Attacked by Sickness, & to pain a prey,  
I keep my humour cheerful Still, & gay,  
With ●●●●r grimace, & Magisterial pride  
Those ●anting Sots the Stoics pain defied,  
Yet fell beneath the burden, ●●● 'twas tried:  
None but myself did ere that pitch attain  
To Sport with misery, & jest in pain  Novel.   

THE Whole Comical WORKS OF Monsr. SCARRON.  
CONTAINING  
1 His Comical Romance of a Company of Stage-Players. In Three Parts, Complete.  
II. All his Novels and Histories.  
III. His Select Letters, Characters, etc.  
A Great Part of which never before in English.  
Translated by Mr. Tho. Brown, Mr. Savage, and Others.  
— Ridiculum ●●●i  
Fortius & Melius Madge 〈…〉 rumque Secat res.  Hor. 
Rebus in Angustis facilè est contemnere Vitam:  
Fortiter ille Facit, qui miser esse potest.  Mart. 
LONDON, Printed for S. and I. Sprint, at the Bell, and I. Nicholson, at the King's-Arms in Little-Britain; R. Parker, under the Royal-Exchange, and Benj. took, at the Middle-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet. MDCC.   

A CHARACTER Of Monsieur Scarron's Works,  
In a Letter from the Famous Monsieur de Balzac to Monsieur Castor.  
THE Book you sent me from Monsieur Scarron, was a very acceptable Present, and such a one as I am obliged to set a great value upon so long as I live. I had scarce opened it, but it performed a Cure upon me, and gave me ease in a cruel fit of the Spleen, which had certainly done my business, had not this Cordial come so seasonably to my Relief. I hope it will work greater cures, if I often apply it. Perhaps it will rid me of my pensive Melancholy, and Philosophical Sadness: Perhaps it will teach me to Rhyme, and make me cheerful by Contagion. To deal plainly with you, this Friend of ours Monsieur Scarron, is a strange sort of a Gentleman. With all his Distempers he has something in him tho' I know not how to describe it, better than Health, I mean, a stupid, insensible Health; for I need not tell you that the Arabians call Joy the Quintessence and Elixir of a lively, active Health. Now since you are desirous to know my different thoughts upon our Author, and require me to say something particular upon this Head; I must tell you that he is either the most dissembling, or the most resolute Man in the Universe. I farther add, that he is a living Testimony that Mankind is not so effeminate, as 'tis commonly believed, unless pain uses him more gently than it does other Men. One that has conversed with his Writings, and sees him so merry in his Afflictions, would think that the Executioner flattered the sufferer. I never see him laugh in the midst of his Torments, but he makes me think that his pain does not give him any smart, but only titillation. In short, I will Affirm, that the Prom●theus, the Hercules, and Philoctetes in our Fables, to say nothing of job in his real History, speak abundance of great and manly things in the height of their pains, but nothing that is gay and cheerful. Among the Ancients, I have frequently met with those griefs that have been sedate and calm, that have appeared to be wise and eloquent, but I never found a Grief that was cheerful till now; or a Soul that was able to dance a Saraband or a Jig in a paralytical Body. So pleasant a Prodigy as this, deserves the consideration of our curious Virtuosos. History ought not to forget it● and if ever the whim takes me to set up for an Historian, as I am already an Historiographer, I shall reckon it among the greatest Miracles of our time, which has been so fruitful in Miracles. What would not your Friend Seneca have said upon so noble a Subject, he that took so much pleasure to treat of these matters, and so often sought opportunities to do it? Is it not a plain case, that that arrogant and haughty Virtue, which is so extravagantly commended by him, and pretends to be at ease even in Phalaris' Bull, nay, maintains, that Pain itself is a Blessing, falls infinitely short of this easy and humble Virtue, which can put in execution the Paradoxes of the Stoics, without the least touch of their Ostentation● Let us therefore conclude in honour of our Author, that either there is something of ecstasy and possession in his Distemper, and that his Soul performs its functions apart, without concerning itself with his Body, or that he is a Man of extraordinary Resolution and Vigour, and that in the perpetual Dispute between his Soul and his Body, the Nobler part finds those Advantages over the other, which the strongest use to have over the weakest.   

To the Courteous Reader that never saw me.  
UNknown Friend, who never saw'st me in thy Life, and perhaps never troubledst thyself much about it, because there is no great matter to be got by the sight of such a fellow as I am; be it known unto thee that neither am I very desirous thou shouldst see my Person, but that I have been informed that some facetious Gentlemen make themselves merry at the expense of an unhappy Wretch, and describe me another sort of a Monster, than really I am. Some of them give out, that my Rump-bone sticks out like the Ace of Spades, by the same token that it perforates all my Breeches, and that I am set upon a Table in a Cage, where I chatter like a blind Magpie. And others will tell you, and swear to it too if you'd have them, that my Hat is fastened to a Cord that runs through a Poultry, and that I pluck it up or let it down, when I am to compliment and Friend, that does me the honour of a Visit.  
I therefore thought myself obliged in Conscience and all that, to prevent their telling so many horrid Lies, and for this reason ordered my Picture to be engraved, as thou seest it, in the beginning of this Book. I know thou wilt grumble, Courteous Reader, for every Reader in the World is a Grumbletonian more or less; and for my part, I can grumble as well as the best of them, when 'tis my turn to be a Reader. Thou wilt grumble in thy gizzard, I say, and snarl, and quarrel, and huff, and puff, because forsooth, I show thee my Backside. But prithee, Old Friend, don't be too Choleric. Assure thyself that I did not do it with a design to turn my Breech upon the Company; but only because the Convexity of my Back is more proper to receive an Inscription, than the Concavity of my Stomach, which is wholly covered by the Penthouse of my Head, that hangs over it, and because the Situation, or rather the irregular Plan of my Person may be seen as well behind as before. I am not such a Coxcomb as to pretend to make a Present to the Public (for by those jolly Damosels the Nine Muses, I swear and protest that I never dreamt in my life of seeing my Head stamped in a Medal) but I would have had my Picture drawn, if I could have found a Painter bold enough to take my Phyz in black and white. For want of a Picture therefore I'll describe myself to thee as near as I can.  
I am passed thirty, as thou mayst see by the back of my Chair. If I live to be forty, I shall add the Lord knows how many Misfortunes to those I have already suffered for these eight or nine years' last passed. There was a time when my Stature was not to be found fault with, tho' now 'tis of the smallest. My Sickness has taken me shorter by a foot: My Head is somewhat too big considering my height, and my Face is full enough in all conscience for one that carries such a Skeleton of a body about him. I have hair enough on my Head not to stand in need of a Periwig, and 'tis grey too, in spite of the Proverb. My Sight is good enough, tho' my Eyes are large; they are of a blue colour, and one of them is sunk deeper into my head than the other, which was occasioned by my leaning on that side. My Nose is well enough mounted. My Teeth, that in the days of yore looked like a row of square Pearl, are now of an ashen colour, and in a few years more, will have the complexion of a smallcoal Man's Saturday shirt. I have lost one Tooth and a half on the left side, and two and a half precisely on the right, and I have two more that stand somewhat out of their Ranks. My Legs and my Thighs in the first place compose an obtuse Angle, than an equal Angle, and lastly an acute Angle. My Thighs and my Body make another, and my head leaning perpetually over my Belly, I fancy I am not very unlike the letter Z. My Arms are shortened as well as my Legs, and my Fingers as well as my Arms. In short, I am a living Epitome of humane Misery. This, as near as I can give it, is my shape. Since I am got so far, I will even tell thee something of my Humour. Under the Rose be it spoken, Courteous Reader, I do this only to swell the bulk of my Book, at the Request of the Bookseller, the poor Dog it seems being afraid that he should be a loser by this Impression, if he did not give the Courteous Reader enough for his Money. Were it not for this, 'twould be to no purpose this Digression as well as a thousand more. But to our comfort be it said, ours is not the first Age that People played the fools out of Complaisance, not to reckon the follies they commit of their own heads.  
I was always a little Choleric, a little given to my Guts, and a little Lazy. I frequently call my Man Son of a Whore and Fool, and a little after call him Sir. I hate no Man, and could wish all the World did the same by me. I am as blithe as a bird when I have Money, and should be much more so, were I in health. I am merry enough in Company. I am content enough when alone. I bear all my ills pretty patiently. And now as I humbly conceive, the Porch is big enough for the House, and 'tis high time for me to conclude.   


SCARRON's Comical Romance. PART I.  

CHAP. I.  
Company of Strollers come● to the Town of Mans.  
Bright Phoebus had already performed above half his Career; and his Chariot having past the Meridian, and got on the Declivity of the Sky, rolled on swifter than he desired. Had his Horses been willing to make use of the sl●pingness of their Way, they might have finished the remainder of the Day in less than half a quarter of an Hour: But instead of pulling amain, they curveted about, snu●●ing a briny Air, which set them a neighing, and made them sensible that they were near the Sea, where their Father is said to take his Rest every Night. To speak more like a Man, and in plainer Terms; it was betwixt five and six of the Clock, when a Cart came into the Marketplace of Mans. This Cart was drawn by two Yoke of lean Oxen, led by a breeding Mare, who had a Colt that skipped to and fro● about the Cart, like a silly Creature as he w●●. The Cart was loaden with Trunks, Portmantles, and great Packs of painted Clothes, that made a sort of Pyramid; on the top, of which ●at a Da●●sel, in a half-City, half-Country Dress. A young Man, as poor in clothes, as rich in M●en, walked by the side of the Cart: He had a great Patch on his Face, which covered one of his Eyes, and half of one Ch●●k● and carried a ●ong Birding-piece over his Shoulder, 〈…〉 several Magpies, Jays, and Crows, which made a sort of a 〈◊〉; at the bottom of which hung a Hen and a Goose, that looked as they had been taken from the Enemy by way of Plunder. Instead of a Hat he wore a Nightcap, tied about his Head with Garters of several Colours; and this Head-dress was without doubt a kind of unfinished Turban. His Doublet was a Griset-Coat, girt over with a Leather Thong; which served likewise to support a Rapier so very long, that it could not be used dextrously without the help of a Rest. He wore a pair of Breeches tucked up to above the middle of his Thighs, like those that Players wear when they represent an ancient Hero; and instead of Shoes he wore Tragic Buskins, which were bespattered with Dirt up to the Ankles. An old Man, something more regular in his Dress, tho' in very ordinary clothes, walked by his side. He carried a Base-viol over his Shoulders; and because he stooped a little as he went along, one might have taken him at a distance for a great Tortoise walking upon his hind-feets. Some Critic or other will perhaps find fault with the Comparison, by reason of the Disproportion between a Tortoise and a Man: But I speak of those great Tortoises that are found in the Indies; and besides, I make bold to use the Simile upon my own Authority. Let's return to our strolling Company. They went by the Tennis-Court at the Hind; before which were assembled several of the Chief Men of the Town. The Novelty of their Equipage, and the Noise of the Mob, who by this time had gathered about the Cart, drew the Eyes of all those Honourable Burghmasters upon our unknown Travellers, Among the rest, a 
* An under-sheriff.  Lieutenant of the Provost, La Rappiniere by Name, made up to them, and with the Authority of a Magistrate, asked them, who they were? The young Man, whom I described before, without offering to pull off his Turban (because with one of his Hands he held his Gun, and with the other the Hilt of his Sword, lest it should beat against his Legs) answered him, That they were Frenchmen by Birth, and Players by Profession● That his Stage-Name was Destiny; his old Comrades Rancour; and the Gentlewomen (who sat roosting like a Hen on the top of their Baggage) Cave. This odd Name set some of the Company a laughing; whereupon the young Stroller added, That the Name of Cave ought not to seem more strange to Men of Wit than those of La Montagne, Valley, Rose, or Thorn. The Conversation ended with the noise of Blows; and Cursing, and Swearing, which was heard before the Cart. This Squabble was occasioned by the Servant of the Tennis-Court falling foul upon the Carter, without saying why, or wherefore, because his Oxen and his Mare were a little too free with a heap of Hay which stood before the Door. However the Fray was parted; and the Mistress of the Tennis-Court, who loved to hear a Play more than to hear a Sermon or Vespers, out of unheard of Generosity in a Keeper of a Tennis-Court, bid the Carter let his cattle eat their Bellyful. He took her at her Word: and whilst the hungry Beasts were feeding, the Author rested a while, and bethought himself what he should say in the second Chapter.   

CHAP. II.  
What sort of Man la Rappiniere was.  
THE Sieur la Rappiniere was at that time the Droll or Jester of Man's; for you must know, that there is not a Town, though never so small, but has its Jester. The City of Paris has several in each Ward; and I myself might have been the Jester of mine, had I been willing to it: But every Body knows, that 'tis a long time since I have forsaken all the Vanities of this World. To return to Monsieur la Rappiniere; he soon renewed the Conversation which the Squabble had interrupted, and asked the young Player, Whether their Compapany consisted only in Mistress Cave, Monsieur Rancour, and himself? Our Company, answered he, is as complete as that of the Prince of Orange, or of his Grace the Duke d'Epernon; but through a Misfortune that befell us at Tours, where our Rattleheaded Doorkeeper killed one of the Fuziliers of the Intendant of the Province, we were forced to fly in a hurry, and in the sad Pickle you see us in. Those Fuziliers of the Intendants, said lafoy Rappiniere, have done as much at la Flesche; A Pox take them, said the Mistress of the Tennis-Court, 'tis long of them we shall have no Plays. Nay, answered the old Stroller, had we but the Keys of our Trunks, we might entertain the Town for four or five Days before we reach Alencon, where the rest of our Company are to rendezvous. The Player's Answer made every Body prick up their Ears: Lafoy Rappiniere offered an old Gown of his Wife's to Cave; and the Tennis-Woman two or three Suits of Clothes, which were left in pawn, to Destiny and Rancour. But, added some of the Assistants, there is but three of you. No matter for that, replied Rancour, for I once acted a Play by myself, and represented the King, the Queen, and the Ambassador. I used a false Triple Tone when I personated the Queen; I spoke through the Nose for the Ambassador, and addressed myself to the Crown which I placed upon a Chair; and as for the King, I resumed my Seat, my Crown, and my Gravity, and lowered the Key of my Voice into a Base. Now, to convince you, if you will satisfy our Carter, defray our Charges in the Inn, and lend us what Clothes you can spare, we will act before Night; else we must beg leave to go to drink, or rest ourselves, for we are come a great way. The Company liked the Proposal, and that Devil la Rappiniere, who was ever hatching some Mischief or other, said, there was no occasion for any other Clothes but those of two young Men of the Town, who were then playing a Set at Tennis, and that Mistress Cave in her ordinary Dress, might pass for any Thing in a Play. No sooner said but done; in less than half a quarter of an Hour the Strollers drank three or four Glasses of Wine apiece, shifted themselves; and the Company, who by this time had increased into a full Audience, having taken their Places in an upper Room, a dirty Cloth, instead of a painted Curtain, was drawn up, and discovered Destiny lying on a Quilt, with a Strawberry Basket on his Head, instead of a Crown, rubbing his Eyes, like one who wakes out of his Sleep, and mouthing in the Tone of Mondory, the Part of Herod, which gins thus: Injurious Phantom, that disturbs my Rest. The Patch which covered one half of his Face, did not hinder him from showing himself 〈◊〉 be an excellent Player: Madam Cave acted to admiration the Parts of Mariana, and Salome; Rancour pleased every Body in his; and the Play was carrying on to a happy Conclusion, when the Devil, who never sleeps, interposed, and made the Tragedy end, not with the Death of Mariana, and Herod's Despair, but with a Thousand Cuffs, and Boxes on the Ears, as many Kicks, numberless Oaths; and last of all, a Verbal Process and Information, which was taken by la Rappiniere, the most skilful of all Men in those Matters.   

CHAP. III.  
What deplorable Success the Play had.  
IN all the Inferior Towns of the Kingdom, there's generally a Tennis-Court, where all the idle People use to resort, some to play, others only to look on. 'Tis in those Places where Cursing and Swearing passes for a Rhetorical Flourish, and where the Absent are murdered with the Tongue; no Man 'scapes Scot-free; there all live in open Defiance, and every Body is admitted to rail, according to the Talon he has received from the Lord. 'Twas in one of these Tennis-Courts, if my Memory fails me not, that I left three Comical Persons, reciting Mariana before an Honourable Company; at which presided Monsieur lafoy Rappiniere. Now while Herod and Mariana were telling one another of their Faults, the two young Men, whose Clothes they had so freely borrowed, came into the Room in their Drawers, and each of 'em his Racket in his Hand, having neglected to get themselves rubbed, that they might come and hear the Play. They were not long in the Room before they perceived that Herod and Pherores had their Clothes on; and the most passionate of the two addressing himself to the Waiter of the Tennis-Court; Thou Son of a Bitch, said he to him, Why didst thou give my Clothes to that Mountebank? The innocent Waiter, who knew him to be a brutish sort of a Man, told him in great Humility, That he had no Hand in it. Who then, Scoundrel? added he. The poor Fellow durst not accuse la Rappiniere in his Presence; but he, the most insolent of all Men, rising from his Seat, told him, 'Tis I; What have you to say to it? That you are a Coxcomb, replied the other; and at the same time gave him a desperate Blow over the Pate with his Racket. La Rappiniere was so surprised to be struck first, whereas he used to be beforehand with others, that he stood motionless, either out of Admiration, or because he was not yet angry enough, and that 'twas not a small Provocation that could make him resolve to fight, were it but at Fifty-cuffs. Nay, perhaps the Quarrel had gone no further, had not his Man, who was more Choleric than he, fallen foul upon the Aggressor, and dealt him a sound Cuff on the Chaps, and in the middle of his Face, and afterwards a great many others where he could find room for them. La Rappiniere charged him behind, and worked on him like one that had received the first Provocation: A Relation of his Adversary invested lafoy Rappinere in the same manner. This Relation was attacked by one of la Rappinierr's Friends, in order to make a Diversion: This Combatant was assaulted by another, and this last again by another. In short, the whole Audience divided into Parties; some cursed and swore; others called Names; all beat one another. The Tennis-Woman who saw her Goods broken to pieces, rend the Air with doleful Cries. In all probability they had all been murdered with Stools, Kicks, and Cuffs, had not some of the Magistrates of the Town (who walked in the Piazza of the Marketplace, with des Essars, Seneschal of Main) ran with all speed to the Squabble. Some proposed to throw two or three Pails full of Water on the Combatants; and perhaps this way might have been successful; but however they gave over fight through weariness: Besides two Capuchins, who out of Charity fling themselves into the Field of Battle, procured, not a firm Peace, betwixt the contending Parties, but a sort of Truce; during which a Negotiation was set on foot, without derogating from the Informations that were taken on both sides, in order to a Trial in due Course of Law. Destiny, one of the Strolliers, performed Wonders at Boxing; and his great Actions are talked of to this very Day in the Town of Man's, according to the faithful Account delivered by the two young Men that raised the Squabble, whom he particularly engaged, and almost cuffed to death; besides a great many others of the Enemy, whom he disabled with the first Blow. He lost his Patch in the Scuffie, and People took notice that his Face was as fine as his Shape. The bloody Noses were handsomely washed with clean water: those that had their Bands torn, put on others instead of them; Cataplasms were applied where need required; some few Stitches served to darn many a torn Doublet; and the household-goods were set in their proper places, though not so sound and whole as they were before. In short, a moment after there remained nothing of the Right but a great Spite and Animosity, which appeared in the Faces of those of both Parties. The poor Strollers went out a long while after the Combat with la Rappiniere, who was still for making Speeches. In their way from the Tennis-Court to the Marketplace they were invested by seven or eight Bullies with Swords in their hands; lafoy Rappiniere, according to custom, was in a great fright, and indeed not without a cause, had not Destiny generously thrust himself between him and a Sword which was going to run him through; however he could not so well put by the Blow, but that he received a small wound in the Arm. Thereupon he drew his Sword, and in the twinkling of an Eye, beat two Swords out of the hands of the Enemy, broke two or three Sculls, battered and slashed as many Faces and discomfited so well the Gentlemen of the Ambuscade, that all the Assistants unanimously confessed, they never had seen so valiant a Champion. This abortive Plot was laid against La Rappiniere, by two Squires, one of which was married to the Sister of him, who begun the Fight with a great blow with a Racket, and in all likelihood, La Rappiniere had been spoiled for ever, but for the valiant Protector, whom Providence raised for him in the Person of our stout Player. This Benefit melted his Heart of Flint, insomuch, that he would not suffer the miserable remains of a scattered Company of Strollers● to lodge in an Inn; but brought them to his own House, where the Carter laid down the Strolling Furniture, and returned home to his Village.   

CHAP. IU.  
Wherein further mention is made of Monsieur La Rappiniere, and of what happened that Night at his House.  
MAdam la Rappiniere received the Company with a great deal of Civility, as being the most submissive of Wives; she was indifferently handsome, tho' so very lean and dry, that she never snuffed a Candle with her Fingers, but they presently catched fire. I could relate a thousand curious Stories about her, which I pass by for fear of being redious. The first Compliments were scarce over, when the two Ladies grew so well acquainted, that they begun to My Dear, and My Dearest. La Rappiniere, who was as great a Brag as any Barber of 'em all, did no sooner come into the Room, but he bid somebody go to the Kitchen and the Larder, to hasten Supper. This was a mere Rodimontade; for besides his Valet, who likewise dressed his Horses, there was no body in his House, but a young Maid, and an old lame woman, as crazy as a mangy Dog. His Vanity was punished by an Accident, that filled him with Confusion; he used to Diet at the Tavern, at the Expense of Fools and Bubbles, whilst his Wife and his orderly Family, were reduced to feed on Soop and Cabbage, according to the custom of that Country; Now, being willing to make a show before his Guests, and ●reat them nobly, he was going to slip behind his back, some Money into the hands of his Man, to fetch something for Supper; but through the awkardness either of the Man, or the Master, the Money fell on the Chair he sat on, and from the Chair to the Ground. La Rappiniere looked blue upon it; his Wife blushed; the Man cursed; Cave was uneasy; Rancour perhaps did not mind it, and as for Destiny, I could not well learn what effect it had upon his Mind. However, the Money was taken up, and whilst Supper was getting ready, they engaged in Conversation. La Rappiniere asked Destiny, why he Disguised his Face with a Patch? He answered, he had great reason to do it; and as he had other clothes on by accident, he likewise designed to make his Face unknown to some Enemies he had. At last Supper came in, good or bad: Lafoy Rappiniere drank so much, that he made himself fuddled; Rancour had his load; Destiny supped like a sober well-bred Man; Cave like a famished Player; and Madam La Rappiniere like one who had a mind to lay hold of the Opportunity; that is to say, so very greedily, that she got a Surfeit. Whilst the Servants were at Supper, and the Beds making, La Rappiniere teaz'd his Guests with a thousand Stories full of Vanity. Destiny lay in a little Room by himself; Cave in a Closet with the Chambermaid; and Rancour with the Valet, I know not where. They all had a great mind to Sleep, some through weariness, others for having supped too plentifully, and yet they slept but little; so true it is, that there is nothing certain in this World. After her first Sleep, Madam la Rapiniere had a mind to go where Kings are fain to go themselves in Person; her Husband waked at the same time, and tho' he had not recovered his Drunkenness, he found himself alone; he called his Wife, no body answered: Whereupon he grew Jealous, fell in a Passion, and instantly risen out of his Bed in a Fury. As soon as he was got out of the Chamber, he heard a stamping of feet before him, and for some time followed the noise through a little Gallery, that led to Destiny's Chamber. He found himself so near what he followed, that he trod upon its heels, and thinking it to be his Wife, he was going to lay hold on her, crying, you Whore! But his hands could catch at nothing, and his feet stumbling at the same time, he fell down upon his Nose, and felt something that was pointed running into his Breast: Thereupon he cried out in a most hideous manner, Murder, Murder, I am stabbed— without letting go his Wife, whom he thought, he held by the Hair, and was struggling under him. His Cries and Oaths, set all the House in an uproar, and every body ran to his Assistance, the Maid with a Candle; Rancour and the Valet in their dirty shirts; Cave in a tattered Petticoat; Destiny with a Sword in his Hand, and Madam la Rappiniere last of all, who like all the rest, was not a little surprised to see her furious Husband grappling with a she-goat, which was kept in the House to suckle some young Puppies, whose Dam happened to die. No Man was ever so much out of Countenance, as la Rappiniere: His Wife who presently suspected the truth of the Matter, asked him if he was Mad? He answered without knowing well what he said, that he had taken the Goat for a Thief; Destiny guessed the business, every one returned to his Bed, and made what Constructions he thought ●it upon the Adventure; as for the Goat, she was shut in again with her Puppies.   

CHAP V.  
Which contains no great Matter.  
THE Stroller Rancour, one of the principal Heroes of our Romance, for one alone will not serve our turn; and since there's nothing more perfect than the Hero of a Book, half a dozen Heroes, or would be such, will do more credit to mine than a single one, who might happen to be the least talked of, since all Human things are subject to the caprice of Fortune. Rancour, I say, was one of these Misanthropists who hate every body, and do not love even themselves: Nay, I was told by several creditable Persons, that no Man ever saw him Laugh. He had a pretty deal of Wit, and an indifferent Talon in making Doggrel Rhimes: He was not over-stock'd with Honour or Conscience upon any account, and besides he was as malicious as an old Monkey, and envious as a Dog. He found fault with all those of his Profession, according to his Opinion; Belleroze was too affected; Mindory too rough; Floridor wanted Life, and so of the rest; by which he did insinuate, that he was the only Player without a Fault, whereas he was suffered in the Company, only upon the score of his being an old Slander. When the Stage was reduced to Hardy's Plays, he acted the Parts of Nurses in a Treble-tone, and with a Vizor; but since the Parts of Confidents, Ambassadors and Bailiffs Setters, when there was occasion to attend a King, Murder any Body, or fight a Battle; he Sung but scurvily the Tenor in Troy's, and was Jack-pudding in Farces. Upon these great Accomplishments, he had built an unsufferable Pride which was attended with an unexhausted faculty of Railing and Slandering, and a quarrelsome Humour, which however was supported by a little Courage: All these made him to be feared by his Comrades, Destiny only excepted, with whom he was as tame as a Lamb, and showed himself as reasonable as his natural Inclination would suffer him. 'Twas once given out, that he was beaten by Destiny; but that Report did not continue, no more than that about his having so great an Affection for other People's Goods, that he would sometimes seize upon 'em Clandestinely: Yet upon the whole, he was the best Man in the World. Methinks I acquainted you before, how he lay with La Rappiniere's Man, Doguin by Name: Now whether the Bed was none of the best, or that Doguin was but an ill Bed-fellow, it so happened that he could not sleep a wink all the Night long. He got up at break of day, (as well as Doguin, who was called up by his Master) and going by La Rapiniere's Chamber, he went in to wish him good Morrow; Lafoy Rappiniere received his Compliment with the State of a Country-Provost, and scarce returned any of his Civilities; but as Players are used to act all manner of Parts, so Rancour was little concerned at it. La Rappiniere asked him a thousand Questions about the Stage, particularly, how long Destiny had been one of their Company, adding, that he was a very good Player: All is not Gold that glisters, replied Rancour: When I played the first Parts, he Acted those of Pages; how the Devil should he now understand a Trade, that he never learned? He has not been long upon the Stage, and Players do not come up like Mushrooms in one Night. Now he is liked, because he is young; but if you knew him throughly as I do, you would not have half so good an Opinion of him; Besides, he is as proud, as if he was lineally Descended from Saint Lewis, and yet he won't tell us who he is, nor whence he comes, no more than a handsome Phillis who accompanies him, under the name of Sister, and grant Heaven she be no worse. Such as I am, I saved his Life in Paris, at the expense of two great Wounds I received with a Sword; and he was so unthankful for my good Office, that in stead of seeing me carried to a Surgeon, he spent the whole Night in looking in the Dirt for a certain Jewel enriched with Diamonds of Alencon; of which he said, he was robbed by those that set upon us. La Rappiniere asked Rancour when this Mischance befell him? Upon Twelfthday on the New Bridge, answered Rancour. These last words cast Lafoy Rappiniere and his Man Doguin into a great trouble; they turned pale, and blushed; then blushed, and turned pale again; and La Rappiniere shifted the Discourse so quickly, and in so great a Disorder, that Rancour wondered at it. The Hangman of the Town, and some Archers who came into the Room, interrupted their Conversation, at which Rancour was highly pleased; for he was sensible that what he had said, had touched La Rappiniere in a very tender part, though he was not able to guests what share he might have in the Adventure. In the mean time, Destiny who had been the Subject of his Encomiums, was in no small Trouble: Rancour found him with Mistress Cave, wasting their Breath to no purpose, to make an old Tailor confess, that he did not conceive well, and had worked still worse. The Matter in dispute was this: At the taking the Playhouse Furniture out of the Cart, Destiny having found two Doublets and a pair of Breeches much worn out, he gave them to this old Tailor in order to make out of 'em a more fashionable Suit, than the Trunk Breeches he had on; now the Tailor instead of making one of the Doublets serve to mend the other Doublet, and the Breeches, through a fault of Judgement, unworthy of a Man who had patched old clothes all his Life-time, he mended both the Doublets with the best pieces out of the Breeches; insomuch, that poor Destiny with so many Doublets, and no Breeches, was reduced either to keep his Chamber, or to make all the Children run after him, as they had done before, upon account of his Comical Habit. Lafoy Rappiniere's Generosity repaired the Mistake of the Tailor, who had the botched Doublets for his pains, and Destiny was presented with a suit of Cloths, the spoil of a High-way-man, whom Rappiniere had caused to be broke upon the Wheel not long before. The Hangman who happened to be there, and had left those Clothes in the custody of La Rappiniere's Maid, said very saucily, that they were his Fees; but Lafoy Rappiniere silenced him, by threatening him to turn him out of his place. The clothes fitted Destiny to a hair, and so out he went with La Rappiniere and Rancour: They all dined at a Tavern at the expense of one of the Burghers, who had business with La Rappiniere; and as for Mistress Cave, she passed her time away in washing her dirty Nightrails, and kept her Landlady Company. The same day Doguin met two of those young Men whom he had beaten the day before in the Tennis-Court, and returned home with two great Wounds in his Guts, and abundance of Cudgel-blows on his Back; and because he was dangerously ill, Rancour having well Supped, went to the next Inn for a Bed, betogether with his Comrade Destiny, to attend Monsieur La Rappiniere, who swore he would have Satisfaction for the Murder of his Man.   

CHAP. VI  
The Adventure of the Chamber-pot; what Disturbance Rancour made that Night in the Inn; The Arrival of part of the Strolling Company; Doguin's Death, and other memorable Occurrences.  
RAncour went into the Inn something more than half drunk: Lafoy Rappiniere's Maid who introduced him, bid the Hostess get a Bed ready for him: Who have we here, said the Hostess? Faith, had we no other Customers, our House-Rent would be but ill paid. Hold your Tongue Hussy, said the Husband: Mousieur la Rappiniere does us too much honour: Quickly let a Bed be got ready for the Gentleman— Ay marry, but where shall one get it, said the Hostess; for there was but one left, and I parted just now with it to a Merchant of Lower-Maine. Thereupon the Merchant came in, and hearing the occasion of their Dispute, offered one half of his Bed to Rancour, whether he had Business with La Rappiniere, or because he was of an obliging Nature; for which Rancour returned him thanks, as far as his small stock of Civility would let him. The Merchant supped the Host kept him Company, and Rancour without much Entreaty, put in for a third, and begun to drink upon a new Score. They discoursed about Taxes, railed against Excisemen, settled the Nation, and unsettled their own Brains so much, especially the Innkeeper, that he lugged his Purse out of his Pocket, and called for the Reckoning, having forgot that he was at home; but his Wife and his Maid pulled him by the Shoulders into his Chamber, and laid him upon a Bed with his clothes on; Rancour told the Merchant, that he was troubled with a Strangury, and would be very sorry if he should incommode him; to which the Merchant replied, that a Night would soon be over. Now you must take notice, the Bed had no Ruelle, but was close to the Wall: Rancour went into it first, and the Merchant being gone after him into the place of Honour, Rancour asked him for the Chamber-pot— what to do, said the Merchant? Why, to put it by me, to avoid being Troublesome to you, said Rancour; the Merchant replied, he would give it him whenever he had occasion for it, to which Rancour seemed unwilling to consent, protesting he should be extreme sorry to trouble him. The Merchant fell asleep without returning him an answer, and scarce begun to be in a found sleep, when the malicious Stroller, (who could have parted with one of his Eyes, so as he might make his Neighbour lose both his) pulled the Merchant by the Arm, and cried to him, Sir, Sir; the poor Merchant half a sleep, and gaping and stretching, asked him what he would have? Pray reach me the Chamber-pot, said Rancour; the Merchant leaned over the Bed, and having taken the Chamber-pot, gave it to Rancour, who put himself in a pissing posture; and having used all his endeavours, or at least seemed to do so, muttered a thousand Oaths, and complained of his Distemper; he returned the Chamber-pot to the Merchant, without making a drop of Water. The Merchant set it on the ground again, and stretching his Mouth as wide as an Oven, said to Rancour, truly Sir, I pity you, and fell asleep presently. Rancour suffered him to indulge his Drowsiness, till he snored as loud as the Drone of a pair of Organs, and then the Traitor waked him again, and asked him for the Chamber-pot with as much malice, as he had done before. The Merchant delivered it into his hands with his usual kindness; and Rancour laid it to the place through which one pisses, not so much with a design to leak, as to keep the Merchant awake: He cried out still louder than before, and was twice as long endeavouring in vain to make Water, and desiring the Merchant not to give himself the trouble to reach him the Chamber-pot, for that he would reach it himself: The poor Merchant, who at that time would have parted with half his Estate to have slept his Bellyful, answered him gaping, that he might do as he thought fit, and laid the Chamber-pot in its proper place again: They bid one another good Night, in a very civil manner, and the poor Merchant would have laid a round Sum, that he was going to take the best Nap he ever had in his Life. Rancour, who knew well enough where his Comedy should end, suffered him to fall into a sound sleep, and then without making conscience to wake a Man that reposed so innocently, he laid his Elbow in the pit of his Stomach, crushing him down with the whole weight of his Body, and stretching forth the other Arm out of the Bed, like one that has a mind to take up something from the ground. The unfortunate Merchant, almost crushed and stifled to Death, started out of his sleep, (crying out in a most hideous manner, Zouns, Sir, what do you mean, you have almost killed me— Rancour with as soft and gentle a Voice as that of the Merchant, was loud and vehement, answered him: I ask your pardon, I only designed to take the Chamber-pot— Udslife, cried the other, I had much rather give it to you, and not sleep all the Night long,— you have so hurt me, that I shall feel it as long as I live. Rancour made him no answer, but fell a pissing so plentifully, and with such force, that the very noise of the Chamber-pot, had been sufficient to wake the Merchant: At last he filled the Pot, and returned the Lord thanks with a villainous Hypocrisy. The good Merchant wished him joy as well as he could, for his plentiful ejaculation of Urine, which gave him hopes his sleep would no more be interrupted: When the cursed Rancour (making as if he would set the Chamber-pot on the ground) let fall both pot and piss on his Face, his Beard and his Breast, excusing himself only with, Sir, I cry your mercy? The Merchant returned his Civility no answer; for as soon as he felt himself drowned in piss, he got out of Bed, roaring like a Madman, and calling for a Candle; Rancour with a cunning Calmness, told him, truly, 'tis a great Mischance! In the mean time the Merchant raised the whole House with his continual Roaring, and the Innkeeper, his Wife, Maids and Servants being come to know what the matter was, he told them, they had put him to bed with a Devil, and desired to have a fire lighted in another Room; they asked him what ailed him? but he was in such a Passion, that he gave no answer; and taking his clothes in a Fury, went down into the Kitchen to dry himself, and there lay all Night stretched on a Bench by the Fire side. The Innkeeper asked Rancour what he had done to him, to which Rancour with a counterfeit ingenuity answered, I do not know what he can complain of— He waked out of his sleep, and roused me, crying out, Murder;— sure, he has had some ill Dream or other, or is turned Mad, for besides, he has bepissed the Bed. Mine Hostess put her hand upon it, and said the Gentleman spoke truly, that her Quilt was wet through, and swore a great Oath, that she would make the Merchant pay for it: They bid Rancour good Night, and so went their way. As for Rancour, he slept as peacefully as any honest man might have done, and made himself amends for the bad Night he had at La Rappiniere's. However he risen earlier than he designed, being called up by La Rappiniere's Maid, who came running to fetch him to Doguin who was a Dying, and desired to speak with him before he made his Exit. He ran to him much perplexed, to know what a dying Man, with whom he got acquainted but the day before, might have to say to him. But 'twas a mistake of the Maid; for hearing the dying Wretch call for the Player, she took Rancour for Destiny; who when Rancour came, had just shut himself in Doguin's Chamber, being informed by the Priest who heard his Confession, that he had something of great Importance to communicate to him. He had not been there above a quarter of an hour, when La Rappiniere came home, having been abroad at break a day about some Business: He was told at his Arrival, that his man was breathing his last, the Surgeons not being able to stop his Blood, (by reason one of his great Veins was broke) and that he desired to see the Player Destiny before he died. And has he seen him! asked La Rappiniere very much disordered— answer was made, they were locked in together; at which words he was in a manner Thunderstruck, and ran in a great Fright, and knocked at Doguin's Chamber Door, at that very time that Destiny was opening of it to call for help; the sick Body being taken by a fainting Fit. Lafoy Rappiniere with Trouble in his Face, asked him what his silly Servant had to say to him? I think he is Lightheaded, replied Destiny coldly; for he asked me pardon a thousand times, and I cannot tell that he ever offended me; however, let somebody look to him, for he cannot live long. Thereupon they made towards the Bed, and at that very instant, Doguin gave up the Ghost, at which La Rappiniere seemed rather pleased, than concerned. Those who were acquainted with him, judged the reason of it to be, because he owed him his Wages: But Destiny alone knew best of any, what he● ought to think of it. In the mean time two men came into the House, whom our Stroller knew to be his Comrades, of whom we will speak at large in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. VII.  
The Adventure of the Litters.  
THE youngest of the two Strollers who came to La Rappipiniere's, was Destiny's Servant, of whom he learned, that the rest of the Company were all arrived, except Mistress Star, who had sprained her Foot, three Leagues off Mans. How came you hither? Who told you we were here? said Destiny to him: The Plague which is now at Alencon, hindered us from going thither, and stopped us at Bonnestable, answered the Stroller, Olive by Name; and some Inhabitants of this Town we met by the way, informed us you Acted here; that you had fought, and was Wounded; Mistress Star is very much troubled at it, and desires you to send her a Litter. The Keeper of the next Inn, who was come at the report of Doguin's Death, said he had a Litter at home, and if they would pay him well, it should be ready to go by Noon, carried by two strong able Horses. The Strollers hired the Litter for a Crown, and took Chambers in the Inn for the whole Company: Lafoy Rappiniere undertook to procure a Licence, to act from the Deputy-Governor; and about Noon, Destiny and his Comrades took their Journey towards Bonnestable; it being a very hot day, Rancour slept in the Litter, Olive was mounted on the hinder Horse, and the Innkeepers Man on the other before; Destiny trudged it on Foot with a Gun over his Shoulder, and his Man entertained him with what was befallen them from the Castle of Loir, to a Village near Bonnestable, where Mistress Star had sprained one of her Feet as she lighted off her Horse; when two Men well Mounted, and who hide their Faces with their Cloaks as they passed by Destiny, road up to the Litter on that side where it was uncovered, and finding in it but one Man asleep; he that was mounted on the best Horse, said to the other; I verily believe, all the Devils are t●is day broke lose against me, and have turned themselves into Litters, to plague me. Which said, he clapped Spurs to his Horse, and went his way cross the field with his Companion after him. Olive called Destiny, and recounted to him the Adventure, the meaning of which he could not understand, nor indeed, did he much trouble himself about it. After they had gone a quarter of a League further, the Leader of the Litter whom the heat of the Sun had stunned, and made drowsy, brought the Litter into a Quag-mire, where Rancour was like to be overturned; the Horses broke their Traces, and they were fain to unharness them, and pull them out of the Mire by Neck and Tail. They gathered the broken Remnants of their Wreck, and reached the next Village as well as they could. Now, whilst the shattered Furniture of the Litter was resitting, Rancour, Olive, and Destiny's Man, took a merry Cup at the gate of an Inn that happened to be in the Village. Whereupon there came another Litter led by two Men on foot, which likewise stopped before the Inn. This Litter was scarce arrived, but there appeared another, a hundred steps behind it. I believe all the Litters in the Province have agreed to meet here, about some business of Importance, in order to hold a General Council, said Rancour; and methinks they ought to begin their Conferences, for 'tis not probable that any more will come. Nay, Marry, said the Hostess, here's another that will not stick out, I warrant you— and in truth they espied a fourth, which came as from Mans. This made them all laugh hearty, except Rancour, who never laughed, as I said before. The last Litter stopped with the rest, and in the memory of Man, so many Litters were never seen together. If those that looked for Litters, and whom we met a while ago, were here, they would have their Belly full of them, said the Leader of the first Litter: I have met with him, said the Second: So have we, said he that conducted the Strollers Litter; to which he that came last added; that he was like to be threshed by ' 'em. Why so? asked Destiny. Because, answered he, they had a design upon a certain Gentlewoman, who sprained her Foot, and whom we carried to Man's: I never saw Men so furious and unreasonable; for they quarrelled with me only because they missed of what they looked for. This made the Strollers prick up their Ears; and by the Answer of the Litter-Man to two or three Questions they put to him, they were informed, that the Lady of the Lord of the Village where Mrs. Star sprained her Foot, had given her a Visit, and taken great care to have her carried safe to Mans. The Conversation continued a little longer between the Litters; and they learned of one another, that they were all searched by the same Men whom the Strollers saw. The first Litter carried the Parson of Domfront, who came from the Wells of Belles●●, and went to Man's, in order to get the Physicians of that Place to consult about his Distemper. The second carried a wounded Officer, who returned from the Army. At last the Litters parted; those of the Parson of Domfront, and of the Strollers went together to Man's, and the others where they thought fit. The sick Parson lighted at the same Inn where the Strollers were quartered, being the place where he used to lie on that Road. We will leave him to take his rest in his Room, and in our next Chapter we shall pay a Visit to the Strollers, to see what was doing in theirs.   

CHAP. VIII.  
Wherein are contained many things necessary to be known for the Understanding of this present Book.  
THE Strolling Company consisted of Destiny, Olive, and Rancour, who had each a Servant, who expected to be one Day an Actor in chief. Of those Servants, some began to speak without blushing, or being dashed out of Countenance: Among the rest, Destiny's Man acted pretty well, understood what he spoke, and did not want Wit. Mrs. Star, and Mrs. Cave's Daughter acted the first Parts. Cave acted the Queen, and the Mother; and sometimes Merry-Andrew's. Wife in a Farc●: Besides all this, they had a Poet, or an Author; for all the Grocer's Shops in the Kingdom were stored with his Works, both in Verse and Prose. This great Wit followed the Company, almost against their own Will; but because he was no Sharer, and that he spent his own Money with the Players they suffered him to act Under-parts, which he generally murdered. They all perceived well enough, that he was in love, with one of the two Players; but he was so discreet, though a little crack-brained, that 'twas not yet discovered which of them he designed to wheedle into compliance, with the fair Hopes of making her Immortal. He threatened the Company with a great many Plays of his own writing; but till then he had spared them, and they only knew by Conjecture that he was about one, called Mar●in Luther, of which they found the first Act; which however he disowned, although it was written with his own Hand. When our Strollers arrived, the women's Chamber was already filled with the most impertinent Fops and Beaus of the Town, whose eagerness was almost cooled by the indifferent Reception they met with: They spoke altogether about Plays, Poetry, Poets and Romances; and there could not have been more noise in the Room, unless they had been a fight. The Poet, among the rest, surrounded by three or four, who, without doubt, were the top Wits of the Town, laboured to persuade 'em, that he had seen Corneille, cracked many a Bottle with St. Amant and Beys, and lost a good Friend when Rotrou died. Madam Cave, and her Daughter Angelica set their Goods in order, with as great a Tranquillity, as if no Body had been in the Room. 'Tis true, Angelica's fair Hands were now and then squeezed or kiss'd●; for these Country Gentlemen are ever pulling and haulling; but a kick on the Shins, a Box on the Ear, or a Biting, according as occasion required, soon rid her of those hot-spurred Lovers: Nor was she rude and impudent neither, but her free and gay Humour would not let her use much Ceremony: As for the rest, she had Wit, and was very honest. Mrs. Star was of a quite different Humour; for there never was a more modest, gentile, and good-natured Woman in the World, and she strained at that time her Complaisance so far, that she could not find in her Heart to turn these ogling Fops out of her Chamber, altho' she felt a great Pain in her sprained Foot, and had great occasion for Rest. She lay in her Clothes on a Bed, surrounded by four or five of the whining sighing Beaus: stunned by abundance of Puns and Clenches, which pass for good Jests in the Country, and often forcing a Smile upon Things that she did not like. But this is one of the great Plagues of that Profession, which together with the being obliged to laugh or weep, whether one has a mind to it or no, takes very much from the Pleasure which Players have, of being sometimes Emperors and Empresses, and of being called as fine as Angels, though they be little handsomer than Devils, or addressed to as young Beauties, although their Hair and Teeth be part of their Furniture. There are a great many more things to be said upon this Subject, but we must use them sparingly, and place them in several Places in this Book, for Variety's sake. Let's return to Madam Star, beset with Country-Squires, the most troublesome Race of Men, all great Talkers, most of 'em very impertinent, and amongst whom there were some newly returned from the University. Among the rest appeared a little Man, who was a Widower, a Lawyer by Profession, and an Officer, in a small Court of Judicature in the Neighbourhood: Since the Death of his little Wife, he sometimes threatened the Women to marry again, and sometimes the Clergy of the Province to turn Priest, nay even a preaching Prelate. He was the greatest little Fool that ever ran madding since Rollando. He had studied Books all his Life-time; and though the chief end of Scholarship be the Knowledge of Truth, yet he was as great a Liar as a Page, proud and obstinate as a Pedant, and so bad a Poet as to deserve to be drowned, if the Government would take care to rid the Kingdom of the troublesome Vermin of Rhyming Fools. Assoon as Destiny and his Comrades came into the Room, without giving them the time to know who he was, he offered to read to 'em a Poem of his own making, called The Deeds and Achievements of Charlemagne in four and twenty Books. This Proposal put all the Assistants into such a frights made their Hair stand an end; but Destiny, who in this general Terror preserved a little Judgement, told him smiling, that 'twas not possible for them to give him the hearing before Supper. Well, quoth he, I will read to you a Story taken out of a Spanish Book● which was sent me from Paris, and of which I design to make a regular Play. They shifted the Discourse three or four times, ●●on purpose to avoid hearing a Story, which they supposed to be an Imitation of Guy of Warwick, or Tom Thumb. But tho' they often interrupted him, yet our little Man did not lose Courage; and with often beginning his Story, he at last forced them to hear him out; however they did not repent, because the Story proved to be a good one, and belied the ill Opinion they had of all that came from Ragotin, for so was called out jack-in-a-box. You will see the said Story in the following Chapter, not such as Ragotin told it, but such as I had it myself from one of the Hearers. Therefore, 'tis not Ragotin that speaks, but myself.   

CHAP IX.  
The History of the Invisible Mistress.  
DON Carlos of Arragon was a young Gentleman of the Family that bore that Name. He performed Wonder at the Public Game, with which the Viceroy of Naples entertained the People, upon the Marriage of Philip the Second, Third or Fourth for I forgot which. The next Day after a Running at the Ring, whereof he carried the Prize, the Viceroy gave liberty to the Ladies to go about the City in Disguise and to wear Masks after the French way, for the Conveniency of Strangers, whom the Public rejoicings had invited thither. Upon that Day Don Carlos put on his finest Clothes, and with many other Conquerors of Hearts, repaired to the Chur●● of Gallantry. Churches are profaned in these Countries, a● well as in ours; and the House of God serves for a Meeting Place to the Beaux and the Cocquets, to the eternal Shame 〈◊〉 those who have the cursed Ambition of drawing Customers from other Churches to their own. These Abuses aught to b● reformed, and there should be Persons appointed to turn Beau● and Cocquets out of Churches, as well as to drive away D● and Bitch's. I may be asked, What makes me concern 〈◊〉 self about it? Truly you will see more of this anon. How●ever, let the 〈◊〉 who is offended at it be satisfied, that all M● in this World are Fools as well as Liars, some more some less● and I myself perhaps a greater Fool than the rest, though have more Frankness in owning it: And my Book being but heap of Follies● I hope every Fool will find his own Char●●●● in it, unless he be blinded by Self-love. To return to my Story Don Carlos was in a Church, with several other Italian and ●nish Gentlemen, viewing themselves in their fine Feathers, 〈◊〉 proud Peacocks, when three Ladies in Masks accosted him 〈◊〉 midst all these fierce and gay Cupids, and one of 〈◊〉 spoke to him thus, or to the same effect: Signior Don Carlos● there is a Lady in this City, to whom you are very much obliged for at all the Justs and Tournaments, her Wishes we● still along with you in all those Exercises, whereof you ca●● the Prize. What I find most advantageous in what you tell me, answered Don Carlos, is to have it, from the Mouth of a Lady, who seems to be a Person of Merit; yet had I so much as hoped that any Lady had been on my side, I would have taken more care to deserve her Approbation. The unknown Lady reply'd● he had given all the Proofs imaginable of his being a most dextrous and accomplished Gentleman, and that by his Black and White Liveries, he had shown he was not in love. I never was well acquainted with the meaning of Colours; answered Don Carlos, but this I know, that if I am not in love, 'tis not so much because I am indifferent, as because I am sensible I do not deserve to be beloved. They said to one another a Thousand fine Things more, which I shall not relate, because I know nothing of 'em, and that I would be loath to compose others, lest I should wrong Don Carlos and the unknown Lady, who had a great deal more Wit than I can pretrend to● as I was dately informed by a young Neapolitan, who knew 'em both. In short, the Lady in a Mask declared to Don Carlos, that 'twas she who had an Inclination for him: He desired to see her Face; which she refused and told him, That he must not expect it yet; that she would look for a more proper Opportunity; and thate to let him know she feared not to trust herself alone with him, that she would give him a Token. At these Words she pulled off her Glove, and showed the Spaniard the finest Hand in the World, and presented him with a Ring; which he received, with so great a Surprise at the Adventure; that he almost forgot to make a Bow, and thank her when the went from him. The other Gentlemen, who out of Civility were gone from him, being come to him again, he told 'em what had happened to him, and showed them the Ring which was of considerable Value. Every one spoke his Thoughts about the Adventure; and Don Carlos was deep in love with the unknown Lady● as if he had seen her Face. So great is the Power of Wit on those who have their Share of it. He was eight long Days without hearing from the Lady; but whether or no he was uneasy at it● I could never be well informed. In the mean time he went every Day to divert himself at the House of a Captain of Foot, where several Men of Quality met to play. One Night, when he had not been, at Play, and was going home, sooner than ordinary, he was called by his Name out of a Parlour in a great House. He went near the Window, which was latticed, and knew by the Voice that called him, that 'twas his invisible Mistress, who told him; Come near, Don Carlos● I expect you here to decide our Controversy. You are but a Brag, said Don Carlos, you challenge with Insolence, and yet you hid yourself eight Days together, and then appear only through a Lattice Window. We shall see one another nearer in time, answered she: 'Tis not for want of Courage I have delayed being with you, but I had a mind to know you before I discover myself; You know that in Duels the Combatants ought to fight with Arms that are alike: Now if your Heart was not as free as mine, you would fight with advantage, and therefore I have made Inquiries about you. And what Information had you, answered Don Carlos; That we are much upon the same Terms, returned the Invisible Lady. But, said Don Carlos, there's yet a great inequality; for, added he, you both see me, and know who I am, whereas I neither see you, nor know who you are: Now think with yourself, what I can judge of your concealing yourself? Since People seldom do so when they have a good Design, it is an easy Matter to impose at first upon a Man that mistrusts nothings but he is not to be cheated twice; if you make use of me only to make another jealous, I must freely tell you that I am the most unfit Person for it in the World, and that I am good for nothing besides loving you. Have you now done with your rash Suspicions, said the Invisible Lady? You may call them rash if you please, replied Don Carlos; but however they are not unlikely. I would have you know, said she, that I am sincere; you will find me such in all our Intercourse; and I expect you should be so too. That's but reasonable, answered Don Carlos; but 'tis just likewise that I should see you, and know who you are. You shall be satisfied ere it be long, said the Invisible Lady; and in the mean time hope with Patience; for that's the only way for you to obtain what you expect from me. Now, that you may justify your Love to your Discretion, I am willing to let you know, that my Birth is not Inferior to yours; that I have a Fortune sufficient to make you live with as great Magnificence as any Prince in the Kingdom; that I am rather Handsome than Ill-favoured; and as for Wit, you have too much of that yourself not to discover whether I have any or no. She had no sooner made an end of her Speech but the withdrew, leaving Don Carlos with his Mouth open, ready to answer her; so very much in love with a Person he never saw, and so perplexed about this odd way of Proceeding, which might prove at last to be a Cheat, that he stood on the same place for above a Quarter of an Hour, not knowing what to think of this extraordinary Adventure. He was not ignorant that there were a great many Princesses and Ladies of Quality in Naples; but he knew likewise, that there were abundance of greedy Courtesans, eager after Strangers, great Jilts, and the more dangerous, as they were Handsome. I cannot positively tell whether he had Supped, or went to bed without Supper.  
Neither do I care to imitate the Writers of Romances, who mark with great exactness all the hours of the Day, and make their Heroe's rise betimes, relate their Adventures by Dinnertime, eat but little at Dinner, then resume their Story after Dinner, or retire into the thickest part of a Wood, in order to entertain their own selves, unless when they have something to say to the Rocks and Trees: As Suppertime, they make them repair at the usual Hour, to the place where they Diet, there they sigh and look pensive, instead of eating; and thence they go to build Castles in the Air on some Terrass-walk that looks towards (the Sea, whilst the Trusty Squire reveals, that his Master is such a one, Son to such a King; that he is the best Prince alive, and though he be still the handsomest of all Mortals, that he was quite another Man before Love had disfigured him.) To return to my story, Don Carlos repaired the next day to his Post, where the invisible Lady waited his coming: She asked him if he had not been much perplexed about their last Conversation, end if he had not doubted the truth of what she told him. Don Carlos, without answering her question, desired her to tell him what danger she feared in discovering herself, since they were upon even Terms; and that the end of their Amours being honourable, it would have the approbation of every Body? The danger is very great, and you will have it in time, said the invisible: Once more be satisfied that I am true, and that in the account I gave you myself, I was rather modest than vain Don Carlos did not press her any further, other Conversation which continued some time longer, increased the mutual Love they had for each other; and so they parted, with promise to meet every Day, ● at the appointed hour and place. The next day after there was a great Ball at the Viceroy's, where Don Carlos hoped to know his invisible Charmer; in the mean time, he endeavourd to know at whose House she gave him those favourable Audiences, and was told by the Neighbours, that the House belonged to an old Lady, Widow to a Spanish Captain, who had neither Daughters nor Nieces, and lived very retired. He desired to wait on her, but she sent him word, that since her Husband died, she admitted of no Visits, when still perplexed him more and more●● Don Carlos went in the Evening to the Viceroy's, where you may imagine there was a very fine and numerous Assembly, and nicely observed all the Ladies, 〈◊〉 hopes to find out his unknown Mistress. He engaged in Conversation with several, but was disappointed in his search. A● last he ke●● close to a Marquis' Daughter, of I know not what Marquisdom, for 'tis the most dubious thing in the World, especially at that time, when every body sets up for a Marquis. She was young and handsome, and her Voice not unlike that of the Person he looked for: But at the long run● he found such great disproportion betwixt her Wit and his Invisible's that he was sorry that in so little time, he had made such progress with this fine Lady, that without any flattery to himself, he had reason to believe she did not hate him. They danced several times together, and the Ball being over, to the small satisfaction of Don Carlos, he took his leave of his Captive, whom he left full of Pride; for having had to herself in so fine an Assembly, a cavalier who was envied by all the Men and esteemed by all the Women. As soon as he came out of the Ball, he went in great haste to his House to take Arms, and from thence to the fatal Gra●e, which was not far off: His Lady, who was there already, asked him news of the Ball, although she had been there herself. He told her very ingenuously, that he had danced with a very beautiful Person, and entertained her all the time the Ball lasted. She asked him several questions in relation to her which discovered her jealousy: and as for Don Carlos, he let her understand that he begun to doubt her Quality, by reason she was not at the Ball; she having taken notice of it, used all the charms of her Wit to remove his Suspicio●s, and favoured him as far as 'twas possible, in a Conversation that passed with a Grate between; adding withal, that in a short time she would become visible. Hereupon they parted: Don Carlos very much in doubt whether he ought to believe her, and she somewhat jealous of the fine Person, whom he entertained during the Ball. The next day Don Carlos going to hear Mass at a certain Church, the Name of which I have forgot, offered Holy Water to two Ladies veiled, who went to take some at the same time with him: She who appeared in the better clothes of the two told him, she never accepted of any Civility, from one with whom she had a quarrel to decide. If you are not too much in haste, answered Don Carlos, you may have Satisfaction this very Moment. Well, said the unknown Lady● follow me then into the next Chapel. She led the way to it, and Don Carlos● followed 〈◊〉 very much in doubt whether she was his unknown Mistress' for● though her shape was the same, yet he found some difference in their Voices, this new Lady speaking something thick This is the substance of what she told him after she had shut ●her self with him in the Chapel. All the City of N●ples, Signior Don Carlos talks of the high Reputation you have gained during that little time you have been here, and every Body looks upon you, as the most accomplished Gentleman in the World: The only thing that People wonder at is, your not taking notice that there are in this City some Ladies of Quality and Merit, who have a particular esteem for you; they have discovered it to you as far as Decency will allow, and though 'tis their eager desire to make you sensible of it, yet they had rather you had not taken notice of it through insensibility, than if you despised their Favour through indifference. Among the rest, there's one of my Acquaintance who has so much value for you, as to hazard her own Reputation, to ●ell you, that your Night-Adventures are discovered; that you rashly engage in an Amour with one you do not know, and that since your Mistress conceals herself, she must either be ashamed of her Lover, or afraid of not deserving to be beloved herself, I question not but the Object of your Contemplative Love, is a Lady of great Quality and Wit; and that your fancy has framed such a Mistress, as is worthy of Adoration upon all Accounts: But Signior Don Carlos, believe not your Imagination at the expense of your Judgement; trust not a Person who conceals herself, and engage no more in those Night-Conversations. But why should I disguise myself any longer? I myself am jealous of your Phantom: I cannot bear you should speak with her, and since I have declared myself so far, I will so thwart all her Designs, that I shall carry the Prize, to which I have as much Right as she, since I am not inferior to her either in Beauty Richest Quality, or any thing that can bespeak Love: If you are Wise, you will make use of my Advices As ●he was speaking these last Words, the went away without giving Don Carlos time to answer her. He was going to follow her, but he met at the Church Gate, a Man of Quality, who engaged him in a tedious Conversation, and of whom he could not rid himself. ●he reflected the remainder of the day upon this Adventure, and suspected at first the Lady of the Ball, to be the veiled Person that appeared last to him: But then calling to mind that the showed abundance more Wit, than he had found in the other, he was at a loss what to think of it, and wished almost not to be engaged with his unknown Mistress, that he might give up himself entirely to this last: But then again, considering that he knew her no better than his invisible, whose Wit had charmed him in all the Conversation he had with her, he firmly resolved to be constant to his first Choice, without minding in the least the Threats of the last Lady; for he was not to be wrought upon by Fear or Compulsion. That very Night he failed not to repair to the Grated Window at the usual Hour, where in the height of the Conversation with his Mistress, he was seized by four strong Men in Masks, who having Disarmed him, carried him by force into a Coach that waited for them at the end of the Street. I leave the Reader to think, how many abusive Names he gave to those Men in Disguise, and how he Reproached them for attacking him to Disadvantage on his side: Nay, he endeavoured to win 'em by promises, but instead of persuading them, he only made them take more care of him, and put him out of hopes of being able to show either his Strength or Courage. In the mean●time the Coach and six Horses drove on a full Trot, and having got out of the City after an hours Riding, came into a great House, the Gate of which was kept open in order to receive it. The four Maskers alighted with Don Carlos, holding him under the Arms like an Ambassador, introduced to salute the Grand Signior: He was carried up one pair of Stairs in the same manner, where two Gentlewomen in Masks came to receive him at the door of a large Room, each a Candlestick in her Hand, and the four Men in Disguise took their leave of him with a profound Reverence. 'Tis probable they left him neither Sword not Pistol, and that he did not forget to thank 'em for their extraordinary care of his Person: And yet perhaps he never thought on't; not but that he was a Man of good Breeding, but upon a Surprise, a slip in point of Civility ought to be forgiven. Neither will I tell you, whether the Candlesticks the Gentlewomen had in their Hands were Silver; that they were at least, if not rather Silver-guilt engraven. As for the Room, it was the most Magnificent in the World, and if you desire it, as well furnished as some Apartments of our Romances; Namely the Ship of Zelman in Polexander; the Palace of Ibrahim in the Illustrious Bassa, or the Room wherein the King of Assyria received Mandane in the Cyrus, which together with the others I named before, is certainly a Book that has the best Furniture in the World. Now imagine what Surprise our Spaniard was in, to find himself in this stately Apartment with two speechless Gentlewomen in Masks, who Conducted him into another Chamber, still better furnished than the great Room, and there left him all alone. Had he been of Don Quixot's Humour, he would have found sufficient Matter to please his Fancy; and imagined himself to be no less than Espla●dian or Amadis: But our Spaniard was no more concerned at it, than if he had been in his Inn, save only that he had a great Regret for his Invisible Lady; and as he kept his Thoughts continually employed about her, he found that Chamber more Melancholy than a Prison, which looks never pleasant, but on the outside. He was easily persuaded, that these who had provided him so fair a Lodging, were none of his Enemies; and doubted not, but the Lady who spo●e to him the day before in the Church, was the Conjurer that raised all those Enchantments. He admired within himself the Fancy of Women, and how soon they put their designs in Execution; as for him, he resolved to wait patiently the end of this Adventure, and be Faithful to his invisible Mistress, in spite of all the Threats and Promises he might receive in his new Lodging. A little while after, Servants in Masks, and in very good clothes came to lay the Cloth, and then served up Supper. Everything belonging to it was Magnificent; Music and Perfumes were not forgotten; and Don Carlos not only gratifyed his Smelling and Hearing, but his Taste also; for he eat and drank, more than I thought a Man in his condition could have done! But what's impossible to so great a Courage! I forget to tell you that he washed his Mouth; for I am informed he took great care of his Teeth. The Music played yet a while after Supper, and all being withdrawn, Don Carlos fetched many a turn about the Room, reflecting on all these Enchantments, or perhaps on something else; then came in two Gentlewomen and a Dwarf all in Masks, who without ask him whether he had a mind to go to Bed, spread a Magnificent Toilet, in order to undress him. He complied with them in every thing. The Gentlewomen turned down the Bed-Cloaths, and then withdrew: The Dwarf pulled off his Shoes, Stockings, or Boots, and then his other clothes; all which being done without exchanging a word, Don Carlos went to Bed, and slept pretty well for a Man in Love. At break of Day he was waked by the singing of Birds, that fluttered in an Aviary; the Dwars came to wait upon him, land brought him the finest Linen in the World, and the best washed and perfumed: If you think it fit, I shall not mention what he did till Dinner, (which was at least as good as Supper has been) but pass to the first breaking of that profound Silence, which had been observed to that very hour. A Gentlewoman in a Mask began to speak, by ask him if he would be pleased to see the Mistress of that Enchanted Palace. Don Carlos said, the should be welcome: And a little while after she came in, attended● by four Gentlewomen very richly Dressed. 
Such are not Cythera's Charms,  
When Dressed in Gay and Lose Attire,  
She fly's to a New Lovers Arms,  
Upon the Wings of soft desire.  Never had our Spaniard seen a Person of more Majestic M●in● than this unknown Urganda. He was so Transported, and Surprised at the same time, that he stumbled at every Bow and Step he made, as he led her into the next Room, whither she directed him.  
All the fine things he had seen in the other Rooms, I mentioned before, were nothing in comparison to what he found in this last, which still received a new brightness from the Lady in a Mask. They walked on the finest Foot-Carpet that ever was seen, since Foot-Carpets have been in Fashion: There the Spaniard was placed on an Arm-chair in spite of himself and the Lady sitting by herself, on I know not how many fine Cushions over against him, she ravished his Ears with a Voice as sweet as an Harpscical, speaking to him to this effect. I doubt not, Signior Don Carlos, but you are much surprised with what has happened to you in my House, since yesterday; but if all that is not able to move you, yet by it you may see I am as good as my Word; and from what I have done, you may guests what I am able to do. Perhaps my Rival both by her Artifice, and the Advantage she has of having Attacked you first, has made herself Absolute Mistress of that Heart, which I pretend to dispute with her: But a Woman is not to be Discouraged by the first Disappointment; and if my Fortune, which is not to be despised with all that goes along with my Person, cannot persuade you to love me; yet I shall have the Satisfaction of not concealing myself out of Shame or Deceit, and to choose to be Despised through my Defects, rather than beloved through my Artifice. As she spoke these last Words, she pulled of her Mask, and showed Don Carlos the Heavens with all their Glories for if you please, a Heaven in Miniature: The finest Head in the World, supported by the best shape he ever admired before ● in short, 〈◊〉: Person all over Divine. By the freshness of her Complexion, one would not have thought her to be above sixteen years of Age; but by a certain free and Majestic Air, which young: Persons generally want, she appeared to be near twenty. Don Carlos paused a while before he answered her, being almost angry with his invisible Lady, who hindered him from surrendring●: himself 〈◊〉 to the finest Person he ever saw, and di●bious what he should say or do: At last, after an inward Conflict, which lasted so long, as to make the Mistress of the enchanted Palace uneasy, he took a firm Resolution not to conceal from her his inmost● Thoughts; which without any manner of question, was the best thing he ever did in his Life. This is the answers he gave ●her, which some have found a little too blunt. Madam, I could not but own myself extreme happy in your Esteem, if my S●●●s would suffer me to love you. I see well enough, that I leave the finest Person in the Universe, for one who perhaps is only such 〈◊〉 Fancy; but, Madam, would you think me worth your Affection, if you found me capable of Infidelity? And how can I be Faithful, if I love you? Therefore, Madam, pity me, but blame me not: Or rather let us pity each other, and complain both; you of not obtaining what you desire, and I of not seeing what I love. He uttered these words with such a Melancholy Face, that the Lady might easily take notice, he spoke his true Sentiments. She used all the Arguments she could think of to persuade him, but he was deaf to her Prayerss and unconcerned at her Tears. She renewed the Attack several times, but met still with a stout Resistance. At last she began to Revile and Reproach him, and told him, 
What Rage and jealousy Suggests  
When they possessed a Lovesick Breasts  and there she left him, not to pick straws, but to curse a hundred times his Misfortune, which proceeded only from being too Happy. A Gentlewoman came a little while after to acquaint him, that he had the liberty to walk in the Garden. He Traversed all these fine Apartments, without meeting with any Body, till he came to the Staircase, at the foot of which he saw ten Men in Masks, who kept the Door, armed with Pertizans and Carbines. As he was crossing the Court to go into ●he Garden, one of the Gentlemen of the Guard accosted him without looking him in the Face, and told him, as though he feared to be heard: That an old Gentleman had trusted him with a Letter, which he promised to deliver into his own hands, tho' his Life must answer for it, if he should be discovered; but that a Present of twenty Pistols, and a promise of as many more, made him run all Hazards. Don Carlos promised to be Secret, and went straight into the Garden, where he read the following Letter.  
You may judge what pain I am in, since I lost you, by that you ought to feel yourself, if you love me as much as I do you. However, my uneasiness is something abated, since I am informed of the place where you are. 'Tis the Princess Porcia who stole you away; she's a Woman that sticks at nothing to please herself, and you are not the first Rinaldo, of that dangerous Armida. But I will soon break all her Enchantments, and disengage you from her Arms, to receive you into mine, which Favour you will deserve, if you are as constant as I wish you to be.  
The Invisible Lady.  
Don Carlos was so Transported with Joy, to receive the News from his Lady, with whom he was really in Love, that he kissed the Letter a hundred times over, and came back to the Garden Door, to Recompense the Messenger with a fine Diamond Ring he had on his Finger. He walked a little longer in the Garden, still wondering at the Princess Porcia, whom he often heard People report to be a young rich Lady, of the best Families in the Kingdom; and as he was a Man of strict Virtue, he conceived such an Aversion for her, that he resolved to break out of his Prison, even at the hazard of his Life. As he came out of the Garden, he met a Gentlewoman unmasked, (for from that time forward, every Body went barefaced in the Palace) who came to ask, if he would be pleased to have her Mistress eat with him? And I leave you to think whether he answered, she should, be Welcome. A little while after they served up Supper, or Dinner; for I have forgot which of the two it ought to be. Porcia appeared more bright and handsome, I said just now, than Venus Cytherea, and it will not be amiss, if for Variety sake, I say now, than an Angel: She was charming in every respect, all the time they were at Table; and the Spaniard discovered so much Wit in her, that he was in a manner sorry, to find so many excellent Qualities, so ill bestowed on a Person of so high a Degree. He did all he could to appear in good Humour, and force a pleasing Countenance, although he was continually thinking upon his unknown Mistress; and burnt with Impatience to return to the Lattice-window. As soon as the Table was cleared, they were left by themselves, and because Don Carlos spoke not a word, either out of respect, or only to oblige the Lady to speak first, she broke silence in these words. I know not whether I ought to hope something form the Gaiety I Fancy I have discovered in your Face; and whether mine, which you have seen already, does seem handsome enough to you, as to make you doubt, whether that of your Invisible Mistress, has more Charms to Captivate your Heart. I do not conceal what I designed to present you with, because I would not have you repent the accepting of my Present; and though a Person who is used to be instructed by others, be apt to be offended at a Denial; yet I will forgive you, provided you repair your past Offence, by giving me what I have more right to, than your Invisible: Therefore tell me your last Resolution, that if in case 〈◊〉 be not in my behalf, I may find out new Reasons, strong enough to Combat those, which I think I had to love you. Don Carlos thought she should have gone on with her Speech, but fe●●●ng she spoke no more, and that with Eyes fixed to the Groun●●● she expected her Doom from his Mouth; he followed his former Resolution of telling her frankly, that he could never be hers, which he did in these words● Madam, before I answer what you would know of me, I must desire you, that with the same frankness you expect from me, you would be pleased to tell me your Sentiments, about what I am going to propose to you. Suppose, added he, you had engaged a Man to love you, and that by all the Favours a Lady can grant without wronging her Virtue, you had obliged him to swear an Inviolable Fidelity; would you not account him the basest and most treacherous of Mankind, if he should fail in his Promise? And were I not that Villain, and that Traitor, if I should leave for you, a Person who has reason to think I love her? He was going to frame abundance of Logical Arguments, in order to convince her; but she did not give him time, and rising abruptly from her Seat, told him: That she plainly saw the Drift of his Discourse; that she could not but admire his Constancy, tho' so much opposite to her own quiet; that she would set him at Liberty, and that she only desired him to stay till Night, to go back in the same manner he came. While she was speaking, she held her Handkerchief to her Eyes, as though she designed to conceal her Tears, and left the Spaniard a little concerned; but yet so Transported with Joy for being again at Liberty, that he had not been able to conceal it, had he been the greatest Hypocrite in the World; and I verily believe, that had the Lady taken notice of it, she would certainly have scolded at him for it. I know not whether 'twas long before Night came, for as I told you before I dont trouble myself any more, about marking the Times or Hours; you must be contented to know that Night came at last, and that he went into a close Coach, and was set down at his Lodgings, after a pretty long way. As he was the best Master in the World, so his Servants were like to die with joy at the sight of him, and almost stifled him with their Embraces; but they did not enjoy him long; for having provided himself with Arms, and taken two of his stoutest Men along with him, he presently went to the Grated-Window in such great haste, that those who accompanied him, had much ado to keep pace with him. He had no sooner given the usual Signal, but his Invisible Deity communicated herself to him: And they exchanged such soft and tender Expressions, that I can't forbear weeping whenever I think on ' 'em. At last● the Lady told him, she was lately Affronted in that House, and had sent for a Coach in order to leave it; but because it might be a long while a coming, she desired him to send for his, which might be sooner got ready; and that she would carry him to a place, where she would no longer conceal her Face from him. The Spaniard needed no farther Entreaty, but ran like a Madman to his Men, whom he left at the end of the Street, and sent for his Coach in all haste. The Coach being come, the Invisible Lady kept her Word, and went into it with Don Carlos. She directed the Coachman which way he should drive, and bid him stop at a great House, into which the Coach went by the light of several Flamboys, which were lighted at their Arrival. The Cavalier leading his Lady, went up stairs to a very large Room, where he was a little uneasy, because she did not pull off her Mask. At last several Gentlewomen being come to receive them, each a Candlestick in their Hands, the Lady was Invisible no longer; and pulling off her Mask, she let Don Carls see, that the Lady at the Grated-Window, and the Princess Porcia, were but one Person. I will not endeavour to describe the pleasant Surprise of the Spaniard: The fair Neapolitan told him, she had stolen him away a second time to know his last Resolution; that the Lady at the Lattice had made over to her all her Pretensions, and added a thousand Expressions, no less obliging than ingenious. Don Carlos threw himself at her Feet, embraced her Kness and devoured as one may say, her Hands with Kisses: By that means avoiding all the Impertinence and Nonsense, which People generally speak when they are Transported with Joy. The Raptures of his Passion being over, he used all his Wit, and Eloquence to extol the agreeable Caprice of his Mistress, and expressed himself so well to her Advantage, that he confirmed her, she was not mistaken in her Choice. She told him, she had been unwilling to trust any Body but herself in a thing, without which she could never have loved him; and that she would never have bestowed herself upon a Man less constant than himself. Thereupon the Princess Porcia's Relations came in, having had notice given them of her Design: And as they were the chief Men in the Kingdom, they easily obtained a Dispensation from the Archbishop for their Marriage. The same Night the Ceremony was performed by the Parson of the Parish, who was an honest Priest, and a good Preacher; and so 'twere needless to ask whether he made a fine Exhorration upon the Subject. 'Tis said, they got up late the next day, which I am inclined to believe. The News was soon spread about, at which the Viceroy, a near Relation of Don Carlos, was so overjoyed, that the public rejoicings began anew in Naples, where to this day they talk of Don Carlos of Arragon, and of his Invisible Mistress.   

CHAP. X.  
How Ragotin received a Blow with a Busk on the Fingens.  
RAgotin's Story received a general Applause, and he valued himself as much upon it, as if it had been his own; which swelling his natural Pride, he begun to treat the Men-Players with Contempt, and then accosting the Women, he took their Hands without their consent, and offered to feel their Breasts; a piece of Country Gallantry, which shows more a satire than a Gentleman. Mistress Star contented herself to get her soft, fair Hands from his dirty rough Clutches; but Mistress Angelica her Companion, gave him a smiling wrap on the Fingers with her Busk. He left 'em abruptly, without so much as speaking a word, glowing with Rage and Confusion, and returned to the Man's Company, where every one spoke as fast as he could, without minding what the rest said. Ragotin silenced most of 'em, by ask 'em with a Superior Voice, what they thought of his Novel. A young Man, whose Name I forgot; answered him bluntly, it was no more his, than any Body's else in the Company, since he had it out of a Book; Whereupon he pulled one which stuck out of Ragotin's Pocket, who scratched his Hands to get it from him; but in spite of Ragotin, he put it into another Man's Hands, from whom Ragotin, endeavoured to snatch it, to as little purpose, the Book having got by this time into a third Man's Hands; in the same manner it passed to five or six different Hands, which Ragotin could not reach, because he was the shortest Man in the Company. At last having stretched himself five or six times in vain, torn half a dozen Cuffs, and scratched as many Hands, and the Book still travelling about through the middle Region of the Chamber, poor Ragotin, who saw every Body laugh at his Expense, rushed like a Madman upon the first Author of his Confusion, and dealt him several blows on his Belly and his Thighs, not being able to reach higher. The Hands of his Adversary, who had the Advantage of the Place, fell five or six times so perpendicular, and so heavy on the top of his Head, that the Crown of his Hat sunk down to his very Chin; which so shook the seat of his Reason, that the poor little Man did not know where he was. To complete his Defeat, his Antagonist at parting, gave him a sound kick on the Head, which after a very sudden Retrogradation, made him fall on his Breech, at the Women-Players Feet. Now if possible, I would have you to imagine the Rage and Fury of a little Man, more proud than all the Barbers in the Kingdom, at a time when he was Cock-a-hoop about his Story; and that too, before Players, to whom he designed to make Love; as you shall see anon, though he was yet ignorant, which of 'em had a greater Title to his Heart. To speak the Truth, his little Body thus tumbled on his Breech, did so lively represent the Fury of his Soul, by the different Motions of his Arms and Legs, that tho' his Face could not be seen, because his whole Head was enchased in his Hat, yet all the Assistants thought fit to join together, and make as it were a Barrier 'twixt Ragotin and his Adversary, who by this means got away, whilst the charitable Women-Players raised the poor little Man, roaring like a Lion in his Hat, which stopped his Eyes and his Mouth, and hindered him from fetching his Breath. Now the difficulty was how to pull off his Hat; for its Crown being in form of a Butter-pot, and the Mouth of it narrower than the Bottom, God knows whether a Head that got it in by force, and whose Nose was so very large, was able to get out of it the same way. This Misfortune occasioned a great good; for in all probability his Anger was at the highest, and without doubt, its Effects had been answerable to it, had not his Hat which suffocated him, made him consult his own Preservation, rather than to contrive the Destruction of another. He did not cry for Help, because he had not the use of his Tongue: But when they perceived that he lifted up in vain his trembling Hands to his Head, in order to set it at Liberty, and stamped the Floor with Rage and Indignation, for tearing his Nails to no purpose, they all bend their Thoughts on his Relief. The first Efforts they made to pull off his Hat, were so violent, that he thought they were going to pluck his Head from his Shoulders: At last being almost spent. he made signs with his Fingers to have his Hat cut with a pair of Scissors. Mistress Cave unclapst those she wore on her Girdle, and Rancour who was to perform the Operation, having made a show of making the Incision over against his Face, (which did not a little fright him) at last he slit his Hat behind his Head, from top to bottom. As soon as he had given vent to his Face, all the Company fell a laughing to see it so bloated, as if it was ready to burst, for the vast quantity of Spirits that flushed to it; and besides, his Nose was Excoriated. However, the Jest had gone no farther, had not a bungling Tailor advised him to get his Hat Fine-drawn. This unseasonable Advice so revived his Anger, which was not entirely extinguished, that he laid hold of one of the Andirons, and threatening to fling it amidst the Company, put the stoutest of 'em all in such a Fright, that every one ran to the Door, in order to avoid the impending blow of the Andiron; they pressed so much upon one another, that not above one was able to go out; and that too by a Fall, his sparred Legs having entangled themselves with those of the rest. Ragotin fell a laughing in his turn, which gave all the Company fresh Courage; they returned him his Book, and the Players lent him an old Hat. He fell into a violent Passion against the Man who used him so scurvily; but being more vain than Revengeful, he told the Players, with the Air of one who was going to promise 'em some extraordinary thing; that he had a mind to make a Play out of his story, and would contrive it so well, that he was sure to get as much Reputation by that single Piece, as other Poets had gained by several. Destiny told him, the Story he related was very Entertaining, but not fit for the Stage. Sure, said Ragotin, I hope you won't pretend to teach me; I would have you to know, that my Mother was Seamstress to Garnier the Poet, and I myself have one of his Ink-horns at home, Destiny replied, that Garnier would get no Reputation by it, if he was to do it himself. But what Difficulty do you find in it, asked Ragotin. The Difficulty, answered Destiny, is, that it cannot be brought into a regular Play, without committing a great many Faults, both in point of Decorum and Judgement. As for that, said Rogatin, a Man of my Parts, may make new Rules when he pleases. Pray consider, added he, what a New and Magnificent thing at once it would be, to represent a great Church-Gate on the Front of the Stage, before which twenty Beaux more or less, with as many Ladies, should speak a Thousand fine things to one another, would it not Ravish all the Spectators with Admiration? I am so far of your Opinion, continued he, that one ought to observe Decorum and good Manners, and therefore I would not make my Actors speak within the Church. Destiny interrupted him, to ask him where they could get so many Gentlemen and Ladies? And how do they do in Colleges, said Ragotin, where they fight pitched Battles? I myself played at La Flesche, the Overthrow at the Bridge de Sé, added he; above a hundred Soldiers of the Queen Mother's Party appeared on the Stage, besides those of the King's Army, which was more Numerous: And I rememeber, that by reason of a great shower that spoiled the sport, it was reported, that all the Feathers of the Country-Gentry, which was borrowed on this Occasion, would never come to themselves again. Destiny, who took great delight in hearing him say all these Judicious things, replied, that Colleges had Scholars enough for that purpose, whereas their Company did never consist in above seven or eight Persons: Rancour, who, you know, was a malicious Dog, sided with Ragotin, the better to help to make him ridiculous, and told his Comrade, he was not of his Oplnion: that he had been a Player before him; that a Church-Gate would be the finest Scene that ever was seen; and as for the necessary number of Gentlemen and Ladies, that they might have some, and represent the rest with Pasteboard. This fine Expedient of Pasteboard, invented by Rancour, set all the Company a laughing: Ragotin laughed with the rest, and swore he knew it well enough, but had a mind to keep it to himself. As for the Coaches, added he, Will it not be a Novelty in a Play? I formermerly personated Tobiah's Dog, and did it so to the Life, that the whole Audience was highly pleased with it, taking me to be a real Dog. As for me, continued he, if we may judge of Things by the Effects they work upon our Minds, I never saw Pyramus and Thisbe acted, but I was less concerned at Erasmus' Death, than frighted by the roaring of the Lion. Rancour backed Ragotin's Reasons by others as ridiculous, and by that means ingratiated himself so far with him, that Ragotin took him to Supper with him. All the other Impertinents left also the Players at Liberty; who had much rather go to Supper, than entertain the idle Coxcombs of the Town.   

