears in her eyes; the fifth, of Valeria, who blushed when she heard her name; the sixth, of a daughter of the second Consul; the seventh, of Colatina; the eighth, of a Cousin of Solomina; and the ninth, of a niece of Clelius. After this ten more were drawn. So that there remaining only one more to be drawn, it was thought Clelia would have escaped. But at length the twentieth Ticket being drawn and opened, Clelia's name was found in it. Clelius was very much troubled at it, but he concealed his discontent; which Horatius was not able to do, but it was apparent enough in his eyes that he was extremely afflicted for Clelia's going to Porsenna's Camp, because he feared her virtue would mollify the King's mind; or if it did not, she would not be well treated. Octavius' heart was moved to see Hermilia, so afflicted as she was, go into a Victorious Army which would always bring into her memory the death both of her Brother and her Lover. As for Mutius, he was not very sorry that Valeria was to go to Porsenna, by whom he hoped to be protected, though he had intended an attempt upon his life; but Herminius and Aemilius were so afflicted at it, that their sorrow served to comfort Spurius for that grief he would have resented if he had been ignorant of their affliction. As for Amilcar, perceiving no very great sadness in Plotina's eyes, and being free to see her in Porsenna's Camp as well as at Rome, he thought to himself this change of life would give him a new affection without being obliged to change his Mistress. Telanus was very glad of this adventure; but Acrisius, Sicinius, and Damon much afflicted. As for Clelia, she did not certainly know what sentiments she ought to have: by reason of her natural modesty she could not but regret at her going to Porsenna's Camp; but otherwise her interests were so intricate, that she could not well disentangle them. She was not sorry to be removed from Horatius, and glad to think she should see Aronces: but she was to leave Sulpicia, and go into the power of Porsenna, with whom she conceived Tarquin and Sextus were not likely to make a total breach, and who she knew well did not approve the love Aronces had for her. Yet it was a consolation to her to have Valeria, Plotina, and Hermilia for her companions: but for all this, she was very sad as well as the rest of her Friends. All the influence the Public interest had in the minds of these fair Virgins, only caused them to constrain themselves as much as they could, that they might not seem much afflicted for a thing that conduced to confirm the peace. Assoon as their names were drawn, crowns of flowers were put upon their heads, and they were obliged to thank the Gods for choosing them to establish the liberty of Rome. Moreover, the names of twenty young youths of Quality were drawn by Lots; after which it was resolved to send the Hostages assoon as Lucilius was returned, and Porsenna had confirmed the Articles of Peace carried to him; and every one departed home. Then the fair Virgins prepared for their departure, and received the Adieus of their Lovers and Friends of both Sexes. Horatius' expressed himself to Clelia in the most pathetical words the most violent love could dictate, and the most nice jealousy suggest to him. Mutius spoke to Valeria with more fierceness than ordinary, and like a man that thought nothing could be refused him after having procured peace to Rome. I know well, cruel Valeria (said he to her) that you look upon what I have done for Rome, as if I had done it against you; but perhaps you will change your thoughts during your absence; in the mean time you must permit me to hope that Publicola, who is more sensible of the Publick-good than you, will thank me for what I have done for it, and be unwilling you should render me miserable. If my Father could render you happy (answered she) without violating his own word, and forcing my will, without doubt he would do it; and were it in my power to hinder you from being miserable, I would do it out of gratitude. But, Mutius, you require a thing absolutely impossible, therefore preserve no ill-grounded hope in your breast; Herminius is the only man in the world that I can love; and if I could cease to be his, I ought then to favour Aemilius, and not you. Ah! cruel Valeria (cried Mutius) consider what the Lover you despise is capable of doing, and fear lest he act that against his own Enemies which he has done against the Enemies of Rome. As you pretend to have performed a brave action (answered she) so there is reason to believe you will not blemish it by an ignoble one; and besides, to tell you freely, threatenings never cause any fear in me. You intent then (added he) that I must die with despair, and burn eternally without hoping a moment of release in my torments. You can endure the fire so constantly (replied she with a little too sharp raillery) that you are less to be pitied than another. But, in brief, Mutius (added she) content yourself with the glory you have acquired, do not blemish it with unjust menaces, addict yourself rather to ambition than love, and leave me in quiet. I shall obey you, Madam (said he to her) and if I cannot leave you in quiet as you desire, I shall employ the same hand against myself that has lately given peace to Rome. Since I am always alike equitable (answered Valeria) I oppose that which you intent to do against yourself, as I would oppose that which you should offer to attempt against another. No, no, Madam (said he to her) I have nothing to do with your equity; and when the fancy takes me, I shall know well how to do myself justice. In this manner Mutius parted from Valeria. Aemilius bid her Adieu like an unhappy Lover that dared not hope any thing, Spurius like a man that never despaired of any thing, but always believed what could not be obtained by merit or force, might be by subtlety. As for Octavius, his farewell to Hermilia was so respectful a declaration of Love, that this fair Virgin, as sad as she was, could not be offended at it. Sicinius following his own humour, bid Plotina Adieu in two words; Acrisius on the contrary employed a thousand in saying almost nothing to her. Damon who knew of the Dialogue Amilcar made while he was sick, spoke to her more against his Rival than of his own passion; and as for Amilcar, he told her he would conduct her to the Camp, and assist Telanus to convoy her. Colatina had no Lover at Rome whom she regreted, and so was not troubled to bid adieu to any but her friends. Berelisa and Clidamira were much afflicted to see all these fair persons depart, and so was Anacreon. Indeed Artemidorus' sickness most of all took up their care, they went to visit him very frequently, sometimes with Sulpicia, Berelisa, or Cesonia, but with this advantage to Berelisa, that the Prince notwithstanding his weakness, observed this fair Virgin was more troubled for his wounds than Clidamira. He perceived her more sad and dejected, and beheld in the other more pretence than true sorrow.  
Lucilius being at length returned, and having brought back the confirmation of the Peace, notwithstanding the negotiations of Tarquin and Tullia to break it, preparation was made to send away the Hostages. Accordingly the next morning all the young Youths that were to be given in Hostage, were led to the foot of the Janiculum, and the twenty fair Virgins conducted by their relations were put into the hands of the Consuls, who having caused magnificent Chariots to be prepared for them, caused them to be conveyed by Horatius, Octavius, and Herminius with the Troops that accompanied them to the foot of the Janiculum. By the way as they went, all the people made a thousand vows for their preservation; and being come to that place, Lucilius and Telanus sent Porsenna's Orders to cause the passages to be quitted, and did the like to those that kept the Janiculum. Whereupon the forces that kept this place began to draw off towards the King of Hetruria's Camp, at the same time that those which followed Horatius, Octavius, and Herminius possessed themselves of the Post which the other abandoned. Then the twenty Youths and the twenty fair Virgins, being put under the power of Lucilius and Telanus, began to march to a place where the Forces of Porsenna that relinquished the Janiculum made a halt till these Hostages were arrived. Horatius separating himself from the Roman Troops, approached to the Chariot wherein Clelia was; so did Herminius to that of Valeria, Octavius to that of Hermilia, and the other Lovers that followed, to the Chariots wherein the persons they loved were. But Amilcar followed Lucilius and Telanus, and was always near the Chariot of Clelia, wherein Plotina was. But for that there needed a good time for Porsenna's Forces to break up their Camp, and the Romans to take possession of the Post they deserted, all the Chariots wherein the Virgins were, stayed in a Meadow at the head of those Troops, who put themselves in Battalia as they descended. In the mean time the fair Virgins discoursed together amongst themselves, or with Amilcar, who sometimes went to one and sometimes to another. They had purposed to be negligently enough attired, but they were enjoined to adorn themselves, to the end they might draw more respect, and be more sitting to be presented to the King of Hetruria, with whom it was not doubted but Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines would be, when they should be presented to him, so that they never seemed more fair than now. Clelia, Valeria, and Plotina were in the same Chariot; Hermilia and Colatina in another, every one having followed their own inclination. Amilcar being near Clelia, Valeria, and Plotina, told them he had a great advantage in being an African at this time; for I may now accompany you throughout (said he) whereas, if I were a Roman, I durst not follow you this day, because the Roman gravity would not permit me to go into the Enemy's Camp till matters were completely pacified. But since I take special privileges to myself wherever I am, I go boldly to Porsenna, as if I were an Hostage. In good earnest (answered Plotina) you are so more than you imagine; for to speak sincerely, as often as you give your heart to any fair one, 'tis always on condition that she shall restore it to you. Ah! perverse Plotina (cried he) if you were as long in Porsenna's hands, as my heart shall be in yours, you would never return to Rome. I assure you, (said she to him) that though I hope restitution will shortly be made to Porsenna of that little corner of Territory that has been heretofore usurped from him, and consequently the Treaty being accomplished, he will soon remit us back to Rome, yet I would not swear your heart should not go out of my power before I go out of that of Porsenna. But however that be (continued she) 'tis not the thing in Question at present, and only tell me, whether you know a man on Horseback whom I see coming here, who methinks has a very blockish aspect, and is followed by five or six others that appear not much wiser. Clelia and Valeria turning their heads on that side, perciev'd it was the infamous Sextus, who led by his own inclination, which always carried him where women were, came insolently from his Quarter to see who they were that Lot had chosen out. For though Tarquin was much discentented with Porsenna, yet he did not manifest it, and forbore to break wholly with him, hoping always something would happen to disturb the Peace. Assoon Clelia and Valeria knew Sextus, they gave a great 〈◊〉, and turned away their eyes. But Telanus who was in the head of the Forces, whilst Lucilius gave Orders in other places, encouraged them a little, judging it was not in Sextus' power to attempt any thing against them. Whereupon they took heart a little, and were contented to salute him with a sullen and cold aspect, which made it apparent that if he had not been son of the King, they would not have rendered him that civility. On the other side, Sextus who never considered any thing besides his own pleasure, judged Clelia so fair at this instant, that his old passion revived in his heart for this excellent person. He beheld her with agitation of mind; and approaching to her Chariot with earnestness, he addressed his speech to Amilcar with the same cheerfulness he could have done at the time when he was in Rome. I confess (said he to Amilcar) I was in an error when heretofore I preferred brown beauties before the fair, since 'tis certain I never saw nor never shall see any person so beautiful as Clelia. This speech of Sextus minding Clelia and Valeria of the Lamentable death of Lucretia (because it was in maintaining the beauty of that virtuous woman that he had spoken against the fair) they blushed with indignation, and Clelia speaking to him, No, no, my Lord (said she) do not give yourself the trouble to commend me, but know there is no surer way to make me displeasing to myself, than to signify to me that I please you. Therefore, if you believe me, depart from hence; besides (added she) I conceive 'tis no great pleasure to you to see the Janiculum delivered to the Romans. Your aspect, Madam (replied Sextus) makes them that behold it, unmindful of their own felicities. But, my Lord (interrupted Amilcar) I know not whether it be not a new unhappiness to you, to see Clelia according to the present posture of affairs; and therefore, I think it would be good you satisfied her desire. Go, my Lord, go (interrupted Valeria, who could not contain herself) go hide your crimes in some place so remote from Rome, that you may never there meet a friend of Lucretia. But to what place soever you go, remember there is not a moment wherein a hundred thousand persons do not hate you. I should laugh at their hatred (answered he, without being moved) were I loved but by one person. If you desire to be so by any one (replied Valeria) go into some place where you are not known, and where you may change all your inclinations; for if you do not, you will be driven out every where, as you are from Rome: and remember, 'tis the most faithful friend of Lucretia that foretells you this day, you will always be as unfortunate as you are criminal. Since there are pleasures in all places (replied he) I make no great reckoning of banishment. Pleasures (said Plotina) are not many to those that are exiled. Not to such as are covetous and ambitious (answered he) but they are to be found every where by those that seek after them, and prefer them above all things. Whilst Sextus was speaking thus, Amilcar made a sign to Telanus of the disgust his presence gave to these fair Virgins; wherefore to deliver them from it, he commanded the Chariots to advance; for just about that time also all the forces of the Janiculum were arrived. So Telanus causing the Chariots to be drawn into the midst of them, Sextus was constrained to return to his own Quarter. But before he parted from Clelia's Chariot, Know (said he to her with unparallelled boldness) I lose not the hope to be happy; and having lost Rome for Lucretia, I should be still ready to lose a hundred Kingdoms for you, if I had them. After this, Lucilius coming up to join with Telanus, the whole body marched towards the Quarter of Porsenna. Where when the fair Virgins were arrived, Lucilius went to know the King's pleasure concerning presenting them before him. But Porsenna having understood Clelia was amongst them, would not see them, and sent to seek the Prince his son, to the end he might not entertain them, giving order they should be put into tents, served well, and guarded diligently. Nevertheless Aronces who had been advertised by Telanus that Clelia was amongst the Hostages, used his interest with the Princess of the Leontines to oblige Galerita to come that day to the Camp; and he caused such diligent notice to be given him when the Chariots would arrive, that he was precisely at the place were they made a halt, whilst Lucilius went to receive Porsenna's Orders. He was habited this day more splendidly than ordinary, though in a military attire. His Horse was of a dapple-gray, his Feathers were white, Isabella, black, and skye-colour, he had a scarf of the same colours buckled upon his shoulder with the muzzle of a golden Lion enriched with great Diamonds. The guard of his Sword was of the same; and in short, his garb was so magnificent, that he drew the eyes of all. He was also looked upon very favourably by Clelia, who made it very apparent that the sight of the person loved embellishes, at the first appearance after absence; for assoon as Clelia perceived Aronces, her eyes became more sparkling, her complexion had a fuller tincture of carnation, joy augmented the gracefulness of her mouth, and all the charms of her countenance became thereby the more inevitable. Aronces on his part, could not at that moment reflect on all the consequences that might follow upon this interview, but so gave up himself to joy, that alighting from his Horse, he went directly to Clelia, who descended from her Chariot, together with her Companions; and it happened to be in a place where she could do it conveniently, for there was a large and thick-spread tree about ten paces from her Chariot. Ah! Madam (said he to her, after having saluted her and those that followed her) is it lawful for me to rejoice to see you in a place where I am not Master? yet you would forbid me in vain to do so, for 'tis impossible for me to see you without resenting a pleasure which I am unable to express. That which I have to see you, my Lord (answered she) teaches me sufficiently, that the first sentiments of the heart are not in a people's disposing according as the condition of their fortune requires; for though I am always very unhappy, yet I am extreme joyful that I can also tell you I am always the same, provided you be not changed. Ah! Madam (cried Aronces) that which you say is not obliging, and you have too little esteem of me, if you do not repent of it. After this, Clelia told Aronces that Plotina was her sister, and that though Horatius was her brother, yet was she always his friend: so that there was a very sweet and ingenious conversation among these amiable persons. As they were in it, Lucilius came to bring Porsenna's Orders; but they so strict, that out of friendship he counselled the Prince not to oppose them, nor provoke the King. This Order sensibly afflicted Aronces, Clelia, her Companions, and Amilcar, who was come to them; but yet it was necessary to obey it. So Clelia, Valeria, and Plotina re-entered into their Chariot, after Aronces accompanied by Amilcar had told the admirable person he loved, that she ought to fear nothing, and that he would die rather than be wanting in fidelity to her. Aronces being mounted on Horseback, and the Chariot's beginning to march in order to conduct the fair Virgins to the Tents which were appointed for them, they beheld a Troop of Ladies appear on Horseback, in very great gallantry, and following a stately Chariot that went very slowly, which was the Queen of Hetruria, and with her Melintha, and a very fair and amiable person named Hersilia. She that rid in the head of these Ladies was the Princess of the Leontines, her Horse being white with a black star in the forehead; her attire was of a flying stuff, silver and blue, and the shape of it very agreeable and advantageous; she wore hanging at a rich scarf that was fastened with a knot of Diamonds, a little Bow of Ebony garnished with gold, and a Quiver of the same adorned with jewels. Her hair curled in half rings was carelessly spread upon her shoulders. So that having upon her head a great Plume of Feathers, the colours of which were pleasing and well suited, and the order irregular (as I may so speak) made an agreeable confusion, this Princess never appeared more beautiful than she did this day. She was followed by Aurelisa, Terentia, and Amiclea, and several other Ladies very handsome and gallantly clothed. Assoon as Aronces beheld this fair Troop, he left Clelia and went to meet the Queen of Hetruria and the Princess of the Leontines, to the end to desire their protection of that excellent Virgin. In the mean time the Chariots of the twenty fair Romans, whom Lot had chosen for Hostages, turning to the right hand towards the Tiber, were not so distant but Clelia could discern the magnificent garb of the Princess of the Leontines, and with what a respectful gesture Aronces saluted her; for indeed out of his desire to induce her to protect Clelia, he approached to her with extraordinary respect. Upon which Clelia having her heart inflamed with new affection towards Aronces, whom she lately saw, and affected with discontent occasioned by the rigorous order of Porsenna, her mind became so troubled, that she could not hinder herself from giving some signs of her inquietude. She changed colour several times, she had her head always turned toward the side where the Princess of the Leontines was, as long as she was in sight, and moreover she sighed very heavily. But that which completed her anxiety, was, that putting forth her head; she heard one of those that guarded her, saying to another as they beheld Aronces, See, our Prince there is much taken up with his new Mistress. These words were no sooner understood by Clelia, but jealousy as suddenly seized upon her heart, as an hour before Love did upon that of Sextus. But whilst this secret trouble was exciting in her breast, Plotina and Valeria were reasoning concerning Porsenna's Order. Nevertheless the change happened in Clelia's fair eyes did not escape their observation; whereupon Valeria addressing to this admirable person, Whence arises this new sadness? (said she) and what thought has come in your mind? Tho Porsena's Order be something severe, yet we are delivered from an unpleasing ceremony, in that we shall not be presented to him. Therefore since I believe he dares not violate the Law of Nations, nor treat you ill, I see no cause for the excessive melancholy that appears in your eyes. For my part (said Plotina) I am of Valeria's mind; and therefore let me entreat you, my dear sister, not to abandon yourself to sadness. When the heart is possessed with jealousy (answered she blushing) it is not possible but that it should also be abandoned to sadness. But how can you become jealous in so short a time? (said Plotina). Clelia seeing herself urged by her friends, told them what she heard, and what she observed. But do you not know (said Valeria) Aronces suffers it to be believed that he is amorous of the Princess of the Leontines to the end Porsenna might not propound to him the marriage of the Prince of Ceres' daughter? I know it (answered Clelia) but I know too that the Princess of the Leontines, is infinitely charming, that I am unfortunat, and that it is not impossible but that Aronces conceiving he cannot marry me, has suffered his heart to be touched with the beauty of that Princess; for, for my own part, I find that were I a man, I could not choose but love her. Ah! my dear sister (cried Plotina) you think you should love this Princess if you were a man, only because you have at present a great disposition not to love her. That is, in brief, the jealousy which will cause you to hate her, makes her appear more lovely than really she is, though she is so in a high degree. But however, you are unjust; for after all Aronces has done for you, you suspect him upon too light an occasion. No, no, (replied Valeria) blame not Clelia so much; for when a person loves ardently and is unfortunate, it is very easy for jealousy to arise without cause; and certainly only such as know not how to love, are wholly free from jealousy. These fair Virgins spoke many things more to this purpose, till they arrived at the Tents prepared for them, where they were received with magnificence and respect. Lucilius and Telanus caused them to be attended with all imaginable care, and omitted nothing that might serve to evidence themselves the most honourable persons in the World. Nevertheless at the same time, not daring to disobey Porsenna's Order, they caused them to be guarded diligently. This King (imagining there had been some deceit in the choice of the Hostages, and that Clelia was purposely sent to his Camp out of hope to mollify him, and to augment Aronces' love by her presence) was much displeased about it, both against the Romans and against Aronces, whom he suspected to have had some influence in the business. Yet seeing him arrive with the Princess of the Leontines, he knew not what to think of it. But Galerita and the Princess being much solicitous to serve Aronces, assoon as they came to Porsenna's presence, they declared the joy they resented in seeing the peace so well advanced, and asked him wherefore he did not see the Hostages. Because (answered he) the person is sent amongst them who of all the world undoubtedly hates me most. And therefore (added he, looking upon Aronces) I absolutely forbid you to see her, or have any correspondence with her. My Lord (said the dejected Prince) the order you have given for the guarding of the fair Romans, is so strict, that it will be no merit to obey you; but if it be lawful for me to answer something that is contrary to your sentiments, I shall beseech you to consider that nothing ought to be more sacred than the persons of Hostages. I grant it (replied Porsenna) and 'tis to that end that I require they be diligently guarded. Aronces judging then that Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines would do him more service if himself were not present than if he were, he withdrew, and left them in effect the liberty to protect himself in protecting Clelia. Yet they durst not speak to Porsenna concerning that admirable Lady in particular, but only of her and all her Companions in general. At first the King of Hetruria would not allow that any persons should see them: but the two Princesses so earnestly represented to him that that would cause an ill rumour in Rome, as if they were kept Prisoners, that he yielded to their Counsel, being contented only to prohibit the Prince his son the liberty of seeing them; but he granted the Princess' permission to go and visit them. In the mean time the Prince Titus who always loved Colatina passionately, went from Tarquin's Quarter to that of Porsenna, to endeavour to get liberty to see her; Sextus who was become violently amorous of Clelia, went thither too with the same purpose: and the fierce Tullia, whose mind was always bend to do mischief to some or other, and to make all things subservient to her revenge, or ambition, devised in her mind (so fertile in inventions of wickedness) what she should do to hinder the accomplishment of the peace, or at least to torment Clelia. Tarquin for his part, in the midst of his misfortunes had his thoughts employed upon Clelia, and was something pleased, to hear Aronces was denied liberty to visit her. The day after the fair Romans came to Porsenna's Camp, the Queen of Hetruria and the Princess of the Leontines went to see them; but by the way they met with Sextus, and could not hinder him from accompanying them, though they urged him as much as they could to forbear. As for the Prince Titus, he was so beloved by both parties, that they did not scruple to take him into this visit; and the curiosity to see these twenty fair Romans being almost general, the Princesses were accompanied by the generous Melintha, the amiable Hersilia, Amiclea, Aurelisa, Terentia, and several men of Quality. The Roman Ladies having been advertised by Lucilius and Telanus of the visit they were to receive, they adorned themselves more speedily this day; and Clelia out of a jealous conceit, and to please the Queen of Hetruria, omitted nothing that conduced to make her appear amiable. Only Hermilia was in a negligent dress, which testified she did not care to please: yet being fair, young, and tall, she did not cease to be very graceful. It may be said, there was never a more glorious sight, than when these twenty fair Virgins went to receive the Queen of Hetruria at the entry of their Tents. For the Lot had so happily chosen them out, that there was not one of them but was extremely handsome and agreeable. Valeria, Clelia, and Plotina being in the front of this fair Company, the first as being daughter of the first Consul spoke thus in the name of all her Companions, when she saluted Galerita. Had my Companions and myself had liberty to do our duty, Madam (said she very gracefully) we should have had the honour to have gone and saluted your Majesty assoon as we saw you arrive in the Camp: But, Madam, since we are not in our own power, no doubt you are so equitable as not to accuse us of being deficient in the respect we owe you. The Queen of Hetruria very civilly received that which Valeria spoke to her, and also made an answer to it; but it was almost without thinking what she was doing; for the Princess of the Leontines having before caused her to take notice of Clelia, she beheld her with so great admiration that she could not refrain from giving advantageous signs of what she thought of her. Assoon as she had done answering Valeria, she turned herself towards the Princess of the Leontines, and speaking to her, Report is injurious to Clelia's beauty (said she) for certainly it transcends all the praises that are published of it, and I believe it can never be sufficiently extolled. Galerita had scarce spoke this, but all that accompanied her, perceiving it was free for them to speak what they thought, commended Clelia so highly, that she blushed at it; whereby modesty imbellishing her more, she confirmed all the applauses that were given her. After which Galerita, having commended all these fair Virgins in general, separated Clelia from the rest, and talked with her for some time, whilst the Princess of the Leontines, Melintha Hersilia, and the other Ladies were speaking to Valeria, Plotina, and their companions. As for Prince Titus, he entertained Colatina, whom he had not seen since his leaving Rome; but Sextus was wholly silent, and only beheld Clelia so attentively, that it was easy to perceive that he had not loved the unfortunate Lucretia more ardently. Amilcar, who had followed the Queen of Hetruria, joined in the discourse with the Princess of the Leontines and Plotina; Telanus did the like; Aurelisa and Terentia admired these fair Romans; and Valeria and her companions returning them commendations for those they gave, this first conversation passed in reciprocal civilities. But Clelia spoke so handsomely to Galerita, that she was as much charmed with her wit, as her beauty; yet she would not mention any thing to her concerning Aronces, but assured her in general, she would protect her in all things, and omit no opportunity to do her good offices. After which turning herself towards the other Roman Ladies, the Princess of the Leontines approached to Clelia, with intention to assure her she would serve her with all her heart, and give her an account of the sentiments Aronces had for her. But Sextus coming to her at the same moment, it was impossible for her to execute her purpose; besides, that Clelia appeared to her with so cold an aspect, that this did sufficiently amuse her. Nevertheless, soon after she thought Sextus' presence caused that coldness of hers, so that hoping to see her often, she was not very earnest to discourse with her apart. On the contrary believing she should do her a pleasure in taking off Sextus, she pretended to have something to say to this Prince, and accordingly whispered a little to him; but presently after, the Queen of Hetruria being retired, she could do no more but tell Clelia, she would see her again speedily. Notwithstanding she spoke this with a very obliging air, yet the secret jealousy this fair Virgin had in her breast caused her to answer her with some coldness, though with sufficient civility. The Queen of Hetruria as she returned spoke of nothing but the beauty of Clelia, and the charms of her mind. Sextus seemed so transported with it, that he could not refrain from speaking things which made it apparent he was deeply enamoured of her; and all that accompanied Galerita were so taken with her, that they contended who should extol her most. Her companions were also much Commended, and though fair Ladies love not very much to applaud those that own that advantageous quality, yet Aurelisa, Terentia, and all the rest acknowledged nothing could be seen so handsome as Clelia; and that next her, Valeria, Plotina, Hermilia, and Colatina were the most charming persons in the world. When Galerita arrived at her Tent, she understood that the cruel Tullia was in private conference with Porsenna, and she was told of it by Aronces, who was extremely troubled at it. And so was she too; for she knew well of what dangerous artifices this person was capable. But to comfort him, she talked with him so advantageously of Clelia, that it gave him satisfaction in some measure. You have reason Aronces (said Galerita to him) to prefer Clelia above all the rest of the world; for being noble, virtuous, ingenious, and the greatest beauty that ever lived, and having an affection for you, I conceive nothing is to be desired for your happiness but the consent of Porsenna. Ah! Madam (cried Aronces) that consent is hard to be obtained. I confess it (answered the Queen) but nevertheless I am persuaded, if the King saw Clelia, it would be more easy to prevail with him; and I purpose to continue some days in the Camp, that I may endeavour to bring him to resolve upon it. Aronces thanked Galerita for this design of hers, and afterwards requested the Princess of the Leontines, to assist her in moving Porsenna to see Clelia. As he left the Queen, he saw his Father the King, who seemed to be sufficiently pensive; he understood by some of the Officers that were faithful to him, that when Tullia departed from Porsenna, he told her, he would keep his word, provided she kept hers; and that this Princess went away with an aspect sufficiently satisfied. But the unfortunate Aronces not being able to see Clelia, writ to her in the most passionate manner in the world, and obliged Titus, Telanus, and Amilcar to tell her a hundred things every day in his name. At the same time, liberty of intercourse between Rome and the Camp being ratified, excepting for such Romans as had followed Tarquin, the Princess of the Leontines went to see the Prince her Brother, who was a little recovered; and Herminius, Horatius, Octavius, Aemilius, Zenocrates, Anacreon, and many others caused themselves to be presented to Porsenna, to the end they might have liberty to visit the twenty fair Virgins that were given as Hostages. By this means the conversation became very delightful both at the Tents of the Queen of Hetruria, the Princess of the Leontines, and those in which the fair Romans were. As for Mutius, his mind was so incensed with the last conversation he had with Valeria, that he would not go thither; and he was observed to avoid almost all the world, and to be discontented and pensive, though the glory he had acquired aught to have afforded him very great satisfaction. About this time the Prince of Messene found himself reduced to extremity; but at his death he caused Themistus to be advertised that he might go and receive the recompense of his fidelity, and that some days before he had stopped a man that had order to deliver a Letter to him from the Prince of Syracuse, and another from the Princess Lindamira, which informed him that he might return. And accordingly Themistus understanding this agreeable news, and seeing the War ended, ●itted himself to depart assoon as the wound in his arm should be cured. The Prince of Messene's death, and the happiness of his Rival, serving then for discourse to all the world, it happened that Clelia and Plotina observing Zenocrate's very melancholy, the latter asked him if he had any particular interest in that adventure. Alas! Madam (answered he, sighing) I am concerned only with my own miseries, of which both the felicity and misfortunes of others do alike reduce the remembrance in my mind. Yet some troublesome thing must needs have befallen you within this little while (said Clelia) for the bare remembrance of remote unhappinesses does not produce the melancholy which I perceive in your eyes. 'Tis easy to appear sad (replied Zenocrates) when greater are apprehended to come. But Valeria interrupting this discourse by speaking something apart to Clelia, Plotina continued, and so urged Zenocrates to tell her the cause of his discontent, that he confessed to her he was extremely jealous, but would not discover to her who was the person he loved. After which Plotina told Clelia what Zenocrates had confessed to her. An hour after the Princess of the Leontines being arrived, Clelia heard Amiclea say to Zenocrates, as she passed by him, You are to blame, and more than you can imagine. She also observed that the Princess of the Leontines blushed as she looked upon Zenocrates, and that Zenocrates' dejectedness increased by beholding the Princess. So that comparing all these circumstances, she conjectured that Zenocrates loved the Princess, and that Aronces was the cause of his jealousy. Which thought so augmented her own, that she was forced to pretend herself a little indisposed, for fear lest the alteration of her humour should be taken notice of. Nevertheless she had so great curiosity to know perfectly the Adventures of the Princess of the Leontines, that she requested Plotina and Valeria to engage her to relate them; and these two fair Ladies acted with such address, after Zenocrates was gone, that they prevailed with her to grant that which Clelia desired. That which you request of me (said this charming Princess to them) is harder to grant you than you imagine; but I cannot refuse a thing that is possible, to three such amiable persons as you; moreover, to speak freely, I foresee that within a few days, that will be known which I have hitherto so carefully concealed. However (added she) Amiclea must relate to you what you desire to know; for I confess to you that I should not be able to tell you divers things, the bare remembrance of which makes me blush, though they be not criminal. Clelia, Valeria, and Plotina, having consented to what she desired, she went away, and left Amiclea with these three fair Virgins, who being alone in their Tent, beseeched her to give them a full Relation of all that concerned the Princess of the Leontines And thereupon according to the order she had received from her, she began to speak in this manner.  

The HISTORY of the Princess LYSIMENA.  
IF you did not know the Princess of the Leontines, I should begin her History with her Elogium, thereby to interess you in her misfortunes; but since you are not ignorant that she is very beautiful and very amiable, that she is a person of extroardinary wit and merit, and that nevertheless her virtue surpasses all her charms; I it remains only that I acquaint you with her infelicities, to the end to excite your compassion to her, and to relate her Adventures to you, thereby to increase your admiration of her. I will not take much pains to describe to you how the Court of Leontium stood when we were there; I shall only tell you by the way, that there was none more delightful in all Sicily, though (as you know) there be a great number there, and it be at this day one of the places most famed for splendour and politeness in the world. The Country being very handsome and fertile, the air agreeable, and liberty sufficient, it is undoubtedly extreme pleasant living there. But it must be confessed, that during the first years of the Princess Lysimena's life, the Court of Leontium was more delightful than it can be at this day. For when the principal Persons of a Court have well-tempered minds, their example renders all their inferiors more civilised and virtuous. The late Prince of Leontium was certainly a very accomplished Prince; and the Princess of Leontium, his wife, was endued with all the Qualities that can cause a Person of Honour to be admired. Moreover, it may be assured that the Princess Lysimena resembles her as much, as Artemidorus does the late Prince, his Father. He that reigns at this day, has unquestionably some Qualities that ought to be commended; for he is endued with wit and courage: but he is naturally distrustful, excessively jealous of his Authority, when he need not, and besides has some inclinations to cruelty. But to return to the Princess Lysimena, you shall know, that she from her infancy was very amiable, & that at twelve years old she was the greatest ornament of the Court. It was believed at that time, that she had but one Brother; for you must know, Artemidorus at the age of ten years was taken by Pirates, as the Prince of the Leontium sent him to Greece under the conduct of a wife Governor called Cleanthus, to be brought up there till he should come to the age of eighteen years; after which no tidings had been heard of him. So that when the Prince his Father died, Lysimena remained under the Authority of the Prince of Leontium her Brother, who Reigns at this day. Whilst ' the Princess her mother was alive, she was not without some consolation; besides, being then but sixteen years old, grief more easily wore out of her mind, and she became capable of all the joy that can be found in a splendid Court by a Person that holds the chief rank there in all things, and sees herself as much superior to all about her both in beauty, wit, and Quality. The Princess Lysimena has always had the advantage to be free from one of those defects which are sufficiently common in those of her rank; for she had never any of that intolerable pride, through which such as are possessed with it, think they do too much honour to those that serve them, when they only take notice of the respect they bear to them; who despise all that are not of a very considerable rank; who are not obliged by any thing whatsoever, who will be loved without loving again; who scorn gratitude, who will be yielded to in every thing, who understand nothing of liberality, and who have not so much as the art to choose their own pleasures well. On the contrary, I can assure you she has always very well known how to discern the truth of all things, she has loved those that loved her person more than such as respected her condition, and has been as diligent to render herself worthy to be loved, as if her birth and beauty had afforded her no advantage. And to speak truth, the diligence she has used has admirably succeeded. I was some years elder than the Princess; but she attaining to an early prudence, loved rather to converse with such as exceeded her in age, than such as were younger: so that my mother being very much beloved by the late Princess of Leontium, I went frequently to the Palace, where I had the good fortune to be chosen amongst a hundred more amiable Virgins than myself, to be the Princess favourite. At that time a very near Kinsman of the Prince of Syracuse who dwelled at Leontium, became extreme amorous of Lysimena; his name was Meleontus, and he a is person of undoubted courage, wit, and magnificence; but he is naturally distrustful: and though he be very noble, yet he is so little master of himself when he is in choler that he is at such times capable of many things which he would not have done when his choler is passed. Moreover, Meleontus is a very goodly Person, and has a kind of noble boldness in the air of his countenance, which suits both with his Quality and humour. Being usually a partaker in all the pleasures of the Prince, he had the freedom to see the Princess Lysimena, very often. Whereby it is to be wondered, if seeing a most amiable person every day, he could not hinder himself from loving her. Besides, to speak truth, it was so much the mode to love Lysimena, that it was said at Court, She had not one slave that was not amorous of her. It was discovered that a Painter, as he drew her Picture, became her Lover; and one of the Gardeners of the Palace, to whom she had spoken very often (because she much delights in flowers) lost his reason through the excess of love he had for her. Moreover, it was for this cause that she was styled so as she is at this day; for a certain person saying one day pleasantly, that to distinguish her from the Princess her Mother, who was called the Princess of Leontium, she ought to be termed the Princess of the Leontines, since she reigned in the hearts of all the Prince her Brother's Subjects; the conceit was taken up, and she came by degrees to be generally styled so. Nevertheless, this universal love caused her to be hated and envied by several beauties: Clidamira who you know, was certainly a little envious at her, but amongst others there was a woman of Quality, that thought herself more beautiful than Lysimena, who proceeded so far to wish her as much mischief as if the Princess had undone her in her fortune, though she was guilty of no other crime but being as amiable as you see. This woman, who is called Amerintha, is indeed very fair, and has no common temper of mind, as you shall know in the sequel of my discourse. Meleontus having been her servant for some time, and afterwards forsaking her to adore Lysimena, she thereupon began to hate the Princess (as I told you) although she dissembled it as much as she could. In the mean time Meleontus omitted nothing which he jugded might serve to make his passion known to Lysimena, who had no inclination at all towards him. But because the Prince her Brother did not disapprove this affection, she durst not treat him unkindly: but her particular humour was so averse from all Courtship, that upon all occasions she commended Friendship above Love, maintaining that there is nothing more delightful than to have Friends, and nothing more troublesome than to have Lovers, whether they be loved again or no. And accordingly she was very severe to the former, and very gentle at the latter. Zenocrate's was at this time at Leontium, where having been very amorous of an amiable Lady named Andromira, his love at length turned into friendship. Which, besides, was a friendship without ardour, and not much pleasing; so that he said sometimes laughing, That there is far more pleasure in having a Friend of a Lady that had always been a Friend, than in having one that had been considered as a Mistress, and is no longer looked upon but as a Friend. Andromira being a little related to me, I frequently reproached Zenocrates with his change, and this is no unusual subject of our conversation. If you did not know him, I should tell you of the goodliness of his personage, the vivacity of his wit, and all the good qualities he is endued with; but it will be sufficient to let you know that he is of a very noble extraction, that he is Originally a Greek though he was born at a City called Herbesa, which was his Father's, and is not far from Leontium; I shall add further, that he was at that time of great esteem in this Court. That which happened between him and Andromira being a very rare case, all the world talked of it, and Lysimena making advantage of it in reference to her own sentiments, said, it was easy to perceive thereby the expedience of returning to Friendship. For my part (said I to her one day in the presence of Meleontus and Zenocrates) I do not conceive how any one is capable of Friendship towards another that has been loved; for if I had once had an affection for a man, I think I could not desist from it without hating him, or at least without having an indifference for him, which could never become Friendship. I am of Amiclea's mind (said Meleontus) and I do not think it possible for me ever to be a Friend to my Mistress. For my part (said Lysimena) Friendship is so high in my esteem, that I account it good at all times. But how is it possible (said Meleontus) for Love to become Friendship? What becomes of the desires, impatiencies, melancholies, fears, transports, little and great pleasures, suspicions, hope, jealousy, and all the other passions that are inseparable from Love? In truth (said Zenocrates) I cannot tell you what is become of all these, but I know at present I have the greatest tranquillity of the world in reference to Andromira, and that she cannot give me either great trouble or great pleasure. I behold her without desires or without hopes, I should serve her if it were in my power, I esteem her, I love her, and I visit her also very often: but for the most part, our conversation is but lukewarm, and our Friendship has nothing in it that affords much inquietude or great delight. But did you ever love that person? (said Meleontus). More than you can imagine (answered Zenocrates). I can witness (replied I) that he has made very amorous Verses upon her, and I have seen him inquieted, jealous, and much solicitous concerning her. But that which I admire most (said Lysimena) is, that Andromira should be capable of returning to Friendship as well as he. Ah! Madam (said Meleontus) Zenocrates must needs have loved but weakly when he was amorous, since he could become a Friend of a Lover; however, I am well assured (said he with a lower voice) I find I shall never have any Friendship for the admirable Lysimena. That which you speak is so disobliging to me (answered the Princess) that you deserve I should give you a sharp answer. That which I said is so true and so passionate, Madam (replied he) that I cannot believe it possible for you to be so unjust as to hate me for it. After this other Ladies being arrived, the discourse was changed. Nevertheless, from that day Meleontus became more confident to speak to Lysimena concerning his Love, although she always forbid him, and Zenocrates became so intimate a friend to her, that no man in the Court was so high in her favour, nor had so much liberty to see her. For Zenocrates had in a short time got such a reputation of being inconstant, that not fearing he would become her Lover, she was joyful that he was her Friend. We oftentimes reproached him that he had only the beginnings of love; and he was so expert at raillery thereupon, that it rendered our conversation very delightful. Meleontus' love in the mean time augmented to the highest degree he was capable of, he being a person more inclined to this passion than to Friendship. These two persons were often together, and seemed to be considerably intimate, though indeed they communicated nothing of importance one to another; for Zenocrates loves not to declare his secrets, and Meleontus is so distrustful, that he cared not to put confidence in him, especially in what concerned Lysimena. 'Tis true, he had no great secrets to tell of in this respect, for though he had the most violent passion for the Princess, that ever was, yet she answered it so little, that she afforded him no great matter for secrecy. Nevertheless, he was not discouraged; for though the Princess of Leontium did not much approve his pretensions to the Princess her daughter, yet the Prince her Son so upheld him in them, that he was not destitute of hope. In the mean time there were made continual feasts, at which Zenocrates was always present as Lysimena's friend. This Quality was no doubt very advantageous to him and gave him many occasions of conversing with her, which otherwise he could not have had, if his inconstancy had not secured him from being apprehended by Lysimena as a man that was amorous of her. So that by degrees she came to have a very dear friendship for Zenocrates; who one the other side loved her no doubt as much as he could, and often told her, that he loved her more than four of his Mistressesses. Thus Lysimena taking much delight in the amity of such an agreeable Friend, and (if I dare say it) in mine, daily confirmed herself in the opinion she then had, That Love is less sweet than Friendship. Zenocrate's in the mean time was better treated as her Friend, than Meleontus was as her Lover. Andromira was sometimes present in their conversations, and one day the Princess asked her, whether Zenocrates were a more agreeable Friend than a Lover. In truth, Madam (answered Andromira, smiling) I cannot well resolve your Question; all that I can tell you, is, that when our affection was a little more tender than friendship, we had more pain and more pleasure; but at this day when it has changed its nature, we do not divert ourselves much in our familiarity. That answer of Andromira, to Lysimena seemed to her so remarkable, that being alone the next day in her Closet, she made a description of that person's sentiments, she painted her out to the life, and did me the favour to show me what she writ upon this subject, which was extremely pleasant. For without pencil or colours, she made so exact a picture of Andromira, that none could but know it. At first the Princess would have concealed this Portraiture; but telling Zenocrates of it, and Zenocrate's not being able to hide a thing made for the honour of the Princess' wit, told it to the Prince, the Prince to Meleontus, and Meleontus to the whole Court. Upon which, as all the world is full of imitators, good or bad, in a few days all the men of the Court became Painters, and all the women made their own Pourtraits, without considering that it is very difficult to speak handsomely of ones self: for if a person set forth his own commendations, he becomes ridiculous and insufferable; if he blame himself justly, he would do better to amend his faults than publish them; and it he speak neither good nor ill of himself he is sufficiently tedious.  
But in brief, a Constellation stronger than Reason put all the World into this vein. The most excusable were such as overcommended themselves, for they delineated themselves according to their self-conceit; and the most faulty were such as made Satirical Portraitures against persons whose goodness and virtue ought to have exempted them from envy. Tho indeed the Authors injured themselves, by describing themselves amongst all the worthy persons, and did no hurt to those they intended to injure. Upon this occasion all discourses were only concerning Portraitures, every one had some in their Pockets, and the end of the Composers was only to give Copies from one to another. One day, amongst an honourable Company, at the Palace of the Princess of Leontium where Lysimena was at that time, arose a discourse concerning the Portraitures in fashion. For my part (said Meleontus) I like not this ardency of doing that always which others do, and that because some one person has made a handsome Portrait, therefore all the world should betake themselves to make bad. In truth (added I) I believe there is not a person at Leontium that has a Looking glass, but has made their own picture, excepting myself who could never resolve to speak either good or ill in my own behalf. After this, Lysimena asked if there were any new Portraiture, and Zenocrates told her two were made of the same person by no ordinary invention; which the Princess desiring to see, Zenocrates who had them, gave them to her to read, telling her, the first of them seemed to be made by some Lover or some friend of Amerintha. I easily believe (answered Lysimena) it might be made by a Lover, but as for a Friend, I doubt it: for Amerintha loves not to have Friends, and I am persuaded few people have many, against their own wills. After this Lysimena began to read that which follows.   

The Portraiture of AMERINTHA.  
AMerintha is of a tall and handsome stature, of a good aspect, and has all the lustre of a great Beauty: her eyes are sparkling and sweet, they excite love, fear, and hope all at the same time. They are the fairest azure in the World, and her hair is of the most goodly flaxen that ever was seen. She has a little mouth, ruddy and smiling, and a thousand charms in the air of her countenance. Her complexion is clear even to admiration, and she has such an agreeable mind, in which sweetness and confidence, modesty and gallantry, cheerfulness and sometimes pensiveness appear together. She is obliging and civil, she speaks well, she has a good grace, she pleases all that see her; and whoever is not in love the first time he sees her, is incapable of ever being so. Her heart is resolute enough to undertake difficult things without scruple, nothing perplexes or astonishes her; she trusts always either to her beauty or to her address. And indeed she has reason to conside in them, since to this hour she has almost always done whatever she desired to do, nothing being able to resist her; and I believe she will perpetually do her own pleasure.  
It must be confessed (said Lysimena, after she had done reading) that Amerintha has all that this Portraiture attributes to her. I acknowledge it (answered Meleontus) but she has some things that are not expressed in it. Nevertheless (added I) there is none but would know her by this description. If it be so (said Zenocrates) you will not judge the other Portrait made of her to be very like. There are Pictures sometimes (answered Lysimena) that do not resemble one another, and yet are very like the persons for whom they were made: but to judge whether this be so, let us see it. After which she began to read the Second.   