CHAP. XI.  
Which contains what you will see, if you will take the Pains to read it.  
RAgotin carried Rancour into a Tavern, where he called for the best Things the House could afford. 'Tis thought he did not carry him to his own House, because his Commons were but indifferent; but I will say nothing about it, for fear of making rash Judgements; neither did I care to inquire into the Truth of the Business, because I do not think it worth my while, especially having Matters of far grater Importance to realte. Rancour, who was a Man of great Discernment, and knew his Men at first sight, no sooner saw a Brace of Partridges and a Capon served up for two People, but he began to think that Ragotin had some Design or other, and did not treat him so well, either upon account of his own Merit, or to repay the Complaisance he had for him, in maintaining his Story to be a good Subject for a Play. He therefore expected to hear some new Extravagance from Ragotin, who, however, did not discover his Thoughts at first, but continued speaking about his Novel. He recited several Lampoons he had made upon most of his Neighbours, upon some Cuckolds, that were nameless; and upon some Women: He sung drunken Songs, and showed him abundance of Acrostics and Anagrams; which are generally the first things with which your paltry Rhimers being to plague Men of Sense. Rancour made him a complete Coxcomb; for he cried up all he heard, with Eyes lifted up to Heaven, and swore like a losing Gamester, that he never heard any thing so fine: Nay, he was so transported, that he made a show of pulling off his Hair. He told him now and then, 'tis a great Misfortune both for you and us, that you do not leave all other Business to write for the Stage; for in two or three Years time Corneille would be no more talked of, than Hardy is now adays. I am, added he, an absolute Stranger to Flattery; but to encourage you, I must needs own, I no sooner saw you, but I read in your Face that you were a great Poet; and you may know of my Comrades what I told 'em about it. I am seldom mistaken: I smell a Poet at two Miles distance; and therefore as soon as ever I cast my Eyes on you, I was acquainted with you, as well as if I had brought you up. All this fulsome Stuff went down with Ragotin as glib as several Glasses of Wine, which he drank at the same time, and which intoxicated his Brain, as much as Rancour's Commendations swelled his Vanity. As for Rancour he eat and drank very briskly, erying out now and then, for God's sake, Monsieur Ragotin, improve your Talon: Once more let me tell you, you are much to blame, not to make your Fortune and ours. For my part, I scraul a little Paper as well as other People, but if I made Verses half so good as these you have been reading to me, I should not be so hard put to it to keep Life and Soul together, but would live upon my Income as well as Mondors. Therefore, Monsieur Ragotin, pray write; and if this next Winter we do not eclipse the Companies of the Hostel de Bourgoyne, and des Marez, may I never tread the Stage again without breaking one of my Arms or Legs, I'll say no more, and so let's drink. He was as good as his Word; and having pet a double Measure into a Glass, he drank Monsieur Ragotin's Health to Monsieur Ragotin himself, who did him Reason accordingly, and returned it with the Health of the (Women) Player's. This he drunk Cap in Hand, and in such a Rapture, that as he laid the Glass on the Table, he broke its Foot, without taking notice on't. and went three or four times to set it upright, but finding it impossible, he at last fling it over his Head, and pulled Rancour by the Sleeve, to let him know he had the Honour of breaking a Glass in drinking the Player's Health: It vexed him a little that Rancour did not laugh at it; but, as I said before, he was rather an envious than a risible Animal. Rancour asked him, What he thought of their Women?— The little Man blushed without giving him an Answer: But Rancour putting the same Question to him again, at last, what by his Sturtering, his Blushing, and his broken Speech, he let Rancour understand he liked one of the Players extremely. But which of 'em? said Rancour. The little Man was so disordered for having said so much, that he answered, I don't know— Nor I neither, said Rancour. This Reply cast him into greater Disorder; and, with a bewildered Look, he said, 'Tis, 'tis— He repeated the same Word five or six times over again; at which the Stroller growing impatient, I like your choice, said he, she's a very beautiful Person. This put him quite out of Countenance, insomuch that he could never tell which he loved most; though it may be he knew nothing of it himself, or that his Passion was rather Lust than Love. At last Rancour naming Mrs. Star to him, he said, 'Twas she with whom he was in love: For my part, I verily believe, that had he named either Angelica, or her Mother Cave, he had forgot the Blow he had received with a Busk from the one, and the Age of the other, and given himself, Body and Soul, to the very first that Rancour had named. So great was the Trouble of Goatish Ragotin. The Stroller made him drink a great Bumper, which carried off part of his Confusion, and pledged him with another; which done, he looking about the Room, whispered, as though it were a great Secret, though there was no Body. Well, your Wound is not mortal, and you have addressed yourself to one who is able to cure you, provided you will be ruled by him, and keep Counsel, not but your Enterprise is very difficult; for Mrs. Star is a very Tygress, and her Brother Destiny a Lion: But she does not see Men every Day like you, and I know what I can do, Let's drink out our Liquor, and to morrow will be Day, They drank each a Glass of Wine, which interrupted their Conversation for a while. After that Ragotin had recounted all his Accomplishments and Riches, and told Rancour, that a Nephew of his was Clerk to a Financier; that this Nephew had contracted a great Friendship with the Partisan de Ralliere, during the time he was at Man's, to settle an Excise-Office there; and by the means of his Nephew's Interest he endeavoured to give him Hopes that he would procure him such a Pension from the King as his Players in Ordinary had. He told him likewise, That if any of his Relations had Children, he would prefer 'em in the Church; because his Niece was married to the Brother of a certain Miss, kept by the Steward of an Abbot of that Province, who had good Live in his Gift. Whilst Ragotin was thus relating what great Interest he had, who the more he drank the more thirsty he grew, was still filling both the Glasses, which were emptied in an instant, Ragotin not daring to refuse any thing from the Hands of a Man from whom he expected such a great piece of Service. In short, they swilled till they had both their fill. Rancour, according to his custom, grew more serious, and Ragotin so dull and heavy, that he laid his Head down on the Table, and fell asleep. Rancour called one of the Maids to make a Bed ready for him, because no Body was up at his Inn. The Maid told him, she had as good make two, for she was sure Monsieur Ragotin wanted one. In the mean time he slept and snored as well as ever he did in his Life, for all the Noise they made while they were putting clean Sheets to two of the three Beds that were in the Room: But when the Maid came to wake him, and acquaint him his Bed was ready, he called her a Thousand Whores, and threatened to beat her. At last Rancour, having turned him in his Chair towards the Fire, at which the Sheets were aired, he rubbed and opened his Eyes, and suffered himself to be undressed without repining. They got him into his Bed as well as they could; and Rancour, having first made the Chamber-Door fast, went into his. About an Hour after, Ragotin got up, to what purpose I never could learn. He rambled a long time about the Room, not knowing where he was; and having overturned all the Chairs and Tables he met in his Way, and tumbled down himself several times, without being able to find his Bed again; he went at last to Rancours, and pulling his Bed-cloaths made him start out of his Sleep. Rancour asked him, What he would have? I look for my Bed, said Ragotin— 'Tis on the Left Hand of mine, replied Rancour. The little drunken Man took to the Right, and thrust himself betwixt the Rug and the Straw-bed of the third Bed, which had neither Featherbed, Quilt, nor Sheets, and there he slept all Night very quietly till next Morning. Rancour got up and dressed himself before Ragotin waked; and then asked him, Whether; 'twas to do Penance that he left his Bed to sleep on Straw? Ragotin was positive that he never got up, and that the Room must be haunted. The Innkeeper hearing this, stood up for the Reputation of his House, and picking a Quarrel with Ragotin, threatened to sue him for giving it an ill Name. But I have sufficiently exercised your Patience with the tedious Story of Ragotin's Debauch, let us return to the Strollers Inn.   

CHAP. XII.  
A Combat in the Night.  
I Am too much a Man of Honour not to advertise the Courteous Reader, that if he be offended at all the silly Trifles he had already seen in this present Book, he will do well not to go on with the reading of it; for, upon my Conscience, he must expect nothing else, altho' the Book should swell to the bigness of the Grand Cyrus: And if from what he had read, he doubts what will follow, perhaps I am in the same Doubt as well as he: for one Chapter draws on another, and I do with my Book as some do with their Horses they bestride, having the Bridle on their Neck, and trusting to their good Conduct. But perhaps I have a fixed Design, and without filling my Books with Examples for Imitation, I shall instruct with Delight in the same manner as a drunken Man creates in us an Aversion for Drunkenness, and may sometimes divert us by his merry Impertinence. Let's end this Moral Reflection, and return to our Strollers, whom we left in the Inn. As soon as their Room was cleared, and Rancour got with Ragotin, the Doorkeeper they left at Tours came into the Inn, with a Horse loaden with Goods, and sat down to Supper with ' 'em. By this Relation, and what they learned from one another, they understood how the Intendant of the Province could do them no harm, having had much ado to escape himself from the Hands of the boisterous Mob, with his Fuziliers. Destiny told his Comrades how he got away with his Turkish Habit, with which he designed to represent Marret's Soliman; and that being informed that the Plague was at Alencon, he was come to Man's with Cave and Rancour, in the same Equipage we have described in the beginning of these most true, though little Heroical Adventures. Mistress Star acquainted 'em also with the good Offices she received from a Lady at Tours, whose Name never came to my Knowledge, and how by her Means she was conducted as far as a Village near Bonnestable, where she sprained her Foot as she alighted off her Horse. She added that hearing the Company was gone to Man's, she got herself carried thither in a Litter, which the Lady of that Village lent her with a great deal of Civility. After Supper, Destiny alone stayed in the Lady's Chamber; Cave loved him as if he had been her own Son; Mistress Star was no less dear to her; and her Daughter and only Heir Angelica, loved Destiny and Star, like a Brother and a Sister. She did not yet exactly know who they were, nor upon what Account they turned Players; but she had taken notice, that though they called one another Brother and Sister, yet they were better Friends than near Relations, that Destiny paid to Star the greatest Respect imaginable; that she was extreme modest and virtuous: and as Destiny had a great deal of Wit, and seemed to have a liberal Education, so Mistress Star looked more like a young Lady of Quality, than like a Stroller. Now Destiny and Star were beloved by Cave and her Daughter●, because they really deserved their Love both by their good Qualities, and the mutual Friendship which they naturally had for two Players, who had as much Merit as any in France, though they never had the good Fortune to tread either of the two theatres in Paris, which are the Non plus ultra of French Players. Those who do not understand these three little Latin Words (which came so pat in my way, that I could not refuse to place 'em here) may be pleased to ask some Latinist of their Acquaintance the meaning of ' 'em. To end the Digression; Destiny and Star did not scruple to express their mutual Fondness before Cave and Angelica, and show the extreme Joy they had to see each other after so long an Absence. They related, as pathetically as ever they could. how uneasy they were about each other; and Destiny acquainted Mrs. Star, that the last time they acted at Tours, he thought he spied their inveterate Persecutor amongst the Crowd of their Auditors, although he had his Cloak about his Face; and that as he went out of the City, not finding himself able to resist him, if he should offer to attack him with his Force, he had disguised himself by putting a great Patch on his Face. He told her afterwards, how many Litters they met with when they went to fetch her, adding, he was much mistaken if their common Enemy was not the same unknown Man, who searched so nicely all the Litters, as you have seen in the seventh Chapter. Whilst Destiny was speaking, poor Mistress Star could not forbear shedding some few Tears: Destiny was sensibly touched with 'em; and having comforted her as well as he could, he added, that if she would suffer him to use the same Endeavours in seeking out their Enemy, as he had used till then in avoiding him, he would soon free her from his Persecutoins, or lose his Life in the Attempt. These last Words redoubled her Grief: Destiny had not Courage enough not to grieve also; and Cave and her Daughter, who were of a tender and compassionate Temper, grieved, either out of Complaisance, or by Contagion, and I believe they did even weep. I cannot tell whether Destiny wept, but this I know, that the Women and he were silent a long while; and in the mean time every one wept as they thought fit. At last Cave renewed the Conversation which Tears had interrupted, and reproached Destiny and Star, that though during all the time they had lived together, they might have seen how much she was their Friend, yet they reposed so little Confidence in her and her Daughter, that they were still unacquainted with their Birth and Quality; adding she had not met with Crosses enough in her Life, to be able to advise unfortunate Persons, such as they seemed to be. To which Destiny answered, that their not discovering themselves to her, was not out of any Distrust, but because he thought the recital of their Misfortunes could not but be very tedious; telling her withal, he would be ready to entertain her with the Story of their Adventures, whenever she was willing to throw any time away upon the hearing of it. Cave was glad of this Opportunity of satisfying her Curiosity; and her Daughter, who had the same eager Desire, being sat near her on State's Bed. Destiny was going to begin his Story, when they heard a great Noise in the next Chamber. Destiny stood listening a little while; but the Noise and the Squabble increased instead of ceasing, and some Body cried out, Murder, Help, Murder— Destiny with three Leaps got out of the Chamber, at the Expense of his Doublet, which Cave and Angelica tore as they were going to stop him. He went into the Chamber from whence the Noise came, which was so dark that he could not see his own Nose; and where the Fisticuffs, Boxes on the Ears, and several confused Voices of fight Men and Women, together with the hallow Noise of naked Feet stamping on the Floor, made an hideous and frightful Uproar. He ran very rashly amongst the Combatants, and in one Moment received a Cuff on one side, and a Box on the Ear on the other; which changed his good Intention of parting those Hobgoblins, into a violent Thirst of of Revenge. He began to set his Hands going. and made a Flourish with his two Arms, by which many a maimed Chaps were abused, as it afterwards appeared by his bloody Fists. the Scuffle lasted so long till he received twenty Cuffs more which he returned with double the Number. In the heat of the Fight, he felt himself bit at the Calf of the Leg, and clapping his Hands to it, he met with something hairy, which he took to be a Dog; but Cave and her Daughter who appeared at the Chamber Door with a Candle, like the fire of Saint 〈◊〉 after a Storm, espied Destiny, and let him see he was amidst seven Persons in their Shirts, who being in close Conflict before, begun to let one another go, as soon as the light appeared: This Tranquillity did not last long: The Innkeeper who was one of the naked Combatants, grappled the Poet anew; Olive who was also amongst 'em, was attacked by the Innkeeper's Man; another of the Combatants, Destiny went to part 'em; whereupon the Hostess, who was the Animal that bitten him, and whom he took for a Dog, because she was bareheaded, and had short Hair, flew at his Face, assisted by two Maids, as naked and bearheaded as herself. The Shrieks and Cries filled the Air once more, the Cuffs and Boxes made the Room ring again, and the Fight grew still warmer than before. At last several Persons who waked at the Noise, came into the Field of Battle, parted the Combatants, and procured a second Suspension of Arms. Now the question was to know the occasion of the Quarrel, and what fatal Accident had brought seven naked Persons into one Room. Olive, who seemed the least concerned of all, said, that the Poet was gone out of the Room, and that he saw him come back as fast as he could run, followed by the Innkeeper, who had a mind to beat him; that the Hostess followed her Husband, and fell foul of the Poet; that as he was going to part 'em, a Servant and two Maids fell upon him; and that the Light happening to go out at the same time, made the Fight last longer than 'twould have done. Now 'twas the Poet's turn to speak for himself: He said, that he had made two of the finest Stanza's that ever were written, since Stanza's were in Fashion; and fearing to lose 'em, he went to the Maid of the Inn for a Candle, which they scornfully refused to give him; that the Innkeeper called him Rope-dancer, which he returned by calling him Cuckold. He had no sooner spoke the word, but the Host who was within reach, gave him a good slap on the Chaps; you would have thought they made a fight Consort together; for as soon as the box on the Ear was given, the Inn-keeper's Wife, his Man and his Maids rushed upon the Strollers, who received 'em with sound Cuffs. This last Encounter was more fierce and obstinate, that the other two. Destiny having closed with a lusty Wench, and tucked up her Smock, gave her a Thousand flappes on the Butrocks; Olive, who saw the Company pleased with it, did the same to the other Maids. The Innkeeper was busy with the Poet; and the Hostess, the most Furious of all the Combatants, was seized by some of the Spectarors, which made her fly into such a Passion, that she cried out, Thieves. Her Cries awaked Lafoy Rappiniere, who lived over against the Inn. He caused the Door to be opened, and judging by the Noise he heard, that there could be no less than seven or eight People killed upon the Spot; he parted the Fray in the King's Name; and having learned the cause of all the Disturbance, he Exhorted the Poet not to make any more Verses in the Nighttime, and was like to beat the Innkeeper and his Wife for giving a hundred abusive Names to the Players, whom they called Jack-puddings and Tumblers, swearing withal, to turn them out of Doors the next day; but La Rappiniere to whom the Innkeeper owed Money, threatened to Arrest him, which threatening presently stopped his Mouth. La Rappiniere, went home again, the rest returned to their Chambers, and Destiny to that of the Players, where Cave desired him not to defer any longer, to give her the story of his, and his Sister's Adventures. He told her, he was ready to satisfy her Curiosity, and begun his Relation in the same manner you shall see in the next Chapter.   

CHAP. XIII.  
The History of Destiny and Mistress Star.  
I was born in a Village near Paris, and I might make you believe, that I came of a very Illustrious Family, since no Body can disprove what a stranger says of himself; but I am too Generous, and too much a lover of Truth, to deny the meanness of my Extraction. My Father was one of the Topping, and most Substantial Men in his Village, whom I often heard say, that he was a poor Gentleman's Son; that he spent his Youth in the Wars, where having got nothing but dry Blows, and empty Pockets, he betook himself to the Service of a rich Parisian Lady, in the Quality of her Gentleman-Usher; and that having scraped a Sum of Money in his Place, (because he was also the Steward and Caterer of the House, and had the knack of emptying his Mistress Purse to fill his own Pockets) he Married an old Waiting-woman of the Family, who died soon after, and left him all she got in her Service. Being soon weary of his condition of a Widower, and no less of that of a Servant. he Married a Countrywoman, who furnished his Lady's House with Bread: And 'tis to this last Marriage I own my Birth. My Father was called Gariques; what Country he was of, I never could learn; and as for my Mother's Name, it signifies nothing to my Story. Let it suffice, that she was more covetous than my Father, and my Father more covetous than she, and that they had both a pretty large Conscience. My Father had the Honour of being the inventor of the piece of Flesh tied with a string to the Pot-handle, which having boiled a considerable time, may be taken out again, and serve several times to make Soop. I could tell a hundred more pieces of Husbandry, which gained him with Justice, the Reputation of a Man of Wit and Invention; but for fear of being Tedious, I will content myself with relating only two, which may seem Incredible, though most certainly true. He bought up a great quantity of Corn, with design to sell it very dear, if the year should prove bad; but the Harvest being plentiful, and Corn falling in its Price, he was so possessed by Despair, and the Devil, that he had a mind to hang himself. One of his Neighbours who happened to be in the Room when he entered upon that Noble Design, and had hid herself for fear of being seen, (for what reason, I know not) was not a little Surprised, when she saw him hang on one of the Joints of the Ceiling. She ran to him, crying out, help, help; she ran to cut the Rope, and by the help of my Mother, who came to the Noise, got it from his Neck: Perhaps they repent the doing of so good an Action, for he beat 'em both to Mummy; and made that poor Woman pay for the Rope she had cut, by stopping some Money he owed her. His other Prowess is no less strange: He grudged himself whatever he eat, and his Wife being brought to bed of a Boy, the Fancy took him in the Crown, that she had Milk enough to Nourish both his Son and himself; and hoped, that by sucking his Wife, he would save Bread, and live upon a Food of easy Digestion. My Mother's Wit was much inferior to his, though her Avarice was as great; but though she did not invent things as my Father did, yet having once conceived 'em, she put 'em in execution more exactly than he. She therefore tried to nourish both her Son and Husband with her own Milk, and ventured also to feed upon it herself with so much Obstinacy, that the little Innocent Creature was starved to Death; and my Father and Mother so weakened, and so famished, that when they came to eat, they Surfeited themselves, and fell both Sick upon it. Some time after my Mother went with Child with me, and having happily brought forth a most unhappy Creature; my Father went to Paris, to desire his Mistress to stand Godmother to his Son, with an honest Churchman, residing at his Village where he had a Benefice. As he was returning home in the Evening, to avoid the heat of this Day, and passed through a great Strect in the Suburbs, the Houses whereof were for the most part a building; he saw afar off by the Moonshine, something that glisterens to his Eyes, as it was crossing of the Strect. He did not think it worth his while to inquire what it was; but hearing the Groans of one in Pain, at the same place where what he had seen vanished out of sight, he boldly entered one of those unfinished Buildings, where he found a Woman sitting on the Ground. The place she was in, received sufficient Light from the Moon, as to let my Father perceive that she was very young, and very richly clad, having a Gown of Silver Tissue, which was the glistering thing my Father saw a Moment before. You must not question, but my Father, who did not want Resolution, was less surprised than the young Lady; but she was in a condition, that nothing worse could happen to her. This Consideration gave her the assurance to speak first, and tell my Father, that if he was a Christian, he would take pity on her; that she was in Labour ready to be brought to Bed, and the Maid she sent for a ●usty Midwife, not returning, she slipped away from her House, without waking any Body, her Maid having left the Door open, that she might come in again without making a Noise. She had scarce made an end of this short Relation, when she was delivered us a Child which my Father received into the Lappet of his Cloak. He acted the Midwife as well as he could, and the young Lady conjured him to carry away the little Creature with all speed, to take care of it; and not to fail two days after, to go to an old Churchman she named to him, who would give him Money, and all necessary Orders for the Nursing of the Child. At this word Money, my Father who had a penurious Soul, was going to display all the Eloquence of a Gentleman-Usher, but she would not give him time; she put into his hands a Ring, for a Token to the Priest he was to go to from her; caused him to swaddle the young Creature in her Neck-handkerchief, and sent him away in haste, Maugre his unwillingness to leave her in the condition she was in. I am inclined to believe, she had much ado to get home again; as for my Father, he returned to his Village, gave the Child to his Wife, and did not fail two days after, to go to the old Priest, and show him the Ring. He learned of him, that the Child's Mother was a young Lady of a very good Family, and very rich, that she got this Child by a Scotch Lord, who was gone into Ireland to raise Soldiers for the King's Service; and that this Foreign Lord had promised her Marriage. Moreover the Priest told him, that by reason of her precipitate Delivery, she was fallen desperate sick, and being in that Extremity, she confessed all to her Father and Mother, who instead of Chiding her, endeavoured to Comfort her, because she was an only Child; that the thing was a Secret in the House, and afterwards he assured my Father, that if he would take care of the Child, and keep Council, his Fortune was made. Thereupon he gave him fifty Crowns, and a bundle of all sorts of things necessary for a Child My Father returned home after he had well Dined with the Parson. I was put out to Nurse, and the Stranger kept at home in my stead. A Month after the Scotch Lord came back, and having found his Mistress so very ill, that she would not live much longer, he married her one day before she died, and so was no sooner Husband, than Widower. He came two or three days after to our Town, with the Parents of his Wife. There they began to weep afresh, and were like to stif●le the Child with Kisses; my Father had reason to be thankful to the Scotch Lord for his Generosity, and the Parents of the Child did not forget him. They returned to Paris very much satisfied with the Care my Father and Mother took of their Son, whom they would not yet take to Paris with them, because the Marriage was still kept Secret, for some Reasons which never came to my Knowledge. As soon as I was able to walk, my Father took me home, to keep the young Earl of Glaris Company, (for so he was called by his Father's Name). The Natural Antipathy which is said to have been between jacob and Esau, in the very Womb of their Mother, was never greater than that which was between the young Earl and me. My Father and Mother loved him tenderly, and had an Aversion for me, though I was the more hopeful Boy of the two: There appeared nothing but Mean in him: As for me, I seemed to be what I was not, and rather an Earl's Son than Gariquet's; and if I am at last no more than a wretched Player, 'tis undoubtedly, because Fortune had a mind to be revenged upon Nature, for designing to make me something without her help; or if you please, because Nature is sometimes willing to favour those whom Fortune is cross to. I shall pass over in Silence, the Infancy of two young Clowns, (for Glaris was such by inclination, as much as myself) since our most Memorable Adventures were nothing but abundance of Fisticuffs. In all the Quarrels we had together, I always got the better of him, except when my Father and Mother sided with him, which they did so often, and with so much Heat, that my Godfather Monsieur Saint Sauveur by Name, was highly offended at it, and demanded me of my Father. He made him a present of me with great Joy, and my Mother had yet less Regret than he to lose me. Thus I was at my Godfathers well Clad, well Fed; much Caressed, and never beaten. He spared no Cost to make me learn to Read and Writ; and as soon as I was fit to learn Latin, he obtained of the Lord of the Village, who was a very civil Gentleman, and very Rich, that I should study with two of his Sons, under a Learned Man he had from Paris, and to whom he gave a very good Salary. This Gentleman, the Baron d'Arques by Name, took great care to have his Sons well brought up. The eldest called Saint Far, was a handsome Gentleman, but as untractably rough and brutish in his Nature, as ever any Man was; to make amends, the young Brother was both handsomer than Saint Far, and had a Vivacity of Mind, and a Greatness of Soul equal to the Beauty of his Body. In short, I do not think there ever was a more hopeful young Gentleman than Vervelle, for this was the younger Brother's Name. He honoured me with his Friendship, and as for me, I loved him like a Brother, and ever respected him as a Master. As for Saint Far, he had none but ill Inclinations, and I cannot better express the Sentiments he had both for his Brother and me, than by telling you, that he loved not his Brother more than me, for whom he had a great indifference; and that he hated me no more than he did his Brother, whom he loved but little. His Diversions were indifferent from ours, for he loved nothing but Hunting, and quoted Books of Morality; whereas Vervelle seldom went out a Hunting, and took great delight in Reading, wherein I agreed wonderfully with him, as in every thing else, without being put to the trouble of doing any thing out of Complaisance, as in Duty I ought. The Baron d'Arques had a large Library of Romances: Our Tutor who had never read any in his College, who at first forbade us the reading of 'em and had condemned 'em a hundred times before the Baron d'Arques, to render 'em as odious to him, as he found 'em Delightful, grew at last so much in Love with 'em himself, that having devoured both the old and the new ones, he confessed that the reading of good Romances, was as Instructive as Pleasant, and no less proper to inspire young People with Noble Sentiments, than the reading of Plutarch. He therefore encouraged us to read 'em, as earnestly as he had discouraged us before, and first of all advised us to peruse the Modern; but these were not yet suitable to our Palate, and till we were fifteen, we were much more delighted by the reading of Amadis de Gaul, than Astrea; and other fine Romances that have been made since, by which the French have shown to the World, as by a thousand things besides; that if they do not invent so much as other Nations, yet they bring the Inventions of others to a far greater Persection. We therefore bestowed upon the reading of Romances, the greatest part of the time we had allowed us for Diversion. As for Saint Far, he called us the Ruyters, and went abroad every day either to Hunt, or to beat the poor Country Fellows, which he did with wonderful Success. The Inclination I had to do well, gained me the Favour of the Baron d'Arques, who loved me no less, than if I had been his near Relation, He would not suffer me to leave his Sons, when he sent 'em to the Academy, but sent me thither along with 'em; rather as a Companinon, than a Servant. There we stayed about two year to learn our Exercises, at the end of which time, a Man of Quality, Related to the Baron d'Arques, raising Soldiers for the Venetians, Saint Farneze and Verville persuaded their Father to let 'em go to Venice with their Kinsman. The good Gentleman desired that I should accompany 'em still, and Monsieur de Saint Sauveur my Godfather, who loved me extremely, gave me very gener ously Bills of Exchange for a considerable Sum, to make use of 〈◊〉 in case those I had the Honour to accompany, should be unwilling to bear my Charges. We went the longest way about on purpose to see Rome, and the other fine Cities of Italy, in each of which we stayed a considerable time, excepting those which are in the Spaniard's Hands. I fell sick at Rome, and the two Brothers went on their Journey; the Gentleman under whose Conduct they were, being willing to lay hold on the Opportunity of the Pope's Galleys, which were putting out to Sea to join the Venetian Army near the straits of the Dardanells, where they waited for the Turks. Verville was extraordinary sorry to leave me, and I almost mad to part from him at a time, when by my Services I might in some measure have deserved the Love he had for me. As for Saint Far, I believe he lest me with as much indifference, as if he had never seen me; and I never thought on him, but only because he was Brother to Verville, who left me as much Money as he could spare; but whether Saint. Far was consenting, I cannot tell. Thus I was sick at Rome, having no other Acquaintance besides my Landlord, a Fleming Apothecary, who took extraordinary care of me during my Illness, and who, as far as I can judge, had more Skill in Physic, than the Italian, Doctor, who looked after me, At last I recovered, and gathered strength enough to go and view the most Remarkable Places in Rome, where Stranger's found abundantly wherewithal to entertain their Curiosity. I took a singular delight in viewing the Vines, (thus are called several Gardens, finer than the Tuilleri●s in Paris, which Cardinals and other Persons of Quality keep with much cost in Rome, rather out of Vanity, than for their own Entertainment, since they never, or at least very seldom, go there themselves,) One day as I was walking in one of the finest, I saw at the turning of a Wall, two Women very genteel dressed, whom two young Frenchmen stopped, and would not let go, unless the youngest of 'em unveiled her Face. One of those two Frenchmen who looked like the Master of the other, had even the insolence to offer to unveil her by force, whilst his Man held the other, who was barefaced I was not long debating what I should do on this occasion, but told presently to those rude Men, that I was resolved not to suffer the Violence they offered to those Women. They were both very much surprised, for I spoke with such Resolution, as would have daunted 'em, had they had their Swords as well as myself. The two Women came over to me, and the young Frenchman choosing rather to be balked than beaten, told me as he went away; Sir, for all your Hectoring, we shall meet you in some place or other, where the Swords shall not be all on one side. I answered I would not hid myself: His Man followed him, and so I stayed with the two Women. She that had no Veil on, looked to be about five and Thirty: She returned me thanks in good French, without any Mixture of Italian, and told me amongst other things, that if all Frenchmen were like me, the Italian Women would not scruple to live after the French 〈◊〉. After that, to reward the Service I had done 'em, she added; that since I hindered that rude Frenchman from seeing 〈◊〉 Daughter against her Will, 'twas reasonabled should see her of her own accord; Therefore, said the, 〈◊〉 take up your Veil, and let the Gentleman know that we are not altogether unworthy of the Honour of being under his Protection. She had scarce done speaking, ●●t her Daughter drew her Veil, or rather discovered a Sun which dazzled my Eyes. I never beheld so Beautiful an Object in my Life: she cast three or four times her Eyes on me, as it were by stealth, and as they still met with mine, the innocent Blushes which overspread her Face, made her look as handsome as an Angel. I perceived the Mother was very fond of her, for she seemed to share the Pleasure I had in looking upon her. Now by reason I was little used too these Adventures; and that young People are easily dashed out of Countenance in strangs Company, I made 'em but indifferent Compliments when they went away, and gave 'em perhaps but an ill Opinion of my Wit. I was angry with myself for 〈◊〉 ask their Habitation, and that I did not offer to wait upon 'em thither; but 'twas Preposterous to run after ' 'em. I went to the Doorkeeper to inquire whether the knew 'em, but we were 〈◊〉 long while before we could understand one another, because he spoke no better French, than I did Italian. At last, rather by Signs, than otherwise, he gave me to understand that, they were unknown to him, at least he would not own he knew'em. I returned to my Fleming Apothecary, in a very different Disposition of Mind from what I was in when I came out; that is to say, very Amorous, and very much in Pain to know whether that beautiful Leonora, was a Courtesan or an honest Woman, and if she had as much Wit as her Mother, who seemed to have a great deal. I abandoned myself to thinking, and flattered my self-with a Thousand fair Hopes, which entertained me a little while, but disquieted me much more when I considered the Impossibility of my Wishes. Having framed a Thousand frivolous Designs, I resolved at last to seek 'em out, not thinking it possible for 'em to remain long invisible in Rome, (which is not a populous City,) especially to a Man so much in love as I was. That very Day I looked for 'em wherever I thought it most likely to find 'em, and returned home more tired and uneasy than I was when I went out. The next Day I sought 'em still with more diligence, but did nothing but tire and disquiet myself yet more. By my peeping through the Lattice- Windows, and my hasty running after all the Women that bore the least Resemblance to my Leonora, I was taken an Hundred times, both in the Streets and in the Churches, for the greatest Fool among those Frenchmen who have contributed most in disparaging their Nation at Rome. 'Tis Matter of Wonder how I could gather Strength at a time when I suffered like one in Hell: However my Body recovered, whilst my sick Mind remained so divided betwixt Honour and Love, which kept me at Rome, that I often doubted whether I should obey the frequent Letters I received from Verville, who conjured me by the Ties of our Friendship, to come to him, without using the Right he had to command me. At last, all my Endeavours to find out my unknown Ladies, proving ineffectual, I paid my Landlord, and got my little Equipage ready, in order to departed. The Day before I was to go, Signior Stephano Vanberge (for so was my Landlord called) told me, he designed to give me a Dinner at a Mistress' House, and make me confess, he had not made an ill Choice for a Fleming; adding withal, that he would not carry me to her before I was to go away, because he was a little jealous. I promised to wait on him, rather out of Complaisance than Inclination; and accordingly we went about Dinnertime. The House we went into had neither the Appearance, nor the Furniture of an Apothecary's Mistress. We traversed a very fine Parlour; from whence I entered first into a Magnificent Room, where I was received by Leonora and her Mother. You may imagine how much I was agreeably surprised. The Mother of that Beautiful Daughter came towards me, to be saluted after the French way; and I must needs own, that she kissed me, rather than I her: I was so amazed, that I scarce could see any thing, neither did I hear one Word of the Compliment she made me. At last I recovered both my Senses and my Sight, and saw Leonora more Beautiful and Charming than before, but had not the Assurance to salute her. I was sensible of my Fault as soon as I committed it; but instead of repairing it, I blushed as much out of Shame, as Leonora did out of Modesty. Her Mother told me, she designed to return me Thanks before I went away, for the Pains I had taken to find out their Habitation; and this still increased my Confusion. She pulled me into a 
* Bedside.  Ruelle, adorned after the French Fashion, where her Daughter did not follow us, because, I suppose, she did not think it worth her while to join Conversation with so dull a Fellow as I seemed to be. She stayed with Signior Stephano, whilst with her Mother I acted the Clown to the Life. She was so civil as to find Matter to keep up the Conversation all alone; which she did very ingeniously; though nothing can be more difficult, than to show one's Wit with those that have none at all. For my part I never was such a Blockhead in my Life; and if she was not tired with me then, she never was so with any Body. Amongst other things, to which I scarce answered Yes or No, she told me, that she was a French Woman born, and that Signior, Stephano would inform me of the Reasons which stayed her in Rome. By this time, Dinner being ready, she was fain to pull me along to the Table, as she had pulled me before to the Ru●lle; for I was so disordered, that I did not know how to set one Foot before ' t'other. I was the same dull Loggerhead both before and after Dinner; during which, the only thing I did with Assurance, was to stare upon Leonora. I fancy she was uneasy at it, and to punish me for it, she never lifted up her Eyes all the while. Had the Mother been silent, the Dinner had been like a Carthusian Meal; but she discoursed Sign. Stephano about the Affairs of Rome; at least I fancy so, for I am not very sure of it. At last we risen from Table, to the great Comfort of every Body, except myself, whose Distemper grew worse and worse every Moment. When we went to take our leave, they told me a Thousand obliging Things, which I only answered with the ordinary Compliment we use at the bottom of a Letter: However I did something more at Parting than I did when I came in; for I saluted Leonora, and by that means completed my Ruin. Stephano was not able to get one single Word from me in all our Way home. I locked myself in my Room, without pulling off either my Cloak or Sword. There I revolved in my Mind whatever had happened to me. Leonora presented herself to my Fancy more Beautiful than ever she appeared to my Sight. I remembered how dull and silly I had been before the Mother and the Daughter; and as often as I thought on it, I was so ashamed that I could not forbear blushing. I wished to be Rich: I cursed my mean Extraction; and then I fancied to myself a Thousand lucky Adventures, advantageous both to my Fortune and my Love. At last, having nothing in my Thoughts but how to frame a plausible Pretence to stay, and not finding any to my liking, I grew so desperate, as to wish to fall sick again, to which I had already no small Disposition. I designed to write to Leonora; but all I could write did not please me, and so I put into my Pocket the beginning of a Letter, which perhaps I had not dared to send, had it been finished. Thus having disquieted myself to little purpose, and not being able to banish Leonora from my Thoughts, I resolved to go by the Vine where she appeared to me first of all, to abandon myself entirely to my Passion, and pass by her Door once for all. This Vine was well seated in one of the remotest Places of the City, in the middle of several old empty Buildings. As I passed along, pensive and Melancholy under the Ruins of a Portico, I heard some Body stalk behind me, and at the same time I felt myself run through under the Reins, I presently faced about, and instantly drew my Sword; and finding I had to do with the Servant of the young Frenchman I mentioned before, I was like to return him at least as good a Pass as he made at me by Treachery: But as I pushed him a good way without being able to close with him, because he maintained a running Fight, and endeavoured to parry, his Master came out from among the Ruins of the Portico, and attacking me behind, dealt me a stunning Blow on the Head, and a great Thrust in the Thigh, which made me fall down. There was no likelihood of my escaping at so cheap a rate; but because in an ill Action People● seldom preserve a Presence of Mind, the Servant wounded his Master in the Right Hand; and at the same time two Minime Friars of the Trinity of the Mount, who passed that way, and saw me treacherously assaulted, running to my Help, my Assassins' made their escape, and left me wounded in three several Places. Those good Friars happened to be Frenchmen, to my great Comfort; for in so remote a Place, had an Italian seen me in the Condition I was in, he would rather have avoided then succoured me, lest being found doing me a good Office, he were suspected of being himself my Murderer. Whilst one of those charitable Friars received my Confession, the other ran to my Lodging, to acquaint my Landlord with my Disaster: He came instantly to me, and caused me to be carried, half dead, into my Bed. With so many Wounds, and so much Love, 'twas not long before I fell into a most violent Fever. My Life was despaired of by all, and I had no Reason to hope better than the rest. In the mean time my Passion for Leonora was so far from abating, that it was rather increasing, though my Strength grew weaker and weaker. Wherefore, not being able to support so heavy a Burden, without easing myself of it, nor resolve to die, without letting Leonora know, that 'twas only for her sake that I wished to live, I called for a Pen and Ink. They thought I was Lightheaded; but I was so earnest in protesting that they would drive me into Despair in case they should deny me, that Signior Stephano, who had taken notice of my Passion, and was so clearsighted as to guests at my Design, gave Orders that I should have all things necessary to write; and as he knew my Intention, he stayed all alone in the Room. I perused again what I had scribbled a little before, with Design to make use of some Thoughts which came before into my Head about the same Subject, and then I wrote thus to Leonora.  
I no sooner saw you, but 'twas out of my Power to forbear loving you, My Reason did not oppose my Love, but told me, as well as my Eyes, that you were the most lovely Person in the World; whereas it should have represented to me, how unworthy I was of your Love. However, that would have served only to exasperate my Disease with unprofitable Remedies, and after having struggled a while, I must at last have yielded to the irresistible Necessity of loving you, which you impose on all that see you. Well, I love you, my charming Leonora, but with so much Respect, that you ought not to hate me for it, although I have the Boldness to discover it to you: But how is it possible to die for you, without boasting of it? And how can you refuse to pardon a Crime, with which you cannot reproach me long? I own your being the Cause of a Man's Death is a Recompense not to be merited but by a great Number of Services, and you will perhaps cnvy me an Happiness, which you procure me without Design. But do not grudge it me, lovely Leonora, since 'tis no more in your Power to make me lose it, and that 'tis the only Favour I ever received from Fortune, who will never sufficiently reward your Merit, but by procuring you Adorers as much above me, as all other Beauties in the World are below yours. Therefore I am not so vain as to think that you will bestow the least Sentiment of Pity on—  
I was not able to make an end of my Letter; my Strength failed me on the sudden; the Pen fell from my Hand, for my Mind went so fast, that my Body could not keep pace with it; else that long beginning you have heard, had been but a small part of my Letter; so much was my Imagination warmed by my Fever and by my Love. I was a long time in a fainting Fit, without giving the least Sign of Life; which Signior Stephano perceiving, he opened the Chamber Door to send for a Priest. In that very Moment Leonora and her Mother came to visit me, having been informed of my being wounded. Now as they thought this Accident besel me upon their Account, and therefore that they were the innocent Cause of my Death, they did not scruple to come to see me in the Condition I was in. My Trance lasted so long, that they went away before I was come to myself again, very much afflicted, as one may imagine, and fully persuaded that I would never recover. They read what I had been writing; and the Mother, more curious than the Daughter, perused also the Papers I left on the Bed; amongst which there was a Letter from my Father Garignes. I was a long time struggling betwixt Life and Death; but at last Youth got the better on't; in a Fortnight's time I was out of Danger; and in five Weeks I began to walk about the Room. My Landlord entertained me often about Leonora. He acquainted me with the charitable Visit, which she and her Mother had given me; at which I was overjoyed: And if I was a little troubled at their reading my Father's Letter, I was highly pleased that my own had been read also. As often as I happened to be alone with Stephano, I could talk of nothing but Leonora. One Day calling to mind what her Mother told me, that he could inform me who she was, and what Reasons obliged her to stay in Rome, I desired him to acquaint me with what he knew about it. He told me, that she was come to Rome with the French Ambassador's Lady; that a Man of Quality, a near Relation of the Ambassador, was fallen in Love with her; that in time she loved him too, and that being married clandestinely, she had the beautiful Leonora by him: He informed me likewise, that that Nobleman was fallen out with all the Family of the Ambassador upon this Account, which obliged him to leave Rome and go to Venice with Madam la Boissiere (for this was her Name) till the time of the Embassy was expired; that having brought her back to Rome, he furnished her a House, and gave her all Necessaries to live like a Person of Quality, whilst he stayed in France, whither his Father called him back, and whither he durst not carry his Mistress, or, if you please, his Wife, well knowing that none of his Relations would approve his Match. I must confess I could not sometimes forbear wishing that Leonora were not the Legitimate Daughter of a Person of Quality, that the Blemish of her Birth might excuse the Meanness of mine; but soon repent so Criminal a Thought, and wished her Fortune were answerable to her Merit. Tho' this last Thought cast me into Despair; for as I loved her more than Life itself, I plainly foresaw that I could never be happy without enjoying her, nor enjoy her without making her unhappy. When I began to recover, and that there was no other Remains of my Distemper, but a great Paleness in my Face, occasioned by the vast quantity of Blood I lost, my young Masters returned from the Venetian Army, the Plague which infected all the Levant, not suffering them to signalise their Courage there any longer. Verville had still the same Affection he ever had for me, and Saint Far did not yet show he hated me, as he has done since. I recounted to them all my Adventures, except my falling in Love with Leonora. Both expressed a great desire of being acquainted with her, which my exaggerating the Merit both of the Mother and the Daughter increased. A Man ought never to commend the Person he loves before those who may love her also, since Love enters at the Ears as well as at the Eyes. This Folly has often been pernicious to those who were guilty of it, which my own Experience will justify, as you shall see anon. Saint Far asked me every Day when I designed to carry him to Madam la Boissiere: One Day, when he was more pressing than ordinary, I answered, I could not tell whether she would admit of his Visit, because she lived very retired. Nay, replied he, I now plainly see you are in love with her Daughter; and adding, he knew how to go to see her without me, in a very blunt manner, I was so daunted● that he firmly believed, what he did scarce suspect before. Afterwards he passed an Hundred silly Jests upon me, and dashed me so out of Countenance, that Verville pitied me. He took me away from his unmannerly Brother, and carried me to the 
* Place to take the 〈…〉 Coach, as Hyde-park.  Course, where I was extremely Melancholy, though Verville, out of a Kindness extraordinary in a Person of his Age, and so much above me by his Quality, used all possible Means to divert me. In the mean time the ill-natured Saint Far, endeavoured to satisfy himself, or rather to ruin me. He went straight to Madam la Boissiere; where they took him at first for me, because he had my Landlord's Servant with him, who had often accompanied me thither; but had it not been for that, I believe he had never been admitted. Madam la Boissiere was very much surprised to see a Man she did not know: She told Saint Far, she could not imagine upon what score, a Stranger did her the Honour of a Visit. Saint Far replied very Humbly, that he was the Master of a young Fellow, who was so happy as to be Wounded in her Service.  
Having begun his Compliment with an account which, as I was informed since, pleased neither the Mother nor the Daughter; and these two Ingenuous Persons, being unwilling to hazard the Reputation of their Wit, with a Man who at first dash showed he had so little, the rude Impertinent was little diverred with them, and they very much tired with him. But what made him almost Mad, was his being denied the Satisfaction to see Leonora's Face, though he begged her a Thousand times to draw the Veil she commonly wore, as all unmarried Ladies do at Rome. At last this accomplished Courtier being tired with tiring of 'em, rid 'em of his troublesome Visit, and returned to Signior Stephano's with little Advantage from the ill Office he had done me. Ever since that time, as 'tis ordinary with illnatured People to hate those whom they have Injured, he despised me to that Degree, and Disobliged me so often, that I had a hundred times forgot the Respect I owed to his Quality, if Verville by his constant Friendship, and repeated Kindnesses, had not made me amends for his Brother's Brutality. I was not yet acquainted with the ill Office he had done me, th● I often felt the effects of it; I found indeed, Madam La Boissiere more reserved to me, than when we were first acquainted, but being still as civil as before, I did not take notice of my being Troublesome. As for Leonora, she appeared very thoughtful before her Mother, but when she was not observed by her, methought she was not so Melancholy, and cast on me more favourable Looks. Destiny was thus relating his story, and the Actresses listened very attentively, without showing the least inclination to sleep, when they heard the Clock strike two; (in the Morning) Mistress Cave put Destiny in mind, that the next day he was to accompany Monsieur La Rappiniere to a House about two or three Leagues out of Town, where he promised to give 'em the Diversion of Hunting. This made Destiny take his leave of the Players, and retire to his own Chamber, where in all probability he went to Bed: The Players did the same, and the remaining part of the Night was spent in quiet; the Poe●, as luck would have it, having made no new Stanzas to disturb the general Repose.   

CHAP. XIV.  
How the Curate of Domfront was carried away.  
THose who have had so much spare time to throw away upon the reading of the foregoing Chapters, may remember, if they have not forgot it, that the Curate of Domfront was in one of those Litters, which met four in Company in a little Village, by an Accident which perhaps had never happened before; though every one knows, four Litters may sooner meet together, than four Mountains. This Curate then, who lodged in the same Inn where our Players quartered, having held a Consultation of the Physicians of Man's about his Disease, and being told by those grave Doctors in very Elegant Latin, that he was troubled with the Gravel, which the poor Man knew but too well already; and likewise having dispatched some Business which never came to my knowledge; This good Priest, I say, set out from that Inn about nine a Clock in the Morning, to return to the Spiritual Conduct of his Flock. One of his Nieces, dressed like a Gentlewoman, whether she was so or no, placed herself on the forepart of the Litter, at the good Man's Feet, who was very thick and short. A Peasant, by Name William, led the Fore-horse by the Bridle, by special, order from the Curate, for fear the Horse should stumble; and the Curate's Servant, named julian, took care to drive the hinder Horse, which was so restive, that julian was often obliged to push him forward with his Shoulders. The Curate's Chamber-pot, which was of yellow Brass, and glisterens like Gold, as being newly scoured in the Inn, hung on the right side of the Litter, which made it look more Magnificent than the left side, which was only adorned with a Hat in a Pasteboard Case, which the Curate received from the Paris Messenger, for a Gentleman of his Acquaintance, who had a House near Domfront. About a League and a half from the Town, the Litter jogged leisurely on in a hollow way, fenced on both sides with thick Hedges, as strong as Walls, when three Horsemen seconded by two Men on Foot, stopped the Venerable Litter. One of them who seemed to be the Captain of those Highwaymen, with a most terrible Voice, said: Death and Furies, the first Man that offers to speak a word, i'll Pistol him, and clapped the Muzzle of his Pistol within two Inches of William, the Country-Fellow's Nose, who led the Horselitter. Another did the like to julian, and one of the Foot-Pads levelled his Gun at the Curates Neck, whilst the Curate slept very quietly in his Litter; and by that means was freed from the terrible Fright which seized his little peaceful Retinue. These Villainous Fellows drove the Litter with more haste than the dull Horses that carried it, were willing to make. Never was silence better observed, in so violent an Action: The Curate's Niece was more dead than alive; William and julian wept, without daring so much as to open their Mouths, by reason of the terrible Apparition of Fire-arms, and the Curate slept on, as I said before. One of the Horsemen detached himself from the Main-Body, and went a full Gallop before. In the mean time the Litter reached a Wood, at the entrance of which, the Fore-horse which perhaps was as much frighted as his Leaders, or else out of spite, because they forced him to go a quicker pace, than his dull and heavy Constitution would permit him, put his Foot in a Wheel-tract, and fell floundring so fiercely, that the Curate waked at the Noise; and his Niece trundled down from the Litter, on the lean Buttocks of the Jade. The good Man called julian, who durst not so much as answer him; he than called his Niece, who was not such a Fool as to open her Mouth; and the Peasant being as hardhearted as the rest, the Curate fell into a Passion in good earnest. Some relate he swore a great Oath, but I can hardly believe such a thing of a Curate of Lower Main. The Curate's Niece had by this time raised herself up again from the Horse's Buttocks, and sat in her place without daring to look on her Uncle, and the Horse having with great vigour disengaged his Feet, went on faster than ever he did, notwithstanding the Curate's screaming out, with his Reading-desks Voice, stop, stop. His repeated cries scared the Horses, who run as if the Devil drove 'em, which made the Curate cry still the louder. Sometimes he called julian, sometimes William, and oftener than the rest his Niece, ●o whose Name he added the Epithet of double Whore and Carrion. However, she might have spoke if she had been willing; for the Man who made her observe a religious Silence, was gone to meet the Horsemen who road before, about forty or fifty yards from the Litter. But the fear of the Carbine, made her insensible of her Uncle's hard Words, who seeing himself so obstinately disobeyed, began at last to howl ' and cry out, help, help, Murder. Thereupon the Horsemen who road before, and whom the Footman had called back, came to the Litter, and made it stop. One of them said with a terrible Voice to William? What Foolis that, that makes such a noise in the Litter. Alas, Sir, answered William, with fear and trembling, you know it better than myself. The Horseman gave him a found knock on the Teeth with the but end of his Pistol, and presenting the Muzzle to the Niece, commanded her to unmask, and tell him who she was. The Curate, who from his Litter beheld all these Passages, and had a Lawsuit with a Gentleman in his Neighbourhood, De Laune by Name, thought 'twas he that had a mind to Murder him. Whereupon he cried out; Monsieur de Laune, I Summon you before God Almighty, to answer for my Murder if you kill me: I am a Consecrated Priest, though an unworthy one, and i'll have you Excommunicated like a Cannibal. In the mean time his Niece pulled off her Mask, and showed to the Horseman a wild staring Face, which he did not know. This produced an unexpected effect. That passionate Gentleman discharged one of his Pistols into the Flank of the Horse that carried the Forepart of the Litter, and with the other shot, one of his Footmen in the Head; saying, let all that give false Intelligence, have this for their pains. And now it was, that the Curate's and his Retinues fears began to redouble: He demanded their Confession, julian and William fell on their Knees, and the Curate's Niece kept close to her Uncle, But those who put them in that terrible Fright, were already gone from 'em, and made the best of their way, as fast as their Horses could drive, leaving to their Charge, the Body of the Fellow that was shot with a Pistol. julian and William got up, still shaking with the remains of their Fear, and told the Curate and his Niece, that the Troopers were gone. Now they were fain to unharnes the hindermost Horse, to set the Litter upright; and William was sent to the next Town to get another Horse. In the mean time the Curate was at a loss, what to think of these Accidents: He could not imagine, why they left him without robbing him; nor for what reason, that Horseman killed one of his own Men; at which, however, the Curate was not so much offended, as at the loss of his poor murdered Horse, which in all probability, had never quarrelled with that Stranger. Upon the whole Matter, he concluded that 'twas the Laune, who designed to Murder him, and said, he'd have his Revenge, His Niece maintained, that 'twas not the Laune, whom she knew very well; but the Curate had a mind it should be he, that he might have the occasion to indite him for an Assault, hoping to get him Condemned upon the Deposition of some Knights of the Post, whom he expected to find at G●ron, where he had some Relations. julian espying a Company of Men on Horseback making towards 'em, betook himself to his Heels as fast as he could run: The Curate's Niece seeing julian upon the Flight, thought he had some reason for it, and scampered away also which put the Curate entirely beside himself, not knowing what to make of so many extraordinary Accidents. At last he espied Horsemen, whom julian saw before, and which is worse, he saw 'em coming up directly towards him. This Troop was composed of nine or ten Horsemen, in the midst of whom there was a Wretch bound Hand and Foot on a little sorry Horse, with a pale downcast Look, like one that's carried to be hanged. The Curate began to say his Prayers, recommending himself to God Almighty's Mercy, not forgetting the Horse that was left alive: But he was very much Surprised, and Comforted the same time, finding 'twas La Rappiniere with some of his Men. Lafoy Rappiniere asked him what he did there, and whether 'twas he that killed the Man that lay dead near the Horse's side. The Curate told him the whole Adventure, still affirming, that 'twas the Laune that had Waylaid him, of which Lafoy Rappiniere made a Verbal Process at large. One of his Guard went to the next Village, to get the dead Body removed, and returned with the Curate's Niece and julian, who by this time were recovered from their Fright, and had met William with a fresh Horse for the Litter. The Curate returned safe and sound to Domfront, where as long as he lives, he will relate how he was set upon, and carried away. The dead Horse was eaten up by the Wolves, or Masty Dogs; the Body of the dead Man was buried I know not where, and La Rappiniere, Destiny, Rancour, and Olive, La Rappinierr's Guard, and the Prisoner, went back to Mans. This is the Success of La Rappiniere, and the Strollers Hunting, who catch'r a Man instead of a Hare.   

CHAP XV.  
The Operator's or Mountebank's Arrival at the Inn. A Continuation of the History of Destiny and Star. A Serenade.  
YOU may be pleased to remember, that by the foregoing Chapter, one of those that set upon the Curate of Domfront, had lest his Companions, and went full Gallop I know not whether. Now as he was Spurring on a main in a deep and narrow Way, he spied afar off some Men on Horseback, making directly towards him, and would have wheeled about to shun 'em, but turning too short, and with more haste than good speed, his Horse started up so suddenly, that he fell down backwards, and his Rider under him. La Rappiniere and his Fellows observing this, thought it were very strange, that a Man who came in such post hast towards 'em, should endeavour to avoid them with the like Speed. It gave them therefore just cause of Suspicion, especially to Lafoy Rappiniere, who was very Susceptible of his own Nature; besides, that his Office obliged him to make the worst Interpretation of things in dubious Cases. His Suspicion increased to a high Degree, when coming near that Man, who had one Leg engaged under his Horse, he took notice that he was not so much dismayed at his Fall, as that it was with such a Witness: Now considering it could be no prejudice to him to aggravate his Fright, and knowing how to discharge his Office, as well as any Provost in France, he drew near him, and told him; What! are you caught in a Trap, good, honest Man: Well, I'll take care you do not get such another heavy Fall. This amazed the poor Fellow much more than his Fall had done, and La Rappiniere and his Harpies saw in his Countenance such visible Signs of a gulity Conscience, that any other Provost less forward than he, would have arrested him without any more a doc. He therefore commanded his Men to help to get him up, and bound Hand and Foot on his own Horse, He soon afterwards met the Curate of Domfront in that Disorder you have read of, with a dead Person Murdered, and a Horse shot through, which confirmed him in his Suspicions; to which the Prisoner's greater Disorder and change of Colour, was no small Addition. Destiny surveyed him more earnestly than the rest, imagining he knew him, though where he had seen him, he could not perfectly call to mind. He scratched his dull Pate all the way he road, to awake his drowsy Memory; yet could not remember where he had seen him. At length they Arrived at Man's, where La Rippiniere committed the supposed Malefactor to Prison, whilst the Strollers who were to open the stage the day following, retired to their Inn, to get all things in readiness. They were reconciled to the Innkeeper, and the Poet who was as generous as any Poet of 'em all, would needs Treat 'em at Supper. Ragotin who was then in the Inn, and could not refrain coming to it, ever since he was smitten with Madam Star, was invited by the Poet, who was so much a Fool, as to invite also those that had been Spectators of the Combat, which was fought the Night before betwixt the Players and the Innkeepers Family, in their Shirts and Smocks. A little before Supper begun, the jolly Company was further incensed by the Arrival of an Operator, and his Retinue; which consisted of his Wife, an old Blackamoor Maid, a Monkey, and two Footman. Rancour was of his Acquaintance, of a long standing, and therefore there past great Civility betwixt 'em: Nor would the Poet, who was easily acquainted with the People, part with him nor his Wife, before he had prevailed upon 'em by his high Compliments, which sounded loud, and signified little, only to come and honour him with his Presence at Supper. Well, Sup they did, where nothing happened that is Remarkable, only they drank plentifully, and eat in proportion. Ragotin ' fed his Eyes on Madam Star's Face, which intoxicated him more than the Liquor he swallowed. He spoke but very sparingly all the time they were at Table, though the Poet gave him a fair Opportunity of Wrangling, flatly Condemning Theophilus' Verses, of which Ragotin was a great Admirer. The She- Players engaged a while with the Operator's Wife, a Spanish Woman, pretty agreeable. They afterwards withdrew to their Chamber, whither Destiny waited on 'em, to prosecute and end his story, which Cave and her Daughter died with Impatience to hear. Star in the mean time was studying her Part, and Destiny having taken a Chair near the Bedside, whereon Cave and her Daughter sat, went on with his story after this manner.  
Hitherto you have found me very Amorous, and much in pain, to know what effect my Letter had wrought in Leonora's and her Mother's Mind's; you shall see me more in Love yet, and in the greatest Despair imaginable. I waited every day on Madam La Boissiere and her Daughter, so blinded with my Passion, that I did not take notice of the coldness of their Reception, nor did I consider that my too frequent Visits would become importunate. Madam La Boissiere was weary of my Company, ever since Saint Far acquainted 〈◊〉 who I was: Yet she could not civilly forbid me the House, after what I had suffered on her account. As for her Daughter, if I may judge by what she has done since, I may say she pitied me, though contrary to her Mother's Will, who kept so watchful an Eye upon her, that we could never have an Opportunity to meet in private. But to speak the Truth, though this fair Virgin would have been less cold to me than her Mother, she durst not show me the least token of her Favour before her Mother; so that I was on the Rack, and thy assiduous Visits, served only to make me more hateful to those whom I designed to please. One day Madam de la Boissiere having received some Letters from France, which obliged her to go abroad as soon as she had read the Contents of 'em, she sent immediately for a Coach, and Signior Stephano accompany her, not daring to go alone after the unlucky Rencounter, wherein I was engaged upon her account. I was my self nearer at hand, and more fit to be her Squire than the Gentleman she sent for; but she would not accept of the least Service from a Person, whom she intended to rid herself of. As luck would have it, Stephano was not to be found; so that she was compelled to show before me, how uneasy she was, that she had no Body to go along with her, that I might offer myself; which I did with as much Joy, as she could have Regret to be necessitated to take me along with her. I Conducted her to a certain Cardinal, who was then Protector of the French, who by good fortune gave her Audience, upon the first Motion she made. The Business was doubtless of great Importance, and no small Difficulty; for she was a long time with him in a private Grotto, or covered Fountain in the midst of a fine Garden, whilst all the Cardinal's Followers walked into those parts of the Garden they had most fancy to. Now was I got into a large Walk of Orange-Trees alone, with the Beautiful Leonora, a Blessing I had often wished before in vain; and yet more Modest and Faint-hearted, than ever I had been. I cannot tell whether she took notice of it or not, or whether it was her Goodness which made her speak first to me in this manner. My Mother, said she, will have just reason to quarrel with Signior Stephano for failing us to day, and being the occasion of the trouble we give you to wait here so long. And I am infinitely obliged to him, replied I, for procuring me, though without Design, the greatest Happiness I ever hope to enjoy. I am too far upon the score of Obligation towards you, said the, to omit any thing that may prove your Advantage; therefore, pray lot me know where the Happiness consists you mention, as procured by him, that I may share your Joy, if it be such as will not offend a Maiden's Ear. I fear, said I, lest you make that Joy cease— I! answered she; No, I never was envious of any Man's Prosperity, much less of a Person, who has ventured his Life on my account. 'Tis not your Envy that I fear, answered I,— What other Motive, returned she, can there be to make me oppose your Felicity? Your Disdain, said I. I shall be much perplexed, added she, till you let me know what I should Disdain, and which way this Disdain may concern you. I could soon un●old this Riddle, said I, but I cannot tell whether you will be pleased to understand it. Do not let me hear it then, replied she; for when we have such Doubts, it shows the thing is not to be easily understood, or is such as may Displease, I must confess I have admired a hundred times since, how I was able to answer her, my Mind being less intent upon what she said, than full of Fears of her Mother's return, and losing the Opportunity of entertaining her with my Love. However, at last I mustered all my Assurance, and without prolonging a Conversation, which did not carry me fast enough to the Point I aimed at; I told her, without minding her last words; That I had long sought the Opportunity to speak with her, thereby to confirm what I had presumed to express in my Letter, which yet I durst not have undertaken, but on the knowledge that she had seen that Writing. To this I added, a great deal of what I had Written, and said Moreover, that being upon my Departure to serve the Pope in the War he was making on some Princes of Italy, and resolved to die there, since I found myself unworthy to live for her; I would entreat her only to tell me, what Sentiments she would have entertained for me, had my Fortune answered the Ambition I had to love her. She told me with a Blush, that my Death would not be indifferent to her; and therefore, added she, if you are still of the same obliging Temper towards your Friends, do not let's lose one who has been so serviceable to us; or at least, if you will needs die, for some greater reason than what you have just now expressed; yet defer your Death, till we have seen one another in France, whither my Mother and myself are suddenly returning. I pressed her to explain more clearly the Sentiments she had for me, but her Mother was by this time come so near us, that she could not have satisfied me, if she had intended it. Madam de la Boissiere looked but coldly upon me, perhaps because I had had an Opportunity to entertain her Daughter, who likewise seemed to be somewhat uneasy, which made me stay but a little while with them, after their being returned home. I left 'em highly pleased with my Adventure, putting the best Interpretation on Leonora's Answer, which I inferred to be favourable to my Passion. The next day I omitted not to wait upon them according to my Custom: I was told they were gone abroad, and the same answer I received for three days together, for I was not Discouraged by the first or second Denial. In fine, Signior Stephano advised me to go no more, because Madam ' de la Boissiere would not suffer me to see her Daughter; adding, he took me to be a Man of more Sense, than to Expose myself to a Refusal. Then he acquainted me with the reason of my Disgrace. Leonora's Mother had caught her writing a Letter to me, and having severely Reproved her for it, did afterwards give a strict Order, that her People should always deny their being within, when I came to pay my Visit to 'em: And then I likewise discovered the ill Office Saint Far had done me, and that ever since that time, the Mother had been very much displeased with my Visits. As for the Daughter, Stephano assured me, that my Personal Merit would have made her wave my mean Birth and Fortune, could she have gained her Mother's Consent; who was too Haughty and Covetous to be persuaded to it. I shall not trouble you with the desperate Thoughts this unwelcome News put me into: I was as much concerned at it, as if I had Injustice done, in being refused by Leonora, though I never durst hope to have the least possession in her Heart: I railed against Saint Far, and had some thoughts of Fight him; but then considering how much I was obliged to his Father and Brother, I had no other Refuge but my Tears. I wept like a Child, and was always uneasy, but most of all in Company. Now came the sad moment of our Departure, and I was forced to go away without taking my last Farewell of Leonora. We made a Campaign in the Pope's Armies, where I courted Death as much as I could; but Fortune disappointed me in this, as she had e'er done in all my other Attempts. I could not meet with Death which I sought for, but gained Reputation I did not aim at, though I had been proud of it at any other time; whereas then I could cherish nothing, but the pleasing remembrance of Leonora. Verville and Saint Far were recalled to France by the Baron d'Arques, who received 'em like a Father, who dotes on his Children. My Mother gave me a very indifferent Reception; and as for my Father, he dwelled at Paris with Count Glaris, who had chosen him Governor to his Son. The Baron d'Arques, who was made acquainted with my feats of Arms in the War of Italy, where I had saved Verville's Life, would needs have me live with him in Quality of a Gentleman, and Companion. He gave me leave to visit my Father at Paris, where I found less welcome, than I had done from my Mother. Any other Person in his Station, that had had a Son so Accomplished as myself would certainly have presented him to the Scotch Earl, but my Father carried me out of his House in great haste, as if he feared I should Disgrace him: As we went about the Streets, he Reproached my being too fine and gallant; told me, I seemed proud, and that 'twere better for me to learn a Trade, than thus to strut it with a Sword on my side. you may imagine, this Discourse sounded but harsh in a young Man's Ears, that had been well Educated, and gained some Reputation in the Wars. And who besides had dared to love a handsome young Lady, and declare his Passion to her. I must freely own, that the Sentiments of Love and Respect, which a Son own to his Father, could not make me refrain from looking on him as a very Troublesome old Man. He led me about through three or four several Streets, with the same Civility and Caressing Expressions, and then shook me off Abruptly, charging me not to come near him any more. I was willing enough to obey this last Injunction, and therefore quitted him, to go and wait upon Monsieur de Saint Sauvour, who received me like a Father indeed, and blamed my own Parents for their unnaturalness; promising withal, never to abandon me. The Baron d'Arques had some Business, which obliged him to go and dwell at Paris. He took his Lodgings the further end of Saint Germains Suburb, in a very stately House, that had been lately built with many others, which have rendered that Suburb the finest part of the City of Paris. Saint Far and Verville made their Court to the King, went to the 
* At the Ring in Hyde-park.  Park, or a Visiting, as all young Men of Quality are wont to do in that vast City, which makes the Inhabitants of all other Cities in the Kingdom that never come there, be accounted Clowns. For my own part, when I waited not on them, I frequented all the Fencing-Schools to keep my hand in use, or went to the Playhouse, which is perhaps one reason why I am now a tolerable Actor. Verville took me aside one day, and told me he was fallen deeply in Love with a young Lady that dwelled in the same Street. He informed me she had a Brother, Saldagne by Name, who was as jealous both of her, and another Sister under his Tuition, as if he had been their Husband. Moreover he told me, he had made no small progress in his Amours, having persuaded her to give him Entrance by Night into their Garden, the back Door whereof opened into the Fields, as ours did likewise. Having made me his Confident, he desired me to Accompany him, and use all my Rhetoric to gain the Favour of the Woman that was to attend her. Verville had showed me all along such Friendship, that I could not reasonably refuse him any thing: So we went out of our Garden Backdoor about ten a Clock at Night, and were admitted into the Garden where the Mistress and the Maid waited for us. The poor Madam Saldagne trembled like a Leaf, and durst not speak; Verville's Courage was little better; the Waiting-woman was as mute as she; and I who only came to Accompany Verville, spoke not a Word, neither had I any desire of prating. At last Verville summoned his Courage to his Aid, and led his Mistress into a close Walk, having first laid a strict Charge upon the Waiting-woman and myself to play the Centeries part, which we observed so Religiously, that for a long time we walked together, without speaking one word to one another. At the end of the Ally we met with the young pair of Lovers: Verville asked me aloud, whether I had entertained Mistress Maudlin as she deserved? I replied, I thought she had no reason to Complain. No, in truth, answered Abigal, for he has not yet spoke one word to me. Verville laughed at her words, and assured Mistress Maudlin, that I was worth her Conversation, though I were somewhat Melancholy. Likewise Madam Saldagne said, that her Woman was not to be Despised, and thereupon those happy Lovers left us again, only bidding us be sure that no Body came to Surprise 'em I then prepared myself to be plagued with the Chat of a Waiting-woman, whom I expected would now examine me about my Wages, what Acquaintance I had among the Chambermaid's in that Parish, how many new Catches I could sing, and what Vails I had with my Master. After this, I imagined she would acquaint me with all the Secrets of Saldagne's Family, and tell me both his Faults, and his Sisters. For there are few Servants that meet, without giving one another a full Account of all they know about their Masters and Mistresses, and finding fault with 'em for neglecting to make their own Fortune, and prefer their Servants. But I was not a little Surprised, to find myself in Discourse with a Waiting-woman, that began thus: I Conjure thee, thou Dumb Spirit, to tell me whether thou art a Servingman, or not, and if thou art a Servingman, by what admirable Virtue thou hast forborn, thus long slandering thy Master? I was amazed to hear a Chambermaid talk at that extraordinary Rate; and so I asked her, by what Authority she took upon her to Exorcise me? I perceive, said she, thou art a stubborn Spirit, and that I must repeat my Conjuration. Tell me therefore, Rebellious Spirit, by the Power God has given me over all proud and selfconceited Servingmen, tell me who thou art. I am a poor young fellow, answered I, that would fain be now asleep in my Bed. I find, replied she, it will be no easy Matter for me to know who thou art: Yet thus much I clearly discover already, that thou hast little of a Courtier in thee. For, continued she, shouldst thou not have first broken Silence in an humble Address; then have taken me by the Hand, entertained me with abundance of Amorous fiddle-faddle, suddenly struggled for a Kiss, attempted to storm my Breast, till you had been beaten off with three or four Cuffs on the Ear, as many Kicks on the Breech, and Scratches over the Nose; and then have returned home with Scars of Honour, and the Marks of an Amorous Adventurer? There are some Maids in Paris, said I, interrupting her, whose marks I would be proud to bear; but there are others too, whom I shall dread to look upon, for fear of Dreaming afterwards of the Devil. What? thou thinkest, said she, that I am perhaps one of those Scare-crows. But good Master Squeamish, dost thou not remember the old saying, That in the Dark all Cats are Grey! True, replied I, but I'll never do that in the Dark which I may repent when the light appears. But if I be handsome, said she, what then? Then I have showed you less respect than you deserve, replied I: For if your Beauty be equal to the Charms of your Wit, you deserve to be served and courted after the nicest Rules of Gallantry. And couldst thou serve a Lady according to the nicest Rules, said she? Better than any Man living, replied I, provided I loved her. What's matter for that, said she, so she loved you? Nay, both must join Issue, where I engage in an Amour, replied I. Truly, said she, if I may judge of the Master by his Man, then has my Mistress made no indifferent Choice in Monsieur Verville; and that Waiting-Maid, whom thou shouldst condescend to love, would have no little Cause to be proud of herself. 'Tis not enough to hear me talk, said I, you must see me too— I believe both may be better let alone, replied she— Our Conversation was fain to end here: for Monsieur Saldagne knocked hard at the Street Door, which they made no great haste to open, that his Sister might have time to slip up into her Chamber. The poor Lady and her Woman went away in such haste and disorder, that they did not so much as bid us adieu when they shut us out to the Garden. Verville would needs have me go into his Chamber, when we got home. I never saw a Man so much in Love, and so well pleased: He extolled the Wit of his Mistress, and told me, he should never be satisfied till I had seen her. In fine, he kept me there all Night, repeating every thing over and over so often, that I could not get to my Bed till break of Day. For my own part I admired to have met with so much Wit in the Conversation of a Waiting-Woman; and I must confess, I had a sort of an itching Desire to know whether she was Handsome or not, though, the Memory of my Leonora made me very indifferent towards all the good Faces I saw every Day in Paris. Verville and I slept till it was Noon: and as soon as he waked, he wrote to Madam Saldagne, and sent the Letter by his Footman, who had several others, and was acquainted with her Woman. This Fellow was of Lower Britain, of a very disagreeable Figure, and a worse Brain. When I saw him going, it came into my Thoughts, that if the Party, whether Waiting-Woman, or Chambermaid, whom I had entertained, should see him in that rugged Shape, and speak with him a while, that certainly she would not mistake him for the Person that waited on Verville. This great Looby did his Message well enough for a looby; having found Madam Saldagne with her other Sister, named Madam Lery, whom she had entrusted with Vervilie's Love to her. As he was waiting for an Answer, they heard Monsieur Saldagne singing on the Stairs. He was coming to his Sister's Chamber, who hastily conveyed the British Mercury into a Press for Clothes. However the Brother made no long stay with his Sister, and so the Britain was set in the open Air. Madam Saldagne locked herself up in her Closet a while to answer Verville's Letter, and Madam Lery discoursed the Britain, whose Conversation, I doubt, was not very entertaining. Her Sister, having made an end of her Letter, released her from our Clown, sending him back with a Billet, wherein she promised to meet him that Night, at the same Time and Place as before. As soon as it was Night, you may imagine, that Verville was ready to go to the Place of Assignation, We were admitted into the Garden, and it fell to my Lot to cope with the same Person I entertained before, and whom I found so very witty. She expressed more Wit this second time than she had done at first; and both her Accent and manner of Speech was so charming, that I confess I wished she might be as Handsome as she was Ingenious. In the mean time she could not believe me to be the Britain she had seen before; nor could she apprehend why I should have so much more Wit by Night than by Day: for having heard the Fellow relate that Monsieur Saldagne's coming into his Sister's Chamber had put him into a great Fright, I took it upon myself, and played upon her with it, assuring her, that I was not then in so much fear for myself, as for Madam Saldagne. This put it out of all Dispute that I was the same ill-favoured Rogue; and I observed afterwards she began indeed to discourse like a Chambermaid, She then informed me, that Monsieur Saldagne was a terrible Man; that having lost both Father and Mother in his Youth, being Master of a great Estate, and having only few of his Kindred, he exercised a great deal of Tyranny over his Sisters, to make them turn Nuns; using them not only like an unjust Father, but like a jealous unsupportable Husband. I was about to take my turn, and tell a Story of the Baron d'Arques and his Sons, when the Garden-Door, which we had not made fast, was thrown open, and in comes Monsieur Saldagne, attended by two Footmen, the one carrying a lighted Flamboy in his Hand. He came from a House which stood in the same Row with his and ours, where they gamed every Day, and which Saint Far frequented to pass away the time. They had both played there that Evening, and Saldagne having soon lost his Money, was coming home by his Garden, contrary to his Custom, and there surprised us as I told you, finding the Door open. We were at that time all four of us together in a covered Walk, which gave us opportunity to shun his and his men's View The Gentlewoman remained in the Garden, upon pretence of 〈◊〉 king the fresh Air; and to give it the better Colour, began to sing though she had little Inclination to it, as you may easily imagine. In the mean time Verville having scald the Wall, by mean of a Vine-Arbour, jumped down on the other side. But a third Footman of Saldagne's that was but coming in, seeing him leap, failed not to run and give his Master notice he had seen a Man leap from the Garden-Wall into the Street. At the same instant I fell down with a great noise into the Garden, the same Arbour, by means of which, Verville made his escape, being unfortunately broke down under me. This Noise, together with the Fellow's Tale, alarmed all those that were in the Garden: Saldagne runs to the Place from whence the Noise came, Followed by his three Men, and spying a Man with his Sword drawn, (for as soon as I could get up I put myself in a posture of defence,) he attacked me at the Head of his Company; but I soon made him know I was no easy Conquest. The Fellow that carried the Flamboy advanced farther than the rest, which gave me opportunity to see Saldagne's Face, whom I presently knew to be the same Frenchman that would have murdered me at Rome, for having hindered him from being rude to Leonora, as I before related. He knew me likewise at first sight, and making no doubt but I was come thither to take my just Revenge, he cried out, You shall not escape me now I assure you: And then I was hard put to it indeed; besides that I had almost broken one of my Legs with my Fall. I maintained a running Fight, till I retreated into a Summer-house, whither I saw Verville's Mistress run in before in a woeful Condition. She stayed within it, though she saw me enter, whether she wanted time or Courage to go out, I know not. For my part, my Resolution increased, when I considered they could attack me only before at the Summer-House-Door, which was very narrow. I wounded Saldagne in one of his Hands, and the boldest of his Footmen in his Arm, which procured me a little Respite; yet could I not have any Hopes of escaping, believing they would at last make shorter work with me, and dispatch me with Pistols, having found it too difficult to be done with Swords. But Verville came to my Relief: He would by no means go Home without me; and having heard the Bustle and clashing of Swords, he ventured to bring me off from the Danger he cast me into, or at least to share it with me. Saldagne, with whom he had already made an Acquaintane, thought he came to his Aid, as a Friend and Neighbour. He took it as a great Obligation, and accosting him, said: You see, Sir, how I am set upon in my own House. Verville, who understood his meaning, immediately replied; He would be his Servant against any other Man, but that he came to protect this one against all the World. Saldagne enraged to find himself mistaken, swore desperately, he did not doubt to make his Party good against two such Traitors himself; and at the same time charged Verville most furiously, but was repulsed by him with a great deal of Gallantry. Then I thought it high time to get out of my Summer-house to join with my Friend, and surprising the Lackey that carried the Flamboy, I was loath to kill him, and contented myself to give him a back-stroke over the Pate, which put him into such a Fright, that he ran off from the Garden into the Fields, crying out, Thieves, Thiefs. The other Footmen fled likewise; and as for Saldagne, I saw him fall in a Hedge at the same instant that the Light left us, either wounded by Verville or by some other Accident. We did not think it fit to help him to get up, but minded our own escape with all the haste we could. Saldagne's Sistor, fearing some Violence from her rash Brother, stepped to us out of the Summer-house, where I saw her, and begged of us softly, and melting into Tears, that we would take her along with us. Verville was overjoyed to have his Mistress in his own Power, under his Protection. We found our Garden-Door half-open as we left it; nor would we make it fast as yet, lest we should have a new Occasion to go out again on the sudden. There was in our Garden a pretty Summer-house, painted, and nearly adorned, where they did eat in hot Wether, and which stood at some distance from the Body of the House. My young Masters and myself did sometimes practise our Fencing there, and this being the most delightful Place about the House, the Baron d'Arques, his Sons, and myself, had each of us a Key, that we might go in at pleasure, and keep out the Servants, lest they should make havoc of the Books and the Goods that were there. In this place we locked up our Gentlewoman, whose Grief would receive no Comfort. I told her we would only leave her a few Moment's to consult her Safety and our own, and then return immediately to her. Verville was a quarter of an Hour before he could wake his British Footman, who had been fuddling himself. As soon as he had got a Candle lighted, we consulted a while where we should bestow Saldagne's Sister, and resolved at last to lead her to my Chamber, in the upper part of the House, as being frequented by no Body but myself and a Servant that belonged to me. We returned back to the Summer-house in the Garden with our Light. Verville gave a great Shriek at his going in, which very much surprised me: I had not the time to ask him what ailed him, hearing some Voices just at the Summer-house Door, when I put out the Candle. Verville cried our, Who goes there? His Brother, Saint Far, answered, 'Tis I, What the Devil do you do here in the Dark at this time of Night? I was talking with Garigues, said Verville, because I am not yet sleepy. I am here for the same Reason, returned Saint Far; therefore pray let me have the Room a little while to myself in my Turn. We did not trouble him to ask twice; but I stealing out the Lady as dextrously as I could, and thrusting myself betwixt her and Saint Far, who went in at the same time, carried her away to my Chamber, bemoaning herself at a desperate rate; and then I went down to Verville's Room, where his Man was striking a Light. Verville then told me, with Grief in his Face, that he must of necessity return again to Saldagne's: And what will you do with him, said I, kill him outright? Alas! my poor Garigues, said he, I shall be the most unhappy Man in the World, if I do not get Madam Saldagne out of her Brother's Hands. What! can she be there still, and in my Chamber too, replied I? Would to God that were true, replied he, sighing, I fancy you dream; returned I, No, no, I do not dream; we have brought away her eldest Sister instead of her, said he; Why, replied I, were you not both in the Garden together? Nothing more certain, said he; Why then will you return to her Brother's to endanger yourself afresh? since that Sister you are in pain about is now safe in my Chamber. Ha! Garigues, cries he again, I knew well enough what I saw: And so do I likewise; and to prove your Mistake, do but come up and see Madam Saldagne; He told me I was a Madman, and followed me with the greatest Trouble in the World; But my Astonishment equalled his Grief, when I found in my Chamber a Gentlewoman I never saw before, and not the same with her I brought from the other House. Verville was as much amazed as myself, but more satisfied by far, finding himself with his Mistress, contrary to Expectation. He then confessed his own Mistake: But I could make him no Answer, neither was I able to comprehend by what Enchantment a Lady whom I had followed all the while, should be transformed to another, in the time we went from the Summer-house to my Chamber. I looked earnestly upon Verville's Mistress, who certainly was not the same Person we brought from Saldagne's. Verville perceiving me in a Quandary; What's the Matter, says he? I tell you once more, that I myself was mistaken. Nay, said I, 'tis I that am in an Error, if Madam Saldagne came hither along with us. With whom could she come else, replied he? I know not, nor no Body else, said I, unless it be the Lady herself. Nor can I tell with whom I came myself, said Madam Saldagne, unless it were with that Gentleman, pointing to me: For, continued she, 'twas not Monsieur Verville that brought me away from my Brother's; 'twas a Man that came into the Garden immediately after you went out of it, summoned there, either by my Brother's Groans, or the Footman's Outcries, which alarmed him, no doubt, and gave him notice of what had passed. He caused my Brother to be carried into his Chamber; and my Waiting-Woman having informed me of all this, and assured me he was of my Brother's Acquaintance, and a Neighbour; I went and stayed for him in the Garden, when I conjured him to take me away with him till the next Day, when I designed to retire to a Lady of my Acquaintance, where I would stay till my Brother's Fury was over; which, I told him, I had all the Reason in the World to dread. This Person was so civil as to offer to conduct me whither I would, and promised to protect me even against my Brother, with the hazard of his Life. 'Twas under his Conduct I came to this House, where Verville, whose Voice I knew, spoke to the same Man; and immediately after I was brought up to this Chamber, where you now see me. This Account of Madam Saldagne, tho' it did not clear all my Doubts, yet it helped very much to make me guests how the Thing was brought about. As for Vervile, he was so intent upon viewing his Mistress, that he scarce minded what she said. He began to tell her a Thousand sweet Things, without troubling himself to know which way she came into my Chamber. I took a Candle, and leaving them together, went back to the Summer-house in the Garden resolving to speak with Saint Far, tho' he should be as blunt and captious as he used to be. But I was not a little surprised to find, instead of him, the same Gentlewoman, whom I was certain I brought myself from Saldagne's: And what increased my Wonder was, to see her in great Disorder, like one to whom some Violence had been offered; her Commode torn off, and her Steenkirk bloody, as well as her Face. Verville, said she to me as soon as I appeared, approach me not, unless it be to take away my Life, wherein you will find less Difficulty than in offering Violence a second time to my Honour. And as Heaven has given me Strength to resist your first Attempts, so I doubt not but I shall be able to scratch thy Eyes out, if I cannot be the Death of you. Is this, added she weeping, that passionate Love you professed to my Sister? Oh! how dear I pay for my Compliance with her Follies! But when we act contrary to our Duty, it is but just we should undergo what we stand mo●● in fear of. But what do you now meditate, pursued she? perceiving my Astonishment; Do you feel a Remorse of Conscience for your base Action? If so, I can well forget it with 〈◊〉 my Heart. Thou art young; and 'twas a great piece of Folly 〈◊〉 me to trust myself to the Discretion of one of your Years. Conduct me therefore to my Brother's again, I do conjure you for as passionate and severe as he is, I dread him less than I 〈◊〉 you, who art a brutish Monster, or rather a mortal Enemy 〈◊〉 our Family, not satisfied with seducing a young Lady, and murdering a Gentleman, unless a more wicked Act complete thy Crime. Having made an end of her Speech, which she uttered with great vehemence, she fell a weeping so bitterly, that I never saw one so afflicted. This, I must confess, made me forfeit all the little Judgement I was till than Master of, amidst so much Confusion, and if she had not ceased of her own accord to speak, I never should have interrupted her, so much was I astonished at the Authority of her Expostulations. But perceiving she had done speaking; Madam, replied I, neither am I Verville, nor is he, I can assure you, capable of such a base Action as that you complain of What! said she, are you not Verville? Did not I see you engaged with my Brother? Did not a Gentleman come to your Assistance? And did not you bring me hither on my Entreaty, where you have offered a Rudeness impious both to my Honour and Youth? She could say no more, so much her Grief oppressed her Heart. For my own part, I never was so much perplexed, and could not apprehend how she should both know Verville, and not know him at the same time. I told her I was an absolute Stranger to the Rudeness she complained of; and that since Monsieur Saldagne was her Brother, I would conduct her, if she pleased to the same Place, where her Sister was. These Words were, scarce out of my Mouth, when I spied Verville and Madam Saldagne coming into the Room where we were, she being absolutely resolved to go back again to her Brother's; but how this dangerous Freak came into her Head I know not. The two Sisters embraced each other as soon as they met, and renewed their flowing Tears, as if they were contending who should weep most. Verville earnestly entreated them to return to my Chamber, laying before them the Difficulty of getting into their House after the great Alarm the whole Family was in; adding withal, the Danger they run by exposing themselves to their Brother's present Fury; the safety of the Place they were in, and how near it was to break of Day; which being once come. they would inquire how all things went at Saldagne's, and accordingly they might resolve what was most convenient to be done. Verville easily persuaded them to condescend to this Proposition. Those two Ladies finding now themselves secure in one another's Presence. We went up to my Chamber; wheat having examined the strange Accidents which perplexed us, we were as apt to believe, as if our Eyes had been Witness, that Saint Far had certainly attempted upon Madam Lery's Honour, Verville and myself knowing him capable of the like and worse Actions. We were not deceived in our Conjectures. Saint Far had been gaming in that very same House where Saldagne had lost his Money, and passing by his Garden a little after the Scuffle was over, he met with Saldagne's Footmen, who related to him what had befallen his Master, whom they said had been set upon by seven or eight Rogues, thereby to excuse their own Cowardice, in leaving their Master in the Lurch. Saint Far thought himself obliged to offer him his Service as a Neighbour, and did not leave him till he had seen him carried to his Bedchamber; after which Madam Saldagne entreated him to protect her against her Brother's Fury, and came along with him, as his Sister did with us. He intended therefore to secure her in the same Summer-house in the Garden where we were, as I said before; and being as much afraid lest we should see his Lady, as we were careful he should not see ours, the two Sisters by this Accident meeting together, just as he was coming in, and we going out, I happened to catch his Lady by the Hand, whilst he laid hold by a like mistake upon mine; and thus the Ladies were exchanged. Which was the more easily done, by reason I had put out my Candle, and the Ladies so terribly dismayed as well as we, that they did not know what they did in the Hurry. As soon as we had left her in the Summer-house, Saint Far finding himself alone with a very handsome Lady, and having more Instinct than Reason, or, to describe him in his natural Colours, being indeed a very Brute, he takes advantage of the Opportunity, never minding the Consequence, or what an irreparable Affront he offered to a Lady, that had thrown herself into his Arms for Protection. His Brutality was rewarded as it deserved. Madam de Lery defended herself like a Lioness, bitten him, scratched him, and made him bloody all over. After all which, he only went up to Bed and slept as sound as if he had done the best Action in the World. You wonder perhaps which way Madam Lery happened to be in the Garden at the time we were surprised by her Brother, since there were none besides her Sister and her Waiting-Woman. This puzzled me as well as you; but at last I learned from 'em both, that Madam Saldagne, not daring to trust her Waiting-Woman with the Secret of her Amours, had persuaded her Sister to attend her in the Garden; and this was the Person I entertained under the Title of Maudlin. Here my Wonder was at an end, how a Chambermaid should be Mistress of so much Wit as I found in her Conversation: And Madam de Lery told me, she was no less puzzled to find me so witty in the Garden by Night, and such a Blockhead by Day, when she mistook the dull Britain to be the same with me. Ever after that we entertained Sentiments for one another something above a bare Esteem; and I dare say she was not less satisfied than I, to find our Conditions more equal, than if either of us had been a Mercenary Servant. The Day appeared while we were yet talking together, We left our Ladies in my Chamber, where they might sleep if they would, whilst Verville and I went to consult, what was next to be done. For my part, having no Love-fancies to disturb my Breast, as Verville had, I died almost for want of sleep; but there was no appearance, I should abandon my Friend with such a load of Business. I had a Footman as Subtle and Witty, as Verville's Valet de Chambre was dull and Blockish; I gave him what Instructions I could, and sent him to make Discovery how Affairs stood at Saldagne's. He performed his Message very discreetly, and brought us this Account, that Saldagne's Servants reported, the Thiefs had desperately wounded their Master; but as for his Sisters, there was no more mention made of them, than if there had never been any such alive, whether he little cared for 'em, or because he gave positive Orders to his Servants not to speak of 'em, to stifle such disadvantageous Rumours. I see here must be something of a Duel after all this, said Verville; nay, perhaps something of a Murder, replied I: Whereupon I acquainted him that Saldagne was the same Hector that intended to murder me at Rome, and how we came to know one another in the Garden; adding withal, that if he did but imagine, as there was all the likelihood in the World, that I lay there in wait to take my Revenge of him; then certainly he could not at all suspect the intelligence between his Sister and us.  
I went to give an account to those fair Ladies of our Discoveries, and in the mean time, Verville Visited Saint Far, to sound his Sentiments, and discover the truth of our Suspicions. He soon perceived his Face full of scratches; but whatever question Verville put to him, he could get no other Answer, save only, that as he came from the Gaming-house, he found Saldagne's Garden-Door open, his House in an Uproar, and himself very, much Wounded in the hands of his Servants, who were carrying him to his Chamber. A very strange Accident, said Verville, no doubt but his Sisters will take it very much to Heart: They are very handsome Ladies, and I must go and give 'em a Visit. What's that to me, said this Brute; who then fell a Whistling, not minding or giving any answer to whatever his Brother afterwards desired to know. Verville left him, and returned to my Chamber, where I was employing all my Eloquence, to comfort our fair Distressed Ladies. They were Disconsolate even to Desperation; and apprehended the roughest usage from their Brother's Jealousy and Savage Humour, as being a Man wholly enslaved to his Passions. My Lackey brought 'em some Meat from the next Cook, which he continued to do for fifteen Days together; so long were they concealed in my Chamber; which was above the rest, and so much out of the common Road and Passage, that no Body disturbed 'em in the least. They could willingly have put themselves into some Nunnery for shelter; but after their sad Adventure, they had just reason to fear, their Brother would have confined 'em longer than they should care for. In the mean time, Saldagne's Wounds were in a fair way of Curing, and Saint Far, as we observed, went every day to visit him. Verville stirred not out of my Room, which was not taken much notice of in the Family, he being wont to pass many whole Days in it, either Reading, or in Discourse with me. His Love for Madam Saldagne increased every day, neither did she love him less. Her Eldest Sister liked me pretty well, nor was she indifferent to me. Not that my Passion for Leonora was abated; but I had no manner of hopes from her, though I might have obtained her, yet should I have made it a matter of Conscience, to render her unhappy. Upon a certain day, Verville received a Note from Saldagne, wherein he challenged him to meet him with a Second in the Plain of Grenelle, to decide their Quarrel by the Sword By the same Note, he desired Verville to bring no other but myself against him, which made me suspect he intended to take us both in the same Trap. My suspicion was not altogether groundless, having already experienced his Treachery; however, Verville would not mind it, resolving to give him any just Satisfaction, and to offer a Marriage with his Sister. He sent for a Hackney Coach, though there were three belonging to the Family. We went to the place of Assignation, where Saldagne waited for us, and where Verville was much astonished to find his own Brother, seconding his Enemy. We omitted neither Submissions nor Entreaties, to bring all things to a fair Accommodation, but nothing less than Fight would serve the turn of those two unjust and irrational Men. I was about to protest to Saint Far, how much it was against my Will to draw my Sword against him; he told me bluntly, that he never liked me in his Life, nor could any thing endear me to him, till he opened a passage or two with his Sword point, for his good will to enter at. With these words he came fiercely towards me: I only put by his Thrusts for some time, resolved, if possible to grapple with him, and so Disarm him, though with apparent danger of being Wounded myself. Fortune befriended my good Intention, for he slipped down at my Feet; I gave him time to rise, and that which should have made him my Friend, increased his Enmity. In fine, having given me a slight Wound in the Shoulder, he vapoured like a Bully-huff, and cried, I think you feel me now.— My Patience being worn out, I pressed upon him, and having put him into Disorder, I got so happily within his Sword, that I seized on the Hilt. The Man you hate so very much, said I, will however give you your Life, Sir,— He struggled a while to no purpose, and would not reply a Word, like an obstinate rash Brute as he was, though I represented to him it was our Duty to go and part his Brother from Saldagne, who were grappled, and fowling over one another upon the Ground. But I perceived I must be more rough; and therefore wrenched his Hand, and forced away his Sword, which I threw a great distance from him. I ran immediately to assist Verville, who was closed with his Antagonist. When I came up to 'em, I saw afar off several Horsemen galloping towards us; Saldagne was soon after Disarmed, and at the same instant, I found myself run through the back by Saint Far. I could no longer Master my Resentment, and so returned him a thrust, that made no little Wound. The Baron d'Arques his Father, who came in at that Moment, and saw me wound his Son, did now hate me, as much as he loved me before. He spurred his Horse up towards me, and gave me a great blow on the Head. Those that came with him, followed his Example, and jointly set upon me. I defended myself most happily from so many Enemies, but must needs at last have fallen a Sacrifice to this Multitude, if Verville, the most generous Friend on Earth, had not thrust himself betwixt them and me, at the hazard of his own Life. He gave his own Footman a good cut over the Pate, because he found him more forward than the rest, to get his Master's Applause. I yielded up my Sword to the Baron, but that could not appease him; he called me Rascal, ungrateful Villain, and all the Injurious Names his Anger could suggest him, even so far as to threaten to have me hanged. I boldly replied, that as much Rascal and ungrateful Villain as I am, I had given his Eldest Son his Life, nor had I offered to hurt him, till he had treacherously wounded me. Verville maintained to his Father, I was in the right; but he said, he would never see my Face again. Saldagne went with the Baron d'Arques into the Coach, where they had already put Saint Far; and Verville, who would by no means leave me, took me into another with himself. He set me down at one of our Prince's Houses, where he had many Friends, and returned to his Father's soon after. Monsieur de Saint Sauveur sent a Coach for me that very Night, and carried me privately to his own House; where he took as great care of me, as if I had been his only Son. Verville came to see me the next day following, and told me, his Father had been informed of the Challenge by Saldagne's Sisters, whom he happened to find in my Chamber. He afterwards assured me with a great deal of Joy, that the Business was made up by an Agreement of a Double Marriage to be consummate, as soon as his Brother's Wounds were healed, which were not in any dangerous place. That it lay in my Power to be made Friends with Saldagne; and that his Father's Anger was appeased, who was very sorry he had Misused me. He added, he wished I might soon recover, to be a sharer of their Joy; but I replied, I could not find in my Heart to stay in a Country, where they might Reproach me with the meanness of my Birth, as his Father did; but would soon leave the Kingdom, either to lose my Life in the Wars, or raise myself by my Sword, to a condition proportionate to the Sentiments of Honour, his noble Example had inspired me with. I am apt to believe, he was concerned at my Resolution; but a Man in Love cannot mind any thing long besides his own Passion. Destiny was thus pursuing his story, when they heard the Report of a Gun in the Street, and presently after one playing upon a pair of Organs. This kind of Music never perhaps used at the Gate of an Inn, called all those People to their Windows, that had been waked with the Gun. In the mean time the Organs played on, and those who were no strangers to such Instruments, took notice that the Organs played a Church-Tune. No Body could apprehend the Design of so devout a Serenade, which however, was not yet acknowledged for such. But the doubt was soon cleared by two pitiful Voices; the one of which squealed out a Triple part, and the other roared out a rumbling Base. These two Caterwauling Voices, were accompanied by the Organs, and all together made such a horrible Consort, as set all the Dogs a howling round about. They sung 
Our Warbling Notes, and Ivory Lute's,  
Shall Ravish every Soul, etc.  with the rest of that old Ditty; after these harsh Notes, they overheard a Person whispering as loud as ever he could, and scolding at the Singer's for singing so Cuckoo-like, always in one Tune. The poor Choristers replied, they knew not what the Devil he would have them sing? Sing what you will else, said he, speaking a little louder, for I will have singing for my Money. Upon this peremptory Sentence, the Organs changed their Tone, and another ploughs' Anthem was sung; as devoutly as before. None of the Hearers had yet dared to speak, for fear of interrupting the Music; when Rincour, who could not for his Life hold his Tongue on this Occasion, bauled out aloud: What! do they use to perform Divine Service here in the Street? One of the Assistants said, they were singing. Tenebrae in good earnest: 'Tis a Nightly Procession, adds a third In fine, every merry Fellow in the, Inn, had his Jest upon the Music; neither could any one guess, who was the Serenading Fool, nor whom he designed to Compliment. In the mean time the Anthem was carrying on to a Conclusion; when ten or a dozen Dogs which followed a proud Bitch, ran in betwixt the Musicians Legs; and because many Rivals cannot be long together without Quarrelling, after some Grumbling, Snarling, and Grinning of Teeth; they fell together by the Ears of a sudden, with so much● Fury and Animosity, that the poor Musicians to save their Shins, betook themselves to their Heels, leaving the Organs at the mercy of the Dogs. These immoderate Lovers were so uncivil, in the heat of their scuffle, as to throw down the Harmonious Machine, with the Frame that supported it; and I should be loath to Swear, that some of these cursed Dogs did not lift up a Leg, and pis● upon the battered Organs, those Creatures being very Diuretic in their Natures; especially when some Bitch or other of their Acquaintance, is disposed to proceed to the Multiplication of her Species. The Consort being thus out of Tune, mine Host ordered the Inn Door to be opened, intending to secure the Organs, with the Table and Trestle on which it stood, from farther Mischief. whilst he and his Servants were busy about this charitable Office, The Organist returned accompanied by three Persons, amongst whom were a Woman, and a Man muffled up in his Cloak. This Man was the very Ragotin in Person, who designing to Serenade Madam Star. addressed himself for that purpose to a little Eunuch, Organist of a Church. 'Twas this Monster, neither Man nor Woman, that sung the triple Part, and played on the Organs which his Maid had brought; an overgrown Chorister sung the Base, both for the sum of two Testers, such was the scarcity of Provisions in the plentiful Country of maine. As soon as the Innkeeper found out the Author of the Serenade, he cried aloud, on purpose to be heard by all that were at the Window: Is it then you, Mosieur Ragotin, that come with your Vespers to my Door? You had best go to Bed, and not disturb my Guests at this time of Night. Ragotin replied, that he was mistaken in his Man, and yet spoke it so, as if he intended to discover what he seemed to deny. In the mean time, the Organist finding his Instrument much battered, and being a ve●ry Choleric Creature, as all Beardless Animals are wont to be, sworn to Ragotin, he would make him pay for it; Ragotin replied, he did not care a straw. Ay, but I'll make you care, said ●he Eunuch, I will be paid my Damages. Mine Host and his Servants gave their Votes for the Organist; but Ragotin made them understand like a parcel of ignorant Fools as they were, that this was never the Custom in Serenades, and so went away very proud of his Gallantry. The Musicians laid the Organ on the back of the Eunuches Maid, who carried it home to her Master's House. He in a very melancholy Mood, following her with the Table over his shoulders, and attended by the Chorister with the two Trestles. The Inn-Doors were locked up again, Destiny wished the Lady's good Night, and deferred the remainder of his story to the next Opportunity.   

CHAP XVI.  
The opening of the Stage, with other things of no less Consequence.  
THE next day the Players assembled betimes in the Morning in one of those Chambers they had at the Inn, in order to Rehearse the Play they were to Act that Afternoon. Rancour, whom Ragotin had already made a Confident of his Serenade, which he seemingly made some difficulty to believe, told his Comrades, that the little Fellow would not fail to be there suddenly, to receive their Applause for his refined piece of Gallantry. And Maliciously entreated them, that whenever he hinted it, they would take no notice of it, but put him off with some other Discourse. Ragotin came into the Room at the same instant, and having Saluted the Players in General, began to mention his Serenade to Madam Star, who at that time, proved ● mere wand'ring Star to him; for she still changed place, and never answered his Questions about what time she went to Bed, and how she had passed over the least Night? This made him leave her, and Address himself to Madam Angelica, who instead of entertaining him, studied the Part she had in the Play. He next went to Cave, who would not so much as look upon him. Every one of the Players in their turn, exactly observed Rancour'● Directions, and either answered nothing to Ragotin's Questions or shifted the Discourse, as often as he begun to mention wh●● past the last Night. At length pressed by his Vanity, and impatient to suffer his Reputation to linger any longer, he thus spok● aloud to them all. Will you give me leave to speak a grea● truth to you? You may do as you please, replied some Body Why then, added he, 'twas I that gave you the last Night's Se●●ren●d●: What! do they give Serenades with Organs in th● Country, said Destiny? But whom did you intent it for? Was it not, continued he, for the fair Lady that set so many honest Dogs together by the Ears? No doubt on't, said Olive, for those snarling Curs would never have disturbed such harmonious Music, had they not been Monsieur Ragotin's Rivals, and jealous of him. Another of the Company would needs have his Jest, and said, without doubt he is in his Lady's Favour, and means nothing but honourable Love, since he Courts her in the open Street. In short, every one in the Room had a fling at Ragotin, about his Serenade, except Rancour, who spared him, as having the Honour of being his Confident; and it is probable, this currish Raillery had still employed the whole Company, if the Poet, (who, in his kind, was as Vain and Ridiculous a Coxcomb as Ragotin, and in every thing endeavoured to gratify his Pride,) had not taken them off, by telling them with the tone of a Man of Quality, or rather of a false Pretender to it: Now you speak of Serenades, I remember that when I was Married, I had one bestowed on me, which lasted a Fortnight together, and consisted of a hundred several sorts of Instruments. It ranged all over the Marcts: The genteelest Ladies in the Place Royal, took it upon their Account; several Beaus assumed the Honour of it; Nay, and a Man of Quality took such a fit of Jealousy upon it, that he ordered his Men to fall foul upon those who bestowed it on me only. But they met with their Match, for these were all my own Countrymen, as brave Fellows, as ever pissed against a Wall, and most of them had been Officers of a Regiment I raised, in the late Insurrection of the Commons in our Parts. Rancour who checked his Bantering Humour in favour of Ragotin, could not be so civil to the Poet, whom he continually plagued. Wherefore he took up the Cudgels against this Darling of the Muses, and told him: Your Serenade, as you describe it, sounded more of Bedlam, or the Procession of Rams-horns, than any of Gallantry, and so probably importuned the Person of Quality, to send out his Footmen either to silence, or drive away the horrid Noise. And what confirms me in my Opinion, is, the Consideration of your Bride, who died for Age, within six Months after your Hymeneal Solemnity, as you term it, was over: Nay, but she died of a fit of the Mother, said the Poet,— say, rather of a fit of the Grandmother, or Great Grandmother, replied Rancour: For, added he, in the very beginning of Henry the Fourth's Reign, she was past having any Fits of the Mother; and to let you know that I am better acquainted with her, than even you yourself, though you tell us daily such Wonders of her, I will now relate to you a passage of her Life, which never came to your Knowledge. In the Court of Queen Margaret.— This beginning of a History drew all the Company in a Ring about Rancour, whom they knew to be furnished with malicious Memories against all Human kind. But the Poet who dreaded him extremely, interrupted him, saying: I lay a hundred Pistoles to the contrary: Which abrupt Defiance, made the Company so merry, that they laughed him out of the Room. This was his usual way, by such wagers of considerable Sums, to maintain his daily Hyperboles, which amounted to the weekly Sum of a thousand or twelve Hundred Impertinencies, besides the innumerable downright Lies he vented into the Bargain. Now Rancour was the controller General both of his Words and Actions, and the Ascendent he had over him was so great, that I dare compare it to the Genius of Augustus over Anthony; that is to say, like to like, without putting a brace of Strollers in the Scale, against two famous Romans. Rancour having thus begun his story, and being interrupted by the Poet, as I said before, every one earnestly entreated him to pursue it: But he excused himself, promising to give 'em, another time, a faithful account of the Poet's whole Life, wherein his Wive's should be likewise interwoven. It was now high time to rehearse the Play, that was to be acted the same day in a Neighbouring Tennis-Court: Nothing worth Observation happened at the Rehearsal. After Dinner they acted their Play, and came off with great Applause. Madam Star charmed the whole Audience with her Beauty; Angelica did not want Admirers, and both of 'em acted their Parts to the general Satisfaction. Destiny and his Comrades did wonderfully well, insomuch that many of the Audience who had often seen Plays acted at Paris, confessed, that the King's Players could hardly have acted better. Ragotin in his Heart and Mind, ratified the Donative he had made of his Body and Soul to Madam Star, in presence of Rancour, who promised him every day to persuade his Mistress to accept it. Without this Promise, Despair had soon made this little pitiful Lawyer, the Noble Subject of some great Tragical Story. I cannot tell whether the Men pleased as well the Ladies of Man's in their Acting, as the Women did the Men. Nay, if I did know the Truth of it, I should hardly discover it● but because the wisest Man is not able at all times to keep hi● Tongue betwixt his Teeth, I shall conclude this present Chapter to avoid all further Temptation.   

CHAP. XVII.  
The ill Success of Ragotin's Civility.  
AS soon as Destiny had stripped himself of his old Embroidery, and put on his ordinary wearing Apparel, La Rappiniere carried him to the common Goals, because the Man they had taken, that day the Curate of Domfront was set upon, desired to speak with him. In the mean time the Actresses went home to their Inn with a great Attendance of Citizens. Ragotin happening to be near Cave, as she came out of the Tennis-Court, where they had acted, offered her his Hand, to lead her home, though he would rather have paid that civil Office to his Dear Star; he did the like to Angelica, so that he was Squire to the right and left. This double Civility occasioned a triple inconveniency; for Cave, who had the upper hand, as in all reason she ought, was crowded to the Wall by Ragotin, that Angelica might not be forced to walk in the Kennel. Besides, this little Dwarf reaching no higher than their Wastes, pulled down their Hands so much, that they could scarce keep themselves from tumbling over him. But that which most troubled them was, his often looking behind him to stare on Madam Star, who was talking to a Brace of Country Beaux, that would by all means lead her to her Lodgings against her Will. The poor Actresses endeavoured many times to get lose from their Gentleman-Usher, but he held so fast, that they thought themselves in Fetters. They desired him a hundred times to spare himself that trouble; he only answered, your Servant, your Servant, (his ordinary Compliment) and gripped their Hands still harder and harder. Therefore they were fain to be patiented, till they came to their Chamber-stairs, where they hoped to be set at Liberty; but Ragotin was better bred: And repeating only, your Servant, your Servant, to all they could say, he endeavoured at first to go up with 'em abreast, which he found impossible: Then Cave turned her back to the Wall, and crept up side-long, dragging Ragotin after her, who dragged Angelica in like manner, she dragging nothing, but laughing like a Fool. Now as an Additional Inconveniency, when they were within four or five steps of their Chamber, down comes a Servant belonging to the Inn, with a huge sack of Oats of an excessive Weight, who with much ado, so heavy was his Load, bid them go down again, for he could not get up again with his Burden. Ragotin would needs argue the case with him; the Fellow swore bluntly, he would let fall his Sack upon ' 'em. This made them go down again much faster than they went up; but Ragotin would not let go his hold. The Man with the Oats pressed hastily upon 'em, which caused Ragotin to miss a step, so that he hung in the Air, holding still the Players by the Hand, till he pulled down Cave upon him, who supported him more than her Daughter, by reason of the Advantage of the Place. Thus she tumbled down upon him, lighting with her Feet on the Pigmy's Belly and Breast, and knocked her Head so fiercely against her Daughter's, that they lay all three tumbling on the Floor. The Fellow thinking they could not easily get up time enough, and being no longer able to support his Load, let's his Sack down upon the Stairs, swearing and cursing like an Ostler. The Sack bursts open with the Fall, and then came in mine Host, who scolded like mad at the Ostler. But as he was mad at the Fellow; so the Fellow was mad as the Players, and they as mad at Ragotin, who was as mad as the maddest of 'em all; because Madam Star, coming not far behind 'em, was Witness of this Disgrace, not much inferior to the late Adventure of the deep-crowned Hat; wherein his Head was most unmercifully 〈◊〉 llowed up, not to be recovered, till a pair of Scissors broke the Enchantment. Cave took her great Oath, that Ragotin should never lead her again, and showed Madam Star, how black and blue he had squeezed her Hands. Star told her, 'twas a just Judgement upon her, for Robbing her of Monsieur Ragotin, who had engaged himself to bring her back to her Lodgings after the Play; adding, she was glad of the Mischance that was befallen, him, 〈◊〉 breaking his Word. However, he heard nothing of all this, being all the while in Dispute with mine Host, who threatened to make him pay the Wast 〈◊〉 his Oats, and had already offered to beat his Servant on the same account, who for that reason beat Ragotin, and called him Pettifogger. Angelica began to banter him in her turn, and Reproached him with his Infidelity to Mistress Star: In fine, Fortune did plainly show how little she was yet concerned in the Promises made to Ragotin, of making him gain her Affection to that Degree, as would make him more happy than any Lover in the whole Country of maine. Nay, Lafoy Parche and Leval added to it. The Oats were gathered up again, and the Actresses went up into their Chamber one by one, without any further Misfortune. Ragotin did not follow them, nor can I exactly tell, what became of him. Suppertime came, and to Supper they went: After Supper, every one withdrew to their respective Affairs, and Destiny locked himself up with the Actresses, in order to pursue his story.   

CHAP. XVIII.  
The Continuation of the History of Destiny and Star.  
I Made the foregoing Chapter a little of the shortest; perhaps this will prove somewhat longer; however I am not sure of it; but we shall see. Destiny took his usual Seat, and resumed his Tale in this manner. I shall finish my Story as briefly as I can possible, fearing I have tired you too much already with the Account of my Life and Fortune. Verville having given me a Visit, as I said before, and not being able to persuade me to return to his Father's: He left me in all appearance much troubled at the Resolution I had taken, and went home; where a while after he married Madam Saldagne, as Saint Far did Madam Lery. She had as much Wit as Saint Far had Dulness; and I wonder how two Persons of such unequal Talents have lived together in the Matrimonial Society. In the mean time, I presently recovered, and the generous Monsieur de Saint Sanveur, approving of my Design of leaving the Kingdom, furnished me with Money for my Journey; and Verville, who did not forget, though now married presented me with a good Horse, and a Hundred Pistols. I took my Journey towards Lions to pass into Italy, with design to go once more to Rome, and after having taken my last Farewell of Leonora, to repair with speed to Candy, there to put an end to my wretched Life. At Nevers I lodged at an Inn which stood near the River; and coming thither very early, and not knowing how to spend my time till Supper were ready, I went to take a Walk on a great Stone-Bridge, which lies cross the River Loir. There were a couple of Women walking there at the same time; one of which, that looked as if she were sick, leaned on the others Shoulder, and had much ado to crawl along. As I passed by 'em, I pulled my Hat off to 'em, without taking notice of their Faces, and continued walking for some time on the said Bridge, still keeping my Thoughts employed about my Misfortunes, and chief about my Amours. I was well enough clad, as all those aught to be, whose Quality cannot excuse an indifferent Habit. When I came again near these Women; I overheard one of 'em say: For my part, I should believe it, had we not heard he was dead. I cannot tell how I came to look behind me, having no Reason to think they spoke of me; and yet no Man but myself was the Subject of their Discourse. I presently found the first Lady was Madam lafoy Boissiere, grown very pale and wan, who rested upon her Daughter Leonora's Shoulder. Thereupon I made directly towards them, with more assurance, than I had in Rome, having improved myself, both as to my Person and Wit, during my stay in Paris. I found 'em so surprised and amazed, that I verily believe they would have fled from me, had Madam la Boissiere been able to run; and this surprised me no less. I asked them what happy Chance brought me to the Presence of two Persons whom I esteemed above all the World. These Words dispelled their Fears. Madam de la Bossiere told me, I ought not to wonder to see 'em look upon me with some Astonishment, since Signior Stephano had showed 'em a Letter from one of those Gentlemen I waited on at Rome, by which he was informed of my being killed in the War of Parma; adding, she was overjoyed to find that News false, which had been so unwelcome to her. I replied, That Death was not the greatest Misfortune that could befall me, and that I was going to Venice to court it, and, if possible, spread the Report of my Death with more certainty than before. They grew sad at my Resolution; and the Mother began to express a great deal of Tenderness to me; the Cause of which I could not well guests. At last I learned from herself the Ground of her Civility. I was now in a Capacity to serve her; and her present Condition would not allow her to despise and look coldly on me, as she had done in Rome. They had met with a Misfortune which had put them to great straits: For having turned all their Furniture into ready Money, they left Rome, with a French Maid that had served 'em a long time, and Signior Stephano's Man, a Fleming like himself, who would needs return to his Native Country. This Fellow and the Wench, it seems, loved each other enough to venture a Match; and yet they kept their Amour so private, that no Body ever discovered it. Madam la Boissiere being come to Rovenne, went by Water thence. At Nevers she found herself so very ill, that she could go no further. During her Sickness she was somewhat hard to be pleased, and her Maid more unwilling to humour her than ever she had been before. One Morning, the Wench and her Paramour were missing; and, which was more grievous still, the poor Lady's Money was missing also. Her Grief increased her Distemper, and she was forced to stay at Nevers till she received Letters from Paris, from whence she expected a Supply to proceed in her Journey. Madam la Boissiere told me this sad Adventure in few Words. I led 'em back again to their Inn, which was the same where I had taken up my Quarters; where after I had brought 'em to their Chamber, and stood a while with 'em, I retired to my own, leaving 'em to their Supper. For my own part, I could not eat a Bit, but thought it was at least five or six Hours while I was at Table. I waited upon 'em as soon as they had given me notice that I should be welcome. I found the Mother in Bed, and the Daughter received me with a Countenance as sad as it appeared joyful a Moment before. The Mother was still more sad than the Daughter, and I grieved for Company. We stared a while upon one another without speaking a Word. At last Madam de la Boissiere showed me a Letter she had newly received from Paris, which cast both her and her Daughter Leonora into the deepest Affliction in the World. She expressed the Reason of her Grief with a Flood of Tears, and her Daughter Leonora wept also most bitterly; which moved me so sensibly, that I thought I did not express my Sense of it enough, though I proffered 'em all I could possibly do for their Assistance, with such a Freedom, as put my Sincerity out of all douht. I am as yet unacquainted with the Cause of your Grief, said I; But if my Life may any way contribute to your Relief, you may set your Mind at rest. Tell me therefore, Madam, what I must do to serve you: Money I have, if you want any; and Courage likewise if you fear any Enemies; and the Satisfaction of having served you, is the only Recompense I expect for doing you Service. My Words and my Countenance gave them so full an Assurance of the reality of my Sentiments, that their Affliction was somewhat abated. Madam de la Boissiere gave me a Letter to peruse, wherein a Gentlewoman of her Acquaintance informed her, that a certain Person, who was nameless, but whom I judged to be Leonora's Father, was commanded to leave the Court, and had retired himself into Holland. Thus this poor Lady found herself in a strange Country, without either Money, or the least Hopes of getting any. I made her a second Proffer of the small Stock I had, which might amount to Five Hundred Crowns; and told her, I would wait upon her into Holland, or any other Part of the World she had a mind to go to. In short, I assured her, she had found in me a Person that would do her all the Service she could expect from a Valet, and serve and honour her like a dutiful Son. I blushed extremely at this Word of Son: But I was no more that hateful Man, who was denied Admittance to their House in Rome, and to whom Leonora was invisible; for now Leonora was much more civil, and her Mother less severe. At every Offer I made she still replied, Leonora would be very much obliged to me. All was scored upon Leonora's Account, insomuch that one would have taken her Morher to have been only a Waiting-Woman that spoke in her Mistress' behalf: So true it is, that the Generality of the World respect People only so far as they are subservient to their own Interest. I left them very much comforted, and retired myself to my Chamber the most contented Man that could be. I passed the Night very pleasantly, tho' waking, which kept me somewhat late in Bed, for 'twas break of Day before I began to sleep. Leonora appeared to me that Day more nicely dressed than the Day before; and she could not but observe that I had taken a little more care of myself. I led her to Mass without her Mother, who was as yet too weak to go abroad. We dined together, and from that time forward were but one Family. Madam de la Boissiere very thankfully acknowledged the good Offices I tendered them, and oftentimes assured me, she would not die in my Debt. I sold my Horse; and no sooner had the sick Lady recovered her Strength, but we took a Tilt-boat, and went down the River to Orleans. During the time we were on the Water, I enjoyed my Leonora's Conversation; nor was so great a Felicity interrupted by her Mother. I found her Wit as sprightly and charming as her Looks; nor had she Reason to think mine so dull as she had found it in Rome. What can I say more? In short, she was as much taken with me, as I was captivated by her; and you may witness ever since you have seen us together, how little our reciprocal Affection is diminished— What! said Angelica, interrupting him, is then Madam Star that Leonora? Who else? answered Destiny. At which Madam Star was pleased to say, her Friend had reason to question whether she were that Lenoora, whom Destiny had made the Heroine of a Romance. 'Tis not upon that score I start the Question, replied Angelica, but rather because we are ever in doubt of what we most desire. Madam Cave said, that for her part she was confident of this from the beginning, but desired them to wave that Discourse till Destiny had made an end of his Story; who went on thus. We arrived at Orleans; where our Entrance was so pleasant, as well deserves a paticular Relation. A Pack of Scoundrels, who always wait in expectation of Strangers at the Waterside, to carry home their Goods, crowded into our Boat. There were at least thirty that offered themselves to take up two or three little Bundles betwixt 'em, which the weakest of these lazy Rogues might have carried singly under his Arm. Had I been alone, perhaps I had not been so wise as to bear calmly with their Insolence. Eight of them seized upon a little Bundle, not weighing much above twenty Pounds, which they seemed to lift up from the Ground with much trouble; and having got it betwixt 'em, they held it aloft above their Heads, upon their Finger's ends. All the Mob that stood by on the Riverside fell a laughing, and we were fain to do the like. However I blushed as Red as Scarlet to go through the whole Town with such a Retinue: For the rest of our Goods, which would not have loaden one Porter, employed twenty at least, my very Pistols being carried in State by four lusty Rogues. The Order of our March at our Entrance into the Town was thus: First eight Hang-Dogs, either drunk, or such as ought to have been drunk, carried the little Box behind 'em, as I told you before. Next followed my Pistols and Holsters, each carried by two Fellows. Madam de la Boissiere, no less vexed at it than myself, went immediately after: She was sitting in a great Wicker-Chair, fastened to a couple of Cowl-staves, and carried by four Watermen, who relieved one another by Turns, and had a hundred impertinent Jests as they went along. The rest of our Goods came after her, being only a little Portmantle, and a Bundle covered with Canvas, which seven or eight of these Rascals tossed from one to another all the way. I brought up the Rear of the Triumph, leading Leonora by the Hand, who laughed so hearty, that I could not but be delighted with their Roguery in spite of myself. As we marched along, the Passengers stood still, gazing upon us; and the Noise they made on this occasion drew all the People to their Windows and Doors. At last we arrived at the Suburbs, which is the Road towards Paris, attended with abundance of Mob, and took up our Lodging at the Sign of the Emperor. I put the Ladies into a Parlour, and afterwards threatened the Rogues so seriously, that they were contented to take a small Piece of Money for their Pains, the Innkeeper and his Wise taking my part against ' 'em. Madam de la Boissiere, whom the Money I had furnished her withal sooner cured than any Cordials besides could have done, found herself strong enough to bear the Coach; wherefor I took up three places in one that was to go the next Morning; and within two Days after we arrived safe at Paris. As we lighted out of the Coach at the Inn, I made Acquaintance with Rancour, who came from Orleans in another Coach at the same time as ours. He heard me inquire for the Inn to which the Calais Coach came, and told me he was going thither immediately himself, and if we had not hired a Lodging, he would carry us to a Woman of his Acquaintance who let Lodgings ready furnished, where we should have a very good Accommodation. We took his Word, And found it as he told us. This Woman was the Widow of one that had all his Life-time belonged to a Playhouse, sometimes as a Doorkeeper, and sometimes as a Scene-man, and even had tried to act Under-parts, but was hissed of the Stage. Having scraped some Money together at the Playhouse, he furnished a House, let Lodgings, took Boarders, and by all this made a shift to get considerably. We took a couple of Rooms, which were pretty convenient. Madam de la Boissiere received a Confirmation of the ill News she had touching Leonora's Father, and heard so much besides, though she concealed it from us, that it made her relapse into her former Disease. This put off our Journey into Holland for a while, whither she resolved to go under my Conduct; and Rancour, who was going into the same Country to a Company of Players, was contented to stay for us, upon my promising to defray his Charges. Madam de la Boissiere received frequent Visits from one of her Friends, that waited at the same time with her upon the Ambassador's Lady at Rome, and had likewise been her Confident, whilst Leonora's Father made Love to her. This Woman acquainted her with her pretended Husband's Retirement, and did us several good Turns during the time we stayed in Paris. I went out of Doors as seldom as I could, for fear of being seen by some of my Acquaintance; nor did I find it a great Trouble to stay within, so long as I enjoyed my Leonora's Company; whose Favour I gained more and more by my constant Care of her Mother. Upon this Woman's Persuasion, who, as I told you, came often to visit us, we went one Day to Saint Clou, to air and refresh our sick Lady. Our Landlady came in for one amongst us, and Rancour for another. We took a Boat when we came to the Waterside; afterwards we walked in the fairest Gardens; and having made a small Collation, Rancour conducted the Women towards the Boat, whilst I stayed behind to scan the Reckoning with an unreasonable Hostess, who kept me longer from 'em than I intended. I got off as cheap as I could, and hastened to rejoin my Compapany. But I was not a little astonished to see the Boat gone a good way from Shore, carrying my Company towards Paris, and leaving me behind, without any notice, or so much as my Footboy that had my Sword and Cloak to wait upon me. Standing at the Waterside, very much troubled at their not waiting for me, I heard a great Uproar in another Tiltboat that lay there, and drawing somewhat near, I perceived two or three Gentlemen, or Persons that looked like such, who would need fall soul on a Waterman because he would not follow our Boat. I leaped at a venture into that Boat, just as it was launching forth, the Waterman fearing he should be roughly handled. But if I was troubled that my Company had left me at Saint Clou, I was no less perplexed to find that he that offered this Violence was the same Saldagne, whom I had so much Reason to hate. At the instant I discovered him, he removed from the place he sat in, and came just by me. I did not know which way to look, and hid my Face from him the best I could. But finding him so near, that it was impossible to conceal myself long, and knowing I had no Sword, I took the most desperate Resolution that could be, which hatred alone could not have suggested me, had it not been attended with Jealousy. I seized him by the Middle at the same time he began to know me, and threw myself into the River with him. He was not able to keep hold of my Clothes, whether his Gloves hindered it, or his sudden Surprise. Never was any Man nearer drowning than he. A great many of the neighbouring Boats came in to save us, every one thinking we had fallen into the Water Accidentally, except Saldagne, who knew the Truth, but was not in a Condition to discover it so soon, or to pursue me. So I got on Shore again without much difficulty, having only a thin Sure on, which did not much hinder my swimming; and thinking it worth my labour to make haste, I got far enough off from Saint Clou before Saldagne was fished up. As they had not a little ado to save him, so, I dare say, they could hardly believe his Relation how I threw him into the Water, when he affirmed I ventured my own drowning to procure his: For I cannot imagine why he should hid it from ' 'em. I was forced to go a great way about to get into Paris, and durst not enter the city till Night, having no need to dry my Clothes, the heat of the Sun, and my violent Exercise, having left but little Moisture in them. At length I got to my dear Leonora, whom I found in great Affliction. Rancour and our Landlady were overjoyed to see me again, and so was Madam de la Boissiere likewise, who the better to make her think I was her Son, acted the Part of a distressed Mother: She excused herself in private to me for their not staying; assuring me the fright Saldagne put 'em into, hindered them from thinking on me; besides, that except Rancour, the rest of our Company would have rather embarrast than helped me, if I had engaged Saldagne. They told me, that at their going from the Tavern, this Spark followed 'em to the Waterside, where he very uncivilly pressed Leonora to unmask herself; And her Mother discovering him to be the same Man that had attempted the like at Rome, she shuffled into the Boat in a fright, and made the Waterman put from the Shore, without staying for me. Saldagne in the mean time having a couple of Rakes like himself come to him, got into the next Boat with his two Comrades, where I found him threatening the Waterman to make him follow Leonora. This Adventure made me keep more within Doors than I had done formerly. A little while after Madam de la Boissiere fell sick, her Melancholy contributing much to her Malady; which made us remain part of the Winter at Paris. We were informed, that an Italian Prelate, who came from Spain, was going into Flanders through Perone; and Rancour made Interest to have us comprehended in the Passport, in Quality of Comedians. One Day, as we had waited upon this Italian Prelate, who lodged in the Street de Seine, we supped in a Frolic in the Suburbs of Saint Germains, with some Players of Rancour's Acquaintance. He and I going over the Pontneuf afterwards very late, were set upon by five or six Rogues. I made the best defence I could, and to give Rancour his due, he did as much as any brave Man could do, insomuch that he saved my Life, tho' he could not keep me from being seized by these Robbers, my Sword being unhappily fallen from my Hands. Rancour got very stoutly out of their Clutches, with the loss of a sorry Cloak only. As for me, I was plundered of all I had about me, excepting my Doublet and Breeches. And to aggravate my Misfortune, they rifled me of an enameled Box with Leonora's Father's Picture, which Madam de la Boissiere had left with me, to try what I could get for some Diamonds it had round the Case. I found Rancour at the Bridge-foot, wounded in the Arm and Face, as I was, though lightly, in the Head. Madam de Boissiere was very much concerned for the loss of the Picture; but the Hopes of seeing the Original shortly comforted her. In fine; we went from Paris to Perone; from Perone to Brussels, and from Brussels to the Hague; from whence Leonora's Father was gone about a Fortnight before over into England, where he intended to serve the King against the Parliamentarians. Leonora's Mother was so deeply afflicted at his Departure, that she fell suddenly sick and died. As she was going to breathe her last, she saw me grieve as much as if I had been her own Son: She recommended her Daughter to me, and made me engage I would not forsake her, but endeavour to find out her Father, and restore her to his Possession. Not long after, a Frenchman robbed me of all the rest of my Money, which reduced both Leonora and me to that Necessity. that we were forced to get into your Company, who accepted of us by the Recommendation of Rancour. You are acquainted with the rest of my Adventures, which since that time have been common with us all, as far as Tours, where I think I saw the Devil Saldagne; and, if I be not very much mistaden, I believe it will not be long before I meet him again in these Parts, which I fear less for my own part than for Leonora's, who would lose a most faithful Servant, if I should miscarry, or be forced to part from her by my unlucky Stars. Thus Destiny ended his Story; and after having comforted Madam Star a while, whom the Relation had a little disordered, by renewing the Remembrance of her Misfortunes, which made her weep, as if they but newly happened, he took his leave of the Actresses, and went to Bed.   

CHAP. XIX.  
Some Reflections which are not amiss. Ragotin's new Disgrace, and other Things, which you may read if you please.  
LOVE, which make the young undertake any Thing, and the old forget every Thing; Love, which occasioned the Wars of Troy, and many others besides, which I do not think worth my while to mention here, would needs make it known in the City of Man's, that he is as much to be dreaded in a pitiful Inn, as in any Place whatsoever. He was not therefore contented with depriving the Amorous Ragotin of his Appetite, but inspired 〈◊〉 Rappiniere with a Thousand irregular Desires, a Man very susceptible of them, and made Roquebrune languish for the Operator's Wife, adding a fourth Folly to his Vanity. Bravery and Poetry; or rather obliging him to commit a double Infidelity: For he had made his Amorous Addresses a long while before, both to Star and Angelica, who often advised him to desist, and not throw away his Courtship. But all this is nothing to what I shall now relate: Love triumphed likewise over the insensibility and Misanthropy of Rancour, who became enamoured of the Operator's Wife too, and by Consequence a Rival to the Poet Roquebrune, a Punishment for his Sins, and an Atonement for the cursed Writings he had published. This Woman's Name was Donna Inizella del Prado, a Native of Malaga, and her Husband, or reputed such, Signior Ferdinando Ferdinandi, a Gentleman of Venice, born at Caen in Normandy. There were several other in the Inn besides the abovenamed, infected with the same Disease, as dangerously, if not more than those whose Secrets I have revealed; but they shall be discovered too in due Time and Place. La Rappiniere fell in Love with Madam Star when she acted C●imene, and intended then to have declared his Distemper to Rancour, whom he thought capable of doing any thing for Money. The Heavenly Bard Raquebrune designed the Conquest of a Spanish Lady worthy his Courage. But as for Rancour I cannot imagine by what Potent Charms this Foreign Lady could inflame with Love, a Man who hated all the World. This worn-out Stroller, being in Hell before his time, I mean in Love, before his Death, was still in Bed, when Ragotin troubled him with his Passion, as it were the Belly-ache, came to desire him to mind his Business, and take pity on him. Rancour assured him, that ere that day were over, he would do him a Notable piece of Service with his Mistress. La Rappiniere entered at the same time Rancour's Chamber, who was still dressing himself; and having taken him aside, confessed his Infirmity to him, and vowed, if he could bring him into favour with Madam Star, there was nothing in his Power but he would do for him, even to the making him one of his Assistants, and bestowing his Niece in Marriage on him, whom he designed to make sole Heiress after his Death, because he had no Children of his own.  
The cheating Rogue promised him yet more than he had done Ragotin, which put this Hangman's Purveyor in good Hopes. Roquebr●ne came likewise to consult the Oracle: He was the most incorrigible presumptuous Coxcomb, that ever came from the Banks of Garonne, and one who thought every Body believed what he Romanced about his good Family, Riches, Poetry and Valour; insomuch, that he slighted all the dry Jests and Bobs that Rancour perpetually put upon him, presuming that what he did, was only for Conversation's sake: And besides, he understood Raillery as well as any Man alive, and bore it like a Christian Philosopher, even when it touched to the very quick. He therefore imagined he was admired by all the Players, nay, even by Rancour himself, who had experience enough to admire but few things; and was so far from having a good Opinion of this poor Brother of the Quill, that he made a full inquiry into his Extraction, thereby to discover whether those Bishops and great Lords, his Countrymen, whom he quoted ever and anon for his Relations, were the true Branches of that Genealogick Tree, this Fool of Noble Alliances, and Coats of Arms, together with many other things, had caused to be drawn in an old Roll of Parchment. He was very sorry to find Rancour in Company, though he had less need to be troubled at that, than any one besides, it being his ill Custom, to be ever whispering in People's Ears, and to make a Secret of every thing, sometimes of nothing However he took Rancour in a Corner, and at first very gravely desired to know whether the Operator's Wife was a Person of a great deal of Wit, or not; because he had loved Women of all Nations but the Spaniards, and if she were worth his Labour, he should not be much the poorer, if he presented h●● with a hundred Pistols, which he as often mentioned upon every trifling Occasion, as the great Family from whence he was Descended. Rancour told him, he was not so well acquainted with Donna Inezilla, as to answer for her Wit, though he had often met her Husband in the chiefest Cities of the Kingdom, where he sold his Antidotes; but if he desired so much to be informed about her Wit, 'twas but joining Conversation with her, since she began to speak Erench tolerably well. Roquebrune would needs entrust him with his Pedigree in Parchment, that he might dazzle the Spanish Donne with the splendour of his Race; but Rancour told him, his Pedigree would sooner make him a Knight of Maltha, than a happy Lover. Whereupon Roquebrune with a smiling Countenance added; Well, Sir, you know what I am. Yes, yes, replied Rancour, I know well enough what you are now, and what you will ever be to your dying Day. The Poet went away as he came, and Rancour, his Rival and Confident at the same time, drew near to La Rappiniere and Ragotin, who were Rivals also, though unknown to each other. As for old Rancour, besides that we naturally hate any one that endeavours to rob us of what we design for ourselves, and the general quarrel he had against all Mankind; besides all this, I say, he ever had a particular Aversion to the Poet, which this Discovery was not likely to abate. Rancour therefore absolutely resolved, from that time forward, to do him all the mischief he could possibly, to which his apish Nature prompted him, and fitted him for: And not to lose time, he began that very day, by basely borrowing Money of him, wherewith he new Clothed himself from top to toe, and stocked himself with Linen. He had before been a sloven all his Life-time; but Love, which works far greater Miracles, made him more curious of his Dress in his Declining Days. He changed his Linen oftener than did become a Stroller, and began to Wash, Powder, and colour his grey Hairs, and Trim himself so carefully, that his Comrades took notice of it. The Players were that day bespoken to act a Play, at one of the chiefest Citizens of Man's, who made a great Treat, and gave a Ball at his Neece's Wedding, whose Guardian he had been. The Assembly was kept at a very fair Countryhouse of his, about a League from the City; but whether Eastward, Westward, Northward, or Southward, I know not. The Decurator belonging to the Strollers, and a Carpenter were sent in the Morning early to make a Stage. The whole Company of Players followed afterwards in two Coaches, about eleven a Clock, that they might get thither by Dinnertime. Donna Inezilla the Spanish Lady, made one, at the earnest entreaty of the Actresses and Rancour. Ragotin being informed of the Business, went to an Inn at the end of the Suburbs, where he waited the coming of the Coach, and tied a very fine Steed which he had borrowed, to the Grate of the Parlour that looked into the Street. He was scarce set down to eat his Dinner, when word was brought him, the Coach was in sight. He flew to his Horse on the wings of Love, with a great Sword by his side, and a Carabine dangling at his Breech like a Bandoleer. He would never confess what his fancy was, to go to a Wedding with such store of Offensive and Defensive Arms; nor could Rancour his Confident ever persuade him to discover it. By that time he had untied his Horse's Bridle, the Coaches were so near, that he had not the time to look for a Mounting-block, that he might appear in State on his Steed like pretty St. George: And being none of the best Horsemen, and unprepared to show his nimble Disposition, he did it very aukwardly; for his Horse's Legs were as much too long, as his were too short. However, he stoutly reared himself upon the Stirrup, and threw his right Leg over the Saddle; but the Girts were lose it seems, which occasioned a strange Disaster; for this made the Saddle turn round, while he was bestriding the Steed. Yet all things went hitherto well enough, but the cursed Carabine which hung on a Belt about his Neck like a Collar, got so unfortunately betwixt his Legs before he was ware, that his Breech could not reach the Saddle, which was an old-fashioned one, the Carabine lying cross it from the Pummel to the Crupper. Thus he was in a very uneasy Posture, as not being able with the tip of his Feet, so much as to touch the Stirrups: Thereupon, his Heels being armed with Spurs, kicked the Horse's side in a place he was never used to be pricked in, which made him start more briskly, than was necessary for a little Rider in that Posture, having nothing but the Carabine to rest upon. This made him cling his Legs close to the Horses sides, which made the Horse sling up his hinder Legs, and Ragotin following the Nature of all heavy Bodies, fell into the Horse's Neck, where he got 〈◊〉 bruised Nose, the Steed lifting up his Head suddenly at a jet with the Bridle he gave him very preposterously: Now thinking to repair his Oversight, he let go the Reins, and gives the Horse his Head, which at that very instant gives a great lea● and casts his Rider quite over the Saddle upon the Crupper with the Carabine still between his Legs. The Horse not being used to carry any thing behind, makes a Croupade, whi●● placed Ragotin in the Saddle again. The unskilful Horse●●● clapped his Heels close to his sides afresh, and then the Horse flu● up his hinder Legs more than at first, which pitched the unf● tunate Ragotin just upon the Pummel, where we must leave 〈◊〉 as on a Pinnacle, to rest ourselves a while; for upon the Hor●● of a Gentleman, this Description has cost me more Pains, 〈◊〉 all the Book besides, and yet I am not well satisfied with myself.   

CHAP. XX.  
The shortest in this present Book. Ragotin's fall off his Horse, and something of the like Nature which happened to Rocquebrune.  
WE left Ragotin planted on the Pummel of a Saddle, not knowing how to behave himself, and much perplexed how he should come off. I scarce believe that the Defunct Phaeton of unhappy Memory, was more troubled with his Father's four fiery Steeds, than was at this time our little Lawyer, with this one Horse as quiet as a Lamb; and that it did not cost him his Life, as it did Phaeton, he was beholding to Fortune for it, whose Capricies were a fit Subject for me to Expatiate on, were I not in Conscience obliged to release Ragotin from the imminent Danger he was in; having besides, many more things to Treat of, concerning our Strollers, during their Residence at Mans. As soon as the Disastrous Ragotin felt what an uneasy Cushion he had under the two most fleshy parts of his Body, on which he used to sit, as all other Rational Creatures are wont; I mean, as soon as he found how narrow his Seat was, he quitted the Bridle like a Man of Discretion, and laid hold of the Horse's Mane, who ran away at full Speed. Thereupon the Carabine went off: Ragotin thought he was shot through the Body, his Horse undoubtedly believed the same, and made such a foul stumble, that Ragotin lost his Seat; insomuch, that for a time, he hung by the Horse's Mane, with one Foot entangled by the Spur in the Saddle-cloth; and the other Foot with the rest of his Body, hanging towards the Earth in expectation of a Fall, as soon as his Spur should break lose; together with his Sword, Carabine, and Bandeleer. At length the Foot was disengaged, his Hands let go the Mane, and down he tumbled, though with more grace and skill, than he got up. All this happened in sight of the Coaches, that stopped on purpose to see what would become of him; or rather to have the pleasure of Laughing at him. He cursed the Horse, who stood stock still, as soon as he had laid down his Load: But to Comfort him, they took him up into one of the Coaches in the Poet's Room, who was willing to ride, ●hat he might flutter about the Coach, and Court Inezilla, who at in the Boot. Ragotin resigned his Sword and Fire-Arms up to him, which he put on as dexterously, as any Son of Mars. He lengthened ●●e Stirrups, fitted the Bridle, and without doubt went to get up more Methodically than Ragotin. But surely there was some Spell cast upon that unlucky Horse that Day, for the Saddle being too loosely girted, as before, turned round with him, as it had done with Ragotin; and the string of his Breeches being broken, the Horse ran a pretty way with him, whilst he had but one Foot in the stirrup, his other serving the Horse as a fifth Leg, and his backparts exposed to the view of all the Assistants, his Breeches dangling all the way at his Heels. None of the Spectators did Laugh at Ragotin's Mishap, because they were afraid he would hurt himself; but Rocquebrune's Accident was attended with loud shouts and laughter from the Coaches: The Coachmen stopped to laugh their Bellyful, and all together hollowed at Rocquebrune, which drove him into a House for shelter, leaving the Horse to his own Discretion, who very wisely walked back again to the Town. Ragotin knowing he was Responsible for the Beast, alighted out of the Coach and went after him; then the Poet having cased up his Posteriors, returned into the Coach much troubled, and very troublesome to the rest, by Ragotin's Martial Equipage, who had undergone this third disgrace in his Mistress' presence, with which we shall conclude the twentieth Chapter.   

CHAP XXI.  
Which perhaps will not be found very Entertaining.  
THE Players were very well received by the Master of the House, who was a good honest Man, and one of the most considerable in those Parts. They had two Chambers allotted them to lay their clothes in, and make themselves ready for the way, which was put off till after Supper. They likewise 〈◊〉 in private, and after Dinner, those that had a mind to walk had the choice of a Grove and a fine Garden. A young Counsellor of the Parliament of Rennes, and near Kinsman to the Master of the House, Accosted our Players, having discovered Destiny to be a Person of more than Vulgar Judgement, and the Actresses, besides their great Beauty, to be such as could say more than just the Parts they had learned by heart. They Discoursed of things agreeable to their Profession, as Plays, and Dramatic Writers. This young Counsellor said amongst other things, that there was scarce any Remarkable Subject for the Stage, that had not been blown upon; that all History was almost exhausted, and that Modern Authors would be at last constrained to wave those nice Rules of Unity of Times, and stretch it beyond four and twenty Hours: That the generality did not apprehend what those severe Rules of the Stage are good for, being rather pleased with Action and Representation than Recitals; and therefore such Plots might be contrived as would meet with Applause, without either falling into the Extravagancies of the Spaniards, or being tied up to the strict Precepts of Aristotle. From Plays, they began to talk of Romances. The Counsellor said, that nothing could be more Diverting, than our Modern Romances; that the French alone knew how to write good ones; but however, that the Spaniards had a peculiar Talon to compose little Stories, which they call Novels; that are more useful, and more probable Patterns for us to follow, than those imaginary Heroe's of Antiquity, who grow sometimes tedious and troublesome, by being overcivil and virtuous. In short, that those Examples which may be imitated, are at least as profitable, as such as do exceed all probability and belief; from all which he concluded, that if a Man could write as good Novels in French, as those of Michael de Cervantes, they would soon be as much in Vogue, as ever Heroic Romances have been. Roquebrune was not of the same Opinion: He said very positively, that there could be no Pleasure in reading of Romances, unless they contained the Adventures of Princes, Nay, and of great Princes too, and that for that reason, Astrea only pleased him here and there. And in what Histories can one find Kings and Emperors enough to make new Romances, said the Counsellor: We must feign such, replied Roquebrune, as they usually do in fabulous Stories, which have no Foundation in History. I perceived then, returned the Counsellor, that Don Quixot is very little in your Favour? 'Tis the silliest Book that ever I read, replied Roquebrune; tho' it be cried up by a great many Men of Wit. Have a care, said Destiny, it be not rather for want of Wit in you, than any Defect in the Book, that makes you entertain so indifferent an Opinion of it. Roquebrune, would not have failed to answer Destiny, had he but heard what he spoke: But he was so taken up with telling his Feats to some Ladies, who were come near the Players, that he minded him not, and promised that fair Sex, he would write a Romance in five Parts, every Part to contain five Volumes, which should eclipse all the Cassandra's, Cleopatra's, and Cyrus', tho' this last have the Surname of the Grand, as well as the Son of Pepin. In the mean time the Counsellor was telling Destiny and the Actresses, that he had writ some Novels in imitation of the Spaniards, promising he would communicate 'em to them. Thereupon Inezella told them, in a kind of French that had more of the Gascon than of the Spanish, that her first Husband had the Name of a competent Writer in the Court of Spain, having composed several Novels that were much esteemed; some of which she had in Manuscript, which in her Opinion, deserved to be Translated into French. The young Counsellor being very curious of such kind of Compositions, told the Spanish Lady, she would do him a great favour in letting him have the perusal of 'em; which she very civilly granted; adding withal, that no Body was better stored with Novels than herself; for as some Women in their Country, will sometimes try to write both in Verse and Prose, so she had made it her Pastime, and could entertain 'em with some of her own making. Roquebrune confidently, according to his Custom, offered to turn 'em into French. Inezella, who was perhaps the sharpest Spaniard, that ever came over the Pirenees into France, replied, that it was not only requisite to understand the French Tongue well, but that he must be equally Master of the Spanish also; and therefore she could not give him her Novels to Translate, till she was so well acquainted with the French Tongue, as to be able to judge whether he was qualified for the Undertaking. Rancour, who had been silent all the while, said, there was no doubt to be made of his Ability, since he had been Corrector of a Printing-House: He had no sooner popped out these words, but he remembered Roquebrune had lent him Money, which made him pursue his Jest no farther; to which the other, dashed out of Countenance at Rancour's Words, replied, that he could not deny but that he had corrected some few sheets, but than 'twas nothing but what he had published of his own. Madam Star, to shift the Discourse, told Donna Inezella, that since she knew so many stories, she would often Importune her to Relate some of ' 'em. The Spanish Lady replied, she was ready to give her Satisfaction presently: They took her at her Word, and all the Company seating themselves round about her, she begun a story, not in the very same Terms as you will find in the following Chapter; but yet so intelligibly, as made 'em guests she was Mistress of a great deal of Wit in Spanish, since she showed so much of it in a Language, to whose Delicacies she was a perfect stranger.   