Portraiture of AMERINTHA.  
AMerintha is a Person (you think perhaps I am going to say Wonderful, but it is more just to say) Incomprehensible; and no doubt you will agree with me by that time I have made her Picture. Her beauty is gay, her Complexion pale, her Eyes sufficiently terrible, and her words pass through one of the handsomest mouths in the World. Her Hair is fair, and the air of her whole Person noble enough; but her Hands are not made to catch Hearts, for they are so deformed, that she always hides them in a corner of a great veil she wears, for fear she should show them either to her Lovers or herself. Nor are her Arms more handsome; her neck too is sufficiently ill shaped: and for my part, I confess my imagination persuades me that all which I do not see, more resembles that which displeases me than that which seems agreeable to me. But which is strange, that which is handsome in this Person serves only to injure her; since she does not attract Lovers but to make herself enemies; and it may be said she never causes herself to be loved, but the better to render herself hated. For they that do not love her, admire her more than they that do, because as soon as any one had had time enough to know her, he finds that she loves none but herself, that her heart is full of dissimulation, and that she uses a certain false goodness only the better to deceive such as she desires to destroy, that her Wit only serves her to frame intrigues, and to perplex all those she calls friends; that her confidence is seldom employed but to perform actions worthy to be repent of; that she does Civilities to none but those from whom she knows she shall receive greater; that she employs craft in all things, and understands not true Prudence. She is expert enough in disguising truth, though on some occasions she has been liable to conviction of falsehood; she loves liberality in another, and never practices it; she would have it believed that she knows how to love, though she never loved any. In the mean time she does many things which nothing but love seems to be able to cause them to do whomit absolutely possesseth. But lastly, the greatest truth that can be said of her, is, that no other Person ever excited so much love and hatred, or attracted so many praises and reproaches: and that which troubles her most of all, is, that all Persons begin with admiration, and always end with contempt.  
Ah! Zenocrates (said Lysimena) if there were any stranger here, I would say this does not much resemble Amerintha; but since I conceive none can contradict what is here said of her, I must acknowledge this second Portraiture resembles Amerintha as much as the first; for though one extols her, and the other blames her, yet both are like her. The first would seem admirably well made to a man that had seen her but eight days; and the latter to those that have loved her a long time. He that made this Picture (answered Zenocrates) calls these Pourtraits, twofaced Pourtraits; because in the one he speaks all the good, and in the other all the evil. This malicious invention has no doubt some wit in it (replied Lysimena) but for that it may prejudice virtuous persons, I will not commend it. Not but that Amerintha deserves her picture should be made in such manner, that it may please every one; but however, 'tis better to conceal the defects of others, than to discover them, although it be never so ingeniously done. That which you say, is very generous, Madam (answered I) but above all things it behoves not to reproach any person for want of Beauty, or for bad fortune, unless people desire to be accounted malicious or scurrilous; and if it be lawful to speak disadvantageous truths, it ought to be against such as are wicked, backbiters, slanderers, cheaters, envious at others glory; because sometimes well drawing the Character of a bad man, vice may be rendered odious. But withal, these descriptions ought to be general, and not to point at any one in particular, unless it be necessary to make perfidious persons known, for fear they deceive such as are not so. For as in certain places of great Rivers, Marks are set up, to advertise such as pass that way, of Rocks hid under the water, which might occasion Ship wrack; so sometimes dangerous persons may be made known, to the end the virtuous may more easily avoid them. That which you say is extreme reasonable (replied Zenocrates) and whereas so many unprofitable Portraitures are made, I wish some were composed that might be of good use. I would have an envious man painted forth, that so envy might be hated; a detractor, to the end to cause detraction to be detested; a deceiver, that perfidiousness might be rendered odious; and in like manner many other evil qualities. But as for an inconstant person (interrupted Lysimena smiling) you say nothing of him. Tho I am perhaps less such than I am taken to be (answered he) yet I shall not at present offer to say I am not such at all; but only, that for the most part inconstant persons are rather reckoned amongst the giddy-brained, than the wicked; and for that reason I did not think to mention them in this occasion. But as for Amerintha's twofaced Portrait, it was composed by one that desires not to make a secret of it; all the Court has seen it, and many have since attempted the like. Nevertheless, the Princess so openly professed herself an Enemy to all that made such kind of things, that in a very few days none dared to write in that manner; and this is a great instance, that 'tis extremely important for persons of the principal rank in Courts never to approve of those that wound the reputation of others. And it concerns them sufficiently; for, by not permitting the glory of their inferiors to be blemished, they preserve their own, and place a Bar between calumny and themselves. Yet this discourse of Lysimena did not hinder but that Amerintha understanding by Andromira (who told her of it unwittingly) that her Portraiture had been read in the Princess' lodgings, was extremely enraged at it, and designed to do her some mischief, though in truth she had no cause to complain of Lysimena. But dissimulation being necessary to all such as would do an injury, she made no show of any disgust at all; but contrarily she visited Lysimena more frequently, she sought my friendship and absolutely gained that of a Virgin who at that time belonged to the Princess of the Leontines. In the mean time Meleontus was infinitely amorous of Lysimena, and Zenocrates thinking himself her friend; was her Lover; though indeed he shortly perceived that he deceived himself. As for the Princess, she thought nothing of it, and was so pleased with his friendship, that she boasted of it to all the World. But as one day she was speaking of it to him, he found himself sufficiently perplexed. For you must know, Zenocrates having deserted all his Mistresses for some time before, seemed to have nothing else to do, but to render his devoirs to Lysimena. Upon which the Princess not desiring that her friendship should restrain him; told him one day pleasantly, that she in no manner pretended to engross him, and though she sometimes jested with him about his inconstancy, yet she would not hinder him from having some of those half Mistresses, who without possessing his whole heart, might afford him divertisement, and occasion him to write pleasant Letters, and delightful Verses. Zenocrate's blushed at this speech of Lysimena, and was much puzzled how to answer to it. For according to the thoughts he then had, he looked upon the permission the Princess gave him, as the most cruel in the World. Yet he durst not give her any sign of his passion, of which he saw well she had not the least suspicion; nor was he willing to speak any thing that altogether opposed her Counsel. But answering ambiguously to that which she said to him, The Friendship wherewith you honour me, Madam (said he to her) must needs be very weak, since instead of correcting my faults, you advise me to abandon myself to them. You have a hundred times reproached me for my beginnings of Love, but I see now you would have me have three or four Mistresses at once? Is it, Madam (added he) because my frequent converse is distasteful to you? In no wise (answered she smiling) but 'tis only because I have an extreme fear lest Friendship should become fastidious to you. As Zenocrates was going to reply, Meleontus entered; whereupon not being able to hide his discomposedness of mind, he withdrew sufficiently pensive. Meleontus had opportunity so seldom to speak to the Princess apart, that he would not lose this; and assoon as Zenocrates was gone forth, he began to speak to her of his passion. I know well Madam (said he to her) that I am going to displease you; but I know also, that if I do not speak to you of my love, I must needs lose either my life or my reason. Not but that I am persuaded (added he without giving her leisure to interrupt him) that you know I love you as much as I am able to love. All my looks, my words, and my actions declare it to you; the Prince likewise being my Protector, speaks to you to my advantage; and your own merit being favourable to me in this case, does not permit you to doubt of my passion. Yes, Madam, not so much but your looking-glass tells you I adore you; but however, I will declare it to yourself, at the hazard of seeing as much anger in your eyes, as there is love in my heart. I know well, Meleontus (answered Lysimena) that the Prince my Brother speaking to me in your favour, and approving your affection for me, I ought not to answer you sharply, and that I cannot be offended at what you tell me, without offending him. Therefore I will answer you like a good friend, rather than as an incensed Mistress. I tell you then, with much sincerity, I find no disposition in my heart ever to love any person; and If I did, it would not be yourself. Not but that if the Prince my Brother went about to constrain me to marry you, I should be capable to obey him, rather than to make a great noise in the world: but Meleontus, you would be more unhappy thereby, and I should be more miserable too; for, certainly, the love you have for me would soon be changed into aversion, when you observed the indifferency I have for you turned into hatred. For, indeed, if after what I have said to you, you should oblige the Prince my Brother to force my will. I should believe I had cause to hate you. Ah! Madam (cried Meleontus) what you say is extreme rigorous to me to hear, and sufficient to induce me to resolve to be revenged upon you, by marrying you against your will. For, although, Madam, I should be enforced to hate you after having married you, yet I should be more happy than I am in loving you without being loved, or hoping to be so by you. Hatred has its pleasures as well as Love; there is contempt and revenge in it: whereas when a person loves, though he be ill-treated, nevertheless he cannot refrain from adoring the person by whom he his so received. But, Madam, let us not proceed to such hard extremities; do justice to my love, suffer yourself to be prevailed upon by my constancy; and I assure you, assoon as you resolve to pity my unhappiness, you will account me less worthy of hatred than you do, and yourself less unhappy.  
Lysimena was going to answer, when the Prince of Leontium entered, who observing Meleontus' dissatisfaction in his countenance, drew the Princess aside, and told her so earnestly, that she would disoblige him if she did not regard Meleontus as a man deserving to pretend to marry her, that she was extremely afflicted at it. Nevertheless, she engaged herself to nothing, and yet did not absolutely tell the Prince, she was incapable to obey him. In the mean time, the fair and dangerous Amarintha, being incensed in her mind against Lysimena, both because she had drawn away Meleontus from her, and because she believed she had took pleasure in reading that humorous Portraiture at her chamber, diligently set herself to observe her. Wherebly, having a cunning wit, she came to know that the Princess had a very great aversion for Meleontus, and as violent an inclination for Zenocrates. Wherefore employing both these passions for her revenge, she endeavoured to cause Meleontus to marry Lysimena, and to cause herself to be loved by Zenocrates, only to the end to hinder the Princess from being loved by him. And indeed, within a short time her revenge became more easy, because the Prince fell in love with her. This induced her to give over the design of getting Zenocrates for her Lover; and she did all she could to augment the Prince's passion, that she might consequently more easily obtain the end she proposed to herself. And though she hated Meleontus as well as Lysimena, yet out of a malicious craft, she acted as if she desired to render him happy, with a secret intention to make him miserable. For being persuaded Lysimena hated him, and had a very tender affection for Zenocrates, she well saw, that she could do nothing more disadvantageous either for him or for her, than to oblige the Prince to force Lysimena to marry Meleontus, though the passion he had in his Soul suggested to him, that a greater felicity could not befall him. To this purpose a great reconciliation was made between Meleontus and Amarintha, who passed mutual promises to serve one another in all things. Zenocrate's all this while was very amorous of Lysimena, but dared not intimate the least sign of it to her; and having experienced that in loving Amerintha his love turned into friendship, he found that inloving Lysimena, his friendship was become love. As for the Princess, she still thought her affection to Zenocrates was only friendship; so that she imparted all her discontents to him as well as to me: by which means he had the satisfaction to know that she had a great aversion for his Rival, but the grief too, to undestand that the Prince highly promoted his interests, and to observe the intimacy between Meleontus and Amarintha, whom the Prince was passionately enamoured of. Amarintha's purpose on the other side being only to torment Meleontus, she told him, she believed Zenocrates was in love with Lysimena, and that Lysimena took no notice of his boldness. But all the Court talks of it (added she maliciously) and I doubt not but 'tis very important to advertise her of it. Nevertheless, because she would receive this intelligence very ill, if I gave it her, I shall not meddle with the business. Amerintha had no sooner spoke this, but Meleontus wondered he had not suspected Zenocrates of loving Lysimena; and as jealousy takes things always in the extremity, he believed at the same time that possibly Lysimena was in love with Zenocrates. Which thought taking deep impression in his mind, he resolved to be satisfied in the matter, thanked Amerintha for the information she gave him, though it rendered him more unhappy. Within a few daysafter, he went to the Princess, finding her alone, I know not, Madam (said he to her) how you will receive a matter which I have to tell you, but I know the respect alone I have to your glory, induces me to advertise you, that Zenocrates deports himself in such a manner, that it is believed he is extremely amorous of you, and that you cannot but perceive it. Because you believe jealousy is an indubitable proof of love (answered Lysimena with a cold aspect) no question you would make a Rival to yourself, on purpose to have a pretext to act like a jealous Lover. But, Meleontus, have not recourse to such an extravagant device; for I have but too certain a belief that you love me: but to my unhappiness, the knowledge I have of your affection cannot produce the like in me; since to tell you sincerely (added she) I have done all I could to love you, but in vain. However, for what concerns Zenocrates, I answer you, that he is no more but my friend, and as long as he comports himself only as such, I will not be brought to treat him ill as a lover. The Princess had scarce ended these words, but Zenocrates entered: assoon as he appeared, Lysimena blushed; of which Zenocrate's not knowing the cause, the inquietude it gave him caused him to do the like, But he soon recovered himself, and advertised Meleontus that the Prince enquired for him; so that this Favourite was constrained to leave his Rival with his Mistress. Assoon as he was gone, Zenocrates percieving some discontent in the fair eyes of Lysimena, conjured her to tell him what she had in her mind. In truth, Zenocrates (said she to him) I wish you knew, but I think I have not the power to tell you. It must be some strange thing then (answered he) and I fear (added this secret Lover) 'tis some artifice of Amerintha. I do not doubt (replied Lysimena.) But I beseech you, Madam (said Zenocrates, who is naturally very curious) tell me whether I am concerned in that which you wish I knew. You are as much as myself (answered Lysimena). 'Tis then some horrid wickedness I am accused of (replied he) if it be, I conjure you, Madam, to believe that I am perfectly innocent. I believe so (answered she) and to testify so much to you (proceeded the Princess, blushing) I will at this instant resolve to acquaint you with what Meelontus has told me. I shall be obliged to you for it, Madam (replied Zenocrates) speak therefore I conjure you, and tell me exactly all that Meleontus said to you against me. He told me (answered Lysimena, not imagining really that Zenocrates was in love with her) that all the Court believes you have an affection for me, and that I understand it without taking it ill. I leave you to judge (added she) whether this be wellpleasing to me to hear. Ah! Madam (cried he) I am unhappy. No, no, Zenocrates (answered Lysimena) do not fear that this accident shall deprive you of my friendship; for though I am much troubled at the rumour, yet I will not punish you for a crime which you have not committed. Alas! Madam (replied he) you ill interpret my words. For, in brief (added he out of a transport of love) that which causes me to account myself unhappy, is, that the whole Court knows I almost die for love of you, and you alone are ignorant of it. Yes, Divine Princess (proceeded Zenocrates with the most passionate looks in the World) I have not power to tell you that I do not love. I acknowledge, that without this occasion, perhaps I should never have told you that I love you, and I had almost resolved to die without giving you any testimonies of my affection; but finding a necessity upon me to declare myself exactly, I am too sincere, Madam, to offer to excuse myself of a crime, which I esteem glorious to commit. For in truth, Madam, the seemingly inconstant Zenocrates is the most faithful Lover that ever lived; and moreover, you might have observed that for some time ago I have changed my manner of acting. But Zenocrates (answered the Princess much surprised) you do not consider what you speak; for if you persuade me that you are amorous of me, you hazard the losing of my friendship. Should you deprive me of your Friendship, Madam (replied he) you would take nothing from me that could render me happy. No, Madam, that friendship as precious as it is, can no longer content me; I am a rash person, and have desires more ambitious. Nevertheless, I promise you to keep them secret for fear of offending you. But is it possible, Zenocrates (interrupted the Princess) that there should be any truth in your words, and that you will force me to banish you? I permit you still to contradict yourself (added she) for I have so tender a friendship for you, that I will do all things to preserve it. Were I assured to die at this very moment (answered Zenocrates) I could not resolve to contradict the most certain truth in the world. But, Madam, I conjure you by that Friendship where with you have honoured me, have pity upon an unhappy Friend that has loved you in spite of himself, that has received love into his heart under the appearances of friendship; and do not destroy him, for perhaps you would regret him after you had destroyed him (added he sighing). But Zenocrates (replied Lysimena.) what can I do for you in this case without acting against myself? Is it not true, Madam (said he) that if you had not discovered I loved the Princess of Syracuse, or some other person that probably could not render me happy, you would have pitied me, comforted me, and given me Counsel? I confess it (answered Lysimena). Then I beseech you (replied he) comfort me, and counsel the unhappy Zenocrates. He desires no more of you, he has really ceased being your Friend, to become your Lover; but being thereby more unhappy, does not he deserve your compassion? I know I have told you, your friendship could render me happy no longer; but however, in the deplorable condition I am, become at least my Friend, though I am no longer yours. I promise you, Madam, to do exactly what ever you please; you shall be Mistress of all my actions, looks, and words. Suffer me therefore to love you as I am able to love you, and love me also as you—. But what say I? (added he). No, no, Madam, I know not what I would say; and should I have said it, I should have repent of it the next moment. Hate me then, and banish me; for I see but too well, that I can never be happy. No doubt you deserve never to be so (said Lysimena) but the interest of my Honour, requires me not to make any stir in the world, that might be to my disadvantage; therefore, Zenocrates since you desire me to act like a friend still, I counsel you to cure yourself, to become inconstant again, and to get a new Mistress to morrow, to whom you may be so diligent a servant as to extinguish the unpleasing rumour Meleontus has told me of. Moreover, I forbid you ever to speak to me of your love, as you tender the enjoying the liberty to see me. But yet once more, Zenocrates, resume your accustomed manner of acting, be a servant to all the Beauties, one after another, till you find yourself perfectly cured. Zenocrate's endeavoured at first to oppose this advice of Lysimena; but the Princess becoming angry, and speaking to him with an air that intimated there was no other course to be taken but obedience, he craved her pardon for having resisted her, he submitted absolutely to her pleasure, and he engaged never to speak to her of his passion, to be cured of it, and to appear a Lover of some fair one of the Court. And accordingly within a few days after, Zenocrate's accustomed himself to visit a Kinswoman of Clidamira, who is sufficiently fair. But for that he would not have the Princess suspect him of being become amorous of this Lady, he shortly after deserted her for another, and that other for a third. And thus he seemed inconstant in the eyes of all the Court, that he might seem constant in those of Lysimena, to whom he sufficiently testified by his looks, that his heart was not changed in reference to her, and that his constancy was imputable to her as the cause. In the mean time he suffered more than can be imagined; for he talked eternally of love to women whom he did not affect, and never spoke of it to the person whom alone he could love. When he made Verses, he avoided putting any thing into them, that might particularly suit to the person for whom he pretended to compose them, because he would have the Princess attribute them all to herself. And indeed he contrived them so ingeniously, that without any one's observance he always accommodated them to the Princess, who having such a wit as she has, understood well enough what Zenocrates desired she should. But being very prudent too, she took no notice to him of any thing.  
In the mean time Amerintha (who made poison of all occurrences) perceiving she had no longer any ground to tell Meleontus that Zenocrates was amorous of Lysimena, made divers railleries upon her, believing that Zenocrates had given over loving her as well as his other Mistresses. 'Tis true, all the world had so great respect for Lysimena, that her raillerios were ill taken, and served only to manifest her malice. As for Meleontus, he no longer knew whom to accuse as the cause of Lysimena's aversion, and continued to serve her out with much assiduousness, omitting nothing that might please her. His magnificence was conspicuous in all things, she had more divertisement than she desired, and he visited her continually: but being of a violent and unequal temper, he sometimes spoke to her with extroardinary submissiveness, and sometimes imperiously, relying upon the Prince's favour, who still continued his Courtship to Amerintha, though she was not much more faithful to him than another; for an humoursome woman can never be determined to any person, how much soever it concerns her to be so.  
But the Princess having honoured me already with a tender affection, made me privy to all that befell her, she declared to me her aversion for Meleontus and Zenocrates' love to herself, with the new cause of his inconstancy. About this time Zenocrates finding scarce any Lady in the Court to whom he had not made some professions of devotion, was a little longer servant to a Kinswoman of Amerintha than he had been to all others. Which Lysimena observing, spoke to me one day concerning it, after a manner that evidenced to me she had a greater kindness for him than she imagined. But before I tell you what she said to me thereupon, I must describe the place to you, where she spoke of it, because 'tis something pertinent to my discourse, and because I naturally love Gardens so well, that I cannot resolve to mention them merely by the way. Wherefore as I willingly use to make some stay in traversing a Garden, so my mind as readily stays to describe a handsome place when I have occasion to speak something of any such. Know then, that there's a man at Leontium called Adimantus, who is looked upon as a very happy man. His Lineage is noble; when he was young he was handsome, and well-shaped, dextrous at all things, very prudent in all affairs he takes in hand; at present he is of a great age, but has a comely stature still, and a very noble and becoming aspect. He has riches even in abundance, as perfect health as a young man, inclinations to love pleasures, and wherewith to enjoy them, a Wife handsome and prudent, many good and ingenious children, and amongst the rest an elder Son, who is known and esteemed by the whole Court. He has likewise a Daughter, whom I account handsomer than Amerintha, though Amerintha is one of the handsomest persons in the world, but with this difference, that she I speak of has as much wisdom as beauty, and the other yields in virtue almost to those that have the least; Moreover, Adimantus is happy too in the Wives of his Children, and I know one of them that has a pretty agreeable and delicate air which renders her infinitely lovely. But Adimantus being a prudent man in his pleasures, he took care in the beginning of his life to choose such as might last him till death. To which purpose beyond one of the Suburbs of Leontium, he has a garden that is one of the most handsome and delightful in the World, and it is made use of to walk in by all people of Quality in Leontium, of either Sex; for Adimantus, who is of a magnificent inclination, permits free entrance to all Persons of Condition. The way that leads to it is plain and not long; there are certain Walks before the Gate, the Architecture of which is not curious, but sufficiently handsome. The first entrance is into a fair Court, which has in the upper end a large Balustrade of Iron, beyond which is seen a spacious and stately Garden-Plot, with a goodly fountain in the middle, and beyond that a long Walk, which endeth in a great Arch'd-Porch, where there is a gate made with grates. Through which one may see another Walk which reaches to a little Terrace, from whence is a prospect of all the Country about, and of part of Leontium at a distance. But the better to describe this excellent place, you must know, that on the right and left sides of the Gate that enters into the Court, there are two other grated ones, which open into two Courts separated from the first. On each side are Pavilions both alike, of handsome structure, the apartments of which are no less comely than convenient. The first Balustrade I spoke of, being passed, and two little green plaits enclosed with small pillars of Marble being crossed, upon which are seen ndry Garden-plots with embosted and carved work, you enter into a spacious Plot bordered about with Pyramidal Cypresses, and having a fountain in the midst. Which being passed over into a Walk beyond, there is a concourse of eight large and very pleasant Walks, and there is one that lies on the left hand, the whole length of the Garden, which is admirably handsome. But to the end Adimantus might leave more freedom to those that walk there, and have more himself; you must know, he has several Walks that are only for his own use. Beyond the Grated gate which is at the end of the great Walk, there is the Terrace I spoke of, very pleasant Vines, and a handsome Orchard. On the other side there is also another spacious Orchard, which is only for himself; there is a particular Garden for Orange-trees, wherein are seen the rarest Flowers and Plants in the World. So that in all seasons, admirable Fruits and Flowers are found in this delicious place: many times there is Music there, and almost continually good Company. But to come to the place which belongs to my Story, you must know, that descending from this fair Garden, there is a long walk enclossed with quicksets which has two Banquetting-Houses at the two ends, on the one side whereof along the wall, and on the other side along the Hedge, are the goodliest Fruit-trees that ever were seen. The Pavilion that is toward the Terrace serves only for shelter from the Sun and the rain, or to repose upon the Seats that are in it, as well as in the other two Pavilions that are in the same row. But as for that which is on the side towards the entrance, 'tis the most lovely Cabinet that ever I beheld. For, conceive, Madam, that it is square, made with a round lover roof, paved with Marble, having a Balustrade round about it, a Fountain spurting out in the midst, which falls into a Basin of Jasper; and that the side opposite to the Gate that opens to the end of the Walk has a great Looking-glass which augments the representations, multiplies the Fountain, and causes the Walk to be seen in what place soever one stands. So that sitting in this place, one may muse very agreeably at the purling noise and coolness of the water, which also makes divers agreeable and divertising Figures when you please. In this place it was that the Princess Lysimena going to sit one day, commanded me to follow her, whilst all the rest that attended her remained in the walk. The Princess was sometimes weary with walking, and at first intended only to enter in and sit down a while in this Cabinet. As for me, I placed myself at her feet upon a square stone which I found there by chance. She had not long been there, but she began to speak to me concerning Zenocrates, and ask me if I believed he was become constant, and loved Andromira's Kinswoman in good earnest. But, Madam (said I to her) you are not sufficiently considerate in speaking as you do; for if Zenocrates were become constant, to her you speak of, he must necessarily be inconstant to you. Ah! Amiclea (answered she blushing) it cannot be called inconstancy when a person altars his mind towards one that is not willing to be loved. For my part (said I to her smiling) I conceive that he that ceases to love one that is not willing to be hated, he may always be called inconstant. If your opinion be true (answered she, blushing again) than Zenocrates is really inconstant; for I confess I would not that he should hate me. Then you are willing, Madam (replied I) that he should love you; for not to flatter yourself, you must not think to be eternally loved without your consenting to it, and perhaps not without loving too. But, Amiclea (said Lysimena) the inclination I have for Zenocrates is certainly no more but Friendship. For my part, Madam (answered I smiling) I have thought long since, that when one has Friendship for an agreeable Lover, it wants not much to turn it into Love. For, confess the truth, Madam; you would not like that Zenocrates should have a violent passion, for any other. I acknowledge it (replied the Princess) but 'tis only because I think a great Friendship cannot consist at the same time in the heart with an ardent Love. But, Madam (said I) that which you say does not well suit with the case of Zenocrates, for you know he is possessed with Love. Sincerely (answered Lysimena, turning away her head a little) I will not name his affection so; and besides, if he continues so diligent a Courtship to Andromira's Kinswoman, I believe in a short time he will have neither Love nor Friendship for any other person, and She will wholly engross his heart. 'Tis not (added she) that this aught very much to displease me, for I would not have given the least hope to Zenocrates, but out of a humour I am not Mistress of, I could be willing he would always consider me more than all the rest of the World. As the Princess was speaking this, she lift up her head, thinking she heard some noise about the paved steps which lie round about the Cabinet. And it happened that she saw Zenocrate's leaning upon the Balustrade, who being there when we entered into the Cabinet, durst not show himself, because the Princess immediately began to speak of him. Lysimena perceiving him, made a great shriek, which causing me to look on that side her eyes turned, I beheld Zenocrates almost as much surprised as Lysimena. Yet he recollected himself in a little space, and descending with extreme diligence, came to cast himself upon his knees before the Princess, before she could resolve what to do: I beseech you, Madam (said he to her) pardon me a crime which Chance and Love have caused me to commit; I would not speak in these terms before Amiclea, If I had not understood from your own mouth and hers, that you have told her something concerning the passion which I have for you, and the indifference which you have towards me. Zenocrates (answered Lysimena hastily) you are not indifferent to me, for I had a Friendship for you a quarter of an hour ago, but at present I find that I am going to hate you horribly. Was there ever any boldness equal to yours (proceeded she) to dare to hear what I speak in secret to Amiclea? Alas! Madam (replied Zenocrates) if you knew how it came to pass, you will find that I am innocent. I conceive, Madam (said I to the Princess) no person ought to be condemned without being first heard, and therefore you may please to give Zenocrate's the hearing. If I thought he could justify himself (answered Lysimena) I would forbid him to speak; but being persuaded, the more he speaks, the more criminal he will appear, I permit him to say what he will. I shall tell you then Madam (said he to her) that I am an unfortunate person. That's not the thing I would have you tell me (interrupted she) but only what you came hither for. I came hither to entertain myself, with thinking upon you, Madam (replied Zenocrates) at a time wherein I could not be with you with liberty to entertain you alone. But to think of me (said the Princess) it was not necessary for you to be alone. I acknowledge it, Madam (answered he) but having purposed to write something in my Tablets, with intention to cause you to read it, I made choice of the place of greatest solitude; and if you please to see whether I speak true, give yourself the trouble to read what I was writing when you came hither. At first the Princess refused to read what Zenocrates had written, but at last she took the Tablets, and therein found these words:  Will you never go farther than Friendship, incomparable Lysimena? and those fair eyes which have excited so great Love in me, will they never behold me with compassion? I have promised you, Madam, not to speak of Love to you, but I have not promised you, not to write to you of it; and indeed though I had sworn it, the torments which I suffer would dispense with me for my Oaths. Consider therefore seriously, Madam, what you would have become of me, for— 
The Princess blushed as she read what I have repeated to you; after which, beginning to speak, If you think to justify yourself by this (said she to Zenocrates) you are extremely deceived. I pretend only (answered he to prove to you that I came hither for no other reason but to meditate of you. But when you saw me (said she) Why did not you come down? Why did you not go forth? Or at least; why did not you show yourself? When I saw you, Madam (answered he) I thought of no more but seeing you; but presently after I heard myself named, and Love making me curious, I harkened what you said concerning me; and after that, respect caused me to stay where I was; and the fear to displease you, constrained me not to change my place. This, Madam, is the cause of my Crime; nevertheless, I am sufficiently punished for my rash curiosity, for I have heard nothing that I can draw to my advantage. Ha! Zenocrates (replied she) you are better pleased with me than you signify, but I am so angry both with myself and you, that I will punish both of us alike; and therefore I resolve to deprive myself of a Friend, and you of a Mistress. Go, leave Leontium for some time (said she to him) go to Herbesa, whither your affairs call you; and if it be true that Andromira's Kinswoman has not laid very powerful chains upon you, every place will afford you objects of consolation. Ah! Madam (cried he) you are too cruel: No, no, you shall never banish me so easily; and as for the reproaches you make me, I will soon put an end to them; I will never more see the person you speak of; and if it be still your pleasure that I should counterfeit being a Lover to hide the passion I have for you, I promise you never to serve one and the same person above eight days, but to appear so inconstant for the future, that yourself shall never have reason to doubt of my constancy. Yet Zenocrates could not prevail at all with this discourse, nor make his peace all that day. Lysimena went away without granting him pardon, and we left Zenocrates in that place so pale, sad, and so afflicted, that I was moved with his discontent. And so was Lysimena too as well as I, and more; but she endeavoured to hide her sentiments from me, and counterfeited pleasantness the rest of the day. Nevertheless, Zenocrates made good his word, he gave over courting Andromira's kinswoman, and seemed so changed, that he was constrained to pretend he was sick. But, in fine what cannot the constancy of a deserving person do, when he knows well how to improve all opportunities fortune presents him with, and the aversion his Mistress has for his Rival? Lysimena at length found that she loved Zenocrates more than she thought she did; she permitted him to adore her, and acknowledged to him that if her fortune would permit it, she should account herself happy in being able to make him so. Moreover, she had this advantage, that the Princess her Mother favoured Zenocrates. Yet after all, she took from him all hope of being happy, and promised him only to continue her resistance to the Prince her Brother, when he interceded for Meleontus. After this Zenocrates' life was pleasant enough, for though he was not permitted to hope, yet he did not cease to do so. But to the end not to give occasion to Meleontus or Amerintha to trouble their innocent affection, he still seemed the most inconstang man in the world, and he counterfeited so tightly, that the two persons who had such extraordinary subtilety in the discerning the most ingenious artifices, were deceived in this occasion. But that which was remarkable in this Adventure was, that the Princess herself was many times deceived, by believing that Zenocrates was really inconstant. 'Tis true, 'twas easy for him to justify himself; for he offered Lysimena to visit none but herself, to converse with no other, and to renounce all the rest of the world, and all kind of interests and considerations, if she required it. So that notwithstanding the disgust Meleontus' love gave her, Lysimena enjoyed some agreeable moments. The Princess her Mother hated Meleontus and loved Zenocrates. She found in this agreeable Lover, submissiveness, respect, wit, and constancy; and to render all this more sweet, their affection was so secret, that none of the Court imagined there was any thing more than a bare friendship between them. Yet oftentimes they had little Quarrels, not only because Lysimena suspected he took delight in being inconstant and counterfeiting too well; but also because Zenocrates, being naturally a little subject to distrust, he had now and then a causeless fear that Lysimena would at length suffer her heart to be touched with Meleontus' passion. But however, these small fall out serving only to invigorate the dearness of their affection, they were not much to be pitied. Yet the Princess did not tell Zenocrates she loved him, but so agreeably suffered him to love her, that he told it to himself. As for Meleontus, he made many splendid and costly entertainments; but Zenocrates with less show made gallantries that more affected Lysimena's heart. I remember one day amongst the rest, Zenocrates bethought himself of a thing sufficiently gallant, which I shall tell you by and by; but first you must know there was at that time a man of Quality of Syracuse at Leontium, a great Friend of the Princess, and that deservedly, being a person of no ordinary merit.  
I beseech you, dear Amiclea (interrupted Plotina) make us know a man whom you believe worthy to be Lysimena's Friend; for, for my part, I love much to judge of people by their Friends. I am much of Plotina's humour in this (said Valeria) and I know Clelia is so too.  
Since 'tis so (said Amiclea) it will be easy for me to satisfy you; besides, I must confess to you, it was hard for me to resolve to mention this illustrious friend of Lysimena without commending him. Know then, Theander is a man of Quality, whose Character is so particular, that 'tis not easy to describe it well. He is tall, of a goodly shape and noble Port; his aspect is extreme graceful, and there is a certain air in his whole Person, that denotes part of his nature, and promises with sincerity, and goodness. He has a large rising Nose, his Visage is somewhat long, his Eyes are sufficiently little, but so sweet and smiling, that 'tis easily seen his heart is sensible of pleasures. His action is careless enough; his hair is of a good length; and sometimes he uses so sprightly a silence, that 'tis manifest he hears nothing but what he understands most throughly, and of which many times he is able to speak better than those he hears. And indeed, Theander has a great natural wit, which he has so carefully improved, that there are scarce any Sciences in nature he is not capable of. When he is amongst some of the Disciples of the wise Thales, Democritus, Hypocrates, or Phythagoras, he makes it known that he is perfectly skilled in all the Secrets of Nature, and that Philosophy has nothing concealed from him. If he be amongst such as love polite learning, and especially Poetry, he is of so exquisite a judgement, that (as I have heard from intelligent Persons) he understands all the excellencies and all the defects of Homer and Hesiod; and if he should undertake to compose an Heroic Poem, he would do it according to all the rules that the most accurate Masters have given for such works. He is a curious examiner of all the graces of Poetry, and accurate as to the defects that are found in most Verses; yet his Criticalness is without inhumanity: he excuses small faults in handsome Composures, and never condemns any thing unjustly. He speaks with facility and exactness, and when he pleases, he writes Letters of a certain pleasing strain, peculiar to himself. Moreover, Theander is grave and something melancholy; but his melancholy is serene, and easily admits of joy. For he loves pleasures and seeks them; but he seeks them without ostentation, he loves to choose them his own way, and not to divert himself with the multitude. He has a sincere and upright heart, a firm and generous Soul; he looks upon ambition as a passion which he has overcome, and the Victory over which has established the quiet of his life. By this means he is free from the ears that possess such as desire to advance their fortunes; he is content with his own, which indeed is sufficiently good, and he enjoys it peaceably in the midst of the tumult of a great Court, where he is not interessed in any thing that might disturb his pleasures. Furthermore, Theander is endued with an heroical Courage, whereof he has given very eminent proofs in several occasions; he hath been seen to break through an Enemy Army, that he might put himself into a Besieged place, and at another time to pass almost alone through an Enemy Country to get to an Army, and be present at some dangerous enterprise. But the Valour of Theander has always been without vanity, and he has more cared to assure himself of his own heart, than to attract applauses which he values not. His indifference in respect of this kind of glory is so much the more commendable, in that his heart is not otherwise indifferent. For he loves his friends very tenderly and generously, and is much loved by them; and that which is very glorious to him, he has a great number of illustrious ones. But besides, Theander has the best tempered mind in the world, and as he is not capable to regulate his own sentiments by those of others, so he does not oblige others to follow his: By means of which candour, he has friends whose Maxims are absolutely contrary to his, with whom nevertheless, he converses with great kindness. His Soul is endued with sweetness, equity, tenderness, and humanity. He is much moved with worth and virtue; he loves liberty above all things, and places supreme felicity in contentment, Of which never to endanger the loss, he has renounced the love of all that is troublesome and painful. He loves handsome Objects in general, but no particular one is able to confine him so far as to render him unhappy; so that love is rather a naked delight in his heart, than a passion. A young Shepherdess pleases him with her graceful simplicity, more than a Princess with excessive magnificence. Novelty likewise has some influence upon him, and variety in certain things, as much delights his Eyes, as it does all the World in the Flowers of a Meadow. He loves also to be fully informed of certain weaknesses of which the Wisest are sometimes capable, and sometimes he makes to himself pleasures of curiosity, which are not common to all the World. The famous Rhodopis has had nothing so private in her life, but he knows it; and drawing divertisement out of the follies of others, he his much delighted to understand them. As for women, in reference to his Friendship, he finds few worthy of it; but when he meets with any one of a prudent and agreeable wit, and of a firm and free heart, he places her in the rank of his Friends; being far from their injustice who believe it is impossible there should be any woman capable of a rational converse. Theander was never dazzled with Grandeur, and he knows so well how to abstract things from that which is extrinsical to them, that nothing ever deceives him. He has also a facility peculiar to himself, for he is often seen to walk alone, because he has lent out his Equipage. Yet he does not lend out these kind of things out of the thought to be repaid in the same nature, for many times he does it to persons that are unable to render him the like office. Moreover, he has a little Galliot upon a river that runs at the foot of a house of his upon the Bank of Himera, which serves his own conveniency less than that of others; for even to strangers that desire it, he willingly lends it, provided they be fair; and so it goes to and fro continually without being almost ever employed in his own service. Nor is it material whether such strangers be Persons of Quality, or no: Beauty is sufficient in this case; and be they but only young, yet the Galliote shall not be denied them. In a word, Theander is endued with virtue advantageous both to himself and others, which renders him very acceptable, and is undoubtedly very expedient to the felicity of his life; for being free from all the tumultuousness of the world, and the passions, he affects nothing but what suits with his own Genius, and consequently finds himself less expossed than other men to all the misfortunes of life; because virtue alone suffices to render him happy; and never seeking any good but such as is attainable, he never employs his time unprofitably to himself. Thus you see what a Person the illustrious Friend of Lysimena is, who was at Leontium when matters stood in the posture I have related. About that time Lysimena made a short journey of pleasure to a house belonging to the Father of an intimate Friend of Theander, who is a person of no ordinary merit. Amerintha was one of the Company, and so was Andromira; Meleontus and Zenocrates took care not to fail to be there, and indeed nothing rendered this appointment less agreeable to Lysimena, than the too good Company. For Amerintha's charms, and Meleontus' merit were sufficiently troublesome to her. The place designed to go to, being wonderfully delightful, afforded no small pleasure at the first arrival. For not to mention the fore-Court which is handsome and stately, the Arch'dwalk which is on the right side of the entrance, and gives an excellent prospect over a spacious part of the Country, till the light loses itself; the two large Banquetting-houses, which are at the Corners of the Court; the Statues which stand in nieches in several places of the front of the building, the Symmetry of which is exact, stately, and agreeable; the lofty Cupulo that arises out of the middle of it; the magnificence of the Porch, with the number of its Pilasters and Pillars; the ornaments of the Stairs and several Apartments; the Cabinet out of which are divers handsome prospects; nor the excellent Pictures which are seen in all places; 'tis sufficient to tell you, that there is a Hall in this stately House, whose greatness, form, carved work, Pictures, and Ornaments astonish all that enter into it, though the outside gave them an expectation of seeing nothing but what is excellent. It is no improbable conjecture, that this Hall was built by one of those Kings of Egypt, who erected the famous Pyramids; and indeed the Structure represents no ordinary Magnificence. But this is not the only admirable thing in this place; for there is a Garden which is one of the greatest that ever was seen; it is raised after the manner of a Terrace; in the middle is an admirable fountain; and notwithstanding the place is very high, and discovers a great compass of the Country, to the great delectation of the sight, yet 'tis not perceived that there is a River beyond it, though it serves very much to augment the agreeableness of the place. On the other side of this Garden is seen below, a Meadow and a very large Pond; and the Park being very spacious, and the ways of it unequal, the Prospects of it are also very different; so that it is very delightful to go about it in a Chariot. 'Twas to this place (which is called Erycina, because in its raised situation it something resembles the Temple that stands upon Mount Eryx) that Lysimena desired to go: but Meleontus having been the proposer of the design, was the Person that gave a magnificent Collation. Yet it was an unhappy time for him, for Lysimena was more offended when he did things well, than when he did them ill; so that this day her mind was in a very bad temper; for all the service was admirable, the Music excellent, and Meleontus' deportment all the day both in actions and words very noble and generous. As they were sitting in the stately Porch (which was cooler than any other place) he acquitted himself very handsomely of a discourse, which by reason of his own concernment in it was not a little perplexing. For after several things transiently spoken of, it came to be asked, Whether benefits produced Friendship, rather than Friendship itself, or great desert without benefits. I assure you (said Lysimena thereupon) that benefits alone produce no great dearness in the hearts of most people; for usually the remembrance of benefits wears out of their minds, as grief does out of the hearts of afflicted persons, from whence, every moment steals a part. So that time weakens and diminishes gratitude, as well as it does affliction. 'Tis true, Madam, in ingrateful minds (answered Meleontus) but not in such as are generous, which are always grateful. For my part (replied Zenocrates) though I am not ungrateful, and will never be so, yet I conceive that if I received benefits from a Person without merit, the friendship I should bear him would be more in my will than in my heart. But, if benefits without merit (said Amerintha) cannot produce Friendship, do you think that friendship without merit can produce a very tender one? and do you think that desert alone without friendship and benefits is able to beget a great affection? In truth (said Andromira) if friendship be not joined with desert and benefits, those latter will have no great effect. But how can we do otherwise (said Meleontus) than love those that serve us and do us good upon all occasions? And how can we but love such too (said Amerintha) as love us very ardently? Many times (answered Zenocrates) they that are so officious, do it out of Vanity, and not out of any honest principle; wherefore, provided we publish their good deeds and be ready to return the like in case of need, I conceive we may dispense with loving them, and yet not be ingrateful. For friendship and gratitude are two different things; and I think we ought to have the latter towards all, from whom we receive benefits, and the former only for those that affect our heart either by their deserts, or their friendship, or by reason of our own inclination. But will you love People of no merit (said Amerintha) because they love you? and is it not just to love those that do you services? For my part (said Lysimena) if I were to love people of little merit, I should think myself more obliged to love such as loved me, than such as served me; but to speak sincerely, Friendship not depending upon our Wills, 'tis in vain to dispute of a thing that is not in our power; and all that can rationally be said in this case, is, That desert alone produces esteem only, which is always a great disposition to friendship; That benefits ought insensibly to engage the receivers to their interests from whom they receive them, and at least beget a kind of gratitude in their minds, the effects whereof resemble those of friendship: but as for friendship singly without desert and benefit, I conceive 'tis sufficient to have a complacency and pity towards such as bear it; for to engage to love all people without merit, of whom we may be beloved, would be injurious to our true friends. All which you say is extremely ingenious, Madam (answered Meleontus) but I know services and merit are of no account with you, unless your own inclination set a value upon them. So that, Madam, for the obtaining of your love, it is necessary to seek rather to please you, than to serve you; but the mischief is, 'tis more difficult to be agreeable to you than to render you service. I acknowledge it (replied she rising up) but I conceive all the world is of the same mind, and so I am not to be blamed for it. Meleontus was no doubt dejected as he observed the aspect wherewith the Princess answered him; but he dissembled it, though his discontent was extreme violent. Upon which the Princess, notwithstanding her aversion for him, could not but judge that he acted like an honest man; which she being vexed at, and perceiving Zenocrate's took no notice of nor determined to be melancholy this day as well as herself, the debonair humour of Zenocrates disgusted her nice mind; so that when he approached to her in the walk to speak to her apart, she frowned upon him, and told him he loved her so little, that he was not displeased to see that Meleontus deportment was extraordinary commendable. I confess it, Madam (answered Zenocrates wholly surprised) that I did not think of being discontented, because the Music was good, and the Collation magnificent; but I am so at present with the commendations which you give my Rival. Ha: Zenocrates (said she to him, as she went from him) I will not thank you for the indignation which I have by force excited in your heart. After this she called Amerintha, that she might not be alone with him; so that the conversation became general all the rest of the day, Zenocrates not having opportunity to speak one word in private. Lysimena, to avoyed it, proposed it to consideration, Whether it is more pleasing to be very lovely without being much loved, than to be much loved without being amiable. But after every one had spoke their Reasons, it was concluded, That 'tis better to deserve to be loved and not to be so, than to be loved without desert; yet it was granted, that whereas usually people desire to be lovely, chiefly that they may beloved, it is more pleasure to be loved than to be barely lovely; because instead of receiving of contentment thereby, the lovely person is disgusted with living amongst people that understand not to do justice to desert. But at length night approaching, preparation was made to return to Leontium. Which returning was with sufficient melancholy; Lysimena was pensive, Meleontus dejected, Zenocrate's sad, Amerintha vexed, and they proceeded in the way after a silent manner; when by chance a young Hart coming from amongst the bushes, a Greyhound that followed one of Meleontus Attendants, gave chase to him in the plain. Which unexpected Adventure causing the Ladies that were on the same side to give a great cry, Amerintha would oblige Lysimena who was on the other, to turn her head to see the young Hart running swiftly upon the Plain. But the Princess was in so deep a muse, that not being willing to break it off, she told Amerintha carelessly, she would not see the chase unless it came on her side, without taking the pains to turn herself. She had no sooner spoke this, but the young Heart chancing to see people coming towards him in the Plain, turned short, and passing before the heads of the Horses of Lysimena's Chariot, came so near her, that it seemed to those that heard what she said just before, to happen by some enchantment. Lysimena being agreeably surprised with this Accident, could not hinder herself from taking pleasure in beholding this casual divertisement. But it lasted not long; for by this time it was grown late, so that both the Hart and the Dog were soon lost out of sight. And in fine, the night saved the Young Heart's life, and the Dog returned to his Master before we got to Leontium. Zenocrate's knowing well enough how to improve all occasions, remembered he had seen at the House of one of his intimate Friends, a Young tame Hart. Wherefore he went and requested it, and having caused a silver collar to be put about its neck engraven with the Characters of the Princess, the next day at noon he sent it to her with the most pleasant Verses in the world. He feigned that the young Hart speaking to Lysimena, told her ingenious things, which bearing a double sense had reference both to the condition of Zenocrates and his unhappiness in displeasing the Princess that day.  
But do not you remember the Verses upon the young Hart? (interrupted Plotina). If I had remembered them (answered Amiclea) I would have repeated them; but all I can say of them is that they began thus,  
I, like a young Actaeon follow you,  
Happy Diana, with too rash a view.  
And after divers ingenious fancies they concluded thus  
But if, for having seen your charms, I die;  
No sighs, no tears shall wail my destiny.  
I am very sorry I cannot recite more of them to you; but I must be contented with telling you, that this gallantry extremely pleased Lysimena; she accepted the Hart with pleasure, pardoned Zenocrates, and obligingly answered the Verses he had made, in the name of the young Hart, which in a short time became one of her chief divertisements. For she put it into one of the Gardens of the Palace, where it grew so familiar and amiable, that almost every one made much of it, to please Lysimena. And it was so proud of the caresses made to it, that contrary to the Nature of Stags, it became valiant, and was oftentimes seen not only to hold the Dogs at Bay, but to go towards them and force them to fly. A few days after this gallantry, Zenocrates made another; the Princess having purposed to go very early in the morning to offer Sacrifice in a Temple a good distance from Leontium, would not be followed by any besides her own Attendants. Zenocrates not being able to endure that the Princess should continue from morning to night without hearing of him, gained an interest in one of her waiting-women, and gave her three Letters to deliver to her at several hours of the day. And accordingly there being none but this Virgin and I in her Chariot, assoon as we were out of the City, she being of a debonair humour, and well beloved by the Princess, gave her the first Letter, telling her she received it a little before they set forth. Being Zenocrates used to write to her often, she was not surprised at this first Letter, but took it, and opening it, required me to read it at the same time with her; and we found it to contain these very words:  
ZENOCRATES to LYSIMENA.  
IT seems Madam, you intent to spend a whole day without thinking of those that think of none but you, and you believe you cannot be constrained to think of them whether you will or no. But you shall see, before the day be past, that they who know how to love, find inventions, which indifferent persons never think of.  
After this Letter was read, Lysimena imagined Zenocrates thought it would be sufficient to oblige her to think of him all the day; but she was much surprised four hours after, when she saw one of her slaves (whom this waiting-woman of the Princess had so instructed) deliver her a second Let from Zenocrates. She opened it with more haste than the former, and found that in it which I am going to repeat to you.  
ZENOCRATE'S to LYSIMENA.  
PErhaps you believe, Madam, it is but four hours since you departed from hence, but I swear to you I judge them to be four Ages. For a moment of discontent, and that caused by absence, seems so long to a Lover, that he may be allowed to reckon it for more than a year. In the mean time you account moments but for moments, and hours for hours. But if you employed them in thinking of the constancy of the inconstant Zenocrates, it would be something; but you seem to mind nothing but Trees, the Meadows, and the Mountains which you see, whilst I am wholly taken up in thinking of your Charms, your Wit, and my own unhappiness.  
Well, Madam, (said I to Lysimena) what say you to Zenocrates' Gallantry? I say (answered she) that he diverts himself at my cost; for I told him yesterday, I would not remember him all the day, but would only think of the Sacrifice I went to offer. Nevertheless, he endeavours to force me to think of him. After which Lysimena reproved the waiting-woman that was with her; but she did it so weakly, that it was apparent she was not much sorry for being deceived. A little while after we arrived at the Temple, the Sacrifice was offered, and we went to the Priest's house where the Princess was to dine; but before that, an unknown person, whom the same waiting-woman found in that place, delivered a third Letter to Lysimena, who being now accustomed to receive them, took it smilingly, and drawing me aside. It must be confessed (said she) Zenocrates is not too wise. You have more reason (answered I) to say Zenocrates is an ingenious person and of good invention. After this she opened the third Letter, which, if I am not mistaken, was in these terms.  
ZENOCRATE'S to LYSIMENA.  
PErhaps you think, Madam, you are so remote from me, that I cannot trouble you, but know, that should you go to the World's end, my love would follow you every where; and in whatever part of the Earth you were, I should devise some invention to make you know that I am the most ardent Lover amongst mankind.  
At least (said the Princess after she had read the Letter) Zenocrates is the most happy, in's having to do with a person that is not offended with his follies. After which we spoke very obligingly of him for a quarter of an hour, and laughed sufficiently at this Gallantry, which was so much the more ingenious, for that Lysimena durst not refuse the Letters that were presented to her, for fear of causing suspicion in her attendants; besides, their affection being only innocent, there was no reason for it. At length we departed from the Temple, and put ourselves upon the way to Leontium. But when we were gone half way, a man on Horseback approaching Lysimena's Chariot, delivered her a fourth Letter; after which he retired, and the Princess, having opened it, found it contain these words.  
ZENOCRATE'S to LYSIMENA.  
IF you believe absence to be a remedy of love, you are extremely deceived, Madam; for since your departure, methinks I love you more by half. Yet I loved you yesterday more than ever any person loved, and I am confident I have surpassed myself alone, in loving you more than I did. You see, Madam, that against your will you have been constrained to think four times this day upon the unhappy Zenocrates. I beseech you force him no more to have recourse to the same Artifices; think upon him sometimes voluntarily, that he may be obliged to you for it; and if it be possible, make a pleasure to yourself of the most constant and respectful passion that ever was: for though I can force you to think upon me, yet I find that I cannot constrain you to love me, and that without you I shall always be the most miserable person in the World.  
This fourth Letter being read, Zenocrates attained the end he propounded to himself: for as long as the rest of the way lasted, we talked of nothing but him; and when we drew near to Leontium, we beheld him coming forth on purpose to meet the Princess upon one of the handsomest Horses in the World. But he had time only to make a reverence and speak four or five words to her; because the Prince and Meleontus returning from hunting, appeared and came to us. Now observe how matters stood at this time the Prince of Leontium loved Amerintha who out of a design of interest countenanced him; Amerintha was officious to serve Meleontus to the uttermost of her power for the same reason, and because she knew it was a way to prejudice Lysimena. Meleontus loved without being loved again; Zenocrates appeared inconstant, that he might be faithful to Lysimena; and the Princess loving Zenocrates more than she imagined, very patiently endured the pretensions of Meleontus, but agreeably cherished the affection of Zenocrates, though she did no more than suffer herself to be loved by him in secret. At this time, the Princess of Leontium, Lysimena's Mother, went to spend a month at a fair house of her own in the Country, whither the Prince went sometimes to visit her; but no persons durst go thither without him, because she had signified she would be there in solitude. So that Meleontus and Zenocrates did not see Lysimena, but when the Prince went to visit the Princess his Mother. As for me, I had the happiness to follow Lysimena in this little journey, which was very agreeable to me, I had more time to converse with her than at Leontium; and knowing all the secrets of her heart, I was her comforter in her discontents. Being she knew Amerintha's vigilant subtlety, she prohibited Zenocrates to write to her so often as he wished, for fear any of his Letters might be lost, and cause some great unhappiness to them. Whilst we were in this retirement, the idleness of the Country occasioning the invention of pleasures which otherwise would not be thought of, the Princess one evening resolved to go abroad on Horseback, followed only by two of her waiting-women and myself, into a spacious Meadow which has a River on one side, and a Wood on the other, and she was attended by no more than four or five Slaves. We were no sooner come into that place, but we beheld six Horsemen issuing forth of the Wood, who approached towards us, and seemed to have a purpose to rob the Princess of the Jewel she was adorned with this day, or else to carry her away; for their grim looks caused us to believe they had no good design. This surprising sight astonished the Princess; for having none but Slaves about her, who being without Arms betook themselves to their heels, she was in great fear lest some hard Adventure should befall her. But at the same instant we saw appear at another place of the Wood, a man on Horseback, young and admirably handsome, followed by three others that seemed to be his Attendants; he observing the aspect and action of the Robbers, and the air and equipage of the Princess, did not demur a moment what to do, but drawing his sword courageously, cast himself between Lysimena and the Thiefs. This valiant action no doubt surprised those that intended to set upon us, but it did not cause them to fly. For being enraged at it, they endeavoured to encompass and kill our succourer; but he taught them to their cost that his valour was more redoubtable than theirs. At first they killed one of his followers, but a moment after he killed two of theirs, wounded three, and beat them back into the Wood After which coming to Lysimena with much civility, he offered her to accompany her whither she pleased. You may judge with how obliging an air, the Princess received this gallant stranger. Whosoever you are (answered she) I promise you my friendship as long as I live; for the service you have done me is so considerable, that I will not expect till I am obliged to grant it to you out of the gratitude I have for your merit. That which you say, is so obliging (replied the valiant Stranger) that I account myself too highly rewarded: yet I assure you (added he) I have reason to hope you will not repent of what you have promised me, when you know me more particularly: and I assure you too, you shall soon know there is no vanity in speaking as I do. After this Lysimena took the way towards the Castle, where the Princess of Leontium being informed of what had passed, received the Stranger with very high civilities. Assoon as she beheld him, she felt an extroardinary commotion in her heart, and looked upon him with pleasure and attention; she imagined she had formerly seen some person that resembled him, and could not contain from sighing as she considered him: I beseech you (said she to him) generous Stranger, satisfy me whence you came. I come at present from Phoenicia, Madam (answered he). But were you born in that Country? (demanded she) and who taught you so well the Language of this? That's a secret, Madam (answered he) which I cannot tell but in private, and I am extremely desirous to inform you of it. Upon which the Princess led him into her Cabinet, whilst Lysimena went to her Chamber to recover herself a while from the fright she had been in. Assoon as the valiant Stranger was there, beholding her with respect. Ah! Madam (said he to her) do you not know the unfortunate Artemidorus, whom you gave life to? I was no doubt but a child when the Pirates carried me away, but I remember so accurately all that I saw here, that whatever change time has made in my countenance, methinks 'tis easy for you to observe that I have the honour to be your Son. Ah! Artemidorus (said she, embracing him) my heart knew you sooner than my eyes; and this very moment wherein I consider you better, I behold in your Visage an indubitable proof of your words. If you doubt of it, Madam (said he to her) I shall tell you the very words you used to me alone in your Cabinet, when I departed with Cleanthus to go into Greece; Go, my Son (said you to me) go learn in a strange Country, how to make yourself esteemed in your own, when you return to it; and if it be possible, do not come back hither, till you can by your merit obscure that of the most worthy persons you will find here. If I could give you a more precise token of what I am, I conceive I should not have caused you to remember that generous command you laid upon me, because I confess to my shame I have not been able to become such as you commanded me to be. Howsoever, I can assure you, 'tis no fault of the wise Cleanthus, for he has omitted no industry to render me worthy to be your son. But where is Cleanthus? (said the Princess of Leontium) and in what places have you passed your lives? As for Cleanthus (answered he) I hope he will be here within a short time; and, as for our adventures, I will relate them to you in few words. You know, Madam, we took ship to go into Greece, and no doubt you are not ignorant that we were made captive by Pirates. But you never heard that they sold us to others, who carried us into Phoenicia. For I that was no uncomely person in my childhood, I was bought to be presented to the Queen of that Country. But as for Cleanthus, he was sold to a Priest of the Temple of Neptune at Tire, who soon observing his wisdom and abilities, proposed to the King of Phoenicia to place him about the young Princes his sons, who are indeed the most goodly and accomplished Princes in the World. The eldest reigns with all imaginable glory; and the youngest is the ornament and delight of the Court. At first Cleanthus not daring to discover who I was, pretended I was his son; by which means I being restored to his governance, he had as great care of me as of the young Princes, with whom he was placed to teach them several accomplishments. Sometime after, thinking he had given sufficient testimonies of his honesty, and performed service enough to obtain what he desired, he confided in the King, told him my quality, and requested liberty to bring me back hither. But in this occasion the virtue and worth of Cleanthus were an invincible obstacle to his design; for the King of Phoenicia, judged him so necessary for the education of the two young Princes, that though he doubted not the truth of his words, yet he made semblance that he did, and told him at length that however it were, he would not give him the liberty to depart from his Court till the Princes his sons were of age to need no more instructions. The King of Phoenicia sent the Princes his sons, Cleanthus and me to a very fair house, where we lived a long time. Afterwards we returned to Court, but without any liberty, and lived there in that manner till the death of the King of Phoenicia. After which the Prince his son who reigns at this day to reward Cleanthus for the services rendered him, gave him leave to bring me back hither on condition that he would return again to him. To which purpose having given us a vessel to return, we made use of it to go into Greece, to the end to follow your intention that I should see that Country. After which being embarked at Corinth, and our ship joining with another Merchant ship that was bound for the same place with us, it happened unfortunately one day, that Cleanthus going one morning into that Ship to visit the Commander of it who was sick, a sudden tempest arising, separated us in such sort, that we could never come together, or so much as see one another more; but I landed at the Port nearest to this place, where I hope Cleanthus too will in a short time arrive. Artemidorus having done speaking the Princess of Leontium made him a thousand caresses: but after this told him it was requisite to defer making this discovery to the Prince his brother until Cleanthus were arrived. For whereas (added she) we have different sentiments in many things, I should be glad that your acknowledgement depended not upon my testimony alone, but that Cleanthus who is reputed for a man of eminent honesty, confirm it. As you please, Madam (answered Artemidorus) but I remember so many particular things which my brother said to me during my childhood, that I believe he cannot have forgot them all. Believe me, Artemidorus (replied the Princess) do not trust to his memory, and let us wait for Cleanthus. But, Madam (said Artemidorus) if Cleanthus had suffered shipwreck, it would have been necessary to have dispensed with his absence. Were that his misfortune happened (answered she) we might then do all that we can do at this day. After this, Artemidorus desired permission of the Princess of Leontium, at least to make himself known to Lysimena; and accordingly without more delay the Princess writ three or four lines in her Tablets, which she gave Artemidorus to deliver to her. Upon which he went to find Lysimena, and beseeching her that he might speak to her without being heard by any other, the Princess withdrew into her Cabinet, where he delivered the Tablets to her, in which she sound these words.  He that you see, is Artemidorus, who you have so often beheld me lament; love him as a good sister ought to love a brother, and discover this great secret to none. 
At first Lysimena knew not whether she ought to believe what she read: but Artemidorus spoke to her after a manner so full of tenderness, that on a sudden suffering herself to be convinced, she embraced the Prince her brother with all the testimonies of joy and dearness imaginable, and expressed herself with so much the greater passion: because at that instant she looked upon Artemidorus as a Protector that might oppose the violence the Prince her brother intended to use towards her, to constrain her to marry Meleontus. The door of her Cabinet happening to be open, a Waiting-woman belonging to the Princess whom Meleontus had corrupted, beheld the caresses she made to Artemidorus, which nevertheless she attributed to the service which she had received from him. After which Artemidorus forbade his attendants to tell his name to any person, and lived as a stranger unknown in the Castle. But Lysimena who did me the honour to keep nothing secret from me, told me what had passed and asked my counsel whether she should write to Zenocrate's concerning it. Because I knew Letters are liable to a thousand accidents, I told her that I counselled her not only not to write him word of it, but also judge it prudence not to tell him any thing of it, although he should come thither with the Prince; and that it were better he knew it not, but with others, for fear least not being able to contain from giving some intimation of it, it might prove prejudicial to the owning of Artemidorus. And the Princess was satisfied with my advice. In the mean time, the rumour of the accident that had befallen her, and the succour she received from astranger, was soon known to all the world. The Prince of Leontium being a little wounded at his last hunting could not make a visit to the Princess his sister upon this occasion, but out of favour to Meleontus, he sent him to do it: so that Zenocrates had the discontent to see his Rival go to visit Lysimena, without daring to follow him. Artemidorus being an extreme goodly personage, Meleontus no sooner beheld him but he was troubled that Lysimena had had a protector of so admirable an aspect. But this first sentiment made no great impression in him, but soon passed out of his mind. For he fell to extol Artemidorus, and thanked him in the name of the Prince and his own, for the assistance he had given the Princess. Artemidorus answered to all that Meleontus said to him with so noble and gallant an air, that this Lover of Lysimena was astonished at it: but he was more so, when having discoursed half a quarter of an hour in a walk of the Garden with the Waiting-woman whom he had gained to his interests, he understood by her that since the four days this stranger was in the Castle, he had almost continually have been in particular converse with Lysimena, or with me: she related to him also how she saw the Princess embrace him with tenderness; and told him she had never seen so great an affection in any person; that as soon as the Princess awakened, she sent to know of the stranger's health, that he saw her dress herself, and was in her Chamber till she was ready to go into bed. And indeed, though I was opinion that it was requisite to use greater dissimulation, yet Lysimena would not believe me, being secure, in that there was none but her own attendants, and those of the Princess of Leontium in the Castle. This discourse produced strange sentiments in Meleontus' mind, who knew not what to think of it. However he resolved to remove this stranger from Lysimena, and to propound it to the Princess of Leontium to conduct him to the Prince, but she told him she would do it herself when she returned to Leontium, and that in the mean time, the stranger would expect the arrival of his Attendants and equipage in the Castle. Meleontus pressed her for some time: but perceiving it was to no purpose, he ceased his importunity, and returned back with a great disposition to be jealous. At his return he opened his heart to Amerintha, who promised him to come to us, and to observe all Lysimena's actions so diligently, and those of the stranger too, that she doubted not but to discover the truth. And accordingly Amerintha came to visit the Princess of Leontium upon pretext of the adventure lately befallen Lysimena: but for that some time was needful for attaining the real end she came for, she feigned herself sick as soon as she arrived and stayed four days with us. During which, having a cunning and malicious wit, she observed there was a great friendship between Artemidorus and Lysimena. She perceived their familiarity, correspondence, and something more liberty and equality between them, than aught to be between a stranger and a Princess. Nevertheless Artemidorus very much pleased her, and out of a desire that nothing should escape her beauty, she did her utmost to excite him to love: but the heart of Artemidorus was not disposed to be wounded by her fair eyes. Besides, this Prince having understood by Lysimena that the Prince of Leontium was extremely amorous of Amerintha, he was careful to defend himself from her charms. Wherefore Amerintha, finding her allurements had not the effect she desired, imagined the reason of it to be because he was already amorous of Lysimena. Which exasperating her mind, she observed the Princess with more diligence, she put an ill construction upon all that she saw, she believed she beheld more than she did; and resolved also to report many things which she was sure she had not seen. So that at her return she told Meleontus, she found that the stranger was a very handsome and goodly personage, and was in love with Lysimena; adding moreover that she much feared Lysimena was so likewise with him. She related to him that she had discovered that they were very frequently in private together, that in the morning he had liberty to enter into her Chamber, that he was there very late in the evening, that they understood one another by their looks, that they had a hundred little secrets to communicate between themselves; and she added of her own inventing, that walking in the Garden with them, at the turning of a palissade, she saw the stranger kiss Lysimena's hand without her being offended at it. You may judge what effect this relation had in the heart of Meleontus. It was such, that jealousy seizing upon his mind, and his violent nature being very prone to put him upon attempting the most important things precipitantly, he obliged Amerintha to inform the Prince of all that she had told to himself, promising her to do thence forward all that lay in his power to bring her to be Princess of Leontium. Amerintha (who was possessed with ambition, envy and hatred) easily suffered herself to be persuaded, and related to the Prince of Leontium all that she had said to his favourite: which he no sooner heard, but he conceived a violent indignation against Lysimena, and without considering upon the matter resolved to go speedily to the Castle where his Mother was, to the end to cause the stranger to remove from thence. And accordingly having consulted with Meleontus, they set forth about break of day, the Prince being then absolutely cured. He took only his guards with him and eight or nine men of quality, amongst whom Zenocrates was one, who was not without some inquietude in his breast, for the comely person, wit and valour of the Stranger was highly extolled in the Court at that time. But as chance does very extraordinary things when Fate has determined to bring some surprising accident to pass; it happened that the Princess of Leontium was gone that morning to offer a Sacrifice to Diana in a Temple about five or six miles distant from the Castle: Lysimena happening to be a little indisposed in the preceding night, did not accompany her, no more did Artemidorus; and I likewise remained at home to bear Lysimena company. But almost all the rest of the family followed the Princess, and there was very few persons left in the house. As soon as Lysimena was out of bed, her Woman began to attire her head; but the tresses of her hair were scarce undone, when Artemidorus entered into her Chamber to show her a Letter from the wise Cleanthus which he had newly received, whereby he understood that he would arrive suddenly, and perhaps that very day. The Princess being unwilling to read it before her Woman, she did not continue to dress her head, but went into her Cabinet with Artemidorus. And there passing insensibly to speak of several things, the Princess forgot she was not attired, and stayed discoursing a long time with the Prince her brother. During which, that Waiting-woman who had intelligence with Meleontus, left her companions to wait till the Princess came out of her Cabinet, and went to walk beyond the first Court of the Castle, where there is one of the fairest Walks, that ever was seen. As for me, I was than in my Chamber leaning upon a window that looked towards one of the handsomest Courts in the World; for 'tis large, square, all paved with white Marble, environed with stately structures, and has a Pedestal in the middle, upon which are represented the three Graces, holding one another by the hand like Shepherdesses dancing; but made with such exquisite art, that these three Statues are an admirable spectacle in the midst of that fair Court. Having mused a while at my Chamber window, as I told you, I retired from it, and betook myself to read. In the mean time the Waiting-woman, whom (as I mentioned to you) went to walk beyond this stately Court, was no sooner there but she saw the Prince and Meleontus arrive, the latter of which came directly to her to inquire what the Princess was doing, and to hinder her from going to advertise her of the Prince's coming. The Woman telling him the truth, informed him that the Princess of Leontium was gone abroad in the morning, and that the Princess. Lysimena, who would not accompany her, as soon as she was out of bed, went with her head half dressed into her Cabinet with Artemidorus, where she believed they were still in great familiarity and conference. Meleontus no sooner heard this, but returning to the Prince and telling him what he had learned, and animating him against his Sister, without considering what hurley-burly he was going to cause, or what the consequences of the course he took would be, he commanded his Guards to secure all the Gates of the first Court. After which the Prince of Leontium entered into that stately Court, and went directly to the stone stairs leading into the Castle. But for that this could not be done without some noise, the Princess being advertised of his arrival, spoke to Artemidorus to go forth of her Chamber and meet the Prince, to whom Meleontus (who had seen him before) might present him. For since Cleanthus is to arrive suddenly (said she) it is not yet fitting to think of making yourself known, especially too, the Princess my Mother being absent. Accordingly Artemidorus passing through an Antichamber went into the Court; but the Prince conjecturing by the place he came out at that the Princess' Waiting-woman had not lied, and himself having seen at the windows of her Cabinet (for Lysimena's apartment was next the ground) with what haste she caused this man of good personage to come forth, he did not doubt but she was very culpable, and that the affection she had for him was criminal. Upon which, without considering any thing but his desire to punish the Princess and satisfy Meleontus; as soon as Artemidorus was in the Court, he looked upon the violent Meleontus, who transported with choler, jealousy and fury, My Lord (said he to the Prince) permit me to punish the boldness of this Stranger who comes insolently to affront you. If you knew me well (answered Artemidorus without being moved) you would find it rather belonged to me to desire justice of the Prince for your insolence. Whereupon the Prince of Leontium becoming suddenly enraged, and believing the Stranger intended to counterfeit himself a man of quality, that he might save his life, roughly commanded his Guards to seize upon him. After which he went towards the entrance, followed by Meleontus, Zenocrates and many others. Artemidorus desired to speak to him, but he was not heard: so that seeing several of the Prince's Guards with their swords drawn about him, he was no longer master of his indignation, and could not contain from drawing his sword, and dispersing them so dextrously, that one of the Guards running himself upon Artemidorus' sword, fell down dead immediately. The rest thereupon making a great cry, and all pressing hard upon him, he recovered the Pedestal upon which the three Graces stood, to the end he might not be surrounded or assaulted on any side but before. The Guards made a great cry again, which causing me to give over my reading, I looked out at the window and beheld the most sad spectacle in the world, for the pavement of white Marble was sprinkled with blood in many places, Artemidorus had slain two more of the Guards, whose bodies lay at the feet of this valiant Prince, who defended himself like a Lyon. Presently after, all the Guards that were left at the Gates, quitted their stations to come and revenge the death of their companions. Meleontus, Zenocrates and all the rest, and the Prince himself returned back to the stairs of the entrance, astonished at the valour of this man who defended himself so courageously, and immediately stew a Brother of Meleontus that advanced against him. Yet it must be mentioned to the commendation of Zenocrates, that though jealousy was deeply impressed in his mind, yet he extremely disapproved this violence, and told his sentiments to the Prince: but he would not hearken to them. All this while whatever Artemidorus, said to make himself known, was not regarded; he had no other recourse but to his own valour: which indeed was such, that none durst approach him; wherefore some of the Guards without the Prince's order shot arrows against him, and others cast javelins, though the Prince and Zenocrates endeavoured to restrain them. As for Meleontus, his fury was so impetuous, that he wished nothing but the death of Artemidorus, believing he was his Rival, and a greater Favourite. For my part, I confess to my shame, I was in so great amazement, and seized with such excessive fright, that I was unable either to speak or stir from the place. The Princess was more valiant than I, for when she saw so many swords turned against Artemidorus (who was slightly wounded in the left hand) so many arrows shot at him, and none heard what he said: seeing, I say that though by his dexterity, courage and agility, he repelled all that set upon him (who durst not approach nearer to him than as far as the bodies of those he had slain) yet it would be impossible for him to avoid being overcome at length; she went forth with extreme diligence as soon as she was returned from her first astonishment, and without considering that she had nothing upon her but a plain flying robe of white stuff, that her neck was half naked, her hair loose, and her arms bare, she passed through the porch into the midst of all the armed people, endangering herself to be wounded with the arrows and javelins, and by her rare beauty shaming the Graces, at the feet of whom Artemidorus defended his life so valiantly, she placed herself between this valiant Prince and those that assaulted him, desiring by this generous action to cause the fight to cease, and to make Artemidorus known to the Prince his Brother. And indeed all the fierce assailants suspended their fury at her appearance: but for that this action was interpreted by the Prince, Meleontus and Zenocrates for a great testimony of love towards Artemidorus, it produced in them very different effects. The Prince redoubling his fury, Infamous Sister (cried he) do you come to defend your unworthy Lover in my sight? I shall punish you for your wickedness. At which he advanced towards her with with his sword drawn, and had infallibly killed her, if the amorous Zenocrates (as jealous as he was) had not out of an excess of love cast himself between the Prince and Lysimena. Artemidorus also offered to do the same; but at the very moment, Meleontus (whose jealousy and fury was redoubled by the generous action of the Princess) took a bow from the hands of an Archer, and shot with precipitation: but instead of killing Artemidorus as he designed, he wounded Lysimena dangerously in the neck, and the same arrow glancing from her unhappily, entered into the body of Zenocrates (for Meleontus shot from the right side to the left) upon which both of them falling down, Lysimena resented the most violent grief that ever was, for she saw herself no longer able to hinder Artemidorus from perishing by the hands of her Brother: she saw her dear Zenocrates wounded for her sake, and understood by some words which he spoke as he fell, that he suspected her of being unfaithful. On the other side, Artemidorus being transported with grief to see Lysimena wounded, without caring to defend himself, offered to lift up the Princess: but the jealous Meleontus enraged for having wounded his Mistress and Zenocrates (whom he now considered not as his Rival) instead of Artemidorus, did his endeavour to kill this valiant and generous Prince. But at the same instant the Princess of Leontium coming back from the Temple of Diana on the one side with all her train, and the wise Cleanthus arriving on the other, suppressed the fury of the tumult. You may judge how astonished the Princess of Leontium was to find the Prince and Meleontus with their swords drawn, so many people slain, Artemidorus wounded, and Zenocrates and Lysimena at the point of death, for the loss of blood deprived them both of speech. As for Cleanthus, as soon as he appeared and beheld this strange spectacle, he went directly to the Prince, and speaking to him with the authority of one that had instructed him in his youth. How comes it, my Lord (said he to him) that I find you with your arms in your hand against the Prince Artemidorus your Brother? These words caused the Prince to blush, and Meleontus to wax pale, who was approached whilst Artemidorus having broken through the throng went to give the Princess his Mother an account of what had happened. The speech of Cleanthus, whom the Prince knew very well, strangely astonished him; for he was conscious there was no ground to suspect his probity. Nevertheless not being able to resolve suddenly to believe him, How? (said he) is he that I behold my Brother? and is that Brother my Sister's Lover? No, my Lord (answered Artemidorus, who led the Princess his Mother) and if you would have heard me, you had not done as you have, nor enforced me to kill those unhappy persons whom I I knew not. Ah! my Son (cried the Princess of Leontium, speaking to the Prince) I cannot but accuse you of a great crime, and regret my own unhappiness. However (added she) leave me in peace in this desert, endeavour to save my Daughter's life, and be assuredly persuaded Artemidorus is your Brother. He made himself known to me first of all; your Sister understood his quality from my mouth; and had it not been that I waited for the arrival of Cleanthus you had been informed of the truth before. Then Cleanthus adding many circumstances for the conformation of his being Son to the Princess of Leontium, the Prince better considered him, & acknowledged him to be his brother; and thereupon being much ashamed of his action, he desired pardon of him for it. My Lord (answered Artemidorus) I am ready to forget the injury you have done me; but I beseech you that he who wounded the Princess my Sister, may appear no longer in my sight; otherwise, all the respect I bear you cannot hinder me from punishing him for so detestable an action. In the mean time, I being descended, approached to the Princess, and fell upon my knees by her, endeavouring to bring her to herself again. Meleontus was at his wits end for what he had done, and came to help me to hold her up; but as I was going to thrust him away, he heard what Artemidorus spoke: upon which his rage being redoubled, You have reason, my Lord (said he to him) you have reason; and to testify to you that I judge myself as culpable as unhappy, behold what a generous repentance shall lead me to. In speaking which, he offered to strike a Poniard into his own heart; but the Prince (who loved him much) abating part of his impetuosity by seizing upon his arm, the Poniard did not pierce so deep as he designed it; but yet it did enough, to cause some compassion even in him whom he had desired to kill.  
The Princess having caused Lysimena to be carried to a bed, and given order for care to be taken of Zenocrates, and the dead to be removed out of the Court, the Prince committed Meleontus to the custody of three or four of his followers, and caused him to be conducted into a back Garden-house, notwithstanding all his own resistance; for he was resolved to die, and would by no means admit of any course to preserve his life. In the mean time, Cleanthus discoursing with the Prince, and employing all his prudence to persuade him that Artemidorus would remember nothing that had passed, reduced his mind to a good temper, and counselled him to return that evening to Leontium, and to carry thither him that designing to kill Artemidorus wounded Lysimena, till this first disorder were composed, and it were seen what would become of Lysimena's and Zenocrates' wounds; for, as for the Prince Artemidorus, that which he had received in his left hand, was very slight. So the Prince following the counsels of the wise Cleanthus (for whom he still retained much respect) departed assoon as he understood Lysimena was come again from her swoon, and caused Meleontus to be put into a Chariot, having first caused his wound to be dressed by force, leaving Cleanthus order to tell the Princess his Mother, the Prince Artemidorus and Lysimena, all that he judged conducive to appease their minds; though to speak truth, this Prince thought himself guilty of nothing but precipitancy. And as for the action of Meleontus, he considered it as a violence which love and jealousy might excuse. But Meleontus himself was more equitable, for he accused himself in good earnest. How unhappy am I (said he upon the ways he returned, to one of his own and my friends, who told me this) and how great a Criminal! I have committed all crimes imaginable, I have rashly suspected the most virtuous Princess in the World, I have accused her, I have incensed the Prince's mind against her, I have put fury into his heart, and weapons in his hand against the Prince his Brother, & the Princess his sister; and wretch that I am, after that I had seen Artemidorus perform the greatest actions in the world, I went about to kill him with the shot of an Arrow. But moreover, the Gods to punish me for it, have permitted that unfortunate Arrow to wound mortally both an innocent friend, and the only person for whose sake life could be acceptable to me. And nevertheless, they will not let me die, they force me to live, they keep me too, as if I still deserved, that any care should be taken of my life. But 'tis in vain (added he) that I am watched, and that every thing which might procure my death is removed from me; I need neither steel nor poison; my grief alone will be sufficient to dispatch me. For when I reflect, that I am he who have brought my Princess into danger, and that in attempting to kill a man whom I believed my Rival, perhaps I have slain my Mistress; I resent a torment a thousand times more cruel than death, a torment greater than can be apprehended, and which I cannot wholly conceive myself; since at the same time I am overwhelmed with shame, repentance, grief, and abhorrence of myself, as much love as is needful to render my fault for ever unpardonable, and as much rage as is necessary to make life odious, and death desirable every moment. Besides, what have I to do longer in the World? the Princess did not love me, whilst I did nothing but studied to serve her; judge therefore, what sentiments she will have, if she escapes, for a man that would have blemished her honour, taken the Prince Artemidorus' life away after an unworthy manner, and who has endangered her own? Had I gone about to kill this Prince, as a man of courage may kill an Enemy, it would be more pardonable, but jealousy so transported me, when I beheld Lysimena hazard her life to save that of a man whom I believed my Rival, that in that accursed moment I abandoned my reason, and cast off all sense of virtue and honour, to mind only a speedy revenge. But alas! the Gods have already revenged the cause of Lysimena; for I hate myself so horribly, that I never had a more ardent affection for her than I have now detestation for myself. In this manner reasoned the unfortunate Meleontus, whilst the wise Cleanthus endeavoured to pacify matters at the Castle, where he stayed.  
Cleanthus (said Plotina interrupting Amiclea) has done me a pleasure in arriving, and I should be glad to know a person who has so excellently educated the Prince Artemidorus. For my part (said Clelia) I fancy him to be like one of the Sages that are so much spoken of. For I have heard him so extolled by Merigenes, the young King of Phoenicia, and the Prince his brother, whom he instructed, that I imagine him to be a very excellent person.  
To testify the submission of my will to yours (answered Amiclea) I shall describe him to you, and indeed I am something of such an humour, that I am loath to pass over my Friends without commending them a little, when I speak to persons that do not know them; and I conceive generosity requires as much from all people, and that there is some pleasure, when we are alone to remember we have done justice to our friends when they were mentioned.  
I beseech you (said Plotina) let us speak of Cleanthus, and leave the pleasures that we find in our selus; for, as for my part, I am persuaded they are the saddest pleasures in the world. Yet they are the most solid (answered Clelia). Believe me (added Plotina agreeably) solidity is not to be required in pleasures; 'tis sufficient if they be sprightly and jovial, if they dazzle reason, and follow one after another, if they be various and deceive us, and amuse us agreeably; and to put the thing in practice, after having had the pleasure to relieve myself from a long silence by what I have said, tell us, amiable Amiclea, what a person the wise Cleanthus is.  
Know than (replied Amiclea) he whose description you desire, is a man of transcendent merit, and his eminent virtue has placed him above envy and the envious. His lineage is very good, and it would be easy to find wherewith to commend him in many things which are extrinsical to him: but not to speak of aught but himself, I shall content myself with telling you, that though Cleanthus be arrived to that age, wherein time is wont to efface part of the lineaments that compose handsomeness in a face, yet he has still a serene aspect full of spirit and sweetness which pleases infinitely. His eyes partly discover his wisdom and goodness; and though he is not tall, yet he has a good personage, and the absolute air of a Philosopher that practices more virtue than he teaches. There appears so modest a joy in his converse, so prudent a complacency in all his discourse, and a goodness so real in all his actions, that his conversation begets a love of virtue in all that are capable of it. Moreover, he has been chosen (as I told you before) to instruct two of the greatest-Princes in the World in several considerable kinds of knowledge, besides the Prince of Leontium and Artemidorus. He has all his life so passionately loved study, that it may be said, he never spent day without learning something: so that he has composed an infinite number of excellent works, which are indubitable testimonies of his knowledge and virtue. For there is scarce any thing of which he has not written plausibly, with intention to profit the public, and render the Readers of his works, either better or more knowing; which in my judgement is a very great commendation. But though Cleanthus be very learned, and his works, deserve to live immortally, yet I admire his virtue more than his knowledge, especially having preserved it immaculate in the midst of a great Court, where for the most part, such as are most virtuous find it something difficult to persist exactly in the purity of their own sentiments. But, as for Cleanthus, nothing changes him, he is so solidly virtuous: but his virtue is sociable, far from asperity or savageness, which persuades rather by sweetness than impetuosity, and which by the calmness of his mind renders it sufficiently manifest apparent, that he has been a long and happier Studier of Wisdom; for he is none of those who know virtue without following it, and teach the virtues which they never practise. On the contrary, Cleanthus speaks more morality by his actions than his discourses, and instructs no less by his manners than by works. Thus you see what a person the wise Cleanthus is, whose presence calmed so great a tempest.  
But to proceed, as soon as the Princess came out of her swoon, she thought upon Artemidorus & Zenocrates, and seeing me in her chamber with tears in my eyes, she called me as weak as she was, and (though her wound sufficiently pained her) stretched forth her hand to me, and grasping mine gently, I beseech you, my dear Amiclea (said she to me, beholding me wishly) tell me whether the tears you shed be for Artemidorus, or for the unfortunate Zenocrates. The Prince Artemidorus answered I) is so little hurt, that he feels no wound but yours! and as for Zenocrates, I know not yet what the Surgeons say of him: so that, Madam, my tears are only for yourself. Since my life is so dear to you (replied she with a lower voice) take some care of that of Zenocrates, and let me know what condition he is in. Whereupon soon after I understood that his wound was dangerous indeed, but yet not desperate. As for the Princess, she was in very great danger, because she was taken with a Fever. Zenocrates greatest affliction was occasioned, for that no person, except myself, knowing the love he had for Lysimena, he was told of the danger in which she was. By which means his weakness became greater than it would if he had been ignorant of that of Lysimena. As for Artemidorus, he had so tender a friendship for her, that he could not have been much more afflicted if he had been her Lover; and as we are easily led to love such as have been willing to serve those whom we love, this Prince had likewise in a little time a very great friendship for Zenocrates, who so generously opposed the violence of the Prince of Leontium, and was wounded with the same stroke that hurt the Princess. Zenocrate's knowing I was not ignorant of his love, used to me the most moving and passionate expressions in the world as often as I went to visit him from the Princess. Whose virtue (on the other side) I assure you I could not but admire in this occasion, for though she believed she should die, yet she always preserved the same prudence, and did not speak one word which she ought to repent of: she talked with me concerning Zenocrates always with expressions of great dearness, but yet it was with such caution too, that what she said might as well agree to an amiable Friend as a faithful Lover. But at length Lysimena's youth overcoming the greatness of her distemper, her Physicians one day assured she was past all danger of death! of which Artemidorus transported with joy went to inform Zenocrates, who received this good news with so much delight, that the Prince perceived he was amorous of Lysimena. But he was rather glad than displeased at it; for he hated Meleontus, and knowing Zenocrates was descended from the ancient Princes of Berbesa (although his rank was now inferior to that of his Ancestors) he was not sorry that so worthy a man loved the Princess his Sister, judging too, that this might rather hinder him from pardoning Meleontus. This discovery exciting the Prince to a curiosity of knowing Lysimena's sentiments as well, one day when she was able to suffer his conversation, he began to glibe at her a little about Zenocrates, whose life, he said, she had almost endangered. The Princess blushed when Artemidorus spoke thus to her; wherefore fearing he had displeased her, I beseech you (said he to her) do not think I speak to you as the Prince my brother would do, namely, with a design to persecute you; No, my dear sister (added he) I have more equitable sentiments, I speak to you as a faithful Friend, and desire not to know your thoughts, for any other end, but to conform myself to them; for I know you love glory, and are uncapable of loving any thing without it. My Lord (said the Princess than to him, recollecting herself) to testify to you that I consider you more as a faithful friend than a generous brother, I will make you privy to the only secret of my life, and confess to you, that if I did not take care to rule the sentiments of my heart, I should have as great inclination for Zenocrates as I have aversion for Meleontus. But for as much as I foresee fortune cannot permit us to live together, I speak to him always as an agreeable Friend, and I forbid him to hope any such thing as a Lover might pretend to, beyond a certain free and uninterested kindness, which I cannot refuse him. This, my Lord, is the only secret of my life, use it as you please; and if you find me Criminal, you will do me a pleasure in telling me so, to the end I may endeavour to correct my fault. This freedom so extremely pleased Artemidorus, that he gave her a thousand thanks; he approved all her sentiments, and there became such an intimate and confiding a friendship between them, as will last all their lives. Afterwards Artemidorus with the Princess' consent intimated to Zenocrates that he understood his affection; which produced in a few days a very straight amity between these three persons, who moreover had such an esteem of me as to communicate to me all their sentiments. In the mean time Cleanthus found it a matter of difficulty to compose matters; for the Prince loving Meleontus dearly, urged that Lysimena and Artemidorus would pardon him: these two persons on the contrary could not yield to see a man who had committed an action likely to prove so fatal to them. Nor could the Princess their Mother be brought to consent to return to Leontium as long as he was there, and desired that the Prince would banish him for ever. But Amerintha, whom the Prince was amorous of, protecting Meleontus, there was no obtaining of what she required. So Cleanthus made frequent journeys from the Castle where we were to Leontium, and from Leontium to the Castle to no purpose. All this while Meleontus was under a guard, though it was more to hinder attempts upon his life then to satisfy Lysimena and Artemidorus. At length the Princess being recovered from her sickness, became able to walk in the Gardens of the Castle, which are indeed admirably handsome. As soon as she was in a condition to see the world, all the chief Ladies of Leontium came to visit her, and Clidamira (whom you know) amongst others came thither with one of her Kinswomen. It happened that Artemidorus accounted her so amiable that day, that he began to be possessed with the passion which occasioned all the adventures I know you have heard of. And therefore I shall tell you scarce any thing of it, but only that one day she came with Andromira and several other Ladies who stayed to pass that night with us. Towards the evening the Princess and the Ladies went to walk in the Gardens, and Amerintha so brought it about that herself discoursed with Artemidorus, Andromira entertained Zenocrates (though he did not much desire it) another Lady employed herself in recounting to me a hundred things which did not concern me; and in the mean time one of her friends, who is as crafty a person as any in the world, led the Princess insensibly into a walk, at the end of which was a Pavilion that had a door opening into the fields. The further end of the place was set about with seats, in which to repose without the inconvenience of the Sun, or being seen of any that walk in the Garden, (though it be wholly open on the side towards the end of the Walk), because there are great curtains before it which may be drawn at pleasure. The Princess having unwillingly suffered herself to be conducted into this Cabinet, beheld the Curtains half drawn, and observed that the gate looking into the fields half shut: but making no reflections upon these two circumstances, which might proceed from several causes she entered into the Cabinet without minding that the Lady did not follow her into it, but was gone back into the Walk. She had scarce made three steps in it, but she beheld Meleontus at her feet, who holding her by the Robe; notwithstanding her reluctancy forced her to hearken to him; for she being still weak by her late sickness, and astonishment redoubling her weakness, she was constrained to sit down for fear of falling. At which instant she was in a fear lest Meleontus intended to carry her away, and therefore made a great shriek: which nevertheless was not heard by any person, because the company was all in another Walk, where she that was Meleontus' Agent knew well her Friends would upon handsome pretences retain them. Wherefore Meleontus not to lose an opportunity he could not easily recover, being upon his knees before the Princess who was sat down, began to speak to her with a strange commotion of heart: I beseech you, Madam, (said he to her extreme submissively) hear the unfortunate Meleontus this last time; which certainly you ought to do, Madam, since he does not pretend to obtain the pardon which he desires of you with tears in his eyes. The unfortunate Meleontus (answered the Princess) is so criminal, that there are no misfortunes of which he is not worthy. I acknowledge it, Madam (replied he hastily) and I took the liberty of coming hither for no other end but to confess it. How dare you, Meleontus (said the Princess) come to present yourself before me, after you have believed me capable of a crime? for in comparison of this, I count it almost nothing that you wounded me near to death. But to speak truth, I resent most of all, that you went about to kill the Prince my Brother after the most unworthy manner in the World. Ah! Madam (answered Meleontus) when I saw you so fair, and so charming pass amongst the swords and the arrows with contempt of the danger to save the life of a man whom I believed my Rival, and thought was loved by you, I resented that which I am unable to express; and in this case I must have been void of love, if I could have preserved respect and generosity. I confess therefore, that I minded only to kill him whom I believed your Lover; and if Zenocrates had been still amorous of you, he would questionless have done the same that I did. Be it how it will (said she) I am well enough pleased with Zenocrates, but I am not so with you. Alas! Madam (answered Meleontus) How can you, since I am not so myself, but on the contrary am my own most mortal Enemy? Yes, Madam, I hate myself more than you hate me, and I have at this present such remorse for my violence, and such respect for you, that I dare not die here before your eyes, for fear the Prince who loves me should reproach you with my death. Know therefore, Madam, that perceiving the division which I cause between the Prince of Leontium, the Prince Artemidorus, and yourself, I am resolved to put an end to that contest by my flight. To which purpose, I have suborned my Guards, whilst the Prince is at hunting, and by ways which I need not tell you, am come into this Garden, to assure you here, that I will go seek death in some place so remote from Leontium, that no tidings shall ever be heard of me. I will also leave the name which I bear, to the end it may be no more distasteful to you, and retaining all the love I have for you, I will live the most miserable of men, whithersoever I go, if at least I have strength enough to live any time longer, only to adore you. Meleontus spoke this so passionately, that the Princess told me all her hatred and indignation could not hinder her from having a little commiseration of him. Nevertheless, she concealed it, for fear he should alter his purpose; and therefore speaking to him with a severe air, After bad actions are committed (said she to him) 'tis not enough to speak fine words; a long repentance, a long absence, and a thousand services are requisite to the producing of a reasonable hope of being endured amongst persons of honour. Howsoever, since I am equitable, I commend the design you take, as that alone which is fitting for you. Go therefore, Meleontus, go (continued she, rising up) go ask pardon of the Gods; for, as for me, I should delude you if I should tell you that I pardon you. I have already told you (answered the afflicted Meleontus) that I did not hope to obtain the pardon which I desired; but at least grant me the favour to believe that the excess of my love is the cause of all my Crimes, and that if I had loved you less, I had been always innocent. 'Tis the only and last favour I shall ever request of you, not daring to desire so much as a little compassion when you shall imagine that I am dead in exile only for love of you. As the Princess was going to speak something to him, Meleontus saw all the Company appear afar off, who (notwithstanding all the contrivance of the Lady that returned back to amuse them handsomely in the mean time) were seeking for the Princess, and could not longer want her presence. So that Meleontus being constrained to go away, rose up, and the Princess suddenly leaving him without speaking, he went forth at the door of the Pavilion which opened into the fields, mounted upon a Horse held ready for him by a slave, and lost himself in a wood not far distant. Yet this could not be done but that Zenocrates knew Meleontus. As for Artemidorus, he observed nothing, because he was speaking earnestly to Clidamira; and there was none but Zenocrates and myself who saw Meleontus. He no sooner perceived him, but he changed colour, came to me, and looking upon me with somewhat a disturbed countenance, What did I see? Amiclea, (said he) Did my eyes deceive me? Is it possible Meleontus could be where I believed I saw him? Has the Princess pardoned him? What think you of that which I know you perceived as well as myself? In truth (said I to him) I know not what I ought to think of it, but I know well the Princess can never be unjust, and that her aspect tells me she is as much surprised as we. I beseech you, generous Amiclea (replied Zenocrates) know the truth of this Adventure, for the respect I bear the Princess withholds me from ask it of her. And accordingly approaching towards Lysimena, she drew me aside, and did me the honour to tell me what had happened. After which having called Artemidorus and Zenocrates, she related to them the same she had told me before. At first the departure of Meleontus seemed very advantageous; but afterwards considering the Prince would be afflicted at it, it was feared his displeasure would fall upon Lysimena, Artemidorus, or Zenocrates. However it was judged convenient to advertise the Princess of Leontium and Cleanthus of what had passed; and accordingly Lysimena ending her walk sooner than otherwise she would have done, returned into the Castle. She was not long there, before there arrived a friend of Zenocrates, who came to advertise the Princess that Meleontus was gone away from the place where he was guarded without being known whither, that the Prince was extremely troubled at it, that this Favourite had left the most passionate Letter in the world for him, and that Amerintha was much employed in comforting him. It was requisite therefore to have recourse to the prudence of Cleanthus who was at Leontium, to the end to appease the Prince's mind whom he found very sad for the departure of Meleontus. He found him also much incensed against Lysimena, whose rigour was the innocent cause of all these disorders: but at length Cleanthus telling him that the way to cause Meleontus to return, was to treat Lysimena well, and to endeavour thereby to win her, things were pacified in the end, in spite of the artifices of Amerintha. Yet this division extremely afflicted the Princess of Leontium, so that she fell sick and died within a few days after. Lysimena and Artemidorus were sensibly touched with this loss: but for the Prince of Leontium, he was not much afflicted at it, because he believed Lysimena would thereby be more absolutely in his power. Shortly after, Lysimena returned to lodge in the Prince's Palace, and during some days led a life pleasant enough. Artemidorus at that time became perfectly amorous of Clidamira, which strangely incensed Amerintha who could not touch his heart. Wherefore she obliged the Prince highly to disapprove the affection he had for that Lady; and it was she that prevailed with him to cause her to be put amongst the veiled Virgins, as no doubt you have heard in the relation of the History of Artemidorus. For she designed thereby to cross a Prince whom she did not love, and to serve Meleontus, with whom 'tis believed she has always had some secret correspondence. For it was easy to judge that Artemidorus would not fail to fall out totally with the Prince after this violence, and so Lysimena would lose a powerful protector. The event manifested that she was not deceived; for you know Artemidorus voluntarily exiled himself, to deliver Clidamira. But whereas it is not his History that I am relating, and you are ignorant of nothing that befell him, I will not tell you of his departure, his shipwreck, the resolution he took to go to the War, and in what manner he became prisoner to the Prince of Agrigentum, nor how he fell in love with Berelisa; but only what concerns Lysimena and Zenocrates. You shall know then, that after the departure of Artemidorus, Zenocrates (to continue to act according to his custom) made semblance of being in love with Clidamira, as soon as she came out from amongst the veiled Virgins, that afterwards he made Courtship for some days to another, but at length conceiving that since Meleontus was absent he might dispense with this dissimulation, he continued for some time without a Mistress. Whereupon it was said of him in raillery, that of an inconstant person he was become indifferent; and I remember, Clidamira, being one day with Lysimena, undertook to maintain that it was much more honest to be inconstant than to be indifferent. For, I know nothing more hateful (said she in defence of her opinion) than such people as neither love nor hate, who determine themselves to nothing, and have so lukewarm a soul, that they are not very strongly on their own side. Ask them if they will walk; they know not: inquire of them, whether they would have people love them; they are dubious of it: do them any service; they take no notice of it: offer to displease them; they scarce perceive it: so much are they afraid to disquiet their happy indifference. But as for inconstant persons (added she) they have always something to do; they go, they come, they are employed; and though they desire nothing vehemently, and disclaim obstinacy, yet they are always determined to something. They fill some place, and signify something in the World, and at least make themselves to be spoken of, be it well or ill. 'Tis true (answered Lysimena) but if you observe, the indifferent and the inconstant are not too opposite. For an inconstant person loves indifferently all the Beauties of a City; 'tis only because he has some kind of indifference in his heart, that he loves several persons. And, for my part, methinks, I should love an indifferent person who is determined to nothing, better than an inconstant who determines himself to inconstancy, who makes a glory of his weakness, who believes he cannot be a gallant without being a professed shittle-brain, and who loving nothing ardently, yet passes all his life as if he loved. For the name of Love is not to be given to those transient affections which succeed one after another, which perplex hearts without possessing them; and which almost produce nothing but Sonnets. The Princess spoke this with a certain air, which made Amerintha (who was present) suspect something; for she judged that Zenocrates appearing to be so much in her favour ought to take ill her arguing so strongly against inconstancy, if she believed him inconstant. So that observing these things, and enquiring diligently of that waiting woman who formerly gave Meleontus intelligence of all Lysimena's actions, and whom the Princess had discarded; she came at length to discover that Zenocrates was always ardently amorous of her, and that his inconstancy was but dissembled. And for as much as she could turn the Prince's mind after what manner she pleased, Lysimena was one morning extremely amazed to understand that the Prince had commanded Zenocrates to depart his Court at an hours warning, with prohibition to see her before he went away. You may judge how displeasing this news was to her, especially too being advertised that Meleontus had writ to the Prince two days before. So it behoved Zenocrates to go from Leontium without seeing the Princess; nevertheless, he came back thither the same night, concealed himself at the house of one of his Friends, and three days after contrived a way to speak with Lysimena by night in a Garden. Their conversation was the most pathetical in the World; for they saw no ground of hope ever to live happy. I know well (said Lysimena to him) That your descent is more illustrious than the Rank you hold at present is eminent. I know likewise that your merit sees nothing above it, and I will believe that your affection cannot be surpassed by any other; but, when all is done, the Prince my Brother is extreme unjust and violent. He loves Meleontus whom I hate, and Artemidorus is not here; add hereunto that his Mistress hates us, and does us no less mischief than his favourite. We have no Sanctuary in any place; and though we had, a sentiment of honour would not suffer me to wish we were there together. But, Madam (said Zenocrates) what then will you shall become of me? I would have you (answered she) endeavour to find Artemidorus, adhere to his fortune, and trust to my constancy. Alas! Madam (replied he) may an unfortunate absent person be assured of a thing which he ardently desires? Yes, Zenocrates (answered Lysimena) when she that promises him is endued with generosity. But yourself (added the Princess) take heed absence do not change you, and that I have not cause one day to make you a thousand reproaches. Time shall justify me, Madam (said he to her) and you shall see me during all my life the same I am this day, that is, the most faithful Lover that ever was. Alas! Zenocrates (answered she) there was never an unfaithful Lover in the World, but a moment before his infidelity swore he would be eternally faithful; therefore answer nothing, and leave me to fear that which I cannot but be apprehensive of. Zenocrate's then made a thousand the most earnest protestations of fidelity that can be imagined; after which he departed, and went first to Syracuse, and from thence to Agrigentum, where you know he found Artemidorus, from whom he has ever since been inseparable. During his stay there, he writ very diligently to Lysimena; but having made a long practice of appearing inconstant, he was so accustomed when he was with a fair person, to use Courtship to her, that he did not change his manner. For when Clidamira was at Agrigentum, there were some days in which she was not unpleasing to him. And indeed Zenocrates is a little of the humour of those people who think an honest man cannot be called unfaithful, though he make some transitory Gallantries, and that the true Mistress ought to be contented, provided she be the chief Lady (to speak in their own terms) and that the Lover be always ready to Sacrifice the rest to her, when she knows it and requires it. So then without being scrupulous in his passion, he came to have something that seemed like love for Clidamira. And this person who has always loved to trouble the contentment of others (though she then loved Artemidorus who did not love her any longer) writ maliciously to Leontium to a Friend of hers, that Zenocrates had been very amorous of her, and would have been so still, if she had harkened to him. Forasmuch as she knew that she to whom she writ was no keeper of a secret, her design succeeded; the Princess soon heard of this news, which she the more deeply resented, for that after the departure of Artemidorus, she had suffered a hundred persecutions from the Prince, who continually regretted the case of Meleontus. Whereupon she complained to me with much tenderness; not that she did not believe Zenocrates always loved her, but she could not endure he should have any kindness or complacency for another. How unjust men are? (said she to me) They will have an entire heart, they are jealous of a shared glance, and nevertheless they take a liberty to divide themselves upon the least occasion that is presented; and I am persuaded they are ordinarily much more inconstant when they are loved, than whilst they only seek to have themselves loved: though nothing is more unreasonable than to be less faithful to a person that loves you, than to one by whom you are not loved. Such were the sentiments of Lysimena; who being advertised that Meleontus was shortly to return, professed herself discontented with the World, and retired amongst the Veiled Virgins which are near Leontium, and I accompanied her. The Prince was highly offended herewith, though he concealed his resentment; and causing Meleontus to hasten his return, this Favourite soon after came again to Court, hoping that during the absence of Artemidorus he might obtain his pardon of Lysimena. But whereas at his taking leave of this Princess, he had spoken to her like a man that went to seek death, and was never to come again, he therefore writ to her at his return almost in these terms.  
The unfortunate Meleontus to Lysimena.  
IF you knew, Madam, all that I have done to die of grief, you could not accuse me of living contrary to my word: for I have continually remembered your rigours, my Crimes and my infelicity. I have sighed, I have lamented, I have not had a moment of quiet, I have complained of you, and I have complained of myself; I have loved you, I have hated myself, and in brief, I have led the most miserable life in the World. But after all, Madam, I have not been able to die absent from you; wherefore being persuaded Destiny would have me die in the same place where I had the unhappiness to displease, and offend you, I am returned hither to satisfy you. These, Madam, are the sentiments of the unfortunate Meleontus, who loves you more than he ever loved you, although he knows you hate him.  
This Letter being very pathetical, I confess to you, though I was Zenocrates' Friend, I told the Princess, that sometimes it was requisite not to be too obstinate against fortune, that there were unhappinesses that could not be overcome otherwise than by yielding to them, and that perhaps she would not do very ill in pardoning Meleontus, yet without engaging herself to any thing more. How? (answered Lysimena hastily) is it possible for me to lose the natural aversion I have always had for Meleontus? Can I forget that he has been guilty of the injustice to suspect me of a weakness I cannot think of without horror? That he has been so unworthy as to go about to kill a man that was assaulted by above thirty, and whom he could not wound without endangering to kill me, as indeed he wounded me in such a manner that I looked for nothing but death? What know I but that that he designed to kill me as well as Artemidorus? No, no, Amiclea (said she to me) Meleontus shall always be hated by Lysimena, though even Zenocrates should prove unfaithful. After this I durst urge the Princess no more. In the mean time the Prince of Leontium being urged by Amerintha, resolved to force Lysimena to marry Meleontus, and designed to come and take her with Authority from amongst the Veiled Virgins, in whose number was a Kinswoman of the Prince of Perusia, who was shortly to be sent back into the Country of that Prince, there to establish a Temple and a covent of Virgins like this. Wherefore the Princess (though her mind was exasperated against Zenocrates) seeing herself in danger to marry Meleontus or a perpetual prison (for she was advertised that this was the design of the Prince) took the opportunity which fortune presented her, and resolved to pass the Sea with these Virgins, to go to Perusia, leaving order with her that governed those that stayed, not to discover whither she was gone. And accordingly the matter was effected, though her Waiting-women endeavoured to avert her from it.  
So Lysimena believing Zenocrates too little faithful, and fearing to be forced to marry Meleontus, went away (as I said before) to Perusia, with intent to resolve if possible to spend her life amongst the Veiled Virgins which were to be established thee. As for me, I loving her dearly, and having no Mother, scrupled not to follow her fortune, however resolved to hinder her from executing her purpose. But to speak truth, I believe the affection she has always had for Zenocrates hindered her from it rather than I. In the mean time the Prince still suffered it to be believed in Sicily that the Princess Lysimena was amongst the Veiled virgins with whom she had shut up herself, having been a long time without discovering where she was. As for Meleontus, he continued Favourite to the Prince, and very much afflicted for the absence of the Princess. But for that he has seen her flight was a pure effect of her hatred, I believe his love is much diminished, and that he studies only to hinder Artemidorus and Lysimena from returning to Leontium. As for the Princess, she found an inviolable sanctuary with Mezentius Prince of Perusia; and you are not ignorant that being there in a time of the great disorders that happened between Porsenna and him, she served Aronces considerably when he came to deliver the Prince his Father; and having afterwards found better protection with Porsenna and Galerita than Mezentius, she has continued in their Court, where she has acquired a high reputation, and where Artemidorus and Zenocrate's understanding of her residence, passed to Syracuse where Amilcar was, and came into Italy together, where they have seen Lysimena many times. Zenocrates has been able to justify himself, or at least to desire pardon for his customary inconstancies, in which nevertheless he swears his heart was never concerned. But for his punishment, he is become jealous within a few days, and we cannot imagine who it should be that gives occasion to this jealousy.  
However, we have understood a thing, which in my judgement will decide the interests of Berelisa and Clidamira in reference to Artemidorus; for you shall know we have discovered by an ancient Lover of Lysimena, who came from Leontium a while since, and has had news from thence within these two days, that Clidamira has great credit in that Court, and so great, that Artemidorus and Lysimena cannot return thither but by her negotiation. That which gives her this authority, is, because there is a half engaged love between her and Meleontus, who knows not that she still loves Artemidorus. The man whom I mentioned having brought a Letter of Clidamira's to Meleontus, which the Favourite lost and one of my Friends sends me, the Princess has purposed to give it to Artemidorus assoon as his health shall be better, to the end to let him fully know the levity of this unfaithful fair one, of whom nevertheless they have great need; for being the Prince of Leontium is weak and overruled by Amerintha and his Favourite, reason can prevail nothing at all with him.  
Thus, Madam (said Amiclea to Clelia) I have recounted to you what you and your amiable Friends desired to know; and I beg your pardon for the little art I have used in making this relation.  
AMiclea holding her peace, all these fair Virgins thanked her: but Clelia with a little more coldness than the rest, having her mind so taken up with Zenocrates' jealousy, whereof she thought she knew the cause, that she scarce took notice of what was spoken. But there was none besides Plotina that observed the alteration of her countenance; for Amilcar, Anacreon, and Merigenes being entered, the conversation was changed. The first discourse was of the War past, the Truce and the Peace; then, of Love; and afterwards concerning Themistus and Merigenes, who were shortly to depart. For my part (said Plotina) I envy those that go to Syracuse; for I confess to you I have heard speak of a Lady called Amalthea, whose merit charms me. Tell me then, I conjure you (said she to Merigenes) whether they that brought the intelligence from Lindamira to Themistus, told you nothing concerning that admirable Woman. All that I can say (answered Merigenes) is, that Amalthea is continually more generous, that her virtue is never weary of obliging the unfortunate, and that after a noble manner, namely, without ostentation or interest; and the young and charming Clarista her Niece is at this time one of the most amiable Virgins in the World. For advancing in age she is become more beautiful than she was, she has performed more than she promised, though there was great expectation of her; and her mind being embellished as well as her visage, contributes to render her eyes more glittering, her physiognomy more agreeable, and her deportment more noble: in brief, she has so well improved the advantage of residing with one of the most excellent Women in the World, that in this amiable Virgin are found all the charms of youth without any of the defects that ordinarily accompany that age. She is discreet and judicious, debonair and modest, exact both in friendship and constancy; and it may be said to her honour, that when she is known, it is easy to divine under whom she has been educated. I beseech you (said Plotina then) when you go to Syracuse, tell the generous Amalthea and the charming Clarista, that they have a Friend at Rome, whose friendship will cost them as little to preserve as it has to acquire. I promise to tell them whatsoever you please (answered Merigenes) and to tell it them in one of the most delectable places in the World. For I am told that since my departure the generous Artaxander and the virtuous Amalthea have finished the building of a low apartment that lies along a fair Garden, and takes up the length of their stately Palace. You will do me a pleasure to speak of me in so excellent a place and in so good company (replied Plotina) but I should not be unwilling that you would at least carry my fancy thither whither according to all appearances I am never likely to go in person. I shall obey you (said Merigenes) yet I will not undertake to make you an exact description of that magnificent palace; for I fear I should a little pervert the order of Architecture. You are very prudent (said Amilcar) not to perplex yourself willingly amongst Pilasters, Columns, Frieses, and Cornishes; for I remember I once knew a pretender to fine wit, who going about to describe a handsome house, put the Chapter in the place of the Base, the Pilaster upon the Column, and (if I am not mistaken) the Porch at the third story. But yet he had the faculty of employing all the terms of the most exquisite Architecture, from the Fuming Pots to the Astragals. 'Tis true he did not put them in their right place; but nevertheless believing he understood himself, he conceived he was understood too by his hearers, and was very much satisfied with it. To avoid therefore the like inconveniences, (answered Merigenes, after he had laughed a little as well as the rest of the company at that which Amilcar spoke) I shall content myself to tell you in general that the Palace of Artaxander and Amalthea is large and magnificent, and were it finished, would be one of the goodliest in the world. That which renders it more agreeable, is, that it is built upon the Haven of Syracuse, that there is a spacious and fair Garden belonging to it, that the Court of it is handsome, that the Staircase is very excellent, that there are great and goodly apartments in it, that there are little ones too, agreeable and convenient; and that all the places and parts of this Palace are uniform, magnificent and well contrived. But to describe only the low apartment (in which I purpose to speak of you) I must tell you it is contrived in such a manner, that all that can be wished is to be found in it; for there are so many rooms upon the same plain, that my memory is puzzled to retain them. There are anti chambers, Chambers, a Gallery, Cabinets at both ends; and all these so well contrived that all the doors of those several places which are upon the same row exactly respond to one another; so that when one is at one end he may see all that is done at the other, & the view passing through all these several places, finds its a very agreeable sight: but above all the rest, the Gallery pleases infinitely. Imagine, that it is so contrived as to serve for a Gallery and a Cabinet both; for the Architect took room out of the thickness of the wall, at several distances, to place shelves filled with books. The like have been made on the side of the Bay-windows; and for the safety and neatness of the books, there are Curtains which cover them, and great carved Windows which enclose them. This Gallery is vaulted, which renders it agreeable and cool. It has several Bay-windows which look towards the Garden, where are seen abundance of Orange-trees; and on each side and at both ends are seen at equal distances twenty great looking-glasses fastened into the Wainscot which is wholly of Cedar. But to render this sight more agreeable, on the side of each of these great looking glasses there are other little ones, with branches of silver issuing out at the bottom, each of which supported two stately Lamps. So that when these sixty or eighty Lamps are lighted, the reflection they make in that multitude of Looking-glasses, produces such an admirable spectacle as cannot be represented. And to render this place as commodious as it is handsome, the Cabinet which is at the end remote from the Haven of Syracuse has such assemblance of melancholy and solitude, that it is impossible not to be pensive in it. Two steps downward lead into it, it is of no great largeness, the prospect of it is bounded, and there is a shadiness so suitable to a solitary retreat, that never was any place so fit to muse agreeably or better contrived to tell a secret in, as this. But contrarily, the other Cabinet which is opposite to this, at the other end of this apartment, being in view of the Haven, diverts the eyes with a thousand delightful Objects, and a continual diversity of people going to and fro. So that here is always a choice either of Solitude or of the World; and which is more remarkable, this apartment without many adornments or guilding makes nevertheless such a show of magnificence as cannot be expressed.  
After what you have said (answered Plotina) I am more desirous than before of the friendship of the generous Amalthea, and the charming Clarista. I will not fail (replied Merigenes) to request it for you, and I confidently promise you to obtain it, assoon as I shall have told them who you are. But would you not also (said Merigenes) be Friend to some of my Friends of this Country? I desire it (answered she smiling) for according to the humour I am of, I am not very well satisfied with all those I have here. Sincerely (added she) if we well consider, all the World are are but dissemblers; they whom we confide in most, deceive us most, and I think 'tis good prudence to distrust all others and ourselves too. For all the World act like the vulgar at some time or other, all the World commits faults, and all the World is to blame in some cases. They who seem active, are deceivers; such as are not deceivers are weak; they that are too wise, love no body; and they that love really are so few, that they make no remarkable number. Never tell me then (added Plotina speaking of some Friends) such a one is a wise man, generous, and incapable of failing; for to speak truly, all men are subject to defects. Yes (continued she with an amiable severity) all the World may be prepossessed with prejudice, all the world is crafty, envious, slanderous, false, weak; and there is scarce a Hero but in some moment of his life finds some little low and vulgar sentiment in his heart; so true it is that all men have their imperfections. In truth (said Anacreon) Plotina has reason in what she says, for there is scarce any person that can boast of having a true Friend. Then I am more happy than others (said Merigenes) for I believe I have many. I believed so as well as you (answered Anacreon) but upon an occasion of some importance, when I was at the Court of Polycrates, I found I had an infinite number of false or weak Friends, and very few whom I could account good. 'Tis so in all places (replied Amilcar) but in prudence it behoves never to confide in their Friendship further than their own interest, pleasure, or glory ties them to you; and in equity it behoves to love them in the same measure as they love us, and never with any other affection than that which increases and diminishes according to occasion. But Heroical friendship is not much less difficult to be practised than constant Love; and for my part, I have rarely endeavoured it, because the former is more convenient. 'Tis true, 'tis not so noble, excellent, and solid; but it never causes us much perplexity; it never makes us partakers of the misfortunes or sorrows of our friends; it never renders us concerned in the injuries which are done them; but taking barely the flowers of friendship (if I may so speak) we leave the thorns to those sincere Friends, who resent all the sorrows of those they love, who engage in all their interests without exception, who maintain the same courageously against the World, who have no fortunes apart, whose very honour is mutually common, who can never be poor whilst one of them is rich, who think themselves not in health when their friends are sick. Believe me (added Amilcar) this kind of friendship is not competent to all sorts of people, and I know some persons that have not been able to attain to it, though they much desired it. And therefore for fear of the same miscarriage, I content myself with loving according to the fashion, that is, very commodiously for myself. To conclude, whatever Merigenes is pleased to say, he knows no great number of those Heroes in Friendship. For my part (said Plotina) I desire no more of him but the Character of one; for I conceive he must needs be a very agreeable person, it being almost impossible to be perfectly a good Friend, without being perfectly a brave man. I grant it (said Merigenes) and I assure myself, that assoon as I shall have named Lysimantus, Amilcar will confess he is an excellent man, and a faithful Friend. I acknowledge it (answered Amilcar) and that which renders his friendship more solid, is, that he is endued with an immutable honesty; and as for constancy, he has given a thousand eminent proofs of it, and loved the illustrious Meriander, even to the death. Since Lysimantus was Friend to Meriander, and is so still to Merigenes, (said Valeria) we must needs know, and I join myself with Plotina to desire his description. I do the same (said Clelia) and I assure myself, Merigenes will not refuse us. It would be sufficiently hard to do it, Madam (replied he) and therefore to obey you, know, Lysimantus is a man of illustrious Lineage, and whose Ancestors have born the most considerable Charges in their own Country. But to speak truly, he is so well worthy to be commended by himself, that 'tis not at all necessary to fetch his praises from the virtues of his predecessors, and it suffices to speak only of what is truly his own. He is tall, of a goodly aspect; time has a little thickened his shape; he has a fresh and lively complexion, handsome and sprightly eyes, something a great nose, a happy Physiognomy, the air of a Wise man, and a very obliging address, especially towards his Friends. Nature has given him a great Wit, but solid and firm, with a very exact judgement of the highest matters. Not but that he has a pliable mind, which obliges him not to despise the meaner, for he speaks well in the most trivial things when he pleases to give himself the trouble; but it is certain, his mind is naturally more fit for serious matters. He has an universal knowledge of the World, which scarce ever deceives him; he understands the soundest Policy, and the most solid morality. By his prudence he foresees the most remote and least probable events; and his firmness of mind causes him to support constantly the most unexpected misfortunes. He knows how to undergo the changes of Fortune without changing his countenance; exile and imprisonment shake not the firmness of his heart; and never studying but to do that which he ought, he leaves events to the power of Fortune, and always prepares himself for the most improsperous, that so he may not be surprised by them. He is honourable, honest, punctual, secret, and as great a friend as possibly can be. His manners are very innocent; yet his virtue is nothing austere towards others; but on the contrary, he conceives the wiser a man is, the more he is obliged to excuse the light follies of his Friends. He is naturally inclined to ambition and action, but his virtue renders him so absolute a Master of his mind, that he conforms himself admirably well to moderation and quiet. 'Tis true, this quiet is sufficiently honourable to him; for his virtue, and his great love of justice and truth being known to all the world, he is the comforter of his unfortunate friends, the umpire of many great contests, and the depository of the last wills of divers eminent, who would be assured at their death to have their intentions performed. For Lysimantus is incapable of bending for any respect whatsoever, when he sees virtue does not require it; and indeed all the Grandeur of the World, nor death itself cannot make him demur a moment to do his duty. He believes a man is not obliged to be happy, but is obliged to be virtuous; and he thinks he should be more miserable if he could reproach himself with an action of weakness, than if he were exposed to the most cruel persecution that ever was. In which regard he confines himself so scrupulously to do what he ought, that he can never fail in it; and friendship, as powerful as it is in his heart, has never been able to cause him to omit the least thing which he thought himself obliged in honour to do, though it were in the most nice and difficult occasions. Nevertheless, he loves his Friends very tenderly; for, being Love in general never much touched his heart, though he may be not uncapable of a great passion, his Friendship is thereby the more ardent and tender. But how strong soever it be, the love of glory and virtue have always the greatest influence upon him. 'Tis true, he does not flatter himself with self-conceit in these occasions, nor make a pretext of justice to the disadvantage of Friendship; but he so well understands the just bounds of generosity, justice, and friendship, that he is never mistaken in them. Nevertheless, he has a virtue which he is troubled to give bounds to in his heart. For he believes goodness ought almost never to have any, and therefore he makes a particular profession of being good; and this is so much the more excellent, in that having a very high Soul, his goodness has nothing in it but what is noble, and can never be suspected of weakness. Were I minded, I could relate to you a hundred eminent actions of this illustrious man, which would confirm that which I say; but since I know he loves not to have his actions published, I shall conform to his humour, and deprive you of a very great pleasure by depriving him of a great glory. But though I forbear to tell you any thing of his life, yet I shall at least inform you that he was dearly beloved by the illustrious Meriander (whom you have heard so much spoken of) and is infinitely so at present by the generous Theander, the prudent Theodamas, the agreeable Teramus, the ingenious Amilcar, the illustrious Herminius (whom he saw at Syracuse) and by a man of eminent worth called Clidamantus, who has a high and tender heart, a very great capacity, with all noble inclinations, who is very sensible of Love and Friendship, who is honourable and generous, who writes excellently both in Verse and Prose, who cannot submit to any thing but Reason, whose Will is ardent in whatsoever he effects, who is decent and magnificent, and who by a thousand great and excellent qualities has deserved the friendship of Lysimantus. I am ravished with this Character of your illustrious Friend (answered Plotina) but I beseech you, tell me whether Meleander loved him always alike till his death. He so tenderly loved him (replied Merigenes) that he left him his portrait, and made choice of him to execute his last intentions. Nevertheless an adventure once befell them worthy to be related to you, which might have bred a feud betwixt them, if both of them had not had well-tempered minds, and in which honour and friendship made a great contest in the heart of Lysimantus. I beseech you (said Clelia) tell us that adventure. I will so (answered Merigenes) on condition the company will afterwards declare their sentiments concerning the action of my Friend. I scruple not to engage myself to this (replied Clelia) for I perceive in the eyes of all that hear me they will do what you desire. Know then (said Merigenes) there was never a straighter friendship than that which was between Lysimantus and Meriander; for they had a great mutual affection and esteem, and had no distinct interests. Being in this condition, Fortune engaged them to follow a great Prince into a strange Country, where having continued a sufficient long time, it happened that this Prince's affairs becoming in another posture, he took a resolution to depart secretly out of the Country whither he had retired, and discovered his purpose to Lysimantus and some other besides, with order to tell no person whatsoever of it, and to steal away with himself the next night, without giving intelligence of it to any. Lysimantus then found himself in an extreme plunge; for on the one side honour required him to be faithful to his Master, and on the other friendship would not permit him to desert his Friend in a strange Country, where he might be ill treated, or at least arrested after the departure of the Prince. However, though Lysimantus loved Meriander more than his own life, yet believing he could not reveal his Master's secret without perfidiousness, he told Meriander nothing of it, and resolved to go with the Prince till he had conducted him into a place of safety, and to return afterwards to find his Friend and partake of the same Fortune with him, how bad soever it might prove. The business was done accordingly; Lysimantus followed the Prince, and Meriander stayed behind, and was extremely astonished at the departure of his Friend. But having a good opinion of the heart of his Friend, he complained rather of his own misfortune than of him, and took it not ill that honour had been more prevalent in his mind than friendship, and that not being able to satisfy the one without violating the other, he had preferred his duty before all things. Wherefore having found out a way to escape, and gone to seek the Prince upon the frontier, from whence his Friend was ready to return back to him, he was so generous as not to make him the least reproach. On the contrary he embraced him with ardency; and when Lysimantus would have told him what a sorrow it was to him to have been prohibited by his duty from revealing the secret to him wherewith he had been entrusted, I beseech you (said he) have not so sad an opinion of me as to suspect that I blame you; for if I did, it would imply that I might be capable of a Treason. Do not then treat me in this manner, I conjure you, and believe that if I had been in your place, I should have done as you have: but if any alteration has happened in my heart, 'tis that I esteem you more than I did before. Ha! Meriander (cried Lysimantus) this action of yours is far more excellent than mine; and if you have increased your esteem of me, I am obliged to augment (if possible) my affection for you.  
Ha! Merigenes (cried Plotina) that which you relate seems to me so excellent, so noble and heroical, that my reason is dazzled with it. And sincerely (added she) I know not which deserves the greater admiration, Lysimantus or Meriander. For my part (said Clelia) I judge Meriander to have taken a very commendable course: but since there was no other in reason to be taken, and since that which Lysimantus did, was more difficult to resolve on, I conceive more praises are to be given to Lysimantus than to Meriander. If you please to consider (said Anacreon) you will find it a greater difficulty to keep ourselves from being swayed by our own interests, and to judge equitably in favour of a Friend when we are both judges and parties. But however (said Valeria) the matter was not very ambiguous; for no man ought ever to betray his Master in favour of a Friend. 'Tis true (answered Amilcar) but there are so many people who betray their Masters for considerations less noble, that a man cannot be too much commended who did what he ought at such a time, when he could not do it without exposing his Friend to be arrested in a strange Country. But yet I would know (said Plotina) when 'tis lawful to desert one's Friend. Never (said Valeria) but being 'tis forbidden for a man to be perfidious to his Master, in some occasions there may be a necessity of declining to serve his Friends as he desires. But to speak truth, these unhappy occasions are few; for it is requisite that they be indispensable duties, and such as are required toward our Prince, Father, or Country: nevertheless at the same time we ought to be capable of entering into all the interests of those we love, and to be sensible of whatever concerns them: it is requisite that their honour be mingled with our own, and that we be more ready to pardon injuries done to ourselves than to our Friends. Finally, we ought positively to do more for our Friend than we would do for ourselves. By what Merigenes has related (said Clelia) it appears that Lysimantus thought himself obliged even to perish with his Friend, since he resolved to return where he had left him; and 'tis easy to judge what he was capable of doing for him, by what he would have done against himself, lest his Friend might suspect him of too little affection. But that which I account most praiseworthy in Meriander (added Valeria) is, that he believed his Friend when he told him of his intention to return, and that without doubting a moment of what he said. For 'tis one of the greatest privileges of Friendship to believe a Friend, as we would be believed by him. For if you think him capable of dissimulation, you ought to withdraw your friendship from him; and for my part, I confess, that I am sensibly troubled when that which I say, is doubted of; because I am incapable of lying: besides, assoon as distrust is admitted amongst friends, friendship itself is in danger to be destroyed. Undoubtedly Valeria has reason (answered Amilcar) and there is nothing more disgustful than to call in doubt that which a Friend assures you of, and nothing likewise that more argues the weakness of friendship in him that doubts; for if he takes his Friend for a sincere person, why does he not believe him? and if he think him false, why does he not discard him? Assuredly 'tis confidence which is the most indissolvable bond of heroical friendship. So Meriander (who was virtue itself) presently believed Lysimantus; and to conclude, it may be said, without determining precisely which of the two deserves most commendations in this occasion, that either of them did all which they ought to do, to merit a greater mutual esteem. In truth (said Plotina then) I think there are not found many such Friends as Lysimantus and Meriander; and 'tis prudence not to believe lightly that we have found one, for fear of being deceived. For my part (said Amilcar) I am persuaded, that the World has in general been always alike, that there has been always vice and virtue, that what is not in one place is in another. And for what concerns me (said Plotina) I think Merigenes has done a masterpiece in entertaining our minds so agreeably with the relation he has made us; for ordinarily narrations somewhat long do not much divert, and the custom of relating such continually aught to be avoided; as I know some who never speak but of the time passed, and always recounting what they have seen, say nothing of what they see. 'Tis true (answered Amilcar) these eternal tellers of Stories are sometimes much to be feared. Some are confused, others too long, some are so peevish that they will never be interrupted, others on the contrary interrupt themselves, and at the end know not what they have spoken, nor what they intended to speak: such as recount things that are not much cared for nor delightful in themselves, are more troublesome than the Tellers of Stories. Yet I had one day sufficient pleasure (said Plotina) in playing a prank once in my life in a company where I was; for after they had diverted themselves with a hundred several things, it was concluded to refer the divertisement of the rest of the day to me. Wherefore when they had walked, danced and been entertained with a sumptuous collation, I thought it would be best to contrive some kind of amusement in the conversation. But being there were some persons in the company of no great Wit, I confess that judging they were not fit to be diverted seriously, I made a malicious piece of raillery, which was to engage them all to obey me, and to speak concerning what I pleased. And so choosing such subjects for these people to speak of as they understood least, I made them say very pleasant things. For my part (said Valeria) I should be much puzzled if I were obliged to speak of several things which I understand not. And, as for me (said Clelia) I speak not much but of that which affects my heart. For my particular (said Amiclea) I speak indifferently what I have seen; and I what I think (added Merigenes.) I am then more dextrous than all you (said Amilcar) for methinks I sdeak alike well of every thing. At least you speak sometimes very pleasantly of others (answered Plotino) and though you believe you always do wonders (added she) yet I am confident you will not make a description of a handsome place so well as Amiclea. I grant it (replied he) but I can boast that I do it better than any thing else, except loving you; for, as for that, I not only surpass others, but I daily surpass myself. I beseech you (said she smiling) do not confound your descriptions, leave that of your affection to another time, and content yourself to describe to us some fair House, or Garden, that we may see your skill. But if he describe a place to us which we have not seen (said Valeria) we shall not know whether he describe it well or no. If you will refer yourselves to Merigenes (answered Amilcar) I will describe one to you, in which your fancy may walk with incredible pleasure; for there is not a fairer in the World. They say 'tis so dry in Africa (replied Amiclea) that I hardly think you can make so handsome a description if you choose a place of your own Country. No, no (answered Amilcar) do not fear my judgement, for 'tis at lest as great as my Wit. And therefore I shall describe to you a very fair Place in Asia, which I know Merigenes has seen, and which is not far from Babylon. Then 'tis the fair house of Telastus and Melisanta (replied Merigenes.) 'Tis the same (said Amilcar.) Your choice is admirable (answered Merigenes) and you cannot mistake in the corner of a Walk, but I shall perceive your error. But 'tis a long way from hence to Asia (said Amiclea.) As for the Voyages of the fancy (answered Plotina) they are so easily made, that it will be no trouble to me to go to Babylon in a moment. But how will you know (said Valeria) whether Amilcar represents a place well which you never saw, and never will? 'Tis sufficient (answered she) that I see whether he knows how to make a handsome Idea of a fair place; he that so much derides those that put the Bases upon the Chapters: for as for my own part, I confess to my shame, when I have been in a brave Garden, I could say nothing of it but that it was extremely handsome, delightful, and admirable. Then I shall excel you (answered Amilcar) and to manifest so much, attend to me silently, and have a little patience. If I would make a bare platform, I should soon have done; but intending to make you a faithful Portraiture, I must desire a little time. Yet I confess ingenuously, the place I am going to describe to you, which is called Mount Euphrates, has such extraordinary Deauties, that I think it impossible to delineate them well. It is so near Babylon, that it requires but a quarter of an hour to go thither, 'Tis true, the mountain upon which it is situated, is a little towards the right side of the City, but nevertheless, there is no difficulty at all in the way; besides, if one pleases to go a little about, there is a way leads to it, the slopeness of which is almost imperceptible. As for the Building, it has nothing very magnificent on the outside, but it is admirably commodious within. The apartments of it are handsome; there are Halls, Chambers, Galleries, and so pleasant, convenient, and agreeable a Cabinet, that nothing can be desired more in it. For after having passed through a great Hall, and a handsome Chamber, one enters into it by a carved Door, the borders of which are guilded. The form of this Cabiner is square, it is painted and guilded all about, and on three sides of it are Looking-glasses with guilded frames, which by reflection receive all the Objects of the most goodly Country that ever was seen, and of one of the fairest Gardens in the World; so that sitting upon the rich Cushions which are about it, or upon a little Couch which is on the side opposite to the Door, one sees on all sides a most agreeable sight. For these several Looking-glasses not only give several representations of a brave Country, a Garden, and the square Ponds of water, as well as the Company which is in it; but they multiply themselves, and by the diversity of their reflections agreeably deceive the eyes, and pleasingly amuse the imagination. And to make an end of describing this admirable Cabinet, I shall tell you, that there is a kind of a shelf, in form of a Cornish which lies round about above the Looking-glasses. This shelf is painted and guilded, like all the rest of the Cabinet, and several curious and magnificent vessels are seen upon it. But that which chiefly renders this Cabinet admirable, is, that it has a large Bow-window from whence is seen all that which I am going to describe to you. But to do it well, it is requisite to return back the same way, to the end to represent to you all that is perceived in an instant, when having gone through a very handsome passage, and crossed a great Court, one arrives at the Porch, and advances up the steps. Conceive then, that one is no sooner arrived at the place I speak of, but there is discovered the fairest sight in the World; for to omit speaking of a great Terrace walk which lies between two agreeable Groves, I will only tell you that it is a stately stone Balcone, beyond which is seen a large green plat with divisions and borders of Flowers round about, and three Walks on the two sides of it, as it were to lead the sight to a fair Fountain, which is so much the more admirable, for that it is placed upon the top of a Mount. Beyond this Fountain which has a very stately Basin, is another green plat made Terrass-wise, with three stately entrances of stonework, and two large square lakes of water on the right and left side, almost as if Nature had inverted her order by placing lakes upon Hills, they are so great and handsome. 'Tis true, in approaching towards them, 'tis visible enough that Art has assisted Nature, for they are encompassed with stone, the sides of them are green turf, and there are low walks to go round about them, the borders of which are covered with perpetual verdure. So that these Ponds of water having each of them five Fountains arising up with sharp spires, make a very agreeable Object with that Fountain in the middle I told you of before. Below this there is a third Terraced green plat, more rustical than the second, from whence being descended by other stone stairs, one sees a Round of water with several Jets of Water, Rocks, Prilling-spouts, Napes, and all that the industry of men can add to Nature. But to bring back your imagination to the Porch (if I may so speak) and make you well comprehend that which is seen there, know, that besides the first and second green-plat, the Fountain in the middle, and the two square lakes of water, the prospect reaches to above twenty miles' distance, though the sight be agreeably arrested by a very delectable variety. For beyond the enclosure of the park is seen a hill on the left hand, which is cultivated by husbandry, and in stead of hindering the sight, leads it towards the fairest Object in the world; for there is discovered a Royal House standing in a Plain, which has several stately Towers of ancient structure; and another proud modern Building, which one of the chief men of the World caused to be built there, to render this place more fit for the divertisement of a great Prince. This Castle is accompanied with a great Wood, which is discovered likewise, and is a marvellous ornament to the Country. More towards the right hand is seen another fair House, which belongs to a man very illustrious both for his eminent Charges, and his great Qualities. And a little nearer is seen a Temple, in which are Virgins consecrated to Diana, and several other Houses of Persons of Quality are discerned, which adorn this Country with an agreeable variety. Beyond these fair Objects, which seem to serve chiefly to render the Prospect from Mount Euphrates more divertizing, is seen an admirable Plain which shows as if it were united with the sky; and on the right hand is seen the top of a rustic Temple, solitary plains, hills, copses, heaths, interjacent fields, and remote mountains, which rising insensibly one above another, withdraw themselves out of view by their distance. In brief, this sight is so surprising and excellent, that one cannot be but continually amazed and charmed with it. However, I must change my station, and conduct you from the left side of the Porch into a great Walk which runs through a side of the Grove, and is crossed by two other very solitary walks, in the concourse of which is a Fountain in the midst. Going towards which, one finds on the right hand a little end of a Walk, which suffering the sight to pass through the trees that reach up to the Sky, discovers at a distance the Royal House I mentioned, the prospect of which is so agreeable. But when amongst the sweet warble of a thousand Birds who are the perpetual guests of this pleasant wood, you arrive at the Fountain, you find yourself in the midst of several Walks, and in an admirable place. That which continues directly from the House, at the end rises up into a little Hill, and hath a Copse on the left side, and a spacious Meadow on the right. If one look towards the side where the sight is free, one sees the same Country I have described to you, but with another aspect; because by changing place, all the objects appear after a different manner. But after this, turning to the contrary side you behold the shadiness of the Wood, and pass into another Walk from whence is seen on the left hand a Meadow between two Woods, which is the most agreeable sight in the World; and on the right, another Meadow, and a little further a Copse. At the end of this Walk, one enters into a great Walk of the Wood, the Trees of which are so shady that they wholly intercept the rays of the Sun. From this place is a very agreeable prospect; for this walk at one end terminates in a kind of perspective and rising at the other between two handsome Copses, one mounts up a little Hill where are four Walks, and where the sight is so free that one would think himself master of the World. On one side is seen the same Country that was seen from the Porch, and several square Ponds of water; and on the left hand, many brave houses, and a plain of far greater extent. On the one side is seen a corner of Babylon, and the shady Woods; and on the other a rustic Temple, all Assyria, the proud Monuments of the ancient Kings of this Country, Villages, Towns, Cottages, Valleys and Mountains after off, and so great an extent of Land, that the sight being unable to discern any thing more, the imagination supplies its deficiency, and makes one think he sees that which he does not, because he knows only that things ought to be there. After this you go back the same way, and turning at the bottom of the Hill, you ascend by little rustic solitary Walks which show as if it were the remotest Desert in the World. All is wild and neglected, there is nothing to be seen there but Trees and shade; nor heard, besides Birds. By the way is seen a little place to take covert, but it was made only to rest in, or avoid the Rain: so that in this place the imagination cannot but be filled with solitary objects. But then, having gone some time in these little winding-walks, one arrives at a Walk as high as the Wood It rises on the side toward the little Hill, and is very open: but at the other end it is very delightful with its shadiness. On the left side are divers cross Walks, which descend by degrees, and whose show is gloomy and wild. A little further on the same side there is a place so charming, that a Painter could never invent any thing so handsome. And there is another, the objects of which, though handsome, have an appearance of solitariness that pleases infinitely. But without stopping at so many places, I must proceed to tell you, that having gone some time in this high Walk, one sees at the end a kind of show, which at first is so confused, that 'tis not discernible what it is; but going further one would think he beheld a great River and the Masts of a Navy, a little after, one would imagine, it were some piece of admirable Perspective painted; but in approaching nearer, one finds that they are Towers and Pyramids, and that this is the most goodly and magnificent sight in the World. For through three large Windows which make up the whole side of a Cabinet built with a round arched roof, is seen in the plain directly opposite the great and stately City of Babylon, which by the Towers of its Temples, Palaces and hanging Gardens makes a confusion of gallant objects that dazzles and amazes the imagination, especially when the Sun shines upon them in the morning. The admiration this Prospect excites, deprives some of speech, and causes others to make a thousand shouts; and the excellency of it cannot be imagined by any but those that have seen it. But the opposition of divers other things seen from the same place renders it more surprising. For upon hillocks toward the right hand are seen many little Countrey-cottages, a rustic Temple something nearer, a small thicket of trees; on the left Vineyards, and Cornfields, in the middle spacious and flowery Meadows, and furthest of all, the heads of Mountains crowned with stately Palaces. And besides all this magnificence, there is a terraced Walk six hundred paces long, that affords the same prospect, which undoubtedly is the most admirable in the World. But fear of tediousness persuades me to omit the description of several cross Walks which meet at the entrances of the Cabinet from whence this rare prospect is seen; and not to mention to you the various and admirable prospects of them, I shall only tell you, that descending to the low Walk of the Wood there is an admirable one for variety, and that from thence is seen the same square Pond that was seen from the little Hill which is directly opposite to it. But in brief, being returned into the low Walk, one goes out of it by great Stairs of stone, crosses the Court, and comes again into the Porch the goodly prospect from whence comforts you agreeably for all the other fair objects which are no longer seen. But that which is remarkable, they to whom this gallant House belongs (who are noble Babylonians) are so worthy of it, that all the World rejoices to see it in their power. For Telastus and Melisanta his wife are persons of great fame for virtue, in which respect they are highly esteemed by all people of eminent quality and worth. Telastus is a comely personage, of a brown complexion, and a tall stature; he has a noble air, an agreeable smile, and is extremely civil. His mind is of a good temper, his conversation sincere, his judgement solid, and his capacity fits him for the most considerable employments. His fortune is no doubt very advantageously established: but he uses it so nobly, that no body is envious of his plenty. Whatever can be expected from magnificence guided by discretion, is to be found in his habitation. His Houses are handsome, his Table is splendid, delicate and neat, he loves worthy persons; and to complete his felicity, the Gods have given him a Wife whose perfectly noble inclinations corresponding to his own leave him nothing to desire for his happiness but to have children that may succeed and resemble them. For Melisanta is endued with all that can render an excellent woman considerable. She is not tall, but yet she is well made, and has a very agreeable shape. She has brown Hair, a fair and lively complexion, blue Eyes, pretty, cheerful and sprightly. The show of her countenance is agreeable, her smile very amiable, her Neck well made, her Arms and Hands delicate, and her gestures free and and graceful. As for her mind, she is infinitely ingenious, and has a sprightly Wit that exerts itself always in conversation, and never suffers her to be pensive. She has a quick and ready Fancy, she speaks very exactly and easily upon all occasions; she makes a divertizing relation in the most pleasant manner possible; and her memory is so faithful to her, that I once heard her repeat a Discourse made by the most Eloquent of the Babylonian Magis, without varying scarce any thing from it. As for her judgement, the conduct of her whole life gives an advantageous proof of it, it not being possible to find a person more solidly virtuous than she. Nothing ever molests her, and she satisfies all kind of duties without solicitude. There is not a woman in Babylon more exact in observing all things pertaining to her Religion; she performs to her Relations all the offices she owes them; she does no less to her Friends, and never failing in any of the different occasions whereto decency or civility engage her, she has yet time enough left to spend in conversations and things indifferent. As for her Address, one would think she was designed for every thing she does; her Attire is well chosen, her House-furniture is judiciously suited, and when she gives a Collation to her Friends at her fair House in the Country, nothing can be desired more. Her slaves serve her with order, decency and respect, and she understands the art of giving in the most gallant manner in the World. She has a Friend, to whom one day she made a Present very ingeniously; for having taken notice of a very handsome Picture-case which she wore hanging by a plain string, and this Friend coming to visit her, she took it from her with more dexterity than a Lacedaemonian could have done: so that this Lady believing it lost, regretted the loss of it four days together. But at length Melisanta sent her the Case which she grieved for, causing her to be told that it was recovered out of the hands of thiefs; and whereas they had put a chain to it, she conceived she might keep it without scruple, because it was not known to whom to restore it, and no person came to demand it. But indeed this chain, which was of handsome workmanship, and had a very neat clasp belonging to it, was put to the Picture-case by Melisanta, who by this ingenious liberality would make a Present under the colour of a theft. It is for you to judge by this of Melisanta's mind, who besides all I have told you, has yet another admirable quality; for she has a very excellent and charming voice. She sings as well as 'tis possible to sing, and there's no person that hears her, but would think she has a very passionate soul. Yet she is sometimes accused of not being sensible enough to friendship, and indeed I think it may be confidently said without doing her injustice, that hers is usually more generous than tender, though I think it not impossible for her to love with great dearness. However, her manner of loving is very commodious to her Friends and glorious to herself, for she is very careful of persons whom she loves; she is officious, gentle, and agreeable, and she has no friend but owes her a thousand civilities and pleasures: in brief, it may be thought that were Melisanta as loving as she is lovely, the friendship born towards her would be so excessive, that it would torment as much as if it were love. Ha! Amilcar (said Plotina) I am extremely taken with Melisanta, and should like better to be with her at Mount Euphrates than in the Camp of Porsenna. However, as I am sincere, I confess you are as great a Painter of Landscapes as Portraitures; but before I commend so much as I desire, Merigenes must tell me, whether Telastus, Melisanta, and Mount Euphrates are such as you represent them. They are so like (answered Merigenes) that there is nothing more exact. All that Amilcar has spoken, has much diverted me (said Valeria) but I should not counsel another to make so long a narration, unless he could perform it as well. That which I admire (said Amiclea) is, that Amilcar has so accurately retained all the particularities of so excellent a place. As for that (answered he) wonder not; for you must know, that all handsome Objects make so strong an impression in my mind, that they never are extinguished. But I declare to you freely that in an ordinary conversation I should not have made my relation so long, for it is not fit to impose silence to a whole Company, only to show that one knows how to speak. After this, Amiclea withdrawing, the rest of the company departed, so that Clelia, Plotina and Valeria being left alone, the two latter perceived that Clelia's melancholy was still more augmented. What's the matter? my dear Sister (said Plotina to her) What new cause produces this sadness? Clelia blushed at this speech, and would have passed it without answering; but Valeria pressing her thereto. Is it possible (said she to them) that you have not apprehended by the end of Amiclea's relation that Zenocrates is jealous of Aronces and Lysimena? and that you know not, that this being joined to all the other conjectures I have of my unhappiness, I have ground to believe that Aronces is unfaithful, and that whilst I obstinately reject Horatius' affection, he is unconstant to mine? To show you (replied Plotina) that I am sincere, though I am Sister to Horatius, and think he is worthy of your love, yet I do not stick to assure you that Aronces is innocent, and that your jealousy is as ill grounded as that of Zenocrates. But who knows (said Clelia) whether Aronces does not consent to the order which he has received, not to see me? for by this means we shall be sent back to Rome without his seeing me, and when I shall be returned thither, perhaps he will write to me that he could not disobey the King his Father; and so without being exposed to my reproaches, he will forget all his Oaths, and perhaps love me no more. But if this misfortune should happen (added she blushing with) I find I should hate Aronces as much as I have loved him, and this bare suspicion I have of him, causes such a confused trouble in my heart, that I cannot distinguish what sentiments I have in my Soul. As Clelia was speaking in this manner, Lucilius entered, and seemed to them very sad. So that Plotina being solicitous concerning the cause of his sadness, asked him hastily, what the matter was Alas! Madam (said he sighing) I am unwilling to tell you. Clelia and Valeria blushed, and looking upon Lucilius, Is it (said Valeria) because the peace is disturbed by the artifices of Tarquin? Or is it (added Clelia) because Porsenna instead of keeping us for Hostages, determines to treat us like Prisoners? No, Madam (answered he) but 'tis because he has caused the Prince to be arrested, without any known cause, and seems extremely incensed against him. How? (said Clelia in a great surprise) is Aronces arrested by Porsenna's Order? Yes, Madam (answered he) and the Camp is so moved, all the World is so astonished, and the Queen, and the Princess of the Leontines so afflicted at it, that it is impossible to express to you the universal consternation occasioned thereby. Clelia sighed at these words, which at the same time redoubled both her discontents and her suspicions. But is it not imagined (said she) for what reason he is arrested? Not at all (answered Lucilius) all that is known, is, that ever since the cruel Tullia had so private a conference with Porsenna, he has been sufficiently pensive and sad; that yesterday there came several men from that Princess, with whom Porsenna conferred in private; and that soon after he caused the Prince to be arrested, and absolutely commanded he should not be suffered to speak to any person. So that, Madam, I do not see, how he can so much as give any intelligence of himself to those he loves most. Porsenna has also appointed that you be guarded with more care than ordinary, though he has commanded too, that you be always served with respect.  
The Queen and the princess of the Leontines being desirous to speak concerning the Prince to Porsenna, he told them with sufficient roughness, that when they knew his offence, they would hate him as much as they loved him; and till he could declare it to them, he desired them not to speak of him more. This I conceived fit to let you know, Madam (added Lucilius) to the end that if you know any thing that may be prejudicial or advantageous to Aronces, you might make use of it as you judge convenient. Alas! Generous Lucilius (replied she) I know nothing, saving that I am unhappy, and that if Aronces be no more criminal towards me than towards Porsenna, he is the most innocent of all men. A little while after this, Telanus brought a Letter from Aronces to Clelia, in which she found these words.  
The unfortunate Aronces to the Incomparable Clelia.  
I Know not what I am accused of, Madam; but I know well, I have done nothing but loved you, since I began to be yours. Therefore pity me, I conjure you; and whatever befalls me, be as faithful as I am.  
Clelia read this Letter with a strange agitation of mind; and Telanus having promised her to endeavour to deliver her answer to the Prince, before his Guards were absolutely settled, she writ and gave him her Letter: after which, being unable to dissemble her grief, she retired till Lucilius and Telanus were gone. But assoon as they were departed, Who ever saw (said she to Valeria and Plotina) a more unhappy person than I am? for I pass not one day without some new misfortune. 'Tis but a moment since I was so far jealous as almost to hate Aronces, and at present I so commiserate his unhappiness, as to wish myself prisoner in his room. For if it were so, he might deliver me; whereas I am able to do nothing but pity him, and pity him unprofitably. But after all, if I cannot cease to be unhappy, I may perhaps at length cease to live; there being no likelihood that I shall be always able to overcome grief. Valeria and Plotina did all they could to comfort her, but with no effect; and Clelia having passed the rest of the day in complaint, spent all the night in sighing.   
The end of the First Book of the Fifth part of CLELIA.   