CHAP. XXII.  
The Impostor Out-witted. A Novel.  
A young Lady of the City of Toledo, named Victoria, descended from the Ancient Family of Portocarrero, had retired herself to a House she had on the Banks of Tagus, about half a League distant from Toledo, in the absence of her Brother, who was a Captain of a Troop of Horse in the Low-Countries. She became a Widow at seventeen Years of Age, being Wedded to an old Gentleman that had got a great Estate in the Indie's, who six Months after his Marriage, perished in a Storm at Sea, leaving much Wealth to his Wife. This fair Widow after the Death of her Husband, kept House constantly with her Brother, where she lived in such Repute, that at the Age of Twenty, all the Mothers proposed her for a Pattern to their Children, the Husbands to their Wives, and the Lovers to their Desires, as a Conquest worthy of their Ambition. But as her Retirement cooled the Love of many, so on the other hand it increased the Esteem the whole World had for her. In this Countryhouse, she enjoyed at Liberty all the Innocent Pleasures of a rural Life, when one Morning her Shepherds brought into her House a couple of Men, whom they found stripped of all their clothes, and bound fast to a Tree, where they had been tied the whole Night. They had lent each of them a scurvy shepherd's Coat to cover themselves withal; and in this fine Equipage they appeared before the fair Victoria. The poverty of their Habit did not hid from her the Noble Mien of the younger, who made her a genteel Compliment, and told her he was a Gentleman of Cordove, Don Lopaz of Gongora by Name; who was Travelling from Sevil to Madrid about Business of great Importance, and having overstayed his time at Play, about half a days Journey from Toledo, where he dined the day before, the Night surprised them; and both he and his Men falling asleep, expecting a Mule-●●●ver who stayed behind, some Thiefs finding them both in that condition, tied them to a Tree, having first stripped them to their very shirts. Victoria doubted not the Truth of his Relation, his good Mien speaking in his Favour; and however 'twas a great piece of Generosity, to relieve a stranger reduced to this sad Extremity. It happened by good luck, that amongst the clothes her Brother left in her Custody, there were some Suits, for the Spaniards never part with their old clothes, though they make new ones. They chose the finest, and that which fitted best the Master's shape; and his Man was also Clothed with what they could find next at hand. Dinnertime being come, this Stranger whom Victoria invited to her Table, appeared so Accomplished, and entertained her with so much Wit, that she thought that the Relief the afforded him, could never have been better bestowed. They conversed together the remaining part of the Day, and were so much taken with each other's Perfections, that neither of them slept so quietly that Night, as they did before. The Stranger would needs send his Man to Madrid, to fetch him some Money, and buy him clothes, or at least he pretended it; but the fair Widow would not suffer him, promising to lend him so much as would carry him to his Journeys end. He made some Overtures of Love to her the very same day, and she gave him a favourable Audience. In fine, in a Fortnight's time, the Opportunity of the Place, the equal Merit of these two Persons, a great many Oaths and Vows on one side, too much Frankness and Credulity on the other, a promise of Marriage offered, and their Reciprocal Faith plighted in the pre●ence of an old Gentlewoman Usher, and Victoria's Waiting-woman, made her commit a Fault she was thought uncapable of, and put this happy Stranger in Possession of the most Beautiful Lady of Toledo. For eight days together it was nothing but Love and Dear, Fire and Flame's betwixt these two Lover's. But now part they must, and Tears succeed: Victoria indeed had right to stay him, but the Stranger pretended he lost a great deal by not going; however, that since he had been so happy as to win her Heart, he cared no more either for his Lawsuit at Madrid, or his Preferment at Court, she then was eager to have him gone; her Passion having not blinded her Reason so much, as to prefer the Pleasure of his Society, to his Advancement. She got new clothes made for him and his Man at Toledo, furnished him with as much Money as he desired; and so he set forward on his Journey to Madrid, Mounted on a good Mule, and his Man on another; the poor Lady full of real Grief at his Departure, and he was no less Afflicted, or at least pretended to be so, with the greatest Hypocrisy in the World. The same day he took his Journey, the Chambermaid making his Bed, found a Picture-case wrapped in a Letter; she carried it immediately to her Mistress, who found in the Case the Picture of a most Beautiful young Lady, and reading the Letter, it contained these Words, or others to the same effect.  
Dear Cousin.  
Here enclosed, I send you the Picture of the Beautiful Elvira de Sylva, but when you see her, you will confess how infinitely the Resemblance falls short of the Original; and how much brighter this Beauty is, than the Painter could draw her. Her Father Don Pedro de Sylva expects you with Impatience; The Articles of Marriage betwixt you and Elvira, are drawn up according to your Wishes, and in my Opinion, very much to your Advantage. All this, I hope, will be sufficient to hasten your journey.  
Madrid this, etc. Don Antonio de Ribera.  
This Letter was directed to Ferdinand de Ribera at Sevil. Now imagine, I beseech you, Victoria's Astonishment at the reading of this Letter, which in all probability could be writ to no other but her false Lopez de Gongora. She now perceived, but too late, that this Stranger, whom she had so highly and so hastily obliged, had disguised his Name; and by that Counterfeit, she was assured of his Infidelity and Treachery. The Beauty of the Lady in the Picture, made her feel all the Torments of Jealousy, and the Articles of Marriage already drawn up, almost distracted her with Despair. Never was any Mortal Person more deeply Afflicted: Her sighs went near to burst her Heart, and she shed such a flood of Tears, that her Head ached most intolerably. Miserable, abandoned Woman that I am, said she to herself (and sometimes also before her old Gentleman-Usher, and Waiting-woman, who were both the Witnesses of her Marriage.) Have I thus long been so ●●liscreet and Reserved, to commit at last a most Irreparable Fault? And have I refused so many Men of Quality of my Acquaintance, who would have thought themselves too happy in my Enjoyment, to throw myself away upon a stranger, who perhaps laughs at my easy Credulity; now he has ruined my Fame, and made me for ever Miserable? What will they say at Toledo? And what will they say in all Spain? Can a young, base, cheating Pretender, be Discreet? Why did I let him know I loved him, before I was assured of the sincerity of his Heart? Can he have changed his Name, if he had meant to keep his flattering Promises? Or can I hope after all this, he will not Reveal his easy Conquest over me? What will not my Brother be provoked to do against me, by what I have done against myself? And to what purpose is he courting Glory and Fame in Flanders, whilst I Disgrace him in Spain? No, no, Victoria, thou must do any thing to repair this Crime: But before I proceed to Vengeance, and desperate Remedies, I must try to regain by my Craft, what I have lost by my Imprudence: It will be then time enough to use desperate Ways, when I have found all others ineffectual. Victoria had it seems, a great Spirit, and Presence of Mind, since she could fix on such a good Resolution in such a Plunge. Her old Gentleman-Usher, and her Waiting-woman, would have given her Advice: But she told 'em, she knew as much as they could say, and that Action, and not Words, must now do her Business. So the very same day, a couple of Carts were laden with Household-stuff and Necessaries, Victoria giving out, amongst her Domestic Servants, that she had pressing Business concerning her Brother, which called her to Court. She took Coach with her Squire and Woman, and hastened to Madrid, whither her Goods were appointed to follow. As soon as she Arrived, she enquired for Don Pedro de Sylva's House, and being informed where abouts it was, hired one for herself in the same Street. Her Gentleman-Usher's Name was Rodrigo Santillane, who from his Youth was bred up by Victoria's Father, which made him love his Mistress, as if she had been his own Sister. Having much Acquaintance in Madrid, where he had spent his youthful Days, he soon discovered that Don Pedro de Sylva's Daughter, was to be Wedded to a Gentleman of Sevil, Named Ferdinand de Ribere, which Match was made up by a Cousin of his of the same Name, it being so near the Conclusion, that Don Pedro was already providing Servants for his Daughter. The very next day Rodrigo Santillane, in a plain and decent Garb, Victoria in the Habit of a Widow of a mean Condition, and Beatrix her Waiting-woman, who was to personate his Mother-in-Law, and Rodrigo's Wife, went all together to Don Pedro's, and desired to speak with him. Don Pedro received them very Civilly, to whom Rodrigo said with much assurance, that he was a decayed Gentleman of the Mountains of Toledo, and having one only Daughter by his first Wife, which was Victoria, whose Husband died not long since at Sevil, finding his own, and his Daughter's Fortune very low, he had brought her to Court to get some good Service for her; and being informed that he was about settling his Daughter's Family at her Marriage, he hoped he would not take it unkindly, that he came to proffer the young Widow's Service to him, she being a Person very fit to be a Duegna to the Bride; adding, his Daughter's Merit gave him the Confidence to present her to him, not doubting her Breeding and good Nature, would give her a little better Title to her Mistress' Favour, than the small Beauty she had to recommend her. Before I proceed any farther, I must adveri●●●● those that are unacquainted with it, that the Ladies in Spai● keep Duegnas in their Houses, and those Duegnas are much the same thing as our Governantes or Ladies of Honour belonging to great Persons: I must add to this, that the Duegnas or Duegnes in Spain, are severe and troublesome Animals, no less dreadful, than a Domineering Mother-in-Law. To go on with the story, Rodrigo played his part so well, and Victoria so Beautiful as she was, appeared so agreeable in her modest and plain Attire, and had such a promising Look in her Face, that Don Pedro de Sylva accepted of her immediately to govern his Daughter. He proffered Rodrigo and his Wife an Employment in his House likewise; but Rodrigo excused himself, and told him, he had some Reasons not to accept of the Honour he intended him; but having a House in the same Street, he would be ready to wait upon him at any time he should command it. Thus was Victoria entertained in Don Pedro's House, infinitely beloved both by him and his Daughter, and no less envied by all the other Servants. Don Antonio de Ribera, who had contrived the Match between his Faithless Cousin, and Don Pedro de Sylva's Daughter, came often to bring Don Pedro News, that his Kinsman was on his Journey, and had written to him at his setting forth from Sevil. And yet this Cousin did not appear: This very much perplexed him, nor could Don Pedro and Elvira, tell what to judge of it; but Victoria was the most concerned. However, Don Ferdinand was not able to come so soon: For the very same day he parted from Victoria, Heaven punished his Treachery. As he Arrived at Illescas, a fierce Dog running out of a House unawares, affrighted his Mule so terribly, that his Leg was sorely bruised against a Wall, and he thrown down, and his Knee put out of Joint, which pained him so much, he could not prosecute his Journey. He was seven or eight days under the Surgeon's Hands, who were none of the most Skilful, and his Ailment growing worse and worse, he at length acquainted his Cousin with his Misfortune, desiring him withal to send him a Horselitter. The News of his Fall afflicted 'em no less, than the knowledge of his being so nigh pleased them. Victoria, who still loved him, was not a little Disquieted. Don Antonio sent a Letter to convey Don Ferdinand to Madrid, where being Arrived, whilst they were providing clothes for him and his Retinue, which was very Magnificent, he being the Eldest Son of the Family, and wealthy enough, the Surgeons of Madrid, more Skilful than those at Illescas, cured him perfectly well. Don Pedro de Sylva, and his Daughter Elvira, had notice given 'em of the day whereon Don Antonio de Ribera, was to bring his Cousin Don Ferdinand to them. It is probable the young Elvira did not neglect herself, nor was Victoria without Concern, She saw her faithless Lover make his Entrance, tricked up like a Bridegroom; and if he was so Charming in a poor disorderly Habi● what must he be now in his Wedding-clothes? Don Pedro was very well satisfied with him, and his Daughter must have been very nice, had she not been fully pleased. All the Servants of the House stared with open Eyes upon their young Lady's Bridegroom, and every one of the Family, was overjoyed excepting poor Victoria, whose Heart was oppressed with Grief. Don Ferdinand was charmed with Elvira's Beauty, and confessed to his Cousin, that she was still more Beautiful than her Picture. His first Compliments express a great deal of Wit, and he very skilfully avoided those impertinent Fooleries, and starched Nonsense, most Men are guilty of, in their first Addresses to a Father-in-Law, and a Mistress. Don Pedro de Sylva locked himself up in a Closet with the two Kinsmen and a Lawyer, to adjust somewhat that was left unfinished in the Articles. In the mean time Elvira stayed in her Chamber, surrounded with her Women, who all expressed their Joy at the good Mien, and Noble Air of her Lover: Only Victoria stood cold and silent, whilst the rest were in their Raptures. Elvira observed this, and took her aside to tell her, she admired she said nothing of the Happy Choice her Father had made of a Son-in-Law, who seemed so Deserving: Adding, that either out of Complaisance or Civility, she ought at least to wish her Joy. Madam, replied Victoria, your Lover's Mien speaks so much to his Advantage, it were needless to add my Commendations. The Coldness you have taken notice of, does not proceed from any indifference; and I were unworthy of the Favours you have vouchsafed me, should I not share in every thing that concerns you; and therefore I should be no less Transported with Joy at your Marriage, than all the rest about you are, were I not so well acquainted with the Gentleman you are to Wed. My own Husband was an Inhabitant of Sevil, whose House was not far from your Lover's. He is, I confess, of a good Family, Rich, Handsome, and I do believe, a Man of Wit. In fine, he is worthy of a Lady, such as you are. But withal, you desire a Man's entire Affection, which he cannot bestow on you, because his Heart is divided. I could wave a Discovery, which may perhaps Displease you: But I should be wanting to my Duty, should I not Reveal all I know of Don Ferdinand, in a Business which so nearly concerns the Happiness or Unhappiness of your whole Life. Elvira was amazed at her Duegna's Words, and entreated her, not to defer any longer the clearing those Doubts she had started. Victoria replied, that it was neither to be done before her Women, not in few Words. Elvira pretended she had some Business of Privacy in her Chamber, where Victoria as soon as they were alone, told her: That Ferdinand de Ribera was in Love at Sevil, with one Lucretia de Monsalva, a very Beautiful Lady, tho' of a very mean Fortune, by whom he had three Children, upon promise of Marriage; and that during Ribera's Father's Life, it was kept very secret, after whose Death, Lucretia having claimed his Promise, he grew very indifferent; whereupon she had left the Business to the Management of two Gentlewomen, her Relations, which made so much noise in Sevil, that Don Ferdinand, by his Friend's persuasion, absented himself for a time, to shun the Rage of Lucretia's Kindred, who sought for Blood and Revenge. In this posture were his Affairs; added she, when I left Sevil, which is about a Month ago, at which time it was also reported, that Don Ferdinand was going to Madrid to be Married. Elvira could not forbear ask, whether that Lucretia were a greater Beauty? Victoria told her, she wanted nothing but a Fortune, and so left her extreme pensive; and firmly resolved, to give instantly her Father an account of the Discovery. At the same Moment, she was called to entertain her Lover, the Business for which he retired into the Closet with her Father, being concluded. Elvira went to him, whilst Victoria stayed in the Withdrawing-Room, where the same Fellow came to her that attended on him, when she so generously received them into her House near Toledo. This Servant brought a Packet of Letters for his Master, which he had taken up at the Post-Office from Sevil, and not knowing Victoria, so much her Widow's Weeds Disguised her, he desired to be admitted to the speech of his Master, to deliver him the Letters. She told him, it would be a good while before he could conveniently speak with him; but if he durst trust her with she Packet, she would be sure to give it him as soon as possibly she could get to him. The Fellow made no scruple in the Case, and having left the Packet in her Custody, went about his Business Victoria, who was resolved to leave no stone unturned, goes up to her own Chamber, opens the Packet, and in a Moment seal● it up again, together with a Letter of her own, which she writ in haste. In the mean time, the two Kinsmen made an end of their Visit, and took their Leave. Elvira spying the Letters in her Governant's Hands, asked what it was? Victoria coldly answered, that Don Ferdinand's Servant had left some Letters with her, to deliver to his Master, which she was going to send after him, not being in the way when he went out. Elvira said, it would give 'em some further Light about the Discovery she had made. This being what she desired, Victoria breaks open the ●eal a second time. Elvira looked upon all the Letters, and fixing her Eye upon one which seemed to be writ by a Woman, Addressed to Don Ferdinand de Ribera at Madrid, she read these following Lines.  
Your Absence, and the News I hear of your Marriage at Court, will soon deprive you of a Person that valued you above her own Life, unless you suddenly return, and ●●ke good your Promise; which you can neither defer any longer, nor deny me; without a manifest Indifference, or Breach of Faith. If what I hear be true, that you regard your Vows and Promises so little, which you have made both to me and our Children, I advise you to take care of your Life; which my Relations are resolved to take for your Treachery, whenever you ungrateful Usage shall prompt me to call upon 'em for my just Revenge, since you enjoy it now only at my Request.  
From Sevil. Lucretia de Monsalva.  
Elvira having read this Letter, was persuaded of the Truth of what her Governante had told her. Moreover she showed it to her Father, who could not but admire, that a Gentleman of his Quality should be so base, as to be Treacherous to a Lady of equal Birth with him, after he had so many Children by her. Thereupon he went to a Gentleman of Sevil for further Information, being a Friend of his, and one that had before given him an account of Ferdinand's Wealth and Circumstances. He was scarce gone out of Doors, when Don Ferdinand came to inquire for his Packet, attended with his Servant, who told him, his Mistress' Governante had promised to deliver them into his Hands. He found Elvira alone in the Parlour, and told her, that though the Engagement which was between her and him, might excuse two Visits in one day; yet he only came for the Letters his Man had left with her Duegns. Elvira freely told him, that she had taken then from her, and had the Curiosity to break them open; no doubting but a Man of his years, had some Amorous Engagement in so great a City as Sevil; and though her Curiosity yielded her but little Satisfaction, yet she had met with the Caution in Recompense; how dangerous it was for People to be Married together, before they were thoroughly acquainted with each other; adding, she would not debar him 〈◊〉 longer of the Pleasure of perusing his Letters. At these 〈◊〉 she restored him his Paquet, with the Counterfeit Letter, 〈◊〉 making him a slight Courtesy, left him without waiting 〈◊〉 his Answer. Don Ferdinand was strangely Surprised at his ●●●tresses Discourse. He perused the supposed Letter, and ●●●ceiv'd it was a Trick to hinder his Marriage. He addressed himself to Victoria, who remained in the outward Room, and told her without taking much notice of her Face, that either some Rival, or malicious Person had contrived that Letter to abuse him. I a Wife in Sevil! cried he with Amazement: I Children! if this be not the most impudent Imposture that ever was set on 〈◊〉, I'll forfeit my Head— Victoria told him he might possibly be innocent; but however Elvira in Discretion could do no less than make a farther enquiry into the Truth of it; and therefore the Marriage would certainly be put off, till her Father Don Pedro could be convinced by a Gentleman of Sevil, his Friend, (whom he was gone to seek on purpose;) that this was only a pretended Intrigue. With all my Heart, answered he; and if there be but a Lady of the Name of Lucretia de Monsalva in all Sevil, let me forfeit the Honour and Reputation of a Gentleman: And let me entreat you, added he, to let me know, if you are so far in your Lady's Favour as I suppose you to be, that I may bespeak your good Offices on this Occasion. Truly answered Victoria, I believe, without Vanity, that she will not do a thing upon any Body's Account, that she has refused to do on mine: But withal, I know her Humour is such, that she is not easily appeased, when she thinks herself disobliged: And as all the hopes of mending my Fortune depend on the Kindness she has for me, I shall never offer to contradict her out of Complaisance to you, nor hazard her Displeasure by endeavouring to work her out of the ill Opinion she has of your Sincerity. I am but poor, added she, and not to get any thing were to lose a great deal: If what she had promised to give me in case I marry a second time, should fail, I might live a Widow all the rest of my Days, though I am yet young enough, and not so deformed but that some body or other may like me. But 'tis an old Saying, and a true one, That without Money— She was thus going on with a true Governante's tedious Tale; for to act●her Part to the Life, she must talk a great deal: But Don Ferdinand interrupring her, said: Do me but one piece of Service I shall require of you, and I will put you above the Hopes of your Mistress' Reward: And, added he, to convince you that my Promises are not empty Words, give me Pen, Ink and Paper, and you shall have what you will under my Hand. Jesus! Signior, says the feigned Governante, a Gentleman's Word is as good as his Bond— But to obey you (I will fetch you what you desire. She returned again with Materials enough to have drawn a Bond of a Million of Gold, and Don Ferdinand was so Gallant, or at least had such a Month's mind to Elvira, that he signs her a Blank, leaving her to fill it as she pleased, thereby to engage her to serve him with greater Zeal. This raised Victoria up to the Clouds: She promised Wonders to Don Ferdinand, and told him she wished herself the unhappiest of all her Sex, if she did not act in this Business, as if she herself was a Party concerned. And in this she spoke a great Truth. Don Ferdinand left her full of Hopes; and Rodrigo San●illane, who went for her Father, being come to visit h●●, to learn how her Design advanced, she gave him an Account of all, and showed him the Blank Paper subscribed; for which he gave Thanks to Heaven with her, finding all things seemed to contribute to her Happiness. To lose no time, he went home to the House that Victoria had hired, not far from Don Pedro's, as I before related, where he had filled up the Blank Don Ferdinand had given (with a Promise of Marriage attested with Witnesses, and dated about the same time that Victoria received this faithless Man into her Countryhouse. He was as skilful a Penman as any in Spain, and had studied Don Ferdinand's Hand so well in a Copy of Verses of his own Writing, which he left to Victoria, that Don Ferdinand himself would have been mistaken in the Forgery, and thought it to be his own Hand. Don Pedro de Sylva, could not meet with the Gentleman he sought to be informed about Don Ferdinand's Amours, but left a Note at his House, and came back to his own; where that same Night Elvira unbosomed her Secrets to her Governante, and vowed she'd sooner disobey her Father, than ever to marry Don Ferdinand, confessing withal, that she was preingaged to one Don Diego de Maradas a long while before, and had in all reason complied enough with her Father's Commands and her own Duty, by putting a Constraint on her own Inclinations, to satisfy him; but since Heaven had ordered it so, that Don Ferdinand's Treachery was discovered, she thought, by refusing him, she did obey the Decrees of Heaven, which seemed to allot her another Husband. You may imagine Victoria fortified Elvira in these good Resolutions, and spoke quite contrary to Don Ferdinand's Expectations. Don Diego de Maradas, said then Elvira to her, i● much dissatisfied with me, for having forsaken hi● Obedience to my Father; but the least inviting Look from me will bring him back, were he at as great a distance from me, as Don Ferdinand is from his Lucretia. Writ to him, Madam, and I shall willingly be your Messenger. Elvira was overjoyed to find he Governante so favourable to her Designs. She commanded to Coach to be made ready for Victoria, who immediately went a way with a Billetdoux for Don Diego; and being alighted at he● Father Santillane's, she sent the Coach back again, telling the Coachman, she would walk it whither she designed to go. 〈◊〉 nest santillane showed her the Promise of Marriage he had draw up; and she immediately wrote two little Notes, one to 〈◊〉 Diego de Maradas, the other to Don Pedro de Sylva, her Lad●● Father; wherein she entreated 'em to repair to her House about Business, with the Direction where she dwelled, and subscribed herself, Victoria Portocarrero. Whilst they were carrying these Notes, Victoria strips off her Black Weeds, put on very rich Clothes, pulls out her Locks, (which I have been told were of the finest Hair that could be) and dressed her Head as nicely as if she was going to Court. Don Diego de Maradas came in a while after, to know what Concern a Lady, to whom he was a perfect Stranger, might have with him. She received him very civilly; and they were scarce set down, when it was told her, that Don Pedro de Sylva was come to wait upon her. She entreated Don Diego to conceal himself in her Alcove, assuring him, it concerned him very much to hear the Discourse she should have with Don Pedro. He easily complied with the Desire of a Lady of so much Beauty, and so good Mien, and Don Pedro was admitted into Victoria's Chamber, not knowing her, so much had her Head-dress and rich Attire changed her Face, and heightened her Majestic Air. She desired him to place himself in a Chair, whence Don Diego could easily hear all they said, and then began in these Words: I think, Sir, I ought in the first place to inform you who I am, because in all probability you are impatient to know it. I am of the Family of the Portocarreroes, born in the City of Toledo, where I was married at the Age of Sixteen, and became a Widow about six Months after. My Father was a Knight of the Order of St. james, and my Brother of the Order of Callatra●● Don Pedro interrupted her, to let her know her Father was his intimate Friend. What you tell me, rejoices me extremely; answered Victoria, for I shall have occasion for a great many Friends in the Affairs I design to acquaint you with. After this he informed Don Pedro of all that passed between her and Don Ferdinand, and put into his Hands the Promise of Marriage counterfeited by Santillane. He had no sooner read it, but she went on thus: You know, Sir, what Honour obliges Persons of my Quality to do in these Cases: For though Justice should be partially denied me, yet have my Friends so much Power and Credit, that they would prosecute my Interest to the highest. I thought Sir, it became me to let you know my Pretensions, that you might put a stop to the Match you had designed for your Daughter. She deserves better than to be thrown away upon a faithless Man; and I believe you are so discreet, as not to be obstinate in giving her a Husband, whom another has right to dispute with her. Were he a Grandee of Spain, replied Don Pedro, I would have nothing to do with him if he were unjust and false; I shall therefore not only deny him my Daughter, but my House; And as for yourself, Madam, both my Friends and Interest are at your Service. I had notice given me before, that he was a Ma● that followed his Pleasure, even at the Expense of his Reputation; and being of that Humour, though you had no Title to him, he never should have my Daughter, who. I hope in God, shall not want a Husband in the Court of Spain. Don Pedro took his leave of Victoria, seeing she had no more to say to him; and than Victoria called Don Diego out of the Alcove, where he overheard all the Conversation she had with her Mistress' Father. This spared her the Labour of repeating her Story: She delivered Elvira's Letter to him, which transported him with Joy; and lest he should be in Pain to know how she came by it, she entrusted him with her Metamorphosis into a Duegna, knowing he was as much concerned as herself to keep it socret. Don Diego, before he left Victoria, wrote an Answer to his Mistress' Letter, wherein the infinite Joy he expressed for his revived Hopes, plainly discovered the real Affliction he had been in ever since he thought them quite lost. He parted from the fair Widow, who presently put on her Governantes' Habit, and returned to Don Pedro's. In the interim Don Ferdinand de Ribera was gone to wait upon his Mistress, and had taken his Cousin Don Antonio along with him to endeavour to set all that to rights again, which had been charged against him by Victoria's feigned Letter. Don Pedro find with his Daughter, who knew not what to answer, when they both desired no better Justification, than only a due Enquiry, whether there ever were in Sevil such a Lady as Lucretia de Monsalvo. They repeated the same Plea to Don Pedro, to clear Don Ferdinand; to which he answered: That if that Engagement with the Lady of Sevil was a Supposition, it was so much the easier defeated; but that he came from a Lady of Toledo, named Victoria Porto-ca●●ero, to whom Don Ferdinand had promised Marriage, and to whom he was still more engaged, having been so generously assisted by her, when a mere Stranger to her; which he could no● deny, since she had under his Hand and Seal a Promise of Marriage from him; adding, a Person of Honour ought not to court a Wife at Madrid, whilst he had one already at Toledo: At these Words he showed the two Cousins the Promise of Marriage in due Form. Don Antonio knew his Cousin's Writing and Don Ferdinand mistaking it, though he were confident he had never given any, was quite confounded at the sight of it. The Father and the Mother withdrew, after they had coldly bid them adieu. Don Antonio quarrelled with his Cousin for employing him in this Treaty, when he had another on foot before. They took Coach together, where Don Antonio having made him confess his unhandsome Proceeding with Victoria, reproached him a Thousand times with the Heinousness of the Fact, and represented to him the evil Consequence that was like to attend it. He told him, he must not think of getting a Wife, not only at Madrid, but in any part of Spain; and that he were happy if he could get off by marrying Victoria, without forfeiting his Life with his Honour, Victoria's Brother being a Person not used to put up so foul a Business without full Stisfaction. It was Don Ferdinand's Part to be silent, whilst his Cousin continued his Reproaches. His Conscience sufficiently accused him of Treachery and Falsehood against a Lady that had so highly obliged him; but this Promise of Marriage almost distracted him, not knowing by what strange Enchantment they had made him grant it. Victoria being come back to Don Pedro's in her Widow's Weeds, delivered Don Diego's Letter to Elvira, who told her how the two Kinsmen had been there to justify themselves; but that Don Ferdinand was charged with other-guess Practices, than his Amours with the Lady of Sevil; she afterwards related what Victoria knew better than herself; though she pretended to admire and detest Don Ferdinand's Baseness. That same Day Elvira was invited to a Play at one of her Relations. Victoria, whose Thoughts still ran upon her own Affairs, hoped, if Elvira would follow her Counsel, that this Play would prove favourable to her Design. She told her young Lady, that if she had a mind to meet her Lover Don Diego, there was nothing more easy, her Father's House being the most convenient that could be; and that since the Play was not to begin till Midnight, she might go out a little earlier, and have time enough to speak with Don Diego, and then go to her Relations. Elvira, who really loved Don Diego; and had consented to marry Don Ferdinand, only out of Respect to her Father's Command, showed no Reluctancy to do whatever Victoria propounded. Wherefore they took Coach as soon as ever Don Pedro was gone to Bed; and went to Victoria's House. Santillone, as Master of the Family, and Beatrix, who personated the Mother-in-Law, welcomed them very civilly. Elvira wrote a Billet to Don Diego, which was delivered immediately; whilst Victoria dispatched another privately away to Don Ferdinand in Elvira's Name; to let him know it was in his Power to complete the March, on which his extraordinary Merit engaged her to adventure, as not desiring to make herself unhappy for ever by losing him, only to please a Father's crabbed suspicious Humour. In the same Note she gave him such particular Directions to find the House, that it was impossible he should miss of it: Which Note was carried a little while after that other from Elvira, to Don Diego. Victoria wrote a third likewise, which Santillane carried himself to Don Pedro de Syl●●a, and by which she informed him, as a trusty Governante, that his Daughter, instead of going to the Play, would needs stop at her Father's House, and had sent for Don Ferdinand to consummate her Marriage with him; which she believing to be against his Consent, she though herself bound to give him notice of it, that he might know he was not at all mistaken in the good Opinion he entertained of her Honesty, when he chose her to be his Daughter's Governante. Santillane likewise told Don Pedro, his Daughter had charged him not to come thither by any means without bringing an Algovazil along with him, which is an Officer much like a Commissary in Paris. Don Pedro being in Bed, hastened to put on his Clothes in a great Passion. But whilst he is dressing himself, and sending for a Commissary, let us go back and see what they are doing at Victoria's. By good Fortune the Notes came safe to the Brace of Lovers Hands. Don Diego, who had received his first, came likewise first to the Assignation. Victoria met him at the Door, and conducted him into a Chamber, where she left him with Elvira. I will not trouble you with the Relation of all the Endearments which passed betwixt these young Lovers; and if I would, Don Ferdinand's knocking at the Door gives me not time enough. Victoria lets him in herself, after having magnified the great Service she did him on this Occasion; for which the Amorous Spark returned her a Thousand Thanks, promising he would yet do more for her than all his former Promises engaged him to. She leads him into a Chamber, where she desired him to stay a while for Elvira, who was coming, and so locked him in without any Light; telling him, his Mistress would needs have it thus; but that 'twould not be long before he should be visible again; adding, a young Lady's Modesty would not suffer her to bear, without blushing, the Sight of him for whom she did so bold an Action. This done, Victoria, with all the haste she could, attired herself as well and as nicely as the short time would admit. She goes into the Chamber where Don Ferdinand was, who had not the least Suspicion but that she was Elvira, being no less young than she, and having Perfumes about her, according to the Spanish Fashion, as would have made a Chambermaid pass for a Woman of Quality. Thereupon Don Pedro, the Algovazil, and Santillane arrive. They enter the Chamber where Elvira was in private with her Lover; at which they both were not a little surprised. Don Pedro was blinded by the first Transports of his Passion, that he was ready to run the Person through the Body with his Sword, whom he, took for Don Ferdinand. The Commissary discovering it was not he but Don Diego, held back his Arm, bidding him have a care what he did, since it was not Don Ferdinand de Ribera that was with his Daughter, but Don Diego de Maradas, a Person of as great Quality and Riches as he. Don Pedro at this behaved himself like a discreet Gentleman, and raised up his Daughter, who had cast herself upon her Knees at his Feet. He wisely considered, that if he should cross her Inclination, by opposing this Match, he would create both her and himself a great deal of Trouble; and besides, that he could not pitch upon a better Son-in-Law, if he had had the choosing of him himself. Santillane desired Don Pedro, the Algovazil, and all those that were with 'em in the Room to follow him, and led them to the Chamber where Don Ferdinand was shut up with Victoria. They commanded the Door to be opened in the King's Name: Don Ferdinand letting them in, and seeing Don Pedro, attended with the Commissary, told them, with a great deal of Confidence, that he was with his Wife Elvira de Sylva. Don Pedro answered, he was mistaken, his Daughter being married to another; and as for you, added he, you cannot deny but Victoria Portocarrero is your lawful Wife. Victoria then undiscovered herself to her faithless Gallant, who remained full of Confusion. She expostulated his Ingratitude; to which his Silence was his only Plea, as well as to the Commissary, when he told him he could do no less than carry him away to Prison. In short, his Romorse of Conscience, and fear of Imprisonment, together with Don Pedro's Exhortations, who minded him of his Honour and Reputation, joined to Victoria's Tears and Beauty, nothing inferior to Elvira's, and above all the rest, some Sparks of Generosity still remaining in his Heart, notwithstanding his Debaucheries and Follies of Youth, made him yield to Reason and Justice, and Victoria's bright Charms. He tenderly embraced her, she being likely to swoon in his Arms, which no doubt but his warm Kisses preserved her from. Don Pedro, Don Diego, and Fair Elvira shared in Victoria's Happiness, and Santillane and Beatrix were ready to die for Joy. Don Pedro very much commended Don Ferdinand for thus nobly repairing the Wrongs he had committed. The two young Ladies embraced each other with as great Testimonies of Love, as if they had hugged their own Husbands. Don Diego de Maradas made a Thousand Protestations of his Obedience to his Father-in-Law, or he that should be so in a short time, Don Pedro, before he went home with his Daughter, made them promise that they should all come and dine the next Day at his House, where for fifteen Days following, he would endeavour by solemn rejoicings, to dispel the Thoughts of their past Troubles. The Algovazil was invited too, who promised to be there: Don Pedro took him along with him; and Don Ferdinand remained with Victoria, who now had as much Reason to bless her good Fortune, as she formerly had to curse it.   

CHAP. XXIII.  
An unexpected Misfortune, which prevented the Acting of the Play.  
INezilla recounted her Story with admirable Grace: Roqu●brune was so pleased with it, that he caught up her Hand, and kissed it whether she would or no. She told him in Spanish, That Great Men and Fools have the liberty to do any thing; for which Rancour gave her Thanks in his Heart. This Spanish Lady's Face began to break, yet there were many fine Remains of her former Beauty to be seen. But had she been less handsome, her Wit made her to be preferred to a younger Person. All those that heard the Story agreed in this, that she had made it very entertaining in a Language she was but yet a Novice in, being oftentimes obliged to intermix Spanish and Italian with it to express her Meaning. Madam 〈◊〉 told her, that instead of begging Excuse for putting her to the trouble of speaking so long, she expected her Thanks for giving her so fair an Occasion to show her extraordinary Wit. The rest of the Afternoon was spent in Conversation the Garden being full of Ladies, and many Citizens of Note till Suppertime. They supped after the way of Man's; that is to say, they made very good Cheer; which being over, every one took their Places to see the Play: But Madam Cave and her Daughter were missing. They sent to seek them out; and it was half an Hour before any Tidings came. At last they heard a great noise without the Hall; and presently after in comes Madam Cave, with dishevelled Hair, her Face bloody and bruised, crying out, like a distracted Creatute, that her Daughter was stolen away. Her Sobs and Sighs did so interrupt her Speech, that it was a long time before she could make 'em understand how a couple of Strangers, being through a Backdoor got into the Garden, where she and her Daughter were rehearsing their Parts, one of 'em seized upon her, whose Eyes she'd almost scratched out of his Head, seeing two others take away her Daughter by force; the same Villain having put her into that sad Condition they saw, and afterwards, mounting on Horseback, followed his Comrades, one of whom held Angelica before him, She told 'em likewise, that she pursued 'em as far as she could, crying out, a Rape; but finding no Body was within hearing, she hasted back again to the House to beg their Assistance.  
With these last words, she shed such a Flood of Tears, as moved all the Beholders with Pity. Destiny, got presently on the back of a Horse, on which Rogatin was just Arrived from Man's, (but whether or no it was the same that threw him in the Morning. I cannot justly tell.) Many other young Men mounted the Horses they could lay their Hands on, and road after Destiny, who was got a good way before ' 'em. Rancour and Olive marched on Foot, with their Swords in their Hands, in the Rear of the Horse; and Roquebrune stayed with Star and Inezilla, who were endeavouring to Comfort Cave as well as they could. Some found fault with him, for not going along with the rest, ascribing it to want of Courage; but others more favourable, have commended his Discretion, for staying with the Women. In the mean time, the Guests were reduced to change their Comedy for Dancing, and having no Fiddlers, because they expected a Play, they tripped about, by the singing of some of the Company. Poor Cave found herself ●o Disordered, that she went to Bed in one of their Dressing-Chambers: Star took as much care of her, as if she had been her own Mother, and Inezilla was very Officious likewise. The Indisposed Woman desired they would leave her alone, and so Roquebrune leads the two Ladies into the Hall, where was the rest of the Company. They were hardly set down, but one of the House-Maids came and told Star that Cave desired to speak with her; she promised the Poet and Spanish Lady to return immediately to ●●em, and went to Cave● 'Tis probable that if Roquebrune had any Wit in him, he made use of that Opportunity, to acquaint the fair Inezilla with his Necessities. However, as soon as Cave saw Star she desired her to make the Door fast, and come to her Bedside. Star having seated herself as she desired, the first thing she did, was to Weep afresh, and then she laid hold of her Hands, bathing 'em with her Tears; and Groaning and Sobbing in a lamentable manner. Star endeavoured to comfort her, giving her hopes, her Daughter would soon be recovered again, her Ravishers being pursued by so many People. I wish she may never return, said she: Weeping still more and more, I wish she might never be found, repeated she again, and that this were all my Grief: But I must blame her most; Nay, I must have her; and curse the hour I brought her into the World. Look here I said she, putting a Paper into Star's Hands: Look and satisfy yourself, what a fine Companion you had, and read in this Letter the Sentence of my Death, and my Child's Infamy. Cave sell a Weeping again and Star perused the following Note, which you may read if you think fit.  
You ought not to doubt the Truth of what I have often told you● of my Quality and Fortune, since there is no probability that I should deceive a Person, to whom I cannot Recommend myself, but by my Sincerity. This, fair Angelica, is the only way by which I can Merit your Favour. And therefore you may safely promise to grant my Request which I cannot, nor shall not desire to obtain, till I have convinced 〈◊〉 of my Reality.  
As soon as she had perused this Letter, Cave asked her, if she knew that Hand? As well as my own, replied Star: It is Le●●der's my Brother's Servant, that writes all our Parts. This is the Traitor that will break my Heart, said the poor Woman, see if he have not contrived it fairly, added she, giving another Letter of the same Leander's Writing into Madam Star's Hands, which you may read as follows, Word for Word.  
It rests only in you to compl●●● my Happiness by continuing in the same Resolution, you were in two days since. My Father's Tenant, who is used to supply me with Money, has sent me a hundred Pistols, and a brace of good Horses, which will be more than enough to carry us both into England; and being there, I am much deceived, if a Father, who loves his only Son more than his own Life, do not quickly condescend to all his desires, to make him return again.  
Well, said Cave, what think you now of your Companion, and your Brother's Servant? What think you of that Girl, I had bred up with so much Care; and that young Fellow, whose Wit and Discretion we so often admired? My greatest Wonder is, that they were never observed to speak to one another; and that my Daughter's sprightly Humour, seemed not in the least to incline her to Love: And yet she's in Love, my Dearest, Star, and so desperately, that it argues as much of Madness, as of Affection. I found her this very day writing to her Leander, in such passionate Expressions, that if I had not Surprised her myself, I could never have believed it. You never heard her speak such Language yet: Ah! had I not torn her Letters in my Fury, you would be convinced that at Sixteen years old, she knows as much, as those who have practised Cocquetry all their Lives-time. I carried her aside into the Grove, whence she was taken from me, to chide her for the ill return she made me, for all the Pains and Trouble I have endured on her Account. I will acquaint you with my Sufferings, added she, and then judge you, whether ever any Daughter were more obliged to love her Mother. Star knew not what to answer to these just Complaints; and besides, 'twas Wisdom to let her Affliction take its course. But, continued 〈◊〉 if he were so fond of the Daughter, why should he abuse the Mother ● For one of his, Company, who laid hold on me, beat me unmercifully; Nay, struck me several times, after I had done struggling with him And if this unlucky Fellow be so Rich as he brags, why does he Spirit away my Child like a Thief? Cave thus bemoaned herself for a long while, Star still comforting her as well as she could. The Master of the House came to know how she did and to acquaint her that there was a Coach ready at her Service, if the desired to return to Man's: But she begged the Liberty to remain there that Night, to which he readily Condescended. Star stayed there also to keep her Company, and some Ladies of Man's took Inezilla into a Coach with 'em, she being unwilling to be longer from her Husband. Roquebrune, who could civilly leave the two Actresses, was very sorry he could not wait upon Inezilla; but we cannot have every thing we desire in this World.  
The End of the first Part.    

SCARRON'S Comical Romance. PART. II.  

CHAP. I.  
Which is but an Introduction to the rest.  
THE Radiant Sun shone perpendicularly upon our Antipodes, and lent no more Light to his Sister, than she ●ad need of, to guide 〈◊〉 Steps in a very dark Night. A profound Silence overspread all the Earth, unless it be those places where Crickets, Owls, or Serenading-Fops were found. ●n short, all Nature lay hushed in Sleep, (or at least, all Na●●re aught to have been a-sleep) except some Poets, who had ●●abbed Verses to turn into Measure and Rhyme; some of those ●●fortunate Lovers, whom we call Damned Souls, and all o●●er Animals both reasonable and unreasonable, who that ●ight had any thing to do. 'Twere needless to tell you, that destiny was one of those that did not Sleep, no more than the ravishers of Mistress Angelica, whom he pursued as fast as he ●●●ld Gallop a Horse, whose Way was often obscured by the ●●fficious Clouds, which robbed the Earth of the feeble Light the Moon. Destiny had a tender Love for Mistress Cave, ●he because she deserved it, and that he was sure of her Af●●ctions; 〈◊〉 her Daughter less dear to him, for his mistress Star being necessitated to follow the Stage, he could not have found in all the strolling Companies of the Kingdom, two Women more Virtuous than They. Not but that some of that Profession are Virtuous, but according to the general Opinion of the World, who perhaps may be mistaken, they are more light of Virtue, than of old Embroidery or Paint. To go on with our proper Business: Our Generous Stroller galloped after those Ravishers, with more Swiftness and Animosity than the Lapithae after the Centauris. He went first of all through a long Walk, into which opened the Garden-door, at which Angelica was carried away, and having galloped a little while, he struck at a venture into a little hollow Lane, as are most Lanes in Main. This Lane was also full of Wheel-tracts and Stones, and tho' 'twas Moonshine, yet the Darkness was such, that Destiny could not persuade his Steed to go faster than a broken Pace. He was inwardly Cursing this crabbed Way, when he felt either a Man or a Devil Leaping on Horseback behind him, and Clasping his Hands about his Neck. Destiny was terribly Frighted, and his Horse so much Startled, that he had thrown off his Rider, had not the Phantom who invested him within his Arms, kept him firm on the Saddle. His Horse road away with him, like a Horse in a Fright, and Destiny put him on with his Spurs, not knowing what he did, very much dissatisfied, to feel two naked Arms about his Neck, and next his Cheek a cold Face, which blew in time with the cadence of the galloping Nag. The Race proved long, because the Lane was not a short one; At last, at the entrance into a Heath, the Horse abated his impetuous Course, and Destiny his Fear; for Custom brings us by degrees to bear with the most intolerable Evils. The Moon now shone with a clearer Light, on purpose to let him see, that he had a great Man stark Naked behind him, and a very homely Face next his. He did not ask who he was, (wheter out of good Manners I cannot tell) but still kept his Horse on the Gallop, tho' by this time he began to Breath short and thick, and when he least expected it, the Hind-Rider dropped on the Ground, and fell a Laughing. Destiny put on his Horse a● main, and looking behind him, he saw his Phantom running as fast as he could drive towards the Place from whence he came. Destiny confessed since, that no Man can be more Frightde than he was at that time. About a Hundred Steps farther he came to a great Road, that led him to a Hamlet, where he found all the Dogs awake, which made him believe that those he pursued might have gone that way. In order to b● better informed, he did all he could to rouse the Inhabitan●● of three or four Houses that stood on the 〈◊〉 could no● prevail to be heard, but was insulted and barked at by the Dogs. At last, hearing a Child cry in the last House he met with; he caused the Door to be opened with severe Threats; and learned of a Woman, trembling in her Smock, that some Troopers were gone through their Town, carrying with them a Woman who wept like a Child, and that they had much ado to still her noise. He told the same Woman the Adventure he had with the Naked-man, and she informed him, that he was a Peasant of their Village who was run Mad, and roved up and down. What this Woman told him about those Troopers who went through that Town, encouraged him to go farther, and made him request his Steed to mend his Pace. I will not recount how often he Stumbled, and was Frighted at his own Shadow: 'Tis enough to inform you, that Destiny lost his Way through a Wood, and Riding sometimes in the Dark, and sometimes in the Moonshine, he at last met with Break of Day near a Country Farm, where he thought ●it to let his Horse Feed, and where we will leave him,   

CHAP. II.  
Of Boots.  
WHilst Destiny groped his Way in the dark, in his pursuit of those who had Stolen away Angelica, Rancour, and Olive, who did not take that Rape so much to Heart, did not run so fast as he after the Ravishers; and besides, you must consider they were on Foot, therefore they did not go far, and having found in the next Village, an Inn that was open, they went in, and asked for a Bed. The House being almost full; they were shown a Room, where lay one, (either a Gentleman or a Plebeian) who had Supped in the Inn, and being upon Business which required haste, (but which never came to my Knowledge) reckoned to be gone at Break of Day. The Arrival of our Strollers did not favour his Design of getting betimes on Horseback; for they waked him ●ut of his first Sleep, for which perhaps he curst'em in his Heart, but the sight of two Men that looked like something; was undoubtedly the Reason why he did not complain aloud. Rancour, who had an accostin Behaviour, first begged his Pardon for their interrupting his Repose, and then asked him from whence he came? He told them he came from Anjon, and was going into Normandy, about a Business that required haste. Rancour went on with his Questions while he was undressing himself, and the Sheets airing: But as they were all impertinent, and of no use to either, especially to the poor man whom they had waked, he was desired to forbear, and suffer him to go to sleep. Rancour begged hearty his Pardon, and at the same time Self-love banishing out of his Breast the Love of his Neighbour, he resolved to appropriate to himself a Pair of new Boots, which the Ostlers-boy brought into the Room, after having cleaned them. Olive, who at that time had only a mind to a sound Sleep, went into Bed, whilst Rancour sat by the Fire, not so much to see the Faggot they had lighted, burnt out, as to satisfy his Noble Ambition, of having a new Pair of Boots at another Man's Expense. Now assoon as he thought that the Man whom he was going to rob, was fast asleep, he took his Boots which stood at his Beds-feet, and having put them on without Stockings, not forgetting the Spurs, he went thus Booted and Spurred, into Bed to Olive. 'Tis probable he lay as near the side of the Bed as he could, lest his armed Legs should touch the naked ones of his Bed-fellow, who would undoubtedly have raised a Noise about this new Way of Lying betwixt two Sheets, and by that means make his Plot miscarry. The remaining part of the Night was pretty quiet: Rancour Slept, or at least dissembled Sleep: The Cock's crew; Day came, and the Man who lay in the same Room with our Strollers, ordered a Fire to be kindled, and began to Dress himself. When he went to put on his Boots, a Maid offered him Rancour's old ones, which he fling down with Contempt; the Maid obstinately maintained they were his, whereupon he fell into a great Passion, and made a devilish Noise. The Innkeeper came up into the Room, and Swore upon the Faith of an Honest Innkeeper, that there were no other Boots besides his own, not only in his House, but also in all the Village, the Parson himself never going on Horseback. Thereupon he began to entertain him with the good Qualities of the Parson, and tell him how he came by his Living, and how long he was in Possession of it. The Innkeepers idle Talk, made him lose all Patience. Now Rancour and Olive, who waked at the Noise, took cognizance of the Business; and Rancour exaggerated the enormity and heinousness of the Fact, and told the Innkeeper, that 'twas a very Foul thing. I care no more for a Pair of new Boots, than for an old Pair of Shoes, (said the poor Bootless Man to Rancour, were it not that I am upon a Business of great Importance, for a Man of Quality, whom I'd choose to serve before my own Father, and if I could Buy other Boots, I'd give any Price for 'em, were they never so bad. Rancour who sat on the Bed, shrugged up now and then his Shoulders, and answered him nothing, keeping his Eyes still fixed on the Innkeeper and his Maid, who looked for the Boots to no purpose) and the Wretch that lost them, who in the mean time did fret like a Mad man, and perhaps designed to Hang himself, when Rancour out of an unexampled and unwonted Generosity, said aloud, and thrusting himself into the Bed, like one who is almost dead for want of Sleep; Zounds, Sir, don't keep such a Noise about your Boots, but rather take mine, upon Condition you let us Sleep, which is no more than what you desired of me last Night. The unfortunate Man, who now ceased to be so since he found a Pair of Boots, had much ado to believe his own Ears. He mustered a great deal of Nonsense to return him Thanks, which he uttered with so passionate a Tone, that Rancour feared lest he should come at last and embracc him a bed. Wherefore he cried out in a Passion, and Swearing most learnedly: Zounds, Sir, what a troublesome Man you are, both when you lose your Boots, and when you thank those that furnish you again. Once more, take mine in God's Name, and all I ask for 'em, is, that you let me Sleep, or else give me my Boots back again, and make as much Noise as you please. He begun to open his Mouth in order to reply, when Rancour cried out, Good God let me Sleep, or let me have my Boots. The Innkeeper, who by this time had a great Respect for Rancour, from this Imperious way of speaking, thrust his Guest out of the Chamber, well knowing he would have the last, like one who was highly thankful for a Pair or Boots so generously given: However he was fain to leave the Room, and go into the Kitchen to put on his Boots, at which time Rancour began to Sleep with more Tranquillity than he had done in the Night, his sleepy Faculty not being disturbed either by this wakeful Desire of Stealing a Pair of Boots, or the Fear of being taken in the very Fact. As for Olive, who had made a better use of the Night, he got up betimes, called for some Wine, and fell a Drinking, which was the best thing he could do. Rancour slept till Eleven of the Clock, and as he was Dressing himself, Ragotin came into the Room. He had been that Morning visiting the Actresses at their Toilet, and Mistress Star having told him she had but little Reason to think him one of her Friends, since he did not go after her Companion as well as the rest, he promised not to return to Man's before he had learned News of her: But not finding a Horse, either for Love or Money, he could never have kept his Promise, had not his Miller lent him his Mule, which he mounted without Boots, and so arrived (as I said before) at the Village where the two Strollers had lain. Rancour had a strange ready Wit; and so he no sooner saw Ragotin in Shoes, but he thought Fortune favoured him with an opportunity of concealing his Theft, which he was much in pain how to do. Wherefore he presently desired him to lend him his Shoes, and to take his Boots, which being new, did hurt one of his Feet. Ragotin accepted his Proposal with much joy, for as he was Riding on his Mule, the Tongue of the Stirrup-buckle had torn his Stockings, which made him hearty wish for a Pair of Boots. Now to acknowledge the Favour in some measure, he paid for the Player's Dinner, as well as for his own and his Mule's. And because since his late Fall, (when his Carabine went off betwixt his Legs) he made an Oath never to get upon the Back of any Saddle-Beast, without taking care of his Safety, he therefore made use of a jossingblock; but yet with all this Precaution, he had much ado to get into the Packsaddle. His Brain was too full of Quicksilver to be judicious; a sign of which was his turning up the Tops of his Boots up to his Waste, which hindered him from having the free use of his Hams, that were none of the most vigorous in the Province, However Ragotin, mounted on his Mule, and the Strollers on Foot, set forward on their Journery, and followed the next Road they came at. As they were going along. Ragotin opened his Mind to the Strollers, and told them his Design of turning Player, and acting in their Company, protesting withal, that tho' he did not doubt but in a short time he would prove the best Actor in the Kingdom, yet he did not expect any profit from his Profession, and that he only did it out of Curiosity, and to let the World know, that he was fit for any thing he had a mind to undertake. Rancour and Olive fortified him in his noble Design, and what with Commending and Encouraging of him, they put him into so good a Humour, that from his high Station, he began to recite Verses out of Theophilus' Pyramus and T●isbe Certain Peasants who attended a loaden Cart, and were going the same way, hearing him speak with the Emphasis of Enthusiast, thought he could do no less than preach the Word ● the Lord; and as long as he rehearsed his Heroics. they walked Cap in Hand, and respected him like a Highway Preacher.   

CHAP. III.  
The History of Cave.  
THE two Women-Strollers, whom we left in the House, from whence Angelica was stolen away, had no better Nights rest than Destiny. Mistress Star went into the same Bed with Mistress Cave; both not to leave her alone with her Despair, and to endeavour with gentle Persuasions to alleviate her Affliction. At last finding that so just a Grief did not want Reasons to defend itself, she used no Arguments to oppose it; only to make a Diversion she began to complain of her hard Fate, as much as her Bedfellow did of hers, and thus cunningly engaged her to relate her Adventures, the more easily, because at that juncture Cave would not allow any Body to be more unfortunate than herself. She therefore wiped off those Tears that trickled down her Cheeks in abundance, and fetching a sound and deep Sigh, that she might not have the trouble to sigh again so soon; she thus began to tell her Story. I was born a Player, Daughter to a Player, of whom I never heard that he had any Relations but Players. My Mother was Daughter to a Merchant of Marseilles, who bestowed her in Marriage to my Father, as a recompense for venturing his Life, to defend his, against a Gally-Officer (as much in Love with my Mother, as he was hated by her) who had attacked him to his disadvantage. This was an extraordinary good Fortune for my Father; for without being put to the trouble of Suing, and Wooing, he married a Wife Young, Beautiful and Richer than a Stroller could ever pretend to. His Father-in-Law endeavoured to persuade him to leave his Profession, and betake himself to the business of a Merchant, as the most profitable and creditable of the two. But my Mother, who was a great lover of Plays, hindered him from leaving the Stage; tho' to give him his due, he was inclined to follow his Wife's Father's Advice, as one that knew much better than she, that a Player's Life is not so happy as it appears to be. My Father left Marseilles soon after his Marriage, carried away my Mother to make her first Campagne, she being more impatient than he, and in a little time made an excellent Player of her. She proved with Child the first Year of her Marriage and was brought to Bed of me behind the Scenes; a Year after I had a Brother whom I loved dearly, and by whom I was much beloved. Our Company was made up of our Family, and of three Players, one of which had a Wife who acted under Parts. Upon a Holiday we went through a small Town in Perigord; my Mother, the other Player and I, on the Cart that carried our Baggage, and our Men on Foot to Guard us, when our little Caravan was attacked by seven or eight ugly Fellows, so very drunk, that meaning only to fright us with shooting off a Gun, I felt their Shot all over me, and my Mother received a dangerous Wound in the Arm. They seized my Father and two of his Companions before they were able to defend themselves, and beat them unmercifully. My Brother, and the youngest of our Men fled away, and ever since I could never hear of my Brother. The Inhabitants of the Town joined themselves to those who offered us this outrageous Violence, and caused our Cart to go back. This eager Mobb ran fiercely like People who have got a great Booty, and are willing to secure it, and made such noise that they did not hear one another speak, After an Hours March they carried us into a Castle, which we had no sooner entered but we heard several People cry out with great Joy, that the Gypsies were taken; by that we found their Mistake, which gave us a little Comfort. the Mare that drew our Cart fell down dead with weariness, having been hard put to it, and sound beaten. The Player to whom the Mare belonged, and of whom the Company hired her, fell a roaring in as lamentable a manner as if her Husband had been dying: At the same time my Mother felt such violent Pain in her Arm, that she fainted away, which made me roar so loud, that my Cries drowned those of the Player, upon account of her Mare. The noise we made, together with the hallowing of the rude Rabble, and of the Drunken Scoundrels who brought us thither, caused the Lord of the Castle to come out of a Parlour attended with four or five ill-looked Fellows in Red-Coats or Cloaks. His first Question was, Where, where are the thieving Gypsies? Which put us in a terrible Fright; but seeing none but fair Faces among us, he then asked my Father who he was, and had no sooner heard that we were a wretched Company of Players, but with an impetuous Passion, at which we all wondered, and Swearing in as furious a manner as ever I heard a Man Swear, he charged with his Sword those who had seized us, and caused them to disappear in a Moment, some of them Wounded, and the rest in a terrible Fright. The Mobb being thus dispersed, he commanded my Father and his Companions to be untied, the Women to be carried into a Room, and our Goods to be laid up safe. Some Chambermaid's came to wait upon us and got a Bed ready for my Mother, who found herself very ill of her Wound in her Arm. Soon after, a Man that looked like a Steward came to express his Masters concern for the rude usage we had received. He told us that the Scoundrels who made so unlucky a Mistake, sneaked away most of 'em sound beaten, or lame, and that a Surgeon was sent for from the next Town ●o dress my Mother's Arm; afterwards he asked us very earnestly, Whether they had taken any thing from us, and advised us to view our Goods, and see if there were any thing wanting. At Night they brought us our Supper into our Room; the Surgeon came, my Mother's Wound was dressed, and she went to Bed in a violent fever. The next Day the Lord of the Castle sent for the Players, enquired of them how my Mother did, and told them he would not suffer her to go out of his House before she was perfectly recovered. He was so obliging as to send Men up and down the Country to inquire after my Brother and the young Player, with whom he fled away, but they could not be found; which Misfortune increased my Mother's Fever, A Physician and a Surgeon (more skilful than he who dressed her Wound first) were sent for from of a Neighbouring Town, and in a short time our good usage in the Castle made us forget the Violence we had suffered. The Lord at whose House we were entertained, was a very rich Man, more feared than loved through all the Country; as violent in all his Actions as a Governor of a Frontier Town, and one who had the reputation to be as brave as Hercules. His Name was the Baron de Sigognac; at this present time he could be no less than a Marquis, but in those Days he was only a petty Tyrant of Perigord. A Company of Gypsies who had lain in his Lordship, stole away some Horses out of a Park where he kept Mares for breed, at a League's distance from his Castle, and the Men that were sent to pursue them mistake us for 'em, to our cost. My Mother being now perfectly well, my Father and his Companions to express their Gratitude for their kind Entertainment, as far as poor Strollers were able, offered to Act in the Castle as long as the Baron de Sigognac would desire it. An overgrown Page, at least Four and twenty Years of Age; who was undoubtedly the Dean of all the Pages in the Kingdom, and a sort of Gentleman Waiter, studied the parts of my Brother, and of the Player with whom he ran away. And now busy Fame proclaimed through all the Country that a Company of Strol●rs were to act a Play at the Baron de Sigognac's; abundance of Perigordine Gentry were invited to the Show, and when the Page was perfect in his Part, which he found so difficult to learn, that they were fain to cut and reduce it to two Lines, we acted Garnier's Roger and Bradamante. The Assembly was very fine; the Room well lighted; the Stage convenient, and the Scenes adapted to the Subject. We all endeavoured to do our best, and we acted with Applause. My Mother in the Habit of an Amazon appeared as beautiful as an Angel, and tho' her late Indisposition made her look a little pale, yet the brightness of her Complexion obscured all the Lights in the Room. Tho' I have great Reason to be very Melancholy, yet I cannot forbear Laughing whenever I think how ridiculosly the Page acted his Part; neither must my ill Humour rob you of this pleasant Passage; perhaps you may not find it such, but I can assure you that it made all the Company laugh very hearty, and that I have laughed at it since, whether it be really laughable, or because I am one of those who laugh at a very small Matter. He acted the Page of the Duke of Aymon, and had but two Lines to speak in all the Play, when the old Man reprimanded his Daughter Bradamante for refusing to marry the Emperor's Son, (because she was in Love with Roger) the Page says to his Master.  
Monsieur, rentrons dedans, je crains que vous tombiez,  
Vous n'ètez pas trop bien assuré sur vos PIEDS.  
This great Oaf of a Page, tho' his Part was easy enough to remember, yet murdered the second Verse, and said very aukwardly, and trembling like a Malefactor.  
Monsieur, rentrons dedans, je crains que vous tombiez;  
Vous n'ètes pas trop bien assuré sur vos JAMBES.  
This false Rhyme surprised every Body; he that acted Aymon's Part burst out laughing, and was not able to represent an Angry old Man. All the Assistants laughed as well as he; and I myself, who was then peeping through the Hang to see and be seen, laughed also to that degree that I was ready to drop down. The Master of the House, who was one of those Melancholy Persons who laugh but seldom, and never at a small Matter, found his Page's want of Memory, and his awkward way of reciting Verses so laughable a Subject, that he was like to burst by endeavouring to preserve his Gravity; but at last he was fain to laugh as well as the rest; and his Men told us since, that they never knew him so well pleased in all their Lives. Now as he was a Man of great Authority in that Country, there was not one Person in the whole Audience that did not laugh as much as he, or perhaps more, either out of Complaisance, or a natural Inclination. I am very much afraid, added Cave, I have now done like those who tell People, I'll tell you a Story that will make you die with Laughing. and who seldom or never are as good as their Word: For I must confess I raised your Expectation too high about the silliness of my Page. Not at all, answered Star, I have found it such as you made me expect it; 'tis true the thing may have seemed more ridiculous to those that saw it, than it will to those who shall hear it related, the aukwardness of the Page contributing much to make it such; and besides, the Time, the Place, and the natural Inclination we have to laugh for Company's sake, are all Advantages it cannot have now. Cave made no further Apology, and resuming her Story where she had left off: After, continued she, that both the Actors and the Audience had laughed as much as their risible Faculty would let them, the Baron de Sigognao ordered his Page to come again on the Stage, in order to mend his Fault, or rather to make new Sport for the Company: But the Page, (the greatest Looby that ever I saw) refused to obey the positive Commands of the severest Master in in the World. The Baron took his denial as he was prompted by his hasty Temper, that is to say, very ill, and his Resentment, which ought to have been small, had he been ruled by Reason, proved afterwards the fatal Cause of the greatest Misfortune that could befall us. Our Tragedy was honoured with the Applause of the whole Audience; and the Farce was still better received than the Tragedy, as it generally happens every where, except in Paris. The Baron de Sigognac, and the rest of the Gentlemen his Neighbours, were so well pleased with it, that they desired to see us act again. All the Gentlemen clubbed to make a Present to our Company, every one according to his Generosity; the Baron showed them the way, and the Play was given out for the next Holy Day. We played a whole Month before this Perigordine Gentry; during which time, we were Treated and Caressed both by Men and Women, and besides, our Company was presented with some old clothes half worn out. The Baron entertained us at his own Table; his Servants were extreme officious in waiting upon us, and told us often how much they were obliged to us for their Master's good Humour, whom they found quite altered since Plays had Civilised his rough Manners. The Page alone looked upon us as People who had blasted his Reputation for ever; and the Line he had spoiled, and which every Body in the House, to the very Scullion, repeated to him ever and anon, was a cruel Stab to him, of which he at last resolved to be revenged upon some body of our Company. Upon a certain Day, when the Baron de Sigognac had assembled his Neighbours and Tenants, to rid his Woods of a great number of Wolves that Harboured there, and by which the Country was very much annoyed; my Father and his Fellow-Strollers accompanied him each with his Gun, as did also his Servants. The unlucky Page went along with them, and having found the opportunity he looked for, to put his ill Design against us in Execution, he no sooner espied my Father, and his Comrades separated from the rest, and giving one another Powder and Shot to load their Guns; but he let his Piecefly at them from behind a Tree, and Shot my unhappy Father with two Bullets: His Comrades were so busy in supporting him, that they never thought at first to pursue the Murderer, who made the best of his Way, and since ran the Country. Two Days after my Father died of his Wounds: My Mother resented her loss to that Degree, that it almost broke her Heart; she fell Sick again, and I was as much afflicted as 'twas possible for a Girl of my Years. My Mother's illness proving a lingering Disease; the Men and the Women that belonged to our Company, took their Leaves of the Baron de Sigognac, and went to seek their Fortune with some other Strollers. My Mother lay sick for above two Months, but she recovered at last, having during that time received such Tokens of Generosity and Kindness from the Baron de Sigognac, as were little to be expected from a Man who had the Reputation of being the greatest Tyrant that ever made himself feared, in a Country, where every Squire pretends to huff and domineer, His Servants who never found any Humanity or Civility in him before, wondered ro see him Converse with us, in the most kind and obliging manner. One might have thought he was in Love with my Mother, tho' he seldom spoke to her, and never came into our Room, (where we used to take our Meals, since my Father's Death) only he often sent to know how she did: However, the Country did talk as if he was great with her, as we have since been informed. But my Mother, considering she could not with Decency stay any longer in the House of a Man of his Quality, had already designed to leave it, and retire to her Fathers at Marseilles. She therefore acquainted the Baron with it; returned him Thanks for all his kind Usage to us, and desired him to add a new Favour to all those we had received from him, which was, to lend us Saddle-horses for herself and me, till we came to a certain Town, and a Cart to carry our little Baggage, which she designed to Sell to the first Man that would give her any thing for it. The Baron was much surprised at my Mother's Design, Nor was she in a less surprise than he, finding he would neither grant nor deny her Request. The next Day, the Curate of one of the Churches within his Lordship, came to Visit us in our Chamber, accompanied by his Niece, a goodnatured and agreeable Girl, with whom I was intimately acquainted. She and I went out to fetch a Walk in the Garden of the Castle, and left her Uncle alone with my Mother: The Curate had a long Conversation with her, and did not leave her till Suppertime. As I came back, I found her Melancholy and full of Thoughts; and asked her three or four times what the matter was, but could get no answer from her, only she fell a Weeping, and so I Wept for Company, not knowing why nor wherefore. At last, she bid me shut her Chamber-door, and told me, (Weeping still more than before) that the Curate had informed her, that the Baron de Sigognac was desperately in Love with her, and assured her besides, that he had so great a Respect for her, that he never durst declare (by himself or others) his Passion to her, without offering her Marriage at the same time. Here she stopped, being almost suffocated with Sighs and Sobs: I asked her once again, What ailed her? What! Daughter, said she to me, have I not said enough to let you understand that I am the most wretched Woman in the World? I told her I did not think it so great a Misfortune for a Player to become a Lady of Quality. Alas! Dear Child, said she, you speak like a young Girl that knows nothing of the World. What, (added she) if he should deceive the Curate in order to deceive me? If he does not design to Marry me, as he would persuade me he does, have I not Reason to fear all manner of Violence, from a Man so much a Slave to his Passions? And if he really designs to Marry me. and I consent to it, What Woman in the World can be more Miserable than myself, when his Fancy is over? How great is his Hate like to prove, if ever he should repent his Loving me? No, no, my Daughter, Fortune is not so favourable to me, as thou imaginest: Nay, rather she designs to aggravate my load of Woe; for having deprived me of a Husband whom I loved, and by whom I was beloved, she ●ow would force one upon me, who perhaps will hate me, and oblige me to hate him too. Her Grief, which I thought unreasonable, increased to that degree, that she was like to be stifled with it, whilst I helped her to undress herself. I comforted her as well as I could, and endeavoured to combat her Affliction, with all the Arguments a Girl of my Years was able to frame, not forgetting to tell her, that the obliging and respectful Behaviour, which the roughest of all Men had ever shown in conversing with us, seemed to be a good Omen, and especially his want of Assurance in discovering his Passion to a Woman, whose Profession is rather apt to embolden a Man in his Addresses, than inspire him with awful Respect. My Mother suffered me to speak all I thought fit, went to Bed very much afflicted, and cherished her Grief all Night long, instead of Sleeping. I endeavoured for the sake of good Manners, to resist Sleep, but at last I was fain to yield, and so I Slept for us both; she got up early in the Morning, and when I awaked I found her ready Dressed, and her Mind pretty well composed. I was in great Pain to know what Resolution she had taken, for to tell you Truth, I flattered myself with my Mother's future Greatness, in case the Baron was Sincere and Honourable in his Addresses, and my Mother willing to grant his Suit. The Thoughts of hearing my Mother called My Lady Baroness, filled my Mind with Delight, and Ambition began to inflame my youthful Breast—  
Cave was thus recounting her Story, and Star listening to her with great Attention, when they heard something tread in their Chamber, which startled them the more, because they remembered they had made the Door fast with the Bolt. The Noise continued, and so they cried, Who's there. No answer was made, but a moment after, Cave saw at the Beds-feet, (the Curtains being open) the Figure of a Person whom she heard Sighs, and who leaning on the Bed, rested on her Feet. She sat up, to view nearer the thing that began to Fright her, and fully resolved to speak to it, she reached her Head out of the Bed, when the thing disappeared. The being in Company with any Body gives often an Assurance, but sometimes our Fears are never the less for being shared with another. Cave was frighted because she had seen nothing, and Star, because she saw her Companion frighted. They both thrust themselves into the Bed, covered their Heads with the Bedcloathes, and lay close together, not daring almost speak to one another for Fear, At last Cave said to Star, that her poor Daughter must be Dead, and that 'twas her Ghost that came to sigh by her, Star was perhaps going to Reply, when they heard the Thing walk again in the Room. Star thrusts herself deeper into the Bed than she had done before; but Cave emboldened by the thought that it was her Daughter's Ghost, she sat up again in the Bed, and seeing the same thing appear, sighing as before, and leaning on her Feet, reached her Hand and felt a very rough one, which made her give a hideous shriek, and struck her down with the fright. At the same time they heard a barking in the Room, as when a Dog is afraid of any thing that he meets in the Night. Cave had once more Courage enough to look what it was, and then she saw a great Greyhound that barked at her. She threatened him with a loud Voice, at which time he retired barking towards one corner of the Room, where he vanished out of fight. The Courageous Player risen out of her Bed, and by the Moonshine which came through the Windows, she discovered in that corner of the Room, where the Phantom and the Greyhound had disappeared, a little Door which opened into a little pair of Back-Stairs. By that she easily imagined that a Greyhound belonging to the House was crept through that Door into their Room; and that having a Mind to lay himself on their Bed, but not daring to do it without the consent of those who were in it, he had sighed like a Dog, and the Bed being high, as are all old Beds, he had leaned his forelegs on her Feet, and afterwards crept under the Bed, when Cave first reached her Head cut of it: However the belief of a Ghost being in the Room, had so possessed Star's frighted Soul, that 'twas a long time before she could persuade her that 'twas but a Greyhound. As afflicted as Cave was, she jeered her Companion about her Cowardice, and reserved the continuation of her Story to another time, when they should not want Sleep so much as they did then. 'Twas now break of Day, they fell asleep, and got up about Ten o'th' Clock, when Word was brought them, that the Coach which was to carry them to Man's was ready to set out assoon as they pleased.   

CHAP. IU.  
Destiny meets with Leander.  
DEstiny, in the mean time, went from Town to Town, still enquiring after those he pursued, but could learn no News, nor Tidings from ' 'em. Thus he rambled up and down till Two or Three a Clock in the Afternoon, when Hunger and his Horse's weariness obliged him to return to a great Village which he left a little while before. Here he found a pretty good Inn, because it stood upon the Road, and did not forget to ask them whether they had heard of a Company of Horsemen who stole away a young Woman. There's above a Gentleman who can give you an account of 'em, said the Surgeon of that Village, who happened to be there; for, added he, I believe he has been a quarrelling with 'em, and has got many a Wound for his Pains. I just now applied to him an Anodyne and resolutive Cataplasm on a livid Tumour he has on the Vertebrae of the Neck, and dressed a great cut he received in the Occiput. I would have let him Blood, because he is full of Contusions, but he would not let me, tho' he has great occasion for it. He must needs have got a heavy fall, or else have been beaten unmercifully. This Country Surgeon took such delight in mustering the learned Terms of his Art, that though Destiny was gone from him, and no Body left to give him the hearing, he still went on with his Discourse till he was fetched away to let a Woman Blood. who was dying of an Apoplexy. In the mean time Destiny went up to the Chamber of the Person of whom the Surgeon had spoke to him, where he found a young Man well clad, with his Head bound and lying upon a Bed to take his Rest. He was meditating a Compliment to excuse his Intruding into his Chamber, before he known whether he was willing to admit of his Visit; but he was not a little surprised when at the first Words he spoke, the other risen from his Bed, ran to embrace him, discovering himself to be his Servant Leander, who was gone from him without taking his leave, four or five Days before, and whom Cave suspected to be the Ravisher of her Daughter. Destiny was at a stand, not knowing in what sort of Tone he should speak to him, by reason he see him look like a Gentleman, both in his Person and Dress. Whilst he was viewing of him, Leander had time to compose himself, for he seemed something disordered at first: I am ashamed, (said he to Destiny) I dealt not so frankly and sincerely with you, as I should have done with one whom I value so much as I do you; but you must excuse an unexperienced young Man, who before he was well acquainted with you, thought you to be of the same Make, as are generally those of your Profession, and who upon that Score durst not trust you with a Secret, on which depends the Happiness of his Life. Destiny told him, he could not imagine in what particular he had disinherited him, unless 〈◊〉 would let him know it. I have a great many things bends to tell you, if so be you are not acquainted with 'em already, answered Leander, but first of all let me know what brought you hither? Destiny told him how Angelica was Stolen away; that he pursued her Ravishers, and was informed as he came into the Inn, that he had met with one, that could give him an account of them. 'Tis true I met with 'em, (replied Leander with a sigh) and that I did as much against 'em, as a single Man can do against many; but my Sword happening to break in the Body of the first Man I wounded, I could neither rescue Mistress Angelica nor die in her Defence, tho' I was fully resolved to do either. They left me in the Condition you see me in, and thinking they had killed me with a Back-stroke I received on the Head, (but which did only stun me for a while) they went on their way in great haste. This is all I know about Mistress Angelica, but we shall hear more from a Servant who is to meet me here, and whom I sent to follow 'em at a distance after he helped me to mount my Horse, which they left me, because I suppose they did not think him worth Stealing. Destiny asked him why he went from him without giving him Warning? From whence he came? and Who he was? Not doubting but he concealed his Name and Condition from him. Leander confessed there was some such thing, and having laid himself down, because the Blows he received gave him a cruel Pain, Destiny sat on the Beds Feet, and then Leander recounted what you shall read in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. V.  
The History of Leander.  
I Am a Gentleman, of a Family pretty well known in the Province; and hope to be worth, one Day, at least Four thousand Crowns a Year, provided my Father be pleased to Die; for tho' 'tis now fourscore Years since 〈◊〉 Plagues all those who have any dependence upon him, yet he is so well in Health, that I have more reason to fear he will never Die, than to hope to inherit three fine Lordships, which make up all his Estate. He designs to make me a Counsellor in the Parliament of Britain, tho' against my Inclination, and 'tis for that purpose he sent me to School betimes. I was at the College of La Fleche, when your Company came there to Act: there I saw Mistress Angelica, and fell in Love with her to that degree, that I could mind nothing else. Nay, I went farther, for I had the Assurance to acquaint her with my Passion, at which she was not offended; I Writ to her, she received my Letter, and did not look more coldly than before upon me, the next time I saw her. Afterwards Mistress Cave being fallen Sick and obliged to keep her Chamber whilst you were at La Fleche, her Daughter and I had frequent Opportunities of Discoursing together, which she would have prevented had she not been ill; for you know how severe and reserved she is for a Woman of a Profession, which seems to dispense with those that follow it, for not being over nice or scrupulous. From the first Moment I fe●● in Love I never went to School more, nor missed a Play● The jesuits endeavoured to bring me back to my Dur●● but having chosen the most charming Mistress in the Worl●● I refused to obey those troublesome Masters. Your Serva●● was killed at the Playhouse Door, by the Scholars of Bri●tany, who made that Year a great Disturbance at La Flec●● because they were very numerous, and that Wine happen to be cheap; which was in some measure, the Reason 〈◊〉 you went from La Fleche to Angiers. I did not speak Angelica to bid her Farewell, because her Mother never 〈◊〉 sight of her; all I could do, was to appear before her as 〈◊〉 went away, with Despair in my Face, and Tears in my Ey●● A pitying melancholy Look which she cast on me, was 〈◊〉 to break my Heart. I locked myself in my Room; We bitterly the remaining part of the Day, and all the Night: and the very next Morning changing clothes with my Man, (who is about my Size) I left him at La Fleche to sell my Schoolboy's Equipage, and gave him a Letter for a Tenant of my Fathers, who supplies me with Money whenever I ask him for it, with orders to come to me at Angiers. I began my Journey thither after you, and overtook you at Duretail, where several Gentlemen who Hunted the Stag, obliged you to stay seven or eight Days. There I offered my Service to you, and you entertained me as your Man, either because you was loath to be without one, or because my Face and Mien, which you seemed to like, engaged you to hire me. My Hair which I cut very short, hindered me from being known again by those who had often seen me with Angelica: Besides, my Man's bad Coat, which I put on to disguise myself, made me look quite another Man, from what I looked in my own clothes, which were finer than a School-boy's generally are. However Mistress Angelica knew me at first sight, and owned to me since, that she did not doubt, but the Passion I had for her was very violent, since I abandoned all to follow her. She had the Generosity to dissuade me from it: And to recall my wand'ring Reason. She made me feel those Rigours, which would have cooled a Man less Amorous than myself, but by my constant Love, I insensibly engaged her, to Love me as much as I did her. As you have the Soul of a Man of Quality, (of such a Man of Quality I mean, as is truly Noble) 'twas not long before you found out that I had not the Inclinations of a Servant; I soon gained your favour, and the esteem of all the Gentlemen of your Company; nay Rancour himself did not hate me, tho' he has the Reputation amongst you, to love no body. I shall not waste much time in relating to you all the fine Things, which two Persons equally in Love may say to one another, as often as they happen to be together, you know it well enough by your own Experience. I will only tell you, that Mistress Cave suspecting our private Correspondence, or, rather having certain Proofs of it, charged her Daughter never to speak to me; that her Daughter did not obey her; and that having surprised her Writing to me, she used her so roughly, both before People and in private, that since that time, I found no great difficulty in persuading her to consent to be stolen away. I fear not to make this plain Confession to you, knowing you to be as Generous as any Man, and at least as Amorous as myself. Destiny blushed at these last Words of Leander, who went on with his Discourse, and told Destiny, that he left the Company, in order to put his Design in Execution; that one of his Father's Tenants promised him to furnish him with a Sum of Money, and that he hoped to receive some at St. Maloes', from a Merchant's Son, his intimate Friend, who was lately come to his Estate, by the death of his Parents. He added, that by the assistance of this Friend, he hoped to go easily over into England, and from thence to make his Peace with his Father, without exposing to his Anger, either Mistress Angelica or her Mother, whom in all probability he would prosecute, with all the advantage that a Man of Wealth and Quality may take over two poor Players. Destiny● made Leander sensible, that by reason of his Youth and Quality, his Father would certainly have Indicted Mrs. Cave for a Rape. He did not endeavour to make him forget his Mistress; for he was sensible, that Persons in Love, are not capable to follow any Counsels but what are suggested by their Passion, and are more to be pitied than to be blamed; but he highly disapproved his Design of going over into England; and represented to him what People might think of two young Strangers in a foreign Country; the Hazards and Fatigue of a Sea; the difficulty of being supplied with Money, in case he should want, and lastly, the Attempts to which they would be exposed by Mistress Angelica's Beauty, and the Youth of both. Leander did not endeavour to defend a bad Cause: He asked once more Destiny's Pardon, for having concealed himself so long from him; and Destiny promised him to use all the Interest he had with Mistress Cave, to incline her to be favourable to him. Moreover he told him, that if he was fully resolved never to marry any Woman but Mistress Angelica, he ought not to leave their Company, adding, that in the mean time his Father might die, or his Passion abate, or perhaps, be quite extinguished— Oh! never, never, cried Leander. Well then, (said Destiny) to secure your Mistress' Heart, your best way is never to lose Sight of her. Be a Player with us, for you are not the only Man that treads the Stage, when he could follow a better Employment. Writ to your Father; make him believe you are in the Army, and try to get Money from him; in the mean time I will converse with you as if you were my own Brother, and by that means endeavour to make you forget the indifferent Usage you received from me, whilst I was unacquainted with your Quality and Merit. Leander would have thrown himself at his Feet, if the violent Pain he felt all over his Body from his Bruises, would have let him: However, he returned him Thanks in so obliging a manner, and made him such hearty Protestations of Friendship, that from that moment he had as great an esteem for him as one Gentleman can have for another. They Discoursed afterwards, which Way they should go in Search of Angelica; but a great Noise interrupted their Conversation, and caused Destiny to go down into the Kitchen, where was transacting what you shall hear in the next Chapter.   

CHAP. VI  
A bloody Fight at Cuffs: The Death of the Innkeeper, and other memorable Occurrences.  
TWO Men, one of which was in Black like a Country Schoolmaster, and the other in Grace, who looked like a Catchpole, laid hold of one another by the Hair and the Beard, and now and then Boxed one another in a most cruel manner. Both were indeed what their Habits and their Looks showed 'em to be: He in Black, the Schoolmaster of the Town, Brother to the Curate; and the other in Grace, a Bailiff of the same Town, and Brother to the Innkeeper. This Innkeeper was then in a Chamber next to the Kitchen, ready to give up the Ghost; being Sick of a violent Fever, which so disordered his Senses, that he broke his Head against the Wall; and this Wound joined to his Distemper, brought him so low, that when his Frenzy left him, he was fain to part with Life, which perhaps he regretted less than his illgotten Money. He had been a long time a Soldier, and was at last come home, loaden with Years, and so light of Honesty, that he might be said to have less of it than Money, altho' he was extraordinary Poor. But because Women are very often catched by those very things they ought least to be catched by; his twisted Hair, longer than any Peasants in Town, his Cursing and Swearing like a true Son of Mars, a bristling Feather which he wore on his Hat upon holidays, when the Wether was Fair, and a rusty, long Sword that flaped against the old Boots he had on, altho' he never bestrid a Horse, all these I say, gained him the Heart of an old Woman that kept an Inn. She had been Courted by the richest Tenants in the Country, not so much on account of her Beauty, as because she got an Estate with her first Husband, by exacting upon People, and cheating in the Measure, both of Wine and Oats; yet she courageously resisted all the Assaults of her Wooers, but at last, an old-beaten Soldier triumphed over an old Hostess. This Tayern-Nymph had the least Face, and the biggest Belly of any Woman in maine, th● which Province abounds in Big-bellyed People. I leave it to the Naturalists to find out the Reason of it, as well as of the Fat of the Capons of that Country. To return to this short Big-Woman, whom I fancy to see as often as● I think on her, She married her Warrior, without acquainting her Relations with it, and having lived to a crazy old Age, and undergone great Hardships with him, she had the Satisfaction to see him Die of a broken Scull, which she looked as a just Judgement upon him, for his repeated Attempts of breaking hers. When Destiny came into the Kitchen, mine Hostess and her Maid, helped the old Curate of the Town to part the Combatants, who grappled one another like two Ships in a Sea-fight; but the Threats of Destiny, and his Magisterial way of speaking brought about what the Curate's Exhortations could not perform, and the two mortal Enemies let go their hold, spitting half of their bloody Teeth out of their Mouths, bleeding at their Noses, and their Hands full of Hair both from their Head and Beard. The Curate being an Honest, Well-bred Man, returned Destiny Thanks very civilly; Destiny to do him farther Pleasure, caused those two Persons to embrace in a very friendly manner, who a moment before endeavoured to strangle one another. During the Reconcilement, the Innkeeper ended his obscure Life, without giving notice of it to his Friends; insomuch, that when they entered his Room, after the conclusion of the Peace, they found there was no more to be done than to Bury him. The Curate prayed over the dead Body, and did it very well, for he was short. His Vicar came to relieve him, and in the mean time, the Widow bethought herself to roar and cry, which she did with a great deal of Ostentation and Vanity. The Brother of the Deceased dissembled being sorrowful, or was so indeed; and the Men and Women-Servants performed the●● Parts as well as he. The Curate followed Destiny into h●● Chamber, offering to serve him to the utmost of his Power as well as Leander; and in requital, they Invited him 〈◊〉 eat a Bit with 'em. Destiny who had eaten nothing yet a that Day, and had used a great deal of Exercise, fell to with a greedy Appetite; Leander fed more upon amorous Thoughts than upon Victuals; and the Curate talked more than he did eat. He told them a Hundred pleasant Stories, about the Avarice of the Deceased; and acquainted 'em with the comical Quarrels which this reigning Passion had often caused him to have, both with his Wife and his Neighbours. Among the rest, he related to them, how he took once a Journey to Laval with his Wife: Now as they came back, the Horse that carried them both, having lost two of his Shoes, he left his Wife holding the Horse by the Bridle, at the Foot of a Tree, and went back as far as Laval, to look for his Horse's Shoes: but he got nothing but his Labour for his Pains, whilst his Wife lost almost all Patience with waiting for him; (for they were come two Leagues from Laval) and began to be in great Pain about him, when she espied him coming barefoot, with his Boots and Hose in his Hands. She was not a little surprised at this novelty, but she durst not ask him the reason of it, for by obeying his Officers in the Wars, he had made himself capable to domineer at home. Neither did she dare to contradict him, when she was commanded to pull of her Stockings; or so much as ask him why she did it, only she thought 'twas out of Devotion. He caused his Wife to lead his Horse by the Bridle, whilst he walked behind to drive him: Thus the Man and the Wife, without Shoes or Stockings, and the unshod Horse, after a tedious and troublesome March, came home at last, late in the Night, all three very much tired; both the Innkeeper and his Wife, with their Feet so galled and so sore, that they could not Walk for almost a Fortnight after. He never was more pleased with any thing he had done before, and when ever he thought on't, he told his Wife laughing, that if they had not come barefoot from Laval, they had been at a great Expense for Shoes, both for themselves and their Horse. Destiny and Leander did not much take notice of the Story, tho' the Curate told it as a good one, either because they did not find it so pleasant as he said it was, or because they were not then in Humour to laugh. The Curate who was a great Talker, was not contented with this, but had still a mind to proceed to another, and told Destiny that what they heard was nothing in comparison of what he had to tell 'em, about the Innkeepers preparing himself for Death. 'Tis now four or five Days, continued he, since he knew he was past recovery; and yet he never was more sparing: he grudged himself all the newlaid Eggs he cat during his Illness; had a mind to know to a Farthing the charge of his Burial, and even would have bated something of my Fees, the Day I heard his Confession; in short, to end as he began, two Hours before he died, he ordered his Wife, in my Hearing, to bury him in an old Sheet which he knew was somewhere about the House, and which had above a Hundred holes in it. His Wife represented to him how undecent it would be for him to be Buried in it; but he grew obstinate, and would have no other. His Wife could not find in her Heart to consent to it, and because she saw him unable to beat her, she maintained her Opinion with more assurance than she ever did, without breaking in upon the Duty which an honest Wife owes her Husband, whether he be cross or no. At last she asked how he could pretend to appear in the Valley of josaphat, and in what pickle he would rise from the Dead? The Sick Man fell into a Passion, and swearing as he used to do when he was in Health, Zounds, cried he, I never intent to rise again. I had as much ado to forbear laughing, as to make him understand that he had offended God by thus falling into a Passion, and much more by what he had said to his Wife, which was a piece of Propha●●● 〈◊〉 and Impiety. He made an act of Contrition for it, tho' something against the Grain, and not without a Promise on our side, that he should be Buried in no other Sheet but what he had pitched upon. My Brother who burst out a laughing when he heard him so loudly and plainly renounce his Resurrection, could not forbear laughing at it still, as often as he thought on it again; this the Brother of the deceased took exception at, and from Words advancing to Blows, my Brother and he, both equally sturdy and Passionate, had laid hold of one another, and perhaps would be still cuffing and fight, if you had not parted them. Thus the Curate made an end of his Relation; having all the while addressed himself to Destiny, because Leander did not give him much Attention. He took his leave of the Strollers with repeated offers of Service; and Destiny endeavoured to adminster some drops of Comfort to the afflicted Leander, and bid him hope the best. As bruised as the poor Youth was, he now and then looked out at the Window to see if his Man came, as if his looking would make him come the sooner. But when People wait with Impatience for any Body, the wisest Men are foolish enough to look towards the Place from whence they expect him; which Reflection shall be the close of my Sixth Chapter.   

CHAP. VII.  
Ragotin's Panic Fear, attended with Disasters; the Adventure of the Dead Body; a shower of Cuffs, and other surprising Accidents worthy to have a place in this true Story.  
LEander, as I said before, was looking out at the Window towards the Place from whence his Man was to come, when turning his Head to the other side, he saw little Ragotin just arriving, booted up to his Waste, mounted on a little Mule, and accompanied by Rancour and Olive, holding his Stirrup-Leathers, one on one side, and the other on tother, like two great Footmen that walk by the side of a new Sheriff's Horse on a Lord Mayor's Day. They heard from Town to Town which way Destiny went, and with often enquiring after him, found him out at last. Destiny went down Stairs to meet 'em, and carried them up into his Chamber. They did not know at first young Leander, his looks being changed with his clothes; yet lest they should find out who he was, Destiny ordered him to go down and fee that Supper was got ready, with the same Authority with which he used to speak to him; and because the Strollers, who by that began to know him again, wondered at his being so fine, Destiny answered for him, and told them that an Uncle he had in the lower Main, equipped him from Head to Foot just as they saw him, and besides, had given him Money to make him leave the Stage, which he refused to do, and so came away from him without taking his Leave. Destiny and the rest asked one another News about what they all looked for, but were not the wiser for it. Ragotin assured Destiny that he left the Women in good Health, though much afflicted for Mistress Angelica's Rape. At last, Night being come, they went to Supper, the new Comers drunk hard, and the rest like sober Men. Ragotin began to be Merry, challenged every Body to Drink, like a Tavern-huff as he was; broke many a silly Jest, and fell a singing in spite of the Company: But no Body caring to be his Second, and the Hostess' Brother-in-Law having learnedly represented, that it did not look well for them to make a Debauch so near a dead Corpse, Ragotin made less noise, but drunk a great deal more Wine. Afterwards they went to Bed, Destiny and Leander in the Room they had already taken, and Ragotin, Rancour, and Olive in a little Room next to the Kitchen, and by the Chamber where lay the Corpse of the Deceased. The Hostess took up her Quarters in an upper Room, near that of Destiny and Leander, both to avoid the ghastly sight of a dead Husband, and to receive the Consolatory Visits of her Friends, who came to her in great numbers; for she was one of the topping Women of the Village, and was as much beloved by every Body as her Husband was hated. All things were in a profound Silence in the Inn; the Dogs were asleep, since they did not bark; all the other Animals slept also, or aught to do it, and this Tranquillity lasted till between two and three a Clock in the Morning, when on a sudden Ragotin cried out as loud as he could bawl, that Rancour was Dead. Now all at once, he waked Olive, roused Destiny and Leander, and got them to come down into the Kitchen in order to Weep, or at least to see Rancour, who, he said, died suddenly by his side. Destiny and Leander followed him, and the first thing they saw as they entered the Room, was Rancour walking up and down like a Man in good Health, which is no such easy matter after sudden Death. Ragotin who went in first of all, no sooner espied him, but he flew back as if he had been going to tread on a Serpent, or step off a Precipice: He gave a great shriek; turned pale as Death, and knocked so fierely Destiny and Leander, as he flew out of the Room, that he was like to throw 'em on the Ground. Whilst his Fear made him run as far as the Garden that belonged to the Inn, where he was like to catch Cold, Destiny and Leander asked Rancour the Particulars of his Death. Rancour answered he could not give so good an account of it as Ragotion, adding, that he was a little cracked Brained. In the mean time Olive was splitting his Sides with laughing, Rancour stood Speechless and unconcerned, as he used to do upon such Occasions, and neither of them would discover what they knew of the Matter. Leander made after Ragotin, and found him lurking behind a Tree, trembling with Fear more than with Cold, tho' he was naked in his Shirt. His Fancy was so full of Dead Rancour, that he presently took Leander for his Ghost: and was going to run away as he advanced towards him: Thereupon arrived Destiny, whom he took for another Ghost, both asked him several Questions, but could get no answer from him; at last they took him under the Arms, in order to carry him back to his Chamber; but as they were stepping out of the Garden, and Rancour advancing to come into it. Ragotin disengaged himself from those that held him, and looking behind him with wild staring Eyes, thrust himself into a Thicket of Rose-Bushes, where he entangled himself from Head to Foot, and was not able to get out time enough to avoid the encounter of Rancour, who called him a Madman a thousand times, and told him he must be shut up. They all three pulled him out of the Rose-bushes; Rancour gave him a sound flap on the Breech, to let him feel he was not Dead, and at last our frighted little Man was carried back into his Room, and put to Bed again. But he scarce was got into it, when a great noise of Female Voices, which they heard in the next Room, put them at a stand to know what the Matter was; these were not the Complaints of an afflicted Woman alone, but the hideous cries of several Women together, as when they are in a fright. Destiny went into the Room, where he found four or five Women with the Hostess, who looked under the Beds, and in the Chimney, and were terribly frighted. He asked them what the matter was? and the Hostess half howling, half speaking, told him: they did not know what was become of her poor Husband's Corpse. She had scarce uttered these Words but she began to howl, all the other Women, as if it was a howling Consort, answered her in a Chorus, and all together made so great and so lamentable a noise, that every Body in the Inn came into that Room, and all the Neighbours and goers by into the Inn. In the mean time an arch Pilferer of a Cat, seized upon a Pigeon, which an unwary Maid had left half larded on the Kitchen-dresser, and retiring with her Prey into Ragotin's Chamber, hide herself under the Bed where he lay with Rancour. The Maid followed Puss with a Faggot-stick in her Hand, and looking under the Bed to know what was become of her Pigeon, she cried out as loud as she could, that she had fourd her Master, which she repeated so often, that the Hostess and the rest of the Women came to her. The Maid fell about her Mistress' Neck, and told her she had found her Master with such a Transport of Joy, that the poor Widow was afraid her Husband was come to Life again, for they took notice that she turned as pale as a Malefactor that receives Sentence. At last the Maid bade 'em look under the Bed, where they espied the Corpse they were so much in pain about. Although it was very heavy, the greatest difficulty was not to get it from thence, as to know who had put it there; however they carried it into its Chamber where they began to dress it for Burial. The Players withdrew up Stairs to Destiny's Room, who all this while did not know what to make of all those strange Accidents. As for Leander his Head ran upon nothing but his dear Angelica, which made him as sullen and pensive, as Ragotin was sorry that Rancour was not Dead; by whose Raillery he was so mortified, that he had not a Word to say, contrary to his Custom of speaking continually, and intruding into all Conversations right or wrong. Rancour and Olive were so little surprised, both at Ragotin's Panic Terror, and the Transmigration of a dead Corpse from one Room to another without any humane assistance, at least that any Body knew of that Destiny began to suspect they had no small share in the Prodigy. In the mean time they were debating the Case in the Kitchen, in order to know the truth of the Matter. One of the Plough Servants, who came from the Field to eat his Dinner, hearing one of the Maids relate in a great fright, that her Master's Corpse was got up of its self and walked, told her that as he went through the Kitchen at break of Day, he saw two Men in their Shirts, who carried it on their Shoulders into the Room where 'twas found. The Brother of the Deceased herd what the Fellow said, and highly resented so foul an Action; the Widow and her Friends were presently made acquainted with it; all were very much offended at it. and with one Voice concluded that those Men must certainly be Sorcerers, and that they designed to do some Wicked thing or other with the Corpse. Whilst they were passing this untoward Judgement upon Rancour, he came into the Kitchen, to bid 'em carry up something to Breakfast into their Chamber. The Brother of the Deceased asked him, Why he carried his Brother's Body into his Room? But Rancour was so far from returning him an Answer, that he did not so much as exchange a Look with him. The Widow put the same Qestion to him; he shown her the same indifference, which the good Dame did not him; For she flew in his Face as furious as a Lioness bereft of her Whelps, (I fear the Simile is a little too Magnificent●) Her Brother-in-law gave a sound Cuff to Rancour; the Hostess' Friends did not spare him; the Maids put in for their Share, as did also the Men. But a single Man could not afford room for the Blows of so many Strikers, who rather hindered one another; Rancour alone against so many, and by consequence so many against him, was not daunted by the number of his Enemies, and making Virtue of a Necessity, he began to use all the strength and Activity that God Almighty put into his Hands, leaving the rest to Fortune. Never was an unequal Fight so obstinately maintained; for Rancour preserving his Judgement amidst the greatest Dangers, made use of his Policy as well as his Strength, dealt his Blows with Prudence, and improved 'em to the best Advantage. He gave many a Box, which not falling full upon the first Cheek it met in its way, but sliding as it were, reached a second, and sometimes a third Cheek, because he generally whirled about when he was going to strike, so that with one single blow he often extracted three different Sounds, out of three different Chaps. At the noise of the Combatants, Olive came down into the Kitchen, and had sacre time to discern his Comrade amongst all those that belaboured him, before he felt himself more fiercely attacked even than Rancour, whose Valour and vigorous Resistance began to strike his Foes with terror; therefore two or three of those whom Rancour abused most, fell foul upon Olive only perhaps to get their Revenge. The noise increased, and at the same time the Hostels received such a great Cuff on her little Pigs-Eyes that she saw a Hundred thousand Lights (this is a certain number for an uncertain one) and was entirely disabled. She howled and roared more fiercely, and perhaps more hearty than she did about her Husband's Death. Her howling brought all the Neighbours to her House, and Destiny and Leander into the Kitchen; tho' these came with a Spirit of Peace, yet they presently made War upon 'em, without saying why nor wherefore; they did not want Cuffs and Boxes, neither were they so uncivil as to suffer those to want them, who were so bountiful to them. The Hostess, her Friends, and her Maids, cried out Thiefs, and were now bare Spectators of the Fight, some with Eyes black and blue, others with bloody Noses, others again with broken Chaps, and all of 'em with their Head-Cloths torn in pieces. The Neighbours espoused the Quarrel of the Hostess, against those she called Thiefs; and 'twould require a better Pen than mine can pretend to be, to describe the noble Cuffs that were given and received on both sides. Are last Animosity and Fury had so possessed their Breasts, that they began to seize on the Spits, and all Movables that one may fling at another's Head, when the Curate came into the Kitchen, and endeavoured to make the Battle cease. To speak the Truth, altho' they all had a great Respect for his Character, he had much ado to part the Combatants, if their weariness had not inclined them to his Advice. Thus all acts of Hostility ceased on both sides, but the noise continued as before; for every one pretended to be heard first, the Women especially before the Men with their false triple Voices, the poor good Man was fain to stop his Ears and run to the Door. This silenced the most obstreperous: Whereupon he faced about, entered the Field of Battle, and commanded the Inn-keepr's Brother to speak: He first of all complained of the dead Corpse being carried from one Room to another, and had exaggerated the Enormity of the Fact, had he had less Blood to spit out of his Mouth, besides the bleeding at his Nose, which he could not stop. Rancour and Olive pleaded Guilty to the Indictment, protesting withal, that they had not done it with any ill Intent, but only to fright one of their Comrades, as they really did. The Curate blamed'em very much for it, and showed 'em the ill Consequence of such an Action, which was carrying a Jest too far. However being a Man of Parts, and of great Interest among his Parishioners, he found no difficulty in adjusting the Quarrel, and so all parted upon even Terms. But wild Discord with her hissing Snakes instead of Hair, had not yet completed all the Mischief she designed to do in that House, for now there was heard in the upper Room. such Roaring, as little differs from that of a Hog when he is going to be killed, and yet he that roared at this rate, was no other than Ragotin, The Curate, the Strollers, and several others ran to him, and found him sunk up to the Neck into a great Wooden-chest, where the Hostess kept her Linen; and what was yet more grievous to the poor entrapped Ragotin, the Lid of the Trunk which was thick and heavy, was fallen upon his Legs, and squeezed 'em so, that it grieved ones Heart to see it. A lusty Chambermaid, who stood near the Trunk when they entered the Room, and looked very much concerned, was suspected of having put Ragotin in so ill a Place. This was the Truth of the business; and she was so proud of what she had done, that whilst she was making one of the Beds, she did not vouchsafe to mind how they could get Ragotin out of the Trunk, nor so much as answer those who asked her the occasion of the Noise they heard. In the mean time the little Man was got out of his Trap, and had no sooner the use of his Feet but he ran to his Sword. They hindered him from laying hold of it, but could not keep him from closing with the tall Maid, whom he could not hinder from giving him such a fierce Blow on the Pate, that all the vast Seat of his narrow Reason was shaken with it. This made him start three Steps backward, but it had been but a Spring towards a Leap, had not Olive held him by the Breeches, as he was going to shoot like a Serpent against his dreadful Adversary. The Effort he made, (tho' to no purpose) was so violent, that the Waistband of his Breeches was broken, as was likewise the Silence of the Company, who all fell a Laughing. The Curate forgot his Gravity, and the Innkeepers Brother his Affliction. Ragotin alone was not disposed to Laugh, and turned his Anger against Olive, who being offended at it, trussed him up, and carried him, (Brandishing his Legs) on the Bed which the Maid was making, where with the Strength of a Hercules, he pulled down his Breeches, (whose Waistband was already broken) and then lifting up his Hands, and letting them fall quick and amain on his Thighs, and Places adjacent, in the twinkling of an Eye, made them look as red as Scarlet. Bold Ragotin fling himself with great Courage from the Bed on the Ground, but this venturous Action was not attended with the success it deserved. His Foot got into a Chamber-pot, which to his great Misfortune was left ●n the Bedside, and went in so deep, that not being able to get it out by the help of the other Foot, he durst not step from the Bedside where he was, for fear of making yet more Sport for the Company, and bringing their Raillery upon him, which he bore more impatiently than any Man. Every body wondered to see him so quiet, after, so great an Emotion. Rancour suspected there was something more than ordinary; and having caused him to come out from the Bedside, half willing, half not, all the Company perceived where the Shoe wrung him, and no body could forbear Laughing at the Pewter-Foot our Dwarf had made to himself. We shall leave him treading the Metal with Pride and Contempt, that we may go and Welcome a new Company which came at the same time into the Inn.   

CHAP. VIII.  
What became of Ragotin's Foot.  
HAD Ragotin by his own Strength, and without the help of his Friends, been able to unpot his Foot, I mean, to get out of that scurvy Pot, it had so unluckily got into, his Anger would have lasted, at least all the remainder of the Day: But he was fain to abate somewhat of his natural Pride, and be submissive; humbly beseeching Destiny and Ranrcur to procure the Liberty of his Foot, right or left, for it never came to my Knowledge which of the two it was. He did not address himself to Olive, because of what passed betwixt 'em: But nevertheless, Olive came to his Aid, without entreaty, and both his Comrades and he, used their endeavours to relieve him. The repeated Efforts the little Man made to get his Foot out of the Pot, had caused it to swell, and those which Destiny and Olive used swelled it yet a great deal more. Rancour put his Hand to it first of all, but so aukwardly, or rather maliciously, that Ragotin thought he had a mind to make him Lame for ever. He desired him very earnestly to let it alone, as also his Comrades, and laid himself down upon a Bed, till the Smith they had sent for, came to File the Pot off his Foot. The remaining part of the Day past pretty quietly in the Inn, tho' somewhat melancholily letwixt Destiny and Leander, the one being very much in Pain about his Man, who did not come to bring him News of his Mistress, according to Promise; and the other not finding it in his Heart to be merry without his dear Mistress Star; and besides, he was concerned at the Rape of Angelica, and pitied poor Leander, in whose Face he saw all the Marks of deep Affliction. Rancour and Olive soon made a Match with some of the Inhabitants of the Village, who were at Bowls; and Ragotin, the Operation on his Foot being over, composed himself to rest, whether he was really sleepy, or because he was ashamed to appear in public, after his unlucky Adventures, The Corpse of the Innkeeper was carried to his long home, and mine Hostess, notwithstanding the pious Thoughts which her Husband's Death ought to have suggested to her, exacted upon two English Men, who went from Britain to Paris, with as much Barbarity, as if she had been a Dutch-Inn-keeper. The Sun was just now set, when Destiny and Leander, who could not stir from their Window, espied a Coach with four Horses, attended by three Men on Horseback, and four Footmen. Soon after, a Maid came to desire 'em to resign their Chamber to the new Company, and so Ragotin was obliged to show himself, altho' he had a mind to keep his Chamber, and followed Destiny and Leander into that, where the Day before he fancied he had seen Rancour die. Destiny was known in the Kitchen by one of the Gentlemen of the Coach, who was the same Counsellor of the Parliament of Rennes, with whom he got acquainted at the Wedding, so fatal to poor Cave. This Briton Senator, enquired of Destiny about Angelica, and expressed a concern that she was not found. His Name was la Garouffiere, which makes me believe he was rather Angevin than Briton, for we see as few Briton Names begin with Gar, as we see many Angevin one's ending in lere; Norman, in Ville; Picard, in Cor; and of the People living near the River Garonne, in ac. To return to Monsieur la Garouffiere, he 〈…〉 of Wit, as I said before, and did not think himself 〈◊〉 a Country-Wit neither, because when his attendance was not required at Rennes, he generally came to Paris to spend a Sum of Money in the Public Houses, and put on black Clothes when the Court went into Mourning. Which being duly verified and recorded, aught to be as good as a Patent if not of Nobility, at least of Gentility; besides, he was a Wit by the same Reason that most People pretend to have their share in ingenious Diversions, as well those that have skill in 'em, as the Proud, brutish and Ignorant Coxcombs, who pass their rash Censure upon Verse and Prose, tho' at the same time they think it a dishonour to write well, and would upon occasion reproach a Man for making Books, as for Counterfeiting the King's Coin. However, Strollers are the better for these Pretenders, and are the more caressed in all the Towns in which they Act: For being the Parrots of the Poets, and some among 'em who have Wit, writing sometimes Plays, either out of their own stock, or what they borrow from several others, People are in a manner ambitious of knowing them or being in their Company. In our Days the World has done justice to their Profession, and has a greater esteem for 'em than formerly: And to speak the Truth, Plays in themselves are a most innocent Diversion, and may be as Instructive as entertaming. They are now a-days, at least at Paris, purged from their former Licentiousness; and 'twere to be wished that the Playhouses were as well cleared from Pick-Pockers, Pages, Footmen, Whores, Orange-Wenches, and such other Vermin, who haunt those Places rather to Steal a Purse, or pick up a Cull, than to hear the silly Jests of Farces: But now Farces are in a manner exploded, and I am sure there are many private Assemblies where they laugh hearty at low and smut●y Equivocations, at which the Front Boxes would be offended at the 
* At much as to say the Theatre-Royal in London:  Hostel de Bourgogne: But here let's make an end of be Digression. Monsieur la Garouffiere was over joyed to find Destiny in the Inn, and made him promise to Sup with the Company of the Coach, which consisted in the Bridegroom of Man's and his Bride, whom he carried to her own Country of Laval, the Bridegroom's Mother, a Gentleman of that Province; ● Advocate of the Council, and Monsieur de la Garouffiere; ● related to one another, and whom Destiny saw at the Wedding where Angelica was stolen away. Add to all those I amed before, a Chambermaid or Waiting-Woman, and you find that the Coach was pretty well crammed; not 〈…〉 that Madam Bouvillon (for so was the Bridegroom's 〈◊〉 called) was one of the biggest Women in France, tho' per●●●● the shortest, and I am credibly informed, that one Year w●●●● another, she wore 
* The French has it Thirty hundred weight, but I fancy Thirty 〈◊〉 sufficient to describe a Woman menstrously Fat.  thirty Stone of Flesh, besides all other he●●● and solid Matters which enter the Composition of a human Body. By this Description you will easily believe that 〈◊〉 was very Juicy, as all short Women are. Supper was served up: Destiny appeared at Table with that good Mien which was inseparable from him, and which at that time was not in the least altered by dirty Linen, Leander having furnished him with a clean Shirt and Cravat. He spoke but little, according to his Custom; yet had he spoke as much as the re●● who all talked very much, he would not perhaps have said so many impertinent things as They. La Garouffiere helped him to a bit of every thing that was good on the Table; Madam Bouvillon did as much, in Emulation of la Garouffiere and with so little Consideration, that in one Moment all th● Dishes were empty, and Destiny's Plate so full of Wings an● Legs of Fowls, that I have often wondered since, how the could raise by chance such a high Pyramid of Meat en● narrow a Basis as the bottom of a Plate. La Garouffiere 〈◊〉 not mind what he did, so very busy he was about talking 〈◊〉 Poetry to Destiny, to bespeak his good Opinion of his o●●, W●t Madam Bouvillon, who had also a Project in her Head, 〈◊〉 tinued her good Offices to the Player, and finding no 〈◊〉 Pullet's to Carve, was reduced to help him to some 〈◊〉 slices of a Leg of Mutton. He was at a loss what to 〈◊〉 with 'em, and looked for a place where to put two Sli● he had in both his Hands, when the Country Gentleman, 〈◊〉 was unwilling to hold his Tongue to the prejudice of 〈◊〉 Stomach, asked Destiny with a Smile, whether he could 〈◊〉 all the Meat he had on his Plate? Destiny cast his Eyes up● it, and was not a little surprised to see almost level with 〈◊〉 Chin, the heap of carved Pullet's with which la Gar●●● and Bouvillon had erected a Trophy to his Merit. He blu●●● are it, and could not forbear laughing; Bouvillon was da● out of Countenance; lafoy Garouffiere laughed hearty, and 〈◊〉 all the Company in so good a Humour, that they 〈◊〉 out into laughter four or five several times. The Serv●● began where their Masters left off, and laughed in their 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Bride found so Comical, that breaking out into 〈◊〉 as she was going to Drink, she spurted the greatest part of the Wine, which was in her Glass, on her Mother-in-Law, and her Husband's Face, and distributed the rest either on the Table, or the Clothes of those that sat at it. They all began to laugh again, except Bouvillon, who coloured at it, and cast an angry Look upon her poor Daughter-in-law, which pall'd a little their Joy. At last they made an end of laughing, because 'tis not possible to laugh for ever; Madam Bouvillon and her Son wiped off the Wine which trickled down their Eyes and Cheeks, and the young Bride asked their pardon, having still much ado to forbear laughing. Destiny laid his Plate on the middle of the Table, and every one took his own share out of it. They talked of nothing else during all the Supper, and Raillery good or bad was carried on to a high pitch, tho' the serious Air, which Madam Bouvillon put on preposterously, did in some measure disturb the Mirth of the Company. Assoon as Supper was over, and the Cloth taken away, the Ladies retired to their Chamber, the Advocare and the Country Squire called for Cards, and went to Pickett; lafoy Garouffiere and Destiny, who were none of those that know not what to do when they do not Play, had together a very ingenious Conversation, and perhaps the best that ever was held in an Inn of lower Main. La Garouffiere spoke with Desing, of all he thought most remote from the knowledge of a Player, whose Wit and Judgement have generally narrower Limits than his Memory; but Destiny discoursed of every thing like a Man of great skill, and who understands the World. Among the rest, with all the nicety of Discerment imaginable, he distinguished those Women who have a great deal of Wit, and never use it but when there's occasion for it, from those who use it only to be thought Witty. Likewise those Women who endeavour to imitate silly Buffoons, that can laugh at, and even use themselves, licentious Allusions and paltry Equivocations, in a Word, that set up for the Jesters of their Parish, from those who make up the most lovely and agreeable Part of the ●eau-Monde, and are of the choicest Companies. He spoke also of those Women who writ as well as those Men, that make it their Profession, and who do not publish the Productions of their Brain, only out of a principle of Modesty. La Garouffiere who was an accomplished Gentleman, and knew how to discern a Man of nice Breeding, wondered how a Stroller ●ould be so well acquainted with true Politeness and civil Conversation. Whilst he admires him within himself, and that the Advocate and the Gentleman, who by this t●●● had given over Playing, upon a dispute about a faced Card, yawned and gaped frequently, which probably proceeded from an Inclination to sleep, three Beds were got ready for 'em in the Chamber where they Supped, and Destiny retired to that of his Comrades, where he lay with Leander.   

CHAP. IX.  
Another Disaster which befell Ragotin.  
RAncour and Ragotin lay in the same Bed; as for Olive, he spent part of the Night in stitching up again, and darning his Clothes, which he tore in several Places, when he grappled with Passionate Ragotin. Those who were particularly acquainted with this Dwarf of Man's, took notice that when he cuffed with any Body, which he did often, he ever tore or unstitcht the clothes of his Adversary, either totally, or in part. This was his surest stroke, and whoever was to fight a pitched Battle at Cuffs with him, might have barred tearing of clothes, as People bar pushing at the Face in Fencing. Rancour asked him as they were going to Bed, if he was well, for he thought he looked very ill, to which Ragotin answered● he never was better in all his Life. 'Twas not long before they fell a sleep; and Ragotin may thank the respect which Rancour paid to the honourable Company that came to the Inn, whose Repose he would not disturb; otherwise the little Man had had but a sorry Night. In the mean time Olive was busy about his Clothes, and having put them in good repair, he took Ragotin's clothes, and with the Dexterity of a nice Tailor, made both the Doublet and Breeches straiter, and laid them again in their Places; and now having past the greatest part of the Night in sowing and unsowing, he went into Bed with Ragotin and Rancour. They got up betimes, as 'tis usual in all Inns, where the noise gins with the Day, Rancour told Ragotin he looked very ill; Olive told him the same, he began to believe 'em, and finding at the same time his Clothes above four Inches too straight, he did not Question but that he was swo●n by so much, during that little time he was a sleep, and was not a little frighted at this sudden swelling. Rancour and Olive still continued to tell him how ill he looked, and Destiny and Leander, whom they acquainted with the Plot, told him he was strangely altered. Poor Ragotin was very much concerned, and wept at it: Destiny could not forbear smiling, which made the little Man very angry. He went into the Kitchen, where every Body told him of his ill Looks; the like did the Company that belonged to the Coach, who having a great way to go, got up betimes. They invited the Strollers to Breaskfast with 'em, and all drunk Sick Ragotin's Health, who instead of thanking them for't, went out grumbling at 'em, and in a heavy taking repaired to the Surgeon of the Town, to whom he gave an account of his swelling. The Surgeon made a long Deseant upon the Cause and Effect of his Disease, which he understood no better than Algebra, and for above a quarter of an Hour entertained him with the obscure Terms of his Art, little to the Purpose, as if he had discoursed about Prester-Iohn. Ragotin grew impatient, and asked him, Swearing to admiration for a little Man, whether he had nothing else to say to him. The Surgeon would have gone on in his Reasonings, but Ragotin threatened to beat him, and had certainly done it, had not the Surgeon humbled himself before his angry Patient, from whom he drew twelve Ounces of Blood, and Cuped him on the Shoulders at a venture. The Operation was just done when Leander came to tell Ragotin that if he would promise not to be angry, he would acquaint him with a piece of Roguery they had done him. He promised more than Leander desired, and swore as he hoped to be saved to be as good as his Promise. Leander told him he desired to have Witness to his Oath, and carried him back to the Inn, where in the presence of all, both Masters and Servants, he made him swear a new, and then told him somebody had made his clothes straiter. At first Ragotin reddened for shame, and then turning pale with Anger and Indignation, he was going to break his dreadful and solemn Oath, when seven or eight Persons at once began to preach to him with such vehemence, that though he swore like Mad, yet he could not be heard. He ceased to bluster; but the rest did not give over to round him in the Ears, which they continued doing so long, that the Poor Man was like to lose his Hearing for it. At last he came off better than was expected, for he fell a Singing, as loud as ever he could, what Songs came first into his Mouth, which changed the great noise of confued Voices into repeated peals of Laughing, which from the Masters were echoed by the Servants, and passed from the Place of Action, to all the Places in the Inn, where different businesses called different Persons. Whilst the noise of so many People laughing together diminishes by degrees, and is lost in the Air, somewhat like the sound of distant Echoes, the faithful Chronologer shall make an end of this present Chapter, under the gracious favour of the Reader, whether Courteous or uncourteous, or such as God Almighty made him.   

CHAP. X.  
How Madam Bouvillon could not resist a certain Temptation, and besides, how she got a Bunch in her Forehead.  
THE Coach that was to go a great Journey the next Morning, got ready betimes for that purpose; the seven 〈◊〉 were to go in it, crowded together as close as possible. At the time appointed it went out, but had not gone above ten Yar● before the Axletree broke. This made the Coach man to cur●● his Misfortune, and the Passengers to curse him, as if he co●● have warranted the strength of his Wood Now were 〈◊〉 People to be drawn forth one by one, and obliged to return to the Inn from whence they came; but this did not vex th●● so much as when they heard that there was no Coach-mak● to be met with, nearer than at a large Town three Leag●● off. Hereupon they immediately called a Council, but 〈◊〉 to no Resolutions, plainly perceiving that their Caravan 〈◊〉 not likely to be fit for Action till the next Day. Madam Bouvillon who had preserved to herself a great Authority 〈◊〉 her Son, by reason that the whole Estate of the Family ca● by her, commanded him in the mean time to take one of 〈◊〉 Servants Horses, and mount his Wife on another, and to 〈◊〉 Visit an old Uncle of hers, who was then Curate of the 〈◊〉 Town whence the Coachmaker was to come. The Lord 〈◊〉 this Town likewise was a Relation to the Councillor, and 〈◊〉 over an Acquaintance of the Advocate and Gentleman, 〈◊〉 therefore they also resolved to take a Vagary to the same pla●● and on the same Account. For this end their Landlady was 〈◊〉 furnish them with Horses, which she did, but at very gr●● Rates. Madam Bouvillon being thus left alone, either bee●● she was tired, or that she feigned to be so, or else by reason 〈◊〉 no Horse was able to carry her weight, sent her Servant 〈◊〉 Destiny to desire him to come and Dine with her, and 〈◊〉 Dinner was getting ready she spent her time in Dressing. First she Curled and Powdered, then put on a laced Apron and Nightraile, and afterwards took to pieces a Point de Venise Cravat of her Sons to make her a Commode. After this she opened her Daughters-in-law Trunk, and took thence her Wedding Gown and put it on: In a Word, being thus tricked up and adorned, she seemed like to any little Venus in a Cloud, tho' that somewhat of the fattest. Now, notwithstanding all these preparations of hers, Destiny had no doubt much rather have Dined with his Companions; but then how could he have obeyed the Commands of his very humble Servant Madam Bouvillon? He therefore not knowing how to get free, was forced to comply; but was not a little surprised when he saw his Paramour so youthfully dressed. She received him with a smiling Countenance, took him by the Hands to have him wash them, and squeezed him after a manner that meant something more than ordinary. He for his part was less Solicitous of his Invitation than of the occasion of it, and therefore often neglected Eating, which gave her opportunity to press it. He knew not what to say to her, being naturally no great Speaker; but she plentifully supplied that defect by her never ceasing Clack. She was but too ingenious to suffer any chalm in Conversation for want of something to say. When a Woman that talks much, meers with a Man that says little and does not answer her, she always talks the more, for judging of her Friend by herself, and perceiving that he has not Reparteed to what she advanced, she presently believes he has not been pleased with what was said; and therefore to mend the Matter, proceeds to say a great deal more, which commonly proves as Impertinent as her first Discourse was Ridiculous. The only way that I can propose to deal with such Women as these, is to talk as much, if not more than they, for thereby if they cannot be silenced, their Voices may at least be drowned. As for the matchless Bouvillon, she was the most immoderate Talker of nothing, that ever was known, and she not only talked to herself while she was in private, but would answer herself likewise. The silent disposition of Destiny giving her an Opportunity, she determined to divert him with some large Relation or other. The Subjects she chose to speak of, was the Intrigues of Laval, the Town where she lived; but she never happened to blame any Person or Action but she always took thence an occasion to commend herself, protesting at every fling of satire on her Neighbour, that tho' she was guilty of many Faults, yet in that Particular he was Innocent. Tho' Destiny was extremely mortified at the beginning of her Discourse, and made no Answer, yet he afterwards found himself obliged for quietness sake, to smile now and then, and sometimes to cry out, Oh! That's Pleasant● or That's strange! both which he often spoke Mal à propos. Assoon as Destiny had done eating, the Voider was brought, and the Table cleared. Then Madam Bouvillon clapping herself down at the Feet of the Bed, pulled him down by her, and her Servant, (letting the Waiters of the Inn go out first) leaving her likewise, drew the Door after her, and shut it: This Madam Bouvillon perceiving, and thinking that Destiny had also observed it, said to him, See this Foolish jade has shut the Door after her. To which he replied. If you please, Madam, I'll go and open 〈◊〉 No, said she, stopping him, let it alone; but you know, continued she, when two Persons are locked up together, as they have an opportunity to do what they please, People will judge of them as they think fit. 'Tis not on such Reputations as yours, Madam, replied Destiny for People to pass rash judgements. However, Sir, quoth Bouvillon, one cannot have too much caution against Slander. Well, Madam, replied Destiny, but People will not Talk without Grounds, and sure they can have none when they reflect upon the Inequality of our Conditions. Will you please therefore, Madam, continued he, that I go open the Door. By no means, Sir, quoth she, going to bolt it, and adding withal. For as long as People think it shut, it is better it were really so, that no Body may come in upon us without our consent. Having said this, and performed the Office of a Friend for herself, she turned towards Destiny, giving him to understand by her large fiery Cheeks, and little sparkling Eyes, what Sport she had a mind to be at; then she proceeded to take off her Handkerchief from her Neck, and thereby discovered to her Lover at least ten Pound of exuberant Flesh, that is to say near the third part of her Bosom, the rest being distributed in two equal Portions under her Arm-pitts: This ill Intention of hers causing her to Blush, (which sometimes the most Impudent will do) her Neck was grown as red as her Face, and both together might be well taken at any distance for a Scarlet 
* Caps which Country Men use, that Button about their Neck.  Riding Cap. All this made Destiny to blush too, but it was with Shame, when I'll give you leave to guests what might be the cause of Madam Bouvillons Then she began to complain that she had something that troubled her in her Back, and moving herself about in her Harness, as if she had Irched, she begged of Destiny to thrust his Hand down her Back to scratch her. This the Youth immediately obeyed her in, trembling all the while, but whilst he was 〈◊〉 in pleasing her behind, she diverted herself with him before, handling his sides through his Waistcoat, and ask him often, If he was not ticklish too? Whilst these Lovers were thus pleasing each other, Ragotin came to the Door, and knocked and bawled like to any Madman, calling out aloud to Destiny to open to him. This Destiny going immediately to perform, drew his Hand all sweaty out from Bouvillons Back, and oftering to go between her and the Table, as the shortest cut, chanced to trip against a Nail in the Floor, which brought him down with his Head against a Bench in that violent manner, that he lay sometime for Dead. Madam Bouvillon in the mean time catcht up her Handkerchief, and having thrown it over her Shoulders, made all the haste she could to open the Door, which having done, and Ragotin pushing against it with all his force at the same time, gave the poor Lady so cruel a blow on the Face, that it almost flatted her Nose, and also raised a bump on her Forehead, of the bigness of ones Fist. This made her to cry out, she was dead, but which, tho' the little Rascal heard, he nevertheless made no excuse for, but leaping and bounding about the Room like Mad, bauled out Mrs. Angelica 's found! Mrs. Angelica 's found! This he did the louder to provoke Destiny's Anger, who was all this while calling for Madam Bouvillons Maid to come and help her Mistress, which she nevertheless could not possibly hear, by reason of the Noise which Ragotin made. At length the Servant came, and brought Water and a clean Napkin, when between her and Destiny there was quickly some small reparation made for the damage done by the Door. But however, great was Destiny's Impatience to know what more News Ragotin brought; he notwithstanding would not leave Madam Bouvillon till her Face was vvashed and anointed, and her Forehead bound up with a bandage. At last he offered to be gone, but that calling Ragotin a Thousand Rogues for the Mischief he had done on the one side, while Ragotin drawn him after him on the other, to give him a farther account of his Message.   

CHAP. XI●.  
Of things that will divert, it may be, the least of the whole Book.  
'TIS true Madam Angelica was found again, and brought away by Leander's Servant. This Servant had but too much Wit to let any Body know that Leander was his Master, and Madam Angelica endeavoured to● disguise that by Policy which Olive and Rancour had done before bluntly. Leander enquired of Madam Angelica and his Servant, whom he made to pass for one of his Friends, Where and How he had found her, and which Questions he happened to ask just as Ragotin entered leading in Destiny in Triumph, or rather dragging him after him, because he could not go so fast as he would have him. At first sight Destiny and Angelica embraced with reciprocal Testimonies of Love and Friendship, and with that tenderness which Lovers long absent are wont to do on an unexpected Interview Leander and she Carress'd only with their Eyes, leaving farther remonstrances of Kindness to a private Meeting. In the mean time Leander's Servant began his Story, after the following manner, treating his Master all the while like his Friend. After I had left you, quoth he, Addressing himself to Leander, I pursued the Ravishers of Angelica, according as you had desired me, till Sunset, when, and not before, I lost sight of them. Next Morning I was not a little surprised to find the Lady I looked after at the entrance of a Wood alone, on foot, and all dissolved in Tears. Hereupon having acquainted her that I was your Friend, and that it was at your Request that I had gone in quest of her. She seemed to be somewhat comforted, and ●beg'd of me to conduct her to Man's, or at least to carry her to Leander, if I knew where to find him. Now, Madam, continued he, turning to Angelica, It must be your part to relate the rest, for you know you were so afflicted on the Road, that I did not care to ask you any Questions. Those that were least curious of all the Company, had yet a mind to learn from Madam Angelica's own Mouth the account of so strange an Adventure; for strange it might well seem to them, that a young Lady should be carried away with such Violence, and be afterwards surrendered, or rather abandoned without the least force. In order to this Relation Madam Angelica first desired they would help her to a Bed; but which they not being able to do, by reason that the Inn was full, the honest Curate obliged her with a Chamber in his Sister's House, which was next Door. Now Angelica had not so great occasion for a Bed to sleep on as to rest herself upon; therefore Destiny and Leander, with the rest of the Company, were admitted to her Bedside assoon as she was laid. Although she would have been glad that Destiny should have had an Opinion of her Constancy, yet could not she well look upon him without Blushing. The observing of this made him pity her Confusion extremely, and in order to divert her from doing herself any diskindness, he immediately put her upon relating that part of the Adventure which Leander's Servant could not. This request of his, she forthwith proceeded to gratify, as follows. You may imagine, quoth she, my Mother and I were not a little surprised when while we were walking together in the Park that adjoins to our House, we saw all of a sudden a little Door open which looks towards the Country, and five or six Men enter thereat, who immediately soized upon me, without regarding my Mother, and carried me away half dead with fear to their Horses. My Mother, whom ye all know to be one of the most resolute Women in the World, fell furiously upon the first of those she overtook, and reduced him to that Condition, that he could not possibly get out of her Hands till he had called one of his Companions to his assistance. The Person that rescued him, who was so base as to beat my Mother, as I heard him afterwards brag on the Road, was it seems the Author of this enterprise. He nevertheless came not near me all that Night, during which we marched like to Persons pursued by an Enemy, and that through the most by-Roads; for otherwise the noise I made might have been sufficient to have alarumed some body to my Relies. They so managed the Matter, that we met with but one little Village in our way; the Inhabitants thereof I soon raised with my shrill Notes, but who nevertheless were not numerous enough to rescue me. The Morning came, and then my Ravisher approached me; but had no sooner seen me than he flew from me in great Passion, and afterwards assembled a Council of his Companions, which lasted about half an Hour. My Ravisher after that seemed to be enraged as much as I was grieved, and often swear to make the Devil to do among his Companions. Their ●umultous Assembly being at an end, I could by no means come to know what Resolves they had agreed on. We were put on our March again; and from that time forward, I had less respect paid me than before. They quarrelled with me as often as they saw me uneasy, and Cursed me, as if I had been some great Offender. They carried me away as you might perceive, speaking to Leander, with a Player's Habit on, but which they hide by throwing one of their Cloaks over me. They met a Man upon the Road, of whom they endeavoured to inform themselves of some Matters. I was surprised to see it was Leander, and I believe he was no less astonished to see me; for he knew me assoon as ever I discovered my Habit, as well as by my Face. He may inform you if he pleases what he did. For my part, seeing so many Swords drawn upon him, I fainted away in the Arms of him that held me upon the Horse, and when I came to myself, I found we were again upon our March but saw Leander no more till now. Hereupon I began to redouble my Cries; but my Ravishers, whereof there was one Wounded, little regarding me, took their way cross the Country, and Yesterday Night stopped at a little Village, where they lay and passed for Soldiers. This Morning at the entrance of a Wood they met a Man with a young Gentlewoman on Horseback; her they immediately unmasked, and having so done, it seems knew her, when taking her from her Guardian, and bestowing on him a few blows of a Cudgel, they rid away with her, as they had done with me; she making as great, if not greater Lamentations than I had done. When I heard her Voice. I fancied I knew her, but could not be positive. After we had got about Fifty Paces into the Wood,. the Man that seemed to have the Command of the rest, rid up to the Person that carried me, and cried to him, set down that slabbering Milksop you have behind you, and let her shift for herself. Herein he was immediately obeyed, and I was all of a sudden left alone upon the Ground. The dread I had to be thus alone would have certainly been the Death of me, had not this Gentleman here, meaning Leander's Servant, who brought me hither followed me at a distance, and found me in that Condition. The rest he has acquainted you with. But, continued she, addressing herself to Destiny, I believe that same Lady which was preferred to me might be your Sister, my Companion; and the reason I have for it, is not only the resemblance of her Voice with that I heard, but likewise the Man that carried her I dare be positive was the Servant you took last. What's that you tell me? quoth Destiny somewhat disturbed, I tell you my Thoughts, replied Angelica, but I may be deceived, one Person may be like another; yet still I fear it was she. I fear so too, replied Destiny, with his Countenance all changed, for I have some reas●● to apprehend a certain Person in this Province for an Enemy, that would do me such a good turn. But how came she at the entrance of a Wood, continued he, when Ragotin left her yesterday at Man's? I'll go send away one of my Friends thither presently, pursued he, to know the Truth, while I stay behind to determine a Resolution suitable to the News he brings. As he had just done speaking he heard some body call him out of the Street, and stepping to the Window, perceived it was Monsieur de la Garouffiere, who was just then returned from his Visit and who told him he had something of Importance to communicate to him. He went down to wait on him, and thereby left Leander and Angelica together, to enjoy each other after so tedious an Absence, and to pour out their Sighs and Vows into one another's Bosoms. I fancy 'twould have been no small Pleasure, either to have seen or heard them; but still their greatest Happiness was to have been alone. During this, Destiny demanded of la Garouffiere what he had to say to him. Do you know a certain Gentleman called Verville, quoth Garouffiere, and is he one of your Friends? He is the only Person that I have been most obliged to in the World, replied Destiny, and whom I honour most, and who I ●elieve has the like kindness and respect for me. I believe it, answered Garouffiere, for I met him to Day at the Gentleman's, where I dined, and all his Discourse was of you. He asked me a Hundred Questions concerning you, without my being able to satisfy him in any, and if I had not promised to send you to him, he would certainly have come hither to wait on you before now, altho' he has a great deal of business upon his Hands where he is. Destiny thanked him hearty for his kind Information, and having learned farther from him, where his Friend Verville was to be found resolved to go to him that Minute, hoping to learn from him some News of his Enemy Saldagne, whom he knew very well to be the Author of the carrying away of Angelica, and provided she were not mistaken, in the Voice she heard. of the ravishing of his dear Star likewise. He desired his Companions therefore to return immediately to Man's, and to Congratulate Mrs. Cave in his Name, for the News of the finding of her Daughter, and moreover desired of them ●●ther to send a Man on purpose, or else some one of them to come back speedily, and bring him Word how his dear dear Madam Star did, providing he could hear any News of 〈◊〉 there. He informed himself farther of Garonffiere, which was the way to the Town where Verville was to be found. After which having made the Curate to promise that his Sister should take care of Angelica, till such time as he sent for her from Man's, He took Leander's Horse, and got about Night to the Town where Verville was. He did not think it proper 〈◊〉 go to look after Verville himself for fear he should meet with saldagne, at his first coming whom he knew to be thereabouts, 〈◊〉 therefore going to a little Hedge-Inn hardby, he sent the Boy to Verville to let him know that the Gentleman who●● he had desired to see, was there waiting for him. Verville came, and throwing his Arms about Destiny's Neck, continued for some time embracing him, being scarce able to show the Love and Tenderness he had for him. Let us leave them in each others Arms for a while, as Persons that thought they should never see one another again, and proceed to the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XII.  
Which perhaps will entertain its Reader as little as the foregoing.  
VErville and Destiny gave an account to each other of all matters concerning them, which they were separately ignorant of. Verville tells Destiny of the wondrous Brutality of his Brother St. Far, and of the great Patience of his Wife in bearing with him. Thence he takes an occasion to extol his own Happiness in having so good a Woman to his, and afterwards tells him News of the Baron D'Arques his Father, and of Monsieur de St. Sauveur. Destiny on his part relates all his Adventures, not concealing the least, and Verville farther acquaints him, that Saldagne still continued to live thereabouts as ill a Life as ever, and promised him withal, that if Madam Star were to be found in his Custody, he would do all that lay in his Power to recover her out of his Hands, at the hazard both of his own Life and those of his Friends which he could Command. He farther tells him, that he had no place to retire to but his Father's, and another Gentleman's in the Country, who was as bad as he, and besides, who had little or no Estate to maintain himself, and therefore could not be able to entertain another long. He must therefore, continued he, come to our House speedily, if he will remain in our Province. My Father bears with him 'tis true, on account of some Relation; but my Brother St. Far cates no more for him, whatever Friendship has been formerly between them. I would advise you therefore, proceeded he, to come along with me to my Fathers to Morrow, and I will place you so that you shall observe all that he does, and notwithstanding be seen by 〈◊〉 but those you have a mind to see. This Advice of 〈◊〉 Friend Verville's Destiny liked very well, and resolved to follow it; but Verville being to go to Supper that Night with the Lord of the Town, an old Man his Relation, who had designed him for his Heir, it could not be put in execution till the next Morning. Destiny for his part Supped only on what he could find in the Inn, and went to Bed betimes that he might not make his Friend wait for him the next Day, for that they had designed to be on their Journey by Sun rising. At the Hour appointed they set forth, and as they rid along for three Leagues together, entertained each other with those Particulars that they had not time to speak of before. Assoon as they were got to their Journeys end, Verville placed Destiny in the House of a Servant of his, whom he had married not long before to a Woman in that Town, and who lived very prettily, not far off from the Baron D'Arques his Father. He gave particular orders that he should be kept private, and promised that he would return to him in a very short time. It was not above two Hours before he did return accordingly; but acquainted Destiny at first dash, that he had bad News to tell him. Hereupon Destiny began to grow pale and to tremble, but Verville soon removed the cause thereof, by the following Relation. I was no sooner alighted. quoth he to Destiny. but I saw your Friend Saldagne carried between four Men into a Ground Chamber, and that by reason of a fall he had got from his Horse, which had so bruised him, that he was not able to walk. At the first sight of me he told me he had occasion to speak with me, and desired me to come to his Chamber after that the Surgeon, that was then present, had done dressing of his Leg, which was extremely shattered by his fall. I came accordingly, and assoon as we were alone, he began thus. I must, says he, confess all my Faults to you, tho' you are the least indulgent of any of my Censurers, your Prudence being a continual terror to my Folly. He afterwards owned to me, that he had carried away a Woman Player, for whom he had had a kindness all his Life long, and would tell me the Particulars thereof, which he believed I would be surprised at. He told me consequently that the Gentleman I was speaking of before, who had been used to entertain him, having been obliged to leave the Province on account of siding with a Brother of his, who had been found to have made bad Salt, he was forced to bring his Booty to my Father's House, and that he had desired of his Sister, my Wife, that she would conceal her in her Apartment, for fear this action of this should come to my Father's knowledge, which he said, he ●dreaded. He afterwards conjured me to lend him one of my Servants, because his own were great Blockheads, that might conduct her safe to an House of his in Britain, whither he said he would follow assoon as ever he could well mount a Horse. He asked me farther, if I could not procure him a Man or two more to accompany my Servant, for well he knew how difficult a thing it would be for three Men to carry off a Woman so far without her consent. I made him believe it was an easy matter, the better to serve you. Now, continued Verville to Destiny, his Servants are altogether Strangers to you, and mine is a very cunning Fellow and Faithful to me, therefore I will cause him to tell Saldagne that he will take along with him a stout Fellow an Acquaintance of his to his Assistance; and this same Fellow I design shall be you. Therefore, pursued he, your Mistress must be acquainted with this, and this very Night that they think to get a great way by the help of the Moon, she must feign herself sick at the first Village; then will they be obliged to stop; my Servane shall make Saldagnes Men drunk. She shall afterwards seem to recover, and then proceeding on in their journey, it will be an easy matter for my Men to impose on the Drunkards, and to make them believe that you come behind with their Charge, when it shall be so contrived that you shall go a quite contrary way, and so carry your dear Star clear off. Destiny found a great deal of masterly Contrivance in this Proposal of Vervilles, and whose Man, whom they had just then sent for, entered the Chamber much at the same time. They consulted together what they had to do, and agreed on all Points. Afterwards Verville retired with Destiny the rest of the Day, being unwilling to part with him so quickly after so long absence, tho' he nevertheless hoped to see him again at Bourbon whither he was to go. At length Night came and Destiny went with Verville's Servant to the place appointed. Saldagnes two Men failed not to be there likewise when Verville by Saldagnes order consigned into their Hands the Charge of Madam Star. You cannot imagine what Joy inflamed these two Lovers Hearts at this interview, but speak they must not, and look languishingly they dare not, so that their Passion might be well termed inexpressible. They had not gone above half a League before Madam Star began to complain. Her Attendants exhorted her to take Courage till she came to a Town about two Leagues off, where they gave her hopes she should rest. Her Malady increased at every Step, and Vervilles Man and Destiny did all that in them lay to prevent Saldagnes Servants from mistrusting the reality of her Sickness so near to the place they set out from. At last they arrived at the Town, and immediately went to the Inn (whereof there was but one in all the Place, which they happily found full of Guests and Drunkards. Madam Star continued to grunt, and feigned Sickness better by candlelight than she had done before. She called for a Bed and lay down thereon in her clothes, requiring her Guards but to leave her for an Hour only, and she did not question but by that time she should be sit to get on Horseback again. They left her, and Saldagnes Servants left all other Matters to the management of Vervilles Man, who had their Master's Orders. For their parts they thought they had no more to do than to make much of themselves, and in order thereto, struck in with a jolly Company of roaring Boys, who were placed round a Table, and who pelted one another with Healths as thick as Hail-shot flies from the Mouth of a Demi-Culvetih. Vervilles Man would sometimes step in and take his Glass to renew the Fight when there was like to be any Cessation. His reason for often slinching, was because he had the care of the Lady; but the truth on't was, he had a mind to get an opportunity to mount her and Destiny, and to send them away, which he soon after did by By-roads; but therein varied from the Stratagem his Master had laid, as you may have observed before. After he had so done, he returned to his Drunkards, amusing them with flim flam Stories, and telling them the Lady was for the present gone to sleep, but that she would soon awake, and then they would be jogging onwards of their Journey. He told them likewise, that Destiny was gone into the Stable to look after the Horses, but would return presently. He then put about the Glass, and toasted several Healths, all which Saldagnes Men took in Bumpers, till at last their Heads grew so heavy, that they could not possibly lift them from the Table. It was therefore they were forced to be carried out, and thrown upon a lump of Straw in a Barn, for Beds they were not to be suffered to lie upon, for ●ear they should have spoiled the Sheets. Vervilles Man feigned himself Drunk. likewise, but which he really was not, by reason he had often balked his Glass. In the Morning he waked betimes, and going sorrowfully to his Companions in the Barn, he told them their Charge was flown, but that he had sent his Friend Destiny after her, who he hoped would o●ertake and bring her back. However he thought it both ●heirs and his Duty to mount immediately, and assist in the pursuit, and therefore bid them to rise instantly and prepare to ●e gone. It was at least an Hour before he could make them ●mprehend what he said, and I'll assure you 'twas near eight Days after before they were wholly Sober. As all the Inn 〈◊〉 Drunk that Night, even from the Hostess to the Scullion-Wench no Body took the least notice when Destiny and his dear Star went away; and I believe they scarce remembered next Day whether they had seen any such People there or not. Whilst Matters passed thus, and Vervilles Man pressed his sluggish Companions to be gone; Destiny had gained Ground apace with his dear Fellow Traveller, not doubting in the least but that his Friend behind had taken care, whenever they got out, to lead his Pursuers a contrary way. The Moon shone out very bright, and the Road they had to go was extremely good, which led them to a Town whither we will bring them in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XIII.  
A bad Action committed by the Sieur de la Rappiniere, and a farther Account of Madam Star's and Destiny's Travels.  
DEstiny as he road along, had a great desire to know o● his dear Star how she came to the Wood where Saldagne seized her, but this, tho' he would have willingly been satisfied in, yet still had he more regard to their safeties, and therefore spent all his time in spurring and switching his own● and his Mistress' Beast forwards. At length the two Love● had leisure to entertain each other, which they did, with all the Expressions and Demonstrations of Love and Affection imaginable. Then proceeded Madam Star, to tell Destiny how many good turns she had done her Mother Mrs. Cave, an● how extremely she belived she would be Afflicted at he● Absence. As for my part, continued she, you may well imagin● that I had as great need of Consolation as she, for assoon as you● Valet had brought me a Horse from you, and withal, acquainted 〈◊〉 that you had found the Ravishers of Angelica, but were wounde● I—, I wounded! quoth Destiny interrupting her, I never we yet, no nor in the least danger of being so, neither did I ever send 〈◊〉 any Horse. There must be some Mystery in this, continud 〈◊〉 which I have not comprehended yet. I wondered indeed what 〈◊〉 you ask me so often how I did, and whether the going so fast 〈◊〉 not incomode me; but now all's out. You rejoice and 〈◊〉 me at once, answered Madam Star, with this Relation. Y● Wounds caused me a great deal of disquiet 'tis true, and now what you tell me inclines me to believe that your Servant has been gained over to our Enemies, out of some ill design they have projected against us. He has rather been debauched, replied Destiny, by some that are too much our Friends. I have no professed Enemy, continued he, but Saldagne, and it is unlikely that he should have seduced my Servant, because I know he beat him at the time that he met with you. How came you to know that, said Star, for I don't remember I ever told it you? You shall know, replied Destiny, assoon as ever you have made me acquainted with the manner of your coming from Mans. I can acquaint you with no more, quoth Star, than what I have told you already. The Day after, proceeded she, that my Mother Mrs. Cave and I came to Man's, your Servant brought me a Horse from you, and told me with Tears in his Eyes, that you had been Wounded by the Ravishers of Angelica, and that therefore you desired I would make all the haste I could to you. I got on Horseback presently, for that purpose, altho' it was very late. I lay about 5 Leagues from Man's, at a place whose name I have forgot, and next Day at the entrance of a Wood, we were stopped by Persons I did not know. I saw your Servant beaten and was extremely concerned at it, but could not hinder it. I saw likewise a Woman suddenly thrown off from a Horse, and whom I afterwards knew to be my Companion, but the great fright I was then in, joined with the extraordinary concern I had for your safety, made me to take little notice of it. They mounted me in the place of her they had pulled off. We traveled till Night, and afterwards having gone a great deal more Ground, for the most part cross the Country, we arrived at a sort of Gentleman's House, where I observed they would not receive us. It was there that I first knew Saldagne, the sight of whom caused me immediately to despair. We after that traveled a great way farther, and at length I was secretly conveyed into the House where your Friend found me. As Madam Star had just ended the Relation of her Adventures, the Day began to appear, whereby they perceived they were in the high-wood that leads to Mans. They forthwith whipped their Horses forwards, more vigorously than they had hitherto done, to reach a Town they saw before them. Destiny desired earnestly to catch his Servant and thereby to discover what other Enemy he had in that Country besides his professed one Saldagne; but there was no likely hood that he would suffer himself to light into his Clutches, after the ill trick he had played him. He learned from his dear Star all that she knew concerning her Companion Angelica; and while they were thus amusing each other with Questions and Answers, their Horses started all of a sudden; at the sight of a Man that lay at his full length under a Hedge. Destiny's. Horse almost leaped from under him, but Madam Star's was so frighted, that he quite threw her off, violently upon the Ground. After Destiny had recovered himself, he went to see how his Love fared, but he could scarce alight to assist her his Horse so snaffled and pranched, and tripped. At last he made shift to leap off his Back, and found to his great Joy that his dear Star had got no hurt. After which, the Horses being somewhat come to themselves, he went up to observe the cause of their fright, and found it was a Man, whom he took either to be dead or asleep. Upon a nearer view he saw he was both, for he was dead Drunk; altho' his snoring showed him to be alive, yet Destiny had no small trouble to awake him. At length by often pulling and tearing him about, he opened his Eyes, and thereby discovered himself to his Master to be his Servant, whom he had longed so much to find, The Rogue as Drunk as he was, nevertheless knew his Master, and by the fear he seemed to have of him, betrayed his being Author of what he before doubted of. Destiny immediately asked him several Questions successively, without waiting for Answers till he had done. As first, Why he had told Madam Star that he was Wounded? Why he carried her away from Man's? And whither he designed to have carried her? By whose order he had the Horse? and the like. To all which Questions, he nevertheless, could not get a Word in Answer, either because the Rascal his Man was ●●o drunk to have the use of his Tongue, or else by reason he feigned himself to be so. This made Destiny to fly into a great Passion, insomuch that having struck him two or three Blows with the flat of his Sword, he took a Halter and tied his Hands fast behind him, and fastened the other e●● to the Crupper of his Horse, intending to make him march in that manner to his Journeys end. After which he mounted Star upon her Horse again, and having snatched a good Cudgel out of the Hedge, got up himself to proceed on his Journey, his Man walking all the way by his side, like a Greyhound in a slip. The Town which Destiny saw before him, happened to be the same that he had parted from two Days before, where he had met Monsieur de la Garouffiere, and where his Company still remained, by reason of a grievous Colera Morbus that Madam Bouvillon had had ever since. When Destiny arrived he found neither Rancour, Olive nor Ragotin, they having all returned to Man's the Day before. As for Leander he had never quitted in the least his dear Angelica. I need not tell you after what manner she received Madam Star; it may be easily guessed at what Caresses two such Lovers would lavish away upon each other, after so many dangers escaped on either side. Destiny immediately informed Monsieur de la Garouffiere of the success of his Expedition, and a little after, his Man being brought in, who was not yet unbound, he proceeds to ask him the same Questions as before; but to which nevertheless the Rascal stood mute, as he had formerly done. This Obstinacy of his, caused his Master to order a Hand-Vice to be fetched from the Gun-smiths, wherewith to squeeze his Thumbs, and make him confess by those means. At the fight of the Engine the Rogue immediately fell a trembling and falling down on his Knees, begged hearty for Pardon, Confessing at the same time, that la Rappiniere had set him on to do what he had done, and that he had moreover promised him for Recompense to take him into his Service. He farther owned that la Rappiniere was then at a House about two Leagues off, which he had usurped upon a poor Widow. Destiny continued talking in private for some time with Mon●●eur de la Garouffiere, who soon after sent a Footman to let la Rappiniere know that he would speak with him about an Affair of Consequence. This Councillor of Rennes had it seems a great Influence over the Provost of Mans. He had formerly prevented his being broke on the Wheel in Britain, and had likewise always made it his Business to protect him whenever he came to be accused of any Crime, and that not because he thought him Innocent, being satisfied that ho had ●een Guilty of various Offences, but by reason that he had ●arried a Relation of his. The Servant that was sent to la●appiniere, found him just then getting on Horseback to go 〈◊〉 Man's, but no sooner had he heard that la Garouffiere had 〈◊〉 for him, but he put off that Journey to go wait on him. 〈◊〉 the mean time la Garouffiere who had some pretence to wit, ●ew but of a Scrutore several Copies of Verses, of divers kinds, 〈◊〉 which he read to Destiny, and afterwards showed him, to pass ●●ay the time, the following Novel Translated from the ●mish.   