CLELIA: The Fifth and last Part. BOOK II.  
THE imprisonment of the Illustrious Aronces, as it produced a passionate sorrow in the breast of Clelia at the Camp, so it excited a secret joy in that of Horatius at Rome; it being not possible for a rival, how generous soever, not to be glad for such a misfortune as may conduce to render him happy. And in order hereunto, he urged Publicola and the second Consul with much importunity to expedite the performance of the Treaty. Herminius also was no less earnest for it; to the end he might see Valeria return: but as for Aemilius, Mutius, and Spurius, they would have rather chose never to see their Mistress again, than to be spectators of Herminius happiness by her Nuptials. Octavius being become amorous of Hermilia, ardently desired that the peace were concluded; Clelius also wished it impatiently, that he might cause Clelia to marry Horatius; and all the Romans in general, unwillingly enduring that Tarquin and Tullia were still so near Rome, made continual vows for the accomplishment of the peace. As for Artemidorus, he recovered so fast in a few days, that his Physicians affirmed he would shortly be able to go abroad; and in the mean time the Princess of the Leontines signified to him that she would visit him speedily about an important Affair, but her presence being necessary at Porsenna's Court for serving Aronces, she could not exactly set the time. This Message extremely discontented Zenocrates, whose mind being prepossessed with jealousy, he believed that the cause of deferring to visit a Brother, could be no other than to serve a lover and not a friend. On the other side Berelisa and Clidamira seeing Artemidorus recovered, made a resolution to go to Praeneste, and Anacreon offered himself to accompany them. In the interim, all the most virtuous Gallants at Rome continually conversed with these two fair persons in the absence of Clelia and Valeria. But for that their interests were extremely cross, it was easy to perceive that their hearts always dissented, though they lived very civilly together. As for Amilcar, though Plotina were not at Rome, and that considering the nature of Love, it may seem his heart ought to have been at the Camp, because his Mistress was there, yet he did not cease to divert himself upon occasion, and to laugh at Damon's hatred towards him. for he perceived that he hated him more for having made that deriding Dialogue against the sect of Pythagoras, than because he was his Rival. Nor did Acrifius love him very well, because he oftentimes hindered him from speaking as much as he desired, and also because he observed that he was attended to more favourably than himself. But, as for Horatius, his heart was always filled with hope, imagining to himself that when Clelia could no longer hope to marry Aronces, she would resolve to obey Clelius. As for Themistus and Merigenes, they prepared themselves to depart speedily, but in the interim, they were almost continually with Clidamira and Berelisa, to whom also Cesonia frequently resorted. The imprisonment of Aronces no doubt was sensibly regretted by all that knew him, and even by such too as had only heard of his fame; but being they judged not that he was obnoxious to any criminal accusation, they accounted him only a Prisoner of State, whose life was out of all danger, because he was Son of him that caused him to be arrested. Wherefore some of his Friends omitted not to entertain themselves delightfully when occasion was presented; For those people are rarely found, who are deeply sensible of the misfortunes which befall even such as they love, or whose regret is of any long continuance. Compassionate grief is but transient, and soon dispelled upon the dawning of the least pleasure; and no doubt the number of those persons is very small, who are so generous as to partake sincerely in all the concernments of those they love, and whose hearts are capable of being thoroughly touched with the sorrows of others. But Amilcar's natural jovialness being an antidote against all sorts of sadness, he was always debonair, whether he were at Rome or at the Camp; and having gotten a privilege to himself of speaking the most disgustful truths without offence, he talked to Berelisa and Clidamira about their differences with all manner of liberty. Sometimes he spoke such things to them as, had they not been capable of raillery, would no doubt have sufficiently perplexed them, though they were extremely delightful to the hearers. But one day Berelisa said pleasantly to him in the presence of Cesonia, Clidamira and Anacreon, I fear Herminius too much persuaded you to love truth when he discoursed so well against lying; for I have lately observed you speak your mind, without scrupling at any thing which you see. Since I do it, without offence to any person (answered Amilcar) wherefore do you blame me? I blame you (replied Berelisa) because you give an example which will be so badly followed, that all such as would imitate you will be insufferable. For it is more difficult than 'tis believed, to jest with Friends without displeasing them. 'Tis true (said Clidamira) usually people go further than is fitting. Indeed (added Anacreon) 'tis not enough to speak plainly that which true reason allows one to speak; for we ought to understand those persons fully beforehand to whom we use freedom of speech. For most frequently, such as love to put jests upon others are lest willing to take them; and therefore it behoves to consider such well with whom we converse in that manner, and to choose the words we make use of; since many times a word a little too hard embitters the pleasing gust of raillery. Believe me (said Cesonia) less than a word will sometimes make that change; for only the tone of the voice is sufficient to alter the sense of a speech; a malicious smile turns an innocent jest into a satire; and in brief, nothing requires more judgement than to practise raillery inoffensively. And for my part I never saw any but Plotina, and Amilcar, that knew how to make this innocent war handsomely, which renders conversation delightful, and which always ends in joy when the practisers of it are good and ingenious. Nevertheless, (answered Anacreon) they are in justice to be excused who are not so dextrous and agreeable as Plotina and Amilcar. I beseech you, Anacreon (said this ingenuous African) do not undertake to praise me; for being both of us make Verses, we shall be liable to be reckoned among those Poets that commend one another's Verses, though they frequently jar in prose. 'Tis true, this last can never be applied to us; for I know you speak much better of me than I deserve, and I as much of you as you merit. For my part (said Clidamira) I confess I extremely hate those people who commend all persons and things without distinction, and there is nothing less obliging than profaned praises, which have been employed a thousand and a thousand times in extolling such as ought rather to be blamed. As for groundless praises (answered Berelisa) I hate them as well as you; but I confess I much love to excuse the defects of others. Yet there are some (replied Anacreon) who deserve not very well to be excused. How shall we know them? (said Clidamira.) It is not very difficult (answered Anacreon) for I conceive 'tis more just to excuse the defects which are incident to the condition or age we are of, than those which are opposite to it. As a covetous old man deserves rather to be excused, than a young miser; for although 'tis a folly to heap up treasure when a man has not much occasion for it longer, nevertheless, as 'tis a defect frequently attending old age, they that are guilty of it are the more pardonable. By the same reason it ought not to be accounted so strange for an old man to love to recount what he has seen in his youth, and to be addicted to make long stories, as for a young, who having yet scarce seen any thing, affects to be longer in relating that little which he has seen than he was in seeing it. No Question this is very just (said Cesonia:) and I conceive that 'tis fit to excuse the defects not only which seem peculiar to a certain age or condition, but those which are proper to Nations too; for in truth, every people have their faults and virtues. That which you speak, is true (answered Cesonia:) But are there any conditions that draw their defects along with them? No doubt there are (replied Amilcar) and for example, is it possible for them which are in the chief employments of Commonwealths never to fail of what they promise? Ha! Amilcar (cried Berelisa) unhappy are they who are constrained by the greatness of their employments to fail frequently of their word; and happy they, who in great Fortunes retain exactly the virtues of private persons, and who for fear of being defective to themselves, are never so to any. However (said Amilcar) I am persuaded those which are in a certain degree, cannot always do all that they desire; and they deserve to be excused, if it appear sometimes that they do not do all which they ought, because very often we are very ignorant of that which may serve to justify them. But to speak a little less seriously, is it not true that when a Lover is long absent from his Mistress, if he happens to meet with some fair person who seems to tell him by her looks, that she would not be sorry to be loved, he deserves to be excused, if sometimes he uses obliging blandishments to her? For my part, I am of your opinion (said Clidamira.) I imagined you would be so (answered Berelisa smiling) but for my part, who place fidelity above all things, I assure you I cannot excuse unfaithful Lovers, though I willingly excuse all other weaknesses. Yet there is so great a number of such (replied Amilcar) that 'tis in a manner necessary to excuse them, for fear of being obliged to blame almost all men. On the contrary (said Berelisa) 'tis because there are too many of them, that we ought to take ●●ed of excusing them, for fear of increasing the number, which is already but too great. As for me (said Clidamira) I believe there are more of them than 'tis thought, for I know some who hold it for a Maxim, that constancy is always to be talked of, but inconstancy practised when any favourable occasion is offered for it. For my part (said Anacreon) I conceive it would be more gallant to make a show of greater inconstancy than we practise in reality. And, as for me (said Amilcar) I conclude that we ought to to do that always which pleases us, without considering whether we are constant or inconstant, because pleasure (to speak properly) consists not in the things which we do, but only in doing our own wills. For example, I confess that were I to have a long love in a place where I could have no other, I think, that to avoid the lukewarmness of long loves, I should renew the ardour of my passion by making now and then some small quarrel with my Mistress, so as almost to break quite off with her, and our reconcilement would seem to me a kind of novelty. You are too ingenious by half (said Berelisa) and I doubt not but if Plotina continue long at Porsenna's Ca●p, you will seek to comfort yourself at Rome with some fair one, when you shall be constrained to come hither. Ha! charming Berelisa (cried he) do not too cruelly taunt me; but believe I have more love for Plotina than I had for six other Mistresses which I had one day at once. I perceive (said Anacreon then) 'tis fit that I interrupt this discourse a little, and demand of the Company, Wherefore, since Love is a sentiment so universal that Nature never fails to inspire it, men have offered to condemn it, or at least to make so great a Mystery of it? To render it more delightful (answered Amilcar hastily) for without the several formalities that are used in it, Love would not be that which it is. Besides, to speak sincerely (added he) Ceremonies make up the principal beauty of many things; for example, separate a sacrifice from the Temple, the Altar, the Wood-pile, the holy Vessels and Knives, the fillets of the Victims, and Garlands of Flowers which crown them, and you will see nothing but a miserable animal, which is no fairer than another of its kind; for, many times men are so wicked as to make but a bad choice of Victims. I beseech you (said Cesonia then) do not confound things thus; let us jest about love as much as you please, but never mingle Religion amongst your follies; for you have too much wit to do as some young people, new-come into the World, who think nothing so fit to produce them the reputation of great capacities, as to disdain the sentiments of their Fathers. Than which nothing is more contrary to true reason, or which sooner makes a man be looked upon as a fantastic. Indeed (said Berelisa) it behoves never to make a particular way to ones self in these matters, the wiser sort of people ought to be constantly followed in the ordinary path, and we ought not to go wand'ring, out of a conceit to find one more commodious. But let us take heed we do not wander too much ourselves (said Amilcar laughing) for we are far from the beginning of our discourse, which was concerning the art of jesting with Friends. We are not very far from it (replied Cesonia smiling) for in speaking as you do, you employ your raillery upon me, and teach me how to use it towards others. As Cesonia was speaking thus, one came to advertise Amilcar, that a stranger was newly arrived at his Lodgings, who desired to speak with him with much earnestness. Whereupon he was constrained to go away thither. Presently after, Themistus entered, and told the company there was a report that Porsenna accused Aronces of a horrible crime: a moment after, Herminius came, and said he had heard the same thing; but added, that whatever the rumour meant, he was strongly persuaded that Aronces was innocent.  
What then is it (said Berelisa) which they accuse him o●? she had scarce pronounced these words when the Princess of the Leontines entered, who having first been to see Artemidorus, came to Clidamira's lodgings to see Berelisa. Assoon as the first Ceremonies were over, I beseech you, Madam (said Herminius to her) be pleased to gratify the company so far as to tell them whether it be true that the King of Hetruria accuses his Son of a horrid crime. Alas! (answered she sighing) 'tis but too true, that he accuses him for having held intelligence with Mutius in designing his death; and some body has so strongly persuaded him that this unfortunate prince was carried by an excess of love to conspire against him, that the Queen of Hetraria and myself have no small trouble to restrain his indignation. How! Madam (said Herminius) is it possible for Porsenna to suspect the most virtuous Prince in the World of having had such a design as this! Yes (answered she) and the case is so much the more cruel, because he will not yet tell by what way he came to be persuaded of this belief. Although none doubts, but that 'tis a contrivance of the cruel Tullia. But can credit be given to a Woman (said Cesonia) that has passed with her Chariot over the body of her Father? It seems she is believed (answered the Princess) being Aronces is a prisoner, and Porsenna yesterday said openly, the Prince his Son was a Parricide. Wherefore being desirous to serve him in all that I am able (added she) I am come to see the Prince my Brother, to get him to go to Mutius and oblige him to assist us to justify Aronces, who is accused of being an abettor of his intended assassinate. But as ill fortune will have it, though Artemidorus has sent to inquire for him at his own house, he is not to be found in any place. Yet I met him last night in the streets (said Herminius) I saw him too (added Themistus) but it was out from my Windows this morning, and he was on horseback in a Countreyhabit with two slaves only. If he be gone far (answered Lysimena) it will prove ill for Aronces; for his absence would be interpreted as a flight, and he would be thought to have conspired with him, instead of designing only to deliver Rome. And therefore (added it) it is very fit to inquire at his house whither he is gone. I shall take that upon me (said Herminius) for one of my attendants is a great Comrade of one of his. And accordingly Herminius sent one of his followers forthwith to get information of that which Lysimena desired to know. But word was brought her, that having had a long conversation with Publicola, he departed very discontented, without acquainting any whither he went. This caused much regret in all the company. However I cannot (said Herminius then) think it possible that Porsenna will put Aronces to death. I will not believe it (answered the Princess of the Leontines) but I cannot choose but fear it. Nevertheless Porsenna is a very noble Prince, and endued with humanity; but the cruel Tullia terrifies me, and all the Tarquins (saving Titus) make me apprehensive of the worst. 'Tis true, there are divers eminent persons which protect Aronces; for the generous Melintha takes all opportunities to serve him, and the fair Hesilia who lives with Galerita, does no less. Lusilius and a Brother of his, are as careful of his interests; Titus and Telanus employ all their endeavours for him, and the Lovers of Terentia, and Aurelisa omit nothing that may conduce to his assistance. As for Galerita, she uses all the prudent arts possible, to serve him; and for my part were I his Sister, I could not do more than I do. But, Madam (said Berelisa) does Clelia know what Aronces is accused of? I believe she does (answered Lysimena) and that which renders her more worthy of pity, is, that she is unable to afford the Prince any redress, and that to her discontent, Sextus is again become as amorous of her as ever, and perhaps more than ever he was of Lucretia. So that she is very much to be pitied; for though Porsenna ought not to violate the Law of Nations, and so 'tis probable the Hostages are in safety in the Camp, yet she has some very disconsolate hours, and the Queen of Hetruria and myself have desired Lucilius and Telanus to take especial care of guarding these twenty fair Romans. Since the generous Melintha, Lucilius and his illustrious Brother (replied Herminius) are Aronces' friends, I am very much comforted. Being I was not well (said Berelisa) when Lucilius came hither, I did not see him; but I have heard much good spoken of him. Too much you could not (answered Lysimena) and to let you know what manner of persons these two illustrious friends of Aronces are, I will describe them to you. And to begin with him that was not at Rome, whose name is Theomenes; you may know that 'tis not possible to be endued with more virtue than he is. I need not tell you that his extraction is noble, for you are not ignorant that he is Brother to the generous Melintha; you know his family is very ancient, and that his Father was a man of eminent worth. As for his personage, he is of an indifferent stature, his Hair is Chesnut, his eyes black, his visage round, and if one well observe it, he has something in his Physiognomy so pretty and good together, and he always smiles so pertinently, that sometimes he makes it appear in a moment that he understands things which could not be related in a day if any one should attempt it. Theomenes has received from Nature a great stock of wit, especially of that which is judicious and discreet, which examines and sounds the depth of things, which will neither affect nor choose any thing without knowledge; of that wit, I say, which meddles with nothing without calling the judgement to its assistance. And nevertheless Theomenes wants not a lively and quick fancy, and he is one, whose conjectures resolve the most difficult things with the greatest facility imaginable. I have seen him sometimes in places where you would have said he took no heed to what passed, and yet he not only observed even the very lest things that were spoken or done there, but he divined the most secret interests of all that were present in the company. Theomenes has not only a very piercing and solid wit naturally, but he has improved it with great diligence. So that he judges well of all things, he accurately understands handsome composures, and never condemns or applauds any thing, for which he cannot give a good reason. In the beginning of his life he composed very amorous and delightful Verses, and he makes such still when he pleases; he speaks very exactly, and his conversation is extremely pleasing. For no argument of discourse comes amiss to him, from Husbandry to Astrology, and from the most jovial Gallantry to the sublimest Policy. And for my part, I have sometimes remained astonished to see that Theomenes equally well understood both important and inconsiderable affairs, and to find that so wise a man as he, did not neglect to be perfectly informed of all the follies of his Age. If the profession Theomenes has chosen had not obliged him to a particular restraint, his soul would have been capable of very much love, but such a love as is real, tender, firm and generous together. But his fortune having disposed of him after another manner, he understands love at present only in others, but has abandoned his heart to friendship, which has proved very happy to him, for he has many illustrious friends of both sexes, by whom he is greatly esteemed and beloved. He is by natural inclination officious, equitable, good and generous. He is exact both in small and great matters, he knows when 'tis fit to engage courageously in the interests of those he loves, to concern himself for their honour, to resent injuries done to them, to love all that they love, to hate all that they hate, and to disdain all such as do not esteem them. He is none of those people who would prevaricate in certain occasions, who would preserve both Friends and Enemies, and who without distinguishing the virtuous from them that are not such, sometimes fail those that never deserted them. On the contrary Theomenes is faithful in all occasions, sincere in all transactions, and always very sensible of whatever concerns his true Friends.  
perhaps I insist a little too long in commending Theomenes, for this excellent qualification of his; but I confess 'tis because it is so very rare in these days, and because I believe it necessary for a man of honour. For I conceive when our chief Friends tell us they have enemies to fight with, the first thing to be asked them, is, Where they are? and not, Who they are? For, be they who they will, we ought to be absolutely against them. But on the contrary, when Friends of the second Order come to tell us they have enemies, we must first ask them, who they are? that so we may be never in danger of doing any thing against our true Friends, which we know well can never be in the wrong. But as for Theomenes, he so perfectly understands all the rules of true friendship, and his heart is so naturally addicted to follow them, that 'tis scarce possible for him to fail in any of them. Moreover, Theomenes is gentle, sociable, complacent, wise, and discreet. He has both moderation and equity, he conforms himself to the World, and diverts himself with it, and he knows how to enjoy in solitude all the pleasures which it affords. He knows how to make the Court a Theatre to entertain him; and, which is most commendable, he knows so to live there, that his virtue is not altered by all the bad Examples which he sees in it. Thus you see what a person Theomenes is, who besides all I have said of him, has so great an inclination to honour all that are endued with virtue, that it may be affirmed, that if he were Master of all the favours which are in Fortunes bestowing, not one virtuous person should have cause to complain of her. For my part (said Berelisa) I am already Theomenes' Friend, though I never saw him. Certainly (said Clidamira) you need no more to gain him than seeing of him, for you never desired to get any thing but it became yours. Berelisa is so charming (answered Themistus) that the power you say she has is not to be wondered at. For my part (said Herminius) who have the honour to know Theomenes, since the making of the Peace, I dare assure that the Princess of the Leontines has not flattered him, and that she has made his Picture exactly like. I beseech you, Madam (said Berelisa) tell me too what Lucilius is, who has been so much talked of at Rome within these few days. He is such a person (answered the Princess of the Leontines) that no Lover, be he never so deserving, but aught to fear having him for his Rival. But since you have not seen this illustrious Brother of Melintha and Theomenes neither, I must tell you that he is of a tall personage, well made, and of a goodly presence. His gesture is sufficiently careless, his air very noble, his access serious and civil, his Physiognomy happy, sage, and agreeable, his hair chestnut, his Visage of a peculiar form, and his Nose a little rising. As for his eyes they are azure, sweet, sprightly, but not great, They have a certain faintness in them too, which renders them very suitable for those passionate glances which make things understood in a moment, and yet they have in some occasions so jolly a smile, that 'tis apparent the heart of Lucilius may as well be capable of a sensible joy, as of a violent grief. His Complexion is good, for a man, and he has a little natural mark under his left Eye, which would well sure with a Beauty, and is graceful to his countenance. Lucilius is neat, he attires himself like a man of Quality, and so as agrees well with his person; and if so worthy a person as he may be commended for small accomplishments, I say, there are many fair Ladies who would wish they had hands as white as his. But indeed, I have too much to tell you of his Wit, his Courage, and his Virtue, to detain you longer with the description of his person. Know then, that Nature has been liberal to Lucilius in giving him an extraordinary Wit, a Fancy of unmeasurable extent, and a judgement which so well governs both, that he never speaks any thing in conversation, of which he needs to repent. But indeed his Wit is one of those which might well dispense with learning any thing; because considering things in themselves, their own reflections instruct them better than they can be by all the Books in the world. For which cause Lucilius has spent no great number of years in study; but Travel, War, the Court, and his own Reason have been his Masters. Nevertheless, he has read very much, and there are few excellent pieces of knowledge, which he does not understand; but he has read out of inclination, and not out of obedience, as ordinarily all young persons do, that are designed to be well educated. However, the Court, War, Travel, and his own Reason have so well instructed him, that 'tis believed he owes all his accomplishments to learning; so well he understands all things, and speaks so rationally of every thing that can be offered to discourse. Lucilius' particular virtue is an incomparable fortitude, free from all the defects which are incident to the Valiant; for he is a stranger to vanity. He is gentle, civil, and moderate; nor did ever any other hate false glory, and love true, so much as he. Moreover, Lucilius is of an admirable equal temper; for his Friends always find him the same, and though he appears serious, and his constitution inclines a little to melancholy, yet he loves all allowable pleasures. The jollity and mirth of his Friends please and divert him, to which he himself also contributes as much as they desire, and is never refractory towards them. Lucilius has a sense of honour, and generosity, and he is constant in Love and Friendship. He has a firm Soul in adversity; and whereas his Fortune has not been always happy, but he has met with several difficult encounters, been wounded and taken Prisoner in War, travelled both by Sea and Land, his virtue has been seen to the proof, and 'tis known that he hath come off with honour in all occasions, to which Fortune led him. In brief, Lucilius is valiant amongst the valiant, learned amongst the learned, gallant amongst the Gallants, and equally prudent towards all. His Natural inclination has always carried him to Poetry and Love, and these two sentiments are so much the more engrafted in his heart, for that they subsist there one by another; for if Love has caused him to make Verses in the beginning of his life, I account it not impossible, but that, in case he lives to that age in which love is no longer in season, his inclination towards Verses may also induce him to write of Love; because Poetry and Love have such a sympathy, that they can seldom be divided one from the other. But I beseech you, do not imagine that Lucilius makes such Verses as favour a little of the condition of the Authors, which may perhaps be called Gentile Verses; because for the most part persons of that Quality are not skilled enough in such things to make them well. More intelligent persons therein than myself, profess, that Lucilius composes Verses which might deserve Homer or Hesiod for their Author. For there is a good Fancy, Wit, Strength, and so charming a Harmony in them, that all the world is ravished with them. His descriptions are so handsome, so Poetical, and so Natural, that you would think you verily beheld all that he represent. If he paints the shadow of a Forest, he deludes the imagination; if he represents the Sea in a Tempest, the Rocks, and a Shipwreck, the hearts of the Readers tremble at what he describes. If he builds a stately Temple, you would think Apollo himself had been the Architect of it; and if he represents an unfortunate Lover, his unhappinesses excite pity, and sighs from his relation; and because Sadness and Love together have a wonderful operation in Verse, he very rarely separates them; not but that when he is minded, his Muse is agreeably debonair. One of the most curious Wits of his age having made a very ingenious and gallant Dialogue (after the example of Anacreon, who made one between a Dove and a Passenger) wherein he introduces a little Bird which returns every year in the Garden of one of his She-Friends, this work afterward occasioned Lucilius and Theomenes to compose the most delightful Verses in the world, whose natural, pleasant, and sprightly Style, argues that nothing is impossible to them. As for Love, Lucilius understands all the exquisiteness of it, and never was a Lover seen, whose sentiments have been more tender than his. He can love constantly, even without being loved; absence rather augments than diminishes Love in his Soul, and 'tis not easy for infidelity itself to extinguish a passion in his breast. He loves with ardour and respect, he makes himself pleasures and torments which other Lovers would not think of, and he has sentiments so full of Love, that no other ever had the like. I have heard him say, that one day being at Sea, a terrible Tempest arose, which almost sunk the Ship he was in, in view of a Castle which stands upon a Rock, at the foot of which there was great likelihood it would be wracked, for the wind violently drive it on that side, and the Rudder was broken. In this condition, knowing that his Mistress was in that Castle, instead of abandoning his mind to fear like the rest, or so much as minding what course the Mariners took to preserve themselves from perishing, he leaned against the foot of the Mast, and took pleasure in thinking that if he were Shipwrackt in that place, the waves might carry his body to the foot of the Rock, where his Mistress going oftentimes to walk, might see it and bedew it with her tears; and this thought so wholly possessed him, that he observed nothing at all that was done to resist the tempest. But through excess of love, he slighted the danger and death itself. But, in fine, 'tis enough to tell you that Lucilius can be as perfect a Lover as a Friend; for 'tis to tell you in few words that he is a perfectly worthy person, and deserves to be Brother to the generous Melintha. I agree with you (said Plotina) and if all men were like him, I think those Ladies were to be excused that suffered themselves to be loved by them. After this Lysimena rise up, and prepared to return to the Camp: but before she departed, all the company entreated her to continue to protect Aronces and Clelia, which she promised to do with great sincerity. After which she drew Berelisa apart, and speaking low to her, I have a while since so discovered Clidamira to Artemidorus (said she to her) that you need not fear he will be unjust towards you. However I counsel you to hasten to make your voyage to Praeneste, for 'tis possible that in that place the Gods will change the heart of Clidamira who alone at this time hinders our return to Leontium, though she makes show of negotiating in behalf of the Prince my Brother and myself. Berelisa was desirous to know a little more precisely what Lysimena had told Artemidorus; but perceiving she hastened to depart, she was contented only to thank her for the agreeable intelligence she gave her; after which Lysimena returned to the Camp, which was much moved at the imprisonment of Aronces, there being no person that could so much as suspect him of ever having had the thought to conspire against Porsenna. But what was very glorious for this Prince, assoon as the rumour was spread abroad in Rome, all the people remembering Aronces had been the cause of winning the Battle in which Brutus was slain, murmured highly against Porsenna, and without considering that the King had Hostages in his hands, or thinking of the consequences of this affair, they declared boldly, that it was fitting to break the Peace, and go and demand Aronces of the King of Hetruria. All the worthy persons of the Senate were as sensibly affected with the unhappiness of Aronces, and judging that they could do nothing more dangerous to this Prince than to testify their zeal towards him, they restrained the people as much as they could. But being they could not hinder them from speaking in pity of Aronces and complaint against Porsenna, Tullia, who had intelligence of these murmurings, made use of them to confirm her accusation of Aronces, by informing Porsenna that the Prince had more friends in Rome than in his Army. Whereupon Porsenna's mind being much incensed against Aronces, he could not endure that any one should speak to him in his behalf. Which nevertheless Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines did not cease to do; the latter of which was not restrained by Zenocrates' jealousy from doing her utmost for Aronces, scarce any besides herself daring to urge Porsenna boldly in his favour. I beseech you, my Lord (said she to him at her return from Rome) suffer me to tell you that you do a very great wrong in accusing Aronces of a crime whereof no body suspects him capable, and you do no less in giving credit to all that Tullia says to you, who, you know, has neither virtue nor probity, who is subtle and cruel, and who hates Aronces and Clelia. I know all that you tell me (answered Porsenna) but it does not justify Aronces; and though Tullia be wicked, that does not hinder but that Aronces is an unnatural Son, and a Parricide, in whose heart love has extinguished all the sentiments of nature and virtue, and who looking upon me as an invincible obstacle to his imaginary felicity, has designed to purchase it with my death. But, my Lord (replied Lysimena) how do you know Aronces has been author of such a design, and what proofs have been given of it? I have understood (answered Porsenna) that Aronces during his imprisonment in the Island of Saules, underwent that usage with very much impatience, though he always spoke with respect to those I sent to him; I have also been informed that he corrupted him that guarded him, that he went secretly to Rome, and had some private conferences in a Garden with divers persons: I have further known that during the Siege he never lost any occasion to favour the Romans in things which were not absolutely against the order of War. I have been advertised too that having taken prisoners on the day the Bridge was assaulted, he remitted them, and writ something in his Tablets which he delivered to one that he released: and lastly, I have spoken with two of those three hundred Conspirators Mutius told me of, who declare that they were several times employed to make the confederacy between Mutius and him, and that Aronces promised to secure him from perishing in the attempt. And indeed there must needs have been some secret intelligence between them, which I have not yet discovered; for when Mutius had slain him whom he took for me, none offered to take him; and if I had not sent my guards for that end, Mutius had escaped. Besides, Aronces was in effect partly the cause that I pardoned Mutius. But, my Lord (replied the Princess) if Aronces had been of that conspiracy, 'tis to be believed he would have better instructed Mutius, so that he should not have taken another for you. Did the God's favour crimes (answered Porsenna) the criminals would never do any thing imprudently: but since they do not, they oftentimes in order to their punishment, permit those that would commit a wicked action to be blinded and deceived in their judgements. So Mutius happening to be mistaken by the purple Robe of the person he slew, because it was forgotten to tell him that this man's office allowed him to wear one; it may be said, that he was deceived happily for me, and unfortunately for Aronces. But, my Lord (replied the Princess of the Leontines) I do not yet see his crime well proved; for the two men who accuse him, may be suborned to do it. I would to the Gods, generous Princess (said he to her) that these people were false witnesses: but to speak the truth, all probabilities are against Aronces. For the obstinacy of Mutius not to name his complices, sufficiently argues that there was some one amongst them whom I might cause to be punished; if all the Conspirators had been Romans, there was no reason wherefore he should conceal their names from me. But, my Lord, (answered Lysimena) the most general opinion is, that Mutius told you a lie to induce you to the peace, and that he was the sole person concerned in the design of assassinating you. I can believe (replied Porsenna) that there were not three hundred of them, but I shall never believe that Mutius was alone. 'Tis also added (continued he) that to persuade Mutius to this attempt, Aronces promised him to grant peace to Rome, after my death, without other conditions than that of putting Valeria and Clelia into his power, engaging to bring him to marry the first afterwards. But, my Lord (said Lysimena) if Aronces had been so wicked as to desire to take away your life, what need had he of Mutius, and why should he not rather have suborned one of your guards? That was not the safest course (answered Porsenna) for by that means he might perhaps have come to be suspected: but in the other way, taking away my life by the hand of a Roman, the action would seem to proceed out of zeal for the delivering of Rome, and would not at all reflect upon Aronces. But Love alone put them upon this crime; and to manifest to you that 'tis so (added he) I am newly informed that Mutius is fled. Judge then whether after this, I have reason to doubt of their testimony who accuse Aronces. And to the end you may doubt of it less, see this Letter from Clelia to Aronces, which was found in his Chamber, and must needs have been delivered him by one of his Guards. Lysimena taking it, knew the hand of Clelia, in which she had seen several Letters; and opening it, found these words.  
Clelia to Aronces.  
AS Criminal as you are, I do not cease to pity you; and notwithstanding your Crime, I shall still make more ardent Vows for your liberty, than I should do for my own.  
This Letter no doubt seems to make against Aronces (said Lysimena) but, my Lord, two persons that love have so many little contests which embroil them together, that it ought not to be concluded from hence that Clelia knows Aronces is a criminal against you. On the contrary, it is to be thought, that if she did, she would not have written to him in these terms. You are a strange person, Madam (answered Porsenna roughly) to attribute judgement to persons prepossessed with a great passion. However, all that I can do for Aronces (added he) is to defer his punishment; for I confess to you, I would willingly convict him by Mutius himself. Were it not that Hostages ought to be inviolable, I would use Clelia in such a manner that perhaps I might come to know many things by her, though I do not believe she was privy to the whole secret of the Conspiracy. On the contrary, I imagine that perhaps Aronces being unwilling to lose the merit of his Crime in her esteem, has only told her something of it since. In the mean time, I have two men who will maintain that he is culpable. But, as I told you, I will cause Mutius to be sought after, and oblige Publicola who affects him not, to force him to declare the truth. After which I will give as great an example of Justice, as Brutus did, when he beheld his own Sons put to death; for I will not be surpassed by a Roman. Ah! my Lord (said Lysimena) you make me tremble with fear, to hear you speak in this manner. I beseech you, examine things well, remember that appearances are fallacious, and rather believe all that the great actions of Aronces, than that which the cruel Tullia tells you, who is accustomed only to artifices and wickedness. For, do you think, my Lord (added she) that this Prince has any great tenderness for your life after you have granted peace to Rome? and ought you not rather to fear that she designs only to engage you in a Crime? Be it how it will (answered Porsenna) that which she tells me, seems to me to be true; all conjectures are against Aronces, who cannot be happy so long as I live; and I will not be prevailed with, either by your prayers or tears, the murmurs of all my own Subjects, or the complaints of the Romans (which moreover testify Aronce's intelligence with Rome) nor even the secret sentiments of Nature which I feel in my breast in spite of myself. But, my Lord (replied Lysimena) how comes it that those two men who accuse Aronces, inform you of a past danger, of an attempt that has failed, and are their own accusers? They could not have access to me (answered he) before the business was executed; afterwards they revealed it to the prince of Messene, to inform me of it, which yet he did not, undoubtedly because he would not hurt Aronces. But for that they apprehend I knew nothing of the truth, they addressed themselves to Tullia, to whom I granted their pardon on condition they told me all they knew of the Conspiracy. But where are those men, my Lord? (said Lysimena) They are in a sure place (answered Porsenna) till I cause Aronces to be publicly condemned. You know (added he) I had a purpose to make a Marriage between you and him; but, Madam, you have too great a virtue, to have a Parricide given you for a husband, and the Gods, no doubt reserve you a better fortune. In the mean time speak no more to me of him, and forbid Galerita to intercede in his behalf; for the more he is pleaded for, the more I shall hasten his punishment.  
After this Lysimena was constrained to be silent, to retire, and go to augment the sorrow of the Queen, by relating to her this discourse with Porsenna. Lysimena's sadness appearing manifestly in her countenance as she came away from the King of Hetruria, all the Court was in fear for Aronces; and the rumour of it spreading abroad in all places, was augmented in the Camp.  
Tullia being thus become necessary to Porsenna, not only because it was by her means that he could convict Aronces, against whom he was extremely incensed, but also because his own Army being mutinous against him, he feared he should have need of Tarquin's Troops; Sextus went and came continually to the Quarter of Porsenna, whereby he extremely molested Clelia, who was incredibly sorrowful to see his passion for her increase in his heart. Not but that she avoided his sight as much as she could; but in the case things were in, she knew not where to find any protection. For the sentiments she had concerning the Princess of the Leontines would scarce suffer her to speak to her. But the greatest of her griefs was to understand Porsenna's sentiments concerning the Prince his Son, the correspondence of Tullia with that King, and the care that was taken to guard Aronces diligently. For this unfortunate Prince, as extremely beloved as he was, could find no way to communicate his mind to Clelia, in answer to the Letter which he had received from her; for Telanus being become suspected, durst not come near one of his guards. Clelia had also another discontent, in not seeing her friends of Rome so often as formerly; for in this conjuncture, a tumult being both in the City and the Camp, the Consuls caused Horatius, Herminius, Aemilius, Octavius, Spurius, and all the other Romans to forbear visiting the twenty fair Roman Ladies which were given in Hostage. Which was something difficult to make them consent to; but causing them to consider that if matters should fall cross, and they should be arrested, Clelia, Valeria, and all the rest would be in a worse condition than if they were at Rome, a sentiment of love induced them to resolve upon that which Policy could not. So that they were constrained to be contented with sending to know tidings of the persons which were dearest to them in the World. Themistus though prepared to go away with Merigenes, was nevertheless willing to stay some days. But as for Amilcar, out of particular privileges he went and came continually from the Camp to Rome, and from Rome to the Camp. Artemidorus being much better began to go abroad, and made his first visit to Berelisa, who was to depart the next day to go with Clidamira to Praeneste, accompanied by Anacreon, who would not leave them. This Prince being very civil, desired Berelisa's permission to see Clidamira at her chamber; besides, (added he) I have something to say to her, which is material for her to know. Ha! my Lord (answered Berelisa) will you never leave this exact civility towards a person, who has so unfaithful a heart? and can you still esteem her so much as to conceal from me her last weakness? Artemidorus blushed hereupon; for he did not imagine the Princess of the Leontines had told Berelisa any thing of that which she had informed him of. No, no, my Lord (added she) your silence is not at all obliging; for when men wholly cease to love an unfaithful person, they are willing to publish their infidelity. But no doubt because you cannot altogether quit your love to Clidamira, you are ashamed to let me know that she can never cease to deceive you. I must have confided in her words (replied Artemidorus) to be obnoxious to be deceived by her. Wherefore then (said Berelisa) do you not tell me that she has a new correspondence with Meleontus? Because, being your sister-in-law (answered he) I respect you in her person; besides, as I have told you a hundred times, I conceive 'tis a piece of honourable prudence for a man not to publish the weaknesses of a person whom he has loved, and who would still persuade him, that she does not hate him. But in the bottom of my heart, I protest to you, I slight her as much as I esteem you; I behold all her charms without having my heart affected with them; I look upon the testimonies of her affection as signs of weakness, or dissimulation; and I never loved you so much as I do at this present. Go therefore, Madam, confidently to Praeneste; for since the Gods are veracious, you can learn nothing there which will not be to your advantage. If you would have me believe you (replied Berelisa) tell me what you know concerning Clidamira. I know, Madam (answered he) that there is a great league between her and Meleontus, and that consequently neither the Princess my Sister nor myself are likely to be ever recalled from our Banishment. 'Tis true, Clidamira being crafty, would persuade me that she deludes Meleontus, and entertains correspondence with him, only to do us service. Nevertheless, I know what I ought to think of it; but prudence requires us to dissemble as well as she; for she has a great influence upon the mind of Meleontus; Meleontus is Master of that of the Prince; and Meleontus too, as you know, hates Lysimena, because he has loved her too much. Believe me (replied Berelisa) one cannot satisfy so many duties at once, and excessive prudence is not always compatible with excessive Love; to be a good Citizen, a great observer of the Laws, never to fail in any duty to Relations, Friends, Superiors, and fair comportment, is to have too many things to do; and in such cases, 'tis frequent to fail towards a Mistress. Nevertheless, according to the Laws of Love, a man ought to be capable of failing in every thing rather than in that. But you do not consider, Madam, (said Artemidorus) that your interest is joined with mine in this case. I know what you say (answered Berelisa) but I confess I know as well too, that when a man does not hate that which he once loved, he loves it still. On the contrary (replied the Prince) hatred is many times but a disguised Friendship, and indifference is a true proof of an extinguished affection. I confess (answered Berelisa) that a clear indifference is a sign there is no more Love; but when this indifference is accompanied with an exact civility, believe me, my Lord, believe me, if he that is capable of it loves no longer, 'tis possible at least that he may love again. But, in brief, without showing you further my weakness in not being able to conceal the discontent you cause me, I will go to Praeneste, to learn what shall be told me concerning your sentiments, which yourself do not know so well as to inform me of them. Ah! cruel person, that you are (cried he) why do you speak to me in this manner? Think you, I have forgot all that I promised you? think you, I can compare Clidamira to Berelisa? and do you believe I have not observed the difference between her sentiments and yours during my sickness? Clidamira so well knows how to counterfeit (answered Berelisa) that perhaps you believe she was as sad as I, to see your life in danger. No, no, (replied Artemidorus) I am not mistaken in Clidamira; I have seen her put on an affected negligence, to seem more sorrowful; which yet did not move me: I have seen her compose her eyes, summon up tears, and make sighs, which proceeded more from her will than her heart; in brief, I have always seen her decently attired in her negligence, and in the greatest extremity of my sickness; nor did I ever see her relinquish the care of her beauty a moment, even then when she believed I was not far from death. Ha! my Lord (interrupted Berelisa) you would not have seen or observed any thing of all this. You are very unjust (answered Artemidorus) to turn to poison all that I speak to cure you. For at the same time I observed all that I have told you, I saw a real sorrow painted in your countenance, I beheld true tears fall from your fair eyes, I heard you sigh with tenderness, I marked the carelessness of your attire, sufficiently to be persuaded that you did not remember that then you were fair; and if I dare speak it, I saw your heart affected enough, to believe that perhaps my death would have caused yours. And will you quarrel with me after this, Madam? and not permit me to dissemble a little with Clidamira for your interest? I know not what to answer you (said she) but I know well, I cannot endure that Clidamira should hope to be loved by you, and 'tis only to deprive her of that hope that I go to Praeneste. For when I consider well upon it, I cannot believe you should make an ill choice between an unfaithful person and Berelisa. After this Artemidorus spoke so many obliging things to Berelisa, that she consented he should go bid Clidamira adieu, on condition that she should come into her chamber a moment after him. And accordingly the Prince was no sooner entered into it, but Berelisa was conducted thither by Amilcar, who came to take leave of these two fair persons which were to depart the next day. Anacreon and Cesonia entered presently after, so that Berelisa had the satisfaction to see that Clidamira could not bid Adieu to Artemidorus in private. Whereby her mind being more at liberty, her conversation became more agreeable. That which gave occasion to render it such, was this; Clidamira had had a Dream which disquieted her, and being so weak as to believe that Dreams are always of a good or bad presage, she complained to Cesonia of having slept ill. Alas! (said she) if you knew what a Dream I had, you would not wonder at it. How! (cried Amilcar) is it possible a bad Dream should cause Clidamira to have an unquiet night? What? (said she in some astonishment) does not Amilcar, who has so much wit and is so learned, know that some Dreams are certain predictions? I know (answered he) all that can be known concerning Dreams, and if I should make you the History of them, you would see that I am not ignorant therein. I know that Homer says, Dreams, and particularly those of Kings are sent from Heaven, that many excellent Philosophers have believed, the Gods distribute them to men, and that Pythagoras, who made them a great Mystery, learned the Art of interpreting them, especially amongst the Egyptians and Chaldeans. I know that there are Temples Built on purpose to receive the inspirations of Dreams, that in Egypt people go to sleep in the Temple of Serapis, to the end to have Prophetical Dreams, and that great care is taken there to record all Dreams which a fortuitous event has verified. Moreover, I know what a Dream Mandana had, which presaged the power of Cyprus; but being an African, and not obliged to believe that which people believe in Egypt or Persia, any more than what Pythagoras believed, I declare to you, that I laugh at all the Dreams in the World. For my part (said Anacreon, feigning himself of Clidamira's opinion) I assure you I am not of your mind, for this last night I had a Dream, the consequence of which will occasion me much trouble. Oh! I beseech you (said Clidamira) tell me what you Dreamt of. Me thought (answered he with a serious countenance) about midnight, Cupid, who never sleeps, came to knock at my chamber door. I asked him who knocked, and he answered me, 'twas a poor child all wet with a storm, that desired shelter of me. Being I thought his voice very sweet, I pitied him, and opened the door to him; when by the light of my Lamp which was still burning, I beheld that this lovely child had two wings, a quiver upon his shoulder, and a bow in his hand. Then I wiped his hair, caused him to come near the fire, and dried him with very much goodness; after which this little Traitor took his Bow, saying, he would see whether the rain had not spoiled it. But, alas! he no sooner took it in hand, but he bent it, and shot an arrow strait into my heart. After which he laughed at me and flew away, only telling me that his Bow was as it should be. Whereupon I was so enraged for having been deceived, that remembering confusedly, that people cry, Stop thief when any one is robbed, I began to cry, Stop Cupid, stop Cupid, so loud, that I waked. But the mischief is (added Anacreon) that at the first visit I made this day, this dream was turned into a History, by the charms of a person infinitely amiable. This is so jolly a dream (answered Berelisa smiling) that I condemn you to make an Ode upon it. If it were made long ago (said Amilcar) Clidamira would be much deluded; for she has heard this dream with as much attention as if Anacreon had had it indeed. But I am confident he has said all this only to intimate to Clidamira that he is taken with her to day more than ordinary. Since you have so well expounded my real sentiments (answered Anacreon) I will acknowledge what you have said. How? (cried Clidamira much disturbed) did not you dream as you have related, and are you of Amilcar's opinion that no heed is to be given to dreams? No question, I am Madam, (said Anacreon.) For my part (said Artemidorus) who scarce ever dream at all, I never cared much to reason upon dreams. As for me (said Berelisa) I have always found them so frivolous, false, extravagant and chimerical, that I shall easily rank myself on Amilcar's side. And for my particular (said Cesonia) I confess, it has happened to me to dream of things which have befallen me so exactly, that I know not what to think of them. Since chance (answered Amilcar) sometimes represents very regular Pictures in the Clouds, it is not to be wondered, if hazard brings to pass some things which are dreamed of. I have heard a Tuscan woman affirm that the most ancient manner of Divination was by dreams. She also told me that those which we have presently after repast, or in the second sleep, signify nothing, but that those we have in the beginning of the morning, are the most certain; that the dreams of the Spring are more true, than those of the Autumn; and that it's more ordinary to dream in the new Season of the Year than in all the rest. Believe me (amiable Cesonia) said Artemidorus, dreams are only a bare representation of images. They are pleasant or sad, according to the constitution when they are purely natural. Those which are mixed, have extrinsical causes, which supply matter to the fancy; and this is the reason that many times we dream of things which we have seen, or thought on, and most of all of things which we desire. And certainly this last manner of dreaming has brought Dreams into such credit, when it falls out that we see the people by day whom we dream of by night. For many times our hearts desire or fear many things, which we are not sensible of; so that in sleeping, our fancy, which is moved by our desires and fears, without our consent, causes us to dream more of that which we fear or desire than of any other thing It is not therefore to be wondered if it sometimes comes to pass by chance, that we see those we dreamt of, because we usually dream of those people whom we cannot meet with. Since 'tis certain that we desire only that which may be hoped, and fear only that which may possibly come to pass. I agree with you (said Amilcar) that Dreams may denote our inclinations, but I deny that they can presage our fortunes, unless as they proceed from our constitutions. For, they say, cruel people are wont to have terrible dreams as well as those that are melancholic. So that when it falls out that the dreams and adventures of these people have resemblance, it is not to be wondered at, forasmuch as they are produced by one and the same cause. I know well such as are skilful in dreams, say there are three sorts, which they distinguish and divide as exactly, as if they had travelled into the Country of Dreams, as men do into Asia. But to speak truth, they are mistaken; for if the Gods would advertise men of that which must betid them, they would do it more clearly. And besides (added he) when I see a Greyhound asleep dream of a Deer, as I do of my mistress, and perhaps better too, I conclude that my dreams come from my temper alone, I set my mind at rest, and do every thing as if I had not dreamt at all. Indeed (added Berelisa) I know no more pleasant fancy than to think that the Gods await till we be asleep to advertise us so doubtfully of that which must happen to us; the Gods, I say, who are Lords of the World and of Events, who can change our wills as they please, and who inspire to us all that seems good to them. But, I beseech you (said Anacreon) what kind of dream is that which the fair Clidamira had? It is such (answered she blushing) that I cannot tell it to any but Artemidorus. This Prince than became sufficiently perplexed; for he conceived this was but a contrivance of Clidamira to speak to him apart before he went away. But though he much feared to offend Berelisa, yet he could not resolve to answer Clidamira uncivilly before persons that were strangers. Wherefore, beginning to speak, I am so little skilful in interpreting dreams (said he coldly,) that I see not why you should choose me rather than another. However, my Lord (answered she) I must needs tell it you; and so approaching near, and speaking low to him; Do not fear (said she to him) that I am going to entertain you with my dreams; and if you have any justice left, consider (I conjure you) whilst Berelisa and I go to Praeneste, that your heart was mine before hers was yours, and that I ought not to be so generous as to procure your return to Leontium, with the certainty of never being loved by you. 'Tis too much, Madam, 'tis too much (answered he, not being able to restrain himself) to desire to be loved at the same time both by Meleontus and Artemidorus. How? my Lord (said she) do you not understand that I endeavoured to make Meleontus who is the Prince's Favourite, my Lover, only that I might be in a capacity to make your peace when I pleased? I understand very well (answered he) that Clidamira is ever desirous to gain all and lose nothing. But as far as I perceive, my Lord (said Berelisa blushing) you have dreamed as well as Clidamira, for you speak at least as much to her as she does to you. You have very well guessed (answered Clidamira, who delighted to make Berelisa jealous) but Artemidorus' dream is not so assuredly true as mine. Perhaps if he expounded yours (replied she hastily) it would not be granted to be more true than his. Believe me (said Amilcar to Clidamira) stay till you be at Praeneste for the explication of your dreams; for you will find there a Kinsman of the Priest of Fortune's Temple, who has so great a wit, that what he is ignorant of, is not known by any. But since you conceive (answered Clidamira) no heed is to be given to Dreams, you must think too that no explication can be given of them. I do so, (replied Amilcar) but I am strongly persuaded, he I speak of will convince you that none but Physicians can make good use of the dreams of their Patients, whereby they sometimes judge very certainly what humour it is that is predominant in them. I beseech you (said Berelisa, who sought only to interrupt the conversation of Artemidorus with her Rival) give us recommendations to him you speak of. I will, Madam (answered Amilcar) but before I write to him (for I contracted a friendship with him during my travels) I have a desire to tell you what manner of person he is, that so if he does not please you, I may not lose a Letter. You are a good husband of your words (replied Berelisa) but however I consent to what you desire. And so do I (added Artemidorus) and for my part (said Cesonia) I entreat it of you; For I have heard a good character given of him by a Kinswoman of mine who was at Praeneste. As for me (said Anacreon) I shall be glad to know what kind of person an honest man is whom I am to see. There remains only Clidamira to entreat me (said Amilcar.) Since I do not oppose the consent of the company (answered she) 'tis sufficient. Know then (said Amilcar) that Telantus is of a middle stature, has black hair, a pale complexion, very large eyes, a handsome mouth, an ingenious aspect, a sweet and careless air; he naturally loves the world and pleasures, but having a quicksighted mind, he has by his prudence placed himself out of the reach of many accidents which might have rendered him unhappy. His wit is a little slow; but yet he speaks very agreeably, though he has no very sprightly fancy. If he followed his own inclination, he would be full of discourse; but he constrains himself partly out of wisdom and partly out of policy. Most commonly he does not speak his thoughts of what he sees, but when he pleases he speaks them admirably well. Yet he is subject to be prejudiced; and without thinking himself to be so, he many times does injustice even when he believes himself most equitable; but this defect is not peculiar to him, and the greatest part of men are guilty of it. Indeed I saw him once have a very strange prejudice upon a certain occasion; for because he did not affect an ancient Priest of the Temple of Fortune, he judged that he did not speak well when he spoke in public. And yet it is certain, that venerable old man charms all that hear him. He speaks with vehemence and elegance, his language is neither course nor affected, he knows how to join the Graces of Eloquence with the solidity of Morality; and if he is not always assured to persuade those that hear him, yet he is so to be heard with pleasure, even by such as are incapable to profit by his instructions. For all this, Telantus does not account him eloquent. Believe me (answered Berelisa) he is not the sole person that is liable to be prejudiced, and 'tis more hard than we think, not to be so at all. When one is but a little (replied Amilcar) 'tis no great defect; but when so much as to account that evil which is good, and ugly which is handsome, 'tis a great imperfection in an elevated mind; for there is a great distinction to be made between an error proceeding from ignorance, and an error proceeding from prejudice. But to return to Telantus, I believe he has something in his heart that inclines him to be very amorous, and ambitious, and I am persuaded he has had great conflicts with himself to overcome these two sentiments. No doubt he has done well (said Berelisa) for they are many times the causes of great disquiet. That's certain (answered Berelisa) but withal they cause a thousand pleasures. Believe me (said Clidamira) neither all the ambitious nor all the prejudiced are known, but sometimes we see people that make show of not being so, who affect to despise ambition, to satisfy that which they have in their hearts. However it be (said Amilcar) I think men are not frequently deceived who believe themselves always liable to error; and the surest way is to judge affirmatively of nothing upon apparences. But to return again to Telantus, he is complacent and civil, he loves company, and particularly that of Ladies, and I can assure you, that if he pleases he will write you pleasant Letters, as much Priest as he is; for I conceive this faculty is never lost after 'tis once gotten. I have further to tell you that Telantus believes as well as I, that 'tis no easy matter to find a great contentment without the assistance of Fortune. Thus, fair Berelisa, you see what a person the illustrious Telantus is; it remains for you to tell me whether you would have me write to him. You will do me a very great pleasure in so doing (answered she.) For my part (said Clidamira) I shall be glad to see him, but according to the character you give of him, I think I shall not speak to him about my dreams. After this, Artemidorus went away; but though Berelisa knew he would give Clidamira no new opportunity to speak to him, yet she was not fully satisfied with him, because she was solicitous to have him give her an account of what Clidamira said when she spoke to him apart. So that she looked a little coldly upon him as he went out; which though his heart reproached him with nothing, gave him some discontent; and therefore he writ to her the next morning. But he that carried the Letter being stopped by the way, Berelisa was gone her journey towards Praeneste with Clidamira and Anacreon, Artemidorus not being yet in a condition to travel. Nevertheless, to repair the fault of him that he sent, he caused a slave of notable wit to depart immediately to Praeneste and carry Berelisa her first Letter accompanied with another.  
In the mean time Amilcar continued to seek out ways to serve Aronces, and so did Herminius, and all the virtuous gallants of Rome, excepting Horatius, who, how generous soever, could not be sorry for the unhappiness of his Rival. As for Zenocrates, his secret jealousy caused him to avoid speaking of Aronces as much as he could, for fear it should be observed that he was less his friend than formerly. But though Amilcar would not altogether renounce his jollity, yet there were some hours, wherein he was pensive at least, if not sad. For besides the imprisonment of Aronces, and the trouble in which Plotina was, his mind was extremely perplexed by an order brought him by an African lately arrived, to return to Carthage. He loved Plotina as much as it is possible to love, he had Friends at Rome very dear to him, and he had an especial Friend in his own Country, who at that time had great need of him. Thus duty towards his Master, affection to his Friend, the interest of Aronces and the love he had for Plotina sufficiently divided his heart, to cause those that knew him well, to observe some little alteration in his humour. Plotina soon perceived it; and at first thought his resentment of Aronces' danger was the only cause of his discontent; and loving Clelia very well, he was sensibly concerned in her sorrow: as indeed Amilcar was extremely affected with the unhappinesses of Aronces and Clelia. But as love makes an exact discovery of the sentiments of the person loved, Plotina at length knew Amilcar's disturbance proceeded from some cause of his own. At which being troubled, Whence comes it, Amilcar (said she to him) that I see something in your countenance which seems to tell me you are sad? Alas! amiable Plotina (answered he) I see I can hide nothing from you, for I intended to dissemble the discontent which I have in my breast. But since you have discovered it, I must let you know, that love does not torment me only in Italy, it persecutes me also in Africa in the person of an illustrious Friend who is become unhappy by it. I knew all the beginning of his love, and was something concerned in it: but since I departed out of Africa, some things have befallen him, which excite me to pity him, and afflict me so much the more, for that I believe my presence is absolutely necessary to redress the fortune of my Friend. Nevertheless, the affection I have for you is so strong, that I know not whether the command of a Master, and the misfortunes of a Friend will be sufficient to oblige me to make a voyage into Africa. I say, a Voyage, Madam (added he) because at this present I account Rome my Country; for a Lover has no other but that of his Mistress. That which you say, is very obliging (replied Plotina) but being I am equitable and generous, I will not cause you to be deficient either to your Prince, or to your Friend. All that I desire of you is, that you will not depart till we be returned to Rome, and Aronces be acquitted. We hope this will shortly be effected; for the Queen of Hetruria, the Princess of the Leontines, the generous Melintha, and the amiable Hersilia have signified to my sister and me this morning, that they were going this day to make their utmost instance with Porsenna: I promise you more than you desire, Madam (said he to her) for I engage not to depart at all unless you command me. As he was speaking thus, Valeria entered, and told them Lucilius had sent word that all the Friends of Aronces were gone to intercede so urgently with Porsenna in his behalf, that a happy success was to be expected thereby. Which news something satisfying the minds of these two amiable Virgins, Plotina told Valeria what Amilcar had said to her, and then entreated him to declare what unhappiness it was that had befallen his friend he spoke of. Since the misfortunes of others sometimes a little solace our own (said he) I will content your curiosity, and no doubt you will agree that my Friend is to be pitied, that love is the same in all places, and that there is no infelicity so great, but that another may be found like it. After this, Valeria and Plotina knowing that Clelia was with Hermilia, gave order that none should interrupt them: and then Amilcar began to speak in these terms.  