CHAP. XIV.  
The judge in her own Cause, a Novel.  
IT was in Africa, among the Rocks by the Sea side, and not distant from the famous City of Fez above half an Hours Journey, that Prince Muley Son to the King of Morocco, after having strayed from his Companions while he was Hunting, happened to be left alone. The Sky was without the least Cloud, the Sea calm, and the Moon and Stars shone out so bright, that they in a manner Rivalled the Sun: In a Word, all these agreeable accidents met together, made one of those Nights, which in hot Countries, like this, are far more pleasant than what we call the finest Days in our Northern Regions. The Moorish Prince Galloping along the Shore, diverted himself with beholding the exceeding brightness of the Moon and Stars, and which communicated their Splendour to the Water, wherein they were also to be seen as in a Mirror. As he was thus amusing himself, he heard several doleful Shrieks hard by which his curiosity inclining him to know the occasion of, he spurred forwards his Horse, which if you please shall be 〈◊〉 Barbary Courser, and rid to the place whence he thought th● Noise came. He there discovered a Woman defending her sel● with all her might against a Man that endeavoured to bin● her Hands, whilst another Woman at the same time was 〈◊〉 gling with her to stop her Mouth with a piece of Linne● The coming of the young Prince prevented all farther 〈◊〉 lence from being offered her, and occasioned an in volunty Truce on the Assualters' sides. Muley at his first arrival 〈◊〉manded of the assaulted Woman What made her to 〈…〉 And of the others What they were going to do? But 〈◊〉 of an Answer, the Man that was the Aggressor stepped up to him with his drawn Scymeter, and launched at him such a terrible stroke, as would have undoubtedly Wounded him 〈◊〉 dangerously had he not dexterously avoided it by the ●●●●●ness of his Horse. Villain, cried Muley, to him, turning 〈◊〉 Horses Head, How durst you Assaidt the Prince of Fez? I 〈◊〉 not well know you to be he, replied the Moor, but since you happen to be so, it is because you are my Prince that I will either have your Life or lose my own. With that, he immediately upon him, with that fury, that the Prince as Valiant as was, thought less of Chastizing his Subject's Insolence than defending his own Life. The two Women at the same time were at Fisticuffs, and she that a Moment before had been almost overpowered, was now become courageous, and kept her Adversary from flying, hoping that her Champion would get the Victory. Despair ever augments Courage, and oftentimes gives it to those whose natural Timidity made them uncapable of having it before. Although the Valour and Conduct of this Prince were incomparably greater than those of his Adversary, yet did the self-Conviction of this Moor, together with the dread of Punishment, so animate his Spirits, and direct his Arm, that the Combat remained for some time doubtful: But at last Heaven, that always is ready to protect those it raises above others, caused the Prince's Attendants to come near that way, who being alarumed at the noise of the Combatants, and the cries of the Women, immediately rid Post to see what was the matter, and arrived just at the time, when their Master by a lusty blow, had brought his Enemy to the Ground. They presently knew their Lord, and therefore run with great Fury to have dispatched his vanquished Adversary; but the Prince calling out to them, bid them to forbear killing him, and ordered them, only to tie him to a Horse's Tail, it being his Intentions to have him reserved for a more exemplary Punishment, Two of the Horsemen took up the two Women behind them, and with this Equipage Muley and his Company returned to Fez much about daybreak. This young Prince commanded in Fez as absolutely as if he had been already King. Soon after his arrival, he commanded the Moor, whose name was Amet, and Son to one of the richest Merchants in Fez, to be brought before him; the two Women were ordered to be brought likewise; but they were known to no Body, by reason of the Custom of concealing that Sex, which is observed here stricter than in any other Parts. She of the two whom the Prince had relieved, surprised both him and the Court with her Beauty; it being so great, that all Africa had not the like to boast of, and withal so Majestic, that even a Slaves Habit, which she wore, could not obscure it. The other Woman was clothed like to those of this Country, which are of some Quality, and who likewise had Beauty, but which could not stand in competition with that of the other, and had it been possible the paleness of her Cheeks alone, occasioned by her Fear, would have lost her the Victory, when the other would have rather received advantage by a guiltless Blush and a fearless Mind. The Moor appeared before Muley with Gild in his Countenance, keeping his Eyes all the while fixed upon the Ground. The Prince commanded him to confess his Crime, if he would not die in Torments. I know those that are prepared for me, answered he boldly, all which, and greater, I have deserved; yet still, had I thought it would have been for my Advantage, even the greatest could be inflicted on me, would not have been able to have extorted the least Confession from me. But since I know that nothing can avail to save my Life, seeing I would have been the Instrument of your Death, Know, great Prince, that the qnger I have conceived against myself for not having killed you, torments me more than the utmost of Tortures can do. As for these two Spanish Women here, added he, they have both been my Slaves; whereof one who knew best how to play her Cards, has married my Brother Zaide, when the other, more obstinate, would never yet change her Religion, nor except the frequent Proffers of Love which I have made her. Here he stopped, and would give no farther account either of them or himself, notwithstanding the great Meanaces made him. This caused Muley to have him immediately thrown into a Dungeon loaded with Irons; the Renegado, Wife of Zaide, was ordered to another Prison. But the fair Slave the Prince commanded to be conducted to a Moors House named Zulema, a Man of Quality, and by birth a Spaniard, but who had left that Country, because he would not be forced to turn Christian. He was of the illustrious Family of Zegris, heretofore so renowned in Grenada, and his Wife Zaraide, likewise of the same Lineage, was reputed to be the finest Woman, whether for Beauty or Wit; in all Fez. She was at first charmed with the Beauty and Conversation of this fair Christian Slave, and therefore, if she had been capable of being Comforted, she might have found sufficient Consolation in her Caresses; but on the contrary, as if she had forsworn all manner of Comforts, she always desired to be alone, thereby to give the better vent to her Grief; for when she was in Zoraides Company, she underwent no small torture by retaining her Sighs and her Tears. All this while Prince Muley was very desirous of having an account of her Adventures. He had made his Mind already known to Zulema, and who being a Person from whom he could conceal nothing; he had likewise acquainted him that he had a sort of Love for this fair Christian, and which he would before have let her known had not he apprehended from her great Afflictions some unknown Rival in Spain, who might be too luckily prepossessed of her Favour. Zulema having received this hint from his Lord, immediately gave Orders to his Wife to get what particulars she could out of this fair Christian concerning her Life, but especially how she came to be a Slave to Amet. Zoraide was as desirous as the Prince of knowing these Particulars, and therefore was not long before she set about it; she had little reason to think she should be refused, because she had been so wonderfully Civil to her. Agreeable to her Wishes the fair Spaniard answered her, that she would satisfy her Curiosity whenever she pleased; but having nothing but Misfortunes to acquaint her with, she feared she would find her Relation somewhat tiresome. You will be convinced, replied Zoraide, that is cannot be so, when you see the attention I shall give to it, and by the concern that I shall infallibly show for your bad Portune. I dare say you will be apt to believe you could entrust your Secrets with no truer Friend. This said, they threw their Arms over each other Necks, and embraced so hearty, as if they never dosigned to quit that Posture. Afterwards the fair Slave wiping her Eyes. which shed Tears abundantly at the remembrance of her Misfortunes, began her Story in the following manner. I am, said she, a Spaniard by Birth, was born at Valencia and my name is Sophia. I was Educated with that Care and Charge as would become a rich Father and Mother to bestow on the first Fruits of their Marriage. I had a Brother younger than I by a year. He was lovely as may be, and loved me dearly, as I loved him; our mutual Friendship was so great, that we were never easy when we were asunder, and therefore our Parents took care that we should seldom be so. We learned together all those Exercises that are usually taught Youth of either Sex, and thence it came to pass, to the surprise of every Body, that I was equally skilful with him in the manage as he was with me in the Arts of the Needle. This extraordinary sort of Education of ours caused a Gentleman our Neighbour to desire of my Father that his Children might be bred along with us. His Request was granted, and having only a Son and Daughter, about the Age of us, it gave occasion to the Town of Valencia to think that there would one Day be a Counter Marriage between us. Don Carlos and Lucy, were the Names of these two young Companions of ours. The former was handsome, and loved me dearly, which I reciprocally returned. Our Parents observed it, but were so far from either disliking or opposing it, that they rather encouraged and approved it, and I believe would certainly have soon married us together, had not they thought us too young. At length our delusive Happiness was stifled by the Death of my Brother; a violent fever carried him off in eight Days, and from his Death sprung the first cause of my Misfortunes. Lucy was so affected with it, that she obstinately re'solved to turn Nun. I had brought myself even to Death's door for Grief, and Don Carlos likewise had so great a share of Concern, that he gave his Parents little hopes to believe he would survive it, so much the loss of my Brother, the danger I was in, and the Resolutions of his Sister had wrought upon him. At last, thanks to our Youth, we all recovered, and Time in some measure moderated our Afflictions. The Father of Don Carlos died not long after, and left him both Rich and out of Debt. His Riches furnished him with Ability to gratify his gallant Humour, and his Gallantry flattered my Vanity, exposed his Love to public knowledge, and augmented mine. Don Carlos was often found at my Parents Feet, conjuriug them not to defer his Happiness any longer, and my Father was inclinable to hearken to his Request, for fear his profuse Courtship might in time diminish his Fortune; he gave him Hopes therefore, that he should speedily be his Son-in-law. This raised Don Carlos to so high a pitch, that he lavished out his Love at an extraordinary rate, and which would have been alone sufficient to have convinced me of his Sincerity, had I not had so many preceding Proofs of his Passion. To add to his other profuseness, he presented me with a Ball, and invited all the Town of Valencia to it. But to his Misfortune as well as mine, thither came among the rest, a Neapolitan Count, whom some Affairs of Importance had brought into Spain: This Count it seems, took so great a fancy to me, that he must needs be in Love with me, and in order to gratific his Passion, was not long before he demanded me in Marriage, after having been informed of the quality of my Father, in the Kingdom of Valencia. My Father was so dazzled with the Title of this Stranger, that he immediately consented to all he asked, and from that very Hour, forbidden Don Carlos to pretend any more to me. He likewise strictly enjoined me to receive no more of his Visits, and moreover Commanded me for the future to look upon the Italian Count as a Person that was to marry me at his return from Madrid, whither he was then going, and would come back in a short time. I dissembled my dislike for the present to my Father's Proposals, but when I was alone Don Carlos would sincerely come into my Mind, whom I thought the most aimable Man in the World, while I could not find with my utmost endeavours the least thing agreeable, nay, scarce tolerable, in his Rival; so that it was equally impossible for me to Love the one and to forget the other. I had recourse upon this occasion to Tears, but sound those a feeble remedy against so great a Malady as mine. While I was in this Condition, Don Carlos entered the Room, but that without his usual Custom of ask leave. He found me all in Tears, which made him to lose the Power of withholding his own, however great had been his Resolutions not to betray the Sentiments of his Heart till he had dived into the utmost of mine. He threw himself at my Feet, and taking me by the Hand, which he all bathed with his Tears, Sophy, said he to me, What must I lose you then? Must a Stranger who has scarce the Honour to be known to you, be notwithstanding preferred to me? Shall he possess you Sophy, and will you consent to it? You whom I have loved so dearly, and who have always endeavoured to make me believe that you loved me likewise? Shall your Father pretend to dispose of you, when he has already given you me? Your Father, the most unjust Man living! If you were a Person, continued he, whose Merit could be valued, my Fidelity alone would be able to purchase you. But, pursued he, since you are inestimable, I beg you to believe that if I have had the ambition to aspire to you, I shall not want the Courage to revenge myself on him whom you causeless prefer to me. But however, added he sighing, If it be your pleasure that my Rival should live happy in your Favour, I will forego all attempts upon him, and only Revenge your unkindness upon myself by some cruel and sudden Death. Don Carlos, answered I, will you join with an unjust Father, and a hated Lover to torment me, and do you impute that to me for a Crime, which is only a Misfortune common to us both? Pity me, added I, instead of accusing me, and bethink of means to preserve me yours, rather than reproach me with a Fault I am no ways Guilty of. I believe I may have better reason to reflect on you for not having sufficiently loved me, since I find you have not yet sufficiently known me. But we have no time to lose in vain Words, continued I, carry me whither you please, for you shall always find me disposed to follow you. At these Words, Don Carlos, was more transported with Joy than he had been before depressed with Grief; and therefore having begged my Pardon for the injustice he had done me, he proposed to fetch me away the Night following. For this purpose he spent all that Day in ordering his Affairs. He got together a good Sum of Money, and hired a Barcelona Vessel which would be ready to put to Sea at what time he desired: For my part, young as I was, I had Wit to manage the Secret so well, that no Body ever so much as mistrusted us. I got all my Mother's Jewels, and scraped up what Money I could get. At the Hour appointed Carlos' his Page Claudio, waited for me at the Gate. He told me that his Master had sent him to conduct me on Board, and that he could not come himself, for Reasons he would satisfy me in when he saw me. At the same time came a Slave that belonged to Don Carlos, and who was likewise very well known to me, to accompany me. We got easily out of the City, by means of the good contrivance we had laid, and were not gone far before we saw a Vessel riding in the Harbour, whose Boat waited for us on the Shore. The Seamen told me that my dear Don Carlos would come immediately, and that I had no more to do but to go into the Boat. I was carried in by the Slave, but had no sooner been set down, than I perceived the Seamen forcing in Claudio, whom I observed to be unwilling to enter. This increased my concern for the absence of Carlos, and thereupon I immediately demanded of the Slave where he was. He surlily answered, that wherever he was he was no more for me. Having said this he left me, and in a little while after, I heard Claudio above upbraiding the Slave after this manner. Is it thus Traitor Amet that you perform your Promise, to rid me of a Rival, and leave me with my Love? To which the Slave replied, Imprudent Claudia! am I obliged to keep my Word with you, when yw have not scrupled to betray your Master, and how could I expect you would be true to me, and not send the Guards out after me to take my dear Sophy from me, whom I love more than my Life, when I have observed how villainously you have served both him and her? These Words spoken to a Woman whom I took always for a Man. and concerning matters which I knew nothing of, raised so fierce a discorder in me, that I fell dead for the present, in the Arms of the perfidious Moor. By that time my Fit was over, our Vessel had got a good way to Sea. You can't imagine when I came to myself, what a confusion I was in, for than I plainly perceived I was in the Hands of Moors, and Enemies to our Faith. I knew that the Slave Amet had all sort of Authority, and that his Brother Zaide was Captain of the Vessel. Amet no sooner saw me in a condition to hear him, but he made me a short declaration of his Love, professing he had had a kindness for me a long time, and that his Passion was the cause of his carrying me away. Moreover that he designed to carry me to Fez, where it should be my own fault if I were not as happy, if not happier, than I could have been in Spain. And lastly, he had the Impudence to urge to me, that he did not doubt but in a short time I would have no reason to regret the loss of Don Carlos. I had scarce patience to hear him out, before I flew upon him with all the Vigour and Courage that my Fit had left me, and by an Address which I told you before I had learned from my Education snatching his Scymitar out of the Scabbard, I was going to punish his Perjury with the loss of his Life, had not his Brother Zaide timely stepped in and provented me. I was presently Disarmed, for having once miss my blow I could not possibly defend myself against so great a number of Enemies. Amet, whom my unexpected Attempt had frighted, commanded all but me to go out of the Room, and afterwards followed himself. He left me in such a condition as you may imagine after so cruel a reverse had happened to my Fortune. I spent all that Night in Tears, and the Day following I nothing but grieved and took on. Time that generally alleviates other People's Misfortunes, had no effect upon mine. The second Day was as Uncomfortable to me as the first, or rather more tormenting, for when I reflected upon the never seeing Don Carlos more, how could I propose to myself any future Consolation? Amet always found me so terrible whenever he offered to accost me, that he came no more near me. From time to time they brought me Victuals to eat, but which I refused with that obstinacy, as made the Moor to fear that he had brought me away to no purpose. In the mean time the Ship had passed the straits, and was not far off the Coasts of Fez; when Claudio entering the Room, assoon as I perceived him, I began with him after this manner. Villain, said I, you have betrayed me, and what could induce you to so base an Action after you had been so well used both by me and Don Carlos? you were too well beloved, answered he, and since I loved Don Carlos likewise, what ill have I done in endeavouring to ●id myself of a Rival? But if I have betrayed you, added he, Amet has also betrayed me, and I shall have as great reason to lament as you, if I do not think of some way not to remain alone miserable. ' Explain these Riddles, replied I, and learn me who you are, that I may know of what Sex I have you for my Enemy? Sophy, than continued he, I am of ●he same Sex with you, and like you have been in Love with Don Carlos; but if our love has been equal, its success has been different; he always loved you, and was ever inclinable ●o believe that you returned his Passion, whilst me, he neither loved nor could think I loved him so dearly as I did, by reason that he never knew who I was. I am of Valencia ●●ke you, and was not born so low but Don Carlos might have married me without disparagement; but his Mind was all set upon you, and you were the only Object of his Vows and Wishes. It was not but I endeavoured to make my Eyes save the labour of my Tongue, and take the shameful Confession of my Love upon them. I always laid myself in his way and used all those little Artifices that he would have done to Captivate me, had it been his own Case. I might have often disposed of myself in Marriage to Advantage, had not the hopes I had of one Day winning him over always prevented my Fortune; Insomuch that instead of being discouraged at his repulse, I found them a means to love him the more. At length, being resolved to neglect nothin that might serve to bring him about, I put myself into Man's Apparel, and cut my Hair, and so disguised caused myself to be presented to Don Carlos for a Page by an old Woman, who told him that my Father was a poor Gentleman, that lived upon the Mountains of Toledo. My Face and Mien it seems pleased your Lover so well, that he presently resolved to take me. He was as well satisfied with my Wit as pleased with my Voice and manner of Singing, as likewise with my skill in playing on all sorts of Instruments that Persons of Quality are wont to divert themselves with. He believed he had met with Qualifications in me that were not to be commonly found in Pages; and I gave him so many Proofs of my Fidelity and Discretion that he treated me more like his Friend and Confident than Servant. This you are able to tostific better than any Person breathing; and you know besides, how often you have commended me to Carlos, both behind my Back and to my Face, and likewise done me several other good Offices with him, but I was mad to think that I must be indebted for all these to a Rival, and that at the same time that they rendered me more agreeable to Don Carlos, they made you more Hateful to the unfortunate Claudia, (for so is my true Name.) In the mean time your Marriage advanced and my Hopes went back; but assoon as it was concluded they went utterly lost. The Italian Count who became about that time in Love with you. and whose Quality and Estate gained as much upon your Father, as his bad Mien and Conditions lost him in your Esteem, gave me nevertheless the Pleasure to see you disturbed and which caused me to flatter myself with those Foolish hopes which change always offer● to the unhappy. At last your Father preferred the Stranger whom you loved not, to Don Carlos, whom you loved, and I had then the satisfaction to see one that made me unfortunate unfortunate himself, and my Rival that I hated, yet more unhappy. My Pleasure was only augmented when I considered that I lost nothing in him, because he never was mine, but that you were deprived of all in losing him, by reason that he was all yours. But this imaginery Happiness of mine, or to call it better, unfinished Hope, lasted not long. I learned from Don Carlos, that you were resolved to go away with him, and I was employed for that purpose to hire s Ship to carry you to Barcelona from whence you were to go, either to France or Italy, I can't tell which. All the force I had hitherto made use of to support me in my Misfortunes, forsook me at this Moment, I could now bear against the torrent of my unhappy Fate no longer, and therefore was forced to yield to it. My Griefs upon this occasion were so great that they made me downright Sick, and caused me to keep my Bed. One Day as I was lamenting my hard Usage to myself, and speaking louder than ordinary, out of a Confidence that I was not overheard, the Moor Amet appeared before me, who after he had suffered me to recover out of the surprise he had occasioned in me. Addressed himself to me in these Words. I have known you Claudia, even before the time that you disguised your Sex to become Page to Don Carlos, and if I have all this while concealed that knowledge from you, it was because I had a Design to bring about as well as you. I have overheard you enter into Resolutions of Despair. You have a mind to discover yourself to your Master for a young Woman that dies for Love of him, and afterwards to kill yourself in his Presence, whereby you think to incline his Pity, where you cannot otherwise engage his Heart. Poor Girl! What advantage wilt thou get by killing thyself, but assuring the possession of Carlos the firmer to thy Rival? I have better Advice to give thee, if thou hast Courage enough to take it. Deprive thy Lover of Sophia; the means of accomplishing it are easy; and tho' it requires a good deal of Resolution, yet has it occasion for no more than thou hast already had to Habit thyself like a Man, and thereby to hazard thy Honour to content thy Love. Harken to me then with attention, continued the Moor, and I will reveal to thee a Secret which I have never yet discovered to any Person, and if the Proposal I am about to make thee be disapproved. thou art at liberty either to receive or reject it. I am of Fez, pursued he, and a Man of Quality in my own Country. My Misfortunes made me a Slave to Don Carlos, and the Beauty of Sophia made me the like to her. I have told you a great deal of matter in few Words. Consider your own Unhappiness without remedy if you suffer your Lover to carry off your Mistress to Barcelona It is both yours and my Interest to prevent it, therefore let us lay hold on the occasion that offers. I have bargained for my Ransom, and have paid it. A Galliot from Africa waits for me in the Road, not far off that which Don Carlos has provided for the Execution of his Design. He has put it off for a Day longer, therefore let us interpose our Project to carry her away before him, in the aforesaid Galliot. In order to accomplish which, do you go immediately to Sophia, as from your Master, and let her know that he requires that she should departed this Night. For this purpose bring her away forthwith to my Vessel, and I will carry her to Africa; whereby you will remain behind alone, to possess your Lover, and who 'tis very likely will be inclined to favour your Passion, when he understands what you are, how well you love him, and moreover, that the recovery of his Sophia is impracticable. At these last Words of Claudias, continues Sophia, I became all of a sudden so oppressed with Grief, that I fainted away, and had scarce the least sign of Life left. The cries that Claudia made for help, who it may be now repent of what she had told me, brought Amet and his Brother into the Room. They made use of all the means that were proper to recover me, when coming at length to myself, I heard Claudia still persisting to reproach Amet with his Treachery. Infidel, said she to him, How could you have the baseness both to betray me, and to bring this Lady to the deplorable Condition you see her in? Or, How could you have the Heart to make me Guilty of Treachery to the Man I loved so dearly? How dare you report yourself to be Nobly born, when you are one of the very worst of Men? Peace Fool! replied Amet, and do not accuse me of a Crime to which you yourself were Accessary. I have told you before, that one that could betray a Master like yours, well deserves to be betrayed herself. I have proposed to carry you along with me, both to secure my own Life, and to prolong that of my dear Sophia, for I could easily guests what Tortures she must necessarily have undergone had you remined behind with her Lover discovered. The noise the Seamen made at their entrance into the Port of Sally, and the thundering of the Cannon, as well from the Vessel as the Castle, interrupted any farther Reproaches between Amet and Claudia, and at the same time delivered me from the sight of those two odious Objects. We landed, Claudia and I havaing our Faces all covered with Vails, and were lodged in a House of a Friends of the perfidious Amets'. The next Day we were put into a close Chariot and carried in that manner to Fez, where if Amet was overjoyed at the sight of his Relations and Friends ' I was no less afflicted and tormented at my Fate. As for Claudia, she was resolved to make herself easy, for she quickly turned Mahometan, and married in a little time to Zaide, Brother of the faithless Amet, This wicked Woman employed all her cunning to persuade me to change my Religion likewise, and to marry with Amet, as she had done with Zaide, but I thank Heaven, I still persisted in my Constancy, both to my first Faith, and my first Love. This caused Amet and his Friends to use me with all manner of ill treatment; but at last I was inclinable to believe that Claudia was not quite so bad as she seemed. In public she Persecuted me indeed as much or rather more than the rest, but in private she would ever now and then do me a good turn. One Day when all the other Women were gone to the public Baths, which you know 'tis a custom amongst you Mahometans to do so many times a Week, Claudia came to me in my Chamber, and with a sorrowful Countenance accosted me in the following manner. Fair Sophia, said she, whatever occasion I have hitherto has to bear you ill Will is now an end, by reason of my despair ever to possess him who loved me too little, because he loved you too much. I condemn myself incessantly for having been the means of making you miserable; but more especially for having abandoned my God, out of the fear of Men, ●he least of which Remorses is sufficient to make me undertake something unusual to my Sex. I can no longer live so remote from Spain, and that especially among Infidels, with whom I can neither expect Health while I live, nor Salvation when I come to die. You may judge of my sincere Repentance by ●he Secret I am going to trust you with, which makes you Mistress of my Life, by putting it in your Power to revenge the ●ll Offices I have been forced to do you, whenever you please. The Secret is this, Having procured about Fifty Christian Slave●, ●or the most part Spaniards, I engaged them to Secrecy, and fur●●sh'd them with Money sufficeint to hire a Bark, wherewith 〈◊〉 Transport us to Spain. Now you have nothing to do but 〈◊〉 follow my Fortune, either to save yourself, if the Fates so ●ermit, or else to perish with me rather than to live miserably ●mong Infidels. Determine then quickly, Sophia, continued she, ●hat you mean to do, and since we are along, let us presently 〈◊〉 upon deliberating on the most important Action of our ●ives, Hearing this Proposal of Claudia's I immediately threw myself at her Feet, and judging of her Sincerity by my own, I made her all manner of acknowledgements both in Words and Actions. Pursuant to our Project, we set a Time and Place for our flight, and which last, was to be behind some Roch by the Seaside, where she told me the Vessel lay waiting for us. On the Day appointed we set out, happily as I thought, because we got so easily out of the House and City. I admired the goodness of Heaven in favouring our escape with such Facility, and more than once offered up my Thanks in Acknowledgement. But however, the end of my Misfortunes was not so near as I thought. What Claudia acted was only by order of the perfidious Amet, than whom she yet more perfidiously led me to this abandoned Place, for no other reason than to expose me to the Lust of that wicked Moor, who durst not attempt any Violence on me in his Father's House, who tho' a Mahometan, was Morally Honest. I followed Innocently her that thus guided me to Ruin, and thought I could never make her sufficient Acknowledgement for obliging me with 〈◊〉 fair a prospect of my Liberty. We walked a good roun●● pace till we came among those Rocks, where she still persisted to tell me that her Slaves lay attending for her, when all of 〈◊〉 sudden, hearing a noise, and looking behind me, I perceive● the treacherous Amet coming towards us full drive, with 〈◊〉 drawn Scymitar in his Hand. Infamous Slaves, cried he aloud is it thus that ye convey away yourselves from your Maste● Service? I was just going to answer him when Claudia 〈◊〉 my Arms behind, and Amet throwing away his scimitar, and joining with her, to do the like to me 〈◊〉 they both endeavoured together to bind me with 〈◊〉 which they had provided for that Purpose. Having 〈◊〉 Art and Strength than Women commonly have, I resisted 〈◊〉 some time the Attempts of these two barbarous People; 〈◊〉 at length finding my Efforts o'er powered, I had no other ●●●medy than to have recourse to my Cries, which I hoped wo●●● induce some charitable Traveller to come to my Reliefs was just upon the brink of Despair as Prince Muley 〈◊〉 You have heard how he saved my Honour, and I might 〈◊〉 my Life, since I should infallibly have died of Grief, had 〈◊〉 succeeded in his brutish Designs upon me. Here, Sophy ●●●ed the tedious Relation of her Adventures, and the Frie● Zoraide exhorted her to rely upon the Prince's Generosity, 〈◊〉 she doubted not would afford her speedy Means to returns Spain. The same Day Zoraide went and acquainted her ●●●●band with every particular she had heard from Sophy, of●●● which, he consequently soon informed his Master Muley. 〈◊〉 tho' what had been told him concerning the Fortune of the Christian, did not at all flatter his Passion; yet was Muley●● vertheless pleased to hear she was preengaged in Affect●● that he might thereby avoid the baseness of tempting her. He highly valued her for her Virtue, and was disposed by his own to encourage and assist her in the Continuance of it; hereupon he dispatched Zoraide to let her know, that he would send her back to Spain assoon as ever she pleased; but not caring to trust to the frailty of his Nature, he had at the same time resolved to keep as much out of her sight as he could. Sophy for her part was employed in thinking how to make her return as secure as possible. She doubted if she should meet a Christian Ship, which was nevertheless very difficult for her to do, by reason that few or none traded hither, whether she should not find as bad Men on Board it as she had done before among the Moors. Sincerity is seldom observed on Board Vessels, and good Faith minded as little among Seamen as amongst Soldiers. Wherever Innocence and Beauty are met together Impudence will always take an occasion to Invade them. Whilst she was thus debating with herself, Zoraide advised her to take the Habit of a Man, and the rather, because her Shape was proper for that purpose: She told her also that it was Muley's Pleasure that she should do so, and who not being able to find a Man in Fez with whom he could safely entrust her, had provided a Companion for her of her own Sex, who was to be disguised likewise, whereby they might both easily avoid the Insolence of the Seamen and Passengers, if any were that way inclined. This Moorish Prince had formerly purchazed a Prize of a Corsair of Barbary. It was a Ship that had belonged to the Governor of Oran, which was carrying a Spanish Gentleman with his whole Family into Spain, and whom the Governor had sent thither a Prisoner out of some disgust. Muley had been informed that this Christian was a great Hunter, and as that Exercise was one of the choicest of his Diversions, he was resolved to keep him to himself; but for fear to make him uneasy, he ordered that he should not be separated from his Wife, his Son and Daughter. In two Years time that he lived in Fez, in Muley's Service, he had taught that Prince to Shoot admirably well, and that either sitting or flying. He had moreover instructed him in several other ways of Hunting unknown before to the Moors, By these means in a short time he gained so far upon the Prince's Favour, and became so Serviceable to him in all his Diversions, that when a Ransom was offered for him, he would by no means consent to part with him, but rather made it his daily endeavour to oblige him, and make him forget Spain. Notwithstanding this kindness of the Prince, the regret he had to be out of his own Country, and the unlikelihood of ever returning again, brought so deep a Melancholy upon him, that it soon ended his Days. His Wife likewise languished on the same account and lived not long after her Husband. When Muley saw how fatal his Favours to these Strangers had been, he began to be touched with Remorse and was exceeding sorry that he had not complied with their Desires; but since it was now too late, he resolved to reward the good Services of his Sportsman to his Children, and for that purpose, immediately sent for them into his Presence. The Daughter, whose name was Dorothy, was about the same Age with Sophy, and had both Wit and Beauty. Her Brother named Sancho, was younger, being not above Fifteen; both were made choice of by Muley to accompany Sophy to Spain. The Affair for some time was kept Secret; three Spanish Habits for Men were ordered to be got ready in the mean time. At length Muley displayed his Magnificence in a great quantity of precious Stones, which he gave to Sophy. To Dorothy and Sancho likewise he made several noble Presents, which together with what their Father had left them, and which had been all obtained from the Liberality of this Prince, made them to be considerably Rich. About the same time Charles V made War upon Africa, and had besieged the City of Tunis. He had sent an Ambassador to Muley, to treat about the Ransom of certain Spaniards of Quality, who had been Shipwrecked on the Coasts of Morocco. It was to this Ambassador that Muley recommended Sophy, under the name of a Man of Quality, called Don Fernando, Dorothy and her Brother were said to be his Attendants, one passing for his Gentleman, and the other for his Page. Sophy and Zoraide could not part without the greatest reluctance. They shed abundance of Tears, and gave each other unquestonable Proofs of a Reciprocal Affection. Zoraide as a farther token of her Love and Esteem, presented the fair Christian with a Necklace of Pearl, of that great value that she would by no means have excepted it, had not Zulema, who loved her no less than his Wife, acquainted her that they should take it very unkindly if she refused what they tendered only as a Pledge of their Friendship. Zoraide made Sophy promise to let them know from time to time how she did, either by the way of Tangier, Oran, or the other Places which the Emperor then possessed in Africa. The Christian Ambassador embarked at Sal●y, carrying along with him Sophy, whom from henceforward we must call Don Fernando. Before he proceeded on his Voyage to Spain, he was to go to wait on the Emperor at his Camp before Tunis. Our Spanish Lady in Masquerade was to be presented to him for a Gentleman of Andalousia, who had been a long time a Slave to the Prince of Morocco She had no such great Reason to be in Love with her Life as to fear to hazard it in the Wars, and therefore since she had took upon her the Character of a Cavalier, she was obliged to go upon all Actions that Honour called her to. For this purpose she placed herself among the Volunteers, resolving to lose no occasion to signalise herself, and which she often did to that degree, that her Valour came at length to the Emperor's Ear. She happened to be in one Action, above the rest, wherein the Emperor was unhorsed, and the Christians like to be beaten. This our Valiant Amazon perceiving, by a Performance scarce to be believed, she immediately remounted the Emperor, and laid about her with that Conduct and Vigour, that she almost opposed the whole Force of the Enemy, till such time as the routed Army had rallied, and were come up to her Relief. This wonderful Action of hers, did not go without its reward. The Emperor in recompense presented to the unknown Don Fernando, a Commandery of great Revenue, as likewise a Regiment of Horse, which had belonged to a Spanish Colonel killed in the late Fight; he also gave him the Equipage of a Man of Quality, and from that very time none were so much esteemed of in the Army as this Valiant Lady. All the actions of a Man were natural to her. Her Countenance was so good, and made her appear to be so Young; her Courage and Conduct were so far beyond her Years; her Wit was so charming and Entertaining, that there was not one Man of Quality, or Officer in the whole Army, but who either sought her Friendship and Acquaintance, or humbly declined aspiring to it as unworthy. It must not be wondered at then, since all the World spoke so much for her, and yet more her renowned Actions, if she came to be so much in favour with her Prince. About this time divers Recruits of Men and Ammunition arrived from Spain. The Emperor would have them all drawn up by themselves, that he might have a view of them, with the principal Officers of the Army, amongst whom was our Female Warrior. Among these new come Soldiers she fancied she had espied Don Carlos, and as it happened she was not deceived. This made her to be uneasy all the remainder of that Day. She sent out often to look after him, but could not find him, by reason he had changed his Name. When Night came, she could not sleep a wink, and therefore rise by daybreak to go in search of her dear Lover, who had cost her so many Tears. At length she found him, but was not known by him, by reason she was grown taller, and had besides her Complexion much altered by the scorching heats of Africa. She made him believe she took him for another of her Acquaintance, and began to ask him News from Sevill, as likewise concerning an imaginary Person that came first into her Head. He told her he knew no such Person, was never at Sevill, and that he was born and lived in Valencia. You are nevertheless much like a Person that I knew and had a great esteem for, replied Sophy, and therefore you must give me leave to be ranked in the number of your Frieds. With all my Hear, answered Don Carlos, and for the same reason you urge, I must beg the like Liberty from you as you have done of me, for you no less resemble a Person I loved long since, and do still love; you have the same Visage and Voice, but you are not of the same Sex, and certainly you cannot be of the same Humour, added he sighing. At these last Words of Carlos, Sophy could not forbear blushing, which he nevertheless took no notice of, by reason that he then had his Eyes over charged with Tears, which hindered his observing her change of Countenance. This extraordinary Tenderness of Carlos moved her so extremely that she was ready to discover herself, to prevent which at that time, she desired him to come visit her in her Tent, and bid him to inquire for Don Fernando. At the hearing of this name Don Carlos began immediately to be afraid, well knowing what Honours the Emperor had done that Person, and fearing he might not have showed him sufficient Respect. He met with little difficulty in finding the Tent, for it was but what every body could direct him to. He was there received with all the civility that a private Gentleman could expect from a general Officer. He again discovered the Countenance of Sophy in that of Don Fernando, but was more amazingly surprised at the resemblance of their Voices, which immediately sunk into his Soul, and brought to his Remembrance the Idea of the Person in the World that he loved best. Sophy yet unknown to her Lover, made him to Dine with her, and after Dinner commanding her Domestics to retire, and giving Orders that she would be seen by no more Visiters, she caused him to tell her over again that he was of Valencia, and afterwards occasioned him to relate all the Adventures that had happened between him and her, which to be sure she knew as well as he, from their first Acquaintance to the time of his Contrivance for carrying her away. Would you believe, quoth Don Carlos, that a Woman of her Quality, who had received so many Proofs of my Love, and returned me reciprocally as many of hers, could yet be so void of Sense or Honour to prefer a young Page, who had little or nothing to boast of, to his Master? But are you sure of what you say? replied Sophy; Chance often controls our Designs, and oftener takes pleasure to confound our reasoning with Events the least expected. Your Mistress may have been forced to leave you, continued she and is, it may be, more Unfortunate than Blamable. Would to God, answered Don Carlos, that I could in the least doubt of her Gild! All the Misfortunes which I have hitherto undergone on her account would be easy to me, could I but believe her still Faithful. But alas! she is only so to the Traitor Claudio, and pretended an Affection to Don Carlos but to ruin him. It seems to me, replied Sophy, that you could but have little kindness for her, since you can thus condemn her unheard. Can I have greater Proofs of her Baseness, cried Don Carlos, than appears by a Letter she sent her Father the Night she went off; whereby I suppose she thought to take away all suspicion of her going away with the Page. But to the end you may be the better judge of it, added he, I have the Letter to show; then he read the Letter, which was in the following Words.  
The Letter.  
YOU ought not, Sir, to forbid my loving Don Carlos, since you had once commanded me to do it. A Desert so great as he has to pretend to, must needs Captivate the wariest Heart; and where so much Worth and Merit reigns, Interest must not think to get place. I fly then away with him whom you have thought fit I should Love from my Youth upwards, and without whom it is as impossible for me to live, as it would be not to grieve myself to Death in the Arms of a Stranger I hate, altho' he were yet Richer than he boasts himself to be. Our Crime therefore, if any, deserves at least your Pardon, which if you are disposed to afford us, we will return as willingly to receive as we have shown Disposition to retreat from the unjust Violence you would do us.  
SOPHIA.  
You may imagine, proceeded Carlos, what a Hurricane this raised in the old People's Breasts. They hoped I was either yet in Valencia concealed with their Daughter, or else that I was not far off from it, They kept their loss a Secret to every body but the Viceroy, who was their Relation. I was surprised to find the Constable and his Myrmidons enter my Chamber at daybreak, rudely ask me for Sophy, and whom I having demanded the same Question of, they immediately hurried me away in a violent manner to Prison. I was Questioned, and yet could say nothing in my Defence concerning Sophy's Letter; it thereby appeared that I was to carry her away, but it was likewise manifest that my Page disappeared also. Sophy's Relations made all imaginable search after her, and my Friends did what they could to find whither the Page had carried her, which they were certain he must have done somewhither. At length it being found impossible to meet with either one or th'other, which was the only thing that could have cleared my Innocence, I was accused by my Enemies of Murdering both. Hereupon I had notice given me that I must soon come to my Trial, and that if I escaped it was more than any Body expected. I knew the home-Proofs they had against me, and hoped only for a Miracle from Heaven to acquit me; but at last Despair got the upperhand, and my Hopes consequently vanished. I resolved therefore, not caring to trust my deliverance to the course of Justice, to join with some Highwaymen, my Fellow Prisoners, in the execution of a design they had laid to procure it for us all. Accordingly we one Night forced the Gates of our Prison, and by the assistance of our Friends, got to the Mountains that were nearest Valencia, before the Viceroy could possibly be informed of our Escapes. We here continued a long time Masters of the Roads. My Sophy's Infidelity, and her Parents merciless Prosecution, together with the loss of my Estate and Reputation, made me so desperate, that I cared not at what rate I hazarded my Life, and therefore in all cases of resistance I behaved myself with so great Resolution, that my Companions thought fit to choose me for their Captain. I continued in this Post so successful for some time, that our Troop became formidable even to the Kingdoms of Arragon and Valencia, which Countries we were so bold as to put under Contribution. I herein make you acquainted, continued Carlos to Sophy, with a Secret that concerns my Life, but the Honour you have done me of your Friendship, and the Opinion I have of your Integrity, makes me not to doubt in the least of my security. At length, proceeded he, I was weary of this wicked course of Life, and forsook my Companions at a time when they least expected it. I made my way for Barcelona, where I listed a private Trooper in the Recruits that were just then raising for Africa. I had hitherto had no grreat reason to be in love with Life, and therefore having made so ill use of it as to infest my Country. I thought I could not do better than to employ the remainder of my Days in its Service, and more especially seeing the kindness I have received at your Hands, has been the only Comfort I have had since I have been made the most miserable of Men, by the most ungrateful Woman in the World. The unknown Sophy, hereupon took the part of Sophy unjustly accused, and omitted nothing to persuade her Lover against passing rash Judgements on his Mistress, before he was thoroughly informed of her Crime. She told the unfortunate Gentleman moreover, that she was very sensible of his Misfortunes, and would do all that lay in her power to alleviate them; and to give him a better Proof of her good Will, than what lay in Words, she desired of him to come and be with her, and that assoon as occasion served, she would employ all her own and her Friend's Interest with the Emperor, to get him delivered from the Prosecution of Sophy's Parents, as likewise from that of the Viceroy of Valencia. Don Carlos was not at all moved with what the Counterfeit Don Fernando could say to him concerning the justification of Sophy, but to accept of the offers of his Table and House he was. The same Day this faithful Lover spoke to Don Carlos' Captain to permit him to come and serve under him, I should have said, her. Now was our Lover under the command of his Mistress, whom he took to be either dead or Faithless. He was very easy from the beginning under this new Commander, and would often wonder how he came to be so much in her Favour in so short a time. He was at once her Intendant, Secretary, Gentleman and Confident. The other Domestics paid not a greater respect even to Don Fernando himself than they did to him, and he would no doubt have been exceeding happy had not the lost Sophy the treacherous Sophy, come so often into his Mind. Whatever kindness Sophy had for him, she always took a great deal of Pleasure to see him grieved, not doubting but it was upon her account. At last she had justified Sophy so often, and sometimes with that heat, that Don Carlos came to suspect that she had either been formerly her Lover, or was so still. These Wars in Africa ended, as you may read in the History. These Emperor afterwards made them in Germany, Italy, Flanders, and other Places. Our experienced She-Warriour, under the name of Fernando, still kept up, or rather increased her Reputation for Courage and Conduct, tho' the last of these qualities be seldom to be met with in a Person so young as this valiant Lady's Sex made her to appear. The Emperor was obliged to go into Flanders, and for that purpose demanded leave of the King of France to pass through his Dominions. The great King that then reigned in that Country, had a Mind to excel in Generosity a Mortal Enemy, who had always surmounted him in Fortune, tho' he had not made the best use of it. Charles' V was received in Paris with as great Magnificence as if he had been King himself. The brave Don Fernando was one of the small number of Persons of Quality that attended him, and 'tis more than likely, that if he had continued long at that Court, this fair Spanish Lady, being taken for a Man, would have enamoured all the French Ladies, and raised Jealousy in the most accomplished of Courtiers. While this happened, the Viceroy of Valencia died in Spain. Don Fernando through his great Merit and Interest with the Emperor, doubted not but he should quickly obtain that charge, and as he thought, so it soon after fell out, for he had no sooner asked than he had it given him, without the least opposition from any Competitor. This his good success he immediately thought fitting to acquaint Don Carlos with, and at the same time gave him reason to hope, that assoon as he was gotten into possession of his new Employment, he would not only reconcile him with Sophy's Relations, and procure him Pardon of the Emperor, for having been chief of the Vandoleroes, Highwaymen, but likewise undertake to restore him to his Lands and Estate. Don Carlos might very well have received comfort from these Promises of his Friend, had not his Love made him uncapable of it. The Emperor soon after arrived in Spain, and went directly to Madrid, while Don Fernando made what haste he could to his new Government. From the very Day after his arrival in Valencia, Sophy's Friends continually pestered him with Petitions against Don Carlos, who at the same time was both his Steward and Secretary. The Viceroy promised to do them speedy Justice, but at the same time let Carlos privately know, that he would not fail to protect his Innocence. The Cause was quickly prepared for Hearing, and in five or six Days time both Parties were ready to go to Trial. The Prosecutor demanded of the Viceroy that the supposed Criminal might be sent to Prison, but which Don Fernando would not nevertheless consent to, giving instead thereof, his Word, that he should not stir out of his House till the Day assigned for the Trial came. The Night before that fatal Day which kept the whole City of Valencia in suspense, Don Carlos desired a private Audience of the Viceroy, and which being granted, he threw himself at his Feet, and broke out into the following Words. To Morrow my Lord, quoth he, you will be able to let the World know that I am Innocent; and altho' some of the Witnesses that you have already heard in my Defence, clear me absolutely of the Crime; yet I do here presume to Swear once more to your Highness, as Religiously as I would do before God at the sacred Altar, That I not only have not carried away Sophy, as my Adversaries maliciously allege against me, but likewise did not lay Eyes on her from the Day before she was so carried away, and have never heard the least News of her since. I own I was to have carried her away, continued he, had not a Misfortune too obscure for me to unriddle prevented me in that Design. Enough, Don Carlos, replied the Viceroy, go to Bed and take your rest; I am both your Master and Friend, and perhaps am better informed of your Innocence than you can imagine. You are come along with me from Africa under my Protection, and I will not fail to defend and clear you against all your Enemies in this matter. Don Carlos after having returned his most-hearty Thanks to so obliging a Master, went to Bed, but could not sleep for thinking on what was to ensue. He got up by daybreak, and dressing himself more gallant than ordinary, went to wait on the Viceroy at his Leuée; but I should mistake if I told you that he entered the Chamber before she was dressed. The before mentioned Dorothy that came with her disguised from Fez, still continued to be her Confidente and Companion, and did those Offices for her, which if another had done, she must have quickly been discovered. Don Carlos therefore gained not admittance till Dorothy had set open the Door, as well to him as any Body else. The Viceroy no sooner perceived him than he began to reproach him with rising so early, alleging that his not sleeping was not great token of his innocence. To which Don Carlos, being a little disturbed, replied, that the fear of being Convicted did not so much hinder him from sleeping, as the hopes he had of soon seeing himself delivered by the Justice his Highness would do him. ' But you are mighty Spruce and Gallant, quoth the Viceroy; Nay, seem indifferent even on the Day that you are to be tried for your Life. I know not what to think of the Crime you are accused of. As often as we discourse of Sophy, you seem more negligent and unconcerned than I, who am no party, nor ever have been suspected to have been beloved by her, nor to have made away with her and possibly the young Claudia likewise, as you have been. You say you have loved her, continued the Viceroy, and yet you survive the loss of her, and endeavour nothing so much as to get yourself acquitted, that you may forget her, and live at ease; you that ought rather to hate Life, and destroy those very Charms that have rendered you so aimable to her. Ah! inconstant Don Carlos, proceeded he, It may well be suspected that you have some other Love to supply the place of Soply you have been so much obliged to. At these Words Don Carlos in a great agony was going to Answer, but which the Viceroy not thinking fit to hear, interrupted him in, and with a severe Countenance said to him, Hold your Peace, and reserve that Eloquence which you are about to make use of here for your Judges. As for my part I shall give little Ear to it, and I will not for the sake of one of my Servants, let the Emperor have reason to have an ill Opinion of my Justice. In the mean time, continued he, turning towards his Guards, let some one of you secure his Person. I should indeed be very imprudent, added he, to believe that one who had broke Prison would not seek to avoid Justice by his flight. This said, Don Carlos' Sword was immediately seized, which raised a great deal of Pity in the standers by, to observe what a sudden change of Fortune he had undergone. While the poor Gentleman was repenting of confiding too much in great men's Favours, his Judges entered the Chamber, and took their places after the Viceroy had seated himself. The Italian Count who yet continued at Valencia, together with Sophy's Father and Mother, appeared against him, and produced their Witnesses, whilst Carlos was almost ready to despair of his Cause, and had scarce the Courage to Answer. They alleged the Letters that he had formerly writ to Sophy, and proved his Hand; they he had formerly writ to Sophy's Servants with him, and lastly they produced against him the Letter which she had written to her Father the Night before the Day on which they pretended he had carried her away. Carlos caused his Servants to be heard likewise, who Swore that they saw their Master go to Bed; but then he might have risen again afterwards, which they could give no account of. In his Defence he said, That it was not likely that he should carry her away to live separate from her, and much less that he would Murder one whom he had always loved so dearly. But all this availed him not, for Sentence was just going to be pronounced against him when the Viceroy commanding him to be brought nearer him, said to him, Unfortunate Don Carlos! you may well think from all the tokens of Friendship I have showed you, that if I had in the least suspected you had been guilty of the Crime you were accused of, I would never have brought you to Valencia. But now, after what has been so plainly proved against you, I am more than obliged to Condemn you if I would not begin the Execution of my Office by Injustice. You may easily be convinced of my concern for you by the Tears that unavoidably come into my Eyes. If your Prosecutors were not of that Quality they are of, I might be inclinable to think they were biased by Malice, but as they are, there are no Exceptions to be made to them, and therefore if Sophia does not appear suddenly herself to release you, I am to give you notice that you must prepare for Death. Carlos despairing at these Words to be saved, threw himself at the Vice-Roys Feet, and after some time, said to him, You may remember, my Lord, that all the while I have had the Honour to serve your Highness both in Africa and here, as often as you have engaged me in the tedious recital of my Misfortunes, I have always told them after the same manner, and you may likewise be assured that what I have told you, that have been so good a Master to me, I would scorn to deny afterwards before any judge. I have all along told your Highness the Truth as I would have done to my God, and therefore I shall not stick to repeat what I have so often professed, that I not only ever have, but also ever shall to my Lives end Love and adore Sophy. What say you? Interrupted the Viceroy, with Concern in his Countenance) do you pretend to adore her? I do, replied Don Carlos, not a little surprised at the manner of the Question, and have not only promised to marry her, but likewise to carry her off to Barcelona. But if I have carried her away, or know where she is at present, may I be put to the cruelest of Deaths. As for dying, continued he, I know it is impossible for me now to escape it, but I shall nevertheless die innocent, if it be not a Crime to have loved so faithfully, so perfidious and Inconstant a Woman. But cried the Viceroy, with a stern Countenance, What is become of this Woman and your Page? Are they mounted up to Heaven? Are they concealed in the Earth? Or whether are they gone? The Page, answered Don Carlos, was a spruce Gallant, and she a fine Lady; he was a Man and she a Woman. Ah Traitor! replied the Viceroy, now you discover your base Suspicions, and the small esteem you entertained for the unfortunatd Sophy. Cursed be that Woman continued he, that confides in the Promises of Men, and suffers herself to be abused by too easy a Belief. Neither was Sophy a Woman of common Virtue, added he, nor your Page Claudio a Man. Sophy was a constant Maid, and your Page a ruined Woman that had been in Love with you, and consequently stole away and betrayed her as a Rival to her, I am Sophy, unjust and ungrateful Lover! Proceeded he, I am Sophy who have undergone incredible Hazards and Hardships on the account of a Man that deserves not to be so well beloved, since he could think me guilty of the very worst of Treacheries. Sophy found it not in her power to say any more. Her Father immediately knew her, and catched her up into his Arms, her Mother Swooned away on one side, and her Lover Don Carlos on the other. She soon disengaged herself from her Father's embraces, to run to the two that were fainted away, and who coming quickly to themselves, she was in doubt which to embrace first. Her Mother all bedewed her Cheeks with Tears, and she returned the like. She embraced her Dear, Don Carlos, with all the Passion imaginable, and who was like to have swooned away again with the excess of it. He nevertheless held her fast, and not yet daring to approach her Lips, he endeavoured to satisfy himself on her Hands, both which be kissed above a thousand and a thousand times Sophy was scarce able to withstand all the Kindnesses and Compliments made her. The Italian Count on his part going to proffer his, still insisted on his former Pretensions to her, as being promised him both by her Father and Mother; this Don Carlos hearing, and having at the same time one of her Hands greedily kissing at his Mouth, he instantly quitted it, and laying his Hand on his Sword, which had been just then brought him, he put himself into a posture enough to have frighted an Army, and swore that rather than suffer himself to be deprived of his dear Sophy, provided she would still continue to Love him, he would hue down the City of Valencia, and bury its Inhabitants in its Ruins. She on her part declared she would have no other Husband but her dear Carlos, and therefore conjured both her Father and Mother either to resolve to approve of him, or to expect to see their only Daughter speedily Cloistered up in a Convent. Her Parents hereupon soon gave her liberty to make choice of what Husband she pleased, which the Italian Count perceiving he immediately took Post and rid away for Italy. Sophy afterwards gave an account of all her Adventures, which being so very extraordinary, were admired at by every body. A Courier was soon after dispatched to carry the News of this wonderful Discovery to the Emperor, who thereupon sent Orders that Don Carlos, after he had married Sophy, should be invested with the Vice-Royship of Valencia; and moreover as a recompense for all the great Services his Lady had performed under the name of Don Fernando, he gave to this happy Lover a Principality, which his Heirs enjoy to this Day. The City of Valencia was at the charge of the Wedding, which was performed with all the Magnificence and Splendour imaginable, and Dorothy who had resumed her Female Habit much about the same time with Sophy, was married not long after her to a near Relation of Don Carlor's.   

CHAP. XV.  
A matchless piece of Impudence in the Sieur de la Rappiniere.  
THE Councillor of Rennes had just done reading his Novel, when la Rappiniere arrived at the Inn. He entered the Room boldly, where he had been told Monsieur de la Garrouffiere was, but assoon as he perceived Destiny standing in a corner, both he and his Man that came along with him began visibly to change their Countenances. La Garrouffiere after having shut the Door, demanded of the bold la Rappiniere if he could not guests upon what account he was sent for, Is it not upon account of a Comedian, replied the Villain laughing, whom I had a mind to have my share of? How do you mean your share, answered lafoy Garouffiere with a serious Countenance, Does it become a judge as you are to talk after that rate? And did you ever yet condemn a Person to be hanged that deserved it more than yourself? La Rappiniere continued to turn the thing to Ridicule, and would needs make it pass for the Act of a good Companion. But the Senator urged it so home to him, and after so severe a manner, that he at last forced him to confess that it was an ill Action, and for which he immediately made some trifling Excuses to Destiny, who notwithstanding could scarce forbear calling him to an account for offending him so basely, after he had been obliged to him for his Life, as you may find he had been in the beginning of these Comical Adventures. But Destiny had another Quarrel to debate with this wicked Provost of greater Consequence, which he had communicated to Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, and who had promised to make him give him satisfaction. Whatever Pains I have taken to dive into la Rappiniere, I could never yet discover whether he were more wicked towards God, or towards Man; more unjust to his Neighbour, or more vicious in himself. I know only this to be true, that never any Man had more Vices heaped up together, nor in a more eminent Degree than he. He confessed he had had a Design to carry away Madam Star as boldly as if he had reason to boast of a good Action, and farther, he impudently told the Councillor and the Comedian, that he never in the least doubted of the success of that enterprise, For, continued he, addressing himself to Destiny, I had gained over your Man, and your Sister, thinking you were Wounded, was so conveniently caught in the Trap, in expectation to find you not above two Leagues from the place where I waited for her, that I had certainly had her, had not the Sot that Conducted her suffered some Devil or other to take her from him, whereby I lost a good Horse, and he got a good beating. Destiny at the hearing of this, at first grew pale with Anger, but then presently blushed with Shame to hear a Villain tell him that with indifferency which he ought to have done with the greatest reluctancy and regret. La Garrouffiere was greatly offended likewise, and was not less Angry with so dangerous a Man. I can't imagine, said ●he to him, how you could have the Impudence to tell us the particulars of so base an Action with so much unconcern; for which Monsieur Destiny would have nevertheless rewarded you had not I interposed and hindered him. But I would advise you, continued he, to restore to him the Box of Diamonds you stole from him at Paris, when you were a Pick Pocket Rascal, or he may yet do it. Doguin who was at that time your Accomplice, and since your Servant, confessed to him on his Deathbed, that you had it; and I declare to you, added he, that if you do not speedily let him have it again, I will for the future prove as dangerous an Enemy to you, as I have hitherto been a serviceable Friend. La Rappiniere at these Words stood as if he had been Thunderstruck, and had not power to deny any longer, according to his usual Custom, what he had done. He owned therefore, stammering like one that was confounded, that he had the Box at Man's, and Swore horribly to return it upon Demand. The use he made of Oaths was out of Policy to conceal the Truth, for tho' it was true that he had the Box, yet had he it not at Man's, but carried it always about him, with design to have presented it to Madam Star, in case she rejected his Amour. This he afterwards confessed in private to Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, thinking thereby to regain his Favour, and into whose Hands he put the Box and Picture to dispose of as he thought fit. The Picture was that of Madam Stars Father, set round with Diamonds, whose Face it seems so much resembled hers, that she might be easily known to her Father by it. Destiny at the receipt of the Picture, knew not how to thank Monsieur de la Garrouffiere sufficiently for it. When this Box was taken away from Destiny, he was not so much concerned on his own account, as on that of Madam Stars Mother, who had a long time kept it as a Pledge of her Husbands Love. You may easily guests then what an excess of Joy the recovery of it raised in them both. He for his part went immediately to acquaint his dear Star with the News, and whom he found where he had left her in the Curate of the Town's Sister's House, and in Company with Angelica and Leander. They consulted together about their return to Man's, and resolved upon it for the next Day. Monsieur de la Garrouffiere proffered them a Coach, which they would by no means accept of. The Men and Women-Players Supped with Monsieur de la Garrouffiere and his Company that Night. They afterwards went to Bed betimes, and next Morning by break of Day Destiny and Leander took each of them their Mistresses behind them, and posted away to Man's, whither Ragotin, Rancour and Olive, had been gone before. Monsieur de la Garrouffiere proffered a great deal of Service to Destiny, on account of Madam Bouvillon, who had feigned herself Sicker than she was, on purpose that she might not be obliged to take leave of that Comedian, whom she for the present was not at all pleased with.   

CHAP. XVI.  
Ragotin's Misfortune.  
THE two Comedians that returned to Man's with Ragotin, were led out of their way by that little Rascal, who would needs treat them at a small Country House of his, which had been built proportionable to his size. Although an exact Historian now would think himself obliged to tell all the most important Particulars of this Man's Life, and the Places wherein they happened, yet shall not I be very certain in what part of our Hemisphere this little Hovel of Ragotin's stood, whither he was carrying his Brethren that were to be, being not yet admitted of their Strolling Order. It shall suffice then to inform you, that it was on this side the Ganges, and not very far off from Sillé le Guillaume. When he had got thither he found his House filled with a Company of Gypsies, who in spite of his Tenant had got into possession thereof, and that under pretence of their Captain's Wife's being ready to lie in, when their truest reason was that they might have an opportunity to eat Poultry gratis, at a Farm so much out of the Road. At his first coming Ragotin began to be extremely angry, as little Men soon are, and threatened the Gypsies with the Provost of Man's, to whom he said he was allied by having married a Portail. Then began he to read his Auditors a long Lecture on the Validity of Relation without being able at the same time to forbear immoderate Swearing, which he often intermixed with his Discourse. He threatened them likewise to complain to Provost la Rappinieres Lieutenant, whose name alone was enough to make them tremble. But the Gypsie-Captain raised his Passion beyond all Patience when he began to Compliment him, and to tell him, That if he had before been acquainted with his Quality, he should never have presumed to have set Foot so rashly within his Castle, so the waggish Varlet called this little House, which was only fortified with a withered Hedge; he added moreover, That his Lady would soon be delivered, and then he would march away his Troop with Bag and Baggage, but first would satisie his Tenant for the Damage he and his Men together with their Horses had done him. Ragotin was at his Wit's end to find that he could not reasonably pick a quarrel with this Fellow, and that especially when he plainly perceived himself abused by the many apish Cringes made him: Nevertheless, at last his Choler was raised by the Phlegmatic Gipsy, but than it was just at a time when Rancour and the Captain's Brother began to recollect being formerly acquainted, and who consequently embracing, soon soddered up the difference that was about to have proceeded to Ragotins' Disadvantage. Rancour then earnestly begged of his Companion to be quiet, which he was inclinable to hearken to, and would have proffered of himself had not his natural Pride pushed him on beyond his Ability. In the mean time the Gypsie-Lady was brought to Bed of a brave Boy; great was the Joy in the little Troop upon this occasion, and the Captain thereof, as a token of his being reconciled to Ragotin, invited both him and his Company to Supper, having already prepared a Fricassée for their Entertainment. They sat down to Table, and had besides the Fricassée some Partridges and Hares, which the Gypsies had taken with their Dogs, two young Turkeys, and as many Pigs, which they had stolen, a Westphalia-Ham and several Neats-Tengues, which they had got by Stratagem; and lastly, they had a Hare-pye, borrowed of a Baker, the Crust of which was voraciously devoured by five or six young Gypsies that stood at their Mother's Elbows. Add to all these another Fricassée of Pigeons which Ragotin gave them, and you must confess they had Cheer enough. The Guests, besides the Comedians, were to the number of Nine, all good Dancers, and yet better Thiefs. They began their Healths with that of the King and Princes, and afterwards proceeded to remember those honest Noblemen that suffered them to harbour within their Jurisdictions. The Captain proposed to the Comedians to drink to the Memory of the deceased Charles Dodo, who was Uncle to the Lying-in-Lady, and who had been hanged during the Siege of Rochel, by the Treachery of one Captian lafoy Grave. Every one began to curse that Captain as a false Brother, and at the same time railed hearty at all Provosts. Ragotin's Wine in the mean while went about plentifully, but which had nevertheless this Quality in it, that it occasioned no Quarrels among the Guests, who even to the Manhater Rancour, were so extremely pleased with one another, that they Complimented, and Slobbered, and Kissed like so many Beaux. Ragotin for his part was resolved not to bring a Scandal on his House by flinching, and therefore sucked up his Tipple like to any Sponge. Having drank all Night one would have thought they should have been sit for Sleep by Sunrising; but it so happened that the same Wine that made them so good Friends the Night before, had now inspired them with a Spirit of Separation. They resolved to part therefore, and the Gypsies packing up their Awls, not forgetting to him something here and there from their Host the Tenant, went one way, while the jolly Landlord mounting his Mule likewise rod another, and who being now as serious as he was before transported, took his Journey directly towards Man's, not minding in the least whether Rancour or Olive followed him or not, being wholly taken up with blowing a Pipe of Tobacco that had been smoked out above an Hour before. He had not been gone above half a League, still sucking his empty Pipe, which afforded him not one whiff of Smoke, before the fumes of the Wine began to seize his Crown-Office, and consequently soon caused him to tumble out of his Saddle. Assoon as the Master was off, the Mule thought she had nothing to do but to return from whence she came, and therefore instantly ●●sted back to her Stable, while the poor Ragotin, after having indifferently unburdened his surcharged Stomach, fell into a profound Sleep in the middle of the Highway. He had not ●lept long, snoring however like a cracked Organ-Pipe, before a naked Man, something resembling the Picture of our first father, but extremely Hairy, Dirty and Nasty, came up to him, and began presently to strip off his clothes. This wild Man took more than ordinary pains in drawing off Ragotin's new Boots, which I have told you somewhere before, in this true History, that his Friend Rancour claimed as his, which one would have thought might have been sufficient to have awaked him, had not he, as the saying is, been dead Drunk; but as he was, all this Force had no other effect upon him, than to drag him bare-breeched two or three Rods together, from the place where he first lay. Being thus unmercifully used, a Knife by chance fell out of the Sleeper's Pocket, which the wild Fellow immediately seizing, as if he would have flayed the scarce animate Carcase, sell to ripping up his clothes, Shirt, Boots and Stockings, with whatever else he could not easily get off, and packing them up upon his Back, fled away with them as swiftly as a Wolf would have done with a Lamb. Leave we this Man to run away with his Spoil, he being the same that had formerly so terribly frighted Destiny, while he was in pursuit of Angelica, and let us return to assist Ragotin, who yet continued asleep, tho' he ought by all means to be waked. Although ' his naked Body had been for some time exposed to the scorching Sun, and endured the stinging Assaults of several sorts of Infects, yet was it not possible to wake him, till some Peasants came by rattling with a Cart. They no sooner perceived him but they all cried out, There he is, and afterwards coming up softly to him, as if they had been unwilling to disturb him they made sure of his Legs and Arms, and binding them fast with good strong Cords, they took him up, so hampered, and canted him into their Cart, which they immediately drove away with as much expedition as a Lover would do a Coach with a stolien Heiress in it. Ragotin was as ye● so damnably Drunk, that neither the violence offered him, nor the excessive jolting of his Caravan could possibly awake him, when the Pealants all of a sudden driving on heedlessly, with a great deal of precipitation, overthrew at length both him and the Cart in a huge Slough of Mire and Water. The sudden cold●● he there felt, together with his bruising by the Stones, or som●● such like thing, as his fall, soon forced him to be sensible o●● what a condition he was in, and the being in that Condition●● almost made him to run Mad. He found himself bound bod●● Hand and Foot, and wallowing like David's Sow in the Mir●● he felt his Head ache, as well upon account of his Drunkenness as fall; and lastly, he could not but extremely wonder to 〈◊〉 four Country Fellows lifting him up out of the Water, whi●● as many were employed in dragging the Cart out of the 〈◊〉 This Adventure so exceedingly scared him, that he spoke 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 word, tho' he was naturally a great Talker, and had 〈◊〉 ●o much occasion as now, and a Moment after he cou●● no● possibly have been heard had he spoke never so much, 〈◊〉 the Carrers untying his Legs only, without giving any reaso●● or observing any farther Civility to him, immediately 〈◊〉 to drive their Cart back to the place from whence they 〈◊〉 as violently as they had done it thither. The discreet Read may perhaps have a desire to know what these Fellows would have had with Ragotin, and how they came to do nothing to him, but which I could not pretend to satisfy them in, had it not come to my knowledge by Chance. A Priest of the lower Main, a little Melancholly-Mad, having been brought up to Paris by a suit at Law, during the time that his Cause was preparing for a Hearing, would needs spend his time in Printing some whimsical Fancies of his on the Revelations. He was so exceeding fertile in Chimaeras, and always so fond of his last Productions, that he still blotted out the former; whereby his Printers were forced to Correct the same Sheet at least twenty times over. This made them so Mad, that for every Sheet he was obliged to look out for a new Printer, till a last he happened on the Person that Printed this present Romance, wherein he chanced to light upon some Leaves which mentioned this same Adventure I have told you. This Priest knew more of the Story than I who writ it, having it seems been informed from the Peasants own Mouths who had carried away Ragotin, What had been the occasion of their so doing, which I could not possibly have come to the knowledge of. He saw at first wherein my Relation was defective, and acquainted my Printer therewith, who was extremely surprised at the Information, thinking with others, that my Romance had only been a fabulous Story of my own Invention. Supposing it might be of some service to me to put me in the right, my Printer desired him that he would come and give me a Visit, which he readily consented to. Then did I learn from this faithful Mansean that the Peasants who had bound Ragotin while a sleep, were some of the nearest Relations to the poor Madman that run about the Country, who had frighted Destiny in the Night, and stripped Ragotin in the Daytime. They had, it seems, resolved among themselves to coop up their Kinsman whenever they met him, and had made several attempts upon him for that purpose, but he still beat them and got from them, being a stout rugged Fellow. Some Persons of a Neighbouring Village having espied Ragotin lying Naked in the Sun, took him for the Mad fellow lying a sleep, but daring not to come near him for fear of a beating, they gave notice to the Country Fellows his Relations, who venturing to seize on him with all the caution before mentioned, took him without knowing who he was, and discovering afterwards their Mistake, set his Feet at liberty, but not his Hands, for fear he might attempt something against them. These Memoirs I had from this Priest pleased me extremely; and I must own, did me no ordinary Service, but in return I thought I made him sufficient recompense by advising him not to proceed any farther in the publishing of his Ridiculous Visionary Comment. Some Readers perhaps will condemn me for having inserted this needless Circumstance, and others it may be, at the same time, commend me for my Sincerity. Return we now to Ragotin, his Body all besmeared and bruised, his Mouth dry and gaping like to the parched Earth; his Head heavy and dull, and his Arms pinioned behind his Back. He got up as well as he could, and having cast his Eyes round him as far as he could see, and perceiving neither House nor Man near him, he beat it on the Hoof, taking to the nearest Road he could find, and all the way racking his Brains to find out the cause of his Disaster. Having his Hands tied behind him he was not a little incommoded by several obstinate Flies, that chose to fix on those parts of his Body, which by reason of his being bound, he could not possibly reach, therefore he sound himself frequently obliged to lie all along upon the Ground, whereby either to rub off or crush the troublelom Vermine. At last he came to a hollow way, having a thick Quickset Hedge on either side, and wherein a little purling Stream run down to a Neighbouring River. This gave him occasion to rejoice, hoping now to get clear of his Mud and Dirt, which hung in great plenty about him. Coming near the Ford he saw a Coach which had been just then overturned and out of which the Coachman and another Fellow were hawling five or six Nuns that had been well drenched in the Water. This piece of Charity he perceived to be performed at the earnest Exhortations of a venerable Prelate, who stood hard by looking on. Among these Nuns was the old Abbess of Estival, who was coming from Man's, whither an Affair of Importance had called her. The Abbess and Nuns were no sooner drawn out of the Coach, but they perceived at a distance Ragotin's naked figure marching towards them, whereat they were extremely asfrighted, and much more Father Giflot the discreet Director of the Abbey. He caused the devout Sisters to turn their Faces hastily about, that they might not defile their Eyes with so great Impurities, and at the same time calling out aloud to Ragotin commanded him not to approach any nearer at his peril. Ragotin nevertheless kept onwards of his way, till at last coming to a long Plank that had been laid a'cross the River for People to walk over, he was met in the middle thereof by Father Giflot, followed by the Coachman and Peasant, who all doubted at first whether they were not best to exorcise him, his shape seeming to them Diabolical. At length the Father took Courage, and demanded of him Who he was? Whence he came? How he came to be Naked? And lastly, What made him to have his Hands tied behind him? All which Questions he asked with a great deal of Gravity and Decorum, which notwithstanding Ragotin answered very saucily, requiring of the Priest, What he had to do to ask him so many Questions, and afterwards pressing to go forwards upon the Plank, he pushed the reverend Father so rudely, that he tumbled him over Head and Ears into the Water; the good Priest drew in after him the Coachman, and he in like manner the Country Man, all which Ragotin perceiving, and being pleased at, immediately set up a great laughter. He afterwards held his way on towards the Nuns, who covered their Faces with their Veils, and would by no means be seen by him. Ragotin for his part was indifferent whether he saw their Faces or not, and consequently went onward of his way, thinking speedily to get quit of his Adventure, which nevertheless Father Gistot did not intent he should. He pursued him therefore close with the Countryman and Coachman for his Seconds, which last being naturally the most Choleric of the three, and besides put out of Humour by the Abbesses Scolding at him, detached his Body from the rest, and coming up to Ragotin revenged himself with his Whip on his Hide, for the Water he had bestowed on his. Ragotin durst not abide a second Charge, and therefore immediately put himself into a posture to fly. He fled then like a Dog with a Bottle to his Tail, while the incensed Coachman, not satisfied with a lash or two, gave him half a score more to increase his speed, leaving at every stroke the Characters of his Wrath, imprinted in Blood upon his Breech, Giflot tho' almost out of Breath with running so swistly, had yet still enough left to cry out Whip him, whip him sound, which animated the Coachman to redouble his Stripes, and poor Ragotin to increase his speed, till at last a Mill presented itself in his way as an Asylum to save him. He ran in there with the Executioner close at his Heels, and finding the Door of a little Back-yard open, he entered in thereat in great haste, but which he had no sooner done, than he was caught by the Buttocks by a Mastiff Dog. He thereupon began to shriek out most dolefully, and flying to an adjoining Garden, with great precipitation, he happened to tumble down five or six Hives of Bees that stood just at his entrance. This proved much the worst of all his Misfortunes, for these little winged Enemies with their pointed Stings assailing a naked Body that had no Arms to defend it, tormented and Blistered him most cruelly. He hereupon bawled out so loud that the Dog that had bitten him was scared away for fear. The same cause drove away the Coachman and Father Gislot, which last having given his Revenge too great a lose, and kept his Charity too straight laced, began to repent of his Cruelty, and hastened immediately to call the Master and his Man to the assistance of the poor Fellow, who was thus worried in the Garden. The Miller made no great haste, but nevertheless came at last, when snatching up Ragotin from among his venomous Enemies, tho' he might be a little displeased at the overthrow of his Hives, yet had he nevertheless more Charity than the Priest, and began at first sight to pity him. He then proceeded to demand of him What the Devil made him to thrust himself while naked, and his Hands tied, among his Stocks of Bees? But tho' Ragotin was going to answer him, yet could he not, by reason of the excessive Pains he felt all over his Body. A Bear's Cub but newly Whelped, and never licked into form, could not be so shapeless as our Ragotin was in his Humane figure, after having been stung by these merciless Creatures, being swelled excessively, even from Head to Foot. The Miller's Wife as piteous as most good Women are, got a Bed provided for him and laid him into it. Father Giflot, the Coachman and Peasant, returned back to the Abbess of Estival, who with her Nuns being re-embarked in their Coach, set forwards on their Journey under Convoy of the reverend Father mounted on a Mare. It happened that the aforesaid Mill belonged either to du Rignon or his Son-in-Law Bagottiere I cannot say whether. This du Rignon it seems was a Relation of Ragotin's, which when the Miller and his Wife came to know, they took more than ordinary care of him, and caused a Surgeon of a Neighbouring Town to come and Cure him, which he happily performed in a short time. Assoon as he was well able to Walk, he returned to Man's, where his Joy for Rancour and Olive's having found his Mule and brought it home along with them, soon made him forget his fall out of the Cart, the Coachman's lashes, his bitting by the Mastiff, and his being stung by the Bees.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Some Passages between the little Ragotin and the great Baguenodiere.  
DEstiny and Star, Leander and Angelica, two brace of noble and real Lovers, arrived at the Capital City of Maine, without meeting any the least Misfortune by the way. Destiny soon reinstated Angelica in her Mother's Favour, to whom he had given so plausible an Account and Character of Leander's Amours and Condition, that Mrs. Cave began now to approve the young Man's Passion, as much as she had before opposed it. The poor Company of Strollers had had no great reason to brag of theri get at Man's had not a Man of Quality that loved Plays extremely, made them amends for the losses they had sustained by the Citizens. The greatest part of this Person's Estate lying in Maine, he had taken a House at Man's, whither he often invited as well Courtiers as Country Gentry, among whom were sometimes the greatest Wits, and often times Poets of the first rank to all which he approved himself a kind of Modern Maecenas. His chiefest delight was in Comedy, and therefore he not only cherished the Composers thereof, but likewise invited every Year the best Comedians in the Kingdom to come to Mans. This Nobleman happened to come thither much about the same time that these poor Strollers were going thence on account of the thinness of their Audiences, but he desired them by all means to continue there a Fortnight longer; and the better to incline them to it, he presented them with a Hundred Pistols, promising to give them as many more at their departure. He was glad of this occasion to divert several Persons of Quality of both Sexes that he had brought along with him to Man's, and who were to make some short stay there at his Request. This Lord, whom I will call here the Marquis d'Orse, was a great Hunter and had brought all his Hunting Equipage to Man's, which in every respect was the finest to be met with in France. The Downs and Forests of the Country of Maine made it to be one of the best places for those Sports in the whole Kingdom, and that either for Deer or Hares, and it being now the Season for such like Divertisements the City of Man's was full of Huntsmen, which the approaching Festival had drawn thither, most of them with their Wives, who were extremely ravished at the sight of the Court Gallantry, thinking they should now have matter sufficient to furnish them with Chat for the longest Winters Evening. It is not the least ambition of the Country People to be able to relate sometimes and brag, that at such a time, and in such and such a place, they have seen such and such Courtiers, whom they salute only with their Surnames, and mention without any addition of Title; for Example, one will tell you he lost his Money to Roquelaure, Crequi won so much, Coaquin hunted a Stag in Touraine, and the like. But if you suffer them to enter either upon Politics or War, they will never cease talking till they have drained the Subject as dry as they were at first empty. But let us here put an end to out Digression. Mans was then filled with Nobility and Gentry of all sorts. The Inns were crowded with Guests, and the greatest part of the principal Citizens who lodged such Courtiers or Country Gentry as were of their Friends, had in a short time their best Linen fouled, and their Family Provisions exhausted. The Strollers quickly opened their Shop, resolving to let their Customers have lumping Pennyworths, since they had been so well paid beforehand. The Citizens of both Sexes prepared for the Diversion, and the Town and Country-Ladies were overjoyed to behold every Day the Court-Madams, from whom they learned to dress alamode, or at least better than they were wont to do, which tho' it occasioned expense to their Husbands, yet was it of exceeding benefit to their Tailors, who by these means had many an old Gown to alter. They had a Ball every Night, where several wretched Dancers moved awkwardly in Courants, and many young Citizens tripped it about in Holland Drawers, and waxed Slippers. Madam Star and Madam Angelica fired the Hearts of most of the young Men that saw them, and raised Envy in the greatest part of the Women. juezilla who danced a Saraband at the request of the Players, was admired, and Roquebrune was just ready to die with Love at the sight of it. Ragotin likewise confessed to Rancour, that if he did not quickly bring him into Favour with Star, France would soon have reason to lament the loss of him. Rancour presently gave him hopes, and as a more particular Testimony of his Friendship than ordinary, desired of him to lend him twenty or thirty Francs. Ragotin turned pale at this surprising request, and not only repent of but was also ready to renounce his Love. However, at length that domineering Passion prevailing in him, he made up the Sum demanded, of different kinds of Money, and out of several Pockets, and gave them with a sorrowful Countenance to Rancour, who engaged at the same time, that in less than twenty four Hours he should be sure to hear himself talked of. That Day was Acted Sir Noisy Parrot, a Play as merry as he that writ it had cause to be sad. The Audience was numerous; the Comedy indifferently well Played, and every body was well enough pleased execpt the unfortunate Ragotin. He through some occasion or other came to the House late, and therefore must crowd in where he could get a seat. His ill Fortune had placed him just behind a Country Gentleman of the largest size, who had a great lose Coat on, which not a little increased his bulk. Besides his spreading Haunches, Chine and Shoulders, he was of a Stature so much taller than other Men, that altho' he sat down, Ragotin who was but one row off him, thought he stood a tiptoe, and therefore cried out incessantly to him to sit down like the rest, not believing that one who sat on the same Bench could be so much taller than any of his Companions. The Gentleman whose name was la Baguenodiere, knew not for some time that Ragotin had spoke to him, till at length being called by the title of the Gentleman with the Green Feather, whereof indeed he had a very flaunting one in his Hat, but that none of the cleanest nor finest, he turned his Head about and saw the little Impertinent, who thereupon bid him somewhat roughly to sit down. This, nevertheless lafoy Baguenodiere was so little moved at, that he turned his Face again very gravely towards the Stage, as if nothing had been said to him; hereat Ragotin began to call to him again to sit down, but which he took as little notice of as before, only turning about and looking upon him, and then returning to his former posture. This at last so vexed Ragotin that he bawled out to him again a third time, which notwithstanding la Baguenodiere regarded as little as formerly. During all the time the Play lasted Ragotin still treated him after the like manner in great Fury, and la Baguenodiere as often looked upon him with the same unconcern, without speaking a Word to him, which was sufficient to have inflamed the most Phlegmatic Man in the World. One might have compared lafoy Baguenodiere in this Adventure to a large Mastiff, and Ragotin to a little Cur that runs barking at him by his side, which provokes the great Dog so little, that in contempt of him he only steps aside, and lifting up his Leg, pisses against the Wall. At length the whole Company began to take notice of what had passed between the largest and the least Man among them, and every one presumed to smile at it, just at the time that Ragotin began to Swear and rave through Impatience, while la Baguenodiere returned him only a cold and indifferent Glance. This Baguenodiere was at the same time the largest Man and the greatest Brute in the World, I should have said Clown. He demanded with his accustomed Gravity of the two Gentlemen that sat next to him what they laughed at, to which they instantly replied very ingenuously, that it was at him and Ragotin, whereby it seems they thought rather to have tickled than displeased him. However it so happened that it disgusted him, and made him to reply in a great rage, Than you are a couple of Sots, which Affront he cast in their Teeth with so great Indignation, and such a sour look, that they presently perceived he was piqued, and therefore thought themselves obliged in requital for his Compliment to give him, each of them, a good sound Box o'th' Ear. La Baguenodiere hereupon having his Arms hampered in his Coat, could do nothing to them again at first but hunch them to and fro with his Elbows, which the two Gentlemen that were Brothers, and naturally very brisk, taking the advantage of, before he could well disengage himself, gave him half a dozen more swinging cuffs on the Chaps, which they happened to deliver with such an equal Measure of Time, that those who heard the sound without seeing the Blows given, thought verily they had been so many singly Claps. At last Baguenodiere got his Arms free from under his cumbersome Coat, but being so close pressed by the two active Brothers, who boxed him most unmercifully all the while, he had not room to move those carnal Weapons of his in. He found himself therefore obliged to retreat, which going to do forwards. Pardon the Incongruity of the Expression, his Enemies having secured him behind and on either side, he chanced to fall on a Man below him, and by the weight of his Body, tumbled both him and his Seat down upon the unfortunate Ragotin, who I should have told you, not finding himself able to prevail with the Country Gentleman to let him see over him, had got a seat a little under him, who was thereby forced down upon another, that beat him backwards upon another, and so onwards to the last Man or Woman, no matter which, that sat below, whereby all these Tumblers in this condition looked just like so many Ninepins that had been dextrously tipped by a skilful touch of one. The noise of the Persons tumbling, the crushed Legs, the frighted Maids, the crying Children, the babbling Women, and in a Word, of those that laughed, of others that lamented, and lastly of such as either clapped their Hands or hissed, made such a confussed din, as one would have thought could have happened no where but at the Valley of jehosaphat. Never did such a trifling cause occasion so many great Accidents before; but that in my opinion, which was the most wonderful, was that there happened not to be one Sword drawn, tho' the Scuffle first began among those that wore them, and whereof there were above a Hundred in the Company. I was equally surprised at Baguenodieres stupidness, who could Cuff and be Cuffed, and receive Assaults and make them, as if he had been about the most indifferent thing in Nature. It was farther observed as another instance of his dulness or sullenness, call it which you please, that he had not once opened his Mouth all that Afternoon, except when he uttered those unmannerly Words, which brought such a shower of Cuffs about his Ears: neither did he afterwards speak one more all that Night, so well was this huge Man's Phlegm and Taciturnity proportioned to his bulk. This grand Confusion of Seats and Persons huddled together, was no small time putting in order, which while some were busy about, and others charitably interposing between the three Combatants, who by this time were got to Fisticuffs again, a sudden howling was heard as proceeding from underground. Who could this now be but Ragotin? For Fortune when she has once begun to persecute any poor Wretch, seldom leaves tormenting him till she has undone him. It seems the Seat which this little Imp sat upon was placed on a Plank that lay over a Drain belonging to the Tennis-Court, which drain is commonly in the middle, just under the Line. It was an ordinary receptacle for the Rain-Water, or any filth that was swept away, and this Plank served as a lid to cover it. But as time consumes all things, so had it rotten this to that degree that Ragotin's weight being greatly increased by those that fell upon him, in the late hurly-burly, it presently gave way under him, and he immediately falling in had the Misfortune to have another Man of a considerable bulk fall upon him, whose Leg, which by the way, was both Booted and Spurred, slipping into the hole where Ragotins' whole Body lay, the Spur so pricked this poor Creatures Throat that it obliged him to howl after a most frightful manner. A Stander-by observing the Accident, and giving the Man his Hand to lift him out, Ragotin perceiving the Foot leaving him, gave it so terrible a nip with his Teeth, even through the Boot, that the Man letting go his hold dropped down again, thinking verily he had been bit by a Serpent. He likewise gave so frightful a shriek at the same time, that the Fellow who was helping him out run away for fear. The same Person recovering himself soon after, lent him his Hand again, and then at one lusty pull he brought both him and Ragotin out at once, who it seems had the wit to hold by the Man's Coat. The little Man no sooner saw the light again, than he begun to threaten every body with his Nods and Looks, but more especially those whom he observed to laugh at him. He afterwards thrust himself among the Crowd that were now going out, meditating all along upon something that should prove as honourable for him to perform, as fatal to his Adversary Baguenodiere. I never came to know whether this last Person and the two Brothers ever accommodated their difference or not, however they happened to fall out, but this I heard, that they never afterwards Assaulted each other. This was what disturbed the first Play that our Comedians acted before the illustrious Company then assembled at Mans.   

CHAP. XVIII.  
Which has no occasion for a Title.  
NEXT was represented Nicomedes, a Play written by the incomparable Monsieur de Corneille. This Comedy is admirable in my Judgement, being the only one of his that has most of its Authors own in it. In it he has sufficiently displayed the richness of his Genius, and given all its Persons bold and shining Characters, but that quite different from each other. While this was playing there happened to be no disturbance, and which it may be, fell out by reason that Ragotin was absent. Scarce a Day passed wherein he did not meet with some broil or other, to which his peevish Pride and rash Presumption exposed him as much as his ill Fortune, which scarce till now had given him the least respite. The little Man had spent his Afternoon with Inezilla's Husband, the Operator Ferdinando, a Norman by Birth, but who called himself a Venetian, and who, as I have already told you, professed Chemistry, tho' to speak freely of him, he was a great Quack, or rather a great Cheat. Rancour to rid himself of the tedious Importunities of Ragotin, to whom he stood engaged to make Madam Star love him, had it seems inclined this little Fellow to believe that this Operator was a great Magician, and could by his Art force the wisest Woman in the World to run after a Man in her Smock if he so pleased, but that he did not care to practise much that way, except for a particular Friend, whose discretion he was well satisfied in, by reason he had formerly undergone some trouble by being overperswaded by some great Lords at Court. He counselled Ragotin therefore to do his utmost to gain his Friendship, which he nevertheless told him was no easy matter to do, the Operator being a Man of Parts, and would consequently esteem only such as were so likewise, but then where he once took a fancy to a Man he kept nothing a secret from him. One need only to praise or commend a proud Fellow to get what one will out of him when it is quite otherwise with the Meek and Humble, for they are not so easily imposed upon. Rancour then persuaded Ragotin to what he pleased, and he went immediately and persuaded the Operator that he was a great Magician. I shall not need to repeat all he said to him; it suffices that the Operator being prepared by Rancour before hand for that purpose, acted his part so well, that he denied his Profession, only that his Bubble might be the more enclinable to believe it. Ragotin then, as I have said before, stayed the whole Afternoon with him; but by reason the Operator had then a Chemical Preparation in Hand, he would by no means satisfy him in any thing that Day, and which occasioned our impertinent Mansean to have but an ill Night of it after he went from him. Next Morning betimes he got to the Operators Chamber before he was up, which Inezilla took very ill, she not being then so youthful as to come out of her Bed as fresh as a Rose, and for that reason always required some Hours in private, before she could be ready for a public View. She therefore immediately slipped into her Closet, her she Black-moor soon following her with Love's Ammunition, and left her Husband and Ragotin to discourse the matter at Liberty. Ferdinando then began to open his Magazine of Miracles and Performances, but would nevertheless Promise to perform nothing for him, Ragotin would therefore needs incline him to it by Demonstrations of his Bounty, and consequently invited both him and his Wife to Dinner. The Men and Women-Players were invited likewise, I shall not give you any particulars of their Entertainment, I would only have you to take notice that they were very Merry and fed hearty. After Dinner Inezilla was desired by Destiny and the other Comedians to read some little Spanish Novel or other to them, which she had either Composed herself, or Translated by help of the divine Roquebrune, who had sworn by Apollo and the Nine Muses, that in six months' time he would teach her all the Graces and Perfections of the French Tongue. Inezilla was so obliging that she did not require much entreaty, and therefore while Ragotin was taken up in consulting the Magician Ferdinando, she Read the following Novel, with a most Charming Voice, and Judicious Accent.   