The History of Cloranisbes' and Lysonice.  
YOu have heard me speak so much of Carthage; and you are so well informed of all that relates to my Country, of which the persons are, whom I am to speak of, that I shall in a manner wholly forbear to speak any thing of the Original of Utica, its manners, magnificence, customs or gallantry, being the same with those of Carthage; for I presuppose that as I, being an African, am become a Roman for your sakes, so you being Romans are become half Africans for mine. I shall therefore only tell you, that Cloranisbes', whose adventures I am to relate, is of a very illustrious Lineage, and that he is one of the most worthy, courageous, accomplished and agreeable persons in the world. He has a very noble air, a lofty countenance, and in brief, wants nothing that can get a man esteem, merit love or friendship. He has neglected no means to accomplish himself; for he has travelled, and has been in Greece to learn all that could not be taught him in Africa. Nor has he done like some young persons, who seem in the beginning of their lives to design to acquire extraordinary worth, but after they have learned many things which are suitable for the world, they become idle and never practise any thing which they learned. For my part I account those, that have attained some good qualities, and afterwards are in a long incertainty what they ought to do, to be as void of Reason as a Pilot, who should furnish a Ship with all things necessary for a long Voyage, weigh Anchor, noise Sail, and then not knowing whither he would go, abandon himself to the pleasure of the Wind, and put himself in danger of being swallowed up by a quicksand, or split against a Rock. Yet the World abounds with such people, as have learned the Art Military, and were never afterwards at the War; with others, who have had Dancing-Masters, and never go to Balls, and which is worst, with others who have learned to speak several languages, and speak their own ill; and with others too, who are born in the world, and do not understand it. I crave your pardon for my comparison and my observations, but I could not refrain them; hereafter I will be more cautions of digressing so far from Cloranisbes'. Know then, that having learned all things requisite to the accomplishing of a brave man, he determined to pass his life at the Court, and to do all he could to obtain honour there. Accordingly in the beginning of his manhood, a War being fallen out between Numidia and Massilia, he signalised himself in it, and performed actions worthy of great applause. So that the Prince of Carthage was pleased to take him into favour, and to reside about him. I need not put you in mind (amiable Plotina, and charming Valeria) that this Prince is called so, only by reason he is descended from an Aunt of Dido, and that ordinarily he dwells at Utica; because I suppose you remember to have heard that 'tis only a Title which he wears, though he has no authority in Carthage. Nevertheless, he has great interest there, but he is a Sovereign only in his own State. So that he is really but Prince of Utica, though he is styled otherwise. This City is of a very strong situation, upon the shore of the Sea, and near a great River, thirty miles from Carthage. It's Original is very dubious, it has been ruined and rebuilt, it has changed its name two sundry times, and it may be said, that 'tis one of the most inconstant Cities of the World in all things. 'Tis true, the air of the Country is apt to inspire levity, and therefore the changes are less to be wondered which happen in these places than in others. The Numidians and Massilians who are neighbours, are levity itself; and 'tis not altogether without Reason that people rely not too much upon the faith of the Africans. Not but that honesty is of every Country, and constancy is sometimes to be met with at Utica as well as at Rome. Yea, there is a Prophecy which affirms, that in this City shall one day be seen the greatest example of constancy that ever was heard of, and that it shall be accounted a modern City, although it be very ancient. But since I know not what is to come I cannot assure you, whether this Prediction be true or false, but only that the Court of the Prince of Utica is very agreeable. For all the brave persons of Carthage go thither frequently to visit the Prince and most of the youth of Quality of Numidia come to learn gallantry under the Prince of Carthage. The Ladies there have noble aspects and delightful wits; and though there are few great Beauties amongst them, yet there are abundance infinitely amiable, and indeed scarce any unhandsome. They are all pleasing, merry, and gentle; but how lovely soever they were, Cloranisbes' at his return from his Travels did not become amorous. His mind was so filled with the Greek beauties that had charmed him, and the gallantry of Athens and Corinth so strongly possessed him, that he had nothing but ambition in his heart when he arrived at Utica. So that the desire to please the Prince was the great spur to make him active. The Prince of Carthage had at that time a Sister much elder than himself, who taking a fancy to rule him absolutely, had a strange jealousy of every one that came near him. Wherefore the merit of Cloranisbes' causing her to be jealous of him, she secretly did him all the bad offices she could; though she deported herself civilly enough towards him before the Prince and the whole Court. But he was so amiable a person, and the Prince had such a great inclination to love him, that her artifices were at first unprofitable. When she saw she could do him no hurt, she bethought herself to remove him from the Court by some honourable way. And accordingly, as young as he was, she caused the Prince to send him to negotiate affairs of importance in Libya; at his return, a War happening between Carthage and Numidia, he was made a Commander of the Forces which the Prince sent thither; but taking advantage of his absence, she caused a hundred things to be told the Prince, to render his fidelity suspected to him. She also corrupted some Friends and ancient Domestics of Cloranisbes'; after which, she caused some of her own dependants to suggest several things to the Prince against Cloranisbes', which should induce him to believe that he was a man of boundless ambition, that he held intelligence with the King of Numidia, that he betrayed Carthage and him too, and that it was very dangerous to suffer him longer in the head of the Army. Whereas nothing of importance was wont to be told the Prince, but he communicated it to the Princess his sister, in whom he absolutely confided, she made show not to believe the informations given against Cloranisbes', and offered to justify him. But in fine (said she to him with unparallelled dissimulation) though I am persuaded Cloranisbes' is innocent, yet 'tis requisite to act with as much prudence, as if he were believed culpable; and therefore, my Lord, if I may counsel you, send a strict order to Cloranisbes' to come immediately to you. If he comes, it will be fit to observe him and endeavour to discover the truth: if he does not, his disobedience will argue his guilt. The Prince judging this advice of the Princess reasonable, sent an express order to Cloranisbes' to come forthwith to him, and to resign the command of the Forces to another whom the Prince named to him. But at the same time that this order was dispatched away, this subtle Princess obliged those false Friends of Cloranisbes' whom she had suborned and treacherous Domestics to write to him to beware of coming. So that when Cloranisbes' received the Prince's order, he received four tickets, which extremely perplexed him; for, in the first he found only these words,  Very bad offices have been done you here; have a care, and distrust all things. 
In another,  The Prince is much incensed against you; the Princess excuses you as much as she is able, but cannot appease him; take care of your affairs and your safety. 
There was also a third, in which Cloranisbes' sound these words:  Your destruction is designed, Cloranisbes', therefore do not trust to your innocence; for they which have power to ruin the innocent, make them criminal when they please. 
But that which astonished Cloranisbes' most was the fourth, which spoke thus:  If you obey the Prince's Order, you cannot escape imprisonment or death; this is all that can be told you by a Friend who hazards his own fortune to save you. 
You may judge, Madam, in what a perplexity Cloranisbes' was; for he did not mistrust those who gave him this advice. But that which wholly persuaded him to think himself lost was, that the Princess of Carthage having cunningly caused a rumour to be spread in Utica, that if Cloranisbes' came, he should be arrested, he received also twenty other advisoes, and particularly one from so faithful a Friend, that he could not doubt of it. Yet his own inclination led him to trust to his innocence, and to go to the Prince. But having consulted two very prudent friends whom he had in the Army, they dissuaded him from it. But if I do not obey (said Cloranisbes') I render myself suspected, and become culpable. Believe me (answered one of those that counselled him) 'tis better for a man to render himself suspected than miserable: but to take a middle course in this extremity, and to testify that you design not to render yourself Master of the Forces, leave the Army and go towards Utica; and whereas you have a house upon the frontier, feign yourself sick, write to the Prince, that assoon as you recover you will go to him, and in the mean time your friends will do their utmost to discover what you are accused of, and justify you to the Prince. This counsel seeming very prudent to Cloranisbes', he opposed his own inclination, and followed the advice of his friends. So he left the Army, made show of intending to go Utica, feigned himself sick, when he was at his house upon the frontier, and writ to the Prince after the manner that he was counselled. But at the same time he answered all those that had given him intelligence, and conjured them to send him what they could learn. Wherefore they that betrayed him showing his Letters to the Princess, who endeavoured to destroy him, she made use of them to persuade the Prince that he was not really sick, and to inform him what a curiosity he had to know all that was spoken of him at Utica. For though he spoke in his Letters as being innocent, yet they contributed something to make him seem culpable, because they employed that he was not very sick, that he was desirous of intelligence, and durst not trust himself. But to make the matter worse, this subtle Princess pretending to be his Friend, sent one of her own Physicians to him, to the end that if he were in health as she believed, he might inform the Prince of it; and that if he were sick, she might make him report that he was not. Now, for that a Fever is not to be had at pleasure, Cloranisbes' took his bed indeed, and carried himself like a sick man; but the Physician found that he was in health, and reported so to the Prince, who no longer doubting but that Cloranisbes' was guilty, was so exasperated against him, that all the intercessions of his true friends could not hinder the Prince from sending to forbid him coming near to Utica; for the house where Cloranisbes' stayed, was upon the frontier. So that Cloranisbes' was banished without knowing the cause of this severity against him. At first he was extremely afflicted; but having a great and firm Soul, he took a resolution on a sudden, and writ to his Friends to desire them not to trouble themselves further about making his peace, assuring them that he found his heart strong enough to be able to live in solitude, and enjoy himself without being concerned with the rest of the world. 'Tis true, there was a wise old man who contributed much to cause him to take this resolution; for going to see one of his friends a days journey from his own house, he lost his way, and went cross the corner of a Forest. And finding a mountainous and barren Country beyond, he perceived some miserable Shepherds tilling a little corner of ground between the Rocks, and observed a venerable old man who lived in a Cave not far off, and who with a countenance both melancholy and serene, said to them, as he beheld them, Alas! poor people! beware of rendering your fields fruitful, leave your land uncultivated, if you love quiet; for if your Country become good, you will soon have War. Cloranisbes' who stopped to ask the way, having heard what this venerable old man said, seemed surprised at it, and turning towards him, Tell me I pray (said he) for what reason you would make a desert of the Country you dwell in. Because (answered he) solitude is always inseparable from deserts, barrenness upholds solitude, virtue and peace are in solitude preserved, and felicity found, if it be possible for men to be capable of it. This old man who was a Greek, though he spoke the African tongue, and whose name was Andronodorus, spoke this with so grave an air, that Cloranisbes' believed that perhaps the Gods had caused him to meet with him for his comfort. Wherefore lighting from his horse, and giving him to the slave which followed him, he drew Andronodorus apart, and asked him, who he was? where he lived? what had caused the aversion, which he had against the World? My Lord (said he to him) I was born at Samos, and I was banished by Polycrates when he usurped the Sovereign Power, because he knew well I could not submit. So I departed from my Country with all that I could carry in a Ship, intending to see if it were possible for the monsters of Africa to be more inhuman than the men of my Country. For in truth, my Lord, I acknowledge to the shame of mankind, I never found any thing but weakness, folly, injustice, and wickedness in all places where I have lived, and principally in those where wealth and plenty are to be met with. I have had a father who took no thought for any thing but his pleasures, I have had children who would have me mind nothing but theirs; my wife had virtue, but not goodness; my relations had no humanity, my friends were but little sincere to my interests, my domestics were of small fidelity; and in sum, I may say, that in all places where I have lived, I have seen almost all others as unhappy as myself, though they did not think so. But fortune having caused me to suffer shipwreck upon the Coast of Africa long ago, and chance conducted me to a Cave on the side of this Forest which you have crossed, I took it for my habitation, and have lived here since by the assistance of a slave, who escaped drowning with me, and with the help of some poor Fishers has tilled as much Land as is necessary for our subsistence. So that this little Sanctuary being encompassed with a very great extent of Land which is not husbanded, I have enjoyed much tranquillity since I came hither, without conversing with any but the Priest of a Temple not far from hence, who taught me his language. But I see these poor people at work, will make my Desert arable; and so I look upon them as those that go about to destroy my felicity; for, in brief, if they bring me neighbours, they will bring me enemies.  
Cloranisbes' then admiring Andronodorus, desired him that he would lead him to his Cave; which at first he refused: but on a sudden checking himself, Come, my Lord (said he to him) come, for it is not fit for me to belie myself, and after having affirmed that virtue may be preserved in solitude, to show you only a wild and uncivil virtue. After this Andronodorus led Cloranisbes' by a small path little trodden; before his Cave he found a little rustical Garden, but very neat, and in the Cave a Bed of Bulrushes woven together, Seats of the same, some Books which he had borrowed of the Priest, and Writing-Tables. Then Andronodorus took his turn to ask Cloranisbes', who he was? and this illustrious exile related his fortune to him. Upon which Andronodorus, who wished he could make Hermits of all the men in the World, set himself to persuade him so earnestly not to offer to resist the will of the Gods, that he fell to tell him a hundred things, whereof I cannot refrain from telling you part. I beseech you (said he to Cloranisbes') suffer not yourself to run into that general error of all men, who will always force their destiny. Resign yourself to the conduct of the Gods, and know that true Wisdom consists only in this. As long as I was in my own Country, I behaved myself like a good Patriot; but since Fortune cast me into a strange one, without subsistence and without any sanctuary, I made myself one, and have found a safer in poverty and solitude, than I could have done elsewhere. For since I came hither, I have deceived no person, and none has deceived me. The error of all men, is blindly to seek that which they have not; they who have no tranquillity, desire it, but do not that which is requisite to obtain it; and they who have, are weary of it, and think they should be happier in a more turbulent way of life. When we are children, we long to be a little advanced in age; when we are very old, we wish we could again become Children; and when we are in the prime age of our lives, we never consider what we have been, nor what we must be, nor many times too, what we are; but only addict ourselves to find out pleasures, which are so momentany, that we scarce know whether they are pleasures or no, because ordinarily sorrow follows them so close, that it extinguishes all their sweetness. Thus, Cloranisbes', you see what the World is, which you have so much regret to be banished from. But, wise Andronodorus (answered he) as I am far from your age, so I am from your wisdom; and therefore I should find it a hard matter not to strive all I could against my bad fortune. But, who told you that it is bad? (said Andronodorus) do you know the secrets of destiny? and is it not your duty to conform yourself to it? We have sometimes seen people think that they were out of their way, who in the mean time escaped being overwhelmed under the ruins of a house which had fallen upon them if they had followed the ordinary way. Therefore 'tis the grand secret, as I told you, to submit to the decree of Heaven, and to have so noble a soul, and so rational a mind, as to be always ready to pass from good to bad fortune, from riches to poverty, from health to sickness, from liberty to servitude, and from life to death. This certainly is that which Pythagoras intended to signify by his Metempsychosis or transmigration of souls; for no doubt he only meant to intimate, that the soul of man could not be all things. 'Tis fit than not to resist our destiny, it behoves us to submit to it; if the God's will that you live at Court, they will draw you thither, whether you endeavour it or no; and if they do not, you will but torment yourself in vain. But in brief, not to repeat to you all the discourse of the solitary Andronodorus to Cloranisbes', I shall tell you that he comforted him, and that Cloranisbes' resolving to comply with his fortune without tormenting himself more, contracted a friendship with this wise old man to whom he offered his house to retire into, which he would not accept, and returned home without caring for any other counsel but that of Artemidorus. And therefore he writ to his Friends at Utica, that they would give over soliciting for his revocation, telling them it was sufficient if they only maintained that he had done nothing to deserve his disfavour, and that he desired nothing more from their assistance. He writ this to them so earnestly, that they obeyed his pleasure; and as Princes easily enough forget what they do not see, and delight in, the Prince of Carthage no longer thought of Cloranisbes'. For my part I much regretted him; for I was his Friend; but, in fine, it behoved him to comfort himself for his absence, and I comforted myself sweetly enough with two or three Mistresses, which I courted about that time. Nevertheless, as jovial as you see me, I can assure you Cloranisbes' was better pleased with me than with any of his Friends; for I had the confidence to ask the Prince's permission to go see him in his Desert, though I knew well enough that the Princess of Carthage was offended at it. In the mean time Cloranisbes' delighted himself in his solitude with embellishing his house, which he made very agreeable; he also addicted himself much to reading; and having slaves that were skilled in Music, he diverted himself very innocently. The first time I visited him, I found him so merry, so satisfied with his retirement, in so good health, and with such tranquillity of mind, that I took occasion to jest with him about it. How? (said I to him) Cloranisbes', so goodly a person, so full of wit, so rational, so fit for society and gallantry, be happy with Meadows, Rivers, Woods and Fountains? What? can Cloranisbes' be so jovial as I see him, without Nymphs, without Ladies, without Shepherdesses, and without having so much as one poor Iris? Yes (answered he, smiling) and I am so pleased in having no need of any but myself to be happy, as no man can be more. I confess to you, I laughed at his wisdom; I gave him the hearing of all that his Hermit had said to him, but he did not convert me; I left him to his opinion, and carried back my own. Six months after, I went again to visit him; but I found him much changed, he seemed sad and paler than ordinary; and though he was more decent, and even more magnificent than I had seen him formerly, yet I perceived well something troubled his mind. Methinks (said I to him assoon as I observed it) your countenance tells me your felicity of solitude has not lasted you very long. Cloranisbes' smiled to hear me speak thus, but though he told me he was sick, yet I knew that his malady was rather in mind than body. But being I was to stay with him some days, I would not press him too much at first, and we went to walk together upon a Terrace, the prospect of which was very handsome. After which, having some orders to give to a Painter who was embellishing a Banqueting-house at the end of his Garden, he asked me liberty to go thither, and left me to walk whither I would. Wherefore having a purpose to inquire of a man that belonged to him, with whom he entrusted many things, I went to seek him in the house, from one room to another, and not finding him, I stayed at last in Cloranisbes' closet which I found open. And being naturally curious, I could not see Verses upon the Table without reading them; for knowing Cloranisbes' made very good, and perceiving those that lay there were written with his own hand, my curiosity was redoubled. So that taking them up, I read them with much pleasure, because they seemed very amorous. But that which made me consider them more, was, for that I accounted them an infallible proof that Cloranisbes' was in love, and that his sadness only proceeded from thence. At the same instant a conceit coming in my head to play a prank with him, I set myself with all diligence to copy them out, and I was so happy that I had done transcribing them a good while before I found Cloranisbes' again. For I went out of his Closet without being seen by any person, and going forth of the house entered into an Orchard to take a good long turn, feigning to seek for Cloranisbes', who at last met me. All the evening I found him sufficiently sad, though he endeavoured to seem otherwise: I pretended to be a little weary and sleepy, to the end I might retire in good time. So being led to my apartment, I was at liberty to execute the design I had. I spent all the evening in translating those Verses into Greek; for I had formerly travelled into Greece, and so had Cloranisbes'. So that that language was not unknown to us.  
Having passed the night in this Translation, I slept so late, that Cloranisbes' fearing I was not well, came to my chamber, and asked me whether I were sick, slothful, or sleepy. I assure you (said I to him, awaking myself) I cannot tell you which; and besides (added I) you were so pensive last night, that I imagined I should do you a pleasure in leaving you to entertain your own thoughts. You are not wont to be so complacent to the loss of your own pleasure (answered Cloranisbes') but however rise, and let us walk. I obeyed him, and we went together into a Grove which is extremely agreeable. We had not gone a hundred paces in it, but turning myself toward him, See, Cloranisbes' (said I to him) a very fit place to make Verses in, and I doubt not but your leisure has occasioned you to write excellent things. Solitary people (answered he) have so few subjects to write of, that their fancies furnish them with nothing agreeable; for, to tell you the truth, 'tis so common to declaim against Fortune, that I would not choose it. For my part (replied I) Verses that are not of Love, must be admirably good to please me; for since Verses were no doubt invented for Love and Mirth, they must have something of both, to charm me. But as to the matter of verses (added I) I must show you an Elegy that was given me, which in my conceit is very passionate, and I have made a Copy of them myself, to give you. In speaking this, I drew forth the Translation which I had of Cloranisbes' Elegy into Greek out of his own Language, which naturally is not very fit for Poetry. At first Cloranisbes' took it without thinking to find any thing in it that he knew; but he had scarce read four Verses, when looking upon me, Ha! Amilcar (said he to me) see the greatest chance in the world. How? (said I to him very seriously.) The sense of these four Verses (replied he) agrees so exactly with four which I made, that nothing was ever seen so like. Such things always surprise when they happen (answered I coldly) but 'tis not very frequent; and I myself (added I confidently) have made Verses which I have found almost word for word in Hesiod, whom I had not read at the time when I made them. So that it could not be said that they remained in my memory unwittingly, and that I believed I composed them though I only remembered them. Therefore 'tis not to be much wondered at, that your conceit should jump with that of another; and when conformity is only in the sense and not in the words, the chance is less marvellous. After this, Gloranisbes' proceeded to read; but the more he read the more he was astonished; he stopped at each Verse with incredible amazement, and not imagining it possible for me to have seen his Verses, or having seen them, to have had time to translate them, he made exclamations at every word; and having told me a hundred times, This is strange, this is admirable, this is wonderful, this is incredible, and testified his amazement in all manners he could, he was, in fine, wholly astonished that I was not so at all. No doubt (added he) 'tis because you believe there are some thoughts in the Verses you show me, which resemble those which I have made. I certainly believe so (answered I) and I wonder as much at your astonishment, as you do at the conformity of your Verses with these which I show you. Ha! Amilcar (cried he) you do not understand how the matter is; and to force you to admiration, mark well the Elegy which I am going to repeat to you, and if you do not find that the beginning, continuance, and end are the same, never believe me. After which Cloranisbes' repeated his Elegy, and I taking my turn to seign astonishment, stopped at every Verse, and made cries of admiration, which surpassed all his before. But in fine (said I to him, after he had done repeating the Elegy) it is impossible this should be the effect of mere chance, you must have borrowed this sense from some other, or some other from you. Cloranisbes' then fell to make a thousand Oaths to me, that he had never before seen the Verses which I showed him. It must be a long while then (said I to him) since you composed yours; you gave Copies of them when you were in Greece, and some one that understands our Language, desired to enrich his own with them. That cannot be (answered he) for 'tis but three days ago that these Verses were made, and I have not showed them to any whatsoever. So that this accident must be looked upon as a prodigy. But do you know (added he) who is the Author of those Verses which so much resemble mine? No (answered I confidently) but a Kinsman of Thespis sent them to me by a Ship that came to Utica. But as far as I perceive (added I) you make Love-Verses in your solitude.  
But as far as I perceive (said Plotina interrupting him) you intent that we shall not hear Cloranisbes' Verses, and you have forgot that Valeria understands the language into which you translated them well enough to hear them with pleasure. I have not forgotten any thing that is lovely in you (answered Amilcar) but because I was but the Translator of those Verses, I durst not show you them unless you had commanded me, though I something desired it. But since you have some curiosity for them, you shall have them in your own language; for when I began to understand it, I translated them a second time in this manner. See then what were the sentiments of Cloranisbes'.  

Elegy to Melantha.  
IT was within a pleasing solitude,  
Where free from cares and from inquietude,  
My thoughts an undisturbed sereneness found,  
And in themselves my easy wishes crowned  
A goodly plain, a Meadow flowery fair,  
With the soft courtship of the perfumed air,  
Censing the fields, or bubbling streams that pass  
O re pebbles; or that third the matted grass;  
The charming notes of birds that move delight,  
And the more charming silence of the night,  
Courts noiseful pleasures taught me to despise,  
And joys of undesigning shades to prize.  
There I without ambition, love, or strife,  
Passed the soft minutes of a careless life;  
Until Melantha 's fatal beauty found  
My desert out; strait from th'unhappy ground  
Away the disinchanted pleasures flew,  
And rest for ever bad my Soul adieu.  
Since than my mind by melancholy seized,  
And raging pangs of jealousy diseased,  
Like a cracked Mirror thousand forms doth show  
Of Rivals, whom Melantha never knew.  
My lightest wish was death, hopeless to move  
That heart that only could ambition love.  
And still the more I paid profound respect,  
My slighted service found the more neglect;  
As if my adoration were a crime,  
Or dying sighs were murmurs out of time.  
And yet obdurate as she is, I find  
No other passion can divert my mind  
While she not pitying my forlorn estate  
Can find no easier object for her hate.  
If it be so, ye Gods, I only crave  
That last relief despairing Lovers have.  
May grief destroy me, and Melantha find  
A Victim fit for her ambitious mind.   
If Cloranisbes' Verses (said Valeria) be as passionate as yours, he must certainly have been very amorous. For my part (added Plotina) I do not doubt of it; for Amilcar's Verses are ordinarily more sprightly than these, but not so passionate. However (added she, turning towards him) proceed if you please to the sequel of the History of Cloranisbes'; for I extremely long to know whether he told you upon whom he made these so amorous Verses.  
I am so desirous to obey you, Madam (answered Amilcar) that I will not stay to answer the illusive commendation you have given the Verses which I make. To return therefore where I was, I shall tell you, that turning myself towards Cloranisbes', But as far as I perceive (said I to him) you make Love-Verses in your solitude, and make them as well as if you were amorous. Nevertheless I do not much believe that you can be so; for to speak truth, there are not many African Ladies to be found in the Country that are fit to take such hearts as that of Cloranisbes'. Alas! (answered he sighing) I thought indeed to live in safety in my Desert: but, to my unhappiness, I have seen so divine a person here, that I have not been able to resist her charms. Then I pressed Cloranisbes' to tell me who that fair one was, where he had seen her, and how he became in Love with her: for as for the name of Melantha which you give her in your Verses (said I to him) I know 'tis but a name of love. Cloranisbes' told me that since he was banished he had seen but two or three of his Friends, and myself, who had visited him twice, excepting the sol●●ary Andronodorus whom he saw very frequently; till one day, walking in a great Waste that leads to the way which goes to Massilia, he beheld a handsome slave, who saluting him respectfully, told him, some Ladies of quality desired him to permit them to see his Garden. Wherefore having not yet forgot to be civil, he answered him that he should joyfully receive the honour which they would do his house. But that he might not fail in the respect which it behoved him to give them, he asked the slave their names; and was told that there was the wise of a man of chief quality of Massilia at a house not far distant from his; that this Lady's name was Cyrene; that she had her daughter with her who was named Lysonice, and two of her kinswomen who dwelled with her. The slave added also that, to divert them, Cyrene purposed to let them see all the fair houses thereabouts. Upon which Cloranisbes' sending the slave back speedily, prepared himself to receive these Ladies in the best manner he could, though it was something troublesome to him at that time to be obliged to spend a day in Ceremony; for in the humour he was in then, he could have liked better to see a Painter at work whom he had in his house, or hear a slave sing that belonged to him and bad an excellent voice, or entertain himself with a Book, or his own thoughts, than to receive Ladies whom he believ 〈◊〉 should never see more than this time. Nevertheless in consideration of civility, he ordered his servant● to make preparation to receive them. And then causing a handsome horse to be brought to him, he rid to meet them as far as he could. When he approached their Chariot he first beheld Cyrene, who though of good age seemed to him to have a graceful countenance. But presently after all that were with her lifting up their Vails, he saw the charming Lysonice her daughter, and he saw her so beautiful, that his eyes were dazzled, his heart was moved, and his reason almost wholly laid aside at that moment, so that he had like to have made his compliment to Lysonice without speaking at all to Cyrene or her Friends, who were notwithstanding very amiable. Yet at length he recollected himself from his dumb admiration; and beginning to speak, I would not have believed, Madam, (said Cloranisbes' to Cyrene) that an unfortunate Exile could have received so great an honour; and if I could have foreseen it, I would have endeavoured to put my Desert in a condition to divert so fair a company. Since we find you in it, (answered Cyrene obligingly) we have nothing more to desire. For my part (added one of her Kinswomen, whose name was Pasilia) when the Master of the house is a person of merit, I do not much care to find that the Garden-plots and walls are not decently kept. I am altogether of your mind (added a sprightly Virgin named Delisia.) And as for me (said the fair Lysonice) I have at present the greatest consolation in the World, in seeing an Exile who is neither savage or incivil; for whereas we ourselves are Exiles, it makes me hope that we shall preserve some civility in our Desert, since Cloranisbes' has retained so much in his. What? Madam (cried Cloranisbes' looking upon Lysonice) can such a person as you be exiled? If it be so, it must needs be only because your beauty is too redoubtable to those that banish you. Cloranisbes' had no sooner said this, but Lysonice blushed, and he perceived it would have been better to have spoken of the worth of Ladies in general than of Lysonice in particular; but it was not in his power to repress his first sentiment. But Cyrene, to interrupt the praises given her daughter, entreated Cloranisbes' that he would do them the favour to let them see his house. And so, they went thither wards slowly, continuing their discourse.  
Cyrene told Cloranisbes' that the King of Massilia had banished the valiant Bostar her Husband by the artifices of some enviers he had in this Court, and that having been sent to a house of his own upon the frontier, he had obeyed, and arrived there only fifteen days ago. Cloranisbes' heard with pleasure that which Cyrene said to him; and though he knew no reason for it, yet he was glad that Lysonice was an Exile, and that he had some conformity with so fair a person. At length having passed a great Waste and two Courts, this fair company alighted before a stately entrance of stone-steps: for though the Architecture of this house is something barbarous, 'tis notwithstanding magnificent. For instead of the Statues of the Graces, Venus, Diana, or Apollo, as in other places, here were represented huge Lions, Tigers and Panthers; and in embossed imagery, Crocodiles devouring passengers, frays of savage beasts, and shapes of the most extraordinary monsters that have been seen in Africa. But, in fine, this house is very handsome though built after the ancient mode; so that Cyrene commended it with as much earnestness as a person could do that desired to please the Master of it. I beseech you, Madam (said Cloranisbea to her) do not so extol a thing which does not deserve it; for I am none of those who seek to be commended for what has been made by Architects who are dead many ages ago; and if you have any thing to commend me for, it must be (added he smiling) for not having loved Lions, Tigers and Panthers so much as my Ancestors. In speaking this, he obliged Cyrene to enter into a Hall, the painting of which was newly finished, where the history of Diana was admirably represented. It not being usual in Massilia to see such rare Pictures, all the Ladies were charmed with those, and stayed a good time to behold them, during which they all made it apparent that they were infinitely ingenious, and especially Lysonice. After this Cloranisbes' caused them to pass into a Chamber hung with Tapestry of Sydon; for having been a great Traveller, he had renounced the simplicity of Numidia. Then he led them into a Cabinet open on three sides, the prospect of which was very handsome; it was full of Pictures, Books, and Musical Instruments; and round about it were Cushions wrought with flowers, and a plat of Seabull-rushes covered the floor. But as far as I perceive (said Lysonice pleasantly when the company was all fet) you purpose to be eternally banished, by so delightfully adorning your Desert. Yet I am not of your humour; for I shall always so fancy to myself to return to the Court in a few days, that I look upon all the deformities of a disordered house as things which comfort me, and assure me I shall not stay long there. You are so fit for the World (answered Cloranisbes') that 'tis not to be wondered if you love it: but you are also so amiable, that you ought never to fear solitude in what place soever you be. I know not whether I can fear solitude (replied she) but I am sure I very much fear bad company; and that which makes me dislike continuing in the Country, is not so much the fear of seeing no body, as of seeing people that displease me. I believe what you say (answered Delisia) but I believe too that you love agreeable company. I grant it (replied she) but I had rather not see any whatsoever, than see some whom I dislike. Did you consider well what you say, Daughter (said Cyrene smiling) you would not speak so positively. Indeed (added Pasilia) they who have so ambitious a soul as you, can never think it possible for themselves to conform to solitude; which is a way repugnant to ambition. I beseech you (said Lysonice) do not use tailery upon me before such a person as Cloranisbes', who does not know me so well as to discern how far he ought to believe you. No, no, Madam (answered Cloranisbes') do not fear that I think any thing of you which is not to your advantage; for your beauty so powerfully disposes hearts to judge favourably of you, that I find I cannot believe any thing against you. Since 'tis so (said Lysonice, perceiving her Mother was talking to Pasilia at a window) I defy you to speak all that you please. Then I shall tell Cloranisbes' (said Delisia to whom she spoke) what a dispute we had by the way as we came hither; and I believe, as prepossessed as he is with your beauty, he will not acknowledge that your sentiment is more just than mine. We shall see that (answered Lysonice coldly.) I beseech you (said Cloranisbes' then to Delisia) do not force me to be against you. Provided you will swear to me (answered she) that you will judge sincerely and and without partiality, I desire no more of you; and without so much as expecting your oath, you shall know that, after much discourse too long to relate, Lysonice gave us to understand that she should like better to marry a King whom she hated, and who should always hate her, than a man whom she loved, and who always should love her, if he were of a mean fortune. The meanness of mine (replied Cloranisbes') no doubt ought to make me declare against Lysonice, but since I judge nothing according to my own interests, I cannot resolve to condemn her without first hearing her.  
For my part (said Lysonice) since inclination is a thing which arises in us without the help of our reason, I might, if I would, dispense with speaking any thing upon this matter; but however, I will acknowledge ingenuously, that ambition seems to me the most noble passion of all. I know not, whether it be the most noble (answered Cloranisbes') but I know well it is not the most sweet. Be it what it will (said she) I apprehend a thousand pleasures in seeing one's self above all those that surround us, and I fancy tedious discontentment in a mean fortune. As for me (said Delisia) I should account myself more happy with a plain shepherd whom I loved, than with a King whom I hated. If I hated his person (answered Lysonice) I should love the degree he advanced me to, and his greatness. But if I loved a shepherd (replied Delisia) I should be contented with his fortune, I should love him even to his Courage, and I should be more happy in seeing him seed his Flocks by a River side, than you would be upon the Throne, if you shared it with a Prince whom you hated. Believe me (answered Lysonice); Love is a fine thing in Verses and in Pictures; but considering it a little prudently, I think all the blessings of it are very imaginary. If you examine ambition a right (replied Delisia) you will see that all the favours of Fortune do not affect the Soul sensibly. 'Tis true (said Cloranisbes') the desires of Love proceed directly from the heart, but those of ambition only from the mind. I do not understand these distinctions very well (answered Lysonice) but I know, the thought of being a Queen flatters my heart pleasingly; and that of being loved makes no great impression in my mind. 'Tis because you do not conceive (replied Cloranisbes') there can be any thing in the world worthy of being loved by you; and because 'tis more easy for you to imagine that there should be a King so just as to make you a Queen, and give you a Crown which Fortune has not given you. You draw yourself very civilly out of this matter (said Lysonice) but nevertheless, I know you judge me too ambitious, and therefore I will not give you leisure to explain yourself more clearly, for fear Delisia triumph to my disadvantage; moreover, 'tis fit to mind my Mother, that we have not too much time to see the Gardens of so fair a house, and to return home. And so rising up, she obliged Cyrene to go walk, and this lovely company went to see the Gardens, the Orchards, and a Grove which was behind them; but they were much surprised to find a very noble and handsome Collation in a Banqueting-house which stood in the middle of the Grove. With which while these Ladies were entertained, they were delighted with the noise of a little consort of Countrey-Musick, very agreeably. And after it was ended, the Musician which belonged to Cloranisbes', sung admirably well; by which time it was grown late, and so the Ladies went away extremely satisfied with the civility, wit, and magnificence of Cloranisbes', who with several of his Attendants conducted them half their way. When he left, Cyrene desired him to go and visit them, and he told her, that having intended to request her permission to do it, he should not fail to obey her: after which they parted. Cloranisbes', as he returned home, was sufficiently pensive, though he did not imagine that he was fallen in Love. Yet the idea of Lysonice accompanied him in all places; which, being it was agreeable, he did not care to extinguish out of his memory, but on the contrary entertained it with pleasure. The next day going to see a Painter work, whom he had at his house, he found him more merry than ordinary; of which desiring to know the cause, Whence comes it (said he to him) that I see you so joyful? My Lord (answered he) I have been a whole month seeking in my fancy for an air of a head to make a Venus, and could not hit upon one; but I found one yesterday without trouble; for whilst the Ladies were at the Collation in the Banquering house of the Grove, I stole the Picture of her they named Lysonice.) How? (said Cloranisbes' surprised) could you make any thing that resembles her? Yes, my Lord (answered he) and upon the plain design which I made yesterday, I am confident to make an excellent Picture for resemblance. I pray do not execute your intention (said Cloranisbes' smiling) for it would disturb my quiet, if I saw Lysonice's Picture often. Nevertheless, Cloranisbes' asked him to show him the drought which he had made, and found it very much resembling. He also desired to keep it; but the Painter who had a Venus to make, was so importunate with him, that he was constrained to let him have it to make use of for his intended Piece.  
The next day Cloranisbes' went to see Andronodorus, and told him of the Adventure he had had; for after he had cured him of his ambition, he gave him an account of whatever happened to him. But he had no sooner done relating to him the visit he had received, but the wise Hermit taking his turn to speak, Ha! Cloranisbes' (said he to him) have a care of yourself; for love is not much better than ambition, and if I am not mistaken, your heart has more propensity to submit to the Tyranny of the one than of the other, I confess it wise Andronodorus (answered Cloranisbes') in this case methinks 'tis so easy for my Reason to defend my heart, that I ought nor to fear being surprised. For Lysonice and I have so different interests, that I think it is not easy for Love and Fortune joined together to unite us; and besides, I have already observed Lysonice has a very ambitious Soul, and so it would be in vain for an Exile to offer to become her Servant. Yet, I say once more have a care of yourself (replied Andronodorus) for if there be no other obstacles than those you mention, to keep you from being in love, you are so already; for 'tis certain, difficulty produces a greater progress towards love than facility. Beware then to fortify your Reason well, if you mind not to lose the contentment you have obtained. But do you think (said Cloranisbes') there is no Love commendable? I think there may be (answered this wise old man) and I grant there is nothing more excellent than a lawful, tender, and constant Love: but Cloranisbes', where will you find two persons that Love one another, who have minds so generous, hearts so tender, and Souls so constant, as to love one another ardently and for ever? And yet without all these conditions, Love is but a weakness, a crime and a folly. So that, considering the almost impossibility to find a woman which deserves to be loved, or knows how to love, 'tis best for a man to preserve his liberty. Love founded upon beauty can never outlive it, and many times dies before it: Love which is established out of vanity, is but vanity itself, and cannot last: that which proceeds from the interests of Fortune, is nothing but covetousness; that which is inspired only by youth, passes away with it, and is nothing but levity and inconstancy: that which arises from the temper or constitution, is blind, gross, and brutish: and there is none durable or commendable, but that which is produced by virtue. Defend yourself then conragiously against Love, if you believe me, and suffer not yourself to be surprised by so dangerous an Enemy. Do not flatter yourself with the thought that there may be calm Loves: for,  
As spring without West-winds has never been,  
So Love without desires was never seen.  
Therefore enjoy the quiet in which you are, Cloranisbes', and remember that flight is the only course that can secure you.  
The discourse of Andronodorus very much moved Cloranisbes'; and yet he could not resolve to forbear giving a visit to Cyrene and Lysonice, but he really purposed to go thither but once. At his return home, he found his Painter had finished the head of his Venus, and that this Picture so much resembled Lysonice that it was the same. His heart was moved with it, and he could not behold it without pleasure and disturbance; nevertheless, at the same time he laughed at himself for his weakness, and so went to his rest. But the next morning he could not keep himself from going again to Lysonice's Picture, and the day following he went to the house of the valiant Bostar, father of this fair person, who received him with extraordinary caresses, and led him to the apartment of Cyrene, where Lysonice, Pasilia, and Delisia were. Whereas he had received these Ladies with much civility before, they received him so now; and this obliging reception adding something to the charms of Lysonice, proved a further engagement of the heart of Cloranisbes'. At first Bostar began to discourse about their common misfortunes, by which they were both exiled; complaining that Princes ordinarily think themselves dispensed with from ingratitude, and that they owe nothing to those which serve them; then, lamenting their unhappiness, in that they can scarce ever distinguish flatterers from their true friends, nor know the clear truth; and which is worst, care not to know it, being willing to be deceived but not recompense such as are faithful to them; and finally, in that they do more good to those that hurt them, than to those that have done them service. But after this Bostar being retired upon occasion of some business, the conversation was changed, and became pleasant, mirthful, and divertising, that Cloranisbes', to his unhappiness, judged this converse more delightful than with the solitary Andronodorus. He offered to return home at night, but Bostar and Cyrene detained him till the next day: whereby having had more time to know Lysonice's wit, he was so taken with it, that he perceived it would be very troublesome to him to resist her. All her discourse was agreeable, and though she had a little vehemence in her mind, yet her eyes showed so much sweetness, and that vehemence was so sprightly, that she made it part of her gracefulness.  
Thus Cloranisbes' who went thither free, returned home without almost the least doubting of his Captivity. Yet he stayed six days before he went again to the house of Bostar, during which the poor Andronodorus died. This loss afflicted him, and perhaps would have hindered him from returning so soon to Cyrene's house, if all those fair exile, had not sent a compliment to oblige him to visit them. His sadness being discernible in his countenance, they asked him the cause of it; which having told them, Lysonice spoke with astonishment concerning such as confine themselves to eternal solitude, not being able to comprehend how 'tis possible for any one to renounce society for ever. But she spoke so ingeniously, that though her discourse was repugnant to the sentiments Cloranisbes' had at that time, he was an exceeding admirer of her. But not to insist upon such small matters, having greater to tell you, The more Cloranisbes' beheld Lysonice, the more charming he found her, and became the more amorous.  
Shortly after Bostar took his turn to visit him, and so did all the Ladies, who were extremely amazed to see the Picture of Lysonice at his house. This beautiful Virgin immediately blushed at the sight of it, and asked Cloranisbes' where he took it. When you have told me (answered he softly) fair Lysonice where you have put the heart you have taken from me, I shall tell you how I came by your Picture. Believe me Cloranisbes' (replied she) if you had my Picture no more than I have your heart, you would not have it at all. You mean, Madam (answered he) that you would not have it be yours. In good earnest (said she to him) I conceive women in banishment do not much mind taking of hearts; and men in the same condition have enough to do to support their adversity, without suffering them to be taken imprudently. Ah! too charming Lysonice (answered Cloranisbes') 'tis always pertinent to love you. This little conversation was at this time interrupted; for Cyrene, Delisia, and Pasilia, who had stayed to consider the Picture, came and joined with them; but, in fine, though what Cloranisbes' said to Lysonice might have been taken only in the way of gallantry, yet he was glad he had spoken. As for Lysonice, she made no reflection upon it at that time. I do not tell you that Cloranisbes' gave this fair company all the divertisement, that could be had in the Country: but I assure you he became desperately amorous of Lysonice; and having the counsels of Andronodorus no longer, the remembrance of those he had formerly given him was too weak to withstand the charms of this admirable Lady, whom then he saw very frequently. Moreover he sought an opportunity to speak to her of his growing passion, and found it; but she received him so fiercely, that he was more miserable after he had discovered his love to her than before. Believe me, Cloranisbes' (said she to him one day when he conjured her to suffer him to love her) Love is not suitable for the unhappy, nor does it belong to the unfortunate to love one another; it would be too much to have complaints to make both of Fortune and Love at the same time. Ha! Madam (said Cloranisbes' to her) I am persuaded you cannot but have a great aversion for me; for if it were not so, you would on the contrary find there would be some sweetness to yourself in reigning absolutely in my heart, and that love is a consolation of all sorts of infelicities. No, no, Cloranisbes' (said she to him) do not imagine I have any aversion for you, for I assure you I know very well all the excellent qualities you are endued with; but you are an Exile, and so am I; I love the World; I am ambitious, and I hate solitude: judge then; whether, as things now stand, 'tis possible for you to render me happy. But, Madam (answered he) Fortune may change, and 'tis easy for me not to be perpetually in banishment. Not but that I could easily dispense with the World if I enjoyed you (added he) but since you love it, I will love it too for your sake, I will hate Solitude, and Love shall anew inspire me with ambition.  
Thus (amiable Plotina) stood the case of Cloranisbes' with Lysonice, when I was at his house, when I found those Love-verses, and when I played the prank of translating them, to perplex him. After this afflicted Lover had related to me all that I have rehearsed to you, he complained of his unhappiness in a most passionate manner. For, my dear Amilcar (said he to me) no man alive can love more ardently than I do, none can have less hope than I have; and finally, none can resent greater torment. I know Lysonice has several Lovers at the Court of Massilia, who bestir themselves to their power to make Bostar's peace: so that if he be recalled, I shall lose Lysonice for ever, and live in my Desert tormented with love, jealousy and despair. Bostar, without doubt, does not hate me (added he) Cyrene loves me very tenderly; and Pasilia and Delisia are for me; but Lysonice, with all her esteem, is sensible to nothing but ambition. But however (said I) is not her heart sensible of joy? Yes (answered he) and I know not whether it be partly because she loves pleasures and is very ambitious. If you credit me (replied I) instead of complaining continually as you do, study to divert her, carry me to Bostar's house, to whom I will give hope of your return to Utica, and suffer me a little to observe your Mistress. But if you should go and become my Rival (answered Cloranisbes') I should be much more unhappy. If I should (replied I smiling) it would be probably for so short a time, that I should not have leisure to prejudice you. For besides that 'tis seldom I have any long Loves, I am to stay here but eight days; so that my absence would cure me of my passion.  
At that time, charming Plotina, you had not yet taught me to love constantly. But, in fine, Cloranisbes' promised to carry me the day following to Bostar's house. Where accordingly, I found that Cyrene was a handsome woman, to whom one might still offer an idle heart, without being liable to blame; I found Pasilia very amiable, Delisia infinitely agreeable, and Lysonice so fair and so charming, that if my Friend had not loved her, I should have infallibly become her servant. But because I would not augment his miseries, I hastened as much as possibly I could to make choice between Pasilia and Delisia. And having well considered them both, I fixed myself upon Delisia. Whereas I came from the Court, Lysonice received me with joy; and when I said I believed Cloranisbes' was likely to be recalled speedily, she treated him a little better that day than ordinary. Moreover, I described the Court of Utica to her so gallant, and the vicinity of Carthage so commodious and pleasant, that me thought, if Cloranisbes' were recalled, she would easily resolve to marry him. In the Interim, it being my happiness to please all this fair company, Bostar proposed to us to stay at his house, during the eight days allotted me to abide with Cloranisbes'. Wherefore, conceiving it would be advantageous to my Friend if we accepted his offer, I carried the matter so handsomely, that they seemed almost to force us to stay there. In this time I loved Delisia, I did not hate Pasilia, I was very complacential to Cyrene, and I also loved a young Phoenician Virgin who came to Bostar's house, and whose name was Phelinice. She is indeed a very lovely Lady, of an indifferent stature, but extreme well shaped; she has a round visage, a little dimple in her chin, a lively complexion, a somewhat high forehead, a handsome mouth, a very pleasing smile, black and sparkling eyes, purely white hands, and hair of the fairest bright chestnut, that ever was seen; which is very rare in that Country. But though Phelinice be always very agreeable, yet she is infinitely more upon one of these days in which she has a certain sweet and a little caressing complacency, which becomes her admirably. She is naturally good, discreet, and generous; she is both debonair and melancholy; she is very ingenious, and is capable of more things than many others who make greater ostentation than she. Pleasure is sufficiently suitable to her inclination, though she can dispense with it when 'tis fitting to do so; as for her friends, she loves them well, but yet a little less than she thinks, because she does not believe herself so well beloved by them as she really is; and having taken up a conceit, that true friendship may be without an absolute confiding intimacy, it is hard for her to escape the upbraid of her Friends. Yet this does not hinder her from being very amiable and very worthy to be loved; and therefore I loved her at least as much as Delisia and Pasilia. But being she was but one day with us, I was quit of her for four and twenty hours' love.  
The eight days we stayed there, were spent very delightfully; for having no other design but to divert ourselves, we satisfied our desires, notwithstanding all the ambition of Lysonice. We went a hunting and a fishing, we walked, we made jovial Sonnets, and extemporary Verses; we sometimes talked seriously, and many times otherwise, and, in brief, we had very divertising conversations. That which often rendered them agreeable, was, for that there lived rustical people in the places adjacent, whose country modes made Lysonice desperate, and gave her occasion to declare against the Country very agrecably. But forasmuch as I know well enough how to counterfeit all sorts of people, I diverted her sufficiently in conversing with these people, as if I had been one of them. For I could imitate their looks, speak their language, and transform myself absolutely into a noble Bumkin. And by this folly I drew pleasure from a thing which otherwise would have been very disgustful to her.  
In the mean time Cloranisbes' employed all his endeavours to win the heart of Lysonice; he knew well that she esteemed him, and nothing was so prejudicial to him as his quality of being an Exile: but this difficulty was in a manner insuperable, and made him extremely unhappy. And the more, because he durst not hope to make his peace with the Prince of Carthage; for I had given him to understand that it was the Princess who was his chief enemy. However, he dissembled his sentiments, and omitted nothing whereby he might please Lysonice. But at length the eight days being ended, I departed, and I dare say, Cloranisbes' and I left behind us some regret for our absence. For my part, I was melancholy till I returned to Utica, but especially at my leaving of Cloranisbes' amidst the inquietudes of his violent affection. I promised him at parting, to do him all the service lay in my power, and indeed I did not fail of my word. And I had a better opportunity to do it than at any time before, because the Princess of Carthage, who alone had procured Cloranisbes' disgrace, was now out of favour with the Prince herself, and constrained to retire into the Country. I forgot to tell you, that when I took leave of Cloranisbes', I promised him not to discover his passion to any, nor so such as to say I had seen Lysonice; and that in my return, the Painter who had worked for him in his Desert, followed me and came to Utica. For that Cloranisbes' had desired me to assist him as much as I could, I did not fail to do so; and he soon got employment.  
Now the Prince of Carthage having some secret design to make War, and knowing that Bostar was banished from the Court of the King his Master, that he lived not far from Cloranisbes', and had a very strong place which belonged to him, he purposed to gain him to his interest, to the end to make him declare for them; wherefore having happily disposed him to recall Cloranisbes', I acted so dextrously that he gave me Commission to send to my Friend that he might return. This news made Cloranisbes' both joyful and sorrowful; for knowing his exile was an obstacle to him to be loved by Lysonice, he was glad for being recalled to Court; but then he was on the other side extremely afflicted, for that he could not cease to be an exile without being absent from his Mistress. Nevertheless whereas this absence might possibly prove to the advantage of his Love, he resolved upon it, and went to take his leave of Bostar, Cyrene, Lysonice, and the Ladies his Friends. He promised them to return to see them, and desired their permission to write to them. Lysonice was more pleasing towards him this day, than she had been ever before, and having an opportunity to entertain her apart for a quarter of an hour, Suffer me, Madam (said he to her) to complain of the joy which the end of my banishment gives you. You ought rather to thank me for it (said she to him) for 'tis a sign that I sensibly interest myself in your happiness. But, Madam (replied he) is it possible for one that has given you his heart to be happy when he is absent from you? I know not whether or no you will be happy at Utica (answered she) but I know well you would have been always unhappy here. But, Cloranisbes' (added this fair Virgin) I will not have you go away ill satisfied of me; know then, that I am persuaded, when one loves another ardently, he ought always to study more to content him, than his own pleasure; and so, when a Lover studies only to enjoy his Mistress, without considering whether he can render her fortune happy, he loves but imperfectly. Therefore conceiving that adversity and love cannot subsist together, I have been unwilling to encourage the affection you pretend towards me, for fear of increasing your unhappiness. But, in fine, I esteem you infinitely, and if I were capable of love, I doubt not but I should affect you rather than any other. This, Cloranisbes', is all that can be said by an Exile to a man who is not yet wholly discharged of his banishment (if I may so speak) an exile, I say, who accounts nothing more unjust than not always to employ the greatest endeavours for advancing the greatness and honour of the person loved.  
Although this which Lysonice said to Cloranisbes' was not too obliging, nevertheless perceiving that she was willing to give him a little hope, he was ravished with it, and used the most passionate and exquisite blandishments to her that the most ardent love can inspire an Inamorate with; after which, he came back to Utica. I had a purpose to have gone to meet him, and give him notice that his Painter, who had kept a copy of Lysonice's picture, had showed it to the Prince; who was so charmed with Lysonice's beauty, that he kept the Picture and placed it in his Chamber: but the Prince having taken me to hunting with him, Cloranisbes' arrived at Utica a quarter of an hour before we returned hither. And going to wait upon the Prince at the Palace, he was extremely surprised to see Lysonice's picture in her Chamber. This thought so wholly took up his mind, that though the Prince's arrival caused a sufficient noise in the Court of the Palace, he scarce heard it at all. Yet at length he went to meet him in the Court, and being the Prince loved him very well, and believed he stood in need of him, he caressed and embraced him with tenderness. Let us forget what is passed, Cloranisbes' (said he to him) and make amends for it with the future; so that you may be never separated from my interests. Cloranisbes' very respectfully answered to that which the Prince said to him; who after that, fell to speak of the hunting and several indifferent matters. But some time after he was in his Chamber, he caused Cloranisbes' to enter into his Closet, where when he had discoursed very obligingly to him, and Cloranisbes' fully justified himself, he told him that to testify to him that he believed him innocent, he would presently put confidence in him, and impart to him his desires to bring Bostar to his interests. I know he is mal-content with the King of Massilia (said he to him) that he is courageous, his reputation amongst these Nations, and is master of a strong place; therefore you must endeavour to gain him to me, and oblige him to declare himself for me when I shall desire it. My Lord (answered Cloranisbes', who was glad of this employment) I am sufficiently capable to bring to pass that which you desire; For Bostar has some esteem for me. Then you must return secretly to him (added the Prince) but seeing it concerns me that this negotiation be neither tedious nor unsuccessful, I am to ask you, whether Bostar's Daughter, whose Picture you have seen in my Chamber, be as handsome as it; for, if she be, you must tell Bostar I am ready to marry her, on condition he will do what I desire. You know (added he) I have always set up my resolution never to marry a woman but who is admirably fair; therefore it behoves you to answer me punctually, and tell me whether Lysonice be like her picture: for I say again, if she be as handsome, I shall be glad that she be the means to unite Bostar and me; seeing I never beheld any thing so handsome as this Picture, and I am in love with it.  
Cloranisbes' was then extremely perplexed; the love he had for Lysonice combated with his generosity, which urged him to tell a truth which might content the ambition of that fair person; but he had so little time to deliberate upon a thing most difficult to resolve upon, that Love being unable to consent that he should yield up his Mistress, and not daring to tell the Prince he was amorous of Lysonice, especially not being much loved by her, he told him, 'twas true, Lysonice was a great beauty, but in his own eye she came much short of her Picture. Perhaps (said the Prince to him) you have not well considered her; for banished persons have usually so many other things to take up their minds, that their eyes may commit injustices. But however (added the Prince) it is requisite that you go to Bostar, and treat with him, and consider Lysonice well: and then in case she be as handsome as her Picture, you may confidently assure Bostar that I will marry her. If she be not, offer him a greater fortune in my Dominions than he has in that of the King his Master; and do not come back till this treaty be accomplished. Cloranisbes' being unable to contradict the Prince, accepted the employment, which he gave him, and prepared himself to depart the next day. But when he came to spend the evening with me, I saw him so afflicted that I pitied him. I knew not what to think at first; for though the Prince accounted Lysonice's Picture very handsome, yet I was ignorant of his secret intention; so that I could do nothing but conjecture. I assure you (said I to Cloranisbes') I never told the Prince that I had seen Lysonice, nor that you were in love with her, but it was your Painter's doing, who being ambitious to show what he could do, caused her Picture to be seen by the Prince. Alas! my dear Amilcar (said he to me) I am unfortunate. After which exclamation he related to me what had befallen him. But (said I to him) you do not account that you need be so perplexed; For if I were in your place, I would tell the Prince I was amorous of Lysonice; it not being credible that he is so much in love with her Picture as to contend for her with you. But you do not consider what you say (answered he) for the Prince has not only had always a fancy to marry the handsomest woman in the World, if he could, but he aims in this Marriage to bring Bostar over to his interests; so that should I tell him of my love to Lysonice, he would look upon me as an obstacle to his design; and being I am not yet too well established in his mind, I should ruin myself therein for ever; I should cause him to banish me a second time, and eternally deprive myself of the hope of pretending to Lysonice. But what then intent you to do? (said I.) Alas! my dear Amilcar (answered he) I know not; for, to examine things aright, I betray Lysonice as well as the Prince, by saying she is less handsome than her Picture, since nothing is more true than that her Picture is a thousand times less handlome than herself; and which is worst (added he) I am a wretch who love only my own felicity, who have no regard to Lysonice's advancement, who offer to keep her from that which of all things in the World most suits with her inclination, and who, having no assurance of being happy, go about to hinder her from being so, as without doubt she would be, if she became wife to the Prince of Carthage. For all this, I cannot overcome my passion, my generosity must yield to it, Lysonice must be injured because I love her, and because I cannot deprive myself of her; and though I am to betray both the Prince, Bostar and Lysonice, yet 'tis absolutely necessary that I lose not hope, and beware of being the instrument to put her into the arms of another, whose affection being only grounded on her beauty, would in a short time diminish. So that, when I consider well, 'tis for Lysonice's own sake that I must hinder her from becoming Princess of Carthage; or, at least I will persuade myself so. Cloranisbes' spoke this so pathetically, that he caused me to pity him. But again, (said I to him) What intent you to do? I intent (answered he) to employ all my power to invite Bostar into the interests of the Prince, without mentioning the Marriage of Lysonice; and if my negotiation prove happy, at my return I will give the Prince an account of it, and at last tell him that Lysonice is less handsome than her Picture. And being he does not know her, that fancy of his will vanish. But withal, to hinder Lysonice from convincing me of untruth, and appearing so soon at the Court, I will handsomely persuade Bostar to leave Cyrene and Lysonice in that important place which he holds, whither he would not go at first, for fear of rendering himself more suspected to the King of Massilia. But when all that you speak is done (said I to him) Lysonice will not be yours. No (answered he) but she will not be another's, and 'tis possible in process of time she may be mine.  
I spoke many things more to Cloranisbes', to which he answered as one prepossessed by his passion. Nevertheless, he could take no very firm resolution, and the incertainty which distracted him made his greatest torment. So he went away unresolved, and continued his journey in the same manner; and when he was arrived near Bostar's house, he was almost in the mind that his great affection might induce him to give over pretending to Lysonice, and to tell her ingenuously the truth. But when at his arrival he beheld her upon the Stone-stair entrance, going to walk with Pasilia and Delisia, this sight destroyed all his designs, and caused him to take an immovable resolution to do all he could to marry Lysonice. He had no sooner resolved thus, but he looked upon matters in another manner, he believed there was no unfaithfulness in doing what he did, that he having loved Lysonice a long time, and the Prince loving but her Picture, he might innocently practise a deceit, and that provided he could engage Bostar in the interests of his Master, he was not Criminal in not mentioning his marriage with Lysonice. In effect, without amusing myself too long in telling you after what manner he acted, I shall only tell you, that he managed Bostars mind so well, that he brought him to that which he desired, which was so much the more easily done, because he was advertised the King of Massilia had resolved to destroy him: so Cloranisbes' almost entirely concluded the treaty with Bostar.  
All this while Lysonice no longer considering Cloranisbes' as an Exile, but on the contrary as a man that might free herself from being such, treated him better than ordinary, suffered him to speak to her of his passion, and did not forbid him even to hope. This confirming Cloranisbes' in the resolution he had taken, he remained firm in it, and was more amorous than he had been; without doubt nothing serves more to augment love than hope.  
At his return he was received very well by the Prince, especially when he informed him that his negotiation was successful. Yet he was sufficiently discontented when Cloranisbes' assured him too, that Lysonice was not so fair in his eyes as her Picture. Not but that she is handsome, my Lord (said he to him) but either I understand not your inclination, or I am persuaded her beauty would not affect you. For my part (added the Prince in a great indignation) I cannot sufficiently blame the weakness of women in general, who will always have their Pictures made handsomer than themselves, and will be more obliged to the Painter than Nature, without considering that it would be more pleasing for them to hear it said, that they are more handsome than their Pictures, than to perceive in the eyes of such as behold their Portraitures, that they judge they have been flattered. Believe me (said I to the Prince; for I was present at this conversation) all the world desires to be flattered; people will have flattering Pictures, they admit of adulation with delight, they will be flattered even in their houses, and trifles; and I know a woman that has a little Dog who would take it very ill if she were not flattered in conceit of him; and whoso would be her friend, must confidently affirm that 'tis the handsomest Dog in the world. Judge then, my Lord (added I) if those women are not to be pardoned who desire to have the appellation of plump, fair, and rosy given them, to have arched eyes, little mouths, and fair hands, and handsome arms attributed to them, though they have none of all these. They must therefore be pardoned a weakness which they cannot be hindered from (answered Cloranisbes'.) For my part (replied Cloranisbes') I cannot pardon the Painter who has made the Picture of Lysonice handsomer than she is; for I should have extremely loved a woman as fair as that. But, in fine, since 'tis so, I must be satisfied, and to put it out of my mind (added he) I will have that deceitful Picture taken away. And accordingly he gave it to Cloranisbes', who received it joyfully. However (added he) 'tis sufficient that your negotiation succeeds well.  
The next day the Prince sent Cloranisbes' back again to Bostar; the Treaty was signed, and Bostar, not caring any longer for being suspected by the King of Massilia, went forthwith to that important place which belonged to him with Cyrene, Lysonice, and the two Ladies his Kinswomen. The Prince of Carthage sent some men to him to strengthen his Garrison: at length the business became so much rumoured, that it could not be doubted of. In the interim, Cloranisbes' increasing in favour, the favours of Lysonice were also augmented towards him; and according as he was considered by his Master, he was likewise by his Mistress, who at this time gave him all grounds to believe that she would obey without resistance, if Bostar commanded her to marry him. Cyrene greatly wished this Marriage; and Bostar himself desired it, both out of affection to Cloranisbes', and to content Lysonice, who he knew did not dislike it, and more also out of Policy. But sometimes he wondered much, that Cloranisbes', who he knew was passionately amorous of Lysonice, did not speak to him about it.  
After divers matters which 'tis not necessary to tell you, because they relate only to the interests of the King of Massilia and the Prince of Carthage, Bostar came to Utica to confer with the Prince of Carthage, who was then a great Lover of a Lady of Quality in his Court; but he did not bring Cyrene nor Lysonice thither, who remained in the strong place I told you of. Cloranisbes' love being now very violent, and observing the Prince engaged in an affection which agreeably employed him, he thought he might begin in good earnest to think of being happy. Wherefore he speaks in private to Bostar about his love to Lysonice, asked him, if he might hope to be happy, and conjures him to open his heart to him, as himself is resolved to open his own to him. Bostar approves his design, and tells him that he promises him his daughter: after which Cloranisbes' gave him a thousand thanks. But, my Lord (said he to him) if you please to have me happy, it lies in your power to render me absolutely so; for I know the Prince of Carthage is of so nice and suspicious an humour, that if I should appear very amorous of Lysonice, I should be always suspected by him. If I should but express myself desirous to marry, he would less esteem me for it, and think me less addicted to his interests: therefore to accomplish my happiness, and keep him from believing me more devoted to you than to himself, it is requisite to act in such manner, that he may think I marry Lysonice only because he commands me to do it; and in fine, 'tis your part to bring him to command it. Though it be not the custom (answered Bostar) for a father to speak first of marrying his daughter, yet I have so earnest a desire to give you mine, that I will dispense with the ordinary decorum for your sake. And accordingly Bostar managed this affair with the Prince in such sort, that he obliged him to think fit of his own accord for him to marry Lysonice into his Court, to the end that important place which belonged to him, might not after his death be possessed by any person that depended on the King of Massilia. 'Tis for that reason, my Lord (said Bostar to the Prince) that I presume to desire a husband of you for Lysonice. The Prince judging this proposition of Bostar might be to his advantage, received it well, and set himself to think who would be a fit person in his Court to marry Lysonice. At first he cast his eyes towards me; but a moment after remembering how great an enemy I was to marriage, he diverted his thoughts to several others, but he found some obstacles in all: at length he thought of Cloranisbes', and nevertheless he durst not name him to Bostar, because remembering in what manner he had heard him speak of Lysonice, he feared he might have some aversion against her. Whereof being desirous to be satisfied, he only told Bostar that he would think upon it. Assoon as night was come, the Prince speaking in private to Cloranisbes', propounded the business to him with all the Reason's which political interest suggested to him, to persuade him to marry Lysonice. Not that I will compel you to it (said he) if you have any aversion for her; but if she be indifferent to you, undoubtedly you can do nothing more advantageous for yourself, nor important for me; for you are not ignorant of what importance the place is which belongs to Bostar, and which will be yours after his death. Cloranisbes' heard this which the Prince said to him, with a joy so great, that he had some difficulty to dissemble it. Yet he was so much Master of himself, that he received this Proposal like a man averse to marry, and who would not resolve upon it, but only because it was the Prince's pleasure; who therefore thanked him for the consent he gave to it.  
Now the Prince being used to proceed hastily in all things which he undertakes, the next morning he told Bostar he had found a husband for Lysonice, and then named Cloranisbes' to him, who was accepted as you may imagine. Wherefore being impatient till the business were accomplished, it was resolved Cloranisbes' should return with Bostar to marry Lysonice. At first the Prince would have had Lysonice have come to Utica; but Cloranisbes' representing to him that there was danger in leaving the place so long without the presence of Bostar, Cyrene, and Lysonice, he at length determined that it was best for Cloranisbes' to go a long with Bostar thither; and the Prince told me, that to render the feast more delightful, he would permit me to go to the Nuptials. You may judge how joyful Cloranisbes' was; for in the transports of his contentment, he foresaw nothing but delight and happiness for all the remainder of his life. Lysonice had treated him well the last time he saw her; her ambition had wherewith to be contented, as well as her love; Bostar and Cyrene loved him; and the Prince being amorous of another at this time, he did not think there was any thing to be feared. So then he studied only how to give Lysonice every thing which he imagined might please her. Knowing she affected magnificence, there was no piece of State in Carthage that might be fit her, but he gave it her; and procured her such a handsome retinue, that nothing could be desired more. But, in fine, we departed with Bostar, and went to find Cyrene and Lysonice, who having been advertised of the state of matters, received us admirably well. Lysonice, having heard the Prince of Carthag's Court many times spoken of as a very gallant Court, was extremely joyful to think that she should be in a very considerable rank there; seeing she should marry a man whom the Prince loved very well, and whose merit made him worthy of the love of all the world. Cloranisbes' observing her so well satisfied, was the happiest man in the world; as without doubt there is nothing more sweet in love, than to cause the felicity of a person whom we love. And indeed I never saw a person have a more real joy than that which Cloranisbes' had; for though there was some deceit in his proceeding, yet Love rendered it excusable, and his passion was too ardent then to suffer him to be capable of repenting. But because he was wholly taken up with entertaining his Mistress and his own joys, he desired me to take some care for the magnificence of the Feast. Wherefore searching in my memory all the gallantries which I had seen in my travels, I may say, I contributed something to the divertisement of the Marriage. I omit to tell you that Bostar made continual feast for three days, that there were public sports, and several exercises, for which Lysonice gave the prize, that on the Feast-day there was a very gallant Ball; but I shall only tell you, that the next day, because all the Africans are exquisite Dancers, we made a kind of a Masque, which I had devised, wherein Pasilia, Delisia, and some other Ladies danced; and it was received not without some applause.  
Though we were not at the Marriage (said Plotina interrupting him) do not think but we will be at the Masque, and you shall not escape without telling us something of it.  
If I could remember the Verses (answered Amilcar) I would tell you them with pleasure, but they were made in such haste, that I did not think them worthy of retaining. The unpremeditated Poetry of Amilcar (said Valeria) excels the most elaborate of others. However (said Plotina) tell us the Subject and Order of the Masque, and at least some of the Verses. I will, Madam, (answered he) but first, I must tell you, that I devised it, that being the persons there were partly of the Court, and partly of the Country, I feigned that there were two Cupids, one which might be named the Cupid of the Court, and the other the Countrey-Cupid. And therefore I entitled our Masque   

The different Effects of LOVE.  
THe Castle werein we were, having a large Hall, I caused a great Theatre to be erected in it from side to side. One end of it was adorned with the representation of stately Palaces, and the other with an agreeable Landscape. On the right side of the Theatre appeared first the Cupid of the Court with a Bow painted and guilded, a Quiver of the same, adorned with Jewels, his Wings painted and guilded, a Torch in his hand, and followed by Jealousy, Dissimulation, Fear and Fury.  
On the other side of the Theatre appeared the Country - Cupid with a Bow and a Quiver adorned with flowers, followed by Hope, Laughter, Sports, Pleasures, and Jealousy, which appeared not so frightful as the other, and was accompanied only with light fears and suspicions which I had represented pleasantly enough.  
Then either of these Cupids made a Speech, in which they related their power. After which defying one another to give proofs of it, they danced together in a threatening manner.  
After this, the Entries were diversified, namely, there was one of the Cupid of the Court, and another of the Cupid of the Country, with a different sort of Music agreeing to either of them: of which I am going to give you as good a relation as my memory will permit me.  
But to the end the several Entries might not be confounded, the two Cupids always appeared there alternately, showing the effects which they pretended to have caused.  
The first Entry of the Cupid of the Court, was a King in Love with a Young Shepherdess; and the first of the Cupid of the Country, was a Young Shepherd coming out of a poor Cottage, proper, jovial, spruce, active at all sorts of exercises, though he had been taught the same only by Love.  
The second Entry of the Cupid of the Court was an old Miser, offering all his Treasure to a Young Mistress, who laughed at him as she took them: and the second Entry of the Country Cupid was a Young Shepherd, who giving his Shepherdess but a Shephook engraven with the Letters of her name, was received by him with a thousand caresses.  
The third Entry of the Cupid of the Court, was three jealous and ill-used Lovers, fight together in the presence of their Mistress who laughed at them; and the third Entry of the Country Cupid was two Shepherds, who singing the best they could before their mistress, had an innocent contest together, of which her heart was the subject.  
The fourth Entry of the Cupid of the Court was a foolish Gossip, delivering Letters, Bracelets of Hair and Pictures to four Lovers, without their perceiving it, with which she made herself pleasant with an old she-friend of hers: and the fourth Entry of the Country Cupid was a young Shepherdess, who having a Sheep of her Flock strayed away, carefully sought for it, and afterwards received it from the hand of her Shepherd who brought it back to her, after he had slain a Wolf that would have preyed upon it.  
The fifth Entry of the Cupid of the Court was a Young Lacedaemonian virgin, followed by four Athenians, who required their hearts again of her, intimating thereby that the hatred of Nations does not hinder but love may arise between persons that are enemies: and the fifth Entry of the Country Cupid, was a Young Shepherdess, looking upon three Young Shepherds who strove for the prize of a race: the first running very swiftly without regarding her, arrived at the Goal before the rest; the second turning his head to see her, was cast behind; and the third not being able to pass further, stayed just before her; after which the Young Shepherdess gave a Garland of Flowers to those that had run best, but she gave her heart to the third: at which the others were so discontented, that they went away in great despair.  
The last Entry of the Cupid of the Court was men and women of quality, who having danced a while, stood in order to hear a Sonnet sung by Youth, which was admirably well represented, and in few, words spoke a thousand things in praise of the Cupid of the Court, to whom alone belonged gallantry, magnificence, and liberality: and the sixth and last Entry of the Country Cupid was several Shepherds and Shepherdesses, who danced to Songs under Trees, alternately, answering one another. That which they sung was a kind of Dialogue, in which I made a little merry Satire against the Cupid of the Court, and an Elegium in favour of the innocence of the Country Cupid. After which those of the Court and the Shepherd's uniting, and there appearing but one Cupid, who represented something of both the other which had been seen, they acknowledged one another, and ended the Mask with a Speech, which concluded, to the honour of Love, and in the name of all those that had appeared.  
Come then and let's adore  
At Courts and pleasant Springs,  
This lovely Conqueror  
Of Shepherds and of Kings.  
Unhappy he whose heart  
Receives not Cupid ' s wound,  
Without the torments of his Dart,  
No pleasure to be found.  
How? (said Plotina) do you think you shall not tell us some of the Verses of the Mask? In good earnest, Madam (answered Amilcar) I have the greatest desire in the World to do it, but it does not please my memory; and all that I can do, is only to tell you the four Verses which I made for that young Lacedaemonian Virgin who was followed by the four Athenians, which required their hearts again of her: yet they did not serve, and I was forced to make others, because I had Greece so much in my head when I made them, that I did not remember I was in Africa. But they were these.  
Why, unjust enemies, do you accuse me?  
I've stolen a hundred hearts (so Love refuse me!)  
But how can any dwells in Greece not know,  
My Country Sparta 's Laws do theft allow?  
No doubt you will say I have studied very deeply, and add that I have an odd memory; but since I know not how to do otherwise, 'tis better that you do not interrupt me, but suffer me to finish my story. I will not detain you with exaggerating Cloranisbes' joy; for it was great beyond the possibility of expression. Bostar also was highly contented, Cyrene was extremely satisfied; Pasilia and Delisia, hoping to go to the Court with their Kinswoman, were ravished with joy; and Lysonice having married a very worthy person that loved her ardently, and who she believed would shortly carry her to Utica, seemed as contented as any one in the World. Soon after I was recalled by the Prince, and obliged to leave Cloranisbes' with the fair Lysonice. At my taking leave of him, he desired me to speak as little as I could of Lysonice when I should be with the Prince, and only to say by the by that her beauty was much improved since I had seen her first; but above all, to beware of discovering that he was amorous of her: and accordingly I did as he desired, and that with sufficient address. So being obliged by the Prince to come away about some affairs of his, I departed as you have known, and left things in that condition.  
But I have understood by a Friend of Cloranisbes' whom he has sent to me, that the face of things is since much altered. For fifteen days after his Nuptials the Prince recalled him to Utica. Lysonice was desirous to accompany her Husband; but for that he was loath the Prince should see her so soon, he told her, that having as yet no house there fit for her accommodation, it was more requisite for himself to go alone to make preparations; choosing rather to part for some time from the person whom he loved, than to venture to have her seen by the Prince so soon after his marriage; for he found that he had not sufficient power over himself to hide his passion for Lysonice, if they should be seen together at Utica. Besides, it is always natural enough to defer a thing which we fear, as much as possibly we can. So he left Lysonice, and promised her that he would return to her with all speed. At his coming to the Court, he found the Prince had broken off with his Mistress, was very much offended with her, likely never to love her more. Whereupon Cloranisbes' used all the industry and address he could to re-engage him, that so having his mind prepossessed, he might take less notice of Lysonice's beauty when he should see her: but he could effect nothing. In the interim he writ every day to his dear Lysonice, he sent her Presents continually, and not having ceased to be a Lover by becoming a Husband, there was no care which he did not use to please her: he went to see her several times; and as often as he saw her, he found out new impediments of her journey to Utica. One time he said his house was not ready; another, that it was requisite to expect till the Princess of Cartbage were reconciled with her brother; another, that winter was not a healthful season wherein to go and reside at Utica: so that, though Lysonice accounted the time very long, yet she did not disbelieve what Cloranisbes' told her, but hoped that at least in the Spring she should go to Court. The Wintertime was thus passed over, but Spring being come, Cloranisbes' found himself sufficiently perplexed; for Lysonice knowing he had a house in the Country within half a days journey of Utica, she asked him to permit her at least to go thither for a month. Which not daring to refuse her, and judging also that it would be more convenient for him to go and see her there than elsewhere, he consented to. So Lysonice went to that place, and Pasilia and Delisia with her: but assoon as it was known at Utica that she was there, several persons went to visit her, Cloranisbes' with all his address being unable to hinder them. Wherefore, seeing Lysonice has one of those surprising beauties, which such as behold the first time cannot refrain from speaking of, all that saw her, highly cried her up at their return to Utica, and raised such a report of her, that the Prince of Carthage hearing how exceedingly she was extolled, was surprised at it, calling to mind what Cloranisbes' had answered him, when he showed him Lysonice's picture. Which sticking much in his thoughts, he asked one of those that had seen Lysonice whether he remembered to have sometimes seen a picture of her in his Chamber. Yes, my Lord (said that man, who knew nothing of what had passed between the Prince and Cloranisbes') but I can assure you without falsehood, that Lysonice is a thousand times handsomer than that picture. But are you well assured of what you say? (replied the Prince) It will be easy for you, my Lord (answered the man) to be satisfied of it; for 'tis unlikely that Lysonice will never come to Utica. After this the Prince seemed sufficiently pensive; for coming to consider that Cloranisbes' did not cause his wife to come to Court, and that he had seen her while he was in banishment, he began to suspect that he might have told him an untruth; wherefore being desirous to know the certainty, and to be resolved by his own eyes, he purposed to go a hunting towards the side where Lysonice's house was; without letting Cloranisbes' know of it, to the end he might not remove her. And indeed the Prince used so much care to hide his intention, that Cloranisbes' was not advertised of it till the Prince was on horseback for the hunting match. This put him to a great perplexity: nevertheless he concealed his disturbance, and went to the hunting with the rest. He seemed also a more forward Hunter than any of those that followed the Prince; and whereas 'tis easy to turn out of the way in a chase, without any notice to be taken of it, Cleranisbes', who knew the shortest and most unfrequented passages to go from Utica to his House, separated from the rest in a Wood, and putting his Horse on at full speed, went with incredible diligence to find Lysenice, who was but beginning to dress her Head, and who in the tediousness of solitude did not much mind attiring herself. When she saw Cloranisbes' arrive in such apparent haste, she asked him what the matter was, and how it happened that he arrived so early: For you must needs have set forth very betimes in the morning (added she) or else you have travelled very fast. I have done both (answered he) and the cause of my coming in such haste, is, for that I believe the Prince will come hither at the end of the chase. Lysonice being very glad of this news, bid her women advertise Pasilia and Delisia of it; after which, turning herself towards Cloranisbes', You have much obliged me (said she to him) in giving me this notice; for otherwise, the Prince would have found me in a negligent dress which would have shamed you. Go then (added she) and give order to your people to make some handsome preparations for entertaining the Prince, and in the mean time (continued she smiling) I will go and dress myself to the best advantage I can, to the end to do you honour. I beseech you Madam (said he to her) enter into your Closet a moment, that I may speak with you there. Lysonice not being able to conjecture what Cloranisbes' had to say to her, arise up, and did as he desired. She was no sooner entered into her Closet, but Cloranisbes' looking upon her with very much love and sadness together, I beseech you, my dear Lysonice (said he to her) do not refuse me a request I have to make to you; and when you have granted it me, never ask me wherefore I made it. Since what you say to me (answered she) signifies some diffidence, you must permit me to be a little surprised. However, speak, if you please, what you desire of me. I wish (said he to her) that, if you will oblige me, you would feign yourself sick to day, and instead of adorning yourself, as you intent, be as carelessly attired as you can; let the Curtains of your Windows be drawn, let the Pillows of your Bed be depressed, and finally, let there be so little day in your Chamber that the Prince may not yet know that I am the most happy of all men. How? my Lord, (interrupted Lysonice, blushing with anger) is the solitude then in which I am, an effect of so strange a jealousy, as renders you capable of the most outrageous caution that ever was? What? my Lord (added she again) do you believe that if I should excite love in the Prince, it would be easy for him to excite the like in me, now I am your Wife? I confess indeed (continued this offended Fair) that being naturally ambitious, if he had loved me heretofore, he might have been not ill-treated, even though he were not so worthy a person as he is; but as things are now, you do me an injury which cannot be repaired. Alas! charming Lysonice (said he to her) I beseech you do not condemn me so lightly. I swear to you I am not jealous; 'tis ambition alone which causes me to act thus, and 'tis only for your sake that I make you a request which seems so unreasonable to you. But grant me, if it be possible, that which I desire of you, without obliging me to tell you the reason which forces me to it; and go not to imagine that I suspect your virtue, or out of a sentiment of jealousy fear, lest the Prince should excite love in you. That which I do has another cause, I swear to you with all the sincerity which I am capable. No, no, my Lord (replied she) you can have no other sentiment in your soul, but jealousy, and I see well (added she with tears in her eyes) that I am only to prepare myself to be the most unhappy person in the world. For what means is there to cure a jealousy which foresees the future so far off? and how can such an injury as this be forgotten? I have in a manner seen nothing but Trees since I was your Wife (proceeded she in great passion) I have heard nothing but Birds, and conversed with none but Pasilia, Delisia and yourself; and yet, I see, this does not hinder you from being jealous. I protest to you once again, Madam (said he to her) I am not jealous. But if you are not (answered she) tell me then the reason which obliges you to make me so strange a request. The fear of being less loved by you Madam (replied he) is the sole cause which hinders me from telling you that which you desire. I assure you (said she) this motion of yours is so strange, that you can tell me nothing which is more; and my mind is so disturbed with the ill-grounded suspicion you have of my virtue, that I think this injury will never be obliterated out of it. Then Cloranisbes' seeing Lysonice was extremely incensed, resolved of a sudden to tell her the truth, though he feared she would possibly hate him for having hindered her from being Princess of Carthage. Nevertheless, he had lived so well with her, he was in a dignity so considerable, and she lived so well with him that he hoped it might be advantageous to him to tell her the proceeding he had used to attain her. So having made a thousand protestations to her, of a serious affection, he began to tell her▪ that he had given her a testimony of love which she knew not of, and for which withal, he feared she would not thank him. After which he ingenuously confessed his whole proceeding to her, as it was done, and so let her know that the love he had for her, had obliged him to tell the Prince she was not so handsome as her Picture, and consequently to hinder her from marrying. Cloranisbes' told her this with all the art imaginable: but after all, Lysonice knew very well, that had it not been for him, she had been Princess of Carthage; whereupon she could not keep herself from seeming surprised and changing colour. Which Cloranisbes' observing, Well, Madam (said he to her) had I not reason to be unwilling to tell you the truth? but I beseech you, consider every thing thoroughly which may render me excusable to you. The sole excess of my passion caused me to betray the Prince, and the sole excess of my passion has obliged me to make the request to you which I have done. For, in fine, if the Prince see you with all your charms, in the condition wherein I know his mind is to day, he will perhaps banish me, and then you will be the Wife of an unfortunate exile, which is certainly the thing you fear most in the World. For my part, I declare to you, if you were of another humour, I should glory in being banished with you, and be so far from entreating you to hide your beauty, that I should desire you to make it more conspicuous with all that Art can add to Nature, to the end to be rather banished and go live in some agreeable Desert, where you would be instead of all things to me, and where I should account myself happy with you alone. But on the contrary, Madam, your inclination leading you to love the world, and being unwilling to restrain it, I conjure to you appear neglectedly this day in the eyes of the Prince, and defer making yourself seen with all your charms, till his Love be settled upon some Lady; for when he is amorous, he is prejudiced against the beauty of all other women. By this means he may see you without knowing that I have betrayed him; and after this, you shall come to Utica, and live there as you please. In the mean time pardon me, my dear Lysonice, the Treason I have committed against you, be contented to reign absolutely in my heart, and consider that if I had not loved you, I had not debarred you of a glory which you deserve. Being you have much wit, my Lord (answered she) you turn things as you please. Not but that, what you have done in this occasion (added she) has been the act of a self-interessed, and not at all of a generous Lover; for if you had acted nobly, you should first have told me the truth, and afterwards endeavoured to persuade me to prefer you before the Prince; but, in fine, let us leave what is past as it is, it being always fruitless to speak of it; but for the present know, I do not cease to believe, after all which you have said, that the request you have made to me is sufficiently injurious.  
As Cloranisbes' was going to answer, one came to tell him that a great many Hunters appeared in the Plain; so that believing it was the Prince, being unwilling he should find him at home, he was constrained to leave Lysonice in haste, and go forth at a backdoor. But before he left her, he said several very passionate things to her, whereto she gave no direct answer. After which getting upon his Horse, he went to fetch a great compass, to come and overtake the Prince, who was not so near as Cloranisbes' servants had believed; because by thinking to take a shorter way, he lost himself in a Wood In the mean time Lysonice who is naturally ambitious, could not hinder herself from having a secret anger for the testimony of Love Cloranisbes' had rendered her; although she had no design to be revenged on him for it in a Criminal way: but she could never resolve to counterfeit herself sick, and appear carelessly dressed. On the contrary, believing that when the Prince had seen her, she should afterwards go to the Court, she liked better that he should see her on a sudden, than defer it longer; and as nothing is more repugnant to a handsome person than to show herself after a manner disadvantageous to her beauty, Lysonice attired herself as well as she was accustomed, and something better too; though as I said, she had no intention to excite love in the Prince, but only to despite Cloranisbes', and to be afterwards at liberty to live at Court. After she was dressed, Pasilia and Delisia who had adorned themselves too, came to her, and were much surprised to observe that she had some kind of commotion mixed with anger in her eyes, which denoted to them that she was troubled. So that demanding the cause of her, she told it them with a certain air, which gave them to understand that ambition was always her predominant passion. A little while after, the sound of hunting instruments was heard, which signified the approaching arrival of the Prince. And presently Lysonice beheld a body of persons of Quality, a great number of slaves, and a very magnificent equipage enter into the Court. But this pomp rather afflicted than pleased her, out of the thought that Cloranisbes' had hindered her from being wife to the Prince for whom this magnificence was.  
In the mean time Cloranisbes' having fetched a great turn, had overtaken the Prince of Carthage, without his suspecting that he had been at his house; and to act the more cunningly, he made as if he had not known that the Prince intended to go see Lysonice. So that addressing to him, If I had known, my Lord (said he to him) that you intended to hunt on this side, I should have ordered Lysonice to have caused a Collation to be prepared for you at the end of the Chase; but I conceived it was not fit to dare to propound to you to go to a place where you are not expected. Persons of my condition (said the Prince) are so accustomed to be expected, that sometimes they delight to go where they are not; and therefore since I am so near your house, I will go see Lysonice. Being she writ to me yesterday that she was a little indisposed (replied Cloranisbes', believing his wife would do as he had desired her) I know not whether she will be in a condition to receive the honour which you intent to do her. We shall see that presently (answered the Prince) for the hunting does not pleasure me so well to day, as that I have any mind to continue it longer. And so taking the shortest way, the Prince being preceded or followed by all his Attendants, went to Cloranisbes' house, which was not inferior to that wherein he first saw Lysonice. But in entering into the second Court, Cloranisbes' was much surprised to see Lysonice upon the Stone-stairs of the entrance, accompanied with Pasilia and Delisia, and to see her there in an attire, which though it had little show of the Country negligence, was nevertheless graceful and magnificent; for he knew thereby that her mind was much exasperated: yet he dissembled his thoughts at that time. But for that Lysonice was handsomer in the open day than in the shadow, the Prince of Carthage and all his followers were so surprised with the rare lustre of her beauty, that they could not contain from testifying their admiration. The Prince of Carthage who was alighted from his horse, assoon as he perceived Lysonice, went towards her with precipitation, and saluted her with a civility which signified to her that he accounted her admirably handsome; for he had almost omitted to salute Pasilia and Delisia, though they were very amiable. I am more obliged to Cloranisbes' than I thought, Madam (said the Prince to Lysonice) for his constant residence with me; for being so fair a person as I see you are, it would be more acceptable for him to be with you. The pleasure of doing a duty is so great (answered she) that 'tis not much to be wondered, my Lord, if Cloranisbes' prefer you before me. 'Tis a pleasure (replied the Prince sufficient roughly) which perhaps he has not always so much loved. After this, being entered into the Hall, the conversation of the Prince with Lysonice continued. The Persons of Quality that accompanied him discoursed amongst themselves, or with Pasilia and Delisia: and Cloranisbes' being in a strange perplexity, spoke sometimes to one and sometimes to another; for his mind was incensed with Lysonice's proceedings, he feared lest the Prince should discover the truth, and he apprehended above all things that Lysonice would love him no more, and that she could not pardon him the deceit his passion had caused him to commit. In the mean time the Prince of Carthage finding Lysonice every moment more handsome, could not contain from expressing part of what he thought. For my part (said he to her) I confess I do not understand wherefore Cloranisbes' has not told me a thousand times of his happiness, and why he hath not continually discoursed to me of you. 'Tis no doubt (answered she coldly) because a husband scarce ever speaks pertinently of his wife. But before he had married you (replied the Prince) he spoke to me as little of you; but on the contrary he declined speaking of you, and moreover affirmed to me that a Picture which I had of you, was a flattering Picture. Nevertheless, I see at present that he went far from the truth in speaking so. For my part, my Lord (answered Lysonice blushing with indignation) I so little know myself, that I know not whether Cloranisbes' had not reason: but I conceive well, he would have done more obligingly for me, by suffering you to believe that I was as handsome as my Picture. I agree with you, Madam (replied he) and I think moreover he would have more obliged me than you by not opposing my admiration. But to repair the injury that I did your beauty, by believing your Picture handsomer than yourself, I will this day begin to admire you anew, and to publish that there is no beauty in the world comparable to yours. Lysonice hereupon so modestly declined the praises which the Prince gave her, that she appeared thereby the more charming. And then she acted with such address, that she drew Pasilia and Delisia into their conversation, which by degrees became altogether general.  
After this the Prince with his Company went to walk, and at his return he found a stately Collation, though there was but a very short time to prepare it; and then began the discourse to be about hunting, gaming, and other divertisements. The Prince told Cloranisbes' aloud, that it was not just to leave Lysonice so long in the Country, that she was too fit for the world to live in solitude; and that it was requisite to cause her to go speedily to Court. Cloranisbes' being unwilling to pass for a jealous husband, answered that Lysonice was Mistress of her own actions, and might do what pleased herself. I have all my life so little known by experience (replied she) what it is to do ones own will, that I know not whether I ought to begin to learn, for fear if I did it once I should desire to do it all my life. Not that I accuse Cloranisbes' (added she) but all women in general are exposed to this unhappiness, and a part of their virtue consists ordinarily in having no other will but theirs to whom the Law of Morality subjects them. 'Tis true (said Pasilia) we are born under the necessity to obey almost always, and never to command. On the contrary (answered the Prince) all obey beauty, and it belongs only to Ladies to command, Men request all their lives, and never command. In truth, my Lord (replied Delisia) I know not whether they request or command, but I know well they ordinarily do what they please. In effect (added Lysonice) assoon as young persons cease to learn to read, they begin to have so good opinion of themselves, as to think they are more able than their Masters, more deserving than their Fathers, and more wise than the Law: and as for their Mistresses, I assure you, they know not very well how to obey them, they love them for their own sakes only, they seek their own interest, without caring for the persons whom they love; and in fine they always do whatever is agreeable to their own humour, without considering the will of another. While Lysonice was speaking thus, Cloranisbes' was gone to show a Kinsman of the Prince a very handsome Horse which he had a desire to, so that Lysonice spoke with liberty of the subjection of women. Not that I speak out of discontent (continued she) because I desire many things which I do not; but only because there is indeed some kind of injustice in being eternally servile. I account this Law as hard as you do (answered Pasilia) but I confess to the shame of my Sex, women many times use liberty so ill when it is allowed them entirely, that the folly of some excuses in some sort the servitude of all the rest. For I know a woman in Massilia who has done a hundred extravagancies in her life, which she would not have committed if she had not had a too indulgent Husband. Ha! Pasilia (replied Delisia) there was never any that could be called so. For my part (said the Prince smiling) I believe a handsome woman can never have one too indulgent. And for my part (said Pasilia) I conceive a Gossip and a young imprudent woman can never have one too severe. Yet 'tis a strange thing (said the Prince) for a husband to guard his wife. 'Tis a stranger (answered Pasilia) to see a man voluntarily shut his eyes that he may not see how many gallants his wife has that follow her, write to her, show her Letters, boast of her savours, and laugh both at her and him. But what should an honest man do (replied Delisia) when he is so unhappy as to have a wife who has no true virtue nor government of herself? for I do not account those wives virtuous, who because they are not absolutely criminal, make no scruple of beginning several Gallantries which expose them to slander, and cause them to commit a thousand follies which render them despised even by them for whose sakes they do them. You have reason (answered Lysonice) not to put the less criminal Gossips in the rank of women endued with virtue; for certainly if they be not the most culpable of all, they are always the most foolish. I am of your mind (replied Delisia) but however what must a poor husband do, who is so unhappy as to have a wife of this humour? If my judgement may pass (answered the Prince) he shall take his pleasure on his own side as well as he can, and see nothing but what he is willing to see. And if my judgement may pass (replied Pasilia) a husband that has such a kind of wife, must flatter her for some time, he must endeavour to win her by sweetness, reason, and address, to procure her virtuous Friends of her own Sex, to see that she have not a slave to wait upon her that is not virtuous, to cause her to love innocent pleasures; and lastly, to cause her at least in some sort to fear him, if she cannot love him. If all this prove ineffectual, I allow him to act like a Master, to regulate the visits which she gives and receives, and send her too into the Country. For, in fine, I will not have a husband peaceably endure his wife to be a Gossip. But is there any thing which seems more strange (said the Prince) than a jealous husband? people laugh at him and flout him, and say that by being jealous, he almost deserves to have his wife a Gossip. A jealous Sot (answered Pasilia) is certainly a sottish thing; but a gallant prudent man ought not to be looked upon as one that is jealous. On the contrary he is to be pitied and esteemed: but as for one that is of a jealous nature, who persecutes an innocent wife without cause or colour, I consent that he be derided for it, and that whatever may augment his jealousy be wished to befall him. Were you desirous to be married speedily at Utica (replied Lysonice smiling) you could not speak better than you do, to give a good opinion of yourself.  
After this, because it was sufficiently late, the Prince retired, but so surprised and so charmed with Lysonice, that he could not refrain from expressing how amiable he judged her. At parting, he asked her, whether she would not come shortly to Utica, and omitted to tell her nothing which he thought requisite to testify to her that she pleased him infinitely. Cloranisbes' having ●●●en called by the Prince, could not speak to Lysonice; besides, loving her so much as he did, and the deceit his love had made him guilty of being discovered to her, he knew not very well what to say to her; for how dissatisfied soever he was, he was loath to make any sharp complaint, and so he left her without speaking to her.  
The Prince of Carthage was so pensive all the way as he returned, that he scarce spoke twenty words till he arrived at Utica. But when he was there, and beheld Cloranisbes' alone with him, he looked steadfastly upon him, and speaking to him, Confess the truth, Cloranisbes' (said he to him) when I showed you Lysonice's Picture one day, you told me it was handsomer than she, only because you accounted her the handsomest person in the world? I acknowledge it ingenuously, my Lord (answered he) but if I would I could maintain to you, that I accounted Lysonice less handsome than her Picture; for none could convince me of an untruth; since we see every day, that which pleases one, displeases another, and opinions are different upon all sorts of things. Ha! Cloranisbes' (replied the Prince) that may be in mean beauties, but Lysonice is not of this rank, and no person in the world can pretend to have seen any thing, or conceive that a Painter could make a Picture so handsome as she: and this was the reason (added he) that you would have her be yours and not mine. It was not, my Lord (answered Cloranisbes') because Lysonice was fair, that I failed in my duty, but only because I desperately loved her. I understand it so (replied the Prince) but if it be true that you betrayed me because you loved her, it is also true that you loved her because she was handsome. However it be, my Lord (answered Cloranisbes') I did not fail in my duty without reluctancy, and I account myself so unhappy in having been Criminal against you, that the thought of it disturbs part of my felicity. Being what is passed cannot be recalled (said the Prince) let us speak no more of it. But for that it is not just for Lysonice to suffer for your sake, cause her to come to Court, and do not keep her longer in a solitude, which no question is tedious to her. Cloranisbes' then spoke all he thought conducive to excuse himself with the Prince, who accordingly made semblance of being satisfied with him. So that Cloranisbes' was now almost glad that the business was over thus; to the end he might be no longer obliged to cause Lysonice to stay in the Country. Yet he was much discontented that she had refused to be carelessly dressed that day; however believing she had done so out of despite which had something of noble in it, he sought to appease himself. But so did not Lysonice; for having seen the Prince, all that great equipage of hunting, and all his Court, ambition revived in her heart; and she was so far from considering what Cloranisbes' had done as a testimony of his love, that she judged it as a weakness of his passion, and an injurious fact. Yet Pasilia and Delisia did all they could to temper her mind; but all they could obtain was, that she would constrain herself as much as she could from testifying further resentment to Cloranisbes'. For, in fine, (said Pasilia to her) that which is passed cannot be recalled; and moreover after all, you are wife of a very worthy man, who loves you dearly, and who being beloved by the Prince, holds one of the first ranks in the Court. I confess (answered Lysonice) but if I am not deceived, he will not hold it long; and if the art of conjectures be not absolutely false, I am exposed to many infelicities. Yet I am resolved (added she) to support them with the greatest constancy I can, and to do nothing which may cause me to deserve the misfortunes which I foresee will befall me. These were the sentiments of Lysonice.  
Cloranisbes' who always loved her with the highest ardour, and who would not be accounted jealous neither by her, nor the Prince, nor the Court, writ to her the next day to tell her that he desired her to come to Utica, without taking any notice of that which she had denied him. This motion sufficiently pleased Lysonice, who resolved without scruple to obey Cloranisbes'. So she joyful left her Desert, and went to Utica accompanied with her two amiable Kinswomen. Assoon as she arrived there, she was visited by the Prince, all the men of Quality, and all the Ladies; and her beauty was so cried up in the Court, that scarce any thing else was spoken of. The most eminent Beauties willingly yielded to her, and confessed that nothing could equal the charms of Lysonice. This fair person much affecting the world, she was at first so glad of being there, that she forgot part of her discontent. Not but that as often as she saw the Prince, or beheld only his Palace or Windows, some displeasing thoughts arose in her mind.  
But now the presence of Lysonice, and the desire to please her, occasioned the making of several appointments for divertisement in the Court. Cloranisbes' had made indeed some obliging reproaches to Lysonice for having refused to do as he had desired her: but being he still loved her ardently, this little anger was easily appeased. But if Cloranisbes' was in quiet, the Prince of Carthage was not; for though he had a great dearness for Cloranisbes'; yet after he had seen Lysonice, it came of a sudden to decrease, and shortly to be wholly extinct. But which was most cruel, at the rate of friendship diminished in his heart towards Cloranisbes', love augmented for Lysonice, and he became so amorous of her, that he had not a moment of rest. He would have opposed his passion with a sentiment of generosity in the beginning, and of friendship too for Cloranisbes'; and to fortify himself to that purpose, he discovered his secret to him that is come hither to find me, whose name is Anherbal, and told him that he was the most unhappy of all men. For, in fine, (said he to him) I love a person, who I know well would have loved me out of ambition, if Cloranisbes' had not betrayed me, and who perhaps now out of honour will never love me. But, my Lord (answered he to whom he entrusted the secret of his heart) would you have been satisfied with it, if Lysonice had loved you only out of an ambitious sentiment? Believe me (replied the Prince) it matters not much to a Lover out of what sentiments he is loved, provided he be so; nor ought he much to care whether it be for his good personage, for his wit, or for his quality. For my part, my Lord (answered my Friend) I should be more scrupulous than you; for if I were not loved for my own sake, I would not be loved at all. That which you say (replied the Prince) is plausibly said by one that loves nothing; but when a man is amorous, he turns to another language; and rather than never be loved, I would be so for a thousand extrinsical considerations, in which my merit has no part. As for me, my Lord (said Anherbal) I am of opinion the more a man loves, the harder he is to be contented; and so, I confess ingenuously to you, that if I loved, I would be loved again for my own self; and I should make no esteem of those favours which I did not owe to a great affection. If it were in my power to choose (answered the Prince) I would wish that which you speak; but it being otherwise, I content myself with what I can; and there is nothing which I am not capable of suffering, rather than to be never favoured. For the aim of love is the possession of the person whom we love, and therefore this only aught to be sought after, and all means whereby it is attainable are good, be it by wit, by merit, or dignity of condition. But, my Lord (replied Anherbal) do you not think that Lysonice undoubtedly loves her Husband, and that Cloranisbes' is so zealous for your service, that he deserves you should not destroy his felicity? I know all that you say (answered the Prince) but I know also that Cloranisbes' has betrayed me; and if I shall have no regard to his interests, I should do against him but what he has done against me: and whereas you say, Lysonice undoubtedly loves her husband, I have to answer you that an ambitious Wife may be more easily unfaithful than another; but because I do not pretend to engage her in a criminal love, I will only oblige Cloranisbes', as the Law permits, to resign her to me, that I may marry her, and he may marry another. How? my Lord (said Anherbal) do you care for having divided favours? if so, permit me to tell you with all the respect I owe you, that you know not how to love well. For according to the humour I am of, I should like better never to obtain any thing of a person I loved, provided my Rivals were as unhappy as myself, than to obtain the highest favours on condition they were also granted to another. Ha! Anherbal (said the Prince) this that you speak is too heroical for me, and I am strongly persuaded it would be absolutely impossible but a man truly amorous, if he were put to his choice, to be favoured with another Rival, or never to be so at all on condition no other should be more, would choose rather to be favoured in that manner than never to be at all. I know well there seems something unreasonable in that which I say (continued the Prince) but however I shall never conceive as long as I live, that a man can be unwilling to obtain the favours of a person whom he loves. I confess it my Lord (answered Anherbal) but yet assoon as I believed a woman capable of dividing her favours, I should love her no longer at all. Therefore my sentiments are not to be wondered at, being more truly amorous than yours. Be it how it will (said the Prince) I love Lysonice; and if she be willing to love me, and Cloranisbes' to resign her to me, I will marry her with joy; and I declare to you, there is nothing which I will not attempt to cause my design to succeed.  
Anherbal spoke many things further to avert the Prince from this resolution, but they were to no effect. But that he might have more frequent occasion of seeing Lysonice, he recalled the Princess of Carthage to Court, who was ravished to observe the Prince's passion, because she hoped to make use of it to be revenged on Cloranisbes' whom she did not affect. To which purpose she made a thousand caresses to Lysonice, and sent to invite her to her continually. Cloranisbes' soon perceived the passion of the prince and the design of the princess; so that he was extremely afflicted at it, and could not keep himself from appearing sad, what resolution soever he had to dissemble his discontent. Whereupon Lysonice believing he was jealous, was much offended in her mind at it, because she could not endure to be suspected.  
In the mean time the prince's passion augmenting every day, he resolved to discover it to Lysonice, and so afterwards to speak to Cloranisbes' of it, in case he found any favourable disposition in the mind of this fair person. Being it is always easy for a Sovereign to find occasion of speaking in private, he soon had one to open his passion to Lysonice; though indeed it fell out naturally enough, after a conversation which I am going to relate to you.  
The prince found Lysonice at the lodgings of the princess of Carthage, where there were also Pasilia, Delisia and divers other Ladies: Anherbal was there too, and several men of quality. Cloranisbes' who attended on the prince, seeing Lysonice arrive, would have gone away, that he might not see such things in the eyes of his Master as would extremely displease him, though he was not jealous. But the Princess of Carthage maliciously detained him, upon a pretext of having something to speak with him about; for she lived very civilly with him, though she hated him. At first the discourse was about an insurrection which was at that time at Carthage; but insensibly passing from policy to Love, it came to be questioned, Who is the most unhappy, a Lover that receives a thousand favours from his Mistress, and is jealous of her, or one that obtains none other, and has no jealousy at all. For my part (said the prince) I put no comparison between these; for I account it the greatest of all unhappinesses not to be loved at all, and to obtain no favour from the person who is loved. Though I am not jealous (answered Cloranisbes') nevertheless, my Lord, I am of an opinion contrary to yours, and strongly persuaded that a jealous Lover will be a thousand times more miserable, though he obtain a thousand favours, than he who obtains nothing, if he be free from jealousy. What? (replied the prince) do you conceive a greater infelicity in love than not to be loved at all, and to desire a thousand things which you dare not hope? Ha! my Lord (answered Cloranisbes') there is nothing so bold as hope, and nothing so impossible which a man who loves ardently cannot hope. So that in his greatest torments he makes a comfort to himself which does not forsake him; the future seems more agreeable to him than the present; and hope never abandoning him, he is never altogether miserable. But on the contrary, a favoured Lover, who is jealous, has nothing but fear for an inseparable companion. Every thing causes him to fear, every thing disquiets and afflicts him; and the very favours which he receives, becoming suspected to him, he imagines then when he is favoured he is deluded, and that he is not treated well but only to be betrayed. All which you say, is very cruel (replied the Prince) but do you count it nothing to be continually in fear of being never favoured at all? 'Tis a very severe sentiment (answered Cloranisbes') but nothing near that which causes a perpetual fear of losing that which we enjoy and think we have purchased with a thousand services, and can never lose without injustice. Inasmuch as the fancy always magnifies all sorts of pleasures (replied the Prince) I conceive that a man not hoping to obtain the sweetnesses which he imagines infinite, is more miserable, than he who fears to lose a good which he knows what it is. Ha! my Lord (cried Cloranisbes') assoon as the advantageous preconceived opinion ceases in love, love itself ceases, and jealousy would cease also if it could. But whereas on the contrary, that prepossession of the imagination increases at the same measure that jealousy does, a man by continuing jealous, comes at length not only to believe that the good which he enjoys is the greatest of all goods, but withal to persuade himself that all the people in the world believe it such, desire it, seek after it, and are ready to ravish it from him. Judge therefore, my Lord, if there be any comparison between an unhappy Lover free from jealousy, and a favoured Lover who is jealous. No (answered the Prince) there is none; for an unhappy Lover without jealousy, is so much the more jealous, in that he can never cause his unhappiness to cease; because it does not depend on himself. Whereas a jealous Lover, and who is jealous without cause, needs only to make a great resolution, and to make use of his reason to cure his evil. Ha! my Lord (cried Cloranisbes' again) you ill understand jealousy, if you believe a jealous man able to cure himself of the evil which persecutes him. On the contrary he increases it every instant, by false conjectures, ill deduced consequences, a thousand groundless suspicions, continual fears, causeless reflections, and imaginations void of all probability. A jealous man accounts nothing impossible, he believes he sees what he does not see, he believes he hears what he does not hear; there is not one of his senses but is liable to betray him, and his very reason, being perverted by his fancy, and no longer understanding the art to distinguish truth from falsehood, serves further to delude him, and render him more miserable. You speak so well of jealousy (said the Princess of Carthage maliciously) that certainly you must needs have been very jealous: I say, have been (added she) for the virtue of Lysonice is too great to permit you to be so still; and she is too fair to suspect you of having any other affection. Lysonice blushed at this discourse, and to hide her colour turned away her head, and fell to speak to Anherbal. As for Cloranisbes', he said gallantly enough, that the question was not about a jealous Husband, but a jealous Lover, and that in what manner soever the case were considered, he was wholly unconcerned in the contestation. After this, there came some Ladies, who caused the conversation to change, and propounded to the Princess of Carthage to go take the air upon the Seashore, in a place where it is as straight as a 〈…〉 and where it is as even as the course of the Olympick-Games. So that this motion being agreed to, all the Ladies went in Chariots, and men on horseback, excepting Cloranisbes', who went not along with the company. When they were arrived at the Seashore, all the Court walked a foot in the handsomest place of the World; for when 'tis calm, the Sea as gently drives its billows upon the shore, as if it were no deeper than a small River. The sand of it is of a fair Colour, the shells which are seen on that side are very agreeable, and the herbs which the waves cast upon the banks delight the eyes with their lively and various colours. Besides, this vast extent of Sea which seems to unite with the Heaven, has a kind of grand aspect which pleases, and inspires respect. On the other side stands Utica which makes a handsome show, and several other Villages, and many Cottages of Fishermen who by their rusticity adorn this maritime prospect. In one place people are seen drying their Nets, and others mending them; in another, women making Baskets of Bulrushes which serve for fishing; otherwhere Fisher-boats scattered upon the Sea, and men sitting upon the Rocks, who holding lines in their hands, are as attentive and immovable as the Rocks upon which they sit. But however, observe what a place it was in which all this fair Court went to divert themselves. The Sun was then setting, and his last rays guilding all the surface of the Sea, and painting all the Clouds almost with the very colours of the morning, presented so fair a sight to the eyes of Lysonice, that leaving all the rest of the company to go forward, she sat down by the Sea side upon a Rock covered with verdant moss, and fell to consider with pleasure these several effects of the declining Sun. But she had scarce began to muse, when the Prince leaving Anherbal to whom he was speaking, went to her, and respectfully interrupted her. I beseech you Madam (said he to her) tell me whether you decide the question in your mind, of which Cloranisbes' and I lately disputed. In truth, my Lord (said she to him and rise up) I was not thinking of it, but I was only considering at this instant whether the Sea were not more graceful than the Sky. That's but an inconsiderable question to entertain the mind of a fair person (answered he) who has a thousand other things to think of: however, being this sight pleases you, stay where you are, and only suffer me to be with you. And so Lysonice placing herself again upon the Rock where she sat, the Prince seated himself upon another which was right against her, and began to discourse to her. I wish, Madam (said he to her) whilst your eyes are diverted with seeing all those tremulous lights which the waves beating upon one another show you, you would really tell me, what sentiment you were of a while since during our dispute, and whether you would not more pity a Lover that were not jealous and had the unhappiness not to be loved, than one that were favoured and extremely jealous. I am so persuaded (answered Lysonice) that such as are causelessly jealous deserve all the torments which they suffer, that I need not deliberate to determine myself in favour of an unhappy Lover, who is not jealous, and to grant him my compassion rather than to a favoured and jealous lover, who almost ever becomes the most inacceptable Lover in the world, assoon as he is possessed with a vehement jealousy. I am obliged to you, Madam (said the Prince to her) and I owe you many thanks. In truth, my Lord (answered she) you have no great obligation to me, since I only speak my opinion so as it is. I have more than you believe (replied he) and to leave you no ground to doubt of it, know, I am one of those unhappy Lovers, who love with favours and without jealousy, but who love so desperately, that never was any lover so miserable as I. When I engaged myself to have compassion (said she) I did not imagine, my Lord, that you were concerned in the case. That knowledge, Madam (answered the Prince) ought not to cause you to change that mind; on the contrary, I am persuaded there is not one of my Subjects for whom you ought to have so much compassion as for me. Methinks (replied she smiling) it would be a want of respect for any to dare to say they have pity on their Sovereign; and therefore, my Lord, you shall permit to seek out some other expression which may agree to you better. That you may find a more exact one (answered he) suffer me to tell you the greatness of my evil, for you cannot be ignorant of what nature it is, and no doubt you know, that after having loved your Picture which was less handsome than yourself, I love you so ardently, that I have almost ceased to love Cloranisbes' who has debarred me of that which belonged to me, and hindered you from being Princess of Carthage.  
Lysonice no doubt, was much amazed at this discourse of the prince, though she knew he was amorous of her. But her ambition made it a little less ungrateful to her; Cloranisbes' discontent incensed her mind, and she was infinitely troubled with the thought of his being jealous. But after all, the same temper which inclined her to ambition, caused her to love honour, and hindered her from being able to consent to a criminal love. Nevertheless, being she believed Cloranisbes' guilty of disloyal proceeding both towards the Prince and herself, and alike deficient in generosity to them both, she did not reject the Prince with so much severity as she would have done in another case. I grant, my Lord (said she to him) I am obliged to you for the love you had for my Picture, and I ought as long as I live to acknowledge the advantageous intention you had for my fortune at that time; but the case is not the same in reference to the love you say you have for me at present, which cannot be but injurious to me. Therefore, my Lord, do not destroy that first obligation by an injury; for as ambitious as I am, that passion is incapable of exciting me to commit an unworthiness. I beseech you, Madam (said the Prince to her) do not suspect me of offering to do an injury to a person whom I adore; I will but only love you, and I promise you too, to do all I can, that I may desire nothing else; but if I cannot give bounds to my passion, my desires and my hopes, I will do all I can to obtain your permission to demand you of Cloranisbes'; for if you and he be so willing, the Laws will permit me to marry you. There are examples of this kind, and you may cease to be wife of Cloranisbes', and still become Princess of Carthage. I know not, my Lord, whether the Laws allow what you speak of (answered she and rise up) but I know well, honour does not allow me to hear you further. Alas! I beseech you, Madam (cried the Prince, offering to detain her) do not make me desperate; for if you do, I shall hate Cloranisbes', I shall revenge myself of him, and be carried to the severest extremities. Consider that he minded his own contentment and not your advantage, but I require nothing of you which is not glorious unto you. No, no, my Lord (answered she and began to go towards the Princess of Carthage, who was coming to them) all the ambition of my heart shall never cause me to do any thing against my duty; and therefore I conjure you not to persist obstinately in a design which will never succeed to you. The Prince could not answer her, because Lysonice having joined with the Princess of Carthage, did not leave her all the rest of the evening.  
But Lysonice seemed so discontented and so pensive to Pasilia and Delisia, when she was returned home, that they did not leave her in quiet till she told them the cause of her melancholy. Whereupon, having related to them the discourse she had had with the Prince; Well, too inquisitive Friends (said she to them) do not you think I have reason to be melancholy? Is not my Destiny strangely severe, to expose me to unhappinesses made purposely for me, and which come under the apparences of good Fortune? When Cloranisbes' married me, I was so weary of being in Exile, that I believed I was going to be happy. Nevertheless, I passed from Exile to solitude, and I found I had only changed my discontent. After that, I came to Court, but there I have lived with a continual melancholy to see that Cloranisbes' whom I thought had loved me well, has loved only himself, and hindered me from being Princess of Carthage. However, being he is a person of merit, perhaps I should at length have resolved to cure myself of my ambition and pardon him, if I had not observed in his heart, that if he is not jealous he may be: and for my utmost unhappiness, the Prince is become amorous of me, and propounds to me to separate from Cloranisbes' and marry me. Judge then in what a condition I am; for although I am ambitious (added she) yet certainly I have affection for Cloranisbes'; and should my anger have diminished it, I confess to you, I could not resolve to marry the Prince of Carthage. Such as marry again after the death of their husbands, I can by no means fancy; judge then whether I am capable of resolving to forsake Cloranisbes' to marry another. But since 'tis so (answered Pasilia) I see no need you have to be greatly perplexed. I am of your mind (added Delisia.) But for my part (excepted Lysonice) I am not at all. For do not you consider that if I be rigorous to the Prince, he will banish Cloranisbes'; and if I keep fair terms with him, I shall increase his passion, and excite jealousy in Cloranisbes', who perhaps will send me back into the Country? Cloranisbes' is so good a man (answered Pasilia) that you may always do what pleases you. Cloranisbes' loves himself so highly (replied she) that 'tis for his own sake only that he loves me with such ardency, and so he will consider nothing but his own felicity. But what would you have him do? (said Pasilia.) I would (answered she) that if the Prince proposes to him to marry me, he love me so well, as to come and tell me that he will consider nothing but my satisfaction, and if I desire it, consent to our separation, that so I may be Princess of Carthage. Ha! Lysonice (replied Delisia) if Cloranisbes' could part with you to the Prince, he would love you too little. But since you say (added Pasilia) you would not be the wife of two husbands, what matters it to you whether Cloranisbes' consent or no to a thing which you do not desire? It is so great a matter to me (answered she) that I find I shall be much dissatisfied with him, if he be not so generous as to do what shall please me without exception. It must be confessed (said Pasilia) the sentiments of people are very different; for if I had a Lover or a Husband who were capable of parting with me to the greatest King in the world, I should hate him. I am not of your opinion (answered Lysonice hastily) for if Cloranisbes' consider only himself, I shall repine at him in my heart; and though I am resolved to continue his wife till death, yet I shall be so without any contentment; for I cannot endure those people who love only with respect to themselves, who consider nothing but their own pleasure, and mind nothing else. Such were the sentiments of Lysonice.  
In the mean time the Prince's love augmenting from day to day, and the Princess of Carthage (who sought only to remove Cloranisbes' from the Court) subtly promoting it, she brought the matter to the utmost extremities, and took upon her to speak to Cloranisbes' in behalf of the Prince, to persuade him to resign Lysonice to him. The discourse she made use of was subtle and crafty; she made semblance of pitying his unhappiness; she accused the Prince of injustice: but at last she gave him to understand that it was necessary for him to part with Lysonice. Cloranisbes' appeared sufficiently surprised at this discourse; for though he well perceived the Prince's love, yet he did not believe the matter would have gone so far. His greatest discontent was, for that he imagined Lysonice could not but have given way to the Prince to make this proposal to him. However, he knew the business could not be effected without him; because the Law requires that both the Husband and Wife equally consent to their Divorce. But this did not hinder but that his mind was extremely perplexed. I know, Madam (said he at length to the Princess of Carthage) that I owe all things to the Prince, yet this does not hinder but that there are many things which I may deny him without injustice; for, in fine, every thing which is impossible, is no part of my duty. I confess it (answered the Princess) but you can part with Lysonice, and consequently you ought, since the Prince cannot live without her, and you owe all things to him. I wish I had never loved Lysonice (replied he) and the Prince had married her. But, Madam, seeing the Gods have permitted that I am her husband, I shall be so till death. If the Prince will take away my life, I consent to it; he needs only choose such a punishment as he pleases, I shall suffer it; but as for Lysonice, I will never surrender her, no, though she herself should consent to the Prince's design. Have a care what you do, Cloranisbes' (said she to him.) I do all which I ought, Madam (answered he) inasmuch as I do all which I can. After this, this subtie Princess feigning to pity him, craftily confirmed him in the resoluion which he took, that so he might exasperare the Prince against himself. Which being done, he went to his own house where the Prince had newly been, on purpose to tell Lysonice what he had caused to be proposed to Cloranisbes'. 'Tis certain she very ill received him in spite of all her own ambition, and told him peremptorily, she would never be his Wife, though she much regretted that she was not. As soon as Cloranisbes' entered, he understood Lysonice knew of the proposition which was made to him; and as soon as Lysonice saw Cloranisbes', she perceived he had been spoken to about the Prince's design. So that being both sufficiently perplexed, they remained some time without speaking; but at length Cloranisbes' breaking the sad silence, Well, Madam (said he to her) will you be so generous as not to be offended if I desire that you continue in the enjoyment of the unhappy Cloranisbes' all your life, and if I cannot consent that you be Princess of Carthage? You are so accustomed not to love me but for your own sake (answered she) that 'tis easy for me to conjecture what answer you would have me give you. 'Tis as easy too (replied he) for me to guests what you would have me say to you; but I confess it, ambitious Lysonice, my love for you is still as great as your ambition; and therefore do not think it strange if I cannot resolve to part with you to the Prince. I know I destroy both my own fortune and yours, but I know I cannot resolve to lose you. 'Tis true (added he) perhaps I endanger displeasing you by not resigning you, and losing your heart by desiring to retain your person; but though you should hate me, I cannot cease to love you, nor consent that the Prince be happy with my loss, and enrich himself with my own treasure. But alas! whence is it that your love is not equal to mine? if it were, you would suffer banishment, and the subversion of your fortune would not trouble you: but to speak sincerely, you loved the Favourite of the Prince of Carthage when you loved me, without confiding in the person of Cloranisbes', and so 'tis no wonder if you love the Prince better than the Favourite. I hear all which you say (answered Lysonice coldly) as so many new signs of a self-interested love; however, to assure you that I will not marry the Prince, know, I have this day deprived him of all manner of hope. Ha! how happy am I (interrupted Cloranisbes') if you speak truth! Do not be so forward to thank me (answered she) for I do it more out of honour than affection; for, in fine, I confess to you, Cloranisbes', I am not satisfied with yours. You have been diffident of me, and could not resolve to tell me, that I might recover the fortune which you caused me to lose by your fraud. However, content yourself, that I refuse an advantage which would certainly have affected my heart, and do not pretend I have any obligation to you for a deed which is likely to render both of us unhappy. The worst is, the mischief has no remedy, and our strange destiny will have us prove infallibly miserable. For being you love me only for your own sake, when time shall have a little changed me, you will likewise be changed towards me; and so I shall see myself without your affection, and you, perhaps, with repentance for having loved me. But be it how it will, I must resolve to seek my consolation in myself. If you loved me as well as I love you, and shall love you as long as I live (replied Cloranisbes') you would speak after another manner; but I am not so happy; and 'tis left only to my choice to be more or less miserable. You would certainly have been more happy (answered Lysonice) if you had less studied to be so.  
As Cloranisbes' was going to answer, one of his Friends came to inquire for him, to give him notice that the Prince of Carthage was extremely incensed against him, and that his love of Lysonice was so violent; that it was capable to carry him to any kind of injustice. If he take away my life (answered he without being moved) he will oblige me; but to pretend to deprive me of Lysonice, is that which I will never endure. But you must know the Princess of Carthage (who designed only to ruin Cloranisbes', and would not that her Brother should marry Lysonice) caused it to be told this fair person that the Prince intended to take her away by force; not doubting but this would oblige her to withdraw herself from Utica. For though she well understood she was ambitious, yet she knew too that she tendered honour above all things. And accordingly Lysonice no sooner received this information, but shutting herself into her Closet with Pasilia and Delisia, she told them she absolutely resolved to go and return to her Father and Mother, in that fortified place which they held, without imparting her purpose to any person, not even to Cloranisbes' himself; And then telling them what intelligence had been given her, I shall be so secret (said she to them) in my flight, because if the Prince should violently seize upon me, all the World would believe I was the cause of it myself, and nothing but death could manifest my innocence. 'Tis the best course therefore not to venture the having need of so violent a remedy. Not, that flight and solitude are of more value to me, but I shall at least have the advantage of making it apparent that I know how to overrule my inclinations when I please. Pasilia and Delisia would have persuaded her to tell Cloranisbes' of her purpose; but she was inflexible: No, no, (said she to them) 'tis best that he be able to say with truth that he knew not of my departure; that so the Prince may not accuse him of it. Wherefore without further delay, she pretended the next morning she would go spend the day at the house of a Lady which was her friend, standing without the City: but instead of doing so, she took a by-way which led towards the place where she chose her retreat. At night a slave came to tell Cloranisbes' that she would lie at her Friend's house: but Cloranisbes' said nothing to it, though it was not her custom; and the Prince being indisposed that day, did not go to seek her. The next morning indeed he sent a compliment to her to know her health; and when it was told him, she lay out of the City, he took a resolution to go visit her in the afternoon. But he was much astonished to receive a Letter from Lysonice, in which he found these words.  
Lysonice to the Prince of Carthage.  
ACcuse me not Cloranisbes' of my departure; for I protest to you, my Lord, he knows not that I am gone: 'tis a design which I have put in execution without imparting it to him. But I believed I could take no better course for your quiet and my own, than to take a person from your sight who can never render you happy, but might render you unjust. I do not pray you to pardon me, but only not to hate Cloranisbes'.  
No sooner had the Prince read this Letter, but he was strangely transported both against Lysonice and Cloranisbes'. So that as he is of a violent temper, he commanded some persons to ask Cloranisbes' from himself where Lysonice was, and to secure him, if he did not tell precisely. Anherbal, who received this order, was very much perplexed; for just as he arrived at his house, Cloranisbes' had done reading a Letter which Lysonice had written and sent to him, and was conceived almost in these terms.  
Lysonice to Cloranisbes'.  
YOu will see by my flight that I do not care to be Princess of Carthage, and you will see by all my actions that you ought to have had more confidence in my generosity. But as for affection, expect none from a person whom you have never loved but for your own sake only. No doubt I will always do all whatsoever honour requires me, but look for no more from me. I justify you as much as I can to the Prince; 'tis all can be done for you by an unhappy person who will let you know the place of her sanctuary when she is at distance enough to be no longer in fear that the Prince of Carthage should violently seize upon her.  
As Cloranisbes' ended reading this Letter, Anherbal entered, and told him what order he had received from the Prince. Did I know where Lysonice is (answered Cloranisbes') I would not tell you; since I understand by a Letter which I just now received from her that the Prince had a design to seize upon her by force: but in truth I have no hand in her flight, and I come to learn it by a Letter which she has writ to me. Anherbal being of late become one of his intimate friends, he accordingly showed him Lysonice's Letter, at which he was amazed. Wherefore he took upon him to go tell the Prince that which he had seen, without securing Cloranisbes'. But the Prince interpreting all that was said to him as a collusion, fell into choler against Anherbal, and forthwith sent away the Captain of his Guards to arrest Cloranisbes', who was now extremely glad to know Lysonice was no longer at Utica. However, the Prince sent after her; but being she travelled all the day and night before, and took an unfrequented way, those whom he sent after her could not find her. Whereupon, he grew into a rage which nothing could appease, or equal; unless it were the grief of Cloranisbes', who in the midst of all those misfortunes resented more the displeasure he had in not being loved by Lysonice, than any of the rest.  
Assoon as this fair person was got to Bostar, this generous African writ to the Prince to complain of his violence, and giving him to understand that if he used Cloranisbes' ill, he would make his peace with the King of Massilia, and forsake his part. But on the other side, the Prince of Carthage, who intended to cause Lysonice to come back to Utica, answered him that Cloranisbes' should never be at liberty unless Lysonice returned, and that he would not promise for his life, if he deserted his party to take that of the King of Massilia. Lysonice seeing things in this condition, remained resolute, and always declared that she would not return to Utica; notwithstanding Cyrene her Mother so represented to her, that perhaps she would be the cause of her husband's death, that she resolved to write to him by a secret way which was prescribed to her; and she writ in this manner.  
Lysonice to Cloranisbes'.  
SEnd me word whether you had rather see me a prisoner than be so yourself; if you had, I will go to Utica to deliver you; for though you love me not but for your own sake, I will act generously for my own.  
This Letter was secretly delivered to Cloranisbes', who answered to it in these terms.  
Cloranisbes' to Lysonice.  
YOur liberty is a thousand times dearer to me than my own; therefore take no care to deliver me, which perhaps death will shortly do, and then you will be Mistress of yourself. If my Vows be heard, you shall be Queen of Massilia, but never Princess of Carthage. And when I shall be no longer in being, remember I have never displeased you but through excess of love.  
You may judge that this Letter did not oblige Lysonice to change her mind, and so she did not go to Utica: but neither did the Prince of Carthage set Cloranisbes' at liberty. Divers persons have bestirred themselves in negotiating to accommodate so great a difference: but for that the Princess of Carthage has so great a power over the Prince her Brother, he is obstinate not to deliver Cloranisbes', against whom crimes of State are forged which he never committed, to the end the people may repine the less. Wherefore this Prince having declared that unless Lysonice change her mind within four months, he will put Cloranisbes' to death, this fair person believing I have sufficient influence over the Prince's mind, has sent one of my friends to me to desire that I would return speedily, to endeavour the calming of this great storm; and by a rare chance, the Prince, not knowing any thing of Lysonice's design, has given order to the same man, to come and command me in his name to return assoon as possible I can. But being uncertain whether I were in Sicily, or here, he passed through Agrigentum, where by the way he saw the generous Prince of that place.  
Oh! I beseech you (said Plotina interrupting him) tell me some news of him if you know any; for the Prince of Agrigentum seemed so worthy a man where the History of Artemidorus was related to us, that I should be glad to know whether you have heard any thing concerning him, and whether the amiable Philonice his daughter be still among the Veiled Virgins. 'Tis certain she is there still (answered Amilar) and a Lady a very faithful Friend of hers whom she left in the world, regrets her continually. But as for the Prince of Agrigentum, he is married again to a person so accomplished that nothing can be desired more to her. For there lives not a handsomer person in the world, and there never was any whose virtue has been more solid and more generally acknowledged, nor whose deportment has been more uniformly prudent, nor whose goodness has been greater or more agreeable. All the lineaments of her countenance are wonderfully handsome, her eyes have as much loveliness and sweetness as the most exquisite Painters can fancy; her mouth is very graceful, the shape of her visage very noble, her complexion admirably fair, her hair of a rare bright colour, her stature proper, her deportment comely, her aspect very modest, sweet, and discreet, her neck graceful, her arms pure, and her hands well shaped; and he that would represent virtue, must draw the Picture of the admirable Artelicia. All the world has approved the choice of the Prince of Agrigentum, whose generosity is perpetually the same. But, in fine, amiable Plotina, you see reason and generosity require me to take a voyage into Africa, to serve an unfortunate Friend, and to give the Prince an account of the state of affairs in Sicily. But being Love does not require it, I know not what will be done, and besides I feel I know not what kind of secret motion in my Soul, which tells me I shall not return into Africa. However, I would fain know a little better than I do all the beginning of your life. Content yourself (answered Plotina) in knowing that you are much disfavoured in my heart, and let me leave what is passed, 〈◊〉 that which we can have nothing to do with; but at present I have a great deal of pity for Cloranisbes'. I pity him as much as you (said Valeria) and Lysonice also; for had she a little less ambition, she would be perfectly amiable. She is more so than you can imagine (answered Amilcar) and 'tis no wonder that Cloranisbes' is still her Lover though he be her husband, and that the Prince loves her so far as to be unjust for her. But how came it (said Plotina) that you did not love her? As I never had any great passion before I saw you, Madam (answered Amilcar) so I became not much more amorous than I was willing to be; and therefore having regard to my friendship with Cloranisbes', I overruled my heart in spite of all Lysonice's charms, and left it for some days between the hands of Pasilia or Delisia; for to speak sincerely, I know not to which of the two I made most courtship; but this I know with certainty, that I have never loved any so much as you: and assuredly it ought not to be much wondered at; for it is not so frequent to meet with extraordinary persons who can inspire great passions. Youth excites nothing but delight; beauty, nothing but desires; virtue alone, esteem and respect; great wit, admiration; eminent goodness, friendship: So that to frame a person who may produce at the same time delight, desires, esteem, respect, admiration, friendship, and love, it is requisite that she be endued with all that I have mentioned, and together with all these, with an inexpressible pleasingness, such as you have. For, as for my part, I could sooner dispense with the want of extraordinary youth, and great beauty, than that I know not what charmingness which is found in your eyes and in your wit. And, in fine, I speak boldly to the disparagement of beauty, I have all my life professed I would have a Mistress who could please me without seeing her, with whom I might walk in the dark without tediousness and melancholy, and who was also fit to be an agreeable Friend, in case it should come to pass that I loved her no longer as a Mistress. You speak very prudently (replied Plotina) but to be as wise as you are (continued she) I think I should have done well not to countenance the affection of a stranger; for I begin to fear your departure more than consists with my quiet. Ha! charming Plotina (said he) how delightful to me is this which you say, and how powerful to retain me eternally with you! While he was speaking thus, one brought a Letter, the superscription of which was addressed to Plotina: but having opened it, she found that it was not intended to her, and contained only these four Verses.  
Charming Hermilia! here at Rome, I deemed  
I only as a friend had you esteemed:  
But now I find your absence does discover  
This truth unknown before, I am your Lover.  
Plotina had scarce done reading them, but Hermilia entered, and gave her a Letter opened; Certainly (said she to her) Octavius must needs have been mistaken, for he directs a Letter to me which does not suit with me. You will be confirmed in that opinion (answered Plotina) by reading this which I give you, which will manifest to you, that my brother is really mistaken. Hermilia took it and read it; but as she was reading it, she blushed, and her melancholy renewing at that instant by the remembrance of her Brother and her Lover, the tears came into her eyes. Which nevertheless she restrained, and returning Plotina Octavius' Letter, I am so persuaded (said she to her softly) that in the condition I am in, I am fit only to excite pity, that I cannot think I have been able to excite Love. Besides, if it were so, Octavius would be more unhappy thereby: for in truth I love my grief so much, that I believe I should hate whosoever would comfort me of it. Plotina would have answered Hermilia if Telanus had not arrived, who brought Theomenes to them, and told them that at the very time he was speaking, Galerita, the Princess of the Leontines, the generous Melintha, the charming Hersilia, all the friends of Aronces and Titus too, were speaking in his favour to Porsenna; and he promised that the next morning he would let them know what the success was. But who is this Hersilia you speak of? (said the fair and melancholy Hermilia) What? (said Plotina looking attentively upon her) did not you take notice, the day the Queen of Hetruria came hither, of a very fair person who was with her, to whom Melintha was almost continually speaking, and who has so lovely an air? I assure you (answered Hermilia) I observed nothing, but had my mind filled only with my own sorrow, whilst that great Court was here. Were it but only to do something new (said Amilcar) 'tis fit to draw you the Picture of a person whom you saw and did not see. For my part (said Plotina) who am charmed with her beauty, I shall be ravished to understand a little more accurately who she is: and as for me (said Valeria) seeing she is Melintha's friend, and does Aronces service, I am very curious of all that relates to her. Theomenes can better content your desire (answered Telanus) than any one, for he is Hersilia's intimate friend. I am ready to do what the company pleases (said Theomenes) but if the fair Hermilia has not the same curiosity, I shall speak nothing of her person, but only of her wit and virtue. 'Tis true (answered this illustrious Sister of Brutus) few things in the world can make me curious; but being I am conscious that it is not just to molest all the world continually with our grief, and that when we seek not to cure it by death, we ought to overrule it, and learn at least to live, without appearing incivil and humoursome; to reproach myself of my weakness in not being able to overcome my melancholy, I will confess ingenuously, that I know not whether Hersilia is brown or fair, tall or low; and next, I will demand of you, what manner of person it is whom you esteem, and who (I understand) is universally esteemed. Know then, Madam (said Theomenes) Hersilia is of a very comely and agreeable stature. Her hair is the fairest brown in the World, her visage oval, her eyes large and handsome and of something a darkish blue, which renders them more sparkling and agreeable. She has a handsome mouth, pure teeth, and the air and cast of a sprightly person, of a person of condition, and of a person of the Court. Her Physiognomy is noble, there is lustre and delicateness in her beauty; she has no affectedness neither in her looks, nor words, nor actions; and though she has sometimes I know not what little discontented and fierce air, yet it serves rather to render her amiable than diminish her Charms. Her gracefulness is enforced, she dresses herself very tightly, and especially her head to the best advantage without showing too much or too little art therein. One thing is very peculiar to Hersilia, namely, that without appearing morose, never any other Beauty was so averse from all thoughts of Gallantry. In effect all the Court renders homage to her virtue, and has an extraordinary esteem for her. Hersilia's heart is naturally very noble, and her mind of good temper; she sees things as they are, and acts always as she ought. She is naturally magnificent too and generous, she is faithful, secret, and discreet; and though she is not the freest person in the world of her caresses, nevertheless she is always very civil. She loves few people ardently, although otherwise she is a very generous Friend. She is much affected with merit, and carefully seeks all opportunities to serve such as are deserving. She understands handsome composures exactly, and without making ostentation of her wit, they that write Verses well cannot judge of them better than she. She is skilled in divers Foreign Languages, she speaks very agreeably; and there is something I know not what so charming both in her person and in her mind, that she cannot be too much extolled. Having a considerable charge under the Queen, she has many time's occasion to give proofs of her conduct, address, and judgement; but whatever occasion she meets with, she always comes off with glory; and it may be said, in brief, that Hersilia is a Lady infinitely amiable. When she does not esteem any one, she is sufficiently put to't to conceal it; and she is more absolutely Mistress of her inclination than of her aversion. Her piety is solid, and not like theirs, who affect a certain outside austerity which scarce ever reaches to the heart: and it may be said without untruth, Hersilia is so accomplished, that no greater perfections can be desired in any person. Moreover, she is highly respected by the generous Artander her husband, who has an eminent Office and a very considerable Government under the King, and who no doubt deserves to have such a virtuous wife as Hersilia. For he is of an illustrious family, has an heroic mind, great judgement, and capacity to manage the most difficult affairs. He is honourable, just, and valiant as any mortal can be; he has done several great and glorious actions in the Wars, which have acquired him a fair renown. But his valour produces neither vanity, nor pride, nor insolence in him; and no man can be found that exceeds him in modesty and prudence. He has some backwardness in his first addresses; but being very civil too, his serious humour does not disoblige any; and in fine, it may be concluded that if Hersilia is worthy of Artander, Artander is worthy of Hersilia. All which Theomenes has spoken is so true (said Telanus) that if he be deficient in any thing, 'tis in not speaking enough of those two excellent persons. I acknowledge it (answered Theomenes) but the cause of it, is, because I am so accustomed to the modest humour of Hersilia, who will never have any to commend her, that I dare not so much as praise her in her absence; so great a fear I have of stirring up that amiable little frowardness, which she is sometimes in raillery reproached with, and withal which so well becomes her. But I would know (said Amilcar) whether the fair Hermilia, who saw her and did not see her, the day the Queen of Hetruria came hither, has not heard that which Theomenes has spoken, and not attended to him. No (answered this fair Virgin) and I know now so well what a person Hersilia is, that if I still took any care for the World, I would with all my heart resemble her. You have no doubt wherewith to comfort yourself without resembling her (said Plotina) but 'tis true, if you ought to cease being such as you are, you would have reason to desire to be such as she is; since she is certainly a very love ● and excellent person. It needs be no wonder 〈…〉 the generous Melintha loves her so much. Yet their humours are not alike (said Amilcar) but having both of them very prudent wits, they never clash, even in such things wherein they do not agree. The truth is (said Telanus) Melintha is much taken with the delights of solitude, which Hersilia does not care for: but this diversity of sentiments produces only an innocent contest, which occasions them to speak very agreeable things. When Hersilia (added Theomenes) is for some days at a little place of retirement, which my Sister much affects, she reproaches her pleasantly for taking more pleasure, in seeing from her Windows great Boats loaden with several Countrey-commodities pass by, than in seeing some stately Horse-race. For my part (said Plotina) I should side with Hersilia in this contest against Melintha: And I should help Melintha (said Valeria) to defend herself against Hersilia. For I think nothing more delightful than to see Boats afar off going to and fro upon a great River, to behold the Flocks dispersed in the Meadows, the Shepherds playing upon some rustic Instrument, and the Shepherdesses dancing at the corner of a Wood Then you would like Melintha's little house well (said Telanus) for all things there are solitary, Country-like, and agreeable. In what place is this lovely solitude? (demanded Valeria.) It is near Clusium (answered Theomenes) but I undertake not to describe it to you; Telanus must do that, if you desire to know what manner of place it is. I willingly consent thereto (replied Telanus) for I confess to you, I am extremely pleased with it. Tell us then precisely how it is (said Plotina) but have a care what you speak, for I advertise you, Amilcar who hears you, knows how to make the description of a handsome place admirably. I am so accustomed (answered Telanus) to yield to Amilcar, that I shall not be surprised if I be inferior to him in the art of making descriptions. For my part (said Amilcar) I confess to you, I shall be much troubled if you surpass me. Happen what will (said Telanus, after he had been desired to represent the house of Melintha) I shall tell you the solitude I am to describe has something so pleasing in it, that all Palaces must yield to it. But that which is more remarkable in this matter, is, that the admirable Melintha has made so considerable an alteration in this place, that it may be said she has almost wholly transformed it. The first time I was there, I could not conceive it could become agreeable, the Garden behind the house was so exceedingly narrow, and all the ground was so declining and uneven that one would have thought he walked upon the side of a precipice. So that though the prospect of this place was very handsome, yet it was enjoyed from so incommodious a station, that this diminished part of its delightfulness. Nevertheless in a very short time and with no great expense, Melintha has rendered it such as I am going to describe to you. The Court is of a largeness proportionable to the house, all which is seen of the building appears new and of a graceful plainness. There is a Hall which has a Chamber at one end and a kind of little Gallery at the other. It is open in the midst of the side towards the Garden, which two stages of stone-stairs lead into, from whence is seen a green plat terraced, of a very reasonable greatness, a rustical Garden beneath, which leads insensibly descending into a little Grove, whose shadiness is so much the more agreeable, for that there is heard from thence the murmur of a very pleasant River which passes hard by. But to return to the stone-perron whence I have drawn your imagination, conceive, that you see from thence not only the terraced green-plat, the rustical Garden, and the little Grove, but above twenty miles' distance, with so charming a variety of objects, that nothing is more agreeable. For beyond all that I have mentioned there is seen a delightful River, in which are several little green Islands embellishing it in that place, between which many little Boats are seen passing to and fro. But a hundred paces from thence, this pleasant River goes toward the right hand to discharge itself into a greater, which is seen coming afar off; and being it comes winding, it is seen in several places at a great distance. So that beholding the water on both sides, this little corner of Land wherein many Flocks are feeding, seems almost an Island between two Rivers which make an admirable show; and beyond which are seen many handsome Villages, till the sight loses itself: and on the left hand a rustic bridge and a little house beyond, whose irregular structure contributes something to the handsomeness of the prospect, as well as several remote Temples which are seen in divers places of the Plain. But having described this pleasant Landscape to you, which is seen from all the apartments of the house, I must lead you up a curious and goodly staircase, and cause you to enter into a Chamber, the hangings of which are blue and silver, and the Windows reach from the top to the bottom, that so the sight may be more free. Next, I must lead you into a little place in which there is nothing but chains, a little Table, two admirable Pictures with guilded frames, the designs of which having some correspondence to solitude, agreeably fill the imagination. For in one of them is seen a very handsome woman, represented in a wild Country, wherein no living thing appears but this fair person, who seeming to be driven out of the World, leans upon a Tree in a careless manner, which manifests that the light itself is no longer the object of her view, so retired she appears into herself. Her graceful fair hair is dishevelled upon her shoulders, the whiteness of which cannot be surpassed but by the complexion of this solitary fair, in whose countenance is seen so sweet a sorrow, that joy itself never caused any thing so agreeable. Her whole posture has a negligence full of sadness, which corresponds to her sentiments. As much as is seen of her body is admirable, the little clothing which appears is natural, the Landscape is done to the life, and, in fine, this piece is worthy of the excellent Painter who drew it, of the amiable place wherein it is, and of the admirable person to whom it belongs. But from this so delightful Cabinet you pass into a little Chamber, the most pleasant that ever was seen. The furniture of it is Grey, Isabel and White; there is also a very handsome solitary Landscape, the Bed stands in a little room apart: On one side of which is a large Window open from top to bottom, like all the rest, which have an Iron-rail to lean upon, of exquisite workmanship; and on the other, another great Window which opens into a little Closet, painted and guilded, where there is a Tablet in which jupiter is portrayed, and where Melintha performs her devotions to the Gods, on such days as she cannot go to the public Temples. But to conclude the description of this retreat of the admirable Melintha, you must know, that returning out of this little Chamber and the Cabinet where the Picture of the fair Hermit is, you go into a Chamber, the Tapestry whereof is silver and blue, and from thence enter into a Cabinet which is the handsomest in the World, out at a great Window of which is seen the same prospect which I described to you before. The form of this Cabinet is square; it is neither too high nor too low roofed, it is hung round with goodly Pictures whose frames are richly guilded, and which being of two different sizes, are placed in a very agreeable order. The fretwork has a very handsome piece in the midst, wherein the Painter has admirably represented sincerity, under the figure of a fair woman holding her heart in her hand. All the ornaments which encompass this piece are very exquisite, and all the other pictures which are seen in this Cabinet, by the design of the excellent Painter who drew them according to Melintha's order, represent several kinds of Landscapes, and solitary persons inhabiting them. Such melancholy objects are seen in some of them, that they move the hearts of the Spectators; in others, so sweet a solitude, as makes the solitary inhabitant envied; and, in brief, there is so lovely a variety in all these pieces, that Nature has not more in her productions than the admirable Painter has expressed in his works. But amongst the rest, there is a piece which hangs over a Couch, in which designing to represent several sorts of grief, he has done it so admirably, that it cannot be sufficiently commended. I forgot to tell you that on the side the door is of which is opposite to that of the Window, hangs a Looking-glass, which receiving all the objects of the prospect, gives a pleasant sight of it to one that looks not upon it. In a corner of this Cabinet a little Bay is contrived within the thickness of the Wall, to place Books in, where also Melintha would have a piece put, whose sight alone should excite sentiments of piety, notwithstanding any indisposedness thereto: but this is not seen, but when one pleases. To conclude, this Cabinet is so handsome, so uniform and so stately, that there is no Palace in the World wherein it might not be admired. Thus I have showed you this little house, which pleases Melintha far more than a greater and fairer, which she has caused to be built at Clusium. I wonder not if it pleases her (answered Plotina) for as you represent it, I think I should delight to see Boats, Shepherds, Shepherdess's and Flocks of Sheep out of that amiable Cabinet: especially (added Valeria) if there be good company. I agree with you (answered she) that agreeable company does no hurt; but, humour may add to the delight of the handsomest Desert in the World. But however, 'tis fit to do justice to Telanus, and confess that if he does not surpass Amilcar in descriptions, he may pretend to equal him. I beseech you (said Amilcar) do not determine things so precisely, but rather give an ambiguous judgement, so that either of us may believe he has the advantage. Be it how it will (said Theomenes) you may be both commended without our fearing to misplace our praises.  
As Theomenes was speaking thus, there was heard a great noise from without the Tents, which Telanus going to see what it meant, found it was caused by Soldiers quarrelling about Aronces, some of them saying the Camp ought to make an insurrection to deliver him; others, that it behoved always to obey Porsenna, who knew well what he had to do. Telanus would have appeased and accorded them, but an old Soldier addressing to him, How? my Lord (said he to him) shall we let Aronces perish without attempting to deliver him, who is all our hope? No, no, it must not be; Porsenna may remember that heretofore himself was not delivered but by violence. We are newly told (added he) that the King speaks of putting him to death assoon as he has found Mutius: but it must not be endured that he commit this injustice, and we shall serve him, in serving Aronces. Hereupon Telanus judging it might be dangerous for Aronces to have the Army show too much ardour for him; to pacify the incensed Soldiers, told them he knew the Prince would shortly be cleared, and freed from his imprisonment: whereby he repressed part of their violence, and went to re-assure the fair Romans, whom the noise had alarmed.  
This evening and the next morning, the Queen of Hetruria, the Princess of the Leontines, and all the friends of Aronces made their utmost instance for him to Porsenna; but to no effect: for he was so persuaded Aronces and Mutius had conspired against him, that he could not have been more, if himself had been an ear witness of their Confederacy. And therefore (said he to the Princess of the Leontines) 'tis only out of regard to the formalities of justice, that Aronces is not yet dead; and assoon as Mutius is found, and they whom I have in custody shall maintain before him and Aronces that they were the instruments of this horrid Conspiracy, which Love excited them to, nothing shall be able to hinder me from giving that great example of justice, which I owe to Posterity and my own preservation. All Aronces' Friends perceiving reasons, sentiments of nature, and prayers prevailed nothing with this prejudiced Prince, told him he hazarded to see Rome against him, and to cause his own Army to mutiny. If you are minded to hasten Aronces death (answered he) you need but speak as you do; for if my Subjects rebel for the Criminal Aronces, 'tis a sign that he is a rebel himself, that they look upon him as their head, and that the best course I can take is to punish a Parricide speedily. The friends of Aronces would have replied, but the cruel Tullia arriving, they could not; because the King signified that he was minded to be alone with her. Yet they repined so loudly that Tullia heard their murmurs: but being used to complaints and curses, she was not moved at them, but made show of not having heard them. As for Tarquin, he continued at his Quarter, that he might keep his Forces in their duty, whilst Tullia promoted her dismal negotiation. Titus indeed was much devoted to Aronces interest, and was continually active for him: but as for Sextus, he had nothing in his heart but love for Clelia, and was so transported with it that he thought of nothing else. For whilst all the Camp was in Alarm, Tarquin and Tullia were contriving to destroy Aronces, and all the Friends of this Prince in the Camp or as Rome were studying to save him, Sextus was devising to carry away Clelia; for in this confusion the Hostages were guarded with less circumspection, though Porsenna on the contrary had commanded they should be kept most carefully. In order to which, Sextus corrupted some of the Soldiers which guarded Clelia, assured many to him of the King his Fathers, and whereas the Tents of these fair Romans were upon the bank of Tiber, he gave order to have Boats in readiness to convey her away by night. He prefixed a day and hour to do it, and hoped so well to carry on and accomplish his purpose, that it might be believed Clelia was carried away either by the Romans, or by the friends of Aronces, for fear Porsenna should treat her rigorously. Moreover, he resolved to send her to Cumae, because he had an intimate friendship with the Tyrant which reigned there at that time. On the other side Amilcar going and coming continually from Rome to the Camp and from the Camp to Rome, divers consultations were held in both these places for the deliverance of Aronces; but no sure course could be found out for bringing about so just a design. Some judged it best to get the Prince out of Prison, that so he might afterwards justify himself in freedom; but such as knew him well, believed that should his Guards be forced or corrupted, he would not have recourse to flight, for fear it should argue him to be criminal. Others thought it most expedient for the Camp and Rome to rise of a sudden, and go demand Aronces of Porsenna with Arms in hand; but a Treaty having been made with this King, and Rome not being in a condition to venture a second Siege, the Senate would not have consented that the Pacification should be infringed. Besides, the twenty fair Romans who were given in Hostage, having Lovers at Rome, they were not forward to suffer any such resolution to be taken as might bring them into danger. Some there were also who propounded to go to Tarquin's Quarter, and following Mutius' example, kill the Tyrant with the execrable Tullia: but this Proposition was not approved. However, that something might be done, it was resolved that Artemidorus and Themistus, being two great Princes, should go to Porsenna the next day, to tell him a very considerable truth: for he interpreted Mutius' departure to be a flight, and it was at length discovered to proceed only from a despair of Love. For the last conversation Mutius had with Valeria made a deep impression upon him; so that being desirous to try whether, whilst she was at the Camp, he could more easily bring Publicola to be favourable to him, he went to him, and spoke to him with an air so little submissive, that it was apparent he behaved himself like the deliverer of Rome. At which Publicola being displeased, answered him with a generous sincerity which cast him into despair; for he so clearly intimated to him, that he should not take his daughter from Herminius, that he became desperate, leaving Publicola in a great fury, and soon after departed from Rome. Whereby it was easy to judge that Love was a greater cause of his absence than any other consideration. It was therefore resolved that Themistus and Artemidorus should go to Porsenna the next day, and tell what they had understood from Publicola, to the end Mutius' departure might no longer pass for an evidence against Aronces. Not, that what they had to say was a convincing truth, but it was at least a favourable presumption; and being they could do no better, they did as people use to do in great misfortunes, namely, rather to do a hundred things unprofitably, than fail of doing one thing which may be beneficial.  
But whilst all in Rome or the two Camps, were devising to destroy or save Aronces, this unfortunate Prince endured the greatest torments an amorous heart which loves honour is capable of. He saw himself accused of a horrid crime, by a father whom he had delivered from a long imprisonment, and whose life he had saved, and by a father whom he respected still notwithstanding the injustice he did him. But that which afflicted him most, was, that the letter he received from Clelia, persuaded him either that she believed the accusation charged upon him, or else accused him herself of something; and to augment his grief, he saw he had lost the Letter, which might be of some ill consequence to him if it were in the hands of Porsenna: so that his affliction was more than can be imagined. But he did not suffer alone; for Clelia's mind was more disquieted than ever any persons in the World. She loved Aronces more than herself; but she could not but believe, or at least fear, that he was unfaithful to her. She wished nothing with more ardour than to hear Porsenna was appeased, and nevertheless she could not hear without indignation that Lysimena acted with that generous confidence which led her to speak to Porsenna whatever she believed might advantage Aronces, without considering that this augmented Zenocrates' jealousy: for being she knew herself innocent, she conceived it would be easy for her to justify herself at any time; and therefore she continued to act the same generosity in so important an occasion. Which so disgusted Clelia, that she almost wished the prayers Lysimena made to Porsenna would take no effect, that so Aronces might not owe his life and liberty to her. Plotina and Valeria being the confidents of all her sorrows, she spoke of nothing else to them when they were alone, especially at nights; for these three fair persons lay in the same place, not, but that it might be said that these twenty fair Romans were in one and the same Tent, because they had communication one with another; but nevertheless, they had in a manner every one their own. Clelia, Valeria, and Plotina being one evening together lamenting their misfortunes, Clelia told her Friends she had still more cause to fear some greater, than they knew of; For I beheld (said she to them) or thought I beheld the virtuous Lucretia last night, and I imagined too I heard her voice. Being unhappy people (said Valeria) seldom have pleasing Dreams, 'tis not to be wondered if that dismal Idea came into your fancy. 'Tis true (added she) considering what befell her illustrious Lover, these kind of advertisements seem not altogether to be rejected; for if you remember, Lucretia appeared to him. Tell us therefore in what manner you thought you beheld that fair but unfortunate Lady. My discontents, as you may imagine (answered Clelia) strangely possess my mind, so that I never sleep but out of weariness. Hereby it happened, that it was almost break of day before I shut mine eyes. In this condition I know not whether my heaviness forced me to sleep, or whether I was really awake; but me thought I beheld a good great light, which nevertheless was somewhat dusky too; a moment after Lucretia appeared to me fairer than ever I saw her, her hair was dishevelled, she was covered with a large white Robe, and held a bloody Poniard in her hand. In this posture methought I heard her voice, which was something terrifying. Flee, Clelia, flee (said she to me) but flee speedily; for I advertise you that the Tyrant, who caused me to have recourse to this Poniard, has a design against your honour as he had against mine. Have recourse therefore to flight, and bring not yourself into the necessity of being obliged to have recourse to death. After this, the light disappeared, Lucretia vanished; but the sound of her voice has made such an impression upon my mind, that all this day I have done nothing else but think upon what I imagined I saw and heard, and had not so much power as to tell it you: besides, having not seen you alone, I was unwilling to speak of a thing which seems only fit to make me suspected of having a mind something weak.  
Clelia had scarce done speaking this to her Friends, when one of their Guards entered into their Tent, with a certain hasty air which signified he had some important matter to tell. I beseech you, Madam (said he to Clelia) pardon me the liberty I take of entering into your Tent; if Lucilius or Telanus had been come back from the King, I would have addressed myself to them; but being they are not here, and I cannot tell that which I have to say, to him that commands us in their absence, I address to you, to advertise you that Sextus will carry you away by violence, if you do not take care to prevent it. I have not been able to learn whether he intends it this night or the next; but I know infallibly he hath laid all his contrivances for that purpose; several of my Companions are to be assistant to him, he that commands us is his Creature, he has Boats in readiness, and is himself to serve in this violence. Wherefore, Madam, conceiving I could never serve the Prince better than by serving you, I come to give you this intelligence. The business is urgent (added he) and I understand the design as fully as possibly one can. But by what means came you to know it? (said Clelia much affrighted.) One of my companions, Madam, (answered he) who would have engaged me in this criminal design told me of it, and I made show of consenting to it, to the end I might give you notice of it. Valeria, Plotina, and Clelia, asked this man divers other Questions, who answered them with so much ingenuity, that they were assured he did not lie. They thanked him for his generosity, and desired him to tell Telanus, assoon as he came from the King, that they must necessarily speak with him; and in case Telanus did not return speedily, to come himself to speak with them. Well, my dear Sister (said Clelia to Plotina) the apparition of the virtuous Lucretia is but too true, and am not I very unhappy in seeing myself loved by the most infamous of men? Was not I sufficiently oppressed with the misfortunes of Aronces and his infidelity, without being more so by mischiefs more dreadful to me than death? But, in fine (added she) I am not resolved to await this dismal adventure; I must go from Tent to Tent to awake all my Companions, oblige them all to stay with me, till the return of Telanus, and engage them by Oath to stick to me, and rather tear me in pieces, than suffer me to be carried away by the infamous Sextus. If Telanus comes (said Plotina) it is absolutely necessary that he give way for us to escape; for in the condition things are, we know not who to have recourse to. For my part (said Valeria) I know not whether we should do well to violate the Laws of Nations by going to Rome though we might, or whether it would not be better to have recourse to the Princess of the Leontines. No, no, (answered Clelia) I will not be obliged to that Princess; and as things now are, I believe she would not be as serviceable to me as she is to Aronces; and besides, do you think Porsenna will at present believe any thing against a Son of Tullia? We must therefore begin to assemble all our Friends together; and so Clelia causing a maid-slave to light her, was followed by Valeria and Plotina through the lines of Communication which went from Tent to Tent, where they awakened Hermilia, Colatina, and all the rest. But after they were come together into one and the same Tent, the Soldier who discovered the plot to Clelia, came to tell her that Lucilius and Telanus had sent notice that they would not lodge there that night, because some affairs required their presence elsewhere. Wherefore Clelia interpreting this as an artifice of Sextus, who caused them to be retained, that he might the better effect his design, was in a very terrified condition, and the death of Lucretia coming into her mind at the same time, she thought every moment she beheld Sextus entering with his Soldiers to carry her away. All her Friends partaking of her fear, counselled her the best they could; but she having a great heart, No, no, my Companions (said she, beholding some of them with tears in their eyes) 'tis to no purpose to weep, we must this day show that we are Romans, that we love honour, and that death cannot daunt us; for do not imagine (added she) that this design regards only me; all they that serve a ravisher, are ravishers themselves; and I do not question, but the infamous Sextus has promised you to such as are to be his instruments in so criminal an action. But were it otherwise (continued she) I will believe that the affection you have for me, and the sense of honour would lead you to be willing to save me, and to take a resolution to make an escape from this place, where we cannot but every moment be exposed to the insolence of the two mutinous Camps, which in all probability will shortly fall foul together. Let us then make a daring and generous resolution; our Tents are upon the Bank of Tiber, and there is no way to escape but by the River. If we die, we shall die with greater glory than Lucretia, since it will be in avoiding an unhappiness, which she would not outlive. I know it will be said at Rome, that we violate the Treaty; but every thing may be lawfully done to save our honours. Nevertheless that you may not think (added she) I will cause you all to be drowned for my preservation, and expose you to an inevitable danger, hear what course I conceive fit to be taken. You know when we came out of Rome, we were adorned like public Victims to be sacrificed to the peace; so that we have many Jewels amongst us: let us promise all we have to the Soldier who gave us this intelligence, on condition he will be serviceable to us; let us not wait for the return of Lucilius or Telanus, nor tempt them to be unfaithful to the King of Hetruria, who committed us to their custody; but let us only devise how to deceive our Guards; we may easily do it, provided that Soldier and some of his companions be for us; let us send to him who commands in the absence of Lucilius and Telanus, to desire permission to bathe ourselves at break of day, which without doubt he will grant us; for being perhaps 'tis the night following wherein he intends to convoy me away, he will believe this will facilitate his design. But when we come to the Water side, you shall do what you see me do; ask me no more, but leave me to manage this enterprise. I require no more of you, but of what I will myself show you an example: but above all things, to continue yourselves in the generous resolution which I see you inclinable to, consider always, I conjure you, that the business is no less than to keep ourselves from being under the power of the murderer of the virtuous Lucretia, that glory attends us on the other side of the Tiber, and that we shall eternally dishonour our Country, if we be so pusillanimous and weak as to incur a misfortune which we may avoid.  
Clelia spoke with so much courage and eloquence, that all her companions hastened to give her their Jewels, swear not to forsake her, but to follow her example and pleasure implicitly. After this she went to speak to the trusty Soldier, and communicating her design to him, she gave him some gratuities, and promised him more; which done, he went to the Officer who commanded the Guard, and whose name was Minitius, to demand his permission for all these fair Virgins to go and bathe themselves in the Tiber about break of day. He made no scruple to grant this request; and gave orders to such as were to conduct them, without suspecting any thing of the design; for Rome being on the other side of the River, he could not think these Ladies would imagine it possible to get thither. Besides, being Hostages, and Sextus design in all probability unknown to them, he was on the contrary very glad of their beginning to bathe themselves in the River, inasmuch as it might prove convenient for his enterprise. But to bring it so to pass as to send such Soldiers the next day to conduct them, as were privy to this Plot, he sent others this day; the order of Military duties requiring successive attendance of several persons. In the mean time the Soldier whom Clelia had gained, provided Planks, Hurdles, and Bavines; it not being possible to get either Boats or Horses: he also suborned some other Soldiers to assist him, with the Jewels Clelia gave him, and in brief, he did all that was in his power. Now when break of day was come, these twenty fair Virgins having spent the whole night without sleep, went forth under the conduct of those that were ordered to guard them. It was no lighter when they left their Tents, than just enough to discern things, and to perceive the agitation of the River through the Willows which grew upon the Bank of it in this place. The place was unfrequented, agreeable, and fit for the execution of Clelia's design. The Soldier who was of intelligence with them, hasting to bring them to the place where Tents were erected for them in the River, led them through a way beset with Willows, whose tops were interwoven together, and seemed to make a kind of rude Canopy; and at length they arrived at the place where they made show of intending to bathe themselves. They who guided them stayed at a distance out of respect, to leave them to undress themselves; and some of them too were corrupted to do so by Clelia's Complotter. But the Ladies not thinking them remote enough, desired them to retire a little more back; which they did. And as soon as they saw them at a good distance, the honest Soldier who was hid behind a bush to assist them, showed them the Planks, Hurdles and the Bavines, which he had caused to be brought thither secretly, and had so well fitted that each of them could bear up a person in the Water. But when Clelia counted them, she found there was one fewer than needed; at which she being nothing abashed, No, no, (said she) my companions, trouble not yourselves who it shall be that wants something to support her in the water, my courage shall support me, and the Gods will assist me. Let us not therefore lose time (added this magnanimous Lady) the moments are precious; this valiant Soldier whom you see shall help the weakest, and I am so persuaded Heaven will be aiding to us, that I doubt not in the least but we shall all happily get to Rome. The God of Tiber saved Horatius when he leapt into it in his Armour; he will save us perhaps as well as him.  
After this, Clelia having invoked the God of the River, without expecting the answer of her companions, cast herself courageously into the water, and turning towards them, If you love glory (said she to them) you will follow me; and so abandoning herself to the stream of the River, she was carried from the shore. There was no delay, but her companions instantly did the same; and the Soldier, having so handsomely tied some to the Planks, others to the Hurdles and Bavines which he had provided, that there was no fear of sinking, he leapt into the Water after them, and sometimes helped one, and sometimes another: their clothes also were of some use in this occasion to bear them up. But there happened a remarkable accident; for as Clelia turned her head now and then to see whether her companions followed her, she found a Horse in the midst of the River, which had scaped from one that led him to drink; whereupon this courageous Lady got hold of his Bridle, and made shift to mount upon his back. By which means advancing herself above the water, and day being much cleared up, the Soldiers who had guarded her, were extremely amazed to see her and all her companions about her, whom the officious Soldier helped forward as much as he could; for they who were not corrupted, believed these twenty fair Virgins were in the Tents prepared for them upon the River. On the side of Rome, they who perceived a woman upon a Horse swimming in the middle of the River, and followed by others who were supported by Planks, Hurdles, or Bavins, knew not at first whether they were not men disguised in the habits of women, and whether this were not some subtle project of Tarquin: so that they were thinking to shoot Arrows at them; and had indeed done so, if Horatius and Herminius had nothappily arrived. For, as Lovers know their Mistresses at a greater distance than others, they were no sooner upon the Bank of the River, but they knew Clelia and Valeria. Which sight so surprised them, that they were thinking to cast themselves into the River, to go and meet them; but this first sentiment being passed, reason caused them to take some Boats which were there to go meet these courageous Ladies, most of whom were so weary that they received this succour with joy. In the interim the Soldiers who had guarded these fair Romans, having given the Alarm all about, the Bank of the River was in an instant beset with an innumerable multitude of Soldiers on the side of the Camp, that of the City was as much thronged with the Inhabitants. Now because these fair Virgins were not in condition to go through the Streets, Horatius and Herminius led them to a house standing near the side of the River, where they dried themselves and changed their clothes for others which they sent for from their Parents houses. After which, they all went to the first Consul, to give an account of their escape, and to desire him to inform the Senate of it. But they were followed with an incredible throng of people, who by this time knowing Clelia was she that undertook this adventurous action for the preservation of her honour, gave her a thousand praises, and extolled her above all the Heroes of Antiquity. When Publicola beheld this fair company arrive, he was surprised at it; for though the rumour of it was brought to him before, yet he did not believe what was told him. Clelia, as principal of the enterprise, went foremost, and as soon as she saw Publicola, My Lord (said she to him) if that which my companions and I have done seem unreasonable to you, I conjure you to lay the blame only upon me, for they have done no more but followed me; and if the Senate conceive me culpable, I am ready to undergo such punishment as shall seem good to them to inflict upon me; for I dread neither pains nor death, I fear nothing but infamy. After this Valeria beginning to speak, informed Publicola of the violence intended by Sextus, and omitted nothing that might serve to justify the action which they had done. Your fact is so glorious (answered Publicola, speaking to Clelia) that were it unjust, it would nevertheless deserve to be eternally commended; nothing undoubtedly being more heroical, than to preserve one's honour with the hazard of death. But since you have acted for yours, you must suffer Rome to act also for hers, and therefore I enjoin you all to stay here till the Senate have deliberated upon the action which you have done.  
Then Publicola leaving them to the charge of Domitia, gave order that the Senate should be extraordinarily assembled. In the mean time Clelius, Sulpitia, Octavius, Racilia, Flavia, Salonina, Artemidorus, Themistus, Merigenes, Aemilius, Spurius, Acrisius, Sicinius, Damon, and all the relations of these fair virgins, came to visit them, every one making a compliment to them according to their humour or inclination, and all extolling Clelia with a kind of contest. Horatius was extreme joyful in this occasion, and found such pleasure in the glory of his Mistress, that he had not greater when he performed that grand action of the Sublician Bridge. He fancied that Clelia's leaping into Tiber as he had done, was a happy presage to him; and it was some delight to him, to think that Clelia fled from a place where Aronces was. But if his own thoughts gave him hope, the looks and words of Clelia gave him none at all: but on the contrary having spoken a moment with her apart, he found her mind still firmer to her old resolution. At least, Madam, (said he to her) do not make me unhappy before the time, leave Fortune to act as she pleases, and act yourself as you are minded; but do not forbid me to hope that perhaps you will one day find yourself forced by destiny not to hate me. All humane prudence can foresee nothing, three days ago you would not have believed you could have attempted to cross the Tybe without a Boat, and nevertheless you have done it with an heroical magnanimity. 'Tis true (answered she) none can foresee their own actions; but such as are prudent, cannot and ought not to change their sentiments. Nevertheless (replied he) 'tis frequently requisite to conform ourselves to matters according to the time. As for such Wisdom (answered Clelia) I renounce it with all my heart: that which is just once, is always so; I never cease to love that which I love; and even the infidelity and death of Aronces shall never cause my heart to change. I say more (added she) for supposing what is absolutely impossible, that I could cease to love Aronces, and have such an affection for you as you desire, you would not be the happier for it; for a pure sentiment of honour would hinder me from expressing any thing of it, and I should die a thousand times rather than do any thing that might make me liable to the reproach, that I loved twice in my life. But, Horatius, matters are not in these terms; and I speak to you as I do, only to put you out of all hope, and so to oblige you to be hereafter contented with my esteem and friendship. Alas! Madam (said he to her) if you could but cease to love Aronces, I should not want much of being happy: for I conceive it not possible that a heart disengaged from all passion could resist mine. Have I not told you (answered she) that though I should love you (which yet can never happen) you would not be the less miserable? Ha! Madam (replied Horatius) if you loved me, you would be no longer Mistress of your own sentiments, but speak after another manner. But, alas! I am not yet so happy, and perhaps never shall.  
Whilst Horatius was speaking thus to Clelia, Herminius was conversing with Valeria; but for his unhappiness, it was in the presence of Aemilius and Spurius. Plotina was also importuned by Sicinius, Acrisius, and Damon. As for Octavius, he addressed to Hermilia, who though she did not receive him rigorously, yet she gave him greater cause of despair than if she had been more severe: for after divers passionate expressions which he used to her, To testify to you that I esteem you (answered Hermilia) I will discover to you my real sentiments. I confess then, that considering things according to the course of the World in general, it would be very advantageous for me if I could love you; and the illustrious and unfortunate Brutus would no doubt have judged your affection very glorious to me; for that your Birth is noble, you have wit, courage and virtue; but, generous Octavius, having lost the Prince of Pometia, whom all the world knows I did not hate, I cannot, I ought not to love any hereafter. When a Lover is lost by his own inconstancy, I conceive in process of time another may be admitted; but when a faithful Lover is lost by death, fidelity ought to be reserved to his ashes, and never any thing loved but his Memory. These, Octavius, are my true sentiments; you know in what manner I have lost an illustrious Brother and an illustrious Lover, help me to lament them, and I promise you all my friendship; but desire nothing more of me. Had the Gods heard my vows, I should have miscarried in crossing the Tiber; but though I did nothing toward saving myself, the too kind River bore me up whether I would or no. For my part (said Plotina, who overheard these last words) I assure you I neglected nothing to preserve my life, and certainly I must needs love honour and Clelia ardently, to have endangered myself as I did: but however, I do not wonder to see so many brave Warriors (added she) for no doubt example serves much to beget courage; at least, I know, if I had been all alone, I should not have had the power to put myself into the Tiber, without other help than a pitiful plank to which I was fastened: but when I beheld my sister courageously leap into the water, without plank or hurdle, Valeria as resolutely follow her, and Hermilia hasten to do so too, I would not be the last, but left Collatina the honour to bring up the rear. 'Tis true (answered that fair Virgin) I was the slowest, but I assure you, the reason which you imagine, was not the cause of it, but rather for that I was not unwilling the generous Soldier who did us such good service, might be near me when I entered into the water. I perceive (said Plotina) neither the love of Honour nor the greatness of danger do deprive you of your judgement. I am less astonished at that (said Valeria) than to see that nothing abates your joy. I assure you (answered Plotina agreeably) that the joy which appears this day in my words is an habitual joy, wherein my heart is not much concerned. Whilst these fair Virgins were discoursing thus together, Domitia told them several times, it would be best for them to betake themselves to sleep; but they had too great a desire to know what the determination of the Senate would be. And indeed it was a matter extraordinary and important enough, to make them curious and solicitous about it.  
When the Senate was assembled, Publicola faithfully reported the business as he understood it from Clelia and her Companions; he highly commended the courage of these generous Virgins, and especially of Clelia, who attempted so daring an action. Then he added, that the people being much taken with extraordinary adventures, would declare themselves for Clelia; and that as he passed the streets, he observed they approved what this generous Lady had done. After which, it belongs to us (saith he) to consider what we have to do, both for the good of the Commonwealth, and for our own honour; for though I have a daughter amongst those who have certainly offended Porsenna, yet I am not backward to declare, that for preserving the Publick-faith, it is requisite to remand them to him again. Some Senators less generous than Publicola, who had daughters or Kinswomen amongst these Hostages, decried it as cruelty to send these Virgins again under the power of an incensed Prince, who was capable of putting his own Son to death. But Publicola answered, that events ought to be left to the will of the Gods, and that in all cases our duty is to be performed. Which advice of Publicola prevailing, the Senate ordained that these twenty fair Virgins should be sent back to Porsenna, to whom the true case of their escape should be manifested, thereby to oblige him to guard them more carefully: but it was however resolved too, that a Statue on Horseback should be erected to Clelia in the high part of the Sacred street. Even Clelius himself though much afflicted to see Clelia return to the Camp, was of opinion that she should be remitted thither. But as for Horatius and Herminius, they would not deliver their minds in this occasion, being unable to determine to say any thing that might entrench upon their honour or their love.  
When the Assembly was broke up, Publicola returned to his own house, followed by Horatius and Herminius; as he was entering in, he saw Amilcar amongst these fair Romans, who came from the Camp, and informed him that Porsenna being exasperated by Tarquin, Tullia, and Sextus, was in a high indignation at the action of Clelia, that the next day he would send Ambassadors to redemand the Hostages, and that if they were refused to him, he had sworn to break the Peace and destroy Rome. Amilcar added, that Porsenna imagined Clelia did this action only out of fear lest she should be forced to tell what she knew concerning the pretended Crime of Aronces, and that all things therefore deserved to be carefully examined. He added too, that it was a very great unhappiness for Aronces that Mutius was absent. Amilcar spoke this to Publicola in the presence of these twenty fair Virgins who with much impatience expected that the first Consul should inform them of the deliberation of the Senate. But they were astonished to hear two such different results; for Publicola first told them what honour the Senate had done to Clelia; and then (which increased their wonder) that it behoved them to resolve to return to the Camp the next day. At the first News Clelia cast down her eyes out of modesty; but at the second, she blushed out of indignation; nevertheless, having considered the Publick-interest which caused the Senate to act so, she recollected herself, and beginning to speak, We must obey, my Companions (said she looking upon them) and if I find myself in danger of a new unhappiness, instead of flight I will have recourse to death, and never engage you to follow me. Clelia spoke this with so resolute and generous an aspect, that all who beheld her, judged she deserved greater honour than the Senate had decreed to her. Horatius' affection received new flames hereby; for if beauty produces love, 'tis only virtue which preserves and augments it long after its production. However because Clelia was willing to avoid Horatius, and perceived her Companions and herself needed rest, they retired into the several Apartments which were prepared for them; for, being they were to depart early the next morning, to return to the Camp, they would not separate themselves: wherefore though the house Publicola now dwelled in, was not so stately as that which formerly he so generously destroyed, nevertheless, these fair Virgins were well enough accommodated in it. But before they retired, Clelia enquired of Amilcar concerning Aronces, and understood by his answer that he had none but unwelcome News to tell her of him; so that she withdrew with Valeria in the greatest melancholy in the world. Come (said she to her) let us go prepare ourselves to die, and perhaps to see the unfortunate Aronces put to death. After which, she went into the Chamber which was provided for her, leaving Amilcar speaking to Plotina and Cesonia; but she went with so deep a sadness upon her countenance, that it excited grief in all that beheld it.   
The End of the Second Book of the Fifth Part.   