CHAP. XIX.  
The Two Rival Brothers, a Novel.  
DOrethea and Feliciana de Monsalva were two the most aimable Ladies in all Sevill, but tho' they had not been such, their Fortunes and Quality were so very considerable, that those alone had been sufficient to have engaged any Gentleman to Court them, that had Inclinations to be well Married. Don Manuel their Father had not yet declared himself in favour of any Person, and Dorothea, who as his eldest Daughter ought to have been first 〈◊〉, had like her Sister so well managed her Looks and Actions, that the most confident pretenders to her had yet reason sufficient to doubt whether their Addresses would be well or ill received. However these fair Sisters never went to Mass without a great crowd of Lovers after them, exceeding Sparkishly tricked up, and they never came near the Holy-Water but there were Hands of all sorts and sizes ready to dip with them, out of a peculiar kind of Devotion. Whenever they happened but to lift off their Eyes from their Prayer-Books, they immediately became the Centre of I know not how many wishful Glances; and they could not make the least step in the Church but they had presently abundance of Curtsies to return to the great number of Beaux that bowed to them on all sides. But however troublesome where the Civilities paid to them in Public, the frequent Serenades under their Windows made them considerable amends, and rendered that restraint supportable, which they were obliged to undergo by the Custom of their Country. Hardly a Night. passed but they were regaled with some Music or other, and often in the Day time there was running at the Ring, and Tilting just under their Windows, which looked towards the Marketplace, most proper for those Exercises. One Day among the rest, a Stranger begot the admiration of the Spectators by his wonderful Address, beyond the ability of any of the Gentry of the City, who was likewise observed by the two Sisters to be a very complete Cavalier. Divers Persons of Sevill, who had been formerly his Acquaintance in Flanders, where he commanded a Regiment of Horse, invited him to run at the Ring with them, which he accoringly performed in a Soldiers Habit. Some Days after, there happened the Consecration of a Bishop at Sevill. The Stranger, who went by the name of Don Sancho de Sylva, would needs be at the Ceremony, and consequently appeared in the Church, together with the greatest Gallants of the City. The fair Sisters came thither likewise, with many other Ladies disguised, after the mode of the Place, with Mantles of thick Stuff, and Hats with Plumes of Feathers in them. Don Sancho by chance had placed himself between the two Sisters and another Lady whom he accosted; but she desiring him civilly to desist, and leave a place next her for a Friend she expected, he obeyed her, and turned towards Dorothea de Montsalva, who sat nearer to him than her Sister, and who had observed all that passed betwixt him and the Lady. I was in hopes Madam, quoth he, addressing himself to Dorothea, that the Lady here, to whom I have just made my Applications, would not have refused me her Conversation, upon the account of my being a Stranger, but she has justly rewarded my presumption in thinking I had any thing tolerable to offer. I nevertheless beseech you, Madam, continued he, to show more Pity and Generosity to a Gentleman who has a mind to experience the Bounty of the Ladies of Sevill. You give me a much greater cause to treat you ill than you have done this Lady, replied Dorothea, since you offer me only what she had before refused; but that you may have no real reason to complain of our Ladies of this Country, I consent to converse with you as long as this Ceremony lasts, to convince you that I have no Assignation to attend. That is what does not a little surprise me, replied Don Sancho, being so wonderfully beauteous as you are, and which makes me enclinable to believe, that either you are very formidable, the Gallants of this Town very faint-Hearted, or else, that the Person, whose place I now usurp, is absent. And do you believe then Sir, quoth Dorothea, that I am so little skilled in the Art of Love, that I could not refrain from appearing in public without my Gallant if I had any? For the future you would do well not to entertain such unbecoming Opinions of those you are wholly unacquainted with. You may be convinced, Madam, replied Don Sancho, that I have a better Opinion of you than you imagine, if you would but allow me to adore you suitable to my Inclinations. Our first Motions are always fallacious, answered Dorothea, and besides there are no small difficulties to be encountered in the performing of what you propound. There are none so great, replied Don Sancho, but I would endeavour to surmount them all, to gain the Honour of your Esteem. That is not the work of a few Days, Reparteeed Dorothea; you don't consider perhaps, Sir, that you do but travel through Sevill, and it may be, are ignorant that I should not well like to be beloved only en passant. But grant me, Madam, what I humbly request, replied Don Sancho, and I will be bound to continue in Sevill as long as I live. Now you speak like yourself, Replied Dorothea, and I cannot but wonder, continued she, that a Person that was able to say so many fine things, should not before this have provided himself of a Mistress to exhaust his Gallantry upon. Is it, added she, that he never yet thought any of them worth his trouble? It is rather, replied Don Sancho, our of a distrust he has of his Abilities. Answer me precisely, Sir, continued Dorothea, to what I shall now demand of you, which is this? Which among all your Ladies it is, that would be soon able to keep you in Sevill were it her request? I have told you already Madam, replied Don Sancho, that you might if you so pleased the soon of any. You never saw me before, Sir, quoth Dovothea, therefore pray let some other happy Lady be the Person. I must acknowledge then, answered Don Sancho, since you command it of me, that had Dorothea de Montsalva, as great a stock of Wit as I have discovered in you, I should think that Man happy whose Merit and Services she could Smile upon. There are many Ladies in Sevill, replied Dorothea, that not only equal but excel her. But, added she, Have you ever yet heard that among all the crowd of her Admirers she ever favoured one more than another? As I found myself very far from deserving her Favour, answered Don Sancho, I never troubled myself to inquire into the good Fortune of others. Why should you not think yourself as deserving as another? demanded Dorothea, women's Humours are for the most part unaccountable, added she, and it often happens that the first Assault of a Stranger has better success with them than the continued Siege of a constant Votary. You have got a very pretty way to get rid of me, quoth Don Sancho, for I plainly perceive by your Discourse that the Services of a new comer would not at all be acceptable to you, in the prejudice of some more happy Person you have long been engaged to. Don't let that enter into your Head, replied Dorothea, but believe rather that I am not so easy as to be cajolled with the bare pretence of a Passion from one that never saw me in his Life. If that be only wanting, Madam, to complete my Happiness, replied Don Sancho, conceal yourself no longer from a Stranger that has been already so charmed with your Wit. You would not be so much with my Face, answered Dorothea, if you saw it. Ah! you cannot choose but be most lovely, replied Don Sancho, since you so freely Confess that you are not so, nay now I have greater cause than ever, to believe that you are weary of my Company, since either that I seem troublesome, or because every corner of your Heart has been already taken up by others. It were unjust therefore, continued he, that your goodness should be any longer trespassed upon by my Boldness, and which I had discontinued before, had not I had a mind to convince you that I had more honourable Designs, when I made you the faithful tenders of my Life and Freedom, than to make you my Pastime and Diversion. And to show you, replied Dorothea, that I do not think that time lost which I have spent in hearing you, I will be contented to continue with you so much longer as may suffice to let me know who you are. It cannot be my Crime then to satisfy you, answered Don Sancho, and therefore I shall proceed to do it. Know then most aimable and unknown Lady, added he, that my name is Sylva, which I had from my Mother; that my Father is Governor of Quitto in Peru; that I am Travelling this way by his Orders; and that I have before spent some part of my Life in Flanders, where I have by Services attained to the chiefest Commands in the Army; and lastly, had confirmed upon me a Commandery of the Order of St. jago. This in few Words, continued he, is a faithful account of what I am, but what I would be all my Life long rests only in your Power to give me leave to express in a place less public than this. That shall be assoon as possibly, replied Dorothea, But in the mean time to prevent your Desires of knowing more of me at present, unless you mean to run the hazard of not knowing me at all, know that I am of Quality, and that my Face not so homely as to frighten you. This said, Don Sancho took his leave with a most profound Bow, and went up to a Company of Gentlemen that were then discoursing together in a knot. Some sullen Ladies now, who are ever censuring others Conducts and Magnifying their own; who take upon themselves the Arbitration of what is good or ill, though one might lay odds in a Wager on their Virtues, as not easy to be made appear, and who fancy that for a little brutish Coyness, and pretended religious Squeamishness, they have a title to Supererogation in point of Honour, tho● the wantonness of their past Youth hath left mor Scandal than ever their crabbed Wrinkles will be able to give good Examples. These Mumping Madams, I say so short sighted is to their own Faults, will perhaps be apt to affirm that Madam Dorothea had too Indiscreetly managed herself in the late Rencounter, and that not only in receiving Addresses so kindly from a Person she never saw before, but likewise in suffering him to make Love to her at all; and farther, that if any young Lady whom they had the Government of should have done as much, she should not have long continued above Ground. But let these Novice-Ladies learn from me, that every Country has its peculiar Customs and Manners, and that tho' in England and France, where the Women and Maids walk about at Liberty, they are or aught to be offended at the least declaration of Love made them by a stranger; yet in Spain it is quite otherwise, for there the Women being all Cloistered up like Nuns, are glad of every occasion of Loves being tendered them, altho' it were from one that had not the least thing worthy of them in him. Nay, the Women there go farther, for they commonly make the first Overtures, and are first taken, by reason that they are last to be seen, having only an opportunity to see the Men through their Veils, and that only at Church, in the Walks, from their Balconies, or through their Grates. Dorothea made her Sister Feliciana acquainted with the Conversation she had with Don Sancho, and moreover frankly owned to her as her Confidente, that she thought him the most agreeable Cavalier in all Sevill. Her Sister very much approved of her Design upon his Liberty. The two fair Ladies entertained each other for some time on the Advantages and Privileges that Men had above Women. They urged that Women were never to be married but at the pleasure of their Parents, which did not always suit with their Inclinations, when Men were at Liberty to pick and choose where they pleased, and marry when they pleased. As for my part, said Dorothea to her Sister, Love shall never make me● do any thing contrary to my Duty, and I am resolved continued she never to marry any Man but who shall singly posset all those good Qualities, which are only to be found dispersed among divers others; and, added she farther, I would rather choose to be shut up in a Convent than to marry a Man I could not like. Feliciana told her that was her Resolution too, and they both together confirmed each other in their Opinions, with all the reasoning that their Ingenuity could furnish them 〈◊〉 Dorothea found it a little difficult to perform her promise 〈◊〉 Don Sancho, which she had given him to make herself know to him, and consequently acquainted her Sister with the 〈◊〉 plexity she was in. But Feliciana, who was happy in findi● out expedients, put her Sister in mind of a Lady that was Relation of theirs, and more than that, an intimate Friend, all Relations are not so, who she was certain would serve her faithfully in any Affair that concerned her Happiness so much as this did. You know, says this good Sister to her, that Mariana, who has been a long while Serviceable to us, is married to a Surgeon, and lives in a House belonging to our Kinswoman, and adjoining to hers, which two Houses have a Door of Communication betwixt them. Now, conrinued she, these Houses stand in a By-part of the Town, and tho' it may be observed that we go oftener to visit our Relation than ordinary, yet it will not be taken notice of that Don Sancho goes to a Surgeons; besides, he may take the opportunity of the Night, or else go disguised to avoid Discovery. Whilst Dorothea was contriving this Intrigue by the help of her Sister, and instructing her Kinswoman and Mariana in what they had to do, Don Sancho's Thoughts were wholly taken up about his unknown Lady. He could not satisfy himself whether she had made those Promises of farther Discovery to abuse him or not, or whether he did not see her every Day tho' Disguised, either at Church, in her Window, or else where receiving the Adoration of her Gallants. Whilst he was thus in doubt, and one Morning dressing himself in order to look after her, a Veiled Lady came to the Door to ask for him. Being admitted, she delivered him the following Billet.  
The Billet.  
Sir,  
I Should have sooner let you heard from me had it been in my Power. But if the Desires you have shown to be acquainted with me be not yet wholly vanished, be pleased to accompany the Bearer, about the dusk of the Evening, to a place where she shall conduct you, and where it is probable you may find  
Your humble Servant.  
You may better imagine, than I express, the Joy that Don Sancho conceived at this News. He embraced the Ambassadress with all possible acknowledgements, and moreover presented her with a Gold Chain, which she after a modest refusal accepted. She appointed him a remote place to meet her in without Attendants in the Evening, and so departed, leaving him the best satisfied, tho' at the same time the most impatient Man in the World. At length Night came, and she failed not to be at the place of Assignation richly Habited and Perfumed. He was conducted by her first into an ill-favoured little House, and afterwards into a very fair Apartment, where he found three Ladies veiled. He presently distinguished his unknown Mistress from the rest by her Shape and Stature, and therefore immediately Addressed himself to her, entreating her to pull of her Veil. She made no great difficulty to comply with his Request, and therefore both she and her Sister forthwith discovered themselves to the happy Don Sancho, to be the two Beautiful Ladies Dorothea and Feliciana de Montsalva. You may now perceive I told you true, said Dorothea to him throwing off her Veil, when I assured you that a Stranget might sometimes obtain more kindness from us Women in a Minute, than the most importunate of our Lovers could do by many Years Courtship. And, continued she, you would be the most ungrateful Person of your Sex, did you either not highly esteem the Favour I have done you, or misinterpret it to my disadvantage. I shall ever value what I receive from you, replied Don Sancho Passionately, as if it came from Heaven, and you may be able to guests by the Care I shall take to preserve to myself the Favour you have done me, that if I ever am so unhappy as to let it be known, it will rather be the effect of my Misfortune than Crime.  
They said, in short, without control,  
All what such Lovers use to say,  
When Love is Master of the Soul.  
The Mistress of the House and Feliciana, who had been before Instructed what they had to do, were retired to a convenient distance from the two Lovers, whereby they gave them an opportunity to exchange their mutual Affections with greater Ardency than they had time to do at their first meeting, as likewise to appoint another Assignation to inflame them yet more if possible. Dorothea promised Don Sancho to give him as many Meetings as she could conveniently, for which he returned her all the acknowledgements he was capable of making. The two other Ladies entertained each other apart for some time; but at length Mariana thought herself obliged to acquaint the Lovers that it was time to separate, at which Dorothea was presently concerned, and Don Sancho visibly changed Countenance; but however part they must. The gallant Cavalier wrote the next Day to his fair Mistress, and had an Answer suitable to his Wishes; but I cannot pretend to give you a sight of their Letters, by reason that none of them ever came to my Hands. What I can satisfy you in is, that they met often in the same place, and after the same manner, and at length arrived to that fervency of Affection, that without Murdering themselves like Pyramus and Thysbe, they might well be said to be as passionate Lovers. It is a common saying, That Love, Fire and Money, cannot lie concealed. Dorothea, who had the gallant Stranger continually in her Mind, could not forbear talking of him frequently, taking all occasions to set him so much above all other Gentlemen of Sevill, that at last some Ladies who had concealed Affections as well as she, and who observed her continually crying up Don Sancho, not only took notice of, but were piqued at it. Her Sister Feliciana had often advised her to be more cautious, and above a Hundred times in Company, when she was even transported in his Praise would often tread upon her Toes, till she had almost crippled her, to desist. At last through her Indiscretion, her Intrigue came to one of her Admirers knowledge, by means of a Lady a Friend of his. He had reason enough to believe her in Love with Don Sancho, since from the time that Stranger first appeared in the City neither he nor any of her other Humble Servants could obtain the least favourable look from her. This Rival of Don Sancho's was Richardo, of a good Family, and very well received by Don Manuel, who nevertheless had not yet pressed his Daughter to Marry him, because as often as he had talked any thing to her tending that way, she had always conjured him not to Marry her so young. This Gentleman, I begin to recollect his Name was Don Diego, had a mind to be fully assured of what he had yet but suspected. He had one of those Valets de Chambre which we call Spruce Fellows, who wear as good Linen as their Masters, and sometimes that of their Masters, and who bring up Fashions among the inferior Servants, and are as much or rather more envied by the Waiting-Women than beloved. This Fellows name was Gusman, who having a small tincture of Poetry composed those sorts of Sonnets as Madrid, which London and Paris we call Ballads. He was accustomed to Sing them to his Guittar, but that never plain and downright, but always attended with the ridiculous Gestures of his Head and Body. He moreover danced the Sarabande, was never without Castagnets, would more than once have got to be a Player, had he not been as often refused; and to make up the Composition of his Character, was something inclinable to the Bully; but to tell you the truth, 'twas that of the most sneaking kind. All these noble Talents, added to a little Eloquence his Memory had furnished him with, from his Master's Table-talk, made him to be the Idol, if I may so speak, of all those Servant Maids that had best Opinions of themselves. Don Diego commanded him to cast an Ogle or two upon Isabel, a young Wench that waited on the two Ladies Dorothea and Feliciana de Montsalva. He forthwith obeyed his Master's Commands, and Isabel was almost assoon caught in the Trap as it was set for her, believing herself not a little happy to be beloved by Gusman, whom she in a short time loved again, as he in a little while after did her really, tho' his first Intentions were only to impose on her by his Master's Orders, and for his ends. As the Love of Gusman was a thing much coveted amongst the Servant Maids of that City, so was Isabella's Fortune as great as the most ambitious Valet de Chambre could expect to be raised to. She was very well beloved by her Mistresses, from whom she received many Favours, and was besides in expectation of a Fortune, to be given her by her Father an honest Tradesman, Gusman then thinking seriously on the matter, resolved to be her Husband, as she on her part did to be his Wife, and therefore having only taken one another's Words, they lived together as such. Isabel was not a little displeased to observe than Mariana the Surgeon's Wife, at whose House Dorothea and Do● Sancho had their private Meetings, still continued to be their Confidente in a Business, whence she knew must come a great deal of Profit to her. She had found out the Gold Chain which Sancho had given her, and besides, discovered many other Presents he had made her, and moreover imagined that then might have been several more which she knew nothing of●●● This caused her to hate Mariana to Death, and which incline●● me to believe that this young Lass was not a little Medicinary. It is no wonder then if at the first request her dea● Gusman made her to tell him truly, whether her Mistress Dorothea were in Love or not; she confessed the whole secret to hi● on whom she had bestowed her Heart. She informed him therefore of as much as she knew of the Intrigue between the two Lovers, and concluded all with railing at Mariana for depr●●ing her of her Vails, which she said, was due to her as Servant of the House. Gusman desired of her farther to let him know the Day and Hour when the Lovers were next to meet, which she soon after did, and he consequently acquainted his Master with not only that, but likewise with all the rest that he had learned from the treacherous Isabel. Don Diego hereupon habited himself like a Beggar, and taking his Post just at Mariana's Door the Night that his Man had informed him the Rendesvouz was to be, he saw his Rival enter there, and some time after a Coach stopping before Dorothea's Cousin's House, he observed both his Mistress and her Sister to come out thereof and go in there, which you may imagine left him in no small rage, well knowing what secret Communication there was between the two Houses. He Plotted therefore from that very Minute to rid himself of so formidable a Rival as Don Sancho might prove. The surest way to take him off he thought was by Assassins', and consequently forthwith hired two for that end. With these he watched for him divers Nights together, and at last met him, and set on him with the assistance of his two Bullies, both like himself well Armed. Don Sancho no sooner perceived their Intentions than he put himself in a posture of Defence, being also indifferently well provided for that purpose, for over and above his Sword and Poniard he had two Pistols ready charged and stuck in his Girdle. Don Diego was more forward to engage than his Companions, who were only led to it by the thoughts of Gain. Don Sancho at first gave Ground, out of Policy, till he had drawn his Assailants to a convenient distance from the House where Dorothea was. But length fearing he might receive prejudice if he still continued on the Defensive part, and perceiving Don Diego to press more vigorously than ordinary upon him, he let fly one of his Pistols at him, and brought him to the Ground half Dead, but nevertheless crying out and bawling for a Priest as if he were Mad. At the bare hearing the report of a Pistol the Bullies immediately trooped off. Don Sancho retired to his Lodgings, and the Neighbours coming out of their Houses to see what was the matter, found the Wounded Man just expiring, who nevertheless had so much Life left as to accuse Don Sancho of his Murder. This our Cavalier had soon notice of, by means of his Friends, who told him moreover, that altho' the Law could not reach him, yet would not Don Diego's Relations let his Death be unrevenged, but rather seek all opportunities to Murder him wherever they could meet him to Advantage. Don Sancho hearing this, thought it his best way to retire to a Convent, where he knew he might be safe, which he immediately did, and from thence sent his dear Dorothea an account of his Safety, ordering his Affairs so in the mean time, that he might be be ready to leave Sevill at the shortest warning. Whilst matters past thus, the Magistrates of the City were doing their best to find Don Sancho out but to no purpose. After the heat of the Search was a little over, and every body was of opinion that he was clear got off, Dorothea and her Sister, under pretence of Devotion, were carried by their Cousin to the same Monastery whither Sancho was retired. There the two Lovers had another Meeting in the Chapel, where they mutually promised eternal Constancy and Fidelity to each other, and at parting uttered so many moving Expressions, that Feliciana, her Kinswoman, and the good Monk that attended them wept exceedingly, and which they were always afterwards enclinable to do whenever the remembrance of this Interview came into their Minds. Don Sancho soon after got from Sevill in Disguise, leaving Letters behind him with his Father's Factor to be transmitted to the Indies by the first opportunity. By these Letters he gave his Father an account of what had befallen him, and which had obliged him to leave Sevill to retire to Naples for the saving of his Life. He arrived there safe in a little time, and was received very kindly by the Viceroy to whom he had the Honour to have formerly belonged Notwithstanding the great Favours showed him, he nevertheless led but an uneasy Life in Naples for above a Year or more and that because he had heard no News all that while of his dear Dorothea. Some small time after the Viceroy equipped six Galleys to go out a Cruizing after the Algerines. Don Sancho's Courage would not suffer him to neglect so fair an occasion to show itself, and therefore he was resolved to engage in this Enterprise. The Admiral that commanded received him on Board his Galley, and lodged him in his own cabin, being not a little proud that he had a Person of his Quality and Merit to accompany him. These six Neapolitan Galleys ●net eight Algerines almost within sight of Messina, and were not long before they engaged them. After a dubious Fight the Christians took three of the Turks and sunk two. The Neapolitan Admiral happened to be grappled with the Turkish Admiral, which being better Man'd than the rest, had made a much greater resistance. The Sea in the mean time grew rugged, and the Storm increased so fast, that at length both Christians and Turks had more regard to their own safeties that to endeavour each others ruin. They as it were consented then mutually to withdraw their Grappling-Irons, and disengage themselves from one another, and which happened much about the time that Don Sancho being overbold had thrown himself into the Turkish Admiral, without being so happy as to have any body to follow him. Seeing himself thus alone, and more than that, in the Power of his Enemies, he preferred Death to Slavery, and immediately fling himself into the Sea, hoping only to escape Drowning by his excellent Swimming. But the bad Wether proving so extraordinary, it hindered him from being discovered by the Christian Galleys, altho' the Admiral having been an Eye-witness of his Action, and being extremely concerned at the loss of him, which he looked upon as unavoidable, had tacked about towards the place where he saw him leap in. Don Sancho in the mean time cut the Waves with his Skilful Arms, and after having Swom a while to the Leeward, whither both the Wind and the Tide carried him, he by luck met with a Plank which had been torn from the sides of one of the Turkish Galleys by the Cannon. This he looked upon as a Present sent him from Heaven, and which he immediately made use of with that success, that in a short time he got a Shore on the Coast of Sicily, which was not above a League and half from the place where the Battle was fought. He landed without any prejudice done him by the Rocks; and after having returned thanks to Heaven for ●his preservation, he walked forward as far as his Weakness would suffer him. At last making shift to get up a little Hill, ●he perceived from the top a Neighbouring Hovel, whither he immediately went, and found it Inhabited by Fishermen, who approved themselves to him the most charitable People in the World. The over-heating himself in the Fight, and afterwards ●renching himself in the Water, together with the wet clothes he was forced to wear, brought so violent a Fever upon him, that he was obliged for some time to keep his Bed, but whereof he in a short time recovered, without doing any thing more than living regularly. During his Illness, he did all that in him lay to make the World believe he was Dead, ●hereby as well to abate his Enemy's Don Diego's Relations Ma●●ice to him, as to make trial of his Dorothea's Constancy. Whilst he was in Flanders he had contracted an extraordinary Friendship with a Sicilian Marquis of the Family of Montal●●●o whose name was Fabio. He desired one of the Fishermen ●o make enquiry whether he was then at Messina, where he knew he lived. Being informed that he was, he went immediately thither in a Fisher's Habit, and arrived at the Marquis' House about Night. The Marquis was extremely overjoyed at the sight of a Friend whom he had given over for soft, Don Sancho gave him an account how he came to be saved and moreover told him his Adventure at Sevill without concealing from him the violent Passion he had for Dorothea. The Marquis proffered his service to go for him into Spain, and to carry off Dorothea, and bring her to Sicily, provided she would but consent to the doing of it. Don Sancho would by no means put his Friend to so dangerous a trial of his Friendship as to go alone on his account, and therefore proposed to go along with him. Sanchez, Don Sancho's Man, had been so afflicted for the loss of his Master, that when the Galleys came into the Port of Messina to refresh themselves, he entered into a Convent, resolving to pass there the remainder of his Days. Fabio who had been the cause of his being admitted, sent to the Superior to release him again, and which was the readier complied with, by reason he had not yet received the Habit of the Order. Sanchez was overjoyed at the sight of his dear Master, and assoon shook off all thoughts of returning to the Monastery again. His Master not long after sent him into Spain to prepare his way for him, and in the mean time charged him to send him News of his dear Dorothea, who like others had been possessed with the belief of his Death. This Report had spread itself even to the Indies, and which had caused his Father to die with regret, leaving four hundred Thousand Crowns to another Son on Condition, that if his Brother Sancho appeared again, he should refund to him a Moiety. Don Sancho's Brother's name was juan de Peralta, the same with his Fathers. His Father being dead he embarked for Spain, and arrived at Sevill about a Year after the before mentioned Misfortune had befell his Brother. Having a quite different Name it was easy for him to conceal that they wer● Brothers, and which he thought very necessary for him to do since he was obliged to reside for some time in that City where Sancho had left so many Enemies. He happened soon after to have a sight of the fair Dorothea, and like his Brother, became quickly enamoured of her, tho' not with the same success. This fair afflicted Lady could Love nothing after her dear Sancho. All that Don juan de Peralta could do to please her, proved only tiresome to her, and she moreover utterly refused the be●. Matches in Sevill, which her Father Don Manuel had propose● to her. About this time Sanchez came to Sevill, and observing his Master's Orders, immediately set himself about enquiring into Dorothea's Behaviour. He learned from a common Report about the City, that a very wealthy Person lately com●● from the Indies, had fallen desperately in Love with her, and who omitted nothing to set forth his Gallantry and Affection●● This he soon informed his Master of, but made the Story much worse than it was told him, and his Master believed it to be yet worse than he related it. The Marquis Fabio and Don Sancho embarked not long after at Messina, on Board the Galleys that were then returning to Spain, and arrived safe in a short time at St. Lucar, where they immediately took Post for Sevill. It was Night before they got thither, when they went forthwith to the Lodgings which Sanchez had assigned them. They kept all the next Day close in their Chambers, and, at Night took a Walk towards Don Manuel's House. They there heard Instruments of several kinds running under Dorothea's Window, and afterwards an excellent Consort: when that was over a single Voice, accompanied only with a Theorbo, complained for some time of the Cruelties of a Tygress in an Angel's form● Don Sancho was so provoked at this, that he certainly had trussed up the Serenaders, had not the Marquis Fabio prevented it by representing to him that he could have done no more if Dorothea had appeared in the Balcony to encourage his Rival; but since she had not, he ought to believe that the Words that were Sung were rather Complaints of a dissatisfied Lover, than thanks for any Favours received. The Serenaders retired after they had performed their Task, and Don Sancho and the Marquis retired also to their Lodgings. Dorothea began to be importuned more and more every Day by her Indian Lover. Her Father Don Manuel was extremely desirous to have her speedily Married, and therefore she feared that if Don juan de Peralta being Rich and of so good a Family as he really was, should offer himself to him for his Son-in-Law, he would easily be preferred to all others, and she consequently more pressed by her Father to Marry than she had hitherto been. The Day after the Serenade Dorothea spent wholly in her Sister's Company, often telling her, That she could no longer suffer the Gallantries of the Indian, and farther, that she could not but wonder how he could make his Courting of her so public, before he had obtained her Father's leave to Court her. It is a thing that extremely surprises me likewise, replied Feliciana, and if I were in your place, the first opportunity that offered, I would treat him so ill, that he should ever after be out of Hopes either of saying or doing any thing to please me. For my part, continued she, I can't discover any Charms in him to please a Woman. He has not that Air which is to be acquired only at Court, and the great Expenses he is at here has nothing of the Polite, and plainly shows him to be a Stranger. She proceeded afterwards to finish a very disadvantageous Character of Don juan de Peralta, not remembering that at his first appearing in Sevill she had confessed to her Sister that she liked him, and that as often as she had had occasion to speak of him she had always done it with some sort of concern. Dorothea observing her Sister so altered, or at least that she seemed to be so, from the Opinion she had formerly entertained of this Cavalier, presently suspected that she loved him as much as she pretended to dislike him. She therefore to clear her doubts told Feliciana that she had no manner of aversion for Don juan's Person, but rather a respect, by reason that she found so much of Sancho's likeness in his Face. Her only reason for slighting him was because she could Love no Man after Don Sancho, and she added farther, since she could not hope to be his Wife she was resolved never to be one to any other, but determined to spend the remainder of her Days in a Convent. Although you were resolved upon such a strange Undertaking, which I don't believe, replied Feliciana, yet you might spare me the trouble of hearing of it. Never doubt it, dear Sister, answered Dorothea, for it is but too true, and it is as certain that you will speedily be the richest Fortune in Sevill. It is therefore, continued she, that I would see Don juan once more, to incline him, since he is not like to have me, to have the same Love and Respect for you. But, proceeded she farther, when I do see him, I shall withal, desire him to importune me no more with his Addresses, since I find they are so very displeasing to you. And let me tell you, added she further, that I know no Person in Sevill to whom you could be happier Married than to him. If I said he displeased me, replied Feliciana, I must own it was rather through Complaisance to you than any aversion I had for him. Confess rather, dear Sister, quoth Dorothea, that you Love him, and apprehend me for a Rival. At these Words Feliciana began to blush, and was extremely out of Countenance. She proceeded to defend herself against her Sister's Accusation, but which served rather to condemn than acquit her. At last she found she was obliged to confess that she loved Don juan, which she would nevertheless not have done had she believed it in her power to have concealed it, Dorothea was so far from disapproving her Sister's Passion ', that she encouraged her in it, by promising to serve her to her Power. Soon after Isabel, who had broke off all Communication with her Friend Gusman, ever since the accident that befell Don Sancho, had orders from Dorothea to go immediately and find out Don juan, and to tell him that she and her Sister desired his Company about Midnight in the Garden, when her Father would certainly be a Bed. She likewise bade her to carry him the Key of the Garden-Gate. Isabella who had been gained over by Don juan, and consequently had made it her business to procure him her Mistress' esteem, tho' without success, was extremely surprised at this sudden change, but at the same time not a little glad that she was to carry him so good News, who had so often obliged her, tho' she brought him none but bad. She made what hast she could therefore to his Lodgings, but found him not inclinable to credit her Message, till she shown him the fatal Key. At the same time she put the Key into his Hands, he put a perfumed Purse with 50 Pistoles in it into hers, which she received with no less Joy than she had occasioned him by her coming. As ill-luck would have it, the same Night that Don juan was to have admittance into Dorothea's Fathers Garden, Don Sancho and his Friend the Marquis happened to take their rounds that way. They were in the Street where Dorothea lived about Eleven a Clock, when all of a sudden four Men well Armed came up to them, and stared them full in the Face. Don Sancho thinking his Rival might be among them, forthwith told them surlily, That the Post which they had taken up there he had occasion for, to dispatch a certain Affair in, and therefore required them to be gone and give him Liberty for that purpose. To which they immediately replied, that they would do it with all their Hearts, but that the place was as proper for them to execute a Design they had in Hand, which he must give them leave to do before he could find any room there. This answer so nettled Don Sancho that it was only a Word and a Blow with him, for he immediately set upon them with that Vigour that he soon put them into disorder, and his Friend the Marquis charging them at the same time, they were driven to the end of the Street before they knew where they were. There Don Sancho received a slight Wound, but in return gave his Enemy so home a thrust that he was some time in getting his Sword out of his Body, and whom he left for dead. In the mean time the Marquis was pursuing those that fled, which they quickly did ●●soon as they saw their Comrade fall. Don Sancho at last saw several Lights coming towards him at a distance, which suspecting to be the Watch, as it really was, he began to think of his escape. He retired therefore in some confusion through all the blind Allies he could find, and which at length bringing him into a large open Street, he met full-but with ●n old Gentleman that was then lighting a long with a Lan●●trn, and who had drawn his Sword at the hearing of Don Sancho running towards him. This old Cavalier was Don Manuel, who had been playing a game at Cards at a Neighbour's House, and was now returning home after his usual Custom through a little Gate of the Garden, which was near the place where Sancho met him. At the first approach of our Adventurer Don Manuel cried out, Who goes there? A Man answered Sancho, whose business 'tis to make the best of his way, if you do not stop him. It may be, Sir, concontinued Don Manuel, some Accident may have obliged you to search in such haste for a Sanctuary, if so, my House is near at Hand, and may, if it please you to accept it, be of Service to you 'Tis true, replied Don Sancho, I am in quest of a Sanctuary to screen me from a Pursuit which I fear is made after me, and since you have been so generous as to offer a Stranger the Protection of your House, he will trust himself wholly in your Hands, and never forget both the Kindness and Honour you will do him. Hereupon Don Manual immediately opened the Door with a Key he had always about him, and put him in a Grove of Laurels, whilst he went into his House to seek for a better conveniency for him. Don Sancho had not been long in the Grove before a Woman came to him and Cried, Come away Sir, my Mistress Dorothea waits for you. At the hearing of that dear Name, Don Sancho began immediately to think that he was in his Mistress' Garden, and that the Old Gentleman who had brought him in might be her Father. He likewise suspected, with reason enough, that Dorothea had made some Rival of his an Assignation, and that this was the time of their Rendevezouz: He therefore followed Isabel but that more tormented with Jealousy, than the fears of a Pursuit. In the interim Don juan came at the Hour appointed, and with the Key which had been given him, opened the Garden-door, and went and hid himself in th● Grove of Laurels, whence Don Sancho was but just gone. A Moment after he perceived a Man to come directly up to him● which at first gave him so much surprise, that he thought good to put himself into a posture of Defence; but observing it to be Don Manuel, he endeavoured only to conceal himself. Don Manuel soon finding him out, said to him, Come come, follow me, and I will put you in a place where you n●● not fear being discovered. Don juan guessed by what he ha● heard, that Don Manuel had saved some Person or other tha● fled from Justice; but nevertheless thought himself obliged 〈◊〉 follow him, tho' he was not the Man he took him for. A● he went along he returned him a thousand Thanks for his Civility; but you may imagine was not inwardly a little displeased at him, for disappointing him of his Amorous Intrigsses Don Manuel conducted him into a Chamber, where he left him while he went to prepare a Bed for him in another adjoining Room. There we must leave him likewise in no smal● trouble and perplexity, and return to speak of his Brother Don Sancho de S●lva. Him Isabel carried into a Ground-Chamber which looked out into the Garden, and where Dorothea and Feliciana stayed waiting for Don juan de Peralta, the one as a Lover who was studying to say something to please him, and the other as one that could not Love him, and designed there to tell him so. At Don Sancho's entering the Room the fair Sisters were wonderfully surprised. Dorothea immediately swooned away at the fright, and would have certainly dropped down on the Floor had not her Sister held her up in her Chair. Don Sancho stood like a Statue: Isabel was ready to die with fear, believing that Sancho's Ghost was come to revenge the wrongs her Mistress had done him while alive. Feliciana, tho' extremely frighted likewise, was nevertheless so employed about recovering her Sister, that she did not so much mind it as she would have otherwise done. At last Dorothea came to herself, and then Don Sancho spoke to her after the following manner, If the Report spread abroad of my Death did not in some measure excuse your Inconstancy, ungrateful Dorothea, quoth he, I should not have now Breath enough left wherewith to reproach your Infidelity. But 'twas I that occasioned that Report, to be forgotten of my Enemies, and not by you, who have so often promised to Love none but me, and yet, who have now so soon, nay, so treacherously broke that Promise. I might well revenge myself, now I have an opportunity, continued he, and complain so loud, that I might a wake your Father, and he consequently rise and find your Lover, whom you have hid in his House. But Fool that I am! I am yet afraid to displease you, and torment myself more with the thoughts that I must love you no longer, than with those that so plainly suggest to me that you love another. Go on, faithless Fair one! Go on, proceeded he, enjoy your happy Lover; be aprehensive of no danger in this new Amour; be assured that will rid you speedily of the Man that has it in his power 〈◊〉 reproach you of Treachery all your Life long; nay, of 〈◊〉 you have betrayed even at a time that he has exposed 〈◊〉 Life to come to worship you. At these Words Don San●●● would have been gone, but Dorothea held him, and was go●●● to justify herself just at the time that Isabel came running 〈◊〉 the Chamber to tell her Don Manuel was coming. Don 〈◊〉 had only time to step behind the Door before the old ●●●tleman came in, He began immediately to repremand his ●●ghters for being up so late, and afterwards went out of Chamber, which he had no sooner done but Don Sancho out likewise, and getting into the Garden hide himself as before among the Laurels, expecting an opportunity when he might get away. Don Manuels business in his Daughter's Chamber was to light a Candle, wherewith to go to the Garden-Gate, where the Constable and Watch were knocking like Mad for admittance, having been told, that one of the Persons that made the fray in the Streets was got in there. Don Manuel made but little difficulty to suffer them to enter and search his House, as believing that they would not open his Chamber wherein he had hid the Gentleman he protected, Don Sancho perceiving it was impossible for him to escape being found, amidst the great number of the Watchmen and Mob that were spread all over the Garden, came out of his own accord from the Lawrel-Grove, and going up to Don Manuel, who was not a little surprised to see him, whispered him in his Ear, That a Cavalier of honour should always keep his Word, and ought never to abandon one that he had once thought fitting to take into his Protection. Hereupon Don Manuel desired the Constable, who was one of his Friends, to leave Don Sancho in his Custody, which request was readily granted him, being a Man of Quality, and the rather, because the Wounded Person was not yet Dead. After this the Constable and Watch retired, and Don Manuel having discovered Don Sancho, and finding by his Answers that he was really the Person he had admitted into his Garden, he did not doubt but the other must have been some Love-adventurer intended to have been introduced to his Daughters by Isabel. To be the better convinced of the Truth, he desired Don Sancho to go into a Chamber and not to stir thence till he came to him again, which Sancho promised he would. In the mean time Don Manuel went to Don juan de Peralta to whom he feigned that his Servant had come into the Garden at the same time with the Watch, and desired to speak with him. Don juan knew very well that his Servant was Sick a Bed, and therefore could not well come to him; besides, he had had no Orders from him so to do, and moreover knew not where he was; all this together made him extremely concerned at what Don Manuel had said to him: Nevertheless, that he might not discover himself through the want of a ready Answer, he immediately replied to Don Manuel, at random, If you please, Sir, let him be ordered to attend me at my Lodgings. Don Manuel then presently discovered him to be the young Indian Gentleman that had mad● such a noise for some time in Sevill, and having been already informed of his Quality and Estate, resolved not to suffer hi● to go out of his House till he had married her of his Daughters whom he could best fancy. He discoursed some time with him, to be better satisfied in those matters which kept him still in suspense. Isabel saw them talking together from the other Door, and immediately went and told her Mistress of it. Don Manuel soon perceived her, and thought she was coming to bring a Message from one of his Daughters to Don juan, and therefore left him, to run after her, and intercept her Design. Just as he overtook her the Light that was in the Chamber was burnt out. Whilst he was groping after her, being in the Dark, Isabel got clear of him, and went and told Dorothea and Feliciana that Don Sancho was in their Father's Chamber, and that she saw them talking together. The two Sisters immediately run thither. Dorothea for her part was not afraid of meeting her dear Don Sancho with her Father, being resolved to confess how much she loved and was beloved by him, as likewise for what end she had made that Assignation with Don juan. She happened to come into her Father's Chamber just at the same instant that Don juan was stealing out, whom she taking for Don Sancho, caught by the Arm, and spoke to him thus, Why, cruel Don Sancho, dost thou thus fly from me, and wherefore wilt thou not hear my Vindication against the unjust Aspersions thou hast cast upon me? I confess you could not have reproached me sufficiently, had I but been guilty of what you have some sort of reason to believe me. But you know there are many Falsities which sometimes have as great resemblance of Truth as Truth itself, which is ever best discovered by Time. Allow me therefore so much as may serve to unravel this Confusion, wherein yours and my Misfortune, and perhaps that of divers others, has involved us. Help me to justify myself, and let not thy Passion which hurries thee on to condemn me, provoke thee to pronounce an unjust Sentence before a due Conviction. You may perhaps have heard, continued she, that a certain Cavalier Loves me, but did you ever hear that I returned his Love? You may likewise have seen him here, and it is most true that I have sent for him, but when you shall also know for what reason, I am pretty well assured you will repent of your cruel Usage to me, and be inclinable to own that I could give you no greater proof of my Fidelity. Why is he not now in thy Presence, this Spark that importunes me so frequently with his Passion, that I might have an opportunity to ask him before thee, whether I ever gave him leave to profess he loved me, or if he ever had any reason to believe I had read his Letters? But my Misfortune is such, added she sighing, that as often as I would have shunned him, he has appeared before me, but now I have occasion for him to clear my Innocence he is absent. Don juan had so much patience as to hear all she could say without giving her the least Interruption, and that chief that he might thereby discover what she had all along before kept a Secret from him. At last, just as he was going to reproach her with baseness, Don Sancho, who had been groping from Room to Room to find the way into the Garden, and still missing it, at length came so near as to hear Dorothea talking with Don juan, whom he knowing by her Voice, approached them as softly as he could, but was notwithstanding soon discovered by Don juan and the two Sisters. At the same Moment Don Manuel came into the Chamber with Lights carried before him by two Servants. Hereupon the two Rival Brothers presently stared each other in the Face, looking fiercely, and laying their Hands upon their Swords. Don Manuel stepped in between them to prevent any mischief, and immediately commanded his eldest Daughter to make choice of one of them, who as her Husband might be authorised to chastise the other. Don juan then began to speak, and told Don Manuel that for his part he resigned up all Pretensions to the Cavalier that was before him, but that not through fear. Don Sancho said the same thing, adding moreover, that since Don juan had been introduced into Don Manuel's House by his Daughter, it was probable that she both loved him and was beloved by him, and therefore for his part, he would die a thousand Deaths before he would marry one with the least scruple upon her. Then Dorothea throwing herself at her Father's Feet, conjured him to hear her. She related to him all that had passed between Don Sancho de Sylva and her, to the time of his kill of Don Diego on her account. She afterwards informed him how Don juan de Peralta had made love to her, and what designs she had to disabuse him, and to propose her Sister to him in Marriage; and to conclude all, she told him that if she could not persuade Don Sancho to believe her innocent, she was resolved next Day to shut herself up in a Nunnery, thence never to set Foot out again as long as she lived● By this relation the two Brothers came to the knowledge of each other. Don Sancho was forthwith reconciled to Dorothea, whom he demanded in Marriage of her Father. Don juan likewise begged Don Manuel's consent to have his Daughter Feliciana, and both were accepted by him for hi● Son-in-Law with so great satisfaction as is not to be expressed. As soon as Day appeared, Don Sancho sent for hi● Friend the Marquis Fabio, who soon came to partake of hi● Joy that was then in agitation. Don Sancho's Marriage was kept secret till such time as Don Manuel and the Marquis had ha● an oppportunity to persuade the Cousin and Heir of Don Diego to forget the cause of his Kinsman's Death, and to lay aside all Enmity to Don Sancho. During this Negotiation the Marquis Fabi● fell in Love with this Gentleman's Sister, and consequently desired her of her Brother in Marriage. His request was granted with a great deal of readiness; the Gentleman being presently sensible what advantage such a Match must be to his Family. The three Marriages were solemnised in one Day, and every thing succeeded so well that there was no disagreements between either of the Parties for a long while after, which you must confess is not a little to be wondered at.   

CHAP. XX.  
After what manner Ragotin's Sleep came to be disturbed.  
THE agreeable Inezilla concluded the reading of her Novel, which made her Auditory sorry it was no longer. Whilst she was reading it, Ragotin, who instead of hearing her had busied himself in ask her Husband Questions about Magic, was fallen asleep in a low Chair where he sat, and which the Operator was likewise in his. Ragotin's sleep was not altogether voluntary, for if he could possibly have kept down the Vapours of the Meat, which he had eaten in great quantity, he would not have been so rude as not to have harkened attentively to Inezilla's Novel. He did not sleep therefore sound, but would ever now and then see-saw his Head down to his Knees, and then raise himself up again half awake, and afterwards start, and then drop down, in like manner as drowsy Sinners are wont to do at Conventicles, when the good Man proves tedious as well as dull. There happened to be a Ram bred up in the Inn, which roguy Boys that went up and down the Yard had been accustomed to present their Heads to, but holding their Hands stretched out before at the same time, to keep him from doing them any harm. 〈◊〉 these Boys this Ram would run with all his Might, as these Creatures are naturally given to do. This Animal had his free 〈◊〉 all over the Inn, and came often times into the Chambers, and it seems was in that of the Operator when Inezilla read the Novel. He observing Ragotin nodding to and fro, with his Hat dropped off, took him for a Champion that had purposely presented himself to try his Courage with him, and therefore drawing back four or five Paces, as good Jumpers are wont to do, he ran full speed like a Horse in his full Carrier, with his horny Head against Ragotin's bald Pate, which no doubt he would have shattered as much as a Pisspot could have been, when thrown upon the Stones, from the top of a high Tower, had it not been Ragotin's peculiar Fortune that the Assault was made while he had his Head up, so that he received no other damage than a superficial Graze on the Cheek by one of the Ram's Horns. All the Company was so extremely surprised at this Action, that they remained for some time astonished, which nevertheless could not hinder them from laughing. This gave the Ram an opportunity, having been used to make his course more than once, to have another run, which it seems, he performed so inconsiderately, that he run only against his Knees, and therefore only wounded his Hands, which had each of them a Horn to stand the brunt of. Ragotin finding his Face to bleed and smart, tho' he was a little stunned, yet began to recover himself, and having opened his Eyes, which he did not do till the second shock, he soon discovered the Author of his Misfortune, which he had no sooner done, but he fell to belabouring of him about the Head, till the hardness of his Horns made him to withdraw his Hands, which finding to be all over bruised, as well by buffetting as sustaining, he flew into a great rage, threatening revenge to all the Company if they did not desist from laughing at him. He afterwards would have gone out of the Inn in a great fury, had not his Host stop● him to pay the Reckoning, which you may imagine he was as unwilling to do, as he would have been willing to have put up his Damage and Affronts, could he but have got off Scot-free.    

A TABLE OF THE CHAPTERS IN THE Second PART.  

Chap. Page  
I. WHich serves only as an Introduction to the rest. 145  
II. Of the Boots. 147  
III. The History of Mrs. Cave. 151  
IU. How Destiny found Leander. 160  
V. Leander's History. 162  
VI. A Cuffing Battle. The Death of mine Host, and other memorable Matters. 165  
VII. Ragotin's Panic Fear, followed by several Mishaps. The Adventure of the dead Body. A shower of Cuffs, Boxes, and other surprising Accidents, worthy to have a place allotted them in this true History. 169  
VIII. What became of Ragotin's Foot. 175  
IX. Another of Ragotin's Misfortunes. 180  
X. How Madam Bouvillon could not resist a certain Temptation, and besides, how she got a bunch in her Forehead. 182  
XI. Of what perhaps will entertain the least of the whole Book. 186  
XII. Which it may be will be as little diverting as the foregoing. 190  
XIII. An unhandsome Action of the Sieur, de la Rappiniere. 194  
XIV. The judge in her own Cause, a Novel. 198  
XV. A matchless piece of Impudence in the Sieur de la Rappiniere. 223  
XVI. Ragotin's Misfortune. 225  
XVII. Some Passages between the little Ragotin and the great Baguenodiere. 233  
XVIII. Which has no occasion for a Title. 238  
XIX. Of the Two Rival Brother's, a Novel. 240  
XX. How Ragotin's Sleep came to be disturbed. 261    

THE Comical ROMANCE.  
PART. III.  

CHAP. I.  
Which may serve for an Introduction to this Third Part.  
IN the last Chapter of the Second Part of this Romance, you have had little Ragotin all bloody with the several repeated butting he received from the Ram, whilst he slept in a low Chair in the Comedians Chamber, and which occasioned him to go out thence in a great fury. But he had received so deep a Wound from Madam Stars Eyes, and was withal so desirous of knowing the issue of the Operator's Scheme, that he could only afford himself time to wash his Face and Hands before he returned. As he was just entering the Inn again, his Brain was so disturbed, what with the Blows, and what with the Darts, that he mistook an Advocate then walking by to the Hall, for Ferdinando the Operator. He therefore accosted him very civilly, and began with him after this manner, Sir, I am happy in meeting you so luckily; I have long desired this opportunity, and I was just going to your Lodgings, in great haste, to have a farther account from you of what concerns either my Life or Death. I don't doubt but you have employed the utmost of your Art, in Schemes, to serve me all the time you slept, and I desire you to believe I would by no means be ungrateful in my Acknowledgements. Tell me then I beseech you dear Doctor; continued he, will this little charming, shining Star suffer me to share any of her Influence? The Advocate, who understood not a tittle of all the fine Words had been spoken to him, and taking them for Raillery, was not long before he interrupted him. Monsieur, Ragotin, quoth he, if it had been a little later I should verily have thought you had been drunk, but notwithstanding, I cannot help believing that you are either a Madman or a Fool. To whom for God sake do you think you are talking, added he, and what the Devil makes you talk to me of Schemes, and the Influences of Stars? Do you take me either for an ginger or a Magician? Prithee consider a little Monsieur Ragotin, proceeded he, Don't you know me? Ah! Sir, replied Ragotin, How unkind you are, I thought I had too well informed you of my Malady, to have been refused a Remedy. Alas! I could not—. He was just proceeding with another tedious Harangue, when the Advocate left him in a great Passion, telling him at parting, That he was a great Sot for a little Man. Ragotin would have followed him, but that he at length perceived his Mistake, and therefore was glad to retire with shame. He had so great regard to his Reputation, as to keep this a Secret; and I'll assure you, I had never come to know it had not the Advocate one Day told it me, among others of his Friends, to divert us. The little Fool afterwards turned into the Inn, and went directly to the Comedians Apartment, which he had no sooner entered, but he heard a Proposition made by Mrs. Cave and Destiny, to quit Man's, and retire to some other Post. This vexed him so hearty, that he was like to have dropped down from his height on the Floor, and which he might have safely done, since he had no great way to fall. But what concerned him most was, that the time of their departure was to be the next Morning, when they were to bid adieu to the good Town of Man's, and particularly to its Inhabitants, who had been their constant Auditors for some time. They purposed to take their way to Alencon after the old rate, having been assured that the Pestilence was not there, as they had been before informed. I say they took their way after the old rate, for these sort of People have a constant rule of Travelling, in like manner as the Sun has in the Zodiac. The Journeys they had made and were to make in this Country, were first from Tours to Angers, from Angers to la Flêche, from la Flêche to Man's, from Man's to Alencon, from Alencon to Argentin or Laval, no matter which, according to the Road they have a mind to take, either to Paris or Britain, both being alike to them, and indifferent to us in the composition of this Romance. This resolution being made by all the Men and Women Players unanimously, they proposed to play one of their best Plays, before they left Man's, to the end they might leave their Audience there in good Humour. What this Play was, never came to my Knowledge. That which obliged them to go away so suddenly, was by reason that the Marquis d'O●se, on whose account they had stayed so long, was commanded instantly to Court, insomuch that being like to have no Benefactor left after he was gone, and the Mansean Audience diminishing every Day, they purposed to go where they might be better used. Ragotin would needs be endeavouring to oppose this Resolution of theirs, for which purpose, he gave a great many bad Reasons, whereof he had always store at command, but which were little or nothing regarded. This vexed the little Man extremely, insomuch that he begged of the Company not to go presently out of the Province of Maine, but to take first the Tennis-Court, which was in the Suburbs of Montfort, and afterwards they might go to Laval in Maine likewise, whence they might easily come into Britain, according to their promise made to Monsieur de la Garrouffiere. This Opinion of Ragotin's Destiny would by no means agree to, affirming that if they took his Advice, they should make no Work on't, the pitiful Tennis-Court mentioned by him being a great way out of the Town, and more than that, on the other side of the River, which would be the reason that none of the better sort of People would come near them; when the great Tennis-Court, in the Sheep-Market of Alencon, was just in the middle of the Town, and moreover, surrounded with all the best Houses, and therefore it were better to give something more for such a place, than any thing for the despicable Tennis-Court at Montfort, whose good Market was the only reason that Ragotin had to speak for it. This last Proposition was agreed to by the whole Company, and therefore they immediately ordered a Wagon to be got ready for their Baggage, and Horses for their Women. The care of procuring these was left to Leander, who having a great many Intrigues in Man's, was the likeliest Man to have the best Acquaintance there. Next Day, before they set out, they presented a Comedy, Tragedy, Tragicomedy or Pastoral, I know not whether, but which had the success that you may imagine. The Players were admired by every Body, and Destiny performed wonders, especially in his manner of taking leave of the Audience; for he expressed his Acknowledgements and Unwillingness to leave them with that tenderness and force, that he charmed them to that degree, that as I am informed, some among them wept. Ragotin was so concerned that his proposal had not been followed, that he remained for some time like a Dolt, sitting in his Chair, even after the rest of the Company was gone, and where I believe he had sat till now, had not the Market of the Tennis-Court let him know that no body was left, which he had nevertheless no small trouble to make him comprehend. Being at last prevailed upon to be gone, he rise from his Chair and went home, where he resolved to go find out his Company the next Morning, and discover to them what shall be related in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. II.  
Where you'll find Ragotin's Design.  
THE Criers of Aqua Vitae had not yet waked those that were in a profound sleep, when Ragotin being already dressed, was going to propose to the Strolling Company his Inclinations to be admitted amongst them. He went then to the Player's Lodgings, whom he found neither up nor awake, and happened to have the Discretion to leave them as he found them. Nevertheless he could not help entering one Chamber, where he found Olive a-bed with Rancour. This last he desired to get up, and walk with him to la Cousture, a fine Abbey in the Suburbs of the same Name, and thence to go to Breakfast at the great golden Star, where he had ordered a Collation to be prepared for them. Rancour, who was one of those who love to eat at other men's costs, was almost assoon got ready as the proposition was made him, and which you may be easily inclined to believe, if you consider that these sort of People are accustomed to dress and undress behind the Scenes, to Act different Parts, which will admit of but little delay. Ragotin and Rancour than marched on towards the Abbey of la Cousture; but we must suppose that they called at some Church by the way to say a short Prayer, for Ragotin's Thoughts that he had in his Head would not admit of a long one. He nevertheless acquainted Rancour with nothing of the matter for fear it might have kept him from his Breakfast, which he knew he had a greater Inclination for than to give Ear to any thing he could tell. 〈◊〉 They came to the Inn, where being entered the little Man 〈◊〉 to fly in a great Passion because the petits pâtéz he had ordered were not yet got ready. To which the Hostess answered, without rising off from the seat where she sat; Truly Monsieur Ragotin, I know not how you could expect that I should divine when you would come; but since you are now here, the Pâtéz shall not be long after you: Pray walk into the Hall, where you'll find a Cloth laid, and a Westphalia Ham to stay your Stomach. This she spoke after a grave Hostess-like manner, and which inclined Rancour to be on her side, who turning to Ragotin, cried, Sir, pray let us comply with my Hostess' Proposal, and take a Glass or two while our Breakfast is getting ready. They sat down to Table, which in a very short time after was covered, and they Breakfasted after the Mode of Man's, that is to say, very hearty. They Drank the same, and put about several Healths, among which the Reader may imagine Madam Stars was not forgot. Little Ragotin tossed up above a dozen Glasses successfully, sometimes sitting and sometimes standing with his Hat in his Hand. But at last he would needs drink his Mistress' Health on his Knees and bareheaded, which made him to look just for all the World as if he had been doing Penance at the Door of some Church. It was then that he earnestly reminded Rancour of his Promise to assist him in the Conquest of Madam Star's Heart. Whereupon Rancour half angry, or at least feigning to be so, answered him a little roughly. I thought Monsieur Ragotin you had known that I was a Man that never embarked without Ammunition, I mean engaged in any thing that I were not able to bring about. Be satisfied I will omit no Opportunity to serve you. I tell you so again, and have ways in my Head whereby to compass it. But I see one great Obstacle in our way, and that is our sudden departure from hence; the only method therefore that I can advise you in, to bring about your Ends, is to be resolved to be admitted amongst us. You have all the Qualifications for it that can be desired. You have a good Mien, a strong Voice, a good Tone, and a better Memory: and in a Word, you seem to have nothing about you that looks Country. You appear to have lived all your Life time at Court, having so much the Air of it, that you might be known for a Courtier above a Mile off. You need not, proceeded he, to Act above a dozen times before you'll be able to out-start all our young Pretenders, who must resign up the chief Parts to you, and then leave the rest to me. As for the present, quoth he, you'll have but a tough bit of her; you must manage her with Policy, wherewith I know you to have sufficient, but however a little Instruction may not be amiss. I would advise you therefore not to let her know your design at your first entrance into our Company, for that would certainly be the way to lose her, but rather to keep her in suspense till you have a convenient opportunity to make your Addresses, and after you have sufficiently won upon her by your Conversation, which I dare promise you'll soon do. The little Man had been so attentive to Rancour's discourse, that he was almost ravished into an Ecstasy, imagining that he had already, as we say, the Wolf by the Ears, when coming to himself all of a sudden, as it were out of an Apoplexy, he started from the place where he sat and went to the other side of the Table to embrace Rancour, whom he thanked hearty for his Council, and begged of him to continue his Friend in this Affair, protesting at the same time that his only Design in inviting him to Breakfast was to have declared his Mind to him concerning his being admitted of his Society, and which he resolved forthwith to be. After this they reckoned with their Landlady, and Ragotin paid all. When they were out of Doors they took their course directly towards the Scrollers Lodgings, which was not far off from where they had been. They found the Women up and dressed; but Rancour had no sooner opened Rogotin's design to them than he was interrupted by a Messenger from Leander's Father, who sent his Son Word by him that he was Sick to Death, and desired to see him before he paid that Debt to Nature, which all Men must. This obliged all the Company to lay their Heads together and consult how they should bear against an Accident so unexpected. Leander took Angelica aside and told her that his time was now come to live Happy if she would but contribute towards it, otherwise he must be unfortunate tho' Rich, and Poor tho' he had a good Income. She promised him all the Favours that lay in her Power, and particularly those you will meet with in the next Chapter.   

CHAP. III.  
Leander's Project and Harangue, together with Ragotin's Admission among the Strollers.  
THE Jesuits of la Fleche, not having been able to make Leander continue his Studies, and perceiving his Inclinations ran high to be a Player, presently concluded that he must be in Love with some Actress or other, and which they were altogether confirmed in, when after the departure of the Company they found he had followed them to Anvers. They therefore thought themselves obliged to acquaint his Father therewith by a Messenger on purpose, which they soon after did, and who arrived just as a Letter was delivered the old Gentleman from Leander, whereby he gave his Father to understand that he designed for the Wars, and therefore desired a sum of Money to accoutre himself. This Stratagem had been laid between Destiny and him, when he first discovered his Quality to him at the Inn where he was Wounded. His Father soon discovering the Cheat, flew into an excessive Passion, which together with his great Age, threw him into a Distemper that quickly concluded his Life. Perceiving his end to approach he called one of his Tenants to him, and commanded him immediately to go find out his Son, which he told him he was most likely to do among the Strollers. This the Farmer knew as well as he, having been the Man that had furnished Leander with Money from the time that he had left the College, so that understanding that there was a Company of Strollers at Man's, he made all the haste he could thither, and found his young Landlord as you have heard in the foregoing Chapter. Ragotin was desired by the Company to leave them for some time to confer with the Tenant newly arrived, which you may imagine he was very unwilling to do, yet at last he retired into an adjoining Chamber, where he waited with great impatience till their Business was over. They had no sooner got him out of the Room but Leander brought in his Father's Tenant, who immediately related the bad Condition the old Gentleman was in, as likewise his earnest desire to see his Son before he died. Thereupon Leander immediately craved leave to comply with his Father's dying Request, which was judged reasonable to be granted by the whole Company. It was then that Destiny revealed the Secret of Leander's Quality, which he had all along kept private, and which he did not come to the knowledge of till after the ravishing of Madam Angelica, as you may have read in the Second Part of this true History. He thought it now high time to let it be known, as well to disabuse Mrs. Cave, who could not get it out of her Head but that Leander was either the Principal or Accessary in the carrying off her Daughter, as to oblige him who had done him the Honour to be his Servingman, and would have continued so had he not found himself obliged to tell who he was, while he was in quest of Madam Angelica. He was moreover so far from consenting to the carrying away of Angelica, that having met with her Ravishers he had hazarded his Life in her Assistance, but that not having been able to resist so many People, he had been dangerously Wounded, and left for dead upon the place. All the Company then immediately asked his Pardon for not having treated him according to his Quality, which they thought themselves the more excusable for by not having any knowledge of the Matter. Madam Star added farther, that she had always suspected something from the great store of Wit and Merit she had observed in him, and which she was afterwards confirmed in, especially when she saw her Mother Mrs. Caves Letters from him; nevertheless she did not know what to think when she saw him so employed in her Brother's Service. Then began Mrs. Cave to speak, Addressing herself to Leander after the following manner. Truly, Sir, after I had in some measure discovered your Quality, by the Letters you writ to my Daughter, I had no small reason to distrust your Sincerity, being not enclinable to believe that a Person who was to have so good an Estate after his Father's death, would ever condeshend to marry a poor Stroller. But, continued she, I thank God the time is at length come that you are to be made happy in plentiful Possessions, and I am to be delivered from a future possibility of being any more imposed upon by your false Pretensions. Leander being extremely surprised at these Words, quickly replied, All that you say, Madam, I am likely to possess, would not render me a jot happy, if I were not assured at the same time of the Possession of your Daughter Angelica. Without her I renounce all the Fortune which Nature and my Father's Death shall cast upon me, and I declare to you, before all this good Company, that I go with so much willingness to enter upon my Succession, upon no greater account than to return speedily to perform my Promise to Marry your Daughter, which I here once more confirm, and will speedily accomplish, providing both she and you will do me the Honour to afford your Consents. And if so added he, I would not have you to think, that I design to carry her to my own Home; that is not at all in my Intentions, for I have found so much Pleasure in a Strolling Life, that I could never be persuaded to quit so many worthy Companions that have so largely contributed towards it. After this obliging Declaration, both the Actors and Actresses speaking altogether, returned him their most humble Acknowledgements, averring at the same time, that Mrs. Cave and her Daughter would not be a little to blame if they refused so advantageous a proffer. Angelica for her part, said no more than became one that was at her Mother's disposal, only she bid Leander at parting to Hope, if he continued in the same mind at his return. After all the mutual Endearments and Tears that commonly pass between parting Friends, it was agreed that Leander should go the next Morning upon one of the Horses that had been hired; but which he refused, choosing rather that of his Tenant, which he thought would carry him better, and would leave the Hackney for his Companion. But we forget all this while, quoth Destiny, that Monsieur Ragotin is waiting without to speak with us. Is there none among us, added he, that knows what he would have? Hereupon Rancour, who had been silent for some time, opened his Mouth, to let them know that he knew, and that that very Morning he had treated him with a Breakfast to procure himself an opportunity to acquaint him that he had a mind to be admitted of the Company, without pretending to any share in the Profits, having sufficient of his own, and which he would rather choose to spend in seeing the World than to live altogether at Man's, as he had been advised to do. Hereat Roquebrune presently advanced to give his Opinion that he ought not to be admitted, and that for these Reasons, Because, said he, two Poets under one Roof never agree, it being with them as with Women, where there are more than one there are too many. Besides, quoth he, Ragotin ' s shape would never suffer him to be an Ornament to the Stage, but would rather disgrace it: For, added he, What Parts could he propose to Act? As for the principal ones Monsieur Destiny would not permit him to undertake them, and for the second best they belong to Olive. And then for a Nurse or a Confidente, continued he, he must not pretend to either of them, his Person being altogether as deformed in a disguise as out of one. Therefore, concluded he, 'tis my Opinion in few Words, that be aught by no means to be received. And 'tis mine, replied Rancour, that he ought by all means to be received, for where there is occasion to represent a Dwarf none can be so proper, and then for a Monster, as that in Andromeda, it was better to have a natural one at Hand, than 〈◊〉 be at the trouble to contrive one that would be only Artificial. He added farther, that as for speaking a Part he could assure them he would be like another Orpheus, that drew every thing after him. For, proceeded he, whilst Olive and I were seeking after Madam Angelica, we overtook him riding upon an Ass no bigger than himself, and repeating the Adventures of Pyramus and Thysbe, with so good an Emphasis, that several Rustics that were then going the same way, came up with him, and gave so constant attention with their Hats off, that they would not leave him till they came to the Inn where we all baited. If then, continued he, he could gain so far upon these Rustics what will he be able to do when he comes to speak before Men of Sense? This Relation made every body to laugh, and the Company was thereupon resolved to hear Ragotin speak for himself. He was sent for in, and after about a dozen low Congées he began his Harangue in the following manner. Illustrious Personages, and August Senate of Parnassus, quoth he, fancying himself, no doubt, speaking at the Bar of the Precedents Court in Man's, where he had been admitted Advocate but a little before, It is a common saying, That evil Company corrupts good Manners, and on the contrary, good must needs improve them. This Exordium, so well begun, made the Company believe that he was about to preach a Sermon, therefore they turned their Heads one way, and tother, and could hardly forbear Laughing. Some Critics perhaps may think much of the Word Sermon; but why might not Ragotin be thought capable of performing such a Task, when he had several times sung Ballads to the Organs? But however, he proceeded. I find myself so destitute of Virtues, that I desire to be admitted of your Illustrious Society for improvement: You are the Muse's Interpreters, the living Echoes of their dear Darlings, and your Merits are so well known throughout all France, that you are admired even beyond the Poles. As for you Ladies, quoth he to the Women, you charm all● those that do but look upon you; and 'tis impossible to be within the hearing of your harmonious Voices, but one must needs be ravished into Ecstasy. In fine, said he, you are ●eer Angels of Flesh and Blood; and all the Poets have thought themselves happy in Celebrating your Praises. And for you Gentlemen, continued he, no Alexander nor Caesar ever equalled the Valour of Monsieur Destiny, nor of the other Heroes his Companions, and therefore you must not wonder if I am ambitious of increasing your number by one, which will be easy for you to suffer me to do, if you can but consent to it, I promise you moreover proceeded he, that I will be no manner of charge to ye, neither will I pretend to any share in the profits of our Performances, but all along continue your most Humble and most Obedient Servant. Ragotin having thus ended his Harangue, he was desired to withdraw for a Minute, that the subject of what he had said might be considered. He withdrew, and the Company was just going to proceed according to Form, when the Poet Roquebrune threw himself in again to make a second opposition to Ragotin's Preferment, but he was presently thrust out by Rancour, who had pushed him more violently but that he had regard to his new Suit which was bought with the Money he had lent him. At length it was agreed that Ragotin should be admitted amongst them for the diversion of the Company. He was thereupon called in, the accustomed Ceremonies passed, was enroled in the Register, took an Oath of Fidelity, had the Word given by which the Strollers knew one another; and after all, supped with the whole Caravan.   

CHAP. IU.  
Of Leander's Departure; The Strollers going for Alenson, and Ragotin's Misfortune.  
AFter Supper every Body would be Congratulating Ragotin for the Honour he had received, and which made him to swell so enormously, that he burst the Waistband of his Breeches in two Places. In the mean time Leander took occasion to entertain his dear Angelica with Love Stories, and to whom he reiterated his design to Marry her, which he pronounced with so much softness and tenderness that she could answer him only with Tears, whereof she shed abundance. I know not whether these proceeded from her Joy at the fair Promises he made her, or through her concern for his so sudden departure; however it was, 'tis certain they exchanged several mutual Endearments, which were not in the least interrupted by Mrs. Cave. But at length Night drawing on a pace, 〈◊〉 was convenient they should both retreat. Leander took leave of the Company and went to Bed. Next Morning he got up ●●●●times, and set out with his Father's Tenant, with that Ex●●dition that he quickly arrived at his Journeys end, where he found the old Gentleman very ill, who nevertheless told him he was glad to see him. He likewise expressed to him as far as he was able, the great Grief his absence had caused him, as also that he was now come seasonably to receive his last Blessing together with his Estate, altho' he had been advised to disinherit him for the ill courses he had taken. The rest of Leander's Affairs we shall learn at his return. The Actors and Actresses being got ready dressed, they took care to pack up their Baggage as fast as they could, that they might be ready to departed in good time. At length all was prepared and nothing was wanting, except a Horse for one of the Women, which they had before provided, but were disappointed in. They therefore had desired Olive to take care to get another just as Ragotin entered the Room, who hearing their proposition told them there was no occasion, by reason he had one that would carry double, and if they pleased either Madam Star or Angelica should ride behind him. This he urged the rather, because he told them it was impossible that they should reach Alencon in one Day, being above 10 Leagues off; but being obliged to make two of it, his Horse would serve well enough for the purpose he proposed. Whilst he was thus recommending his Contrivance, Madam Star interrupted him, affirming she could not ride double; this vexed the little Man extremely, but which he was a little after the better satisfied with, when Angelica told him she would. They Breakfasted all together that Morning, and the Operator and his Wife were invited; but whilst the Collation was getting ready, Ragotin took an occasion to talk farther with Signior Ferdinando, to whom he made the same Speech that he had done before to the Advocate, whom he had taken for him, to which the Magician answered, that he had tried all that lay within the compass of his Art to serve him but without effect, which made him inclinable to believe that Madam Star knew more of Magic than he; that her Cha●●● were more powerful; and in a Word, that she must needs 〈◊〉 a dangerous Person, not fit to be conversed with. Ragotin would have replied to these Reflections on his Mistress, 〈◊〉 that he was called upon to wash his Hands, and sit down 〈◊〉 Table, which they all did at the same time. Inezilla prot●●●ed to all the Company, and chief the Women, that both 〈◊〉 and her Husband were extremely concerned at their so spe●●●● leaving them, and would willingly have waited on them 〈◊〉 Alencon, to have had their Conversation longer, had they 〈◊〉 been obliged to mount their Stage and act their Farces, whi●● her Husband chose rather to do at Man's when they were 〈◊〉 than to incommode them by doing it in the same Town 〈◊〉 whither they were going, it being certain that the People would sooner run after them where they paid nothing, than go to see a Play where they must pay. The Company thanked both the Husband and Wife for their Civilities and returned them a thousand Acknowledgements for their good Will. The Women wept, and a great many Compliments passed between both Parties, only the Poet, who upon other occasions would have talked as much as four, upon this spoke not one Word, the parting with Inezilla being so cruel a Thunderstroke to him, that tho' he fancied himself all over covered with Laurel, the common Preservative against Thunder, yet could he not secure his Carcase. The Wagon being loaded, and ready to set out, Mrs. Cave took her place as she had done formerly, in the beginning of this Romance, Madam Star mounted upon a Horse which Destiny led, and Angelica got up behind Ragotin, who took care to avoid the same accident in mounting as had before befallen him. All the rest went on Foot in the same order as they came to Mans. When they were got to a little Wood about a League from the Town, a Stag that was then Hunting by the Marquis of Lavardin's Servants, happened to cross the Road, which Ragotin's Horse that went before perceiving, was extremely affrighted at, which obliging Ragotin to quit his Stirrups, he at the same time clapped his Hand on the Carabine he had by his side, and thinking to kill the Stag, he happened to touch the Trigger before he had well mounted the Piece, whereby, being greatly charged, the Carabine recoiled, and threw him off, and striking at the same instant against Angelica's side forced her off likewise, but who received little or no harm. As for Ragotin, it was his Misfortune to fall against the slump of a Tree, which was about a Foot out of the Ground, whereby he got a bump on his left Temple, which by a Bandage with a piece of Silver instead of Lead was soon cured. This Accident caused a great deal of Laughter in the Company, after they saw there was no more harm done, but which they would otherwise have forborn. The little Man nevertheless was extremely enraged at their making a jest of his Misfortune. Being remounted, together with Angelica, he would needs charge his Carabine again, but which she would by no means suffer him to do. They then proceeded on their Journey, and at last came to a little Inn where they were to bait. The Actors for their parts must take an Afternoons Luncheon, and the Actresses proposed to lie on the Bed, as well to repose themselves 〈◊〉 to observe how lustily their Companions Eat and Drank. The briskest Drinkers were Rancour and Ragotin, who were so ●●●●tly engaged to Angelica's Health, which they thought no body had observed, that she was forced to call out to the latter to bid him drink less and take more care of his charge for the future. This caused a Cessation of Arms, or rather of Glasses between the two Combatants. After some time the Reckoning was paid, and the Horses brought out, and they all set forwards on their Journey. The Wether was fine, and the Road good, which permitted them to arrive betimes at a Town called Vivain. They there went to the Sign of the Cock, being the best Inn in the Town. The Hostess, who was none of the best Natured Women in the Province of Maine, made a great deal of difficulty to receive them, telling them that she had no Bed room. Her Company it seems was a general Receiver, an Excise man, and four or five Pedlars. Rancour thinking to give a cast of his Office, told his Landlady that they desired only a Chamber for the Women, and as for the Men they would pig in any where. This calm dealing somewhat abated the Pride of our Lady-Hostess. She admitted them therefore, and they did not unload their Wagon, but locked it up in a Stable which they found at the bottom of the Yard. The Women had a Chamber assigned them, where the Company all Supped together. After Supper the Men retired, leaving the Women to go to Bed in two Beds, viz. Madam Star in one, and Mrs. Cave and her Daughter Angelica in the other. You may imagine they did not forget to take the Key in the inside of the Door, as did not likewise the two Receivers, who had ordered their Portmanteaus top full of Money to be brought into their Chambers. But the unwary Pedlars were not so cautious, for they took not that care, but admitted Rancour and Olive to lie in the same Room where they had their Packs. There were three Bed in the Room, whereof the Pedlars had two, and Rancour and Olive the other one. Rancour slept not a wink all Night, watching for an opportunity to put his design in execution when the Pedlars were a sleep. At last he got up, thinking they were fast, and going softly towards the Packs, he was interrupted by one of the Pedlars, who being overtaken with 〈◊〉 Looseness, was forced to rise to ease his Belly. This made Rancour to return in some haste to his Bed. In the mean time the Pedlar who had been used to lodge in this Inn, and knew all the ways out and in, went to a Door that opened into a little Gallery, at the end whereof was the House of Office. Th●● he did not to incommode the venerable Comedians with a 〈◊〉 smell. When he had done he went to return from whence 〈◊〉 came; but instead of going the right way, he descended 〈◊〉 the other side, and went by a private Door into the Receivers Chamber, where approaching the first Bed he met, and believing it his own, he heard an unknown Voice demand of him Who was there? This caused him to turn, without saying a Word, to the other Bed, where he heard the same thing, but spoke with a more angry Accent. This last Person called out at the same time for a Candle, affirming there was some body in his Room. Hereupon the Host made the Servant to rise immediately, and see what was the matter; but before she could possibly strike a light, the Pedlar had got out of the Room, and was coming into his own Chamber, but before he came, Rancour that had heard all the difference between him and his Neighbours, for there was was only a thin Partition between them, resolved to lose no time, and therefore having dexterously untied the Cords of one of the Packs, he took out thence two pieces of Linen, which having done, he fastened the Cords again as artificially as if they had never been opened; for he knew perfectly well that Secret, known only to those of his Fraternity, as well as he did their Marks and Ciphers. He was just going to attack another of the Packs when the Pedlar entered the Chamber, who hearing him walk about demanded Who was there? Rancour who never wanted an Excuse at a pinch, after having thrust the two pieces of Linen into his own Bed, told him that the Maid had forgot to set him a Chamber-pot, and that therefore he was looking for the Window to piss out at; whereupon the Pedlar, who was not yet got into Bed, replied, Stay, Sir, if you please, I'll go open it for you, for I know better where it is than you do? This having not only said but done, he immediately leaped into Bed, and left Rancour to piss out at the Window, which he did as copiously as when he bedewed the Merchant of lower Main, while he lay with him in an Inn at Man's, as you may find that he did in the Tenth Chapter of the First part of this Romance. He afterwards went directly to his Bed, without shutting the Window. The Pedlar cried out to him that he ought not to have left it open, and he cried out to the Pedlar that he might shut it if he pleased, for as for his part he should not trouble his Head about it any more, having scarce been able to find the way to his Bed when it was shut. The Pedlar fearing Rancour had a mind to make a Squabble of it, rise without any more ado and shut the Window, and afterwards groped his way out to Bed again. All this while the Host and Hostess were bawling like Mad at their Maid to light the Candle, which she was endeavouring to, but as the Proverb has it, The more haste the less speed, this sorry Wench had been above an Hour blowing the Small-coal before she could raise a spark of Fire. This caused her Master Mistress to Curse her at no common rate, and the Receivers began to be more and more enraged to find they could not get a Candle, when they had called for it so often. At length it was lighted, and the Host, and Hostess, and Servant went together into the Receivers Room, where finding no body, they told them they had done ill to alarm all the Family for no reason. But they on the contrary maintained that they had both seen and heard a Man in their Chamber, and more than that, had talked with him. The Host hearing this, went into the Strollers Chamber, and demanded of them and the Pedlars, whether any of them had been in their Neighbour's Room? They all answered, No, none of us had been out of Bed except that Monsieur yonder, meaning Rancour, who was forced to rise to piss out at the Window, your Maid not having set him a Chamber-pot. Hereat the Host presently fell on the Servant for her neglect, and afterwards went to the Receivers again, telling them they must needs have Dreamt that some body was in their Room, since not a Soul had been stirring that way as he could hear of. After this he left them, wishing them to go to sleep again, it not being yet Day. Assoon as it was well light Rancour got up, and demanding the Key of the Stable, went to hid the purchase he had got in the Wagon.   

CHAP. V.  
What happened to the Strollers between Vivain and Alencon, together with another of Ragotin's Misfortunes.  
ALL the Heroes and Heroines of this Strolling Company got out betimes, and took the high Road to Alencon, and in a little while arrived safe at Bourg le Roy, the King's Town, called by the Vulgar Boulerey. Here they Dined, and stayed for sometime, during which, they debated whether they should go by Arsonnay, a Village about a League from Alencon, or whether they should take to the other side to avoid Ba●●●● a Road where in the hottest Summer there is Dirt, and wherein the Horses often plunge up to their Bellies. Being not able to conclude the matter amongst themselves, they consulted the Waggoner, who told them his Horses would carry them through the worst of Quagmires, they being the very best for Draft of any in Mans. Also that they had not above half a Mile of bad way, whereas if they went by the Common of St. Pater, they would find the Roads dirtier, and longer continue so. He remembered them likewise, that the Horses and Wagon only would go in the Dirt, and that the Foot People might step over into the Fields and walk there secure. At length they pitched upon the former Road, and Madam Star desired the Waggoner to let her know when they came to the Dirt, because she chose rather to go on Foot in good way, than to ride on Horseback through a Bog. Of the same mind were Angelica and Mrs. Cave, who had some apprehensions that the Wagon might overturn, When they were just about entering into this bad way, Angelica slipped off from Ragotin's Horse's Crupper, Destiny set down Madam Star, and some others of the Company handed Mrs. Cave out of the Wagon. Hereupon Roquebrune whipped up upon Stars Horse, and followed Ragotin, who went just after the Wagon. When they were got into the very worst place of all the Road, and where there was only room for the Wagon to pass safe, they met about twenty Carrier's Horses, driven by five or six Country Fellows, who bawled out like Mad to the Waggoner to stop, but which he little regarded, requiring the same thing of them in a much higher Tone, and alleging that he could turn on neither side without inevitable plunging into the Bog. the Carriers thinking to get the better by their expedition trotted briskly up to him, and bawled out so loud that the Waggoners Horses took fright and broke their Traces, throwing themselves at the same time into the Bog, whilst the Waggoner endeavouring to keep his Wagon from following them, weighed one of the Wheels too much on the other side, which finding no firm Ground to support it overthrew the whole Machine in the Mud. Hereat Ragotin being extremely incensed against the Carriers, for having been the occasion of this Accident, thundered out Anathemas against them like one possessed, and thinking to come at them on the right side, where he see the way open, he rid furiously against them with his Carabine Cocked; but he had no sooner entered the Mud than he stuck so fast, that he was fa● not only to disengage his Legs from out of his Stirrups, but likewise to quit his Saddle, and leap off into the Bog, where he presently sunk so deep that he was up to his Armpits, and had been quickly to his Chin if he had not extended his Arms. This unexpected Accident caused all the Passengers that traveled in the Fields to stop and lend their assistance. Poet Roquebrune likewise, who had hitherto out braved all the Assaults of Fortune, was now glad to retire to a dry place. The Carriers perceiving so many Men for their Enemies, all armed with Fusces, thought it but prudence to retire as fast as they could, and take to another Road. In the mean time it was judged highly necessary to remedy the disorder that had happened as soon as possible, and therefore they proposed to begin with Monsieur Ragotin and his Horse, who were both in no small danger of being Suffocated. Olive and Rancour were the two first that ventured to assist them; but the nearer they approached them the deeper they sunk in the Mud, insomuch that having tried several places, and found them all the same, Rancour, who had always an Expedient at Hand in Cases of Necessity, proposed without laughing to draw Ragotin out of the danger, wherein he was, by one of the Cart Ropes, one end to be fastened to his Neck and the other to the Horses, who were then got out into the dry Road. This Proposition made all the Company to laugh except Ragotin, who was not a little afraid of its being executed upon him, nevertheless, at last the Waggoner, who had run a great hazard in getting out the Horses, did the same for him, insomuch that seizing him fast by the Collar, he at several pulls drew him out of his hole, and dragged him into the Fields where his Company were waiting for him, who could not forbear laughing to see him in that pickle. This done, the Waggoner returned to bring out the Horse, who beginning to exert himself, by the help of a little whipping flounced about the Mud, and at length got quite out. Last of all Olive, Rancour, and the Waggoner, being allover bemired with Dirt, joined to get out the Wagon, which they soon performed by their united Endeavours, and loaded it again with the Baggage. The Horses were put in again into their Traces, and Ragotin remounted his Courser, tho' that with some difficulty, his Girts being all broken. Angelica would by no means get up behind him again, for fear of spoiling her clothes. Mrs. Cave and Madam Star chose to walk on Foot likewise, all whom Destiny accompanied to the Sign of the Green Oaks, which was the only Inn to be met with between Man's and the Suburbs of Montfort. Here they stayed, not caring to enter the Town in the Condition they were in. After those that had took the most pains had drank to refresh themselves, they spent the rest of the Day in drying their clothes, having taken fresh to put on out of their Trunks, which variety had been presented them by the Gentry of Mans. The Actresses supped but lightly, having lost their Stomaches by the great fatigue they had undergone in Walking, and which inclined them to go soon to Bed. The Actors not only Eat but Drank hearty before they would go to Bed. They were in about their first sleep, being near Eleven a Clock at Night, when a company of Men came and knocked at the Gate of the Inn, ask for Beds. The Host answered them his Lodgings were full, and besides, that it was an unseasonable time o'Night for them to require any. Notwithstanding this Answer they knocked the more, and threatened to break down the Gate unless it were speedily opened to them. Destiny, who had always carried Saldaigne in his Mind, thought that this must needs be he, who was come to carry Star away by force; but having looked out of the Window, he perceived by the help of the Moon, that then shone very bright, a Man among them with his Hands tied behind him, which having whispered to his Companions who were all ready prepared to receive Saldaigne; Ragotin cried out it was Monsieur de la Rappiniere, who had got some Highway Man into his Custody, for that he was in quest of one. They afterwards were confirmed in this Opinion, when they heard them from without command the Host in the King's Name to open the Gates. But why the Devil, quoth Rancour, could they not have carried their Prisoner to Man's, or to the Viscounty of Beaumond, or at worst, Why could they not go to Fresnay? At all which places there are Prisons, when there is none here. There must, proceeded he, be some Mystery in this. The Host thought himself however obliged to open to lafoy Rappiniere, who entered with Ten Archers and a Prisoner bound after the manner I have told you. This Prisoner was in a merry Humour, and could not forbear laughing, especially as often as he looked upon la Rappiniere, which he often did steadfastly, and which was the reason that he was not carried to Mans. Now you must know la Rappiniere, having had notice that there were several Robberies committed, and Houses broken open and pillaged, set himself diligently about looking after the Rogues. As it happened, whilst he and his Archers were hunting about for them near the Forest of Persaine, they saw a Man come out of the Wood, who perceiving a company of Horsemen, returned with haste in again, which caused lafoy Rappiniere to believe that he must needs be one of those he looked after. Having caught him they were extremely surprised that he answered only confusedly, and yet at the same time laughed in la Rappiniere's Face, who the more he looked upon him the more he fancied he had seen him somewhere, but could not remember where. The reason of his not being able to recollect himself was, that at the time of their Acquaintance short Hair and long Beards were worn, but this Man had long Hair and no Beard, and moreover wore different clothes from what he did when they were acquainted. All this entirely disguised him from la Rappiniere's Knowledge. La Rappiniere when he went to Bed, which he did after he had well supped, committed him to the Custody of two of the Archers, who tied him to an old fashioned Bench in the Kitchen, and so went to sleep in their Chairs, leaving him to do the like if he pleased on the Pavement. Next Morning Destiny was up first in the House, who going into the Kitchen, saw the Archers asleep in their Chairs, and a Man with his Hands tied behind him, fastened to a Bench, and lying along awake upon the Stones, who making a sign to him, to come near him, he was not a little surprised, when the Prisoner asked him If he did not remember that he was once robbed on the Pontneuf at Paris, and lost among other things a small Picture in a Box? I was then, continued he, with the Sieur la Rappiniere, who being at that time our Captain, forced me to attack you. You know all that passed besides. I have learned, proceeded he, that you have been informed of all by Doguin, on his Deathbed, and I have likewise understood that la Rappiniere has restored you your Box, nevertheless, you have now a fair opportunity to revenge yourself on him. As for my part, added he, should they carry me to Man's, as I do not know but they may, I should be surely hanged there; but then, concluded he, it is also in yours and my Power to make him dance the same Dance. It is but joining your Evidence with mine, and you may guests how a jury of Man's would deal by him. Destiny having heard this left the Prisoner, and waited for la Rappiniere's rising. Being come down Stairs he met him in an Entry, and taking him aside, acquainted him with all that the Highwayman had told him, adding withal, that he might well see he was not revengeful, since he declined taking advantage of what he had heard, and instead thereof, advised him to be gone, and leave the Criminal to shift for himself. La Rappiniere would have stayed till the Actresses were stirring, had not Destiny frankly told him that Madam Star could not behold him without the most just Indignation imaginable. He insinuated to him moreover, that if the Vnder-Baily of Alencon should come any ways to hear of his Crime, he would certainly send quickly to seize him. This he himself was likewise inclinable to believe, and therefore having first unloosed the Prisoner, and set him at Liberty, he mounted on Horseback, together with his Archers, pretending to them that he had been mistaken in the Man, and went his way without paying his Reckoning, according to custom, and likewise without returning Destiny thanks; but which last Omission was wholly to be attributed to the Disorder and Confusion he was in. After he was gone, Destiny called up Roquebrune, Olive and the Decorator, and they went together into the Town, to the great Tennis-Court, where they found six Gentlemen playing a Party. They presently went to inquire for the Master of the Court, and those that were in the Gallery knowing they were Players, acquainted the six Gentlemen therewith, and that there was amongst them one of a better Mien than ordinary. The Gentlemen after a little while finished their party, and went up Stairs to be rubbed and dried, whilst Destiny came into the Court, and discoursed the Master. At length the Gentlemen came down again half dressed and saluted Destiny, ask him several Questions concerning his Company, particularly how many they were? Whether there was any good Actors among them? If they had good clothes? And whether their Women were handsome? All which Questions Destiny answered to their Satisfaction, in return for which Civility, they oftered him all the Service they were capable of doing him, and having desired the Master to help them on with the rest of their clothes, they told Destiny they would gladly drink with him, if he would but have patience till they were quite dressed. Destiny accepted their proffer, being glad to get as many Friends as he could to assist him, in case Saldaigne should pursue him, which he was yet under an apprehension of. In the mean time the Hire of the Tennis-Court was agreed on, and the Decorator was dispatched to the Joiner, to give him orders to fit up a Playhouse according to his Model. The Gentlemen being at length dressed, Destiny Addressed himself to them with so graceful a Mien, and so much good Sense, that they soon conceived a more than ordinary kindness for him. They demanded of him where his Company lay, and having understood from him that it was at the Green Oaks in the Suburbs, they proposed to him to go and drink a Glass, and eat a bit with him and his Friends where he pleased. A place was named, and they met altogether except the Women, where they Breakfasted hearty. You may imagine their discourse was chief about Acting and Plays. They afterwards went altogether to the women's Lodgings, whom they found just setting down to Dinner, which was the reason that the Gentlemen stayed but little with them; but nevertheless long enough to offer them all the Service and Protection imaginable, which was much in their Power to perform being the very top Gentry of the Town, After Dinner their Strolling Baggage was carried to the Golden Cup; being the Lodging Destiny had taken for them, and after a little while their Theatre being ready, they began to Act, in which Exercise we will leave them to show they were no Novices, and return to see what became of Saldaigne after his fall.   