CLELIA: The Fifth and last Part. BOOK III.  
LOVERS scarce ever forbear to speak of their passion to their Mistresses when they find opportunity for it; wherefore Clelia was no sooner retired, but Amilcar seeing himself alone with Plotina and Cesonia, used such discourse to them as sufficiently manifested the sentiments of his heart. I know well (said he to Plotina) I am required by reason to leave you, but for my consolation I will go pass the evening with Cesonia, that I may speak of you, and that with a person who loves you. For my part (said she to him) I am so weary by having watched so long and passed over the Tiber without a Boat, that I dare not promise you the like; for how melancholy soever all my companions are, I believe they are so sleepy, that should I desire to speak of you, I should find none to hear me. But dispense with me at this time, even for thinking on you; for sleep has the privilege to make us forget every thing, without a crime. However (said Amilcar) permit Cesonia to tell me all which I desire to know concerning you. I consent to it (answered she as she was going away) but take heed your curiosity give you not more trouble than pleasure; and besides it is not incident to persons addicted to jollity to have great adventures; but all extraordinary events are reserved for the melancholic. Assoon as Plotina had said this, she followed her companions, and Amilcar went with Cesonia. When he came into the Chamber of this amiable Lady, he prayed her she would please to relate to him all she knew of the adventures of Plotina's life. As for her birth (said he) I know it already; but that which I earnestly desire of you, is the History of her heart; that is, in one word (added he) I would know by whom Plotina has been loved, and whether she ever loved any person much. Being Plotina has permitted me to content your curiosity (answered Cesonia) I will do it, and the rather because I have no great number of events to relate to you, and I am well informed of all that has passed in Plotina's heart. And so Cesonia giving order for none to disturb her, began in these terms to speak to Amilcar, who disposed himself to hear with extraordinary attention.  

The History of Plotina.  
WHereas you know already how Plotina believed herself Niece of that wise Friend of Clelius (whose name is Rutilius) and accounted his Wife, Ersilia, her Aunt; I need only tell you that my Mother's house (for my Father was deceased) was next to that of Rutilius, and that there was a great friendship between Ersilia and she to whom I owe my life. I will not detain you with describing the manners, customs, or gallantry of Ardea, being I conceive you may easily judge there cannot but be very commendable people in the place where Plotina could become such as you see her. For it must be said to her glory, she owes none of her perfections to Rome. Besides, I remember Plotina related my adventures to you heretofore; and so I doubt not but she told you, our City was built by Danae, though some conceive it was a Son of Ulysses and Circe that founded it: but this last opinion has no other ground, but that as Ulysses was very eloquent, and Circe well skilled in the knowledge of all the Virtues of Herbs, so they speak more politely at Ardea than in any other City, and better understand the good or bad qualities of all Plants. I know also she told you that since the shower of gold jupiter made use of, such women as affect glory accept nothing from a gallant in which there is gold; and that for magficence, elegancy of manners and gallantry, it exceeds all other places in Italy; and that Poetry and Painture are more in request and famous there. This being supposed, I am to tell you, that Plotina has always been so amiable, that assoon as she was six years old, her wit was spoken of with admiration. She used to speak a thousand surprising and ingenious things, and that with all the graces of childhood, and with so charming an air, that it was not possible to see her without loving her. Though I was two years elder, I could not live without seeing her; all her answers were pleasant, innocent and witty, every thing in them was natural, and she spoke nothing but of herself. She had a quick fancy and a sprightly wit, she danced gracefully even before she learned; and whatever she did, it was becoming and pleasing. As she was one day in a Temple, where the whole History of Danae is admirably represented, and beheld the golden shower falling into the Tower where Danae was enclosed, she asked what the meaning of it was. Hersilia telling her that jupiter being become amorous of Danae transformed himself into that precious rain for her sake, that so he might get to see her; she said this invention did not please her. Because (added she) it would have been a better course, for jupiter to have employed his gold to corrupt those that guarded Danae; and then he might have appeared with the more grace before his Mistress. Another time, observing one Cupid represented with a Torch in his hand, and another with a Bow, she was asked which of the two she loved best: at first she said, she loved neither one nor other, as all children use to do. But when she was pressed to tell which of them she thought to be the most dangerous, she answered immediately, I fear him that burns more than him that wounds; for I have heard a shot with an Arrow may be cured, but if my heart were reduced into ashes, I believe there would be no remedy for it. I could tell you a hundred more pleasant things of Plotina's childhood if I would, but 'tis best not to insist upon them. Yet I cannot but tell you something of a conversation which we had together when she was about twelve or thirteen years of age, and how impatient she was to be no longer treated as a child by them which discoursed with her. For my part, my dear Cesonia (said she to me one day as we returned from a great Feast) I am so weary of being a little Girl, that I wish I could have bought the two years by which you exceed me, with the ten last of my life. I assure you (said I to her) I account your place better than mine; and in reference to years, 'tis better to be preceded than to precede others: for you will infallibly be fifteen years old if you live, and I am passed being thirteen any longer. For my part (answered she with a pretty discontent.) I was a thousand times more happy when I was but six, for I did not care then in what manner I was treated. I played with a thousand little trifles, and provided I were not hungry, sleepy, chidden, or too much instructed to have a good carriage, I was the merriest person in the World. But now I am thirteen years of age, and to my unhappiness have my reason of seventeen years at least. I am displeased almost with every thing, and I see scarce any people whom I do not hate. But wherefore do you hate them? (said I to her) all the World commends you, caresses you, and speaks to you. 'Tis true (answered she) but all the World commends, caresses, and speaks to me as to a child. So that I had rather a thousand times, be neither commended nor caressed, nor that any person would speak to me. But, I beseech you (said I to her) what are really your discontents? In the first place (answered she) all men I meet with are nothing but Fortune-tellers concerning me, foretelling the future, but speaking not the least word of the present. All the Girls which are but sixteen years old, scarce take any notice of me at all. Assoon as I come into any place with Hersilia, they speak of giving me some edibles to employ me with, and think I would be displeased if I did not eat; and as for men, they, as I told you, do nothing but make predictions of me; though these are the most civil, for the others, minding their affairs, look upon me as a little child, to whom they know not what to say. But who are these Fortune-tellers? (said I to her, laughing, and pretending not to understand her.) All men which I know and which you know (answered she:) yesterday Turnus, only seeing me enter into your house, cried, Ha! she will be a dangerous Lass one day. Periander the other day said in my presence, I would certainly be very handsome, when I became a little more fatter and taller. Lycastes added, I would shortly be of a handsome stature; Martius, that when I came to have my Neck longer, I would be much more charming; Livius, that assoon as I knew I was handsome, I would be infinitely more amiable; and my Mother also, speaking of me to her particular Friends, says sometimes, I shall one day be witty if I will: so that all my charms are in the future. But if these Prognostications (added she) speak true, and that I prove terrible, hereafter, unless they be dead of age before, I will make them all die of love, and so ill treat them, that I will be fully revenged on them for the little care they have at present to please me. If I be not deceived (said I to her) it will one day be in your power to revenge yourself. Well (answered she hastily) do not you make Predictions of me too as well as the rest. Thereupon I laughed heartily at the choler I had put Plotina into unawares; for indeed she never loved that kind of commendation which regarded only the time to come. You may judge by what I tell you that Plotina had a forward wit, and was already very agreeable. But in a little time she made it appear sufficiently, and most of those that had made such advantageous predictions were in a condition to speak to her only of the present time, and of the torments her beauty caused them to suffer.  
This passage (said Amilcar interrupting her) puts me into the greatest fear in the world; for I am ready to die out of conceit that you are going to tell me Plotina has been loved by many more deserving persons than myself; and I am afraid too, you will inform me she has loved some one of my Rivals more than she loves me.  
Do not fear so much as you pretend (answered Cesonia) lest I tell you Plotina has had more worthy Lovers than yourself; and for the rest, you may judge what you ought to believe of it, when I come to the end of my relation. I shall therefore proceed to tell you (added she) that the merit of Plotina soon made a great report, and she saw all those makers of predictions speak to her only of the time present. Yet it must be said to the honour of Plotina that she did not suffer herself to be dazzled with the applause of the World, but with very great modesty received the first praises that were given her. And indeed she was very debonair without folly, pleasant without extravagance, young without imprudence, witty without pride, and handsome without affectation. Then it was that I began to converse with her as with a true Friend; I first entrusted little trifling secrets to her, and perceiving she used them discreetly, I imparted to her the greatest secrets I had in my heart. Whereby our friendship became so great and intimate, that in speaking of us people were many times pleased to mention us by the name of the two Friends. At that time there were very many worthy persons at Ardea; for besides Turnus, Periander, and divers others, there were three of undoubted merit. The first was named Martius, the second Lycastes, and the third Clorantus. This last has a noble, but very sweet and civil aspect, though sometimes his air seem a little cold and careless. He has brown hair, a very handsome head, somewhat a long visage, a pale complexion, black and small eyes, but nevertheless his looks are very ingenious, and even his silence speaks him such; for in discourse, he hears, like one who admirably well understands that which is spoken to him, and who could speak more than he does. All his deportments are such as become a man of his quality, and his mind is perfectly framed for converse with the world: he loves ingenious composures and their Authors; he has a melancholy aspect, and nevertheless loves all pleasures. His Soul is naturally passionate; and though the outside of his person and his mind speak him one of those faithful Lovers which the world so rarely affords, yet he is always a serious wanton, or if you will, a tolerable inconstant; for no doubt some are not such. However he maintains confidently that he is faithful, because he says he never deserted any woman who gave him not cause of complaint. He is one of those who account it no infidelity to make little affections occasionally by the by, which arise in their heart during their greater passions. But this is constantly true, where he loves, he loves ardently, he minds nothing but his passion, he is very inclinable to jealousy, he resents the least unpleasing things with a strange vehemence; and, in fine, is acquainted with the greatest delights and the extremest rigours of love. As for Martius, he was a man who loved very passionately, was incapable of relinquishing one Mistress to love another, but whose affections could only abate by time. He was very handsome, infinitely ingenious, and endued with a pleasing kind of wit. And then for Lycastes, he was a very agreeable person, but he was naturally so inconstant, that it was reckoned amongst the wonders of Love, if any one could engage him to love constantly once in his life. Being we were known to all the virtuosos of Ardea, and there were few in the City more considered than Plotina, and I, we were present at all the Gallant Feasts which were made. One was made at that time in honour of Circe, who is termed Goodess in Homer, in which were represented divers of those prodigious transformations which are attributed to her, and in which Plotina appeared so charming, that her beauty and debonarity made the discourse of all persons. That day she made two remarkable conquests, which caused her to be called for some time after the new Circe. For she who sometimes wrought such extraordinary changes by the virtue of simples whose proprieties she so admirably understood, never did any more deserving wonder. But to manifest this, you must know, that till that time Lycastes had made public profession of being inconstant, and that Martius had formerly been very amorous of a very fair Lady by whom he was also loved; yet afterwards according to the general course of the world, it was believed this passion was grown so temperate, that it could be called love no longer without doing him a favour. So that when she was dead, he appeared very much afflicted first, but suffered himself to be comforted by time and his Friends; and indeed it was thought he lamented her rather like a Friend than a Lover. 'Tis true, after her death he had not appeared amorous; yea, he seemed very indifferent; but at length on the day of this famous Feast of Circe, Lycastes and Martius ceased to be what they had been before; that is, the first learned to love constantly, and the other ceased to be insensible, and began to love again. But such beginnings of love being usually not so discernible as to be known the first moment they attack the heart, Lycastes and Martius did not believe they could be very amorous of Plotina, and their Friends perceived it before themselves. Now Plotina being of a free and merry humour, these two Lovers were sufficiently at a loss for an occasion to give her seriously to understand they loved her, when they perceived it: for she so handsomely put off all that they said to her, that it might seem their love was nothing but a piece of Gallantry, in which their hearts were unconcerned. But at length they found that they loved ardently. For their passion began to manifest itself by jealousy: they could no longer endure one another but with trouble, they minded nothing but Plotina and how to please her. They frequented none but her, abandoned all their acquaintances, and in brief had nothing but their passions in their heads. On the otherside, Plotina having always been averse to Marriage, and now unwilling to commit a criminal Gallantry, did certainly all she could to deprive these two Lovers utterly of hope: but this rigour augmented their love in stead of diminishing it. Wherefore Plotina being loath to trouble herself longer to no purpose, left them to follow their own inclinations, without being kind or favourable, or considering one more than the other. Yet one day she gave Lycastes a severe check in the presence of Martius, Persander, and Lucia (who is a very amiable Lady) for she professed it absolutely impossible for her to love a Lover that has been inconstant. If any of those rambling Lovers (answered Lycastes) should become a faithful adorer of you, wherefore would you not love him, provided he have otherwise desert? Because (replied she hastily) that which has happened once may happen a hundred times, and nothing would be more insupportable to me than to be abandoned by a man to whom I had given permission to love me. Therefore, not to venture that mischief, 'tis best avoid giving it to any: for the world is so full of inconstant Lovers who dissemble fidelity, that it is easy to be mistaken. Plotina spoke this with an air that intimated to Lycastes, it would be a hard matter for him to win her heart. Nevertheless, he found he had so well shaken off his old inconstancy, and that he should love Plotina faithfully, that he hoped time would mollify her. For my part, I confess my inclination then led me to favour Lycastes; and though Martius was a very worthy, handsome, and agreeable person, yet I was more concerned for his Rival. But I perceived one day Plotina was not of the same mind, but had a little more inclination for Martius than for Lycastes. However, she carefully concealed it; but for all her care, not only I, but Lucia, Lycastes' Kinswoman and Friend perceived it too. This person had formerly seemed an intimate friend of Martius' Mistress, she saw the beginning, progress, and end of this love, in which she had an interest, which I shall tell you presently. As we were both one day with Plotina, we happened unwittingly to speak of the power of inclination. For my part (said Plotina) I do not believe it so powerful as 'tis reported, at least I am persuaded I never yet loved any thing without reason. You believe this (answered Lucia smiling) and yet at the same time I am speaking to you, your inclination prepossesses your reason, to the disadvantage of one of my friends. Perhaps, 'tis yours (replied she) which is prepossessed. If you will let Cesonia be judge (said Lucia) I will explain myself more clearly. I assure you (said I to them both) I am very equitable. 'Tis a great vanity in you to believe yourself so (answered Plotina) for I know nothing more difficult than to please others and ones self too, and 'tis observable that such as speak best of Justice are usually most unjust. But I beseech you, why do you accuse me of suffering myself to be prepossessed by my inclination? Is it not true (said Lucia) that I have heard you say a hundred times, you could never endure the affection of a man that has been inconstant? I confess it (answered she) and 'tis for that reason I am not moved with the merit of your Kinsman, and never shall be. But wherefore (said Lucia) will you suffer Martius more favourably? I assure you (answered Plotina) I do not treat Martius much better than Lycastes: but if I did, I could maintain it were out of reason and not through inclination; for Martius has never been inconstant. Martius' never inconstant? (replied Lucia hastily) Ha! Plotina, you are but badly skilled in inconstancy, if you believe as you say; for I maintain on the contrary, that that inconstancy, which Martius may be reproached with, is more criminal than that whereof Lycastes has been accused before he loved you. But I do not remember (said I then to Lucia) I ever heard it said that Martius loved any person but Plotina, since the death of Lysimira, of whom he was so amorous, and who was indeed infinitely amiable. 'Tis true (answered Lucia) but after Martius had loved that amiable person five or six years, and received a thousand testimonies of innocent affection from her, he came by degrees to have only so lukewarm an amity for her, that she is dead with grief, although he was not perfidious to her, but preserved his formalities to her. Perhaps (replied Plotina) that person as lovely as she was, had some bad humour, which caused the Love in Martius' heart to be extinguished: but though it were not so, yet I should not conclude that Martius ought to be called inconstant; for 'tis so ordinary to see time abate Love, that I still make a great difference between Lycastes and Martius. For my part (said I) I confess I term all changing, inconstancy; and 'tis a mistake not to call any inconstant but such as love several persons. For is not that lukewarmness which comes after an ardent love, a kind of inconstancy? and is it not sufficient to deserve the name of inconstant, if we cease to love that which we once affected? I know not very well whether you have reason and I am mistaken (answered Plotina) but I know well, I do not regard Martius and Lycastes alike. That's it (replied Lucia) you are unjust in. Should you say (added she) Martius is more ingenious, deserving, and agreeable, I should be patient; but to treat Lycastes ill for inconstancy, and to suffer Martius, who ceased to love one of the most charming persons in the world, is a thing which I cannot approve. But Lycastes (said Plotina) has forsaken a hundred. I grant it (answered Lucia) but should he have forsaken a thousand, he would be less culpable than Martius who has deserted but one. For Lycastes never did more than begin to love, till now; his heart no sooner inclined on one side, but it was swayed to the other by some new inclination; wherefore having promised scarce any thing, nor loved long enough to cause himself to be loved, his inconstancy seems to be free from a Crime, though it may be referred to levity. But as for Martius, he loved, divers years together, he was loved again, and that ardently, and possessed her heart whom he loved. A thousand respects ought to have fastened the ties of his affection; and nevertheless, without cause, reason, or pretext, his passion has ceased to be passionate; that which formerly delighted him no longer affects him, his Mistress is scarce his friend; and so changing his sentiments without any extrinsical cause, he becomes in my opinion, the most criminal of all inconstant's. But, perhaps you will except, that he was not loved correspondently as he loved; to prove what the passion of that unfortunate Beauty was, read, I beseech you, an Elegy, which that charming person made under feigned names, during a short absence of this Martius whom you would excuse. And that you may judge her more passionate, know, that after Martius had given a thousand testimonies of Love for several years, and received as many from that incomparable person, he came by degrees to have an unequal Love (if I may so speak) that is, to do things sometimes which denoted a violent passion, and sometimes others which might make him suspected of having almost an indifference in his sentiments. Yet he loved her all this while, and sometimes even unto fury; but after all, there were ti●es in which his passion lay hid, and wherein he was willing to find occasion to complain. During one of those intervals of his Love and his absence, the Elegy I am going to repeat to you was made.  

ELEGY.  
HEnce, dismal melancholy from my breast,  
Which hast too long my quiet dispossessed.  
Those pangs I feel, I can no longer bear:  
My pleasures passed but cause my present fear.  
And my afflicted Soul, since hope is gone,  
Sees and presages nought but griefs to come;  
Griefs, which distract me, and continue still  
To murder daily what they cannot kill.  
Love! cruel Love! the source of all my tears;  
Unhappy they in whom thy power appears.  
But happy he, in whose untroubled breast  
No storms of Love disturb his Halcyon rest;  
Not blest with pleasures, yet secure from woe,  
And jealousy and rage that with it go.  
We should not then by dear experience see,  
What fits of heat and cold in Love there be;  
How near the brink of death and dire despair,  
Th'imagined sweets of Love and pleasure are:  
Nor those eternal torments should we know,  
Which who least merits most shall undergo.  
'Tis true, a sad and cold indifference  
Makes us behold the World with negligence;  
That without love there no desires can be,  
Without desires too, no felicity.  
That even with fortune we are drunk; and cloyed  
With plenty, which by surfeit is enjoyed.  
But 'tis a poor and despicable grief,  
So light, from tears it seeks for no relief.  
'Slight cares, which the wild notes of birds allay,  
And purling streams that o'er the pebbles play.  
But yet that jewel liberty is kept,  
And the lulled Soul of too quick sense bereavest.  
The headlong passions hushed in careless dreams,  
Fall from the force of their too fierce extremes.  
Then 'tis the pleasure of the day's our own,  
The glorious Sun, and all he shines upon.  
But yet is this a life deprived of love;  
And can the Soul a greater torment prove,  
Than not to love, or not beloved to be,  
And all its passions circumscribed to see  
Within itself? without the joy to know  
The price of sighs and tears that gently flow,  
Of amorous regards and thousand charms  
That change to pleasures, griefs most fierce alarms?  
Even sorrows have their pleasures, tears their time  
Of joy: Vain Fools, that think sweet love a crime.  
A constant love will still a virtue ●e.  
Then let us Daphnis still affect, though he  
All cool and temperate, with equal fires,  
Meets not my flames; my more refined desires  
Feed on those pleasures which my love inspires.  
Wretch that I am! but is it just my love  
On swifter measure than his passion move?  
Suffering such ills his careless heart can ne'er  
Resent, that heart which ought those ills to share:  
Whom duty binds for me alone to live,  
And no just cause for my complaints to give.  
He that a thousand solemn Oaths hath sworn,  
He knew no bliss, but only to adore;  
That time and age should find him still the same,  
His heart for ever burning in my flame;  
Nor should his passion ever know an end,  
Or any else to love so well pretend:  
Yet this ingrate my absence can support,  
Whilst my weak spirit makes its last effort,  
To bear his want; would he my sorrows weigh;  
Obdurate as he is, he could not stay.  
But judging Elismena 's heart by his,  
He ne'er can understand her miseries.  
Insensible, he never feels my woe,  
Though yet, methinks, he cannot choose but know  
The griefs I bear; careless of my complaint,  
Perhaps he makes a Court to some new Saint.  
His absence shows he must inconstant be;  
That day, kind powers, let me never see.  
Obliging fate first end my days, before  
I hear the perjured Daphnis loves no more.  
Away fond jealousy; he cannot prove  
A faithless lover to a faithful love.  
An amorous heart can ne'er forego its chains;  
Since for his sake I suffer amorous pains.  
Daphnis, my causeless jealousy forgive.  
Daphnis for me, and I for him do live.  
Our faith shall late posterity approve,  
And ours shall be the measure of their love.  
Yet (spite of hope) suspicion and despair,  
By turns my hearts divided Empire share.  
But still those chagrins, doubts, despair, and fears,  
Injurious words, hard thoughts, and sighs and tears  
Are loves effects, and with one voice they cry,  
Daphnis, for thee, Daphnis, for thee I die.   
As soon as Lucia had done repeating these Verses to Plotina, Ha! Lucia (said this amiable Virgin) if you think you have hurt Martius by repeating these Verses to me, you are mistaken; for, I find them so dear and passionate, that I am persuaded he that could inspire a very excellent person with such amorous sentiments, must needs be such himself, and one that knows how to love; for such Verses as these would never have been made for an indifferent. How? Plotina (cried Lucia) can you reason in this manner? and esteem a man, who has been capable of changing his sentiments, and having only a faint and languishing affection for a rare person whom he ardently loved, and by whom he was always dearly affected? For a person, I say, who had absolutely given him her heart, and who (as you may see by the Verses I have recited to you) had the most tender sentiments in the world for this inconstant Lover? Be it how it will (said Plotina) I cannot place a Lover who ceases to have an ardent love, in the rank of inconstant's. If you account him not in that rank (answered Lucia) than you must reckon him amongst the perfidious; for as I conceive, 'tis perfidiousness to cease to love a person who always loves you with the same ardency. For my part (said I) I am persuaded all change may be termed inconstancy; and though a man become not servant to another Mistress, yet if he cease to love the first without cause, he is inconstant. I know not very well (replied Plotina) whether according to exact reason, that which you say be inconstancy; but I know the custom of the world calls such a man as Lycastes unconstant, who has loved several Mistresses one after another, and sometimes several together; but such a one as Martius is not so termed, who has only diminished his diligences. But would you like well (said Lucia) that Martius should cease to love, after you had married him? I should not (answered she) but I conceive the Lovers who cease to be such after they have married their Mistresses, are not always in fault; for indeed most women, when they are married, are negligent, refractory; and perverse towards their husbands, and many times too guilty of levity and causeless jealousy. So that it is not to be wondered, if the husband finding them so different from what they were before marriage, change their sentiments towards them. Flatter yourself, Plotina, flatter yourself (said Lucia with some earnestness) 'tis the custom of all fair and young persons to believe their charms will have more power than those of others; but let me tell you once more, Martius is an inconstant person, and more dangerous than Lycastes. In truth, Lucia (answered Plotina) I do not much fear either of them, for marriage is so much feared by me, that I hope that thought will help me to defend my heart against the merit of these two Rivals, and I dare say too, against any light inclination I have for Martius.  
Thus you see what Plotina's sentiments were, and how she defended Martius to the disadvantage of Lycastes. In the mean time they both loved her extreme passionately; nevertheless, they durst not declare it openly to her: but without having such design, they did this office one for another, although there was now as great a secret hatred between them as there had been formerly friendship. For it happened one day that these two Lovers were in a garden amongst many other persons of Quality, and both of them by the instinct of their affections endeavoured to approach to Plotina: but Lucia meeting them fell into discourse with Martius, that so she might oblige Lycastes whose friend she was. On the other side a Kinswoman of Martius observing the cunning of Lucia, made as if she had some important affair to speak to Lycastes about; so that these two Rivals were alike unhappy for more than an hour; but at length Martius quitting himself something rudely from the conversation of Lucia, came to find Plotina with whom I was walking and another of my Friends: but being the walk we were in was very narrow, Martius soon became alone with his Mistress; for I stopped to entertain that friend I mentioned, though we stayed still in the same Walk. Plotina being of a very pleasant humour, at first fell to tell Martius several divertising things she had observed in the company. For my part (said he maliciously to her) I have seen nothing more remarkable, than Lycastes so employed in speaking to a friend of mine in a place where the amiable Plotina is present. But perhaps (answered she smiling) Lycastes does not talk to your Friend, but your Friend to Lycastes. Be it how it will (replied Martius) if he loved you as much as he would have you believe, he would be as incivil to the Lady who entertains him, as I was but now to Lucia who held me in discourse. But to speak truth (added he) professed inconstant's, such as Lycastes, have no violent affections. But who told you Lycastes is in love with me? (demanded Plotina) I have not perceived it. Being I know no person whatsoever (answered Martius) who does not or has not loved you, I suppose a man who is accustomed to love, out of inconstancy only, cannot fail but love the most charming person in the World. And moreover, amiable Plotina (added he) the eyes of a Rival, and a constant Rival, discover things much better than those of other people. I assure you (replied she making as if she did not hear Martius) I have not perceived that Lycastes loves me more than the other Ladies he converses with. However (answered Martius) I know if he does love, he will not love you very long, for it is not possible for him to love the same person any considerable time: and I remember I have heard he once writ to a Lady in the Country to desire a private conference with her; but when the answer arrived, and permission to go see and speak with her in private was granted him, he had no longer any thing to say to her, because he had changed his sentiments towards her. Ha! Martius (cried Plotina, blushing, as if she had been angry it could be believed that any one could not love her long) that which you say can never come to pass.  
I ●●'er inspire but an immortal love,  
And such, (if any) will Lycastes prove.  
Then I am very miserable, Madam (answered Martius) by being out of all hope ever to be cured of the ill which torments me. But where had you those two Verses which denounce to me not only that I shall love you as long as I live, but always have not one but a thousand Rivals as dangerous as Lycastes? I assure you (replied she) they came into my mind without thinking of them, and I spoke them unawares; for I would have you know (added she, minding to turn the discourse into raillery) I do not at all pretend to Poetry; but to speak truth, I could not allow you to believe that I cannot keep a heart when I have conquered it. And besides (contined she smiling) I take so little care in conquering them, that I am something jealous of my power. After this, she stood still and called me; so Martius could discourse with her no longer, but was obliged to go and entertain himself with other Ladies. By this time Lycastes, having disengaged himself from her that talked with him, came to us, and that so opportunely, that Plotina going to pass over a little Bridge which lay cross a Brook, gave him her hand, and so he continued leading her afterwards. Being a person infinitely ingenious, and subtle to prejudice a Rival, I know not (said he to Plotina looking upon her) whether the conversation you have had with Martius, was very divertising, but he talked with you in a place, where what passion soever he has for you, he ought rather to have sighed out of grief than love; for I have been told, that the first time the fair and charming person whom he destroyed declared she was very willing he should love her, it was in this very place, where perhaps he entertained you with the love he has for you. I know not whether Martius loves me or no (answered Plotina) but I know how to make myself so much respected as that none dare speak any thing to me but what I am willing to hear. What? Madam (cried he) can you eternally hinder such as adore you from declaring it to you? No, no, (added he) if Martius has not yet told you he loves you, he ought to have done it. But I confess to you, that to prove to you, that he knows how to love, it behoved him to entertain you only with sad discourse in this place. I beseech you (said Plotina) tell me in what place of the World you have had opportunity to speak of Love, and have not done it▪ you, I say, who are accused of having made a thousand declarations of love! But, Madam (answered he) I have loved only women that did not love me; but as for Martius, he has been loved again, and loved constantly, and the abatement of his affection has caused the death of the person whom he loved so much. As for what you say (replied Plotina) that you have never been loved again, it is not much to be wondered at, for you do not give your Mistress' leisure to love you. Ha! As for you, amiable Plotina (cried he) I promise to give you all the leisure you can desire; for I perceive I shall love you as long as I live. If it be so (answered she smiling) I shall not be much displeased, because it will give me occasion to revenge all those that you have deserted, and to manifest that there may be eternal rigour as well as eternal love. Plotina spoke this with a certain deriding air, which sensibly afflicted Lycastes, so that he could speak to her no more all the rest of the day, because she joined and continued with the rest of the company. After that time Martius and Lycastes neglected nothing which they thought fit to do, to please Plotina; yet they continued a civil respect one towards another, because they knew she desired it, and nevertheless used all artifices to their mutual disadvantage. Lycastes knowing Lucia had several Letters of Martius to his first Mistress, and from her to him, importuned her to show them to Plotina, as she had the Elegy before. And accordingly Lucia going to visit her one afternoon, and finding her alone, acted so cunningly that she made her curious to see the Letters she pretended to have. I will show you them (said Lucia to Plotina) but if you profit no better by them than by the Elegy which you have seen already, no doubt I shall repent of it. For is there any thing more ignoble, than after the death of a person infinitely amiable, and infinitely virtuous, to see the most secret testimonies of her affection become public through his negligence who received them? I confess (said Plotina) if people could always think of being liable to this danger, they would never write any thing but what might be seen by all the World; but the mischief, at the time such obliging Letters are penned, they have so good an opinion of them to whom they are written, that they fear not the falling out of such a misadventure. There are some women no doubt who write all that they think, through the reason you mention (answered Lucia) but there are others, who out of natural imprudence and the desire to have flattering and courting Letters, write not to one alone but to many men, and spend one half of their lives in writing Love-letters, and the other in receiving those of their gallants. There are some too that know how to disguise their hands several ways, and others who never write in their own, that so they may deny all when they please. As for these women (said Plotina) I allow that their Letters be shown to all the World, for certainly they are not worthy to be discreetly dealt withal. But as for a virtuous person, in whose heart is nothing but an innocent affection, 'tis inhumanity to publish such things of theirs as may be ill interpreted. Yet this comes to pass so frequently, that I think to refrain from writing any thing too kind, 'tis best to forbear to love; for prudence is not much listened to by such as love, and distrust is so contrary to perfect love, that scarce any thing which is not criminal can be refused to a person that is loved. I believe also, that the more an affection is innocent, the more the Letters are obliging; for they that rely on their own innocence, write with more liberty: therefore to avoid being exposed to such a great unhappiness, and to forbear writing, it is requisite for me (as I said before) to keep myself from loving. But that I may be confirmed in this sentiment (added she) show me in what manner Martius writ to Lysimira, and how Lysimira writ to Martius. I will Madam (said Lucia) and the better to manifest to you how deceitful or inconstant men are, I will show you Letters written at divers times, from Martius to Lysimira. See here then a Letter which Martius writ to Lysimira some time after she had permitted him to love her, and he had requested some slight favour of her which she refused him, at which he seemed angry, and left her rudely. And so Lucia read to Plotina that which I am going to read to you, for I kept copies of all Martius' Letters, because they appeared to me very amorous.  
Martius' to Lysimira.  
I Do not defer, Madam, to acknowledge, repent of, and beseech your pardon for my fault, till you reproach me for it. I have offended, I confess, I am culpable, I cannot plead any thing in excuse of my capricio, but excess of love. For who am I, Madam, that I should not be contented that the divine Lysimira knows I love her, though she give me no testimony of an affection equal to my own? Have I deserved the other kindnesses you have had for me? would not a thousand persons of greater merit than I be satisfied with the condition you permit me to enjoy? Alas! I cannot deny it: But, I beseech you Madam, be not offended with me, and add not more rigorous and cruel punishments to those I cause to myself. If ever person loved more tenderly, more respectfully and more ardently than I, I am willing that you refuse the pardon to me which I desire of you: but since that cannot be, grant it me, Madam, and believe I shall with eternal fidelity own the command you have laid upon me to be faithful. Yet I cannot divine wherefore you recommended it more to me the other day than at any time before; but can you divine that I am more so this day, than ever I was in my life? when you tell me your secret, I will tell you mine. But, alas! when shall I have the joy to speak to you? I know I shall this day have the honour to see you, but in a place where I can do nothing less than entertain you with my love. Pity me therefore, Madam, pity me, and imagine how great a torment it would be to you, if you were obliged to hide the most violent and innocent passion in the World.  
I confess (said Plotina) Martius' Letter is very amorous, and 'tis hard to conceive how a man that writ in this manner, could cease to love without cause. See this other Letter (answered Lucia) for 'tis something more passionate than the first: and accordingly Plotina read this following.  
Martius' to Lysimira.  
HOw I love you, Madam! what an amiable person you are! and from how great pains has your Letter of this morning delivered me! What can I do to repay you as much joy as it has given me? Tell me, Madam; for if no more but dying for your service be requisite, I will not refuse it. Nothing can equal the delight of being loved by the most excellent person of the World; and being I love you as I do, I am sometimes extremely sorry, you cannot receive a pleasure equal to mine. But I beseech you, Madam, let this pleasure accompany me to the grave, let Fortune never ravish it from me, but make her learn there is a felicity greater than all she can give, over which she has no power. In acknowledgement of such a multiplied goodness, Madam, there is nothing which I refuse, not even the constraining of the violent passion I have in my soul, though it be altogether innocent, if at least it be any thing displeasing to you. Let us not then afflict ourselves before the time; Fortune perhaps will favour our love, and we shall not be so unhappy as you apprehend. And though we should, you know what I told you in the beginning of my passion; I am not now capable of denying, that it is the most predominant of all my faculties, and is to me instead both of soul and life; Only love Martius, who will be eternally yours, in spice of all obstacles in the World; and let his great love Madam supply his want of merit: pardon him if he dares speak to you of the goodness of the divine Lysimira, he does not therefore esteem himself less unworthy of it; and this confidence diminishes nothing of his respect, though it infinitely augments his love.  
Ha! Lucia (cried Plotina) I will not have Martius write to me; for certainly he writes too passionately and too well for me; but I beseech you show me one of Lysimira's Letters. I am going to show something more (said Lucia) for I will let you see the Verses she made during Martius' absence, who a little while before he departed gave her a flourishing Myrtle set in one of those earthen pots which are so admirably made at Rome. For using to entertain her melancholy near that Myrtle, to which she addressed thus.  

Fair Myrtle, often watered with my tears;  
Fair Myrtle, witness of my griefs and fears;  
Upon thy wounded Bark let Daphnis see  
An heart more wounded than thy Bark can be.  
Tell him what fears my Lovesick heart have rend,  
What griefs I suffered since my Daphnis went;  
Tell him I feel whatever torments Love,  
And joined with absence, strong desires can move.  
Then if thou canst my amorous flames express,  
May happy Lovers characters still bless  
Thy sacred Rind; no tears be ever known  
To water thee, but what Heaven sheds alone.   
These Verses are undoubtedly of a very passionate strain (said Plotina) but how came they to Martius' hands? At the return of this Lover (answered Plotina) he found the excellent Lysimira had so favourably spoken of him during his absence, that all her other Lovers were jealous of him. So that the first time that he visited her, this amiable person was attaqued with raillery by some of the company in his presence. Which at first she put off very pleasantly; but, truth being a thing of powerful operation, she was at length constrained to pretend she had forgot something in her Closet, that so the disturbance of her mind might not be observed in her countenance. On which occasion Martius desiring to speak a few words to her, followed her and jesting with her, as he was going, because she could not endure the raillery made to her. But as he followed her, he took up these Verses which she had let fall unwillingly; and so getting them without her knowledge, he folded them up, and did not read them till the evening. You may imagine what joy they gave him, and the next morning he writ Lysimira the following Letter.  
Martius' to Lysimira.  
THe jealousy of many Friends and Rivals, has no other effect, Madam, but increases my love; and my joy is great beyond expression, when I consider I possess a heart, in which so many illustrious persons esteem me happy to have a place; a heart, the most generous and noble in the world. Ah! Madam, is not this too much for Martius? Yet I swear to you he had rather die than be content with less, and should infallibly die, if any other could have as much honour as he. No, Madam, that unhappiness shall never befall me, your admirable Verses assure me of it, and I cannot forbear to give a thousand kisses to those favourable testimonies of the tenderness of your heart. Should I undertake to render you the most humble thanks I owe you, it would be impossible for me. I shall only tell you, or to speak better, I shall swear to you, that I will eternally love the divine Lysimira, but so as she desires and deserves to be loved. Moreover, to return you two Verses in stead of your own, which I account for a hundred thousand, be pleased to know that whilst my journey lasted, I said a hundred and a hundred times.  
'Tis a weak love which absence can deface;  
Mine is immutable by time or place.  
Ha! Lucia (cried Plotina) I can no longer believe Martius loves me, because whatever you say, I cannot think he has ceased to love Lysimira, as dead as she is. Yet you see him very pleasant in your presence (answered Lucia) had but he been unfaithful only to the ashes of Lysimira, the practice of vulgar Lovers might be alleged to excuse him. But, in fine, after a thousand Letters more obliging than those I have showed you, his love could insensibly abate, though he continued civil to her. But certainly by becoming happy he absolutely ceased to be a Lover; and since the loss of Lysimira, which notwithstanding he sensibly regretted, then, you see your eyes have afforded him sufficient consolation. In good earnest, Lucia (said Plotina) you are a cruel person, and I will be revenged upon Lycastes for all the mischief which you do to Martius. You will be unjust if you do so (answered Lucia.) Believe me (replied Plotina smiling) injustice is something agreeable in certain occasions. However, I declare to you (added she) I will see no more of those Letters, for they would force me either to love or hate Martius, and I am resolved to do neither. There is no great resemblance between those two passions (added Lucia.) I grant it (answered Plotina) but yet I feel my mind capable of both. That you may avoid both (replied Lucia, smiling) love the poor Lycastes, who adores you, and have only indifference for Martius, who has too much merit to be hated; and too little constancy, to be loved. As for Lycastes (answered Plotina) I declare to you that I can neither love nor hate him; for he is too agreeable a person to cause hatred, and too inconstant to excite my love. If it be so (said Lucia) infallibly you will love Martius. I should be very sorry then (answered Plotina) for I desire to love nothing but honour, my friends, and myself. They that love themselves well (replied Lucia) sometimes love others too for their own sakes. I assure you (answered Plotina) I am persuaded that such as understand their own interests well, affect no person in the way of love; but as for friendship, our lives would be irksome without it. 'Tis so difficult to have Friends at your age (replied Lucia) that you are very prone to have disguised Lovers, and be of the humour of those women who are not offended but with apparences, and admit of love under the name of friendship. For my part (said Plotina) I am not obliged to examine the hearts of my Friends so narrowly, provided they tell me nothing that displeases me. But I am not gone so far yet (added she) and but hitherto I have had only acquaintances, and would not yet make choice of Friends. Nevertheless I perceive my heart inclined to have some; and if my reason did not oppose it, I should have one already. However (said Lucia) take heed of the disguised Lovers I speak of, for there is nothing more agreeable or more dangerous than a lover that resembles a Friend. I shall endeavour to make use of your Counsels (answered Plotina.)  
Thus you see, Amilcar, how the mind of this amiable Virgin stood affected towards her two Lovers. The next day after this conversation, Martius happening to be at a Walking where Plotina was, and from which Lycastes was absent, found an opportunity to speak to her a little more openly of his love than he had done. At first Plotina rejected him with sufficient rigour; No, no, Martius (said she to him) do not conceive that your merit shall hinder me from forbidding you to speak to me of your pretended Passion; for if you love me not, you do me an injury to tell me so; and if you do, I have such a respect for you, as not to cherish you in a fruitless hope. But, do you think, Madam (answered he) 'tis in your power to extinguish the passion you have excited in me, or so much as to hinder me from hoping? Love is far more capricious than you imagine (added he) it entertains hope against reason; and you attempt in vain to keep me from believing that one day you will love me, whether you will or no. Yes, Madam, the greatness of my passion, and my perseverance will infallibly mollify your heart. There is much boldness in your words (replied Plotina:) I assure you, Madam (answered he) there is more love than boldness, since I trust only in the greatness of my passion. But, Martius (said Plotina) think you I can ever love a man that could cease to love a very amiable person, by whom he was ardently loved? Who told you, Madam (said he) I ever ceased to love the charming person whom I have lost? All the World (answered she) and besides, I gather it by my own observance; for if you had not ceased to love her, you would love nothing but your grief. Ha! Madam (cried Martius sighing) why will you force me to reveal a secret to you which I had resolved never to discover? I assure you (answered Plotina) I have no intention to force you to tell me any thing of private concernment. Yet you force me to it (replied Martius) by reproaching me that I have ceased to love the person whom I have lost, thereby to have a pretext to forbid me to love you. Nevertheless it is certain, if I had not loved her beyond the grave, perhaps I should not have been your Lover. But, Madam, believe me upon my word, without obliging me to give you a particular account of things. Plotina being then sufficiently curious to know what Martius meant, treated him so fiercely, that he became constrained to tell her more than he was otherwise willing to do. I beseech you charming Plotina (said he to her) harken to an unhappy person who adores you. Yet I find much regret to relate what I am going to inform you of; for I must renew all my sorrows, and cannot avoid bringing myself into danger of being suspected of vanity and little discretion. Know then, that I was undoubtedly loved by Lysimira, who was one of the most amiable persons in the World; and I can swear to you, I have not ceased to love her a moment; 'tis true, after our affection was ratified by a thousand Oaths, I changed my deportment towards her, because decency and herself required it: but as for my heart, it continued immutable. Nevertheless (such was my unhappiness) Lysimira believed Lucia had formerly not hated me, and did not hate me still; so that by degrees she came to be possessed with a secret jealousy which destroyed her. How? (interrupted Plotina) has Lucia, whom I know, loved you, and does she love you still? At present (answered Martius) I believe Lucia hates me, but at that time Lysimira believed she did not, and feared I loved her, though 'tis most certain my affection to her was no more but a certain civility which a sincere man may dispense with where he thinks he is not hated. In the mean time Lysimira being willing to dissemble her discontent, and keep me from conversing with Lucia alone, chose rather to see her every day though she hated her, than not to see her and be in fear lest I visited her in private; so that she became inseparable from Lucia. I will not stay to tell you, Madam, how great discontents the poor Lysimira endured, without communicating any thing to me (for she had a great mind, and cared not to complain) and how great disquiets I caused her innocently by the civility I showed to Lucia, who as you know, has a very commendable Wit. 'Tis sufficient to signify to you, that Lysimira by little and little became very languishing and melancholy. At which I was much afflicted, and enquiring the cause of her, I understood her mind was as sick as her body. I entreated her, I begged her to let me know the cause of her discontent; but she would never tell it me. The Gods are witnesses, I omitted nothing I believed might please, cure or comfort her. I did one thing too of no small difficulty; for having at length understood by an intimate friend of Lysimira the true cause of her sadness, I never saw Lucia but when I could not avoid it, and I gave her all the assurances of my affection I could express. But (to her own unhappiness) she doubted the sincerity of my Oaths, and fell into a sickness which shortly after ended her days; at her death she persisted in her jealousy to her last breath, and left me written with her own hand in the Tablets which her Friend gave me after her decease, the sad words which I am going to recite to you.  
I have lived enough Martius; since I have testified to you that I loved you more than my life; But if I have had any power over you, use your utmost endeavours to marry Plotina when time shall have dried up your tears. She is the only person whom I can suffer to succeed me in your heart. Do not refuse me this last favour which I desire of you. And if you cannot win her affection whom I have named to you, love nothing but my memory, I conjure you.  
But, Martius (said Plotina) can this which you speak be true? I will let you see it, Madam, when you please (answered Martius sighing) I assure myself (added he) you conceive well the unfortunate Lysimira designed principally to hinder me from loving Lucia, by commanding me to use my utmost endeavours to marry you; for she did not know you intimately. But she needed not to fear it; for considering Lucia as the cause (though innocent) of Lysimira's death, I went no more to visit her after I had lost that amiable person, whom I regretted with a sensibility of heart which I am not able to express. Indeed I resolved never to love any person more; and though she had commanded me to do what I could to marry you, yet I made a determination to be faithful to her ashes, spend the rest of my days with very great indifference. But (as destiny is inevitable) after time had diminished my grief, your beauty, the charms of your mind, and a thousand agreeable qualities which all the World admires in you, disposed my heart to obey Lysimira; so that finding my duty conjoined with my inclination, I have loved you, and I love you both for the sake of Lysimira and your own. And judge now, charming Plotina, whether I am an unfaithful Lover; for I swear to you with all the sincerity of a man of honour, that besides yourself I should never have loved any thing but the ashes of Lysimira; and unless Lysimira had permitted me to love you, I should have so timely opposed the passion I have for you, that perhaps it would not have overpowered my reason. Moreover, one unhappiness there befell me which afflicted me sensibly; for amidst the disorder whereinto Lysimira's death had brought my reason, I was robbed of a Casket, in which Lysimira and I had put all that we had written to one another, because she durst not keep my Letters: and for my part, I have ever believed Lucia caused it to be stolen from me, that so I might be deprived of everything which should put me in remembrance of Lysimira. I expressed so great sorrow for this loss, that my intimate Friends know well that I am not an unfaithful person. Martius related this with so passionate an air; and so like a man that spoke truth, that the novelty of this adventure made a sufficient impression upon Plotina's mind. She called to mind then all that Lucia had said to her against Martius, and in favour of Lycastes; so that not doubting but that it proceeded from the secret inclination she always had for Martius, Plotina became a little less severe to this Lover. Nevertheless she did not permit him to love her, but yet did not so absolutely forbid him as to make him despair of obtaining her permission one day. And accordingly he used so much care to please Plotina, that she suffered him sometimes to tell her something of the sentiments he had for her, which yet was always in such a manner as engaged her to nothing; for being of a merry humour, she easily evades all difficulties. Now after her conversation with Martius, Lucia became wholly out of her favour; and whereas she concealed nothing from me which befell him, she told me all she had learned from Martius, and I perceived by the air with which she spoke, that this Lover was happier than he thought. Not that Plotina had a great passion in her heart, but he had always the advantage to be better thought of than any of his Rivals: and therefore she told me he was her first Friend. In the mean time Lycastes was very unhappy, and if Lucia had not comforted him, and continually encouraged him with hope, I believe he would have cured himself. But this person designing to serve Lycastes, chiefly that she might prejudice Martius, omitted nothing to bring her purpose to pass; for though Plotina loved her no longer, yet out of prudence she continued to visit her. Martius became more cheerful as he became more happy; so that he took care every day only to give Plotina new divertisements. Nevertheless, he was sometimes discontented to see he made no more progress in the heart of this fair person: but the unhappiness of Lycastes was a very efficacious consolation to him. About this time divers pleasant things fell out; but because I do not love long narrations, I will shorten this as much as I can. Yet, I must not omit to tell you, that Plotina and Martius having laid a Wager, my Friend lost, and gave Martius a very pretty Seal, which he received with joy; but how careful soever he was to keep it, he dropped it once as he was walking in a Meadow with some Ladies; but it was his happiness that I found it again and restored it to him. Some days after he lost the Writing-Tablets which I gave him, and which had been Plotina's; but he was so happy as that Plotina found them and returned them to him; but she sent him these Verses with them which had reference to a conversation they had together the day before, in which Plotina maintained that a lost friendship might be revived, but never a lost Love for the same person. The Verses were these,  
'Tis true, good fortune is your constant friend,  
And what you lose, still back again doth send.  
However 'tis fit henceforth more care you show;  
Remember that Plotina told you so.  
For if an Heart in Love's Realm goes astray,  
Poor Heart, 'tis lost for ever and a day.  
Martius answered to this gallantly, with very much wit; but because I do not well remember either his Verses or his Letter, I will not attempt to repeat them to you. Shortly after, being these Verses were not made any secret, they made Lycastes so jealous, that he quarcelled with Martius; and that in so high a degree, that it came to a Duel. So they fought, and were both wounded; Martius', but slightly; but Lycastes so dangerously, that it was presently judged he would die. Whereupon, though he had been the Challenger, Martius was forced to flee from Ardea, and that without bidding adieu to Plotina, who would not grant him a private conference. So that he was fain to be contented with writing to her, and receiving only an Answer of some Lines. Some days after his departure, Lycastes died without being lamented by any of his Mistresses excepting Plotina, who pitied him, and was very sorry he died, chiefly because his death banished Martius. During his absence, he writ very diligently to Plotina: but being Lucia knew that in love, absence is the fittest time to prejudice a Lover, especially when it is long, and the Mistress is very young, and loves mirth and pleasures, she did not despair of being able at length to ruin Martius in the heart of Plotina. Now it happened that a Brother of hers returning from a long Voyage, and having seen Martius for some time in the place which he chose for his retreat, she obliged him to gratify her by committing a wickedness. He was young, and of no very good nature; he did not love Martius neither, he delighted to cause disturbances, he did not hate lying, and had loved Plotina a little from his Childhood: Wherefore Lucia having plotted with him what he should say concerning Martius, he came to make me his first visit; and being told I sat for my picture that day to give it to Plotina, he came to the place where I was; but because it was at the house of no ordinary Painter, and the Conversation which was made there changed Plotina's mind toward Martius, I must tell you something concerning that excellent man.  
His reputation (said Amilcar) has no doubt arrived at me; for if I am not deceived, he is a man that makes pictures in black and white Crayon, and in little, and his name is Nelanthus. 'Tis the very same (answered Cesonia.) But is it possible for such pictures (said Amilcar) to be as like & as lively as those that are drawn in colours? I assure you (answered Cesonia) a Looking-glass does not more exactly represent those it reflects, than the Crayons of this excellent man; for he dives into the very hearts of people, to animate their pictures. He makes their minds and humours visible, he expresses even the least motions of their souls in their eyes, the smallest observable Action does not escape him; he preserves too the perfect resemblance of the clothing, with his black and white he makes brown hair distinguishable from fair, lively colours from pale complexions; and, in fine, all his portraits are inimitable: he knows so well how to dispose light and shadows, and so perfectly represents the air and life with his Pencils, that all the skilful in Painture are amazed at his work. The heads he makes are so round (or rising) that the eyes are mistaken in them, and they are drawn with a certain softness which so admirably imitates Nature, that he cannot be sufficiently commended. As for his person, Nelanthus is tall, well proportioned, and of a good presence; he speaks well of every thing, he delights those he draws with the variety of his discourse; he loves ingenuity extremely, and has written the precepts of his Art very commendably. Moreover, he makes very agreeable and exquisite Verses, when he draws a person that pleases him, and whom he would commend; but which is strange, at the same time he makes his admirable Crayons, which deserve to be admired by all the world, he talks with the same jollity and freedom of mind, as if he had nothing to do but to divert the company; and nevertheless there is nothing more handsome and exact than that which he is doing. And therefore he has drawn all the persons of high quality, illustrious and learned in Italy. And this is the man at whose house I was one day with Plotina to sit for my picture, when Lucia's Brother I told you of came to find me. Being it is an usual custom to make questions to a man who comes from a long voyage, I set myself to inquire divers things of Celius (for so is Lucia's Brother called) but Plotina having a secret design, made mockery of my demands, and counselled Celius not to answer me at all; or if he did, not to tell me the truth. For indeed (said she to him) me thinks there is nothing more troublesome than to be obliged to give an account of your Travels, to every one that you meet. For is there any thing more tedious than to meet such people as desire to know even the least Circumstances of the Country which you have seen, who expect you should know the difference between the Pismires of Egypt (so famed for bigness) and the Pismires of Italy, and who raising questions upon questions know not wherefore they would know that which they inquire of. But for my part, who care neither for the Elephants of Asia, the Pismires of Egypt, nor the Crocodiles of Nilus, I will only ask Celius whether the women of Italy are as lovely as those he has seen elsewhere; and whether the honest men of this Country do not equal those of other. Being to speak to the two most charming persons in the world (answered Celius) I have not liberty to say there are any elsewhere that equal them; but if I were to speak in another place, having first excepted you; I would freely acknowledge that the Greek Ladies have something very attractive, and that their glances are so amiable, that his heart cannot see them much without loving them, unless the heart be otherwise preengaged. Then you have loved some Greek beauty? (replied I.) Having been so long absent (answered he) 'tis easy to imagine that I cannot but have loved in some place of the world; for certainly people become amorous more easily in other Countries than in their own; for such as are absent, are always free from business; and idleness is a great preparative to love. Yet I know some Absents (replied I looking upon Plotina) who I dare swear are not amorous in the place of their banishment. In truth (said she, blushing) that is not to be spoken so affirmatively; for few know how to deport themselves in absence as they ought. And yet I know nothing more obliging than to do as I mean. But to speak truth, I do not find many persons but who accustom themselves to dispense with seeing such as they love best. Which nevertheless is that which would displease me most of any thing in the world (added she) for as many as I esteem, I am confident time could not accustom me to want patiently the sight of a person whom I loved much, but I should be always more sad and carelessly dressed, desire his presence every moment, have no delight in those very places where others find most, and every day would increase my melancholy. For all this, we usually see, two days after a Lover is out of his Mistress' sight, he is comforted, he decks himself as formerly, he walks, converses, diverts himself, every day less remembers the person he loves, and is no longer afflicted than while he is writing to her. I confess (answered Celius) most men do thus; but you must confess too that most women comfort themselves as speedily as men. I confess it sincerely (said Plotina) but according to the humour I am of, if I were so unhappy as to love one of those contented or comforted Absents (if I may so speak) and knew it, I should so well comfort myself with his loss, that perhaps I should in time render him incapable of Consolation; for most of such absent persons speak at their return, as if they had been all the while the most miserable men in the world. 'Tis true (said Nelanthus then continuing his work too) most part of Travellers are great Liars; for one day I saw an absent Lover who obliged me to copy in little, a great picture of his Mistress whom he left at Volaterra, whence he was. And being he took some pleasure in seeing me work, he came very frequently to visit me; and I remember one day among the rest, I beheld him very merry. He related sundry divertisements to me, at which he had been present in the preceding days; he sung, he made pleasant Verses upon a picture which I had drawn, as I did also in my turn, and feigned myself an African to divert him and myself: after which, he remembering it was the day on which to write to Volaterra, he asked me what he should write about. When he had half done his Letter, one came to seek him to go to a walking appointment; whereupon he left his Letter half finished, and went to walk with certain Ladies, without minding the finishing of his Letter, though he could not have the like opportunity till four days after. When he was gone I took the Letter which he had begun, and withal, I confess I read it. But I was surprised to find that he was writing to his Mistress, as the most sad, melancholy and afflicted man in the world by reason of his absence. For he told her, he avoided the world, took pleasure in nothing, and led the most irksome life that ever was. And which was rare, at his return from the walk he came to my house again, and without thinking of his Letter, desired me to lay aside the picture I had begun, and the next morning to begin that of one of the Ladies he had been walking with that afternoon. And therefore ever since, I have not given much credit to the Letters of absent persons. For my part (said Celius) I never yet saw an absent person long melancholy. Yet I know one (answered I) whom you cannot have seen very cheerful; for being he is banished about an unhappy affair, I imagine you must have found him sad. I perceive (replied Celius) you mean Martius; but since they report (added he maliciously) his heart is a Conquest which the amiable Plotina has rejected, I shall not fear to say that I have seen a fair person in the place where he is who boasts of being greatly loved by him. I say, who boasts, because she is a woman, that easily enough publishes the Conquests which she makes. They who boast so easily of taking hearts (said Plotina blushing) seem not to understand the art of conquering them. Be it how it will (answered he) she showed some very pleasant Letters, and I stole one from her without her perceiving it. Martius writes so well (replied Plotina) that I have a great curiosity to see some of his Letters, especially concerning love, for I have not seen any. Celius seeing Plotina's mind so disposed as he desired, showed her accordingly a Love-Letter of Martius which Lucia had given him, for she had a hundred in her keeping which had no names to them. So that Plotina knowing Martius' his hand and stile, believed he was inconstant, and did not suspect Lucia of this guile of Clelius. Wherefore being of quick resentment, and highminded, she regretted this adventure more than you can imagine. But she resented it with indignation; and in stead of complaining to Martius of his inconstancy, she took a resolution to do all she could to drive him out of her heart. And the next day she answered only in these few words to a very obliging Letter he had writ to her.  
Plotina to Martius.  
THey who divert themselves very well in the places wherein they reside, need not seek pleasures elsewhere. Therefore for your own conveniency and mine, forbear to give yourself the trouble of writing to me any more; but forget not, I conjure you, that I told you heretofore,  
That when an heart in love's Realm goes astray,  
That heart is lost for ever and a day.  
You may judge how extremely this Letter surprised Martius, who was really very faithful. Not but that there was a fair person in the place where he resided, who gave pretext to the lie of Celius; for she was one of those gossipping women who have a thousand little inventions to force virtuous men to say more to them than they would, and than they think. Martius' nevertheless writ several times again to Plotina, but she answered him no more. And therefore I often told her she was unjust to condemn Martius upon the bare report of a man who was a kind of Lover, and who besides was Brother to Lucia, who sought only to prejudice Martius. I believe perhaps more than you (answered Plotina) Martius is not so culpable, as I make semblance to believe: but to speak truth, being I should be loath to have a great passion in my soul, now my reason is a little stronger than it was, I seek myself to accuse Martius, and to improve my anger. I thought heretofore (continued she blushing) it was possible to be loved by a virtuous man without loving him more than was convenient; but I have now undeceived myself, and I find that unless I take care I should come perhaps to love Martius more than he loved me. Therefore to avoid so great an unhappiness, I conjure you never to tell me any thing that may serve to justify Martius. He is absent, I may suspect him of inconstancy, I am sensible of my honour, I love liberty and joy; so that there needs not much more to cure me. Plotina spoke this with a certain fierce and angry air, which made me believe she would have more difficulty to drive Martius out of her heart than she thought. However, I did as she desired, and spoke no more to her concerning Martius.  
After this, many alterations happened in Plotina's fortune (which I will not detain you with relating) both by reason of his absence whose Daughter she believed herself, and by the death of her whom she took to be her Mother. But at length, when I changed my condition, Plotina came to live with me, a little before Tarquin came to besiege Ardea. This adventure so amazed our City, that I cannot represent to you how great a terror there was at first amongst the people. But for that the inhabitants of Ardea are very courageous, they soon took heart again, and resolved to make a stout defence. As things were in this posture, Martius making use of this occasion, and knowing an attempt was to be made to bring a supply into the City, he put himself in the head of those that guarded it, and did such brave exploits, that it may be said 'twas he alone that procured the entrance of the Convoy into Ardea. Assoon as he came thither, he went to the Governors of the City, and with much eloquence and boldness told them he was come to desire to die for his Country. This Action seemed so noble, that in spite of Lycastes Relations, Martius had liberty to stay in Ardea, where there was great need of such persons as he. Whereupon he addressed again to Plotina, but found not such reception as formerly. At that time Horatius had brought Clelia to Ardea, and all the world was so charmed with her beauty and virtue, that though she was very melancholy, she caused herself to be adored. Plotina and I were the two persons to whom she testified most goodness, she made us privy to all her unhappiness, and we promised to serve her in every thing we could, though Horatius guarded her very carefully. Martius' in the mean time was in despair, because he could not regain Plotina's heart, though he sufficiently manifested his innocency. For Celius himself, who was not over-valiant, fearing to be treated like Lycastes, and being at feud with his Sister, justified him whom he had accused; for his love for Plotina was one of those young people's affections who believe their honour lost unless they sergeant themselves Lovers. Nevertheless though Plotina perceived well enough that Martius was innocent, her heart was not affected towards him as it had been. But wherefore, Madam, (said he to her one day) do you not restore me that beginning of affection you had for me before? Because I will not, and cannot (answered she.) As for my esteem, I give it you entire again; but that kind of affection full of I know not what disquieting tenderness, I cannot recall into my heart if I would. Anger expelled it thence, and my reason being become more strong, will hinder it from returning. Ah! unjust person that you are! (cried Martius) you cause me to undergo the most cruel adventure that ever was, and Lysimira's death was not more grievous to me. She died loving me, she commanded me to love you, she took nothing from me; I cannot but commend her constancy, her memory is still dear to me: but as for you, I lose you without any fault of mine. I see you more amiable than ever, but I see you without hope of being loved. Yet if I had never had hope, I should be patient; but you have confessed yourself, you have had some kindness for me. I confess it again (answered Plotina) and if I had had less, perhaps I should have had it still; but to speak truth, after I found my heart so near engaged that I should have been no longer Mistress of it, if I had continued but a little longer to love you, I am beholding to my anger which has cured me. But, Madam, that anger was ill grounded (replied he.) But, Martius, (excepted she) we are not bound to love all those that have not betrayed us. 'Tis true (answered he) but I conceive they that have begun to love any person, ought always to love him. If I had promised you so (replied Plotina) I would have kept my word; but I never acknowledged to you that I loved you till now I loved you no longer, and resolve not to do so. Ha! Madam (cried he) you carry your cruelty too far, and I believe never any adventure was like mine. In good earnest (said Plotina) nothing prejudices you in my heart but your merit, and the tenderness which I have had for you: and I confess to you ingenuously, you are the only man I have seen whom I have judged worthy of my affection. But I assure you at the same time, I was so much ashamed to understand my own weakness, when I believed you loved another, that I am not resolved to return ever into the like condition. But in acknowledgement of the affection you have had for me as far as I can, I assure you also that I am resolved to defend my heart as long as I live, & therefore never to marry, for to marry and not love those we marry, is in my judgement the most foolish and mischievous thing in the world; and to assure one's self of the affection of any one, is the greatest rashness possible. Therefore Liberty is the safest course; and if you believe me, my example will be of use to you. Besides, 'tis very just that you be faithful to the Ashes of Lysimira. Alas! (answered Martius) 'tis easy for an indifferent person to advise indifference. But how comes it that having not hated me before, you hate me now? If I hated you (replied she) I could love you again; but, Martius, I esteem you, and I can have a certain solid friendship for you, which may engage my mind, but not much more my heart. Ah! Madam, I desire not that friendship (answered Martius) and I like hatred a thousand times better. 'Tis in vain that you would be hated (replied Plotina) for I esteem you too much. How? Madam, (said he hastily) is it an equal impossibility for me to obtain your hatred and your love? Yes, (answered Plotina) and as I love myself too much to love you, I esteem you too much to hate you. But to discover the bottom of my heart to you, know, I have the greatest Obligation to you in the world, for that you will be the cause that I shall without difficulty resist the affection of all those who perhaps may hereafter have a design to please me; for after the danger whereto you have exposed my Liberty, I shall provide so timely for it, that it will be no more in hazard. What? Madam, (cried the afflicted Martius) will you deprive me of hope for ever? Ah! Madam, (added he) you do not know yourself well, and perhaps your heart will do me justice even against your will. No, no, Martius, (answered she with a very serious air) you will never see me engaged in an affection of that nature; I love joy, quiet and glory, and I will preserve them as long as I live. After this, say no more to me, for I shall not answer you. Martius' would have disobeyed her, but she hindered him from speaking; and from thenceforward so carefully avoided to give him occasion to entertain her apart, that he could not find any. He knew well she spoke her mind, and when she shunned him, she told him smilingly that she feared him; so that he was an hundred times more miserable. For it was true, that at that time Plotina more countenanced Damon, Sicinius and Acrisius, who were become amorous of her, though she neither loved nor esteemed them, than she did Martius, for whom she had a very great esteem. And this was matter of no small joy to Lucia. But wherefore do you not shun Acrisius? (said I to her one day.) Because he is too great a talker (answered she) and so I cannot fear that he will ever please me. Why then do not you decline Sicinius? (replied I.) Because he speaks so little (added she) that I cannot apprehend he is likely to persuade me; and as for Damon, I have as little reason to fear that he will cause me to change my sentiments towards him. But how comes it (said I) that you heretofore so much resisted those that endeavoured to divert you from following the inclination you had for Martius, and now you have more reason to love him, you love him no longer? Because at that time (answered she) my inclination was strong, and my reason weak; but anger having cured me of my preconceived opinion, I have taken a wise resolution to spend all my life in liberty. I will indeed entertain a certain free friendship (added she) which shall not perplex, but divert me no less than love: but as for great affections, I will not admit of any at all, for they cannot be entertained without disquiet. The way you intent to take (said I to her) is perhaps as dangerous as that you would avoid: for many of those friendships of gallantry approach very easily to wantonness, if heed be not taken to them. You shall see (said she) I know how to avoid so dangerous an extreme, and understand better than you think, the bounds of all the several sorts of friendship that can be had. But wherefore have you not one of these kinds (said I) for the poor Mortius, for whom I now intercede? Ah! Cesonia, (answered she smiling) do you not know there is a Proverb which says,  
That in the Seas of love, on the same shelf,  
No dextrous Saylor' twice ere splits himself?  
You speak so little seriously (replied I) that I care not to speak any more to you. In good earnest (answered she) I declare clearly what I think, and profess that I will have no kind of affection as long as I live, which may disturb my quiet. When I began to have an inclination for Martius, I was so young that I wanted strength to oppose it, but at present I am assured I shall defend my heart better. For, in fine, I am so resolved to love myself, and consequently to love quiet, liberty and glory, (as I said at another time) that I will never love any of those people who cannot be loved without hazarding those three things which undoubtedly are the most agreeable in the world. But could not you marry Martius? (said I.) If I would marry any one (answered she) I confess Martius might oblige me thereto; but, Cesonia, I have so great an aversion from marriage, that I cannot consider him as one that is to be my husband: and I am so resolved never to marry, that I believe nothing can make me change my sentiments. For I judge nothing better, than to resolve to live free; and when I consider all the consequences, which almost infallibly attend a wedded life, they make me to tremble. Not but that I conceive there may be some marriage happy; but, Cesonia, where shall we find two persons, who have wit, constancy, goodness enough one for another, and a sufficient resemblance of natures to live always well together? Some there may be, but they are few; and I do not think myself fortunate enough to meet with so great a felicity. 'Tis therefore more easy for me to take a resolution to live in liberty. As she was speaking this, by a strange chance, all her Lovers came one after another to see me, and were together in my Chamber. So that Plotina being in her jolly humour, told me smilingly, that she had a desire to undeceive all persons, and make a public Declaration of her sentiments. And thereupon in a very delightful way of raillery, she told them all she had absolutely resolved not to love any person much, and never to marry at all; and that the most which could be hoped from her, was to please her, to obtain her esteem, and to have some part in a kind of calm friendship which she was resolved to have as long as she lived. For in truth (said she) I will never run the venture of meeting with indiscreet, unfaithful, capricious, lukewarm, inequal and deceitful Lovers, nor bring myself in danger of having a jealous, covetous, prodigal, humoursome, imperious, surly, foolish, or little virtuous Husband, nor consequently of having deformed, vicious, ingrateful and wicked Children; and I incomparably prefer to spend my whole life with the liberty of having such Friends of either Sex as I please. For I find that if I should marry, I should be so good a Wife that I should thereby be miserable. All Plotina's Lovers opposed her sentiments, and especially Martius; but she answered them so well, that they knew not what more to say to her. And so she continued firm in her resolution.  
But now, there being no great pleasure in living in a besieged City, three or four of Plotina's friends and mine resolved together with us to make use of Clelia's occasion to go out of Ardea; for Horatius would not stay there, out of a belief that Tarquin would take the City. So that Plotina, without considering what grief she should cause Martius, employed him to manage this affair, and to bring it to pass that, we might be guarded by the same convoy which attended on Clelia. The conversation of Plotina and Martius was very extraordinary, and I know not how Plotina was able to be so inflexible as she was. For he used all imaginable blandishments and endearing expressions to move her heart, but she continued inalterable in her sentiments; and all he could draw from her, was, that he should never see her love any person more than himself, and that she would never marry as long as she lived. And indeed if the poor Martius had lived, I declare to you, that you would have had less interest in Plotina's heart; but you must know that when we went out of Ardea with Clelia, this generous Lover, notwithstanding his regret, came himself to conduct us; and deported himself with so heroical and passionate an air, that Plotina esteemed him much the more for it. Now being it was feared that we should be sooner discovered by the enemies if we had any considerable number of people with us, Horatius, Martius and eight of their Friends took upon themselves alone the charge of conducting us. But, such was our ill fortune, we met with Hellius, one of the Ministers of Tarquin's cruelty, who came in the head of a Party of twenty to set upon Horatius, Martius and their Friends.  
How? (interrupted Amilcar) was Martius amongst those whom Hellius fought with, when Aronces, Herminius and Celer (from whom Artemidorus, Zenocrates and I parted that morning) arrived and carried away Clelia who was at the foot of a Tree with you? Yes (answered Cesonia) and the unfortunate Martius was slain by Hellius in the beginning of the Fight, though he was very valiant. And indeed 'twas his courage occasioned his death; for he charged with too great violence into the midst of those who came to take Plotina and her Friends. I will not tell you the particular passages of this encounter, for you have understood from the mouth of Aronces how Horatius and Hellius perceiving others were carrying away Clelia, joined together to recover her; and how Aronces, Herminius and Celer resisted so many enemies at the same time. Yes, generous Cesonia (answered Amilcar) I know all that passed in that great occasion. I know what Clelia did, putting herself courageously before those that would assault her three protectors, I know how terrible a Combat it was, in what manner Aronces fought with Horatius, and how the generous Herminius defended both his life and liberty, and spoke to Hellius, and with what generosity Aronces assisted the wounded Horatius, whom he found by night in a Wood: but I know in what manner Plotina lamented Martius when you were taken, and carried to Tarquin. Do not inquire so much of her grief (replied Cesonia) for perhaps you will think it too violent; for in good earnest, no greater affliction can be resented by any than was by Plotina for the death of Martius. But at length (constitution prevailing) she comforted herself with the thought, that perhaps if Martius had lived, she might have had the weakness as not to be able to defend her heart; and since that (you know) your converse has revived joy in her soul.  
Cesonia having done speaking, Amilcar thanked her, for having related to him that which he had so long desired to know. Not but that I am almost troubled (added he) that Plotina could never begin again to love Martius; for if ever I should unwittingly incur her displeasure, and she should deprive me of her friendship, I see she would never restore it to me again any more than she did to Martius. In my opinion (answered Cesonia) you are so little accustomed to be ill-treated, that you do not fear so much as you pretend, that you could not make your peace with Plotina if you should happen to be out of her favour. On the contrary (replied Amilcar) I have scarce ever been very happy, and I am not so now; Plotina has certainly only a tenderness of friendship for me. But is it possible (said Cesonia) that Amilcar has been almost perpetually ill-treated? Since I am not capable of false boasting, (answered he) I confess sincerely, I have seldom been much loved. I have many times had the advantage to be acceptable even to those women who have ill-treated me: but my merry and jovial humour has done me more injury in serious gallantry than I can express to you. However, since it has caused me as much delight as the favours of my Mistresses could have done, I do not complain of my destiny. Yet I would know (said Cesonia) whether any very intelligent person has ill-treated you? I loved one in Greece (answered he) who is one of the most amiable Women in the World. She is brown then (replied Cesonia) being she is a Greek. That consequence is not always infallible (answered Amilcar) but it is true the amiable Nerintha I speak of has hair of the goodliest black that ever was seen; a black shining and bright, which becomes her admirably well. She is of a very handsome tallness, and well proportioned; her Eyes are black, sparkling, full of fire and spirit; and though she has no wantonness in her looks, but on the contrary has a very modest air, yet when she smiles, she has an amiable aspect which pleases infinitely. Ncrintha's visage is oval and of good symmetry, her mould handsome, her cheeks agreeable, her nose well shaped, and she has an air of beauty which renders her very graceful and lovely; and though her complexion is of no extraordinary whiteness, yet her beauty is lively and capable to excite love. But besides all this, Nerintha is infinitely ingenious, and of so clear a perception as keeps her from speaking things at random. She is gentle, civil, good and obliging, she is serious and debonair together without inequality; and though she is perfectly virtuous and even severe, yet she converses gallantly with her Friends, and sufficiently loves all reasonable divertisements. She is a good friend and very generous, very regular in all her actions, and very careful to satisfy all the duties of civility and friendship. She never jests dangerously, she blames no person; and having a mind naturally sociable, she never speaks that of another which she would not have spoken of herself. Nerintha has a very sweet and pleasing voice, she sings very agreeably, though she does not much care for it. She speaks exactly, writes handsomely, and in brief is so charming, that though she would not accept my heart, yet she shall have my esteem and friendship as long as she lives. Perhaps (said Cesonia) she had had neither the one nor the other, if she had accepted your affection. I am not of your opinion (answered Amilcar) but I confess to the glory of Nerintha, I am always her Friend though she would not have me for her Lover. There are so few people amiable (said Cesonia) that methinks such as are so, aught to be always loved. It has been a complaint in all past ages (answered he) and will be in all to come, that there are not virtuous people enough: And yet I believe the number is almost equal in all times. I am not of your opinion (replied Cesonia) for I think there never were fewer than at present, of such as make reckoning of persons of merit. No, believe me (said Amilcar) the World is not yet so poor of virtuous people as they report, and there is also more liberality and gallant generosity than is imagined. For during the time I was at Syracuse, there happened many things to a young Lady of that place, which prove that which I say. Know then that this person is of noble birth, but her fortune is sufficiently bad; her heart is generous, she makes profession of being good, and without ostentation of wit has gained a greater reputation than she sought; know, I say, this person has had divers adventures which prove that virtue is yet in request. For (not to reckon up the number of Friends she has) many presents were made to her after a particular manner; and because it was known that she delighted more to give than to receive, an unusual contrivance was practised. For one morning while she was yet asleep, a crafty man deceived the slave that opened the gate to him without telling who sent him, and left a complete furniture for a Chamber (the most agreeable and gallant that could be seen) in her Court; and though great search was made to find out the author of this liberality, yet he could not be discovered. Yet the person who received it imagined she knew by whom she was thus obliged, but one of her friends so persuaded her that it was forbidden her to conjecture, that she was forced to suppress her gratitude and confine it within her heart, without daring to publish the glory of her Benefactor. To this same Lady a great Princess of a very remote Country (who is both illustrious, of a great beauty, wit, and heart) has written divers times very eloquently in a language which is not natural to her, and sent her a Bracelet of her Hair which is the goodliest in the World, with a clasp of Diamonds the richest that ere was seen. The chief Vestal has also made her several agreeable presents after a very ingenious and obliging manner; so have the generous Amalthea, the Princess Elismonda, a noble stranger, and divers of her Friends of either Sex. 'Tis true, all these liberalities do not make her Fortune; but her humour is such that she likes them better than if they were of another nature, I have known as much as this (answered Cesonia) but four or five persons make no great number in a great Country. After this, Amilcar and Cesonia talked very sadly of the pitiful condition in which the twenty fair Roman Ladies were, who were to be sent back to Porsenna. Yet there was nothing to be feared from that King but only in respect of Clelia, who he believed escaped from his Camp only because she knew something of the pretended conspiracy of Aronces and Mutius. But the next morning it happened that Publicola was informed that a certain man had met Mutius very melancholy upon the way to Praeneste, and therefore he believed that this despairing Lover, knowing that the great Festival of Fortune was to be celebrated within two days, was gone to that famous Temple, to see whether the Lots were more favourable to him; for 'tis reported that on that day the Decisions were more infallible than on any other of all the year. Wherefore he determined to request Amilcar to go thither, who accordingly accepted of this Commission. Yet he did not depart till after he had seen Clelia and all her companions gone, to be reconducted to the Camp; but to the end the people might not tumult at so sad a spectacle, they were caused to pass through the most unfrequented streets that was possible. No doubt they were very sad in the bottom of their hearts, especially Clelia; but their sadness was discreet, and Clelia amongst the rest testified an admirable constancy. All their Lovers followed them as far as they could; but at length it behoved them to take leave. Horatius would have gone to present them to Porsenna, thinking to speak something which might conduce to their safety; but Publicola thought not convenient, and made choice of a Kinsman of Clelius, who was more advanced in years, and was both prudent and resolute. So these fair Virgins took the way towards the Camp, and Amilcar that towards Praeneste. As he was going thither he met with Theanor and Aemilius the Lovers of Terentia and Aurelisa, who had at length resolved to refer their fortunes to the Lots of the Temple of Fortune. Amilcar being a person known to all Porsenna's Court, they were very joyful to light upon him, and he (being no lover of solitariness) was as well satisfied to meet with such agreeable company. Their first discourse was a melancholy reflection upon the misfortunes of Aronces and Clelia; but as the most generous easily enough turn away their minds from the unhappinesses of others, they came by degrees to talk of matters indifferent. Theanor set himself to extol Hetruria above all other Countries, Aemilius to commend Greece where he had lived a long time, and Amilcar to praise and disparage all the Countries he had seen. For as there is no beauty so perfect (said he) in which something is not to be desired, so there is no Country but has its defects. In a place where the Climate is temperate, the people are light and inconstant; in another, the people have much wit, and are accused of little fidelity: in one Country many times we find Sciences and Vices, in another innocence and rusticity. In one place nothing is to be seen but Cottages, in another nothing but Palaces. So that as a hundred Beauties are requisite to make up a perfect one, so you must select the excellencies of a hundred Countries to form one accomplished. You must take the mildness of the Climate of one, the Rivers and Seas of another, the Flowers and Fruits of another, yea the very Birds and Butterflies; you must fetch the Sciences and Arts from one place, Valour from another, Honesty from amongst people of less nimble Wits, and exact justice from Heaven (for in truth there is not much to be found upon earth.)  
Amilcar, no doubt, has reason (said Theanor) but however I dare affirm Hetruria has almost every thing that can be found elsewhere. The Climate is gentle, men's manners good, ignorance begins to be banished from it, and excellent Arts to be carefully promoted. As for excellent Arts (answered Amilcar) I much doubt whether you can prove that they flourish as much in Hetruria as in Greece; for I confess with sincerity to the shame of my Country, that Africa possesses them but imperfectly, and the proud Carthage yields in this to the least Cities of Greece. Then you have not seen that stately Tomb which Porsenna is building (said Theanor?) I have heard of it (answered Amilcar) but whatever has been told me of it, I have not fancied it to be an extraordinary piece. Yet it is such (replied Theanor) that I question whether the Labyrinth of Crete and the Pyramids of Egypt excel it; for, in fine, it is a Masterpiece of Architecture. All the stateliness which the imagination can conceive, is seen in it. This proud Tomb is above three hundred foot on each side, the form of it is square, the stones are of a prodigious greatness, and admirably well polished. In the base of this Monument is a Labyrinth greater and more intricate than that of Crete, for it is impossible to expedite yourself out of it, unless he that built it give you one of his servants to guide you; and there are so many turnings and windings, and so many places which go one into another, of which all the ornaments are uniform, that 'tis impossible to find the right way. Upon this spacious base of above twelve hundred feet square, stand five great Pyramids one at each corner and the fifth in the midst. They are triangular, and are sixty feet broad at the base, and a hundred and fifty high. Upon the point of every of these Pyramids is placed a Copper-Globe of prodigious greatness, contrived so artificially, that the wind entering into it at several holes which are seen in it, makes a sufficiently agreeable harmony, which is heard at a good distance. Upon the top of each Globe is a kind of Obelisk, and upon it is seen another harmonious Globe like the former, according as the wind moves that which makes the harmony: and upon this Globe appear four other Pyramids of a hundred feet in height. But do not think I am at the end of my description; for these four Pyramids support a great terrace, upon which stand five other Pyramids as high as all the rest of the Tomb, so that the points of them seeming to touch the Sky, make a very magnificent spectacle. 'Tis true (said Aemilius) this Tomb is the stateliest thing in the World, and 'tis true also that the gallant house of the illustrious Cleonymus will be the goodliest place of the earth when it shall be finished. As for Cleonymus (answered Amilcar) I know he is a man of extraordinary merit, whose birth is very noble, whose employments are the most considerable in Hetruria, whose heart is perfectly great, virtue sublime, and capacity infinite. But I confess I have not given too much credit to all that Lucilius and Theomenes told me once concerning the fair house you speak of. Nevertheless 'tis true (replied Theanor) that there is nothing handsomer in the world. As they were discoursing thus, they arrived at a place where they were to refresh their horses, so that they were constrained to stay there. This place was so wild, the prospect of it so bounded and little agreeable, and the reception so incommodious, that having taken but a slight repast, they went to seat themselves on certain stones which were at the foot of a steep mountain near that place. They were no sooner there, but Amilcar beginning to speak, I beseech you, Theanor, (said he) fill my imagination with handsome ideas, by the description of the goodly house of Cleonymus: for my eyes are so little delighted with what they behold, that I have great need of your help: besides, I love nothing more than the representation of handsome objects, and I assure you I shall be much obliged to you for it. For the generous Melintha being friend to Cleonymus, I interest myself already in every thing which relates to him, I shall tell you then that Valterra (said Theanor)— But Volterra (interrupted Amilcar) is, as I conceive; a great city sufficiently remote from Clusium. You say true (answered Theanor) but I said Valterra, and not Volterra: 'Tis true, these two names are near alike, and Valterra bears a name resembling that of that famous City you speak of, (which was founded by the Tyrrhenians, as well as Aressa and Clusium) because this City has so many waters about it, that there is no gate or place in which the● are not fountains; so that the conformity of the waters has occasioned the resemblance of the names. But to proceed: when you require the description of Valterra, you demand a thing of greater difficulty than you imagine; because this place has so many surprising beauties, that they cannot be conceived without being seen, nor represented well after having admired them. It was begun and finished by a man who does nothing but what is great, and the vast extent of whose mind is not capable of framing small designs: by a man, I say, who devoting his whole life to the service of his King, will have even his pleasures serve to the embellishment and glory of his country. But though he employ in the building of Valterra only such hours as are necessary to recreate his mind from great cares, to which the welfare of the State engages him; yet at the same time he is making a thing which one would believe could not but take up his whole life. For it is not to be imagined that Valterra is one of those places which are embellished almost by Nature alone; but 'tis no hyperbole to say Cleonymus has absolutely changed it, and there is no part of it to which he has not added some new grace. He has divided a River into a thousand fountains, he has reunited a thousand fountains into torrents, and he has so judiciously contrived every thing which he has done at Valterra, that the judgement of him cannot be sufficiently extolled, who knew so well how to intermingle the beauties of Art with those of Nature, and so industriously to divertise all the ornaments of so goodly a place. 'Tis true, this handsome Desert being designed for the habitation of one of the fairest persons in the world, aught to be such as it is, to be worthy of her; for you must know, the prudent Artemira wife of the illustrious Cleonymus has one of those grand Beauties which continually increase admiration: and that which I esteem most, is, her virtue redoubles the price of her beauty; for, as wanton a person as you are, I am confident you will grant that these two things suit admirably well together. I confess it (answered Amilcar) therefore tell me a little more particularly what you know of the fair Artemira. Ha! Amilcar (replied Theanor) I tremble only in thinking that I have undertaken to describe Gardens and Fountains to you; judge then what I should do if I should undertake to tell you all the Grand qualities, and all the virtues of one of the most accomplished persons in the World. Be contented therefore if I perform my promise to describe Valterra. But before I tell you, what it is at present, I must relate a little adventure to you, which is necessary that you know, to understand the description I am to make.  
Know then, that a fair and young person, Kinswoman to the King of Hetruria and much loved by him, sometimes happened to excite love in a man of Quality, of a violent and imperious humour; who judging that he could never be favoured, resolved to carry his Mistress away by force. Which accordingly he did one day as she was walking in a Grove; and diverting herself by causing a Squirrel to follow her from tree to tree, which she had kept from a little one, and which loved her with more ardour than a Dog can have for his Master, though the Dog is an Emblem of Fidelity amongst all Nations. This violent act much surprised the whole Court, and especially an honourable person of Clusium, whose name was Cleoranthus, and from whom the illustrious Cleonymus who built Valterra is descended; for you must know, he was very amorous of her, though he durst not declare it by reason of the King. But in this unexpected occasion, he could not hide his sentiments. Wherefore suddenly gathering together some of his Dependants, he went to seek this stolen Lady. The King also sent out most of his Court to the same purpose, and went himself; but this search was made unprofitable, and Cleoranthus had been as unhappy as the rest, if the Chance which guided him to a Cottage of Shepherds had not showed him the little Squirrel which his Mistress loved so much, and which stuck to her in spite of her Ravishers. At first he believed it was another; but the little Animal knowing him, skipped down from the window where it was with that nimbleness which is natural to it. Whereby Cleoranthus, believing his Mistress might be there, or at least had passed by that way, asked a young Shepherdess where she was to whom this pretty Animal belonged. He had no sooner made this question, but he who had carried away that fair Virgin (coming from enquiring the way he was to take, because he had failed to meet his guide) appeared with his Sword in his hand, followed by six of his Attendants; and at the same time four men, who had stayed to guard that fair person, issued out of the Cottage with their Swords drawn too. But Cleoranthus, instead of being terrified by so many enemies, became thereby more fierce and courageous. And so he attacked his Rival with such valour, that notwithstanding the inequality of number, he flew his enemy, and three others, and put the rest to flight. After which, to complete his happiness, he understood by one of those he wounded who lay upon the place, the secret of a great Conspiracy against the Prince. Thus Cleoranthus delivered his Mistress, and saved all Hetruria by his valour. But which was remarkable, at the end of the fight, the Squirrel made him a thousand caresses, and would not part from him. Wherefore when the King was informed of all the Circumstances of the business, and of Cleoranthus passion for this fair person (whom notwithstanding he restored into his power without signifying any thing of his love) was so moved with his Virtue, that he suppressed the inclination himself had for her, and caused her to marry him. But to eternize the memory of this generous action, as Hector, Aeneas, and many others since, caused Lions, Roses, Doves, and divers other things agreeing either to their valour, merit, virtue or fortune, to be painted upon their shields, he ordered that Cleoranthus and his Descendants should bear a Squirrel for their Arms. And accordingly they of this Family bear a Squirrel in their shields to this day. I desire your pardon for having amused you with speaking of this adventure; but you will see in the sequel of my discourse, that I have not related it altogether impertinently. I am next to tell you that Valterra is situated half a days journey from Clusium, that the way between them is very pleasant, and that to increase the surprise, the beauty of it is not perceived till you arrive at the fore Court, which is stately, fair and spacious. It hath four great Pavilions at the four Corners, with other Courts on the two sides. The two faces which stand upon the stately Moats of Valterra, end in three great Archades of Architecture, through which are discovered two large low Wings of Building, which have been built for Offices to the House, and two Gardens which lie on the side of those two Wings. When you are in the fore Court, you behold the front of the Palace, which is built upon a Mountain of Architecture (if I may so speak) for the Perroon which takes up the whole breadth of the second Court, has four seats, and rises above twenty steps. So that this gives much Majesty to the Structure. Which before I describe to you, I must lead you back again into the fore Court, and tell you, that after you have passed through it, you come to the Bank of the Moats which are large, handsome, and the water of them clear as Crystal, and arises from a Spring. These Moats are beset with Rails on both sides; and near the Bridge which lies over them, are seen the Muzzles of Lions casting out water into three Scalop. Basins, which shed it one into another till it fall into the Moats. When you have passed the Bridge, and come into the midst of a little half Moon adorned with Rails, you may see that the second Court, which is very large and handsome, has a terrace on two sides raised three steps, upon which are placed two spirting Fountains, which make a very handsome show in that place. For when you are at the end of the Bridge, there is nothing more stately and magnificent than to see those handsome Moats full of water, the second Court the Balustrades, the spirting Fountains, and that great and magnificent Perroon which crosses the whole Court, rising so Majestically, and upon which is seen in the middle of the Palace a great Porch of three stately Arches supported by six Pillars, which suffer the sight to penetrate through the whole thickness of the Palace by three other Arches opposite to the three first, and three other likewise opposite to the second; so that the Sky appearing at several overtures, this sight is the more agreeable. In the midst of the Porch are seen two very handsome Statues of young Children taming Lions, to imitate that innocence achieves every thing; and the Arms of Cleonymus, such as I have represented them to you by relating the glorious adventure of one of his Ancestors. The Cupolo which arises in the midst of the Building, is very magnificent, and so are the Busts, and the carved works wherewith this Palace is adorned in divers places. But when you have ascended the Perroon, and are arrived at the Porch, you find it handsomer than you imagined; for the proportion of it is exact and noble, it is supported by twelve pillars of a very handsome order of Architecture. From thence you behold with pleasure the two fair Courts you passed through: but, which is a greater grace, you enter upon an even pavement into the goodliest Hall that ever was. For its greatness astonishes the imagination, its height surprises, and its beauty is so great, that it takes away the boldness to commend it. The Cupolo is supported by sixteen stately Arches, whereof six are open; namely, three towards the Porch, and three toward the Gardens, which are admirable. But how rare soever they are, I must stay you a little in the Hall, and at least show you the first apartment of this proud Fabric. I must also tell you that for the glory of this great design, Cleonymus has been so happy as to find an excellent man capable to execute his great intentions, and happily to invent whatever might serve to the embellishment of so goodly a place. He I speak of, is called Meleander, and is the same that painted the Cabinet of the generous Melintha. He was born with a great wit, an exquisite fancy, and an admirable judgement. His Ideas are noble and natural, there is grandeur in his designs, and reason always in what he makes. Therefore he was chosen by Cleonymus to paint this proud Hall, and all the several apartments of his Palace; and also to use his inventions and counsels for all such things as might embellish Valterra. But since his aim is always to work for the glory of him that employs him, see what the design of the Hall is, of which I will unfold to you the hidden sense after I have given you the description. The Sun is represented there in his Palace with all the Ornaments Poets attribute him; the whole Base of the Piece is encompassed with a great Serpent representing the year; upon this Serpent move the months, the weeks and the days; every season is accompanied with the months, weeks and days which agree to it; and all the Stars are seen there, which the Sun visits in making his course. But in the midst of this proud Palace of the Sun (the Architecture of which is admirable, and the Pillars resemble precious stones, and the Basis and Chapters gold) is seen upon a proud arch a Throne of Gold raised several steps, upon which the Hours, daughters of the Sun mount and descend. They are represented like young fair persons, habited in different and light dresses. This luminous God is clothed with a cloak of cloth of Gold, he is crowned with an immortal Laurel, he leans with one hand upon his harp, and with the other he makes a sign to Aurora as if he commanded something; for his eyes are turned towards her. This fair harbinger of the Sun has a garland of Flowers and Pearls upon her head; she has wings painted with fine colours; with one hand she scatters flowers in divers places, and with the other she holds a torch, which she makes use of to illuminate a New Star by the command of the Sun. This new Star is placed in the midst of the Heaven in form of a Squirrel, three higher stars give it their most favourable influences. Saturn bearing his sickle encompasseth it with his Serpent beset with Stars, which denotes the eternity of its glory. Jupiter sitting upon his Eagle with a very noble action and Majestical air gives it a Crown of gold, to signify the Authority which it is to have. Mars on the other side with his fierce aspect gives it a Helmet and a Lyon. Below the Sun appears the Season which represents Summer, crowned with ears of Corn, her Complexion is a little Sunburnt, her hair is guilded, her air is very agreeable; she carelessly sirs and leans upon such fruits as are suitable to her, and near her are seen several instruments necessary to Agriculture. She holds a sheaf of Wheat in her hand, and is supported by a swarthy man who represents the South Wind. About her stand the Months which belong to her, represented by young persons crowned with flowers and fruits; they have Wings, their Attires are different, and they present fruits to this lovely Season, as well as the weeks and days which are represented by little children who seem to move along as they play near her. In another place Mercury appearing with all the marks that particularise him, lifting up his arm wherewith he holds his Caduce, seems as if he would give all his eloquence and knowledge to the New Star I mentioned, he looks upon it so favourably. About this God are seen several instruments necessary for excellent Arts, and likewise divers little Cupids denoting the various inclination which Nature gives. The Moon, not being able to behold her Brother, appears through the shadow of a Cloud, and about her is seen a great hunting equipage, as dogs, bugles, bows, arrows, and divers other things, and in many places little Genii agreeably represented; this fair Star regards the new Star as favourably as Mercury. On another side Venus followed by Sports and Laughter appears lying upon a bed of Roses: and near her are seen divers things which agree to her, and which are always inseparable from pleasures. She holds a golden Apple in her hand, seeming to offer it to this new Star, as if she meant, that it was such amongst the Stars as herself amongst the Goddesses. Also several little Cupids are seen playing near her. The Spring is represented by a Young fair Girl, with a fresh and smiling air, her hair is brown and curled, she has a crown of flowers upon her head, her attire is green; the Months which are near her, present flowers to her, Zephyrus flatters her, and the weeks and days busy themselves in embellishing her. Autumn is figured by a good lusty man, crowned with Vine-leaves, he lies amongst fruits which are proper to him, and leans upon a Tiger, the Months which accompany him offer him their fruits also, they are attended likewise with their weeks and days, and the Wind of this Season is represented there also, but more fierce than the rest, and the drapery of the figure shows that he inconveniences him by his impetuous blast. On the side opposite to Summer is represented the Bow of Iris with all the Colours that render it so agreeable. Under this Bow appears Winter represented by a rough old man, crowned with mists, snow, and icicles. The Months, weeks and days which accompany him offer him nothing but unpleasing presents, except some of those days which are very little, and offer him fire. On the side of the Bow I mentioned, are Castor and Pollux, who mount and descend upon the Horizon: but I must not forget to tell you that in all places where that famous Squirrel is represented, either in a Star, or in its natural form, there is a device added to it which is very graceful in the language in which it was made; and the sense of it is, That there is nothing so high whereto it cannot mount. But now to expound to you the hidden meaning of all these Pictures, I am to tell you that the Sun represents Cleonymus, who according to the amplitude of his great employments, operates and shines every where, does good to all, and labours continually for the benefit and embellishing of the Universe. By the four Seasons of the year, Meleander has pretended to represent the several States of Hetruria which are tributary, and attribute the honour to Cleonymus of receiving and rendering all, because he has the management of the Prince's treasures. The new Star in the top of the Sky, shows that there is nothing more sublime than the glory of Cleonymus; and that Starry Serpent I spoke of, denotes the prudence of this Hero: so that the Pictures of this proud Hall, satisfy together both the Eyes and the Reason, and serve at the same time both to the glory of this Hero, and that of the excellent Meleander, who has so well found out the art to commend him by his Pencils more than Poetry could do. But to pass from the Hall to the antichamber, upon the top of the sieling you see Hercules carried into the heavens in a Chariot of gold, under which is a slain Serpent. Reason (represented by a fair young person of a sage aspect) guides him; she has a helmet on her head, and holds a sword wherewith she seems to menace: two fierce and heady horses withdraw the chariot that carries him, and by their impetuous posture intimate that they represent the Passions, who in spite of their violence are nevertheless subjected to Reason. They have both a dusky brightness in their eyes. But there is one especially, whose mane stands erected, and who lifts up his head fiercely, whose piercing, lively and furious eyes cast a fiery glance which astonishes and surprises such as have skill in Painture. Fame is painted flying there, and seeming as if she would descend to the earth; and in a very bright part of the heaven appears Jupiter and the other Gods preparing to receive this Hero, who is followed by Glory, putting an Oaken Garland upon his head. But what is rare in this Piece, is, that in whatever part of the chamber you stand, this Hercules seems to behold you as naturally in one place as in another. But I do not consider that I trouble you by not being able to represent these admirable Pieces but imperfectly. Yet I would further tell you something of the principal chamber: but to speak truth, I have seen so handsome and admirable a description of it, that I cannot but tremble to attempt it. For indeed I never saw any thing so handsome as that which a certain Virtuoso has writ upon this Subject; describing things so to the life, that you would think you beheld them with your eyes; and though he employs almost all the terms of Art, yet his discourse is clear, florid, eloquent and natural.  
Oh! I beseech you, (said Amilcar) tell me all that you have seen in that magnificent Palace; for I never saw the handsome description you commend so much; and if I return into Africa shortly, (as I expect) I shall not see it in a long time. If you were to see it, (answered Theanor) I would resolve not to content your curiosity; for besides that the description I shall make of it will be much less exact and ample than that, being I have the same things to describe, and Painture has certain peculiar terms which cannot be omitted, you would accuse me of a crime which I have no design to commit, and presently imagine that I intended only to copy it out, and deprive him of the commendations he has so justly merited. But however, since you desire it (continued he) I shall tell you, that the famous Meleander aiming always at the glory of his Hero, has in the roof of this chamber represented Fidelity carried up by her powerful Genius into heaven. This Figure is very handsome, habited in white with a blue Robe, and has several marks which make her known: Prudence conducts her, Virtue and Reason are of each side of her admirably represented; the latter seems to personate Apollo shooting with his Bow against Envy and divers other monsters which hide themselves in the thickness of the clouds. Under these Figures is Clio, one of the most famous Muses; she seems to bear herself up in the air with great wings displayed; scarce any thing is seen of her but her back; her Robe is of the colour of Gold, and beneath it another flying clothing of a different colour. This Muse helps to carry up Fidelity into heaven, and holds a Trumpet to publish that there is nothing whereto the fidelity of Cleonymus cannot attain. This Piece being in the midst of the chamber, is the principal design of the Painter; all the rest which encompass it, suit with it, and depend of it. The most ingenious contrivance is, that this excellent Painter has by his Art made the whole roof of the chamber appear a great and stately body of building, with the goodliest ornaments that Painture and Sculpture have invented. For having drawn five large overtures, one in the midst, and the others on the four sides, five admirable Pieces are represented in them, which perfectly embellish the room. But besides these Pieces, the Figures placed upon this seeming structure are the handsomest in the world. For the eight famous sisters of Clio are painted on the four-sides of the chamber, and seem to make a concert of praises in honour of him whom Fidelity represents. But they are so exquisite, that nothing can be seen in the world more admirable. All their heads have different airs, their actions correspond with what they represent, and they have a certain aspect of divinity which excites respect. These Figures are placed near four base-reliefs of the colour of brass, beset with several magnificent ornaments. For in this place are seen four different Poems represented by different figures. The Satirical is represented by a Satire lying along; he leans upon a great Urn, and has a young child before him, who shows him three words written upon a Table which declare what he is. Below this base-relief are seen divers excellent ornaments, where in the Squirrel and the Device are conveniently placed: for there is an antique Urn of lapis Lazuli; upon that an Eagle, upon the Eagle a Squirrel, and on both sides of the Urn very jolly Cupids and Garlands, which falling down upon the Eagles back, slide from thence very gracefully. The other base-reliefs are like, excepting the Poems. That which treats only of Rustical things; is represented by the God Pan; the Heroic, by a stately and handsome man holding a Trumpet in his hand; the Lyric, by a fair Virgin holding a Harp. Each of these Figures has a little Cupid like the first, and each Poem has two Muses which accompany it. Melpomene and Thalia are near the Satiric. The former (to whom the invention of Tragedy is attributed) has fierceness and melancholy in her eyes: her attire is suitable to her quality, and her gesture and air speak her mind employed about great thoughts and events: and to denote her chief subject, Trumpets, Helmets, Shields and Crowns (mingled together with a confusion more agreeable than order) are seen near her. As for the Muse designed for Comedy, she has a pretty, scornful, cheerful and smiling air. Her head is crowned with I vie, and her neck bare; she has rich bracelets, and a large blue robe, which is very graceful to her. She holds a Vizard in her hand, and has another at her feet which resembles a Satire, and near her lie like Trophies all the instruments proper for Bacchanals. Near the Poem destinated to country-matters, stand Terpsichore and Euterpe; one holding a kind of harp, the other a flute, on which she seems to play. The former has a noble air, the other somewhat rustic and wild: their habits are agreeable, and the variety of colours does not interrupt that union which is requisite to all good Pictures. Near these Muses are seen books, maps, oboes and bagpipes. The Heroic Poem has Calliope and Urania by it: the former having a book in her hand, and the latter leaning upon one of those Globes which a Disciple of the wise Thales invented, holds a pair of Compasses in the other hand. Calliope has a sage and majestical air; and Urania fixing her eyes upon the heavens, seems to observe the course of the Stars, and mind nothing else. Polyhymnia and Erato are placed near the Lyric Poem; the first chiefly destinated to Painture, has near her all the instruments requisite to that excellent Art: her habit is mixed of several colours; she has a nobler air, and the gesture of a person studying to enterprise some great work in Painture. Erato has piercing eyes, & a very pleasant aspect; at her feet are seen divers Musical instruments, and a little Cupid crowned with flowers, holding before her an ancient fashioned harp, such as they report Orpheus sometimes made use of to save himself. But to manifest the ingenuity of the Painter, I must tell you they have no wings, as Clio has who helps to conduct Fidelity into heaven; because he would intimate hereby, that they ought to stay eternally in the glorious sanctuary Cleonymus has given them. The Painter has also feigned that they made two Pieces of needlework representing their two Victories over the Pierideses and the Sirens; but this is done with so much art that it cannot be sufficiently commended. Besides, all that I have related, all the ornaments which Painture and Sculpture have invented are seen in this place. For in divers places, where the order of Architecture permitted, are vizards, garlands, urns, sphinxes, and several other things. But it is remarkable that there is not one but has some Mystery, intimating the virtues or glory of Cleonymus to such as understand the meaning given to such various figures. So that the Painter cannot be too much commended who has so well fancied and finished so good a design, wherein appears Invention, Judgement, Boldness, and good Sense. It is manifest throughout that he is not only a great Imitator of Nature, but also understands the Art of embellishing; and that his imaginations surpass her Productions. All that is seen in these rare Pictures alike delight the Eyes and the Reason. Never were Light and Shadow so judiciously disposed, never was the sight deceived after a more agreeable manner. All the little Cupids are excellently done, the Head-tires of the Muses are admirable, the Draperies are perfectly well suited, Modesty is visible even in the Figures, which the Painter has habited very negligently. The Objects which appear nearest, deceive the Eyes; the more remote surprise the Imagination: in fine, all the workmanship both of the Hall and the two Chambers, deserves more commendations than can be given it. But now not to stay to tell you of the Cabinet, or all the other apartments of this proud Palace, wherein are a thousand handsome objects, with which the famous Meleander has embellished it, either by his workmanship or a thousand ingenious inventions which cannot be expressed, I must return into the stately Hall, and describe to you the Gardens of so goodly a Place. But I must tell you first, that the face of the house on this side is very different from the former; so is the Perroon, but withal stately and commodious. The Moats are environed with rails too as the other; and from hence you discover so great and vast an extent of several green-plats, so many large and handsome Walks, so many spirting Fountains, and so many delightful objects which become confused by their distance, that you scarce know what you see, because the multitude of agreeable sights amazes the imagination, and hinders the eyes from fixing upon any at first. For curiosity being a natural sentiment, we do not so much mind that which we might easily discern, as that which we cannot distinguish; so true it is that we love to discover things to ourselves. 'Tis to be observed that this Garden lies between two Groves which agreeably arrest the Eyes: but to describe it to you part by part, I must tell you, that when you are at the end of the Bridge, you see at a good distance towards the right hand and the left two spirting Fountains standing in two very solitary corners, and seeming to hide themselves; and before you, great Green-plats with Fountains, a round Pond in the middle, and on either side in the nearest squares three Fountains, whose artificial water-works agreeably divert the eyes, especially one towards the left hand, where is seen a crown of fruit bushes (if I may so speak.) The Basin of it is rustic enough, but you would say it is sufficiently adorned with its own agreeableness. About the round Pond I mentioned are four little Cupids holding scallop-lavers upon their heads, from which the water falls with a continual murmur into little squares environed with green. On each side of the Pond are seen great green squares which reach to the two Groves, and have fountains in them also. On the right hand is seen at a good distance a cullis'd-Gate leading into a rustic Orchard, and on the left a Cascade representing a kind of grate of Water, to correspond to the true grate which is opposite to it. Beyond the Pond you descend by another Perroon, and have two conduits casting forth water on the right hand. In this place at the crossing of a Walk stand four handsome Statues; but to increase the delightfulness, a little further in that Walk are two little Torrents with Jets of water at several distances one into another which look like a Balustrade of crystal running on both sides of the Walk. And nothing is more pleasant than to hear the murmurs of all these Jets of water, whose equality of delightful harmony is very apt to produce an agreeable amusement. When you are at the end of this Walk, you find a large square of water, and discover a little solitary place, above which stands a small wild Grove. Directly before you, you see a great and handsome spectacle which I shall describe to you by and by, and on the right side of the Mount which I am to describe, Vines and divers other Country objects. Beyond that great square of water you see an object perfectly surprising. For standing upon the Perroon which leads further downwards, you see a fair stream of water from which a hundred Jets issue with an equal force, and falling again into the Channel make an agreeable murmur. And a little beyond, you see another less, which may be called a Walk of Crystal. For there are an infinite number of Jets of water in a double rank, which crossing one another make an extreme delightful show. Nevertheless, this is not the goodliest ornament of this place; for below this Walk of Crystal you see a long Terrace of good height, four long rows of scallop-lavers full of water, of unequal bigness, which exonerating one into another make you see a hundred torrents at once, and at length discharge themselves into a great stream of water, from whence issue fifty other Jets with violence. Next you come to see a great and large Channel made by a River which was scarce known before Cleonymus chose this admirable Desert for a retreat to recreate his mind from his honourable employments. It precipitates itself like a mighty torrent, and then having calmly passed through the whole breadth of the Garden of Valterra. it goes forth by a Cascade, and afterwards loses itself in the Meadows. So that in a very little space it is a River, Torrent, Channel, Cascade, and Brook. But to render this place more marvellous, you see beyond, an Abyss of water (if I may so speak) in the midst of which by the directions of Meleander has been placed a figure of Galatea with a Cyclops playing on a bagpipe, and divers Triton's round about him; all these figures cast forth water, and make a very handsome sight. There are also other water works in this place; and several spirting fountains. But which is most agreeable, all this great extent of water is covered with little painted and guilded Boats, and from thence you enter into the Channel. Now you must know that on the side opposite to the Cascade I mentioned, there is cut out a great Mount in a direct line, which is made in a Terrace with a Balustrade, supported by six Terms or Pillars. Between which are artificial Rocks always covered with water, and at the foot of these Rocks is a kind of little Channel into which that water trickles agreeably. On the right side of these Rocks the Tiber is represented, as Rivers use to be, that is, half lying along and leaning upon his Urn; but he seems melancholy, as if he were discontented for being surpassed by the River of the place, which is seen represented on the other side with a cheerful and pleasant aspect. But I must not forget to tell you that in these Channels and the abyss of water are seen Statues upon great Pedestals representing the several parts of the world, having in them the most precious things of the Countries which they represent, which they carry as it were to pay tribute; to denote that the whole earth has contributed to embellish this place. But the better to enjoy the sight and admire so many handsome objects at once, you must ascend up the Mount by two stately Perroons made like an Amphitheatre, which have also fix very goodly fountains of different forms. About the midst, at the Base of the Balustrade are seen two great Lions, which by Meleander's contrivance show after a particular manner the Arms of Cleonymus; for the Squirrel is seen between the paws of the Lions, but so that 'tis manifest these cruel Animals have nothing but gentleness and kindness for it. When you come to the end of the Mount a large green round of water surprises you, in the midst of which arises as by miracle a Jet of water fifty feet high, of so prodigious and extraordinary a greatness, that it would seem a thick pillar of Crystal, if the motion did not convince the eyes. And to denote that it is the last piece of this great and excellent workmanship, there is placed beyond it a handsome statue of Hercules resting himself after all his Labours which are represented in sculpture upon the Pedestal. In this place seats are built to behold so many rare things the more commodiously, which appear so much the more excellent, for that from thence also divers plain and rustic objects are seen. For on both sides you see two rude prospects and a little Temple amongst the Trees. This Mount has Walks on each side, and grass in the middle, and from thence you have a fairer sight of the building than from any other place, with the two back-wings which belong to it, the two Garden-plats which are on both sides, the vast compass of the great Garden between the two Groves, all the divers spirting Fountains, the Channels, the Squares of Water, the Cascades, and those too which are on the side of the Garden for Flowers, which is before one of the Wings. Hence also is discovered a thing which has been happily invented by the famous Meleander; for whereas Cleonymus has several ancient rarities, and especially two Figures of Stone, which are said to have served for the Sepulture of the first Kings of Libya; in a little irregular corner of ground he has caused two Pyramids to be built, in imitation of those which are near Memphis; to the end to place in them all such kind of rarities as he possesses. So that the sight of these Pyramids together with that of so many excellent and different objects takes away all thought of regretting that this place has not one of those prospects in which Rivers and Seas are discovered, and in which the eyes are oftener wearied than diverted. For every thing that is seen in this admirable Desert is agreeable, the eyes cannot stray but with delight. Nevertheless, you must not imagine that I have described all the Beauties of this place to you; for I am confident I have omitted very many; and besides, to speak truth, Valterra is but in its infancy (if I may so speak) and there will be so much difference between what it is now, and what it will be one day, as there is between a fair Virgin when she is but twelve years old and when she is eighteen. And yet 'tis hard to imagine that any thing can be added to it; and when any one walks there, he so forgets himself that he cannot retire. Indeed (as it is fit to return to the source of things) in this Garden one cannot but think with pleasure on the worth and virtue of him that has rendered it such as it is, who in his great employments has displayed all the grand Qualities of his wit and courage, and who by his justice, humanity, and magnificence has found the art to oblige the happy and miserable, and to be the Protector of all virtuous persons, ill-treated by fortune, as well as of the Sciences and excellent Arts.  
Ha! Theanor (said Amilcar perceiving he had done speaking) I am infinitely obliged to you for having so well described Valterra; I confess, I am charmed with it; the beauties of the Valley of Tempe are not comparable to those you have described, the Country of Elis has nothing that approaches them; Athens, Corinth, Thebes, Carthage, Babylon, and Rome have nothing so admirable; nor does all the Earth afford a more excellent place. But how rare soever it be, I should rather choose to have the mind and capacity of Cleonymus than his fair House.  
After this, Aemilius having confirmed that which Theanor had related, they went to Horse again. But because they had stayed a very long time in that place they were overtaken by night. So that in the midst of a thick Wood Amilcar unawares separated himself from Theanor and Aemilius. He strayed two or three miles; but at length the Moon rising, he found the right way again, and saw he was not far from Praeneste which he perceived upon the top of a hill. Which hill has this particularity, that being environed with divers others less high, all their tops seem to form a kind of a Crown, which makes a very handsome sight; and therefore some affirm that this place was heretofore called Stephano which signifies a Crown; and others Polystephane which signifies in Greek many Crowns; for Praeneste was of a Greek foundation, and built (as the inhabitants pretend) by a son of Ulysses and Circe: but others ascribe its foundation to another cause. But be it how it will, Amilcar arriving there observed the hope of Peace began to revive commerce; for there was an infinite number of strangers there, and all places appointed for the lodging of such as came to consult the Lots were so full, that he could not be entertained there. So he went to the Quarters of Telantus, who received him very civilly, and there he found one of the most intimate Friends of the illustrious Amalthea, whose name was Cleontus son of the sage Timantus, and who by his virtue and a thousand excellent Qualities deserved the esteem of all that knew him. And therefore Amilcar was very joyful to see him and embrace him. I did not think (said Telantus, observing in what manner they conversed together) two persons of so contrary humours, could have been such pleasant company together. No, no (answered Amilcar) do not deceive yourself by apparences: Cleontus has indeed a serious air, a wise, and sufficiently melancholy deportment; but for all this seeming coldeness, if you consider his eyes well, you will oftentimes see a judicious smile there, which will convince you that he does not hate mirth in another so much as you believe. I know well (added he) he is more Philosopher than I, he passes better with solitude, he would Sacrifice all the pleasures of the world for glory, and will have Reason be absolute Mistress of his life. But for all this he complyes with such a friend as I; and though he suffers not folly in his own heart, yet he suffers it in that of a Friend, provided it be innocent and agreeable; in a word, it may be said Cleontus is capable of being whatever he pleases. He would be very apt to be extremely amorous if he pleased, he would be ambitious if he were minded, he is learned because he would be so, he makes Verses as well as Anacreon, he is able to make Laws of Friendship; and, in fine, I know nothing which he could not discharge with applause. But wisdom (added Amilcar) is his Masterpiece. He might be even as violent as Timantus, though he appears always serene, but he likes better to preserve an even and an equal temper, which indeed is very amiable. You see (answered Cleontus smiling) that to verify what you say, I hear my own praises quietly; but to divert you from them, I will inform you that the charming Niece of Amalthea is married, and I was at a little Feast which preceded her Nuptials, and was the most jovial one in the world. I beseech you (said Amilcar) make me understand all that you know of that charming person. She has married (answered Cleontus) a man of high Quality, who is tall, well proportioned, and has a very good aspect; he is called Perianthus; he began to go to the War in the fourteenth year of his age, so that though he is yet but two and twenty, he has served eight Campagnes already with honour. In the first encounter he was present at, he was wounded and taken prisoner; but this did not discourage him, but on the contrary, he loved glory the better. But it is not to be wondered that he is courageous, of a brave genius, and moved with a great number of excellent Qualities, for he is son of a man whose reputation for Valour and Gallantry is known over all the World; and in fine, that fair Clarista could not have a better match. I am very glad to understand this agreeable news (replied Amilcar) but to speak freely, I cannot believe that a Marriage-Feast could have been agreeable; therefore you will do me a pleasure to tell me the manner of that you speak of. I will content your curiosity (answered Cleontus) Imagine then, that there was a Galeot painted, guilded, and adorned with Streamers, in which there was an Antichamber and a Chamber curiously painted and guilded. The pavement of the Chamber of the Poop was white blue, the Tapestry green and silver. The Company was in these three places, and the Music was towards the Prow. We departed from the City about evening, and went to a fair House belonging to the Young Prince of Syracuse; where we arrived a little before night. There we were entertained with a sumptuous feast, in which was both order and abundance; after which we walked in the Gardens by the noise of fountains which was mixed with Music and Discourse; and for a happy presage of this Love, it thundered and lightened as long as the Company was upon the way returning home: and which was remarkable, assoon as we were arrived, there followed a terrible rain; so that it may be said Heaven had a kind respect for us. The great commendation of this Feast was, it had nothing at all of Ceremony, no more than the Marriage-day. For this second Feast was made with such order and magnificence in the stately Palace of Amalthea, that never was any seen better contrived. Since that admirable Lady had the ordering of it (answered Amilcar) I believe all that you say; for she can never do any thing but what is worthy to be admired. But I admire her chiefly for the choice of her friends, for certainly the sentiments of people are best known thereby; and according to the humour I am of, I should more glory in being the friend of Amalthea, than the Favourite of a great King, that had no exquisite judgement.  
After this Amilcar enquired concerning Berelisa, Clidamira, and Anacreon, and then of Mutius who was the occasion of this journey. As for Berelisa and Clidamira (answered Telantus) they are in perfect health; but they have not consulted the Lots yet, because 'tis the custom to Sacrifice first. And as for Anacreon, he was made on Ode since he came hither, which is without doubt a very excellent one; the subject of it, is, That riches avail nothing against death. But, for Mutius, I can give you no information concerning him: not that 'tis impossible that he may be here without my knowing it; for so great a number of people have arrived within these two days, that he may easily be here and I not know so much. But if he is (added he) I shall soon know it; for to morrow all that would know their Destinies write their names; and so I promise you to give you an account in a little time. After this, Telantus thanked Amilcar for having given him the knowledge of Berelisa, Clidamira, and Anacreon; for since Fortune first drew unhappy persons to Praeneste, there never arrived any here, whose conversation has been more charming; so that Berelisa and Clidamira have already been visited by all the Virtuoso's of the City. Amilcar then having a new impatience to see these two amiable persons, motioned to Telantus to go thither after supper; and he not opposing the proposal, they went together to visit them. By the way, they met with Anacreon, who joined himself with them: but when Amilcar entered into Berelisa's chamber, he was much surprised to see so fair and great a company there; for there were eight or ten very amiable women, and almost as many men of quality, whose air and physiognomy spoke them ingenious, and in a corner an old Tuscan Soothsayer, who was entertaining himself amongst this great company. Berelisa and Clidamira were very joyful to see Amilcar, and testified as much to him in words extreme obliging. Their looks no doubt at first asked him news of Artemidorus; but their mouths enquired of the generous action of Clelia, of which they had already heard some confused report. Amilcar satisfied their curiosity; and to content them absolutely, he employed his discourse so, as that he many times named Artemidorus, and that in such a way, as gave them to understand that he was in better health than when they left Rome; he also found means to deliver a Letter of that Prince to Berelisa without being observed. But after this, Amilcar a little more exactly considered all this fair company than he had done: 'Tis certainly my good fortune which brought me hither (said he) and I account it so much the better (added he) because I find more than I expected. For I imagined, none but unfortunate people with melancholy faces were to be found at Praeneste; and yet I see fair persons here, who have bright and sparkling eyes, and agreeable aspects; and men who have not the countenances of the unhappy. If all unfortunate persons had pale complexions, sunk eyes, and a melancholy air (answered Anacreon) not only this company which appears to you so fair, would not be such, but all the world would seem terrible. For they who have no infelicities make themselves some; and from the greatest Kings in the world to the most miserable slaves, all complain and murmur against Fortune: 'tis in vain that she makes presents to men; they turn her favours into poison, they have that within themselves which destroys their felicity, and seeking it always without, they take no care to find it in their own hearts. Yet methinks (said Amilcar) all that is needful to make men happy is in the Universe: but 'tis certainly (added he) their extravagant desires transposing the order of things, cause them to be disgusted with what they enjoy, and to wish that which they have not. That which you see is true (answered Telantus) but yet something further must be added to it: for the cause that there are so few people happy, is, because men make desires to themselves which Nature alone does not give them. What I say to you (added he) I say to myself, and against myself; since 'tis true that almost all men do not busy themselves only in seeking such things as they have need of, and are fit for them, but chiefly such as they believe the opinion of the world requires them to seek. So that without confining themselves to follow Reason alone, they desire to content that famous Chimaera called Opinion, and mind more what will be said of them if they do not advance themselves above their Ancestors, than their own quiet. How many men are there which would be contented with the patrimony of their fathers, if they did not think that their relations, their neighbours, and all that knew them, would esteem them less in an indifferent than in a high fortune? and nevertheless these people who seek so much to content the opinion of others, desire a thing impossible. For Opinion is the most mutable thing in the world; and if you would know how different the opinions of men are, it needs only to oblige all that are present to make Wishes; and I am confident, if all those that compose this company, speak sincerely, you will observe so great a diversity of opinions amongst them, that you know it is sufficiently difficult to be capable of happiness. But seeing there is so great a variety of sentiments (said Berelisa) how then can there be any certain opinion which is established in the world, and thence forth holds the place of a Law? 'Tis because the multitude of men (answered Amilcar) is so great, that there cannot be so great a number of contrary opinions as of men. So that such as resemble one another being united, there results from them a certain general opinion in every Nation, which prevails over the rest. But this does not hinder but that even they who compose this opinion have opinions in a manner peculiar to themselves. For my part (said Clidamira) I do not believe that if all the company were obliged to wish something, you would find so great a diversity of wishes as you imagine: for I am persuaded all the Ladies would wish for great beauty, and almost all the men to reign in some part of the world, and to be Kings. I do not agree to what you say (answered Amilcar) for as for my part, I speak sincerely, I would not be a King; and I should account it more noble to wish to be worthy to be one; besides, I know Royalty has a thousand consequences enemies to liberty, which would strangely disgust me. For it must be had in mind, that Kings can never do any thing but what will be known, that the least of their actions is public, that they can scarce ever discern those who love their condition from such as love their persons, that they seldom know the truth unless they divine it; that ceremony attends them every where; that they are always encompassed with self-interested flatterers; that they never have any great pleasures but openly, which to prudent persons are many times great troubles: not to reckon the cares required to the well-governing of a State, or the shame there is in governing it ill. But, which chiefly makes me averse to be a King, is the thought, that it would never be permitted me to be idle. And yet an idle life has something so sweet in it, that I could never resolve to renounce idleness, as I ought to do, to reign with glory. For if an idle Gallant were a King, and enjoyed the same idleness, he would be a good-for-nought, unworthy of his dignity. Wonder not then, amiable Clidamira, if I am not of your mind. For my part (said Anacreon) if I may advise, every one of us shall wish something according to our inclinations, and we will leave Amilcar the liberty to condemn or approve the wishes we shall make; and after every one has declared their wishes, he shall tell his own. I account this proposal of Anacreon a very agreeable motion (said Berelisa.) After which, all the company having approved it, Amilcar said he would do as he was desired; and turning himself towards a man of quality of Tarquinia, who was next him towards his right hand, he asked him what he wished. To be as rich as I would (answered he) for we have no desires but we may satisfy with riches. You should have added, (answered Amilcar) to be rich without being covetous: for without this circumstance, your wish, in stead of rendering you happy, would render you the slave of your treasures. For my part (said Clidamira) I am in haste to tell that I would wish to be without contradiction the handsomest person in the world. You ought withal to have wished to be always such (answered Amilcar) for I think there is nothing more difficult than for a person that has been perfectly a Fair, to inure herself to bear contentedly the decay of her beauty: and besides, you wish a thing impossible, when you wish to be without contradiction the handsomest person in the world; for every body judges of beauty according to their particular fancy; so that none can be universally acknowledged for the handsomest person in the world: moreover, amiable Clidamira, you would have a reign of too few years; for the greatest beauty passes very swiftly away; and I account you more happy, to be infinitely charming, than to be infinitely handsome. You see (added he, smiling) I believe your words more than my own eyes; for if I gave credit to them, I should tell you that you enjoy what you wished, and are the handsomest person in the world. However it be (said she) if you please, ask Berelisa what she wishes. To be very well loved, and not to love at all, or not much (answered she, beholding Clidamira.) Ha! charming Berelisa (answered Amilcar) you make the most unjust wish in the world: for what pleasure would you have in being loved, if you did not love? consider therefore, I beseech you, and make a more equitable wish. For my part (said a man of condition of Valterra, who had a pale countenance and a languishing air) I should wish to be always in most perfect health. Your wish is assuredly very good (answered Amilcar) for health is the beginning of all pleasures: but when it is alone, 'tis a benefit we are not too sensible of, and sometimes serves only to cause us more ardently to wish all the other pleasures which we cannot enjoy. For my part (said one of his friends who was next him, and had the mien of a brave man) I should like well enough to be one of those subduers of Monsters, like Hercules, who run through all the world with their swords in their hands, destroy Giants, fight with Lions, deliver ravished Ladies, conquer Cities, relieve Kingdoms, and who though they travel without train or equipage, never have need of any thing. This is no doubt sufficiently pleasant (answered Amilcar) and if Herminius were here, he would be of this sentiment; for he loves to do good to all the world; and he hates injustice so much, that he would take great delight in causing equity to reign every where, without having need of any thing besides himself. But having well thought upon it; I find it sufficiently difficult; and he is not a subduer of Monsters that desires it, for all Monsters will not always suffer themselves to be subdued. As for me (said a Lady who had a very agreeable countenance and a melancholy air) I should wish to be always with persons whom I love, and never to see others. I perceive, Madam (said Amilcar to her) you cannot but have a tender heart, and I assure myself you would not have been sorry that these Verses had been made for you.  
Let me my lovely Iris sighs but hear,  
And circumscribe all my desires in her;  
Let me in gentle peace with her abide,  
I care for nought the Sun surveys beside.  
I confess it (answered she) for I know nothing so sweet as always to see what we love, and nothing so troublesome as scarce ever to see those who sensibly affect our hearts. I cannot say (replied Amilcar) but your wish is very agreeable; however, a little variety does very well. For my part (said Anacreon) I will include a thousand wishes in one, and wish to be sensible of all pleasures without exception, since without this life has no sweetness, the source of all pleasures being in the heart of those that receive them. For in vain should an excellent Musician sing, if his hearers have not delicate ears to understand him well. For my part (said Amilcar) I think it would have been better to desire to enjoy all pleasures, than to wish to be barely sensible or capable of them; but every one wishes according to his fancy. As for me (added Telantus) I am constrained to confess that I am sensible only of glory and pleasure, and between the two, if my Reason is for one, my heart is for the other; therefore not being able to determine myself, I would only desire nothing. This wish is very Philosophical (answered Amilcar) and one would think it were the most reasonable in the world; because he that desires nothing has need of nothing. But after having well considered it, I conclude that a man that should desire nothing, would pass his life in such excessive tranquillity, that it something approach near insensibility. Therefore this wish shall never be mine. As for me (said a person of the Country roughly, who had a quick imagination and a rude briskness) I should wish to have the best wit in the world. Alas! (answered Amilcar hastily) you know not well what you desire, when you wish to be a fine wit; there is nothing more decried in the world at present, and I had rather be a slave than a rare wit. They that are such with judgement, conceal it; they who have not wherewith to support this Quality, are so impertinent in it, that except such as laugh at them, no body desires their conversation. Not but that I consent with all my heart thereto if you are desirous to be such (added Amilcar, looking upon him who made this wish) and it is only requisite that you tell us what kind of fine wit you would be; for there some of the first order, others secundary; some of the Court, others of the City and the Country, and some fine wits too among the meaner people. Speak then if you please, to the end I may understand your wish, and know a little more precisely whether I ought to approve or condemn it. For being I am at this time Censor of the wishes of the Company, it behoves me to acquit myself punctually of the Office. Amilcar spoke this with a certain serious air which caused all that heard him to laugh, and which so struck the poor wit out of countenance, that he answered so softly as no body scarce heard his answer. Wherefore Amilcar turning towards a man of Perusia of a handsome personage, asked him what he wished? Not to be in love (answered he.) Believe me (replied Amilcar roughly) you had better wish to be dead; for to speak truth, to live without Love is a very uncomfortable life. I believe that which you say (answered another man of Clusium) and I know it by experience; and therefore I would with all my heart be always amorous. But I have endeavoured it these four years unprofitably, and I have sued above a hundred times to a person whom I once loved;  
Give me my Love and my desires again,  
And I therewith my pleasures shall regain.  
But he that is amorous (replied the other) cannot spend one day without discontent. But he that loves nothing (said the man of Clusium) is incapable of any sensible pleasure. Be it how it will (said Amilcar) I account the last wish more reasonable than the other; because the first over throws the order of the World, and opposes Nature which inspires Love into all the Universe. But to proceed (added Amilcar, addressing to a handsome Lady of Praeneste) What is your wish? To have many true Friends (answered she) for I imagine there is nothing so sweet. You should have desired (said Amilcar) that there were such, and then that you had them: therefore, if you believe me, desire rather to have many Lovers; for with those eyes of yours it will be easier for you to have Lovers than friends. But when we have Lovers (answered she) they forsake us. But when we believe we have Friends (replied Amilcar) we find oftentimes that we have not; but to speak truth (added he) there is deceit in every thing. As for what concerns me (said another Lady) I would wish to see that which is in the hearts of all the world. No doubt there would be pleasure enough (answered Amilcar) in penetrating into the hearts of such as have an outside of wisdom, and a thousand follies hidden in their Souls; of those hypocrites who make semblance of having virtue, and make use of it only to hide their vices; of those coy Gossips in appearance who are unfaithful to their husbands; of those deceitful Friends, who intent to destroy those they Caress most; and of those Wantoness who have a thousand little Loves at a time: but withal you would see so many follies, wickednesses, frauds, and treacheries, that I think it better to wish to know ones own heart well than those of others. For my part (said a man with a fierce aspect) I should wish to be the most valiant man in the world; And I to be the most eloquent (added another.) Eloquence and Valour (answered Amilcar) are two excellent things; but 'tis good to wish at the same time to know how they ought to be used; for to speak truth, they are a strange sort of people who understand nothing but killing of men; and I am much of the sentiment of those of Agrigentum, who have a Proverbial saying amongst them, That Valour is like salt, good for nothing by itself, and yet good for almost all things. But as for Eloquence, it is not less necessary to know the right use of it: for an Eloquent person who declaims always in conversation is very troublesome; and as often as any one wishes Eloquence, he ought to remember to wish judgement with it. As for me (said a Greek who was present) I should much desire to write such excellent things as I might believe would descend to Posterity, and that with glory; and I am assured, if Anacreon who hears me would speak truth, he would confess that the thought of being one day translated into various Languages and commended in several Ages, is infinitely sweet to him. I assure you (answered Anacreon smiling) if you knew that pleasure by experience, you would not account it so great as you imagine; for at the same instant that I think perhaps my Works will live a long time, I think perhaps I shall not, but shall infallibly live less than they. So that this chagrin strangely troubles the pleasure of this pretended immortality. Anacreon is very equitable in speaking as he does (said Amilcar) for those pleasures are properly the pleasures of fancy; not but that I know well 'tis almost a general weakness to affect to have our names live; but to speak truth, upon a serious consideration 'tis but a folly: for cannot we judge by what is said of those that have written before us, what will be said after us of those that write at this time? 'Tis true, they are sometimes commended, but yet they are blamed at least as much as they are praised. They are robbed, and ill translated, and besides, though it were not so, what concernment can we take in things which shall happen when we are no longer concerned amongst the living? Believe me then, let us be contented with present pleasures, let us enjoy our glory whilst we live, let us seek to obtain the praises of such as are alive, and let us not care for being commended by people not yet in being, whom we know not and never can know. No doubt there are a thousand agreeable things in the Odes of Anacreon, which will not be understood two thousand years hence, because Manners, Customs, and Gallantry will be changed with the Ages. Nevertheless, I allow that people may by the by comfort themselves in some manner against Death, which the thought of having some privilege above the Vulgar, and leaving a name which does not die with them; but let us not account this amongst the most exquisite pleasures, nor so affirmatively ascribe to ourselves an imaginary immortality, which perhaps posterity will not give us: for I assure you, every one does not live in this manner who desires it, and many people think they write for immortality, whose works will die. As for me (said a very amiable Virgin who was sister to that Lady of Praeneste who had spoken before) I am confident my wish will please all the Company. Tell it quickly then (said Amilcar.) 'Tis to be invisible (answered she.) Ha! Madam (replied Amilcar) this is the first time no doubt that so fair a person as you made this wish. In good earnest (added she) I know nothing more agreeable than this. But what would you do with your invisibility? (said Amilcar smiling.) I would make use of it (answered she) to know the secrets of all the World, and especially to know truly what they who do not love me speak of me. As for my part (replied Amilcar) I have no curiosity to know what my Enemies say, for I easily imagine it. But I confess to you, I should be ravished to know that my Friends spoke of me in the same manner when I am not with them as when I am. For experience has taught me, there are few people but upon some occasions make raillery upon their Friends, or at least endure to hear it made in their presence. Yet this is very culpable (answered Berelisa.) But when we have Friends (said Clidamira) who have certain natural defects which cannot be concealed (as deformity, or the like) what ought we to do? Never speak of them (answered Berelisa.) But if others speak of them (replied Clidamira) 'tis necessary to agree with them. When we cannot contradict them (answered Berelisa) we must blame them of injustire in accusing virtuous persons of defects not in their power to amend, rather than to commend them for a thousand good Qualities they are endued with: and thereupon we ought to take occasion to praise them, and exaggerate all that is commendable in them; for there is nothing more unworthy and unjust than to upbraid any one with his natural defects. However it be (said Amilcar) let us return to invisibility, of which various uses may be made. One might thereby be present at all the Counsels of Kings, and Master of the secrets of all the world; and nothing besides the thoughts alone could escape the knowledge of an invisible person. It would be good in affairs of State and War, but chiefly in Gallantry; for we might deceive all Husbands, Mothers, Aunts, and Rivals: but being by ill hap, this wish is one of the most difficult wishes in the world to be accomplished, let us see what the remainder of the Company wishes. For my part (said a man of Ardea, who was very rich and ingenious) I would wish to have no Envyers. You would then (answered Amilcar) have no virtue, be poor, deformed, and miserable; for whoever has good fortune, merit, and virtue, has Envyers infallibly. As for me (said an amiable person, who sat next Berelisa) I should wish more to be an accomplished man than an accomplished woman. As for this wish (answered Amilcar) I find nothing to say against it; for though women are infinitely more amiable than men, and I love them a thousand times better, yet, I judge, Madam, that you have wished very judiciously: for were there no other reason than that which allows us to use Courtship and Gallantry, and forbids it you, I should account your wish very just. For my part (added another Lady) I should like well of immortality. I am wholly of your mind (answered Amilcar) and this wish is the best of all; for it would be great pleasure to see the whole Universe continually change, being unalterable ones self. But to speak truth, this happiness appears so impossible, that I have not the power to wish it; and all that I can say, is, that this immortality is to be preferred to that of Writings. You have reason (replied a man who had the whole air of a professed Scholar of which the world is full) therefore without wishing immortality which belongs to the Gods alone, I should wish only to be very learned, and to be able to understand all Nature. For there would be great pleasure in a perfect knowledge of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, in penetrating into the Centre of the Earth, there to the production of gold, in knowing the Qualities and Virtues of Minerals, Plants, Herbs, and being skilled even in the knowledge of the least Cockles in the Sea, and the least Flies upon the Earth: great trees, shrubs, monsters, domestic Animals, Seas, Rivers, Brooks and Fountains, and to be ignorant of none of all Nature's operations. That which you say is admirable (answered Amilcar) but though this wish is one of the best that can be made, yet it ought not to be abused. For I once knew a man, who understood as well as possible the situation and course of the Stars, who admirably knew Simples, who discoursed very well of the nature of Winds, who had observed that the salt of Agrigentum contrary to the manner of all other salt of the world, hardens in the Water, and melts in the Sun; that there are Pismires in certain Countries like Elephants; who discoursed very well of the Rainbow, who knew even the particularities of the love of Crocodiles; and who for all this, was a sottish man, his mind was always in Heaven, or the Abyss of the Earth, or the bottom of the Sea, to find out the secrets of Nature, and never was where it ought to be. He knew a hundred thousand things which were not necessary, but knew not that his wife was a wanton; and in fine, he was ignorant in morality and the art of living decently in the world; which is a thousand times more necessary to be known than the love of Crocodiles. All the Company having laughed at what Amilcar said, some time passed without any wishing; but at length a very accomplished man of Ceres said his wish was more reasonable than that of all the rest, since he wished nothing but to be loved by that which he loved. This wish is very reasonable (answered Amilcar) but being you seem sufficiently worthy to be loved, you might rather have made another wish, and left it to your merit to cause you to obtain that which you desire. As for me (said a sprightly young person) I would wish to be able to live without sleep, for 'tis a great loss of time. I confess it (answered Amilcar) but however, though all the World sleeps every day, yet they have time enough to be weary, and therefore sleep, if you will take my Counsel. But that you may sleep with pleasure (added he smiling) and have delightful Dreams, suffer an accomplished man who does not displease you, to say to you every day, I love you, and no doubt you will find no cause to complain of sleep more. For my part (said a man of good years) I should greatly desire to be a wise Lawgiver, like Solon, Lycurgus, Zamolxis, and divers others. This wish is something commendable (answered Amilcar) but I confess, if I were a great and illustrious Maker of Laws, I should have great regret in foreseeing that infallibly they would be ill observed; for there is such a great perverseness amongst men, that as soon as a Law is made, all that aught to follow it, seek only how to infringe it with impunity. And besides, to speak truth, I account it more glorious to obey the Law than to have made it; for it is much easier to command in such occasions than to obey; and moreover 'tis a general maxim, that good actions are worth more than good words. After this, there remained only Amilcar and the old Tuscan Soothsayer who had wishes to make. But this venerable old man would make no wish at all, and said men were too blind to know what good was fit for them: after which he continued to hear attentively what was said in the Company. It was then required of Amilcar to make his wish as others had done. I will (answered he) but I must first see whether all the Company have wished: and so he taking writing-Tables, he set down on one side all the wishes of the Ladies, and on the other all those of the men, in this manner.  