CHAP. VI  
Saldaigne's Death.  
YOU have seen in the Twelfth Chapter of the Second Part of this Romance how Saldaigne kept his Bed in the Baron d'Arque's House in Verville's Apartment, on account of a fall, as likewise, how his Servants had got so unmercifully drunk in a Country Inn, not above two Leagues off from the said House, and where Verville's Man had no small trouble to make them comprehend that the Lady they had in charge was escaped, and that the Man his Master had sent along with them followed her on another Horse. After they had a little rubbed their Eyes, and yawned three or four times a piece, as also stretched out their Arms as often to adjust their Chine-bones, they put themselves into a posture of pursuit. Verville's Man nevertheless led them a quite contrary way from what the Lovers had taken, and that by his Master's Orders, so that having wandered about for two or three Days in a Fruitless search, they at last returned to their Master Saldaigne, who was not yet either out of his Bed or Cured of his fall, and related to him that the Lady had got from them, but that the Person whom Monsieur Verville procured them was gone after her. Saldaigne was like to run Mad at the first hearing of this News, and soon gave his Servants to understand, that it was well for them that he was confined to his Bed, for had he been able to stand, or to lift but one Leg from out of the Sheets, he would have made them sensible by innumerable Bastinadoes, that their intolerable Negligence was not to be excused by Words. He flew into that violent Passion, and thundered out so many Curses against them, that he quite baffled the Surgeon's Art, and brought the Fever again upon him, so that when he came at Night to dress him, he apprehended a Gangreen in his Thigh, from the great Inflammation his Disorder had occasioned there. He also observed a kind of livid Colour on the part, which being a farther bad Symptom, caused him to go immediately and find out Verville, to whom he related the whole unfortunate Accident. Verville seemed much astonished at the relation, and wondered how the occasion of such an Accident could happen, which he nevertheless knew well enough, having been informed of all before by his Servant. He notwithstanding pretended a great deal of Ignorance, and went immediately to visit Saldaigne, till having enquired the cause of his Alteration, and hearing it from his own Mouth, he at length redoubled his Grief by confessing to him that he had been the contriver of what had befallen him, and that rather to have done him a Service than Diskindness, which had been never in his Thoughts. For said he to him, You may remember that no body would entertain this Woman when you run away with her, and I declare to you, that tho' I did suffer your Wife, my Sister, to lodge her within my Father's House, yet it was only with design to procure an opportunity to restore her to her Brother and Friends. Tell me I beseech you, proceeded he, what do you think would have become of you, if Information had been given in against you, and you had been taken up for a Rape? Can you have procured your Pardon think you, and done't you yet know that the King never passes by Crimes of that nature? You fancied perhaps, added he, that the meanness of her known Birth, and the baseness of her Profession would in great measure have got you excused; but do not slatter yourself in that, for I would have you to know, that she is the Daughter both of a Gentleman and Gentlewoman, and therefore your hopes would fail you there. Besides, continued he, tho' all the efforts of justice should not be able to hurt you, yet remember that she has a Brother who would surely be revenged on you for debauching his Sister. He is a Man of Courage you know, and you have experienced it in divers Rencounters, therefore one would think that single Consideration should incline you rather ro value than persecute him as you have long done. 'Tis high time now to cease that vain Pursuit, or you may quickly come to repent of not having done it. This Discourse that one would have thought might have both inclined Saldaigne to have reflected and repent, served rather to increase his Resentments, and make him entertain strange resolutions, which tho' he dissembled for the present to Verville, yet he endeavoured afterwards to put in practice. He made what hast he could to get cured, and as soon as he found himself in a Condition to mount a Horse, he took leave of Verville, and at the same time posted towards Man's, thinking to have found the Company of Strollers there, but having been informed that they were gone thence to Alencon, he forthwith resolved to follow them thither. Passing by Vivain he baited his Men, and three Cutthroats that he carried along with him at the Cock, where the Strollers had lodged. He was no sooner come into the Yard but he heard a great noise. Upon enquiring into the Matter it appeared to be the Pedlars, who having been going to a Fair at Beaumond had on the Road discovered the Theft committed on them by Rancour, and were returned to complain to their Hostess, requiring satisfaction, but who told them she thought herself not obliged to make it them, by reason that they did not entrust her with their Packs, but had had them carried into their Chamber. That's true, quoth the Pedlars, but why the Devil did you put us to lodge in the same Room with those jugglers, those Mountebanks, for no doubt it was some of them that rob us? Well, replied the Hostess, but did ye find any of your Packs slit or torn, or the Cords unloosed? Neither of all three, answered the Pedlars, and that is that which most surprises us, for we found the Cords tied after the same manner as we had left them in. How then would you have me to repair your loss, quoth the Hostess, get you about your business for a Company of Impudent Rogues? The Pedlars were just a going to reply when Saldaigne Swore that if they did not cease their bawling he would beat them most unmercifully. The poor Pedlars thereupon seeing so many lusty Fellows all disguised, thought it but prudence to hold their Peace, however waited for an opportunity when they were gone to renew their dispute with the Hostess. After Saldaigne and his Men and Horses had refreshed themselves a little, they set forward for Alencon, where they arrived very late. Saldaigne for his part could not sleep a wink all Night, and that for thinking on the manner of revenging himself on Destiny for taking his Booty from him, and as his Inclinations had been always brutal, so were the Resolutions he came to. Next Day he resolved to go to the P●ay, which was Pompey the Great of Corncille, and sent one of his Companions before to take places for four. As for himself he came muffled up his Cloak to avoid discovery, but the rest were in Querpo, being not known. All the time the Play was acting he was as much tormented as the Audience was pleased, for all admired at the admirable action of Madam Star, who represented Cleopatra. When the Play was ended, Saldaigne and his Friends stayed behind all the Company, being resolved to attack Destiny before they went away. But how luckily were they prevented, for this Company of Strollers had gained so far both upon the Nobless and all the best Citizens of Alencon of either Sex, that they never came to the Theatre, or returned thence, without a great number to attend them. The same Night a young Widow-Lady, by name Ville Fleur, invited the Actresses to Supper in Saldaigne's hearing, which they out of Modesty declined accepting of, but being pressed thereto with a great deal of obliging Compulsion, they at length consented, and promised to come. After which they retired likewise, but accompanied as the Men, with a great number of Persons of the best Note. Among the rest were those Gentlemen that Destiny found at the Tennis-Court when he first came to hire it. This second defeat almost made Saldaigne despair, till at length he resolved on one of the most villainous Actions that could be thought on by Man, and that was to carry off Star when she came out of Madam Ville Fleur's House, and to Stab all those that opposed him, under covert of the Night. The three Actresses went to wait on the Lady according to their Promise, and great numbers of Gallants came likewise to wait on them. Now Saldaigne imagined it as easy to carry off Star at this Juncture, as he had found it to be before, when she was conducted on Horseback by Destiny's Man. He took therefore one of the strongest Horses he had, and putting him into the Hands of one of his Men he placed him at one of the Doors of Madam Ville Fleur's House, which opened into a narrow Street near the Palace, believing that upon some slight pretence or other he might get her out of the House, and then he would mount her on Horseback, and carry her whither he pleased. Whilst he was thus feeding his Fancy with vain Chimeras, and imagined his Booty already in his possession, and Ecclesiastic who loved good Company, and had scraped some small Acquaintance with our Strollers, happened to be going that Night to Officiate his Vespers at Madam Ville Fleur's, and who perceiving a Lackey, whose Livery he did not know, to stand at her Door, began to inquire of him, Who he was, what he did there, and whether his Master was in the House? To all these Questions the Fellow answered so confusedly that the Priest had just reason to believe him a Rogue. He went therefore up into the Room, where all the Company was, and gave them account of what he had observed, telling them moreover, that he feared that there was an Ambuscade laid for some body or other, for that he had heard several People walking about in the darker part of the narrow Street. Destiny had taken notice that one of the Audience had hid his Face in his Cloak, and having his Enemy Saldaigne always in his Thoughts, did not doubt but that must have been he; nevertheless he concealed his Imaginations, and thought it sufficient for the present only to Guard the Women to Madam Ville-fleur's House, where they were to sit up all Night, with as much Company as they could get; but when he came to understand from the Ecclesiastic what I have before told you, he immediately concluded that Saldaigne was once more contriving to carry off his dear Star. This caused him and his Company to enter into an immediate Consultation what they had best to do. At last they concluded they would wait the event, and if no body appeared among them before they broke up, they would go away with as much caution as they could. Whilst they had just determined what to do, an unknown Person entered the Room, and enquired for Madam Star. Upon her coming to him, he informed her that a Lady of her Acquaintance desired to speak a Word with her in the Street, and begged she would only come down for a Moment. Every body then presently knew that this was the Method Saldaigne had proposed to himself to procure the possession of his Mistress by, and therefore immediately got themselves into a posture to receive him. It was not thought sit that any of the Actresses should be suffered to go down, and therefore they borrowed one of Madam Ville-fleurs Chambermaid's for that purpose. She was no sooner come into the Street but Saldaigne seized her, and offered to mount her upon his Horse; but he was not a little surprised when he perceived himself surrounded on all sides with armed Men, whereof some had come by the great Door round the Marketplace, and the others by the lesser Door. Hereupon Saldaigne, who had always had no more Consideration than his Horse, and scarce so much, let fly a Pistol among them, and slightly wounded one of the Actors before he well knew whether they were come as his Friends or his Enemies. This rash attempt had half a dozen Shot immediately returned, whereof one entered his Head, and two others his Body. His Companions who were out upon the Scout hearing a noise of several discharges, instead of coming up to assist their Friend, fled incontinently, as such rascally Bullies commonly do where they find any resistance. A light was forthwith called for, to view the wounded Man who was fallen on the Ground; but no body knew him except the Strollers, who assured the Company that it was Saldaigne. He was thought to be dead, tho' he really was not, and which occasioned the Bystanders to lend his Lackey their assistance to throw him athwart his Horse. Being carried after this manner to his Lodging, when he came there his Host presently discovered some signs of Life in him, and consequently did all that lay in their power to recover him, which notwithstanding proved ineffectual, for he died the next Day after. Being dead his Corpse was carried into his own Country, where he was received with feigned Sorrow by his Sisters and their Husbands, both lamenting outwardly for their loss, but inwardly they were not a little glad of his Death. And I dare be bold to say, that Madam St. Far his Wife, wished him no better Fate. In the mean time Justice was fain to bestir her Stump a little in quest of the Murderers, but no body being found, nor any body making a complaint; besides, the Persons that could be most suspected being of the best Gentry of the Town, the Prosecution was let fall. The Actresses were conducted to their Lodgings, where they learned the next Day that Saldaigne was dead, which caused them to rejoice exceedingly, being thereby out of danger of any future Disturbance, meeting every where with Friends, except in him and his Adherents.   

CHAP. VII  
The sequel of Mrs. Caves History.  
THE Day after Saldaignes' Death Destiny and Olive went to return their hearty Thanks to the Ecclesiastic, who was at that time Prior of St. Lewis, for having delivered them from a Plague that they could never otherwise have got rid of. This Priory was a title rather Honorary than Beneficial, belonging to a little Church situate in an Island made by the River Sartha, and between the two Bridges of Alencon. You must not wonder if both the Actors and Actresses of this Company of Strollers received a benefit from a Priest, since you might have perceived throughout the whole Comical Adventures of this famous History, how many Services and good Offices have been done them by Curates. This Prior, who before had had but a slender Acquaintance with our Strollers, by this signal token of Kindness had contracted so great a Friendship with them, that they interchangeably visited and Eat together almost every Day. Now one Day while Monsieur the Prior was in the Strollers Chamber, which by the by, you must take notice was on a Friday, when they did not Act, Destiny and Madam Star entreated Mrs. Cave to proceed with the account of her Life. She for her part was at first a little loath to comply with their request, till at length being prevailed upon, and having coughed three or four times, spit as often, and as some will have it, gravely wiped her Mouth with her Handkerchief, she just began to get herself into a readiness to speak, when the Prior was offering to begun, believing it seems, that she might have something to deliver which she would not have every body know. He was notwithstanding stopped by all the Company, and unanimously desired by them to stay, they assuring him that they would be exceeding glad to have him take part of their Adventures. And I dare say, quoth Star to him, being a Woman of a ready Wit, you yourself have had a share of some in your time, for you don't by any means seem to me to be a Person that has always worn a Cassock. These Words confounded the Prior a little at first, but who afterwards coming to himself, he frankly owned that he had had Adventures in his time, which possibly might not prove unacceptable in a Romance, in the room of many fabulous Stories it is commonly stuffed with. To which Star briskly replied, that she was very well satisfied they would be entertaining, and therefore immediately engaged him in the Relating of some of them the first opportunity they should have. Her request he promised to gratify, and then Mrs. Cave proceeded with her Account after the following manner. The Dog that frighted us prevented what I was then going to say, and what ye shall now hear. The Proposal the Baron of Sig●gnac caused to be made to my Mother, by the good Curate, that he would marry her, Afflicted her no less than it pleased me, as I have already told you; but what increased her Affliction was, that she could not propose a way to herself how she might get out of his House. To do it alone she thought would be to little purpose, since she could not think to get far before he would certainly send and overtake her, and perhaps abuse her to boot. Moreover we thereby ran a risk of losing our Baggage, which was the only thing we had left to subsist on. At length Fortune offered us an opportunity to escape the most plausible that could be, which was this, This Baron who had always hitherto been of a morose inflexible Temper, was all of a sudden changed from his insensible Brutality to the softest of Passions, Love, and that to so great excess, that he became even Sick with the violence of it; nay more, Sick to Death. At the beginning of his illness my Mother would needs be frequently offering her Service, but she no sooner came near his Bed than he always began to rave. This my Mother perceiving, and being a Woman of no common contrivance, she immediately applied herself to his Servants, telling them that she observed her Daughter and she were rather an hindrance to their Lord's recovery than a help, and therefore desired of them to procure us Horses for ourselves, and a Wagon for our Baggage, and she would be gone. This the Servants would by no means hearken to, till at length the Curate coming, and having understood the Baron was raving, resolved forthwith to deliver him from the occasion thereof, and immediately setting about it he soon provided us with all those necessaries we required. Next Morning we loaded the Cart with our Equipage, and after having taken leave of the Servants, but especially of the obliging Curate, we set forth and arrived at Night at a little Town of Perigord, whose name I have forgot, but which I nevertheless remember to be the same place from whence a Surgeon had been fetched to my Mother, when she was wounded by the Baron of Sigognac's Servants, who took us for Gypsies. We alighted and went to an Inn, where we were immediately discovered for what we were; for the Chambermaid no sooner saw us but she cried out aloud to her Companions, Courage my Hearts! we shall quickly have Play acted here, since the rest of the Company are arrived, This gave us to understand that there were some Strollers in the Town, which we were hearty glad of, being in hopes that we might have the good Fortune to join with them, and so get our Lifelihoods, and wherein, as it happened, we were not deceived, for the Morning following, after we had just discharged our Wagon and Horses, two Actors who had heard of our arrival came to see us, who acquainted us that one of their Companions with his Wife having quitted their Company, we if we pleased might have their places, which if we would but condescend to accept of he promised himself that they might perform wonders. My Mother who was always very obliging accepted their proffer, and it was agreed that she should have the chief Parts, another Woman that was among them the second, and I such as they should assign me, or think me capable of, for I was but then thirteen or fourteen Years of Age at farthest. We continued acting here about fifteen Days, this Town being no sufficient to maintain us any longer. My Mother pressed hearty to be gone, and to leave this Country, having a dread upon her that assoon as the Baron were recovered he might make search after us, and give us some Affront. We consequently set out and rid near 40 Leagues before we pitched upon any place where to Act. The Master of the Company, whose name was Belle fleur, talked of Marriage to my Mother, but which she absolutely refused, conjuring him at the same time not to trouble himself with making love to her, since she began to be somewhat old, and moreover had entered into a Vow never to marry again. Belle-fleur hearing this my Mother's resolution, troubled her with no more of his Addresses. We rubbed on three or four Years with success. At length I began to grow up, and my Mother became so crazy that she could not well Act her Parts, wherefore the Company having a tolerable Opinion of my Performance, I was substituted in her place. Belle-fleur who found he could not have my Mother, demanded me of her for his Wife, but which favour she again denied him, having a mind to take the first opportunity to retire to Marseilles. But falling afterwards sick at Troy's in Champagne, and fearing to leave me behind her unmarried in case she should die, she Communicated to me Belle-fleurs request. Present necessity obliged me to accept of the proffer, tho' he was old enough to be my Father, yet considering that he was a very Honest Man, I was the easier induced to consent to marry him. My Mother then had the satisfaction to see me Married before she died, which happened in a few Days after. I was concerned as much as a good Daughter ought to be, which nevertheless wore away in a little time. I began then to apply myself altogether to my Business again, and in a short time became with Child. The Day of my lying down being come, I brought into the World this Daughter Angelica you see here, who cost me so many Tears, and is like to cost a great many more if I continue much longer in this World. As she was going to proceed with her Relation, Destiny interrupted her, telling her she might promise herself a great deal of Satisfaction for the future instead of Disquiet, since that so rich a Gentleman as Leander desired her Daughter for his Wife. Whilst Mrs. Cavi was about to finish her Account, Leander entered the Room and Saluted all the Company: He was all dressed in black, and attended by three Footmen in Black likewise, which presently gave every body reason to conceive that his Father was dead in earnest. The Prior left the Company and went his way; and 'tis here that I conclude this Chapter.   

CHAP. VIII.  
The end of Mrs. Caves History.  
AFter Leander had finished his Compliments upon his Arrival, Destiny told him, that he must desire leave, both to Condole him for the loss of his Father, and to Congratulate him on account of the great Estate he had left him. Leander thanked him for both, but as for his Father's Death, he told him, that he had long expected it with Impatience. Nevertheless, added he, I do not intent to forsake my Profession, which has been always so pleasant to me, however, must desire that my appearing on the Stage may be dispensed with, till such time as we are got farther off from the Place of my Nativity. This Request was forthwith granted by all. After which, Madam Star desired to know of Leander what Title she must salute him by for the future. His answer was, That his Father's Title was Baron of Roche-pierre, which he had a right to use if he pleased, but that having resolved to continue among them, he determined to be called by no other Name than that of Leander, being the same under which he had been so happy as to be thought acceptable to his dear Angelica. This Name therefore, quoth he, I am resolved to carry along with me to my Grave, as well for the reason just foregoing, as to convince ye all, that I am indispensably disposed to perform punctually what I promised to the Company at my departure hence. At these words Embraces were renewed, many Sighs breathed forth, some Tears shed, and all in general approved of the generous Resolution of Leander, who approaching Angelica, bestowed a thousand endearing Protestations on her, all which she returned with so much Wit and good Nature, that he was more and more confirmed in his Resolution. I would willingly have given you the particulars of their entertaining each other, but that I am not in Love as they were. Leander told the Company farther, that he had regulated all his Affairs, and put new Tenants into most of his Farms, who having paid Fines amounting in all to near 6000 Livres, he had brought the same along with him, to the end that in case the Company wanted Money, he might supply them. He received abundance of Thanks for this Noble Offer. Then Ragotin, who had hardly appeared in the two foregoing Chapters, came forward, and desired that since Monsieur Leander had been pleased to declare that he would not Act whilst the Players continued in this Country, that he might have his Parts, which he Promised he would perform to all the advantage imaginable. Whereupon, Roquebrune, who had always been his Opposite, risen up, and said, That he humbly conceived, Leander's Parts belonged rather to him, than to such a Whipper-Snapper as he. This word made all the Company to laugh; after which Destiny acquainted the two Candidates, that their several Merits should be considered, and Justice be speedily done them. Then Mrs. Cave was desired to go on with her History, but first the Prior of St. Lewis was to be sent for, to the end that having heard hers, he might be the better able to Relate his own. Great attention was given, and she began again thus.  
As I remember I left off at my Lying in of Angelica. I have already told you, the two Strollers came to desire us to join with them, but did not tell you, that those two were Olive and another who left ye afterwards, in whose room came our Poet Roquebrune. But to come to the greatest of my Misfortunes, I must tell you, that one Day as we were Acting the Liar of Monsieur Corneille, in a certain Town of Flanders, a Footman that had been keeping a Place for his Lady that was not yet come, left it and went a Drunkening, whereby another Lady got the Place. Soon after, the Lady to whom the Place belonged came, and finding it taken up, very civilly told the other Lady, that that Place belonged to her, and therefore desired her to let her have it. The other answered, that if she had a place there, she might take it if she pleased, but for her part she would not move an Inch from where she sat. Words thus arise, and from thence they came to Blows. The Ladies Cussed one another hearty, which would have signified little, had not the Men interposed, who instead of parting the Fray, increased it, taking to either Party, and raising Factions against one another. This was principally caused by the Lady's Relations, who both got what Friends they could on their Side. Then was there nothing to be heard but squeaking and clashing of Swords, all which we only looked upon from the Stage, till at length my Husband who at that time Played the Part of Dorante, seeing so many Swords drawn, and not caring to look on, leapt in among them with his Sword drawn likewise, and endeavoured to appease the Tumult, when a certain Person from one of the Parties, taking him no doubt for his Enemy, gave him such a home Thrust, as paid him notably for his meddling. This was given unperceived by my Husband, for had he seen it, he would no doubt have Parryed it he being not a little skilled in Fencing. This thrust nevertheless pierced his Heart, whereof he immediately fell dead to the Ground, which occasioned all the Audience quickly to shift for themselves. I than threw myself off from the Stage into the Pit, and went to assist my wounded Husband, but to my great Grief, found him stark Dead. Angelica, who then might have been about thirteen or fourteen Years of Age, came down immediately to me, together with the rest of the Company, who all joined with me in my just Complaints, for the loss of so good a Husband. I Buried him the best I could, after that the Coroner had set upon him, who demanded of me if I would have his Warrant to take up the Murderer. I answered, I should be willing to have Justice done upon him, but feared I had not where withal sufficient to Prosecute him, and so declined it. We quickly forsook this Town, and went a Strolling on farther, being obliged to Act for our Maintenance, but our Company was now by no means good, having lost its principal Actor. I was for a long time so grieved at my Husband's Death, that I could not give my Mind to get up my Parts, but herein Angelica always supplied me from her Memory, when we were on any Scene together. At length we came to a Town in Holland, where you know that you Mr. Destiny, your Sister Star, and Rancour, came to us, and offered to join us if we so pleased, and whereof we were not a little glad, being almost quite broke before. The rest of my Adventures have been common to us all, and whereof you know as much already as I can pretend to tell you, and that from Tours, where our Porter killed one of the Intendant's Officers, even to this City of Alencon, where we now are. Here Mrs. Cave ended her History, shedding a great many Tears, which Madam Star did likewise, comforting her all she was able, for the great Misfortunes she had undergone, but withal remembered her, that she had the less reason to be concerned now, since she was so near to an Alliance with so worthy a Gentleman as Leander. Mrs. Cave sobbed so violently that she could not find a time to answer her, neither can I to continue this Chapter any farther, and therefore conclude it.   

CHAP. IX.  
How Rancour undeceived Ragotin concerning Madam Star; together with the Arrival of a Coach full of Gentry, and some other comical Adventures of Ragotin's.  
THE Play went on prosperously, and one or other was Acted every Day, with great Satisfaction to the Audience, which consisted of the better sort, and was generally very numerous, amongst whom nevertheless happened no disorder, by reason that Ragotin was kept behind the Scenes, having no Parts yet given him, but which he grumbled at, tho' he had been promised some when occasion served. He made his complaints almost every Day to Rancour, whom he put a great confidence in, tho' by the way, he was one of the very worst of Men. As he plagued him one Day above the rest, Rancour said to him. Monsieur Ragotin, disturb yourself no more about this matter, for I must tell you, there is a great deal of difference between the Bar and the Stage: If a Man have not a more than ordinary Assurance, he will be easily put out on the Stage, besides, the speaking of Verse requires no common Capacity, and is more difficult to do than you may fancy. You must observe nicely the Pointing of Verse, and when you speak it on the Stage, run one Verse into another, that it may seem Prose, and consequently be Natural and easy? You must not sing it out, and stop at the Cesures, or at the end of a Verse, as the Vulgar do, but Pronounce it always with a good Grace, and a becoming Action. I would have you therefore, continued he, to wait a little longer, before you come on the Stage, and in the mean time you may Act in some private Masquerade or Farce, to bring your hand in. You may there play the Part of a second Zany, or Merry- Andrew, and I think we have a Habit within, that will be very fit for you, having formerly belonged to a little Boy called Godenot, who had sometimes represented that Person. But, added he, we must first speak to Monsieur Destiny, and Madam Star about it. This they did the same Day, and it was ordered, that next Morning Ragotin should represent the said Person. He was instructed by Rancour in what he was to say, who as you may have observed in the first Part of this Romance, was altogether inclinable to Farce. The Plot of what they played was an Intrigue which Rancour unravelled in favour of Destiny. As Rancour was preparing himself to begin, Ragotin appeared upon the Stage, to whom the former spoke thus. Little Boy, my pretty Godenot. quoth he, whether art thou going in such haste? Then addressing himself to the Company, after having chucked Ragotin under the Chin and felt for his Beard, Gentlemen, said he, I have always hitherto thought that Ovid's Metamorphosis of Pismires inta Pigmies, who had at that time War with the Cranes, was only a Fable, but now I find it to be true, for certainly this is one of the race, or else that little Man revived, concerning whom, about Seven or Eight Years since, there was a Song made to this affect.  

The SONG.  
MY Mother would needs have me Wed,  
But a Pigmy, alas! is the Man,  
For call him a Husband who can,  
That scarce takes up a Foot of the Bed,  
Yet still this of him may be said,  
That if he be not, he be not a Man,  
He is, he is, he is, he is, he is as much as he can.   
At the end of every Verse Rancour turned and wound Ragotin about as if he had been a Poppet, making him to appear in so many ridiculous Postures, as made the Company to laugh hearty. The rest of the Song I have left out as superfluous to our Romance.  
After that Rancour had ended his Song, he showed Ragotin to the Company, telling them that he was risen again from the Dead, and to make what he said appear, he took off his Masque and exposed him barefaced, which caused him not only to blush for shame, but likewise to redden with Anger. He nevertheless was fain to bear it; but however, to revenge himself, he told Rancour that he was a downright Blockhead for making his Song with such old fashioned Rhimes, But, quoth Rancour, I think you are a greater Blockhead for a little Man, since you could not distinguish betwixt an old Song and a new me, this having been made above a hundred Years ago. Also, continued he, it is with Rhyming as with Language, Custom must regulate all; for since, as Monsieur Rogula has it who reformed the French Tongue, we cannot give a reason why we pronounce so and so, no more ought our Ancestors to do why they Writ after this manner; and whereas whatever is most ancient is always most valued, so ought my Song to be for the same Reason, While Ragotin was going to answer, Destiny entered complaining of the long stay his Man Rancour had made, and whom having found in a hot dispute with Ragotin, he immediately demanded of them the cause of their Dispute, but which he could nevertheless never come to know, since they answered him both at a time, and so loud that they made him stark Mad. His Passion being thus raised, he thrust Ragotin against Rancour with great Indignation, and whom Rancour returned again against him with like fury, till at last they had tossed him about from one to tother so long, that he fell down on his Face, and afterwards marched away on all four under the Curtains. This the Audience all rise up to see, protesting that this mute Action was worth all the rest of their Farce, which they could not proceed any farther with, by reason that the Actors had quite laughed themselves into confusion. Notwithstanding this Affront, Ragotin still Solicited Rancour to bring him in Favour with Madam Star, and the better to incline him to do it, he often treated him, which was very welcome to Rancour, who did not scruple to feed hearty at the little Man's cost. But as he was wounded with the same Dart he had not the Heart to speak either for Ragotin or himself. One Day above the rest Ragotin pressed him so close that he found himself obliged to tell him, Monsieur Ragotin, This Star no doubt is of the nature of those in the Firmament, which the Astrologers name wand'ring, for I have no sooner at any time begun to open your Passion to her, but she twinkles and leaves me without an Answer. Yet how should she Answer me, quoth he, if she will not hear me. But I believe I have discovered the occasion of her Indifference, proceeded he, and which no question may surprise you; but a Man that has a mind to be satisfied in any thing must be prepared against all Events. This Monsieur Destiny, whom she calls her Brother, I fancy not to be at all so, for I surprised them the other Day Caressing after that manner as such near Relations are not wont to do, and therefore I am rather enclinable to believe that he is her Gallant, and I am more deceived than ordinary, if on the same Day that Leander and Angelica Marry they do not Marry too: Otherwise I should think her the most indiscreet Woman in the World, added he, to slight your generous proffer: You that are a Man of Quality and Merit, without taking notice of your graceful Mien. I tell you this, continued he, that you may have the more reason to remove her from your Heart, since you will not otherwise fail to torment yourself like one of the damned. The little Man, both Poet and Advocate, was so confounded at this discourse, that he had nothing left to say, but immediately quitted Rancour, shaking his Head and crying after his wont manner, Serviteur, Serviteur, etc. Afterwards Ragotin resolved with himself to go to Beaumond le Vicomté, a little Town about five Leagues distant from Alencon, where there was a Market kept every Monday. The reason of his going he told the Company was to receive a certain Sum of Money that was owing him in that Town by a Merchant. But how will you do to go, quoth Rancour to him, since your Horse has been lately pricked in Shooing, and is lame? he will never be able to carry you so far. It may be not, answered Ragotin, and therefore I'll hire one that shall, and if I cannot meet with one to my purpose, I can at last walk on Foot, it is not so far. I don't question, added he, but I shall meet with some Company that will go from hence. He sought after, but could not find a Hackney to be let, which induced him to inquire of a Pedlar that lived next Door to his Lodging if he were not disposed to go, and finding he was, he desired the favour of him for a Companion, which the Pedlar agreed to be, in case that he would be gone by one a Clock in the Morning, when the Moon would be just up, which he with little difficulty consented to. Now a little before they set out, a poor Nail-Smith was gone towards the said Market to dispose of his Nails, which he was accustomed to make every Week ready for Mondays on purpose. This Nail-Smith being upon the Road on Foot, with his Wallet upon his Back, and hearing no noise of Travellers, either before or behind him, thought that he had been got out too early; besides, he was a little afraid when he considered he was to pass under several Gibbets where men's quarters hung, which obliged him to step aside out of the Road, and to go lie down upon a Bank, where he fell asleep. Some little time after Ragotin and the Pedlar came by, but who said not a Word to each other, the little Man's thoughts being wholly taken up with Reflections on what Rancour had told him. When they came near to the Gibbets, Ragotin asked the Pedlar if he would not count the Persons that were Hanged. The Pedlar answered with all his Heart. Then they went forwards into the middle of them, and began to Count, but at length having met with one that was dropped down, and was very stiff and dry, Ragotin who had always thoughts worthy of himself, asked his Companion to assist to help him up, and set him against one of the Posts, the which they easily performed by help of their Staves. This done, they counted fourteen Hanged, besides this last, and so went on on their Journey. They had not gone far, before Ragotin had a Maggot come in his Head, to turn about and call to the dead Person to come after him, which he did in theses Words; So ho! you, will you come along with us? The Nail-Smith, who it seems did not sleep very sound, hearing of this, rise up presently from his Post, thinking some Fellow Travellers had desired his Company, and cried, With all my Heart, I come, I come, and immediately began to follow them. The Pedlar and Ragotin thinking verily it had been the dead Corpse that came towards them, ran away as hard as they could drive, whereat the Nail-Smith began to fun likewise, crying all the way, Stay, stay, I come, I come. As the Nail-smith ran, his Nails that he had on his Back made a great noise, which inclined Ragotin and the Pedlar the more to believe that it was the Corpse that they had set up against the Gibber, or else the Ghost of some other Person that dragged Chains after him; for the Vulgar are of Opinion that there is never a Ghost that appears, but he has a Chain fastened to him. This belief made them to tremble so much that they could not run any farther, and their Legs not being able to support them longer, they dropped down. This gave the Nail-smith opportunity to come up with them, whom they at first were miserably affrighted at, but he having bid them good Morrow, and telling them they had given him a great deal of Trouble to overtake them, they began to come to themselves, and saw he was no Ghost. They then joined Companies, and continued their Journey prosperously to Beaumond, where Ragotin did what he had to do, and returned next Morning to Alencon, where he found his Friends just risen from Dinner, to whom having related the Story of his Adventure, they Laughed so hearty, that they were almost ready to burst. The Women for their parts were so extremely tickled, that they Haw-hawed out so loud, that they were heard cross the way, and which 'tis probable they would have continued much longer, had they not been interrupted by the Arrival of a Coach full of Country Gentry. This Coach belonged to one Monsieur de la Fresnay, who was about to Marry his Daughter, and was come to Alencon to entreat the Strollers to come and Act a Play at her Wedding. This Lady, who was none of the Wisest of her Sex, desired them that they would Act the Silvius of Mairet. This the Actresses were hardly able to forbear laughing at, telling her that if her Ladyship would have that, she must procure them a Book, for they had not one by them; the Lady answered, she would lend them one, adding withal, that she had all the Pastorals Bound up together in one Volume, viz. those of Raçan, being the Fair Fisher-woman, the Love-Hater, Plocidon, the Mercer, etc. together with several others whose Titles she had forgot. Such Plays as these, quoth she to them, are proper for you Strollers that Act always in the Country, and cannot perhaps go to the expense of such sumptuous Habits, as the Death of Cinna, Heradius, Rodogune, and the like would require. Moreover, the Verse in Pastorals savours not so much of Bombast, as that of Heroic Poems. Besides, Pastorals are of a nature more conformable to the Simplicity of our first Parents, who wore nothing but Fig-leaves even after they had sinned. Her Father and Mother were all the while harkening to their Daughter's Discourse with great attention and wonder, imagining that the greatest Orators of the Kingdom could not be able to utter any thing beyond it. After this, the Strollers desired time to prepare themselves, and had eight Days given them. The Company parted after Dinner, just as the Prior of St. Lewis happened to come in. Madam Star told him he had done well to come, having saved Olive the trouble of looking after him. The Actresses seated themselves upon the Bed, and the Actors in Chairs. The Door was shut, and the Porter had Orders to send away every Body that came to speak with them. After silence was proclaimed, the Prior began his History as you may find in the following Chapter, if you'll take the pains but to read it.   

CHAP. X.  
The History of the Prior of St. Lewis, and the Arrival of Monsieur Verville.  
THE beginning of this History, quoth the Prior, cannot but be a little tedious, since it consists chief of Genealogy. Nevertheless, this sort of beginning is necessary too to introduce a perfect understanding of the matter in Dispute. I shall not endeavour to disguise my Condition, since I am in my own Country. In another it may be I might have passed for what I really was not, which nevertheless I have never yet done. I have always been very sincere in this Point. I am then, a Native of this City, the Wives of my two great Grandfathers were Gentlewomen, and had a the tacked to their Surnames. But as you know, the eldest Sons going away with the greatest part of the Estate, leave but little for the younger Children, who according to Custom, are either obliged to go into Orders, or else to Marry some inferior Person or other, suitable to their Condition, providing she be Rich and Honest, pursuant to the Proverb which has been a long time currant in this Country; More Money and less Honour. So that my two Grandmothers were Married to two rich Tradesmen, the one a Woolen-draper, and the other a Linen-draper. My Father's Father had four Sons, whereof my Father was not the eldest. My Mother's Father had two Sons and two Daughters, whereof she was one, and Married to the second Son of the Woolen-draper, who had left off his Trade to follow Pettifogging, whereby he fooled away most of his Estate, which was the Reason that he left me but little. My Father had formerly thrived very much by his Trade, and Married a very rich Woman for his first Wife, who died without Children. He was pretty well advanced in Years when he Married my Mother, which she consented to rather out of Duty than Inclination, insomuch that there was more of Aversion on her side than Love, which no doubt was the reason that they were thirteen Years Married before they had the least hopes of having any Children. At last my Mother was big, and when the time of her Lying-in was come, she brought me into the World with a great deal of Pain, having been four full Days in Labour. My Father, who was at that time employed in prosecuting a Man that had killed his Brother, was overjoyed, when at his return the Women gave him joy of a Son. He treated them all as well as he could, and made some of them drunk, having given them strong White-wine, on the Lees instead of Perry, which he has many a time after told me, and whereat we have laughed hearty. Two Days after my Birth I was Baptised. My Name signifies little to be mentioned. I had for Godfather the Lord of the Place, a very rich Man, and my Father's Neighbour, who having understood by the Lady, his Wife, that my Mother was with Child, after so many Years Marriage, desired he might hold what God sent her to the Font. What he desired was readily granted; my Mother having no more Children than me, bred me with all the care imaginable, and perhaps a little too nicely for one of her Quality. As I came to grow up it was observed I would be no Fool, which occasioned me to be mightily beloved by every body, especially by my Godfather, who had but one only Daughter, that had been married to a Gentleman a Relation of my Mothers. She had two Sons one elder by a year than I, and one younger by a Year, but both who were as backward in Parts as I were forward, which occasioned my Godfather to send for me always when he had any of the better sort of Company, (which you must know he often had, being accustomed to treat all the Princes and great Lords that passed by our Town) to divert them, which by Dancing, Singing and Prattling I did. For this purpose I was always kept in a better Garb than ordinary, and I had surely made my Fortune with him had not Death taken him away suddenly as he was on a Journey to Paris. I nevertheless was not so sensible then of his Death as I have been since. My Mother sent me to Study, and I profited extremely; but when she understood my Inclinations ran towards the Church, she took me from the College and brought me into the World, notwithstanding her Vow to devote her first-fruits to God, if he should please to give her any. She proved quite contrary to other Mothers who do all they can to prevent their children's falling into ill Courses, for she was continually feeding me with Money, Sundays and Holy days especially, to go a Gaming, or to the Tavern. Nevertheless having some discretion of my own, all my Liberties and Abilities amounted only to making merry sometimes with my Neighbours. I had contracted a more than ordinary Friendship with a young Lad, Son to a certain Officer belonging to Lewis XIII's Queen- Dowager, who had likewise two Daughters. He lived in that fine Park, which as you may have heard was one of the greatest Delights of the ancient Dukes of Alencon. His House there had been given him by the aforesaid Queen Dowager, his Royal Mistress, who had an Appennage upon that Duchy. We led a pleasant Life in this Park, but that, still like Children, never thinking of what was to come. This Officer of the Queens was called Monsieur du Fresne, who had a Brother an Officer likewise, who belonged to the King. This Brother required du Fresne to send his Son to him, which he could by no means refuse to do. Before his Son went for the Court he came to take leave of me, and I must own the parting with him raised the first Grief that ever I felt. We lamented our Separation reciprocally, but I had much greater Reason two Months after, when I heard from his Mother the News of his Death. I showed as much concern for the loss of him as I was capable of showing, and went immediately to join with his Sisters in their Grief for him, which was exceeding great. But as Time lessens all things, when this sad remembrance was a little over, Madam du Fresne came and desired my Mother that I might teach her younger Daughter a little to write, whose name was Mademoiselle du Lys, to distinguish her from her elder Sister, who bore the Name of the Family. The reason of her troubling me, she said, was because her Writing-Master had been newly gone, and tho' there were several others in the Town, yet none would teach abroad, and truly she thought her Daughter's quality too great to go to School. She excused herself very much for this Liberty she had taken, but withal intimated to my Mother that this Familiarity might end in something more important, meaning a Marriage, which was soon after agreed on privately between my Mother and her. My Mother had no sooner proposed this Employment to me but I readily accepted it, and went immediately after Dinner to wait on my Scholar, finding a secret Spring within, that moved me more than ordinary, tho' I knew not at that time what it was. I had not been above eight Days in this Exercise, but the young Lady my Scholar, who was much handsomer than her Sister, began to be very Familiar with me, and called me in Raillery her little Master. It was then that I began to find something in my Heart that I had been but little acquainted with before, and the young Lady, for aught I could perceive by her, felt the same. We were from that time inseparable, and were never so well pleased as when we were left alone together, which happened not seldom. This sort of Conversation lasted about six Months before we declared the Sentiments of our Hearts, but nevertheless our Eyes spoke sufficiently all the while. One Day I had a mind to try to make a Copy of Verses in her Praise, to see how she would receive them; but having never made an attempt of that Nature before, I was afraid I should not succeed. Notwithstanding I immediately set myself about reading the best Romance-Writers and Poets I could find, having rejected those of the Melesines, Robert the Devil, Aymons Four Sons, the fair Maguelonne, john of Paris, etc. which are trifling Compositions, and only fit for Children to read. At last looking by Chance into Marot's Works, I met with a Roundelay very proper for my purpose. This I immediately Transcribed Word for Word, and which is as follows. 

A Roundelay.  
YOur Face and Tongue so charming prove,  
That I both gaze and hear;  
And whilst your Looks invite to Love,  
Your Chains am glad to wear:  
But since you make of me a Slave,  
And use me at your Pleasure,  
Why may not I my Mistress have  
to Occupy my leisure?    
I gave her these Verses, which she read with a great deal of Pleasure, as I could perceive by her Countenance. After having read them she thrust them into her Bosom, whence they not long after fell upon the Ground, and were taken up by her elder Sister, contrary to her Knowledge, but which she afterwards came to know, by means of a Lackey. She thereupon asked her Sister for them, and perceiving she made some difficulty to let her have them, she flew into a great Passion, and went and complained to her Mother, who forthwith ordered her Sister to give them her, which she presently did. This sort of proceeding gave me a great deal of hopes, when a serious Reflection on my Condition made me to despair again. Now whilst we thus pleased each other with our Fancies, my Father and Mother being pretty well advanced in Years, determined to marry me, and one Day made me acquainted with their Intentions. My Mother discovered to my Father the Project she had laid with Madam du Fresne, but he being a Man of more Sense than ordinary, absolutely rejected it, saying that that young Lady's Quality was too great for me, and besides, that she had too little Money to support it, well knowing that she would expect to be maintained according to it. But as I was the only Son of my Father, who was tolerably Rich, as likewise Heir to an Uncle, who had no Children, by the Custom of Normandy, many Families looked upon me as worthy of their Alliance, and consequently made me stand Godfather to divers Children, with several young Ladies of the best Quality in our Neighbourhood, those being the common means to promote Marriages, which nevertheless had no effect upon me, having been before entirely devoted to my dear du Lys. I was notwithstanding so continually Persecuted by my Parents to Marry some other, that to avoid their Importunities, I resolved to go to the Wars, altho' I was not then above 16 or 17 Years of Age. New Levies being made in this City to go to Denmark, under the Command of the Count of Montgomery. I Listed myself privately with three others, younger Brothers my Neighbours. We set out in pretty good Equipage, and my Father and Mother were so extremely concerned, that the latter was almost like to die with Grief. How du Lys bore my so sudden Departure, I could not tell as then, but which I understood afterwards from herself. We Embarked at Haure-de Grace, and Sailed very successfully till we came within sight of the Sound, but then arose so furious a Tempest, that the like was scarce ever known before. Our Ships were soon separated from each other, and that which I was in, Commanded by the Count himself, was driven very luckily to the Mouth of the Thames, where by the help of a Reflux we quickly got up to London, the Capital City of England. There we stayed about 6 Weeks, during which time I had opportunity to survey the Rarities of that superbe City, and above all, the shining Court of its King, who was then Charles, I. of that Name. The Count of Montgomery returned afterwards to his Seat Port-Orson in Normandy, whither I did not care to go, and therefore desired of him to permit me to go for Paris, which he did. I Embarked then on board a Vessel bound for Rouen, where I not long after arrived safe, and from thence went in a Boat up to Paris. There met with a near Kinsman of mine, who was the King's Wax-Chandler. ● begged of him to make use of his Interest to get me into ● the Guards. He promised he would, and did it, but he was ● fain to be my Surety, for at that time none was to be admitted without one. I was received into Monsieur de ● Rauderies Company. My Cousin lent me Money to Equi● myself, for in my Sea I had spoiled all my Cloath● I thus became equal to many Cadets of good Families, wh● carried Maskets as well as I. About that time the Princes and great Lords of France rise against their King, and amongst them Monsieur the Duke of Orleans, but his Majesty through the Policy of the Great Cardinal Richelieu, brok● all their Measures, but that not without taking a Journey 〈◊〉 to Britain with a gallant Army. We arrived at Nant● where the first Person made an Example of, was the Coun● of Calais, who had his Head struck off there. This raised a Terror in all the others, insomuch that they sued to his Majesty for Peace, which being granted them, the King returned to Paris. In our way we stopped at Man's, where my Father came to see me, old as he was, having been before acquainted by my Cousin, that I was in the King's Guards, and begged of my Captain to Discharge me, which he with some difficulty, or rather, for some consideration did. We then returned to this City, where it was agreed, that the only way to keep me at home, was to Marry me, A Surgeon's Wife that was Neighbour to a Cousin German of mine, hearing this, brought along with her the Under-Baily's Daughter, of a Town about three Leagues off, under pretence of Devotion, being Lent-time, but her true Reason was, to entrap me if possible. Having seen her but once, I was desired to do it again at my Cousin's House, which I did, and after about an Hours Conversation with her, she went her way, when all the Company told me, that she was a Mistress for me, to which I bluntly replied, that I did not like her. My reason was not because she was not Rich and Handsome, being both in Perfection, but because all the Beauty in the World could have no power upon me, as long as my dear du Lys was in my Thoughts. I had an Uncle, my Mother's Brother, of a severe Temper, who coming one Night to our House, after having rallied me extremely for the slights I had put upon the Under-Baily's Daughter, told me I must resolve to go and Visit her at her own House, in the Easter holidays, there being those of a much greater Quality than I, who would be proud of such a Match. I answered neither one way nor other, but when the holidays came, I was forced to go thither with my said Cousin the Surgeon's Wife, and a Son of hers. When we came, we were very Courteously received and treated for three Days together. We were also carried to all the said Under-Baily's Farms, at every one of which we were handsomely entertained. We went likewise to a large Village, about a League off this Gentleman's House, to pay a Visit to the Curate of the Place, who was a Brother to this Lady's Mother, and who gave us a very civil Reception. At last we returned home as we came, that is, as to what concerned me, as little in Love as before. It was nevertheless resolved, that in a Fortnight's time our Marriage should be concluded, which term being expired. I was compelled to return to the Baily's House, together with three Cousin Germans, two Advocates, and an Attorney of this Jurisdiction, but as good Luck would have it, they could agree upon nothing, wherefore the Business was put off till May next. But that Saying is certainly true. That Man proposes, and God disposes; For a little before the said proposed Time, my Mother fell sick, and my Father 4 Days afterwards, both whose Maladies ended in Death, the former dying on Tuesday, and the latter on the Thursday following. Although I Was very sick myself, yet I made shift to go Visit my aforesaid severe Uncle, who was extremely ill likewise, and who died in less than a Fortnight's time. Sometime after all this, the Baily's Daughter was proposed to me anew, but which I would hear nothing of, having now no Parents left to force me. My Heart was altogether in the aforesaid Park, where I frequently walked, but never half so often as I had done in Imagination. One Morning when I thought no body had been stirring in the Sieur du Fresne's House, I walked leisurely before it, and was not a little surprised, when I saw du Lys Singing at the Window an old Song, which had for its upholding, Ah! Why is he from me, the Man that I love?  
This obliged me to draw nearer to her, and to make her a very low Bow, which I accompanied with this or the like Expression. I could wish with all my Heart Madam, that you had the satisfaction you so much desire, and were it in my Power to contribute towards it, I would always do it, with as servant a Passion, as I have ever showed to approve myself your most humble Servant. She returned my Salutation, answered me not a Word, but continuing to Sing on, she changed the Burden of her Song to, Ha! see him before me, the Man that I love.  
You may imagine, this was not heard by one that was Deaf, and having been a little in the Wars, I had Courage enough to reply, tho' not in Verse. I should have just Reason to believe you Sincere, Madam, If you would but oblige me so far, as to open the Door. At the same time she called to the Lackey, spoken of before, and bid him to open the Door to me. I went in, and was received not only by her, but likewise by her Father and Mother, and elder Sister, with all the Civility and good Will imaginable. Her Mother asked me why I was so great a Stranger, and why they had not seen me as frequently as they were wont? My Mourning, she told me, was no just excuse, since I must be allowed to divert myself now as well as before, and in a Word, she gave me to understand that I should always be extremely welcome to her House. My Answer was only to show the little Merit I had to pretend to, and which I expressed in some few ill-ordered Words as I have done before. But at length all concluded with a Breakfast of Milk, which you know in this Country passes for a good Treat. And which is notwithstanding none of the worst, Sir, quoth Madam Star, But pray go on. When I was taking leave to be gone, the Mother asked me if I would not give myself the trouble to accompany her and her Daughter to see an old Relation of theirs that lived about two Leagues off, I answered, that she did me wrong to ask me the Question, when an absolute Command would have been much more obliging to me. The Journey was pitched upon for next Day. The time came, and the Mother got up upon a little Mule they had in the House, the elder Sister rid her Father's Horse, and I carried behind me my dear du Lys. What discourse we had upon the Road I'll give you leave to guests, for as for my part I have forgot it. All that I am able to tell you is, that du Lys and I often stole from the Company, and went to recreate ourselves in an adjoining Grove, which had a little River that ran through the midst of it, upon whose Banks we had the pleasure both to hear the warbling of the Birds, and the purling of the Stream, to which we added our mutual Endearments, and many innocent Caresses which passed between us. It was there that we entered into a Resolution to divert ourselves considerably at the approaching Carnevale. Some time after this Journey, while I was making of Cider in the Suburbs that are called lafoy Bar, and which join to du Lies Father's Park, she came running to me, whereby I presently guessed that she had something more than ordinary to tell me. After having chid me a little for finding me in that Condition, she took me aside and told me that the Gentleman whose Daughter was at Monsieur de Planche-Planete's Brothers-in-law, had brought another Gentlem●n a his Friend to make Love to her, and whereof she though 〈◊〉 to get an opportunity to come and tell me. It is not 〈◊〉 she. that I distrust my power of refusing him, but beca●● I had rather you should find out some means to send him 〈◊〉. To this I replied, Go you and make much of him, that 〈◊〉 not be gone before I come, and I'll assure you be shall 〈◊〉 be there by to Morrow this time. She than left me extremely well pleased, and I immediately put off my Cider to my Servants management, and went directly home; where taking a clean Shirt, and another suit of Clothes, I hasted to find out my Companions, for you must know there were 15 of us young Fellows, who had each a Mistress and were all jointly engaged to cut any Man's Throat that should offer but to interfere with either. I acquainted them with what I have already told you, and all concluded that this Gallant, who was a Gentleman of Lower-Maine, must be found out and be forced to return from whence he came. We went then forthwith to his Lodging, where he was at Supper with the other Gentleman his Introducer. We did not stick to tell him down right that he must speedily be gone, and that there was nothing to be got for him in that Country. Then the Introducer replied and told us, that we did not know what they were come about, and that when we did, we would not be so much concerned at it. Then I stepped up, and clapping my Hand to my Sword, said, If I have her Heart, I have it, and if you do not quit her this Minute, I'll quickly send your Souls a Woolgathering. One of them replied, that the contest was not equal, and that if I were alone I durst not have said so much. To which I answered, You are two, and here is a Gentleman and I, taking one of my Comrades, that will presently go and dispute the matter with you farther. The Gentlemen accepted the Challenge, and we were all going out when the Master of the House, and a Son of his, prevented us, persuading the Gentlemen that their best way was to be gone, and not to stand disputing with us, whom they were positive they would get nothing by. They took their Advice, and we never heard a Word of them after. Next Morning I went to wait on my dear du Lys, telling her all that had passed, wherewith she seemed very well satisfied, and gave me abundance of Thanks for delivering her from her Lover. The Winter now approaching, the Nights began to be long, and which we passed away at Questions and Commands, and such like sorts of Plays, but which being every Night repeated at length grew tedious, and therefore I determined to give a Ball. I conferred with du Lys, about it, and she consented to it; I asked her Father's leave, and he granted it me. The following Sunday we Danced all Day, and which we continued to do often, till at length there came so many People that du Lys desired me to give it over, and think o● some other Diversion. We then resolved to get up a Comedy and Act it, which we not long after did accordingly. Here Madam Star interupted the Prior, saying, Sir, since you are upon Comedy, pray give me leave to ask you if this History of yours be much longer, for it gins to grow late, and Supper time approaches. Ah! Madam, quoth the Prior, there is twice as much of it to come yet. Then it was thought necessary to put it off to another time, that the Actors might have time to dress for the Play, and had it not been for which reason, Monsieur Vervilles arrival would have interrupted it, who got easily into the Chamber, by reason that the Porter was asleep. His coming surprised the Company extremely. He very courteously embraced them all, and chief Monsieur Destiny, whom he hugged closely more than once. Afterwards he began to tell them the occasion of his Journey, which you shall have in the following Chapter, altho' it be very short.   

CHAP. XI.  
Resolutions of Destiny's Marrying with Star, and Leander with Angelica.  
THE Prior of St. Lewis would have been gone but Destiny stopped him, telling him that Supper would be ready speedily, and he should keep Monsieur Verville Company, whom they had entreated to Sup with them. The Hostess was called up and ordered to get something extraordinary. Clean Linen was laid, good Cheer made, many Healths drank, and a great deal talked. After Cloth was taken away, Destiny desired to know of Verville the occasion of his coming into those Parts. He answered that it was not on account of his Brother-in-law Saldaigne's Death, which his Sisters lamented no less than he, but by reason of a business of importance, which he had to Negotiate at Rennes in Britain, so that being that way bound, he could do no less than turn a little out of the Road to visit so good a Friend as him. Destiny thanked him hearty for the Honour he had done him, and afterwards informed him of all the ill Designs that Saldaigne, had had against him, which you may have seen in the VI Chapter of this Third Part, as likewise with the manner of his Death. Verville shruged up his Shoulders at this Relation, saying, he had deservedly met with what he so industriously sought after. After Supper Verville took Acquaintance with the Prior, whom Destiny recommended to him for a very worthy Gentleman. Having sat up a little with them the Prior retired, when Verville took Destiny aside and demanded of him what made Leander in Mourning, and how he came to have so many Lackeys after him all in Black likewise. He satisfied him quickly in his Demands, and moreover acquainted him that he was returned with a design to Marry Madam Angelica. And you, quoth Verville, When do you design to Marry? Methinks it is high time to let the World know who you are, which cannot be done without a Marriage, adding withal, that if his Business did not call him suddenly away, he would stay to see both his and Leander's Marriage Solemnised. Destiny answered it was necessary for him to know Madam Star's Mind before he declared himself. Hereupon Star was presently called, and the Marriage proposed to her, whereto she readily answered, that she ever would be ruled by the advice of her Friends. At last it was agreed that when Verville had funished his Affairs at Rennes, he should return by Alencon, and then all matters should be concluded. The same was concluded between the Company and Mrs Cave concerning her Daughter's Match with Leander. Then Verville took his leave of the good Company and went to Bed. Next Morning he set forth for Britain betimes, and arrived not long after at Rennes, where he immediately went to wait on Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, who after the accustomed Compliments had passed between them, told him there was a company of Strollers in that Town, one of which had a great resemblance of Mrs. Cave. This caused him to go next Day to the Play, where having seen the Person mentioned to him, he was forthwith inclined to believe that he must needs be a Relation of Caves, he was so like her. After the Play was over he went upon the Stage, and enquired of him what Country he was of, whence he came, how long he had been a Player, and by what means he got into the Company? To all which Questions he answered so directly that it was no hard matter for Verville to find that he was Mrs. Caves Brother, who had been lost when his Father was killed at Perigord by the Baron of Sigognac's Page. This he frankly owned, adding withal, that he had never been able to meet with his Sister since. Then Verville let him know that she was at that time in a Company of Strollers at Alencon; that she had met with many Misfortunes, but that now she was like to have large amends made her by a Gentleman of 12000 Livres a Year, being to be suddenly Married to an only Daughter of hers, and farther, that this Gentleman was now along with them, and acted among them. He also acquainted him that the Marriage was to be Consummated at his return to Alencon, and that it was very necessary for him to go along with him, both to see his Sister, and to wish his Niece Joy. The Stroller was extremely pleased at this News, and promised to be going with him assoon as he pleased, but we must leave him for a while, packing up his Awls, and return before him to Alencon. The Prior of St. Lewis came, the same Day that Verville went away, to acquaint the Strollers that the Bishop of Sees had sent to speak with him, to communicate some matter of Importance to him, and that he was very sorry that he had not then leisure to perform his promise to them, but that however there would be no time lost, for while he was at Sees they might go to Fresnaye to act Sylvia at the Wedding of the Lords Daughter, and that at his return he would certain finishly what he had begun. He went forthwith, and the Strollers immediately set themselves about preparing for their departure likewise.   

CHAP. XII.  
What happened in the journey to Fresnaye, as likewise another Misfortune of Ragotin's.  
THE Night before the Wedding a Coach and several Saddle-Horses were sent for the Strollers. The Actresses went in the Coach, together with Destiny, Leander, and Olive. The others rid on the Horses, and 〈◊〉 mounted his own Nag, which he still kept● because he could not sell him, and who was now cured of his Lameness. He would have fain persuaded Star 〈…〉 to have got up behind him, giving for 〈◊〉 that they might ride much easier than in the Coach ● which 〈◊〉 People together, but neither of them would accept of his Proffer. To go from Alencon to Fresnaye, it was necessary for to pass thro● the Forest of Persaine, which was in the Province of Maine. They had not gone above a Mile into this Forest, before Ragotin called out to the Coachman to stop, alleging that he saw a Troop of Horsemen coming towards them. It was not thought necessary to stop, but every one nevertheless would be upon his Guard. When he came near the Horsemen, Ragotin gave notice that it was la Rappiniere with his Archers. Hereat Madam Star began immediately to look Pale, which Destiny perceiving, told her she had no reason to fear any Insult being offered to her there, by reason that la Rappiniere would never pretend to any such thing, in the Presence both of his Archers and Monsieur de la Fresnayes Servants, whose House they were also near. La Rappiniere knew well that it was the Strolling-Company that were coming towards him, and therefore advancing to the Coach-side with his accustomed Impudence he saluted the Actresses, but to whom he made very corpse Compliments, which they returned cold enough to have put any one out of Countenance, that had not so much Brass in his Forehead as la Rappiniere had. He told them that he was looking after Robbers that had robbed some Tradesmen near Balloon, and that he was informed they were coming that way. Whilst he was thus talking to the Strollers, one of the Archer's Horses that was a little wanton, leapt upon Ragotin's Horse's Neck, which he going backward to avoid, happened among a parcel of dead Trees, whereof one pointing directly towards him, took him under his Waistcoat, and hung him from his Saddle, which he being willing to disengage himself from, spurred his Horse lustily, and thereby remained like a Scarecrow trussed up in the Air, for his Horse no sooner felt his Favours than he left him, crying that he was killed, run through and I know not what. The Standers-by laughed so hearty to see him hanging in th●● Posture, that they had no manner of regard to assisting of him. Indeed they called once or twice to the Footmen to unloose him but they ran away on the other side laughing. In the mean time his Horse was run quite away, and would not suffer himself to be stopped. At length, after every body had laughed their Belly full the Coachman, who was a strong lusty Fellow, step● down from his Seat, and approaching Ragotin, lifted him ●ff from hi● Tenter-hook, and took him down. The Co●●●y gathered about him, and made him believe that he was●●●●unded, but that they could not get him Cured till they 〈◊〉 to the next Village, where there was a good Surgeon, herefore that in the mean time, they must apply some gre●●●●●●●ves to him to keep the Wound from festering, which they immediately did. They afterwards put him into the Coach in Olives room, who came out. Whilst this passed, the Footmen and Olive went after his Horse that would not be stopped, and notwithstanding his being got a great way, brought him back again to his Master. This done, lafoy Rappiniere left the Company, and they continued onwards of their Journey towards the Gentleman's House, where they soon after arrived, and sent thence for a Surgeon, who they privately instructed what he was to do. He seemed to Probe the imaginary Wound that Ragotin had, whom they had put to Bed. He likewise pretended to Tent it, and afterwards Bound it up, telling his Patient, that if it had been never so little on the other side, he had been no longer a Man of this World. He then ordered him a strict Diet, and so left him to his repose. The little Man was so imaginarily Afflicted at this Accident, that he could not believe but he was desperately wounded. He therefore did not think fit to rise to assist at the Ball which was given after Supper. This Ball was furnished with Music from Man's, the Musicians of Alencon being gone to a Wedding at Argenton. Several Country-dances went about, and the Strollers Danced divers French ones. Destiny and Star performed a Saraband together, which was admired by all the Company, consisting as well of Country Gentry as Peasants. the next Day the Strollers played the Pastoral which the Bride had desired. Ragotin caused himself to be carried to the sight on't in a Chair, with his Nightcap on. Afterwards they made good Cheer, and the next Morning after Breakfast, having been well paid, they set out for Alencon again. As soon as the Coach was brought out, they did what they could to disabuse Ragotin concerning his imaginary Wound, but all to no purpose, for he still persisted that the felt the Pain on't. They nevertheless put him into the Coach, and arrived safe at Alencon. The next Day they would not Act the Actresses being desirous of a little respite. The same Day the Prior of St. Lewis returned from Sees, who going to visit our Company, Madam Star told him that he could never meet a better opportunity than now to finish his History. He required no farther entreaty, but proceeded as you may find in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XIII.  
The continuation and conclusion of the Prior of St. Lewis' History.  
IF the beginning of this History, quoth the Prior, where you have met with nothing but joy and Contentment, has been tiresome to you, the rest you are about to hear, I fear will be much more. This consists of nothing but the revers of Fortune, and Despair, and Grief, for past Pleasures. To begin then where I left off: You must know, that after our Comrades and I had got up our Parts, and rehearsed several times, we Played perfect on Sunday Night, in Monsieur du Fresne's House, the rumour of which being got abroad in the Neighbourhood, so many People crowded thither, altho' we took all the care we could to keep the Park-Gates shut, that we found no small difficulty to get to the Stage, which we had raised for us in a middling sort of a Hall. This Place being not near large enough for our Audience, two Thirds of the Company were forced to stand without, whom to get rid of, we promised them that on Sunday following, we would Play again in the Town, and in a more spacious Room. We performed our Parts indifferent well for Beginners, only one among us who was to Act the Secretary of King Darius, the Death of that Monarch being the Subject of our Play, acquitted himself of ill, that althoed he had not above two lengths to speak, which he performed well enough at our Rehearsal, yet when he came to Act in earnest, he was so faint-hearted, that we were forced to thrust him on upon the Stage, where he spoke so extremely ill, that made all the Audience to laugh. The Tragedy being ended, I began the Ball with du Lys, which lasted till Midnight. We took a great deal of Pleasure in this Exercise, and without saying aught to any Body, we quickly got up another Play, I nevertheless did not omit to make my ordinary Visits in the mean time. One Day as we were sitting together by the Fireside, a young Gentleman happened to come in, to whom we gave place. After we had discoursed a little while, he put his Hand in his Pocket, and pulled out a Picture in Wax in Relievo. very well done, and which he said was the Picture of his Mistress. After all the Ladies had ●een it round, it came to my turn to look on it. When I had considered it a little, I found that it was made for du Lys to whom I fancied this Gallant pretended. I therefore without any more ado, threw the Box, Picture and all into the Fire, where the little Bustum melted immediately; and when the Owner thereof would have snatched it out, I threatened to throw him out at the Window. Monsieur du Fresne, who loved me as much at that time, as he hated me afterwards, swore he would force that Intruder to make more ha●●e out than he had done in, and going to perform his Oath, the young Spark skiped over every bodies Head, and ran out in Confusion. I followed him without any body in the Company being able to hinder me, and having overtaken him, told him, that if he took any thing amiss, we two had each of us a Sword by our Sides, and were in a convenient Place to decide the Difference. But his Answer was, that he had nothing to say to me, and so went his way. The Sunday following, we Acted the Play we had done before, according to our Promise, in a great Hall belonging to a Neighbour, by which means we had fifteen Days to Study the other Play. I designed to adorn it with some Interludes of Dancing, and for that purpose, chose out six of my Companions that Danced the best, and made the seventh myself. This Interlude consisted of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, that were desperately in love with each other. In the first Entry Cupid appeared, and in the others the Shepherds and Shepherdesses, all dressed in white, and their Habits all beset with narrow Blue-ribbond Knots, which was the Colour du Lys delighted in, and which I have worn ever since, altho' for some reasons I will tell you hereafter, I afterwards added some Bows of Fillemot. These Shepherds and Shepherdesses, made their Entries two by two, and when they were all together, they formed the Letters of du Lies Name; Love let fly a Dart at each Shepherd, and threw Flames at the Shepherdesses, all which bowed the Knee in Token of Submission. I had composed some Verses to be Sung in this Interlude, and which we performed, but the great length of time has made me to forget them, and if I had remembered them, I should never have durst repeated them before you that are so good Judges. We having kept the Acting of our second Play secret, we were not so embarrassed with Company as we had been before. The Play was The Amours of Sacripantus King of Circassia with Angelica: The Story taken from Ariosto. We performed the Interlude likewise, and I would have begun as we were wont to do after the Play, but Monsieur du Fresne opposed it, alleging we must needs be too much tired, and therefore dismissed us. We resolved however private we had done it now, to make the representation of this Play more public, and which we afterwards performed before every Body, in my Godfather's Hall, on Shrove-Sunday, and in the Day time Du Lys desired if I intended to have the Ball that Night, that I would begin it with a young Lady a Neighbour of hers, who was then dressed in blue Taffata as well as she, which I did. Whilst we were dancing there arise a Whispering among the Company, some whereof cried out aloud, He's mistaken, he's deceived, which made both du Lys and I laugh, which the other Lady perceiving, cried, The People are in the right, for you have taken one for the other. To which I answered abruptly, Pardon me, Madam, I know what I do. At Night I Masqued myself with three of my Comrades, and carried a Flambeau to prevent my being known. In this Equipage we went into the Park, and afterwards to the House. My three Companions entered only, and I stood at the Door. Du Lys observing the three Masques, presently found that I was not among them, when coming to the Door she immediately discovered me, and spoke to me these obliging Words. Disguise yourself after what manner you please, for I shall always know you. After-having put out the Flambeau. I came up to the Table where there was a Box and Dice set. I took up the Box and began to rattle it, whereupon du Lys asked me who I would be at? I made her a sign I would be at her. She replied, How much will you throw at? I pointed to a knot of Ribbons and Coral Braclet which she wore on her Left Arm. Her Mother would by no means have her venture that, but she burst out a laughing, saying she was not afraid of venturing of it. I threw and won, and afterwards made my Fair Adversary a present of my Win. The same did my Companions to the elder Sister, and the other Ladies that were come to pass their Evening there. After this we took our leaves; but as we were going out, du Lys came behind me, and untying the Ribbons that held my Mask on, it immediately fell, whereat I turning about, she said to me, Thus People are to be used that go away before their time. I was a little ashamed, but nevertheless very glad to have any Opportunity to talk farther with her. The others unmasked likewise, and we went in again, and spent that Night very agreeably. The last Night of the Carnevale I gave the Ball again, when we were fain to take up with the lesser Company of Musicians, the greater being preengaged by other Gentry. During Lent we were forced to lay aside Diversions a little, to give way for Devotion, and I can assure you for our parts, du Lys and I never wanted a Sermon. The Feast of Easter approaching, young Madam du Fresne asked me laughing if I would carry her and her Sister to St. Pater, a Village about a quarter of a League off from the Suburbs of Montfort, whither People are wont to go out of Devotion on Easter-Mundays, and where one meets all the Beau-Monde. I answered that I would willingly wait on them both thither, or any whither else. The Day when we were to go being come, as I was going out of our House to fetch the Ladies, I met a young fellow a Neighbour of mine, who ask me whither I was going in such haste, I told him that I was going to the Park to wait on the young Ladies there to St. Pater. To which he replied that I might save myself the labour, for to his certain Knowledge their Mother would not permit them to go along with me. This News stunned me so much that I had not a Word to answer, but going into my House I set myself about thinking what might be the occasion of so sudden an alteration. After having reflected on it a good while, I could guests at nothing but my little Merit and mean Condition. This considered, I could not but exclaim extremely against their Carriage to me, since they had been well enough pleased with me as long as I diverted them with Balls, Interludes, Plays, and Serenades, which I frequently did to my no small charge, but now that those ceased they slighted me. The anger I conceived made me resolve to go to the Assembly at St. Pater without them, whilst they it seems were waiting for me in the Park. The time being past that I promised to come, du Lys and her Sister, with some other Ladies their Neighbours, went without me. After having paid their Devotion in the Church, they came out into the Churchyard, and seated themselves on the Wall under a great shady Elm. Some time after I passed by, but that at a distance. Du Fresne made a sign to me to come near them, which I took no notice of, making as if I did not see them. Some Neighbours that were with me told me some Lady beckoned to me, but I seemed not to hear them likewise, and going on cried at the same time, Come let's go and drink a Bottle at the Four Winds, which we did. I were no sooner got home to my House but a Widow who had been formerly our Confidente, came to speak with me, telling me briskly that she wondered how I could neglect doing myself the Honour of waiting on the young Ladies du Fresne to St. Pater; acquainting me moreover, that du Lys was very much concerned at the disappointment, and that I must endeavour speedily by some means or other to make a compensation for my Fault. I was extremely both surprised and pleased to hear this, and having let her know all the Reason I had, which I have acquainted you with before, I went along with her to the Park-Gate where the Ladies were. I left her to make my Excuse, for I could not pretend to do it myself, being so extremely troubled that I could not know what I said. Then the Mother, addressing herself to me, told me that I ought not to have been so credulous to believe what People said, and that she believed what had been told 〈◊〉 was done by some body that envied me, and lastly, she assured me that I should always be unfeignedly welcome to her House, and whither we immediately went. I had then the Honour to give my Hand once more to du Lys, who assured me she had been extremely concerned at my Carriage, especially when I seemed not to take notice of the Sign her Sister made me at St. Pater. I asked her Pardon humbly, but made her but confussed excuses, being not yet entirely come to myself. I would have been revenged on the young Man that imposed upon me, had not du Lys entreated me not so much as to think of it; adding, that I ought to be satisfied with finding the contrary of what he had told me. I obeyed her in this, as I did in every thing always after. We passed our time the most agreeably that could be, and we experienced what is commonly said of Lovers, that their Language is chief that of the Eyes. One Sunday after Vespers we gave each other to understand by this mure Language that we would after Supper go up the River, and have only such Persons with us as we could best fancy. For this purpose I sent presently to hire a Boat, and immediately after went myself with the Companions I had pitched upon, to the Park-Gate, where the Ladies waited for us; but as ill-Luck would have it, three young Men that were not of our Company, were at that juncture talking with them. They did what they could to shake them off, but which they perceiving seemed the more desirous to stay. This was the reason that when we came up to the Gate we thought fitting to pass by, contenting ourselves only with tipping them the Wink to follow us● which they soon after did, but with the young Fellows along with them, which we perceiving immediately entered our Boat, and landed near one of the Gates of the City, where we met the Si●ar du Fresne, who forthwith demanded of me where I had left his Daughters? I not knowing presently wha● Answer to make told him frankly, that I had not had the Honour to see them all that Night. Having heard this, he took his leave, bidding us good Night, and went towards his Park, at the Gate whereof he overtook his Daughters, whom ask where and with whom they had been, du Lys pertly answered with such a one, naming me. At that the Father reached her a sound Box o'th'Ear, together with you Lie at the end on't; for, continued he, had he been with you tho' it were much later, I should never have asked you the Question. Next Day the aforesaid Widow came again to let me know what had happened the Night foregoing, and to acquaint me that du Lys was extremely Angry with me, not only at the box o'th'Ear she had received on my account, but also at my disappointing of her, she intending to have got quickly rid of those Impertinent young Fellows. I excused myself as well as I could, and declined going near her for four Days together. But one Day, as she and her Sister sat with some other young Ladies on a Bench before a Shop in a Street next to the City Gate which I was going out at to the Suburbs, I passed by them, moving my Hat a little, but without looking much upon them, or saying any thing to them. The other Ladies immediately asked what was the meaning of my so cold Deportment, which they scarce took to be Civil? Du Lys gave them no Answer, but her elder Sister told them that she did not know the Reason, and that if they had a mind to be satisfied in it, they must know it from myself. Adding moreover, Come let us go place ourselves a little nearer the Gate, that he may not be able to get by us as he comes back without taking more notice. I quickly returned, when this good Sister catching me hold by the Cloak, and pulling me to her, said to me, How comes it Haughty Sir, that you can pass by your Mistress without taking any notice? and at the same time pulled me down by her, but when I turned to embrace her, and tell her the reason, she slung away like a Mad thing. I stayed a little longer with them and after went my ways. I resolved then not to go near my Mistress for some Days longer, and which I performed, but which seemed as so many Ages to me, till at length one Morning I met Madam du Fresne, who stopping me asked me what had made me so great a stranger to her House? I answered that it was the ill-humour of her younger Daughter, whereupon she immediately promised to make up the difference betwixt us, and bid me meet her within an Hour at her House. I was not a little impatient till I had obeyed her and herefore went at the time appointed to Madam du Fresnes House, As I was going up into her Chamber according to her Direction, I met du Lys coming down, who perceiving me, made so much haste by me, that I could not stop her. I afterwards went into the Chamber, where I found her Sister, who began immediately to Simper, whereupon I told her how briskly her Sister had gone by me, but she assured me that that was all feigned, and that to her Knowledge, she had gone a Hundred times to the Window, to look whether she could see me, and farther, that she was now gone but into the Garden, whither I might go after her if I pleased. I took the hint, and went to the Garden-door, but found it locked, whereupon I begged of her to open it, but she would not, which her Sister hearing from the top of the Stairs, came down and opened it for me, by a Trick she had got. I went in, but du Lys ran from me as if she had been Mad. I followed and overtook her, and catching her by one of her Sleeves, pulled her down upon a Camomil-bank, clapping myself at the same time down by her; I made her all the Excuses that I was capable of doing, but she continued inexorable, at length I acquainted her, that my Passion was not to be fooled with, and that therefore i● she did not quickly think fit to let me know her Mind Despair might drive me to the doing of something, which she might repent having been the Cause of. This never theless wrought nothing upon her, the which perceiving, drawn my Sword out of the Scabbard, and presenting it ● her naked, desired that she would be pleased to thrust it through m● Heart, telling her at the same time, that it was altogether impossible for me to survive a deprivation of her Favours She thereupon rise to be gone, informing me, that she ha● never yet killed any body, and that when she was so disposed, I should not be the first Person. Then I stopped her, a● begged she would stay and see me do it myself; to whic● she answered coldly, that I might do as I pleased, for 〈◊〉 should nor go about to hinder me. At that, I clapped 〈◊〉 Point to my Breast, and put myself into a Posture to 〈◊〉 upon it, which she observing, immediately grew pale, 〈◊〉 kicked away the Hilt from the Ground, so that the sw●●● fell down, assuring me withal, that that Action had extremely frighted her, and begged that I would let her see 〈◊〉 more such Sights. I answered I were willing to obey 〈◊〉 providing she would be less unkind to me for the fut●●● which she promised to be. We afterwards embraced so 〈◊〉 iugly, that I could have wished ' to have had a Quarrel 〈◊〉 her every Day of my Life, to occasion so charming a 〈◊〉 conciliation. Whilst we remained in these Transports, her Mother entered the Garden, and told us, she would have come sooner, but that she imagined we had no need of her interposing to reconcile us.  
One Day, as the Sieur du Fresne, his Wife, du Lys and I were Walking together in the Park, this good Mother told me aside, that she had been a faithful Advocate in my behalf. She might easily speak this without her Husbands hearing of it, since he was very deaf. We both thanked her however, rather by Gesture than Words. A little after, Monsieur du Fresne took me aside, and told me, that his Wife and he had agreed to give me their younger Daughter in Marriage, before he went to Court to wait his Quarter in his turn, and therefore desired I would put myself to no more Charges in Serenades or the like. I returned him my Acknowledgements, but after a confused manner, being more than ordinarily Transported at so unexpected a Happiness. But I well remember, I told him, that I should never have dared to have asked his Daughter in Marriage, as well considering my small Merit, as the inequality of our Conditions. To which he answered, that as for Merit, he was well satisfied that I had sufficient, and for Quality, every body knew I had that would very well supply it, meaning I suppose, my Estate. I don't remember what reply I gave, but this I know well, that he invited me to Supper that Night, and where it was concluded, that the Sunday following, we should have a Meeting of our Friends to finish the Nuptials. He acquainted me likewise, what Portion he designed to give with his Daughter, but as for that I told him I had sufficient for us both, and therefore required her Person only. Then I thought myself the most happy Man in the World: But alas! That Happiness did not last long, for the Night before the Day that we were to be Married, as du Lys and I were sitting upon a Grass-plat, we perceived at a distance, a Councillor of the Presidial-Court, coming to pay a Visit to the Sieur du Fresne his Kinsman, whereat both she and I conceived the same thought at a time, and began to be both concerned, tho' we knew not well at what, which nevertheless, the event of what we feared made but too perspicuous. For next Day, when I went to meet the Company at du Fresne's House, according to Agreement, I found du Lys at the Courtgate crying. Upon ask her what she ailed, I could obtain no answer, whereupon I entered into the House, and found her Sister in the same Condition. I asked her likewise, what was the meaning of so many Tears? She answered sobbing, that I would know but too soon. Then I went up into the Chamber, and found the Mother, but she no sooner saw me, than she went out, without scarce speaking a Word to me, for Tears, Sobs, and Sighs had so disturbed her, that all she could do, was to look pitifully upon me, and cry, Ah poor young Man! I resolved to know the Cause of this sudden Change, and therefore immediately went to Monsieur du Fresne's Chamber, where I found him sitting in an Elbow-chair. At my coming in, he told me bluntly, that he had altered his Mind, and would not now Mary his younger Daughter before his elder, and tho' he did Marry her, it should be sure not to be before his return from Court. I answered upon these two Heads, first, That his elder Daughter would not at all be displeased, to have her younger Sister Married before her, providing it were to me, since she had always loved me as her Brother, and more than once professed as much. And secondly, I acquainted him that I would willingly stay for her ten Years, instead of three Months that he should be from home. At last, he told me in plain Terms, that I must think no more of his Daughter, and so turned from me. Having heard this, I immediately determined to go home and kill myself. But as I was drawing forth my Sword for that purpose, the aforesaid Widow, that had formerly been our Confidence, came in upon me where I was, and prevented me in that Design, by telling me that she came from du Lys, and that she desired me by her, not to afflict myself, but have Patience, and Matters might perhaps change to my advantage. She farther informed me from her, that I had her Mother and Sister sure to my Interest, and above all herself, whose Kindness and Constancy to me was unalterable. She likewise told me, that the Sisters had resolved as soon as their Father was gone, that they would give me an opportunity to continue my Visits as before. Tho' this Discourse was extremely pleasing to me, yet could it not altogether comfort me, for I afterwards fell into so deep a Melancholy, that Despair suggested to me, to consult the Devil about my Fate. Hereupon, a little before Monsieur du Fresne's Departure, I went to a large Copse, about half a League from the Town, where it was the Vulgar Report