The Wishes of the Ladies.  
To be the handsomest Person in the world.  
To be extremely loved, and not love at all, or very little.  
To be always with Persons one loves, and to converse with no others.  
To see what is in the hearts of all the World.  
To be invisible.  
To be an accomplished man in stead of being an accomplished woman.  
To be immortal.  
To be able to live without sleep.   

The Wishes of the Men.  
To be a King.  
To be as rich as one would.  
To be always in health.  
To be a subduer of Monsters like Hercules, and a Deliverer of Kingdoms and ravished Ladies.  
To be sensible of all pleasures without exception.  
To desire nothing.  
To be the best Wit in the World.  
Not to be amorous.  
To be always in love.  
To be the most valiant man in the World.  
To be the most eloquent.  
To be the author of ingenious composures which may descend to posterity.  
To have no Enviers.  
To be very Learned.  
To be loved by whom we love.  
To be a wise Lawgiver.   
When Amilcar had writ down all these Wishes, he first counted them, and then the whole company, and found there was none but himself to wish: wherefore being much urged to speak, he answered, that it was not a thing to be done with precipitation: for since (said he) the business is to make a Wish, I will make one so great, that imagination cannot go beyond it, for to think to desire one thing which may suffice to render a man happy, is a strange mistake. Therefore to make a handsome Wish, I will make a handsome story, and tell you in particular how I would be if I were master of my Destiny and events. Assuredly (said Clidamira) he is going to wish to be loved by an hundred thousand fair persons at once. Pardon me, Madam (answered Amilcar) I am not; and I declare to you, that I renounce my debonair humour for an hour only, and am going to speak sincerely to you, and in the greatest earnestness in the world. Know then, that for a more noble reason than that I mentioned at the beginning of this conversation, though I could dispose my lot as I pleased, I would not be born a King: for I account it no great glory to do no more but succeed a father, and I think it is something more sweet for a man to be the builder of his own grandeur, and to owe nothing but to himself. You would then be a conqueror (replied Clidamira) which many times signifies an Usurper. By no means (said Amilcar) and I have at present a greater fancy than that: but I beseech you suffer me to speak, my friend, and then let the company judge of my Wish. Know then, I would be neither King nor conquering Usurper; but as for birth, I would be of a Royal race, and that the changes which arrive successively in the world, had my family, and left me scarce any other advantage besides nobility of blood; I would be also descended of virtuous Parents, and be endued with great virtue myself. I confess too I would be a handsome personage, have a noble air, a happy physiognomy, and a very high aspect. As for Wit, I would have an infinite portion, but especially of that of the chief order, capable of great things, of governing Nations, counselling Kings, and knowing all the interests of Monarchies, the means to manage great Wars, and the art of grand Negotiations, of penetrating into the secrets of all hearts; and above all, I would have the faculty of persuading, which is almost the most necessary of all, for one that is in the highest employments. I would also in the beginning of my life go to the War, and give proofs of my courage: and to raise myself a reputation on the sudden, I would have Fortune by some extraordinary way cause me to be between two Armies ready to join Battle; and that for the first essays of my address and eloquence, I had the pleasure to cause these two enemy-Armies to lay down their Arms, and the glory to establish peace between two great Princes. In the next place, I would wish there were a Kingdom which were the sanctuary of the Sciences and excellent Arts, in which there were a great and excellent Minister, who by a thousand glorious actions had merited the admiration of all the earth, to the end that being loved and esteemed by him, I might of a sudden come to be considered in that great state. Moreover, I should take an extreme pleasure (if the Gods pleased that he died before me) that he left me to the King his Master as a faithful servant, and capable of assisting him to support the burden of affairs: and, to complete my happiness, I would that that King at his death left me the government of the young Prince which were to succeed him, together with that of the whole State. But to signalise my Government the more, I would have a great War to manage; and that shortly after the death of the King, there were divers Cities taken, and many Battles won. Yet I would not have Fortune always favourable to me, and have none but easy successes, and without obstacles. On the contrary, I would see my Victories on a sudden interrupted by some great Insurrection of the people: I would, I say, that the Commotion beginning in the heart of the State, I saw almost the whole Kingdom risen against me, and had a foreign and a civil War to manage at once. But in making this Wish, I would at the same time perfectly understand the art to yield sometimes to the Tempest, thereby to save the Ship from perishing; and be able to re-establish a general calm, and cause the young Prince I served to reign with glory, without employing that bloody policy which is always followed with terror and dread. But after I had calmed this great storm within the State, I would win a thousand new advantages over the foreign enemies, take many important Cities, and gain divers Battles; and then to crown all these grand actions with the most heroic action that ever was, I would after so many happy successes form the design of a Peace upon the field of Victory. But the more agreeably to surprise all the earth, I would make a great secret of this important negotiation, which should pass only between myself and the Minister of the King against whom the War was; and at length, when the Nations durst scarce hope a Peace, they should understand it was made. But for the conclusion of this peace, I would not be unwilling to be a while in some small Island conferring with the Minister of the enemies; to the end I might in that place see Nations, Princes and Kings await with ardency the resolutions which should be taken in that little corner of earth. Moreover, I would corroborate this Peace by a happy Marriage of the young King I served, and a fair Princess daughter of the enemy-King; that so thenceforth I might see peace, plenty and pleasures return together, establish safety both on Land and Sea, reconcile to the interests of the State some illustrious Hero whom Fortune had separated from them, and finally render the whole world happy. And to accomplish my own felicity, I would not marry at all, but I would there were a State in the world where the Prince reigned by the election of the greatest and the wisest; and that I were advanced to that place, to reign there all the rest of my life. But I would also that that Sovereignty had some kind of authority over all others, and that I had power then to continue peace amongst all the Kings of the world. Thus not being born a King, I should reign innocently, and boast of having enjoyed glory in all the different manners it can be possessed.  
Ah! Amilcar (cried the old sage Soothsayer, who had scarce spoken before) it belongs to you only to wish; I think you are inspired by heaven: for having consulted the Lots, to know what will be the destiny of Rome now Tarquin is expelled thence, I have found that it will one day be subject to a man of the same name with one of the first ancestors of Romulus, to such a man as you desire to be, who shall be descended from the ancient Kings of Sicily. But this will not come to pass till a long time after Rome shall have been a triumphant Commonwealth, and shall have been once again governed by Sovereigns, amongst which many Heroes shall be counted, This man spoke thus with such Majesty, that himself seemed really inspired, and his discourse made such an impression upon the minds of all that heard him, that they doubted not but what he said would one day be accomplished; and all the company confessed that it was not possible to wish any thing more great and glorious, and that all their own wishes together deserved not to be compared to the destiny of that great man.  
But whilst they were speaking thus, the old Soothsayer sat down again in his place, and returned to his ordinary silence, without concerning himself longer in what the company discoursed of, which soon after broke up and retired. The next morning Amilcar went to the Temple of Fortune, of which he admired the beauty and magnificence. In divers parts of this Temple, this Goddess was seen represented in many various manners, and all round about it were seen great Tables in which all the events she uses to cause were portrayed, sometimes advancing the little, and depressing the great. In one place destroying Empires, in another founding Kingdoms, and appearing always very powerful and capricious. Amilcar guided by an old Priest, saw also a certain place at the bottom of the Temple, where through a door of grates he was showed a statue of jupiter in his childhood sitting with Juno between the arms of Fortune, to which married women paid great devotion. He was told that heretofore a man of great virtue was inspired to go break a huge stone, which after long deferring he did, though all the world laughed at him; and that he had no sooner touched the stone, but miraculously a great breach was made in it, at which issued forth the famous Lots which decide the Destinies of men. He was also told, that at the same time there was an Olive-tree from whence issued forth abundance of honey; from which Omens the Soothsayers foretold that these Lots would become very famous. It was added too, that the Soothsayers caused a Coffer to be made of that Olive-tree, wherein to enclose the Lots, which were nothing but a great number of little Oaken Tablets, engraved with several distinct words in ancient Characters. But I beseech you (said Amilcar to him he conversed with) what course do they take to consult these Lots? First, a Sacrifice is offered to Fortune (said he who instructed Amilcar) to request her to forget all the reproaches the persons have spoken against her; for it is presupposed men are so unjust, that there is not one, even of those to whom she gives most of the favours which are in her power, but sometimes in his life complains of her. 'Tis true (answered Amilcar) there is no Deity towards whom respect is so often lost, as this; and for my part, I confess, I have uttered reproaches against her in four or five Languages, both in Verse and in Prose, and so I have great need of the Sacrifice you speak of. But what further is to be done, to consult the Lots? I have already told you (answered the other) that they are kept in a Coffer made of the Sacred Olive-tree I mentioned, and I shall add that this Coffer is placed at the feet of that Statue of Fortune which embraces young jupiter, and that after the person has signified what he desires to know, a young Boy draws at a venture several of these Tablets upon which the distinct words are written. After which, the Child having placed them in a row, the Soothsayer who is to unfold the Lots, reads them, and there finds the sense which he unfolds, but with such exactness that it is miraculous.  
Amilcar having thanked him that had so well instructed him, observed that the Temple was divided by a great Balustrade or Rail; on one side of which were all the men, and on the other all the women, and at the upper end stood two Priests who writ the names of such as intended to consult the Lots concerning their Fortune. Now whereas Telantus had promised Amilcar to give him an account whether Mutius would cause his name to be written, he did not stay to behold the men, but only the Ladies to whom he might speak any thing over the Balustrade, it not being forbidden to speak in this Temple when the Sacrifice was not in hand. Wherefore he set himself to consider the number of fair Strangers whom he saw in that place: and being he stood somewhat near him who enquired and writ down the names, he could hear those which they pronounced; so that after having heard a very great number, he beheld a lovely Woman who arrested his eyes agreeably; and thereupon giving her ear, he heard that she was named Aretaphile; and that she said she was of the Principality of Elis; for they are obliged to tell what Country they are of. Being desirous then to have some conversation with her, he observed she went and placed herself by the Balustrade about ten paces from him; and so he changed his station and went to salute her very civilly. I beseech you, Madam (said he to her in Greek) be pleased to give me liberty to ask you news of the Princess Elismonda, and I desire you tell me whether she be still as fair as she was on the day she gave the prizes at the Olympic Games. That Princess is still so young (answered Aretaphile) that her beauty cannot be diminished; and so I can assure you, she was never more fair and charming, and when I came away she was at a fair house belonging to the Prince of Elis, which is called the Valley of Cupid's. After this Amilcar obtained the permission of this fair person to go and visit her. But when he turned his head, he was much astonished to see Lucilius, Herminius, Aemilius, and Spurius entering into the Temple; for when he departed from Rome, they made no account to go to Praeneste. He approached towards them, and understood that Lucilius was sent by Porsenna to consult the Lots of Praeneste concerning the present state of affairs; and he learned by Herminius, that Aemilius, Spurius, and himself being upon the point to have a Quarrel, Publicola had hindered them from fight, and engaged them to come to this place, declaring to them nevertheless, that he left Valeria absolute Mistress of her own destiny, and that he was so confident she would choose equitably, that he believed the Gods would approve his choice and make their will known. After this these Newcomers went to cause their names to be written; but at the same time Amilcar beheld a man of a good personage and in mourning attire enter into the Temple, and observed that Clidamira changed colour thereat, and Berelisa seemed amazed to see him. In effect it was Meleontus, who having passed through Rome to see the Prince Artemidorus was come to Praeneste, and accordingly caused his name to be written. Next, Amilcar beheld the jealous Damon with Acrisius; for Sicinius would not consult the Lots at Praeneste. But at length when this great number of Strangers of both Sexes had caused their names to be written, a Sacrifice was offered by way of preparation to know the secrets of Fate the next day. As they were going out of the Temple, Telantus advertised Amilcar that the wicked Tullia had sent a man with great sums of money to corrupt him that was to expound the Lots, and cause him to give Lucilius such an answer as might persuade Porsenna to put Aronces and Clelia to death; but he assured him at the same time that nothing was to be feared, and that he to whom the address was made was a man of the most firm probity in the world. Amilcar trembled at this wickedness of Tullia, but he hoped to draw advantage from it. He acquainted Herminius with the matter, and having understood by Telantus that Mutius did not present himself at the Temple, he went to the lodgings of Clidamira and Berelisa, where Meleontus arrived a moment after, for he did not think fit to accost them as they were going out of the Temple. Assoon as he entered, Berelisa asked him for whom he wore mourning. For the Prince of Leontium, Madam (answered he.) How (replied Clidamira wholly surprised) is the Prince of Leontium dead? He is certainly (said Meleontus) but with so great regret for not having well enough treated Artemidorus and the Princess Lysonice, that he commanded me at his death to come and testify his last sentiments to them. And accordingly I came to Rome to obey him, and to conjure the Prince Artemidorus to go and take possession of his Principality, to forget all things past, and to be my Protector. As he is very generous (added he) he has granted me all I desired of him, and charged me with two Letters which I deliver to you. In speaking this Meleontus gave one Letter of Artemidorus to Clidamira, and another to Berelisa. They both blushed as they received them, and could not refrain from beholding one another with an air a little jealous. But Berelisa's doubts excited by jealousy were soon dispelled; for the Letter of the Prince Artemidorus was conceived in these terms.  
Artemidorus to Berelisa.  
THough the Prince my Brother had ill-treated me, I am notwithstanding much affected with his death: but now, Madam, that the Gods have given me power to testify to you how much I love you, I declare to you that I will not reign at Leontium but with you, and no other shall ever reign in my heart. I have writ to Clidamira in such a strain as will cure you of all your unjust jealousies. However, I desire you to promote Meleontus interest with her; he has so well deported himself since the prince's death, that he deserves that you and I forget all the mischief he has done us. I beseech you, return to Rome assoon as you can; that when we have seen what will be the destiny of Aronces, I may go and cause you to be acknowledged princess of Leontium.  
As Berelisa read this Letter, joy diffused itself from her eyes over all her countenance; and Clidamira, as she read hers, could not contain from blushing with choler; for it was almost in these words.  
Artemidorus to Clidamira.  
YOu have reason, Madam, to have made choice of Meleontus for the object of your affection; therefore I will do him what service I can to gain your favour towards him. I have understood from his mouth what I knew before, that he is not so unacceptable to you but that he may hope to be happy if I protect him. I do so, Madam, and desire of you for him all the favours he is worthy of. I have formerly complained of it, and now I rejoice at it; but there arrive so many other changes, that this ought not to surprise you. His fortune is sufficiently good, to render yours happy. Do not therefore resist his affection and my requests; but believe I can never be more obliged to you than I shall be, if you reward his affection in the manner I desire.  
Clidamira made as if she read this Letter over again, but in truth, she only took time to calm the trouble of her mind, and to deliberate what she should do. During which she concluded that Berelisa was going to be Princess of Leontium, and that Artemidorus being fully persuaded that she had had a beginning of Courtship with Meleontus, no longer believed that it was only for his sake, as she had endeavoured to persuade him: Wherefore, considering that if she rejected Meleontus she would be without all support, and being an admirable dissembler, she recollected herself suddenly, and beholding Meleontus with an aspect something confused but not at all rude, The Prince speaks so obligingly of you (said she to him) that it is manifest he will obtain what he desires; but however we shall speak of it at a little more leisure. In the mean time Herminius and Amilcar were speaking to Berelisa, who showed them Artemidorus' Letter, as being her dearest Friends at Rome. So that they were very joyful to see that Fortune had at length done justice to her merit. But after Meleontus, Herminius, and Amilcar were gone away, Clidamira not being able to suppress her sentiments, I imagine (said she to Berelisa) you care no longer for consulting the Lots of Praeneste, and the Prince's Letter has given you whatever you account agreeable to your desires. 'Tis true (answered Berelisa) Artemidorus' Letter is such as I could desire, but I conceive that which you have received ought not to displease you; for, to give you what you made choice of, is as I conceive to do all that can be acceptable to you. Being you are yet but my sister in Law (replied Clidamira) and not Princess of Leontium, I must once in my life speak plainly to you, before I be obliged to bear you a respect which will not allow me to offend you.— But, no (added she) the manifestation of my anger will but augment your joy, and therefore I change my mind, and will never more speak to you of Artemidorus, whom I will endeavour to hate, or at least not to love longer. As I can never cease to consider you as the wife of my Brother (said Berelisa) I will answer you without passion. Joy wonderfully sweetens the mind (answered Clidamira) and you have not been always so gentle when you were discontented. But however (added she, as she was going from her into a Closet in the same Chamber) if I cannot be contented, I will at least make such show of being so, that perhaps you who are really so, shall not seem so much. Berelisa smiled at Clidamira's passion, and went into the Chamber which was assigned to her.  
The next morning Amilcar diligently enquired for Mutius, and could learn no tidings of him; only he understood that there was an unknown person who had sent to desire the favour that his name might not be written amongst the rest, but to be heard last, when the whole Ceremony of the multitude was finished; which could not be done in one day, there being too great a number of people this year in Praeneste. At break of day the Temple of Fortune was open, and two hours were by favour allotted for such as would cause their names to be written in order to consulting the Lots, during which the Temple was filled with people to hear a kind of Hymn sung by a very excellent voice to the glory of Fortune. Whilst this was doing, a certain noise was heard about the Gate. Amilcar who had an universal curiosity turned his head and beheld a little Machine painted, gilded, and covered with a kind of little Canopy. It was surrounded with Curtains, and carried by two slaves. Upon the top of this Canopy was the Portrait of a young and handsome man. He had a round Visage, blue eyes, neat, and agreeable, a carnation, and fresh Complexion, and a cheerful and sprightly aspect. At the bottom of this Portrait were seen these Verses:  
Youthful and fair, this Picture courts your eye.  
Youthful and fair as this, so once was I.  
But envious Fate (by whose severe decree,  
No happiness can great and lasting be)  
So changed both face and body; there remains  
Of both but one dire Magazine of pains.  
A thousand ills my vexed limbs distort,  
But I unmoved sustain their rude effort.  
And though confined in this sad place I lie,  
Yet round the spacious Globe my name doth fly.  
The novelty of this Machine having surprised all the Assembly, two Priests at the Gates of the Temple would have hindered the slaves that carried it, from passing, and required him that was within it to descend and enter into the Temple. But a moment after, the Curtains were seen to open a little, and a voice something shrill but impetuous was heard to speak thus, No, no (said this Unknown) do not go about to cause me to descend, for 'tis in vain; and as people of high quality are seen to enter in Chariots into the Courts of King's Palaces, so I have the privilege to enter into the Chambers of Queens and Temples; for that you may know me well, I am the prime sick person in the World, and he alone that has been able to reconcile pain with joy. The Unknown spoke this with so fierce a tone, that he silenced the Priests, and they suffered the Machine to enter, which drew the eyes of the whole Assembly. But indeed a moment after, it was minded no more; because there appeared a person so infinitely fair, that she attracted the general view. It was known by the livery of the slaves who followed her that she was the Wife of him that was in the Machine. She was young, admirably fair, and of a good stature; her name was Lyriana, she was of very noble Birth, and Fortune having been adverse to her Parents, she was in her infancy led by them into the remotest parts of Libya; from whence she returned so fair and charming, that scarce any could be compared to her without doing her injury. Lyriana was tall and well proportioned, but of that tallness which does not affright, but only adds to the grace of the person. She had a very clear and smooth Complexion, her hair was of a bright and agreeable chestnut, her Nose was well shaped, and her Mouth well cut, she had a Noble, sweet, sprightly, and Majestical air; and to render her beauty more perfect and charming, she had the handsomest Eyes in the world, for they were black, sparkling, sweet, passionate, and full of spirit; their brightness had something I know not what, which cannot be expressed; a sweet melancholy sometimes appeared in them amongst all her charms, yet mirth was visible in them at times, with all the attractives which joy can inspire. As for her mind, it seemed made correspondent to her beauty; she spoke with a good grace naturally, and without affection. Yet her beauty though transcendent, made her not vain and proud: but joining the charms of her virtue to those of her beauty and Wit, it might be said she deserved all the admiration which was had of her when she entered into the Temple of Fortune. Amilcar was charmed as soon as he beheld her, carefully enquired of those next him the name of this fair person, who was so advantageously spoken of to his. As for him that has married her (added he) I ask ●● news of him, for I do not doubt but he in the Machine is the famous Scaurus, who from a very goodly person in his youth, has been so changed by sicknesses that he cannot be known for the same man, and who by the pleasantness of his humour and the firmness of his mind makes health to himself in spite of Nature, and preserves a joy which has rendered him capable of writing a thousand sprightly and divertising Composures, which serve for the pleasure of the illustrious Cleonymus and all accomplished persons; and lastly, whose conversation is sought by a great number of Honourable people who frequent his house. 'Tis the very same (answered one of those Amilcar was talking to) he lives at Clusium, where all illustrious Strangers go to visit him, as well as all the Persons of Quality of that Court. But, which is remarkable, he is never at a loss for subjects to divert himself and others. And whether he commends or blames, he always does it pleasantly, and with as much facility as wit. He confirms what you say of his merry humour (replied Amilcar) by coming in his Machine into the Temple of Fortune: but to speak truth, I am very desirous to know what he will consult the Lots about. After this Amilcar beheld the slaves who carried the Machine, set it down before the Priest who writ the names. And then a slave drawing a curtain which hid Scaurus, it was seen that he did not at all resemble his Picture; and nevertheless, through all the alteration that had befallen him, he seemed still to have a certain laughing air which promised Wit. But, in fine, having caused his own name to be writ, and that of the fair Lyriana, he pulled down his Curtain, and was carried away again in his Machine; for the two hours were just by this time expired; so that it behoved all the multitude to go forth of the Temple, to the end the Answers might be rendered with more secrecy. The names of those which were written being to be drawn at a venture, it happened that Porsenna's name was drawn first, to consult the Lots; and the order being so, that the explication of the Lot was delivered only to such as were concerned in the business, this explication was delivered sealed to Lucilius after all the Tablets which the child drew and ranked at a venture had been well considered.  
Next, the names of Berelisa and Clidamira were drawn; and the old Soothsayer who had been present at the conversation of Wishes, and expounded the Lots of Praeneste this year, spoke these very words to Clidamira:  You shall be happier by your indifferent humour than any other thing: for being you have never known how to love with steadfastness, therefore you have no reason to expect to be loved constantly: but such as determine themselves to none, are always moderately afflicted, and never to be much pitied. 
Clidamira had some indignation at this Answer, but a moment after her own humour appeased her, and caused her to say that it was all one to her whether she owed her contentment to her indifference or to any thing else. As for Berelisa, the Soothsayer spoke to her after another sort.  I have scarce any thing to speak to you (said he to her) for 'tis easy for you to foresee your destiny: your Constancy is ready to be crowned, and you are going to reign in one of the most delightful Cities of the world, and in one of the most generous hearts that ever was. 
In the next place, Theanor and Aemilius (whose names were written together) asked what their destiny was to be. He who gave answers, said to them,  Mary them who love you, though you love not them; and beware of marrying them whom you love, being they do not love you: for according to all apparences, you will at length love those which have loved you so long time, and perhaps you will not always love those you do, if they can never love you. 
Theanor and Aemilius were amazed, and seemed alike dejected at this Answer; and so they retired with sufficient sadness, and made way for several others who followed them. After which, that famous Liar (whom Berelisa, Clidamira and Anacreon knew, and whose Lies had occasioned a long conversation at Rome amongst divers ingenious persons) presented himself, and asked whether it were possible there could be one man in the world who were always verations. But as if the Gods had been offended, the Soothsayer having observed the Lots according to custom, answered him in these terms:  Rash man, who seekest to excuse thyself with the faults of others, know, that for the punishment of thy continual Lies, thou shalt not be believed even when thou speakest truth. This is all which the Lots of Praeneste can answer thee, which will not so dishonour all men, as to make it credible that sincere truth is scarce found upon earth. 
Next, Herminius, Aemilius and Spurius enquiring of their Destinies, received such an Answer:  The first-loved aught always to be the lastloved, unless he have rendered himself unworthy of being so: should it be otherwise, there would be five persons unhappy, and in the former manner but three. Moreover, it shall come to pass that Aemilius shall be satisfied with his own virtue, Spurius cured by his anger, and Mutius comforted with his glory. 
This answer caused a very sensible joy to Herminius, and much afflicted Aemilius and Spurius; and this latter beginning to speak, The Lots of Praeneste have given a true decision (said he fiercely) for I begin already to resent such a horrible indignation, that I doubt not but hatred will cure me of my love. Which said, he went away with a very incensed aspect. But Herminius, who always loved Aemilius, spoke to him with much generosity. You see (said he to him) the will of the Gods cannot be withstood. 'Tis true (answered Aemilius) and I see too that I must be always miserable; and not being able to find a remedy in hatred as Spurlus does, since generosity obliges me not to hate my Rival or my Mistress, I must seek one in death. You will do better (replied Herminius) to seek it in the amity of a generous Friend, and in that of a faithful Friend, who is extremely sorry he cannot be happy but by rendering you miserable. Whilst these two Rivals were discoursing in this manner, Meleontus desiring to know whether he should be happy, received this answer:  Whoso would always have ambition and love together, it is absolutely impossible for him ever to be happy; for it is not in the power of Fortune to content a Lover and an Ambitious man in one single person. 
After this the multitude of Strangers which were at Praeneste continued enquiring what they desired to know. But for that Amilcar was not concerned there longer, after he had congratulated with Herminius for the happy answer he received, he went to entertain himself with that Lady of Elis whom he had spoken to the preceding day, and who was walking in a place beset with great Trees before the Temple of Fortune, expecting till she should be called to go signify what she desired: for the order was, that there should be none in the Temple at that time but they to whom answers were given, all the rest in the mean time attended in that place, whom a young priest came to the door of the Temple to call according to the order of their names. Wherefore Amilcar addressing to Aretaphile, asked her if he might presume to inquire the cause which brought her to Praeneste, adding that he believed it fit to do in this place as those do who go to the Spaws, who scruple not to pretend maladies however which carried them thither. I assure you (said she to him) I never yet had any secret which I could not tell, and it will be easy for me to satisfy you. Know then, that being one at the Valley of Cupids with the Princess Elismonda— Hold, I beseech you (cried Amilcar) and let me not pass from the Valley of Cupids without making some stay there. Tell me therefore I conjure you whether this place deserves so fair a name, and wherefore it is called so. No doubt it deserves it (answered she) but it has not always born this name; for it was sometimes called Telisangis; but a great Prince having caused a stately Palace to be built there to give to his Mistress, it was from thence called the Valley of Cupids; because Love was in effect the occasion that it was built. This circumstance seems so extraordinary (replied Amilcar) that I cannot but conjure you to make me the description of a place which seems to have been consecrated to love, and where a second Mother of Cupid's is seen; for according to the reports of the Princess Elismonda, she is a person fit to produce such. I will content you (said Aretaphile) though I am not very good at making the description of a handsome place. Know then that the Valley of Cupid's is a place of such particular beauty, that it may with truth be said that it has a thousand charms which cannot be found elsewhere. Yet its situation is wild and solitary; but though Nature have not given it the like advantage with places which have prospects of a vast extent, and lie near great Rivers, yet it has a thousand graces which render it an infinitely delightful habitation. This Valley is very fertile, and the place which I am going to describe to you, is perfectly magnificent and agreeable. It is situated upon the brow of a Hill which to make the first Court of this house. The ways which lead to this Palace are admirably fair, for a Royal Forest is to be passed through, the great and handsome Wastes of which make the goodliest and most solitary Walks in the World; especially in a certain place where the Trees seem to reach up to Heaven, they are handsome, strait, and so thick set with verdant leaves that their shade is infinitely agreeable. As you arrive at the Valley of Cupids you find a very fair fore-court which has a face of rustic edifices on the right hand, and a balustrade on the left, from whence is discovered an agreeable Valley. From thence you pass into another Court which has the same Balustrade on the left hand and a Walk of Trees on the right. From this place you see the stately front of the Palace which is of a particular structure; the middle advances towards the Court, as well as the two sides of this building, all the Windows whereof are great arches which made a goodly sight; and on the side of the terassed Garden, the face of which resembles that of the Court, are seen two Cupids without fillets which seem to consider all the beauties of the prospect. But to return to the Court from whence I have led aside your fancy, I must tell you that you ascend from it by a proud perroon up to a great and magnificent terrace with a Balustrade which runs quite round the Palace, all the apartments of which are stately, and the staircase which is in the midst of the building is of very great magnificence. There are great Halls paved with black and white Marble, very fair Chambers and delightful Cabinets; in one and the same apartment there are convenient places both for heat and cold, conversation and study. For there is a Cabinet from whence is seen not only a pleasant Valley environed with little Hills which rather arrest the sight than bound it, but also a great Garden, the squares of which are divided by rivulets which cross one another, so that the midst of the Garden instead of being adorned with a Statue, like most others, has a Bridge in it made in fashion of a Cross, which makes the loveliest sight in the World. The rivulet opposite to the building continues between two handsome Groves of equal greatness, which makes an admirable show. For the Groves being green from the bottom to the top, and reflecting in that amiable rivulet; whose banks are covered with grass, there is nothing seen but verdure and water, which renders the place so fit to muse in, that the most indifferent cannot refrain from it. But besides all this, on the right and left side of these two lovely Groves are seen two Meadows surrounded with Brooks and bordered with Willows, which make an admirable object. Beyond which is seen on the right hand a Town among the Trees, and on the left a Village, little Hills of unequal height, other Meadows and a little corner of a plain. But I should be too tedious to you if I should describe to you all the various beauties of this place, and therefore I shall omit them, and tell you that the admirable person which inhabits this rare Desert is become infinitely more amiable and charming than she was when she gave the prizes at the Olympick-Games, for she has improved in fatness, and has a clearer complexion, and her mind also is more embellished; so that 'tis not possible even for the most averse from love to see her now without loving her; and therefore the Prince of Elis who is a person undoubtedly worthy of all sorts of happiness, loves her always very constantly. Ha! Madam (cried Amilcar) if I knew as well how to describe to my Mistress the torments which I endure, as you describe the Valley of Cupids, I should be less unhappy than I am. But being I believe you relate all things alike well, tell me I beseech you, what has brought you hither. I will satisfy you (answered Aretaphile) Know then I was one day at the Valley of Cupids with some Ladies my Friends, who had a curiosity to see that house; and as such divertisements use not to be without the company of some virtuous persons to conduct the Ladies, there were two very accomplished men in ours, though they were not much known to me, but came attending one of the Ladies. You must know, also that they loved two Virgins which were of this company; but for that they would do like discreet Lovers, they talked as much to me as to their Mistresses. But I cannot tell you how it came to pass, but I pleased them well enough that day. As for this particular (said Amilcar) you may dispense with it, for I see in your eyes wherewith you touched their hearts; and if mine were as it used to be, and were not resolved to be constant, it would be yours already. Since 'tis so (answered Aretaphile smiling) I will only tell you that without designing it, I caused these two Lovers to prove unfaithful; yet I did not perceive it at that time, but some days after all the Town came and told me two men had forsaken their Mistresses and loved me. Wherefore making more narrow observation, I saw it was true, and found myself encumbered at the same time with the love of two men whom I did not affect, and the hatred of two Virgins whom I did not hate. Yet I thought then, that there needed only a little of my severity to return these unfaithful Lovers back again to their Mistresses. But being (as I conceive) they did not forsake them but only because they were two of those good persons whose excessive gentleness cloys rather than diverts, my severity augmented their Love. Since that, I confess without vanity, I have been loved by divers others; But I must acknowledge, never by any man whom I could believe worthy of my love. Yet I confess too that I saw a passenger at Syracuse whom I could love, and whom I judge perfectly worthy to be loved. But he has not loved me, and never will; for according to all probabilities, we shall never see one another again as long as we live. Ah! Madam (said Amilcar) may I not presume to ask you what manner of person it was whom you could love? I will content you (answered she) for I assure you I always take delight in speaking of him. Know then, the illustrious Cleander (so is he called that pleases me) is of one of the most illustrious families of the Kingdom where he lives, which has maintained itself most gloriously in repute, either by the great actions of such as have been descended of it, or by illustrious alliances. He is tall, and of a good proportion, he has also been admirably handsome in his first youth, and at present he has an extraordinary good aspect, and perfectly the air of a man of high Quality, such as he is. And though he has received a wound with an arrow under his eye in a very dangerous occasion, yet he is very little altered by it. He has flaxen hair, blue eyes, the form of his visage is agreeable, and all the lineaments regular enough; he has a certain serious air, accompanied with a sweetness perfectly noble, which causes a good opinion of him at first sight. His looks are sometimes very passionate when he pleases, and there are handsomer eyes than his which are not so proper for a certain mute language which love alone has the privilege to teach. Moreover, Cleander's very silence is so ingenious, that never any person seemed so much with speaking so little. And indeed he has a great Wit, which being facile and easy, he complies with the most ignorant and tedious without appearing such himself. So that they who have not a very discerning judgement, would suspect him not able to do much hurt with it. But this facility is an effect of the highest prudence and understanding in the world. He has the most free and civil deportment that ever was, yet his civility does not hinder him from preserving a high and noble way of carriage which renders him more agreeable to others and more worthy of his condition. All his Gestures have a certain gallant air which pleases infinitely; so that having a Soul by Nature perfectly passionate, he is very apt both to be sensible of and to excite great passions; for he knows all the violence, delicacy, and Mystery of Love's better than Vulgar Lovers. But to pass from agreeable to Heroical Qualities, he is Honourable, sincere, generous, and as good a friend as is possible to be; and whoso has obliged him to promise his friendship, may be assured he will never fail in it. Moreover, his heart is filled with the most true and solid glory in the World. So that in occasions where it is to be obtained, or that which he has already gotten is to be upheld, this man whom I have represented to you so gentle, so facile, and so complacent, is the most fierce and resolute in the World. As for his courage, he has as much as any man; so that this being joined to his wit and other accomplishments, makes it apparent that there is no employment how great soever of which he is not capable and worthy; and he gives cause to believe that if there be any man in the world who would not alter his deportment towards his Friends in an extraordinary advancement of fortune, it is certainly himself. His conversation is not only agreeable, but charming; for he enters into the sentiments of those to whom he speaks without any affectation, and conforms thereto with address; by which means he insensibly insinuates into the hearts of people; and such a person as sometimes believed he was only an acquaintance, has sound soon after that he had a great interest in his affection. He is courteous even in the least concernments, and his gentleness, pity, and gratitude extend even to the smallest Animals. For he loves to observe their natures, goodness, and agreeableness, and industry; he admires that rational instinct which guides them so accurately, he is delighted with their kindness, he has compassion of those that are miserable; because whatever suffers, excites his pity. He is alike fit for the conversation of Ladies and men, and he writes so admirably well, and in so elegant and gallant a strain, and so much becoming a man of Quality, that his Letters cause such as see them to wish they could write the like. In fine, his merit is so great that the charming Clarista niece of the admirable Amalthea (whose name you cannot but know) minding to use raillery with him and to disparage his conversation, could only reproach him that he sometimes loved to recount things passed rather than to speak of things present. Thus I have given you such an account as I could of this illustrious Friend of Amalthea; whom I could have loved, if he had loved me. However, having affairs in Sicily, and a brother who after several adventures is come to live at Praeneste, I took a journey to see him, and I am resolyed to demand, Whether I shall never be loved but by people whom I cannot love. Aretaphile spoke this so gracefully, that if at the same moment one had not called her to go know what she desired to understand, Amilcar could scarce have contained from speaking some kind of blandishments to her, though he had resolved to love Plotina eternally. But Aretaphile left him and went to inquire her Destiny of him who performed the Ceremony and expounded the Lots, who said to her,  Thank the Gods, Daughter; for if you were loved by one whom you could love, you would be the most miserable person in the World; because you would always love more than you would be loved again. Therefore prepare yourself to love nothing but liberty if you desire to be happy. 
Anacreon was called next, and asked Fortune whether he should live always in joy. The Soothsayer having considered the several Tablets, answered him. And accordingly the event verified the prediction of the Lots, for Anacreon died afterward at a Feast, where he was choked by the grain of a Grape. After Anacreon, Scaurus was caused to enter with his Machine, who with an air serious and mocking together, asked if there were any means for him to become such a person as his Picture, and to resemble his Picture once again. Being the Priests were obliged to answer to all Questions, the Lots were drawn, and the old Soothsayer interpreting them, answered him in these terms:  You know not what you ask when you desire to become again what you have been. Which if you were, you would be young and handsome, you would dance well, you would be an excellent Painter, you would be active and agreeable, but withal, you would be nothing but a Gallant wanton, who had only made Sonnets upon Iris or Clymene, and your Reputation would be circumscribed in the number of your Friends. But by the change happened in your person, your mind being excited to make amends for the loss of your beauty, is become such as you now enjoy, and has now so exalted you above the common sort of men, that you are the Phoenix of your Species. Your Works please the whole World by their ingenious mirth and elegancy. Desire therefore only to be such as you are, and be contented that the Gods in giving you Lyriana have given you a thousand times more than they have taken from you, even though you had been more amiable than Paris. 
After this Scaurus retired, saying, the Lots of Praeneste taught him nothing, and he knew before all that they told him. Then the fair Lyriana was called, who would propound no Question though her name was written. For having well considered (said she to the Priest) If it be decreed for me to be happy, I shall be so infallibly; and if any infelicity is to befall me, I will not know it before it happen. What you say is so well reasoned (answered the sage Soothsayer) that I doubt not but you will always be as happy as you deserve to be. Next came Amilcar's turn, who demanded, whether he should die in afric or in Italy; and the Soothsayer answered him,  In Italy. 
Whereupon he was very joyful, imagining that the voyage which he designed to make into afric would not be long. After this, Acrisius asked whether he should ever possess Plotina: and the Soothsayer having considered the Tablets, told him,  Such as speak too much, never persuade. 
Then Damon the constant Pythagorean proposed two questions. One, whether his Mistress would always slight him; and the other, what he should become first of all when he died. But after the Child had drawn the Tablets, the Soothsayer expounded them in this sort.  Your Mistress will always do you justice; you shall die but once, and you shall be as all other men are when they depart this life; for the Disciples of Pythagoras have no particular privilege. 
Damon seemed so offended with this answer, that he said aloud as he went forth of the Temple, Amilcar had bribed the Soothsayer, and the Lots of Praeneste were nothing but a cheat. Amilcar laughed at his choler, and made pleasant raillery upon the discontent which Damon resented, for that it was told him he should die but once. Yet he went to supper with Damon, who invited him, for he was so scrupulous an observer of all the Documents of Pythagoras, that he would not go to bed with a sentiment of hatred in his heart towards his Rival; at least he professed so. Herminius, Anacreon, Theanor, and Aemilius were present at this entertainment. Amilcar was very jovial this evening; yet now and then he seemed a little pensive. An hour after the repast, he began to be indisposed, but in so violent a manner that he died the next day, but with admirable constancy, sending commendations to all his Friends, and particularly to Plotina. He encharged Herminius with many generous expressions to all those he had loved, and a thousand dear commendations unto his Mistress. And thus died the agreeable Amilcar, regretted by all who had known him. Herminius, and a Lady that was his Friend, and another Person of Quality undertook to gather together all the ingenious Composures which he had written; and some time after he erected a monument for him, whereon was engraved an Epitaph made upon this Illustrious Deceased, by a Lady who was Friend to Amilcar and Herminius.  

EPITAPH.  
THis Tomb the famed Amilcar doth enshrine,  
Who to a sprightly Genius Art did join;  
Whose lofty Soul to ' unfathomed heights could fly,  
Yet fall as low as complacence can lie.  
But what's most strange, he that rare talon got  
To please, he pleased even those who loved him not.   
All such as had only seen him at the Temple of Fortune, regretted him with a sensible sorrow. Anacreon lamented him (though he did not think himself capable of grief) and professed he never knew a more agreeable Wit in any place of the World. Acrisius too (as much his Rival as he was) seemed moved with his loss. But as for Damom, he was so unhappy as to be suspected of having caused him to be poisoned. But however, Amilcar died and confirmed the credit of the Lots of Praeneste, which told him he should not die in afric, and which he construed to his own advantage. Yet it was but a bare suspicion: for the Friends of Amilcar did not judge fit rashly to search into such a business as this, which should it have been true, would have nothing profited the illustrious Deceased. But whilst things passed thus at Praeneste, and Amilcar and Lucilius were expecting to see whether he that desired to consult his fortune in private were Mutius or no, Aronces was very unhappy in his prison, and in a desperate condition; Sextus was much discontented for having failed of his design to carry Clelia away, and studied only to find ways for a second attempt; Tullia was contriving to destroy Aronces and Clelia, Tarquin only to find means to recover his Throne, Galerita and the Princess of the Leontines how to serve Aronces and Clelia, Artemidorus thought only of his happiness and to protect Aronces, Zenocrates of nothing but his jealousy, Themistus of returning assoon as Aronces should be out of danger, Publicola of assuring the Peace, and Horatius of his love. In the mean time the prudent Roman who went to conduct the twenty fair Roman Ladies to Porsenna, being on the way to the Camp, saw himself attaqu'd by Sextus, who with a hundred Horse attempted a second time to carry away Clelia. The convoy of these fair Virgins consisted of fifty men, so that the number was very unequal. Besides, he who commanded them being an old man could not encourage his Party by his own example with the same ardour as Sextus did, whose courage too was augmented by his love. Yet this Prince was disguised, For the enterprise was made with Tullia's consent, who in giving satisfaction to Sextus intended to persuade Porsenna that the Friends of Aronces had conveyed away this fair Lady for fear she should bear witness against Aronces; and consequently by this artifice to hasten the ruin of this great Prince. And indeed Sextus had the success he desired at first; for whilst those fifty Romans were fight against his men, he caused him to be slain who drove the Chariot in which Clelia, Valeria, Hermilia, and Plotina were, and then ordering a man designed for that purpose to take his place, he made the Chariot be driven into the way leading to Tarquinia, himself with twenty others guarding it, whilst the rest of his followers detained the Romans in fight to amuse them. And this design succeeded accordingly; for the Romans seeing the whole body of Chariots stopped, did not miss that in which Clelia was. Sextus now believing nothing could obstruct his happiness, Clelia, Valeria, Plotina, and Hermilia were forced to cry out; but their cries were not heard. But though Sextus was sufficiently disguised, yet Clelia did not doubt but that it was he who carried her away. Wherefore courageously resolving upon death, she only devised how to effect it, so to prevent all the unhappinesses which she had cause to fear. On the other side the fight was sufficiently sharp in the place where the rest of the Roman Ladies were, who were so terrified that they did not perceive Clelia was carried away. In the mean time the wise Roman who conducted the Hostages having sent to Rome to desire succour, it happened that he who was sent thither met Horatius standing at the Gate with Octavius. Who being advertised of the business sent to give notice of it to the Consuls; but themselves not waiting for the succour which they presumed would be sent, immediately took Horse and sped to the place where the fight was. But as they were going thither, they beheld upon a little hill the Chariot in which Clelia was guarded by Sextus, who was by this time a good distance off. Wherefore imagining that this might be the Chariot that carried the Persons they loved, they went first to the Chariots which were stopped, where not finding what they sought, they hastened to the place of the fight; but in stead of staying there, I beseech you (said Horatius to four or five Romans who were nearest him) come help us to deliver the Daughters of Clelius, she of Publicola, and the sister of Brutus out of the hands of their Ravishers. At these words these Romans without delay followed Horatius and Octavius, and left their Companions sufficiently employed in sustaining the charge of the Tarquinians. But though Horatius, Octavius, with these five Romans rid with full speed, they could not have overtaken Sextus if it had not by good hap fell out that in the haste this violent Prince made his Party to march, they mistook one way for another. So that being engaged in a place where great Trees had been by chance beat down, which obstructed the passage, he was necessitated to return back again and come towards them who pursued him. Nevertheless, when he saw they were few in number, he was not much dejected, but leaving four of his men to guard the Chariot, he came up to them which pursued him with a resolution which his confidence in the inequality of number made something Heroical. Clelia and her companions looked out with great grief and small hope upon those who came to succour them. But their sentiments were very confused, when they knew Horatius and Octavius; for in what danger soever Clelia was, death would have been sweeter to her than to have an obligation to Horatius; and on the other side, seeing her Brother in so eminent a jeopardy, she could not but resent great inquietude. Hermilia (as indifferent as she was to all things) was troubled at it; and Valeria and Plotina without much deliberating, made Vows for their Protectors. Horatius beholding Sextus disguised, did not doubt but it was he who was the Ringleader of the enterprise. Wherefore approaching him with his sword drawn, Who are you? (cried he) I am come to punish you for your villainy. And with these words he made such a pass upon him, that if he had not avoided it by retiring back, he had been slain by the first blow. But immediately this valiant Roman saw himself engaged in the midst of half Sextus' party, whilst Octavius encountered the rest with incredible Valour. It was not long before two of those who followed Horatius and Octavius were slain, so that there were but five left against a number three times as great. 'Tis true, Horatius killed two, and Octavius wounded three of them; but one of Sextus followers who aimed only to make his Master victor by what way soever it were, endeavoured chiefly to kill or at least to wound the horses of Horatius and Octavius. So that in a little time these two courageous persons not doubting such a baseness, and minding only the assailing of their enemies and their own defence, perceived that their horses failed them, and saw themselves dismounted and consequently in great danger, especially Horatius, whose sword was broken by the fall of his horse. However, in this condition he did prodigious things; and Octavius having disentangled himself disputed both his life and his liberty. But fifteen or sixteen horsemen against two on foot being a number too unequal (for the three others who remained fled, when they saw them fall) they were at length overpowered. Yet they were wounded but very slightly; but the sword of Horatius being broken off at the hilt, he was taken prisoner by Sextus. So that Octavius being now all alone, was no longer able to resist the force of the enemies, but was disarmed and taken as well as Horatius. Sextus being overjoyed with his victory took his Vizard off his face, and showed himself to them he had overcome, as it were insulting the more over their misfortune. Ah, Villain! (cried Horatius when he knew him) is it possible that I am overcome by thee! However, do not hope to enjoy thy Victory (added he) the Gods are too just; and these stones shall sooner be changed into Soldiers than heaven will permit thee to be master of the destiny of Horatius and so many virtuous persons. Sextus smiled at this speech of Horatius without answering to it, and inhumanely caused this generous Hero to be tied behind one of his men; treating Octavius a little better because he was Clelia's brother: after which he began to proceed on his way.  
The grief of Clelia and her companions was now so vehement, that they were not able to complain; but Sextus had scarce time to think that he was going to have the joy to put Horatius into the power of Tarquin and Tullia, that he had Clelia in his hands, and that this carrying her away would hasten the death of Aronces, but he beheld this Prince at the entrance of a little Wood through which he was to pass, and beheld him in the head of ten men of quality, amongst which was Telanus, Plotina's Lover. This sight so surprised him, that he caused his men to make a halt. On the other side when Horatius (who was extremely dejected for having been overcome in the sight of Clelia) saw Aronces, he was strangely abashed to be seen in this condition, by a Rival whom he was so jealous of. Nevertheless a sentiment of love caused him to wish that he might deliver Clelia; but the same love at the same time caused him to desire death, as imagining nothing could be more advantageous to him. Clelia (who believed Aronces in prison) was much surprised to see him; and fearing he might have the same destiny with Horatius, she had such confused sentiments that she could not tell what to hope or wish. As for Aronces, he was not astonished to meet Sextus or see Clelia; for he had broke prison only to deliver her, upon notice given him by one of his Guards that Sextus designed to carry her away when the Senate sent her back to the Camp. But he was strangely surprised to see Horatius' prisoner to Sextus. After this great and generous Hero had beheld Clelia at a good distance, as if to receive addition to his valour by a favourable glance, he went up to those who guarded Horatius as he was bound; (for Sextus retired from the first rank to give orders to his men) and fiercely accosting them, Ha, caitiffs! (said he to them) do you thus treat the bravest man in the world? In speaking which, he killed one of them, and wounded two; and then causing his Rival to be unbound, commanded his Squire to give him a sword and a horse, which was led in hand; and speaking to him, Come, Horatius (said he) come help me to deliver Clelia; for since I see Porsenna has resolved upon my death, I know none but yourself in the world (when I am dead) worthy to serve her, and capable to defend her. Ha! Aronces (cried Horatius) 'tis worse to be delivered by you than to be overcome by Sextus. After which Aronces espying Octavius, set him also at liberty in spite of the resistance of Sextus, who being returned from his astonishment, and having given orders to his men, fought like a desperate Tiger. But Aronces being animated by the love he had for Clelia, the hatred he had for Sextus, the esteem he had for Horatius, and the desire to surpass him, performed such prodigious things in this occasion, that. Horatius and Octavius were astonished, though they were two of the most courageous men in the world. Yet they seconded him as vigorously as they could; but being they were both wounded sufficiently with the former fall of their horses, they were not able to show all their courage: for Horatius' right arm was half out of joint, and Octavius was so wounded in the knee that he could scarce keep himself steadfast upon his horse. So that Aronces almost alone sustained the brunt of this sharp fight. Telanus also highly signalised himself. But this Combat became yet more dangerous to Aronces; for they who had stayed behind fight with the Romans to amuse them, believing Sextus was got at a good distance, retreated and followed him; and when they beheld Sextus engaged with Aronces, they joined with him. But for that the Romans had slain some, and some had given over the encounter, this re-enforcement (though very considerable) rather augmented Aronces courage, who judging that to defeat his enemies at a blow it was requisite to kill Sextus, he opened his way to him by killing such of his men as would have withstood him; and then there began a furious Combat between these two Rivals. Aronces at first wounded Sextus, who discharging a great blow at him, might perhaps have slain or dangerously wounded him, if he had not warded it off with addresses, and if without losing time he had not discharged another at him upon the head, which was so weighty that it amazed him. In the mean time all Sextus' men taking care only to defend him, Aronces was continually assail d by many together; but he so well quitted himself of so many enemies, and killed so many, that being seconded by Horatius, Octavius, Telanus, and all the rest who had followed him, Sextus perceived he had not many more men than Aronces; wherefore feeling himself wounded, despairing to overcome, and much fearing to fall into the power of Porsenna or the Romans after this action of his, he resolved upon flight, knowing that he had a very swift horse. And accordingly beginning to give ground as he fought, on a sudden he turned about and fled with all his men after him into the Wood and by ways which were known to himself but not to Aronces. Who having lost sight of him was recalled by love from the pursuit to Clelia notwithstanding the ardent desire he had to kill Sextus. But for that Horatius knew this wood better than Aronces, he took a way into it, being followed by Octavius and Telanus, and hoping to intercept Sextus by a short turn; during which Aronces going directly to Clelia's Chariot, was received with a thousand testimonies of kindness by her and her companions, who gave him a thousand praises. That which I have done, Madam (said he to Clelia) is so small a matter, that it is not fit to lose the moments which are precious to us in commending me more than I deserve. Therefore it is requisite that I conduct you to Rome, and after that go and satisfy the King my Father that I have not broke my prison as a parricide who would avoid the punishment he deserves, but as an unfortunate and faithful Lover, who would defend the person he adores. How? my Lord (answered Clelia) are you come forth of prison only to succour me? and may I believe you are constant to me? I beseech you (added she) tell me what course you took to do it. I was advertised by a trusty soldier of my guards (replied he) that Sextus designed to carry you away. Whereupon I bribed some, broke through the rest, and having found Telanus and a Squire, they in a moment got together these which followed me, and I came happily enough to do you perhaps the last service of my life; for as I told you, Madam, it behoves me to return to prison, assoon as I have conducted you to Rome. Ah! my Lord (answered Clelia) this generosity is extreme cruel; but to imitate you in some sort, do not carry me back to Rome, but lead me to the Camp, to the end I may serve to justify you. No, no Madam (said he to her) it does not belong to me to return the Hostages to the King, to whom perhaps they would no longer be inviolable. Therefore 'tis absolutely necessary that I conduct you to Rome, from whence the Consuls will remit you hither if they please: but if you will take my counsel, Madam, do not return hither though it should be resolved to remand you; and all the favour I desire of you, if I die, is, that you would believe that I have never loved any but yourself, that I have loved you more than any other person in the world can love, and that I shall regret you alone at my death.  
As Aronces was speaking this, Horatius, Octavius and Telanus came to them, without having found Sextus. After which taking the way towards Rome, they met those the Consuls sent to the succour of the Hostages coming to seek Clelia and her companions. Aronces understood by them that the rest of the fair Romans were carried back into the City till it were known what this adventure was, and who had committed this violent and unjust attempt. However he would conduct Clelia till within two hundred paces of Rome. Upon the way there was a discourse between Horatius and him which was not heard by any other person, and wherein it appeared both of them constrained themselves and that Horatius was much dejected for owing his life so often to his Rival: but at length Aronces being obliged to depart, he took leave of Clelia and her companions, after a manner which moved the hearts of all that beheld it; for there appeared an heroical resolution in his countenance, though his eyes withal discovered an extreme sadness, which manifestly proceeded from love. As for Clelia, never was seen so sad a person as she in this occasion; but her melancholy was accompanied with so much discretion, that it caused the greater compassion. Plotina desired Telanus to dissuade Aronces from returning into prison; but he answered her, that the Prince was too great a Lover of glory, to leave himself under the suspicion of being culpable. Aronces and Horatius parted with civility, Remember (said the Prince of Hetruria to him) what you have promised me, I will not fail (answered Horatius) but do you remember also that in some occasions one may be excusable in being ingrateful. Aronces embraced Octavius with much dearness, and having once again bid Clelia adieu with the most passionate air in the World, he took the way to the Camp, where all things were in strange confusion. For Porsenna understanding Aronces had broke prison, became absolutely confirmed in his opinion that he was culpable, and had conspired against his life. Wherefore out of this prejudice, he said there needed no other proofs, and commanded some to pursue and bring him back, that he might cause him to be punished as a parricide, there being no necessity of more evidence. Moreover, that wise Roman who was encharged with the conduct of the Hostages, having sent to advertise him that he could not bring them to the Camp that day, because Clelia was carried away, he believed Aronces was he that had done it; so that assembling all his conjectures together, he framed an immutable purpose in his mind to destroy both Aronces and Clelia if he could get them into his power. Neither Galerita nor the Princess of the Leontines, nor any of Aronces friends could make any thing appear probable to him contrary to these two surmises; for they knew nothing of the truth. So there was an universal consternation in the minds of all; for the flight of Aronces caused a very bad effect amongst the Soldiers who were most affectionate to him.  
On the other side Tarquin and Tullia were in their quarter impatiently expecting what would happen from the correspondence they had in Rome, the carrying away of Clelia, Porsenna's accusation of Aronces, and the design of bribing him who expounded the Lots of Praeneste; and in whatever cases, their forces had order to be ready to march, if it were requisite.  
But if there were a tumult in the Camp, there was a greater at Rome; for some said, the Hostages ought not to be returned more, because it was probable Porsenna knew of Sextus attempt, and that certainly he would have had Clelia in his power without appearing to have broken the public faith. Publicola nevertheless persisted still firm in his opinion, and so much the more, because Horatius and Octavius could not go abroad this day by reason of their wounds; for perhaps love would have obliged them to oppose it. On the other side, Clelia, with the consent of her companions demanded that they might return to Porsenna, to the end to accuse Sextus and justify Aronces as much as she could; for her jealousy was now much diminished. At the same time also the intelligence which Tarquin and Tullia had in Rome was discovered, and one was seized on who had promised to deliver the gate Naevia to the Tarquinians. So that all this together caused so great a disorder in the City, that the Senate was assembled extraordinarily, to advise what was fitting to be done. The result of their debate was, to send back the Hostages with a strong guard, to acquaint Porsenna with Sextus enterprise to carry away Clelia, and that of Tarquin upon Rome after a treaty of peace.  
But whilst all was in confusion both at Rome and the Camp, and the infamous and criminal Sextus was retired to Tarquinia wounded and desperate for having failed of his attempt, the generous Aronces overwhelmed with discontents was going to re-enter into his prison. Upon the way he met some of those who made show of going to seek him and take him, but they sought him only to advertise him of Porsenna's fury: but whatever they could say to him, he would not alter his purpose; he also desired Telanus to leave him, for fear he might incur Porsenna's displeasure; but Telanus would not. When he came to the Camp, he went directly to his Prison, and finding no guards there he sent Telanus to the King his Father to desire them again, and to conjure him to permit him to see him; to the end to give an account of his action. But Porsenna was so incensed, that instead of hearing Telanus, he caused him to be arrested and carried to the same prison where Aronces was, whither also he speedily dispatched guards; for in his fury, he believed the Prince his Son returned only because he saw he could not escape apprehending; or that perhaps he had obliged some of those whom he sent after him, to say he returned of his own accord. So that he was fully resolved to punish Aronces.  
The next day Galerita followed by the Princess of the Leontines, the charming Hersilia, and the generous Melintha entered into his Tent to intercede with him for Aronces. But before the Queen of Hetruria could speak any thing to him, word was brought to the King that the Romans had sent the Hostages back. Whereupon being surprised to see that after what had happened, these twenty fair Virgins were remanded to him, he seemed sufficiently perplexed, though he wished to have Clelia in his power, to the end to make use of her to convince Aronces.  
The Senate (said he roughly) relies much upon the Public Faith, in sending back to me a person who has at least been privy to a conspiracy made against my life. Ah! my Lord (cried Galerita) the prince most assuredly is not culpable. You shall see that, Madam (said he to her) you shall see that. In the mean time (added he with a grim air) let the Hostages be brought hither. This Order being given, the Roman who conducted them, and who was named Celius, entered in the head of these twenty fair Romans. But because entrance was not prohibited, the Prince Artemidorus, Themistus, Theomenes, Zenocrates, divers Officers, and many others entered at the same time. The sight of these fair Virgins whom he would not see when they were in his Camp, surprised Porsenna. They entered with a good grace, they faluted him with a civility perfectly noble, and carrying a modest confidence in their countenances, they forced him to behold them less fiercely than he would. Yet he strove against this first sentiment which he could not restrain, and recalling his fury, Which of you (said he to them, without hearing Celius who was beginning to speak) was so rash as to contrive that unjust design of violating the Law of Nations, by departing out of my power without my permission, and rather to endanger perishing in the Tiber than stay in the Camp? That generous design (answered Valeria readily, being unwilling all Porsenna's choler should fall upon Clelia) is so glorious, that all my Companions and myself will have part in it. No, no, too generous Friend (said Clelia beholding Valeria) it is not fit that you should unjustly expose yourself to the indignation of a great King. Therefore, my Lord (added she, addressing to Porsenna) understand the truth from my mouth, and know, that that glorious design belongs to me alone, and I used all means I could to persuade my Companions to it, who knowing the just ground. I had to undertake it, were so generous as to hazard their own lives for the preservation of my honour. You ought rather to say (replied Porsenna) that the fear of being compelled by force to accuse a Criminal whom you love, obliged you to fly. Ah! my Lord (answered Clelia, without being daunted or transported) did I believe the Prince your son capable of so horrid a Crime as that you accuse him of, I should hate rather than love him; for my parents have taught me to hate vice, even upon the Throne. But, my Lord, I went out of your Camp for no other cause but for that I was advertised Sextus designed to carry me away. So that believing nothing aught to be so dear to me as the preservation of my honour, I slighted death which seemed so assured, and attempted to pass the Tiber. But to confirm that which I speak, you need only admit the trouble to hear what Celius has order to say to you from the Senate. Clelia spoke this with so noble an air, that Porsenna was astonished at her great Beauty, Wit and Confidence. Wherefore fearing his heart might become inclinable to pity, if she spoke more, he commanded Celius to discharge his Commission. My Lord (said this wise Roman) I have order from the Senate to render the Hostages to your Majesty, and to tell you that whilst Rome keeps her word so exactly, those whom you protect against her, outrage you with all the injustice imaginable. For Sextus yesterday attempted to have carried away Clelia, and with a hundred Horse attaqued those that guarded her under my command. At first he appeared disguised, but afterwards he made himself known. Horatius came to succour this virtuous Lady and three of her Companions whom he had got into his power; but the valour of Horatius and Octavius Clelia's Brother was forced to give way to number, so that they were taken prisoners; and if the valiant and generous Aronces had not arrived to their relief, Clelia, Horatius and Octavius would have continued under the power of that unjust Prince. But to let you see that he is not the sole person of the Tarquins who outrages you, there is discovered a Conspiracy of Tarquin and Tullia in Rome, the principal Plotters of which we have in custody, whom the Senate is willing to refer to your justice. All which you say (answered Porsenna) surprises and confounds me; but should all which you say, be true, it would not justice Aronces; and if Clelia would declare the truth she might accuse and convict him. If he were culpable (answered Clelia) and his crime were come to my knowledge, I would not accuse him, though I saw certain death before me. But, my Lord, my hatred would accuse him, and I should so abhor him, that all I could do would be to forbear hurting him. However, my Lord, suffer me to tell you for your own honour, that the Prince cannot be culpable, and you cannot without injustice treat him as a criminal. I know well (added she) that you hate him because he does me the honour to love me; but, my Lord, this hatred is unjust (if I may presume to speak so.) I knew not that he was the Son of a King when he began to love me, nor did he know it himself; and since we have known it, I never led him to disobey you. No doubt he has not been able to cease to love me, nor I to take away an affection from him which I gave him by the command of my Father. But, my Lord, fear nothing from this innocent passion, and be assured it can never induce to Criminal actions. I am not indeed Daughter of a King; but, my Lord, I am a Roman, and daughter of a Roman who prefers virtue above all things. Beware therefore, I conjure you, to blemish your glory by an injustice. I do not ask of you to reign in Hetruria (continued she) I only desire you would please to give the Prince time to justify himself. I have been accustomed to misfortunes, I shall know how to live as I have done; and if the Gods shall so please, I shall know how to die too with sufficient courage. Porsenna beheld Clelia attentively whilst she was speaking, and being unable to hinder himself from admiring her, Would to the Gods (cried this offended Prince) you could have as well persuaded me of the innocence of Aronces as of your own. For I confess (added he) I find something of such grandeur in what I have now heard, and in what you have done, that to imitate the generosity of the Romans, I will send you back again to Rome, and oblige you to ask some reward of me for the daring action you have done; for, excepting the life and liberty of Aronces, I promise you whatever you shall demand of me. Since 'tis so, my Lord (answered she) I desire only the favour of you, that you will take time to examine well the virtue of the Prince, and the wickedness of Tullia, and that you will send back all the Hostages as well as myself. I grant you that which you demand of me (replied Porsenna) and if my Son were worthy of you, nothing could hinder you from being one day Queen of Hetruria; so charmed I am with your courage and virtue. After this, Porsenna spoke many things to Celius, that he might understand more clearly the enterprise of Tarquin and Tullia against Rome. Which done, he caused the goodliest Horse he had to be given to Clelia, to testify that he judged she had the courage of a Hero; for it was a custom of the Kings of Hetruria to make the like present to such as had signalised themselves by some heroical action.  
But after these fair Romans were departed, Lucilius, Herminius, Theanor, Aemilius the old Soothsayer who expounded the Lots at Praeneste, and Celer (who had been prisoner so long at Tarquinia) arrived. Assoon as they came into the Tent, Mutius approached, and addressing to the King of Hetruria and showing him the hand which he had so courageously suffered to burn in his presence, Is it possible my Lord (said he to him) that a man whom you saw so stout as to endure the fire unmoved in your presence, should be the complice of a Parricide? No, no, my Lord (added he) true Romans are not capable of committing such crimes as that. I would have destroyed you for the good of my Country, but I should never have done it to promote your Son to the Throne. Be pleased therefore to command those who pretend I treated with them by Aronces order, to be brought into my sight, to the end I may cover them with confusion; and if it be needful I will put my hand a second time into the fire without fearing to be burnt, to attest this truth. Moreover, let not my departure from Rome be interpreted flight, my particular unhappinesses caused me to go to Praeneste, there to consult the Gods secretly; and though they have not been favourable to me, and I had resolved to go hide my discontent in some remote place from Rome; yet I no sooner heard by Herminius that the Prince your Son was accused and myself too, but I came hither for his justification and my own; and if you please to hear Celer who has escaped out of the prison of Tarquinia where Tullia kept him, he will inform you of sundry things more which justify Aronces. And what can you inform me of? said (Porsenna hastily to Celer.) My Lord, I shall inform you (answered he) that they which depose against the Prince were prisoners with me, and to obtain their liberty, promised Tullia to bear that false witness. They told me so themselves when they endeavoured to persuade me on the behalf of Tullia, to help to destroy Aronces; and I was sometimes threatened with death, and sometimes promised my liberty, to bring me to what they desired; and if they were present, I assure myself they would not dare to contradict me. But, my Lord, if this sage Soothsayer whose honesty you know, speak to you, he will tell you things more important. 'Tis true, my Lord (said the Soothsayer who had dwelled long at Clusium) that Tullia sent a man to me at Praeneste on the day of the great Festival of Fortune, to offer me considerable rewards if I would betray the Gods, and render a false answer to Lucilius, who came to consult them on your behalf. But being I am uncapable of committing an impiety, I delivered it sealed up to Lucilius, as it was found in the Lots of the most redoubtable of all the Deities. And to make good what I allege against Tullia, I have caused him to be arrested who would have suborned my fidelity. Lucilius, Herminius, Aemilius, Theanor, and Mutius, having confirmed that which this sage Soothsayer said, Porsenna took the seal'd-up answer which Lucilius brought him, and having opened it with a countenance which manifested the agitation of his mind, he found these words.  Thy son is innocent; thou canst not destroy him without thy own destruction; his love is wellpleasing to the Gods; and if thou hinderest him from being happy, thou shalt always be unfortunate. 
Porsenna was much moved at this answer, but would not express it yet; and commanded some persons to go forthwith to the Quarters of Tullia to require those men of her who were to maintain before Mutius that Aronces was a partaker in his design to kill him. But he had scarce given this Order, when word was brought him that Tarquin and Tullia were discamped, and had set men at work to break the bridge, which served for the communication of the Quarters, to the end they might not be followed so speedily; because though Porsenna had another, yet it was very remote from the road to Tarquinia. And to complete the discovery of all these wickednesses, two men were brought to him whom Tullia had commanded to be first stabbed, and then cast into the Tiber. But being she had been but ill-obeyed in the tumult caused by sudden discamping, and they to whom the order was given pitied them, they were permitted to fly whither they could. But not knowing whither to fly either towards Rome or the Camp, the remorse of their Crimes brought them to seek their safety in the clemency of Porsenna. And so causing themselves to be presented to him, they cast themselves at his feet, laid open the accursed contrivance of Tullia, and implored his pity to pardon two unhappy persons, who to avoid perpetual imprisonment had promised to commit a crime.  
Aronces being now fully justified, Porsenna was so confounded for his own injustice, that he commanded some to go and fetch the Prince immediately. Who accordingly coming, followed by Telanus and a great number of Officers, Porsenna went to him assoon as he saw him, and embracing him with tenderness, The Gods and men have justified you (said he to him) and 'tis I at present who am the Criminal. But, my Son, I will shortly make you satisfaction, and I have so ill used my Authority that I will resign it into your hands. In the mean time, go forthwith in the head of the Cavalry and endeavour to overtake the Forces of Tarquin and Tullia; for in stead of their Protector I am become their mortal Enemy, and at your return you shall know my intentions. Aronces answered Porsenna with as much respect as if he had not been injured by him; and obeying him at the same hour, he went forth with Artemidorus, Themistus, Mutius, Herminius, Theanor, and all the rest to summon the Troops together, and left Porsenna with Galerita, the Princess of the Leontines, Hersilia, Melintha, and the sage Soothsayer who confirmed him in his good sentiments. But now all the Camp beholding Aronces at liberty and in the head of the Troops, testified an inconceivable joy. The Prince wishing ardently to overtake Tarquin's Forces, made such diligence that though the distance were great, he came upon them in disorder, they having not gone very fast, because they were retarded by their baggage. Whereupon Aronces charging vigorously upon them, cut them in pieces, and put them into such disorder, that Tarquin and Tullia (fearing to fall into the power of Porsenna, and that he should deliver them up to the Romans) forsook their Forces, left Titus to command them, and fled away by unfrequented ways, and went to seek Sanctuary with the Tyrant of Cumae, where they were ill enough received, and in process of time died very miserable, as well as the infamous Sextus. But the Prince Titus soon saw the rest of his Troops cut in pieces, and he was known by Aronces who could have slain him, if he would; but this generous Prince considering him as a Friend and a virtuous Prince, favoured his retreat, which he made only with five others. And so seeing there were no more enemies to overcome, nor any hope of taking Tarquin or Tullia, Aronces returned to the Camp; but upon the way he met Octavius in the head of two hundred Roman horse, who understanding that Tarquin was pursued, was going to help Aronces to overcome him. Assoon as Aronces beheld him, he went civilly to him; and having in two words told him what had passed, he separated himself at some distance from all the rest, and addressing to him, conjured him to be still favourable to him, and to sweeten the mind of Clelius as much as he could. Whereby falling to speak of Clelia, as they were crossing a Wood they unawares left the great way in which the Troops marched, and took a by-path which led them away from them. And out of respect there was none followed them but one of the Squires of Aronces. They had scarce gone a quarter of an hour, but Aronces thought he heard the voice of Horatius, and a noise of the clashing of swords. Whereupon hastening through the trees towards the place whence the voice came, he saw ten or twelve men dead whom his redoubtable Rival had slain, and saw him encompassed by ten or twelve more who endeavoured either to take or kill him. He had no more but the Truncheon of a sword in his hand, his Shield was broken, and he would have infallibly been taken if Aronces had not arrived. For as Horatius had seized one of the men's swords to wrest it from him, another was going to thrust his through his body, when Aronces beholding him in this condition, resolved to rescue him. What? (cried he as he advanced with his sword drawn towards those who attaqued Horatius) are there still any Tarquinians, who dare attaque a Roman, after Tarquin is defeated and overcome, and fled? And so the Prince, Octavius and his Squire made such a fierce charge upon those that were ready to destroy Horatius, that they changed their design of killing him into that of defending themselves. But Horatius knowing the voice of Aronces, seemed more afflicted to see that he was once more his deliverer, than he had been daunted at the danger he was lately in. Nor was it long before he beheld Aronces kill one of his enemies, wound two, and sustain the effort of the rest. Whereupon taking new heart, he leapt to the ground to take a sword of one of the slain, and remounting his horse, set himself to defend Aronces; but there was no need; for having slain one, and Octavius wounded some others, the rest betook themselves to flight. After which Aronces civilly accosted his Rival whilst his Squire was redressing something about the bridle of his horse. You know (said he to him, preventing him from speaking) when I saw you last, I obliged you in the secret conversation we had together, to promise me that if I died you would never force Clelia to marry you, that you would make use of nothing but entreaties, and if you could not move her, not to cease to protect her all your life against such as would constrain her. You promised this in consideration of the small service. I had then done you; and I promised you again that I would never marry Clelia, till I had offered you to win her by a Combat with you. I acquit myself of my word (added Aronces) for though I am not certain whether I am likely to be happy, yet there have lately fallen out so many changes in my fortune, that I have some ground to hope it; wherefore before we go to the Camp, I will hide myself in the Wood we are to pass through, and satisfy you if you desire it. But, my Lord (answered Horatius) what would you say of me, if owing my life and liberty more than once to you, I should draw my sword against you the same moment that you have employed yours in my defence? I would say (replied Aronces) that a Rival is not so obliged to gratitude as other persons are. Ha! my Lord (cried Horatius hastily) I should not be satisfied of that, and therefore 'tis best that I yield a felicity to you which you alone can merit, and the Gods themselves have decreed to you; nor was I going but to seek my death in helping you to overcome Tarquin when I met those that assaulted me. But to complete your happiness (added he) know, that as I beheld Clelia enter into Rome, she spoke so rigorously to me, that I am convinced nothing but death can comfort me. That which you say, is so worthy of your courage (answered Aronces) that if you will be my friend, I shall with joy be yours as long as I live. Alas! my Lord (replied Horatius) I know not my own Will, but for fear my virtue abandon me, permit me to leave you and return to Rome. And accordingly Horatius departing from Aronces went to relate to the Romans the Victory of his Rival. Clelia in the mean time had been received there in triumph with all her companions. But Horatius (to carry his generosity further) went to Clelius and showed him the answer the Lots of Praeneste had given him; for he had sent one of his Friends thither, who brought it him back, and which was so exact that nothing could be more clear; for it was in these terms. Clelius owes Clelia to Aronces, the Gods decree so, and you cannot pretend to her without displeasing them. Aronces being by this time returned to the Camp, was received with joy by Porsenna, Galerita, the princess of the Leontines, all the Army and the whole Court. And (to accomplish his felicity) the King of Hetruria told him, that to testify to Rome that he desired to hasten the peace, he would discamp the next day, and send Ambassadors to demand Clelia of the Senate. Aronces thanked with a joy surpassing all expression. And accordingly the King of Hetruria made good his word, discamping the day following, and sending to demand Clelia of the Senate for the Prince his Son, to the end she might be the confirmer of the peace. The Senate received this proposition with joy, and required Clelia of Clelius, who after he understood the truth of all things, delivered her to them with the consent of Horatius. Whereupon without further delay, the Princess of the Leontines went to fetch Sulpicia and Clelia to conduct them to Clusium where the ceremony was to be accomplished, and whither Clelius went too accompanied by Octavius, Herminius, Zenocrates, Anacreon and his particular Friends. As for Clelia, she was accompanied by Berelisa and Clidamira who were returned from Praneste, and Valeria: for Plotina was so afflicted for the death of Amilcar, that she fell sick upon it, and could not go thither. Assoon as Porsenna and all this noble and fair company were arrived at Clusium, the Nuptials of Aronces and Clelia were celebrated in the the proud Temple of juno the Queen with incredible magnificence. But to the astonishment of all the spectators, as Aronces and Clelia were upon their knees before that famous Statue of juno, Porsenna placed his Sceptre upon the Altar, as resigning his authority to the Gods from whom he held it; and Galerita put a Crown of Flowers upon Clelia's head, as declaring her Queen. After which the Priest taking the Sceptre presented it to Aronces, who modestly refused it: Nor would he accept the Sovereign Power which Porsenna hereby resigned to him. So that by this great action he made himself completely worthy of all the felicity he enjoyed by the possession of the most virtuous person that ever was. In the midst of this public joy, Amilcar had the honour to be much regretted; Anacreon made Verses upon this happy Marriage; and after eight entire days were spent in feasting and rejoicing, Themistus, Merigenes and their Friend went to seek Lindamira, Artemidorus returned to Leontium to make Berelisa his Princess there, and to cause Lysimira to marry Zenocrates, who recovered the Principality of Herbesa which had belonged to his Ancestors. As for Clidamira, though she was assured to marry Meleontus, yet she was not so well contented as she seemed; Theanor and Aemilius obeyed the Gods, and were happy; the other Lover went to travel to cure himself of his passion. And as for Herminius, at his return to Rome, Publicola gave him Valeria, notwithstanding all the obstacles which opposed his happiness. Hermilia had a great friendship for Octavius, and Octavius for her, but married not: Collatina died with sorrow for the the misfortunes of Titus, and Plotina declared to all her Lovers that she would never marry. It was known that the Prince who persecuted Cloranisbes' was dead: and Horatius as unhappy as he was, nevertheless was so generous as to take care to cause Clelia's Statue to be erected according to the Vote of the Senate in the upper part of the sacred street, near his own, having this sad consolation, to see that the tokens of their glory were at least in the same place. But in acknowledgement of his generosity, Aronces and Clelia sent to offer him their friendship, so that after so many misfortunes these two illustrious persons saw themselves as happy as they had been unfortunate, and saw nothing that could equal their felicity besides their virtue. Clelia had a Statue at Rome; Porsenna also caused one to be made for her before the stately Tomb which he had built, and Anacreon put these Verses upon the pedestal of the Statue.  

Tiber, although a God, amazed stood  
At that great Soul that durst attempt his stood.  
And cried, This sure must some new Venus be,  
Born from my waves as she was from the Sea.  
Thy form and courage Fame alike shall blow,  
Till Rome to stand, and Tiber cease to flow.     
THE END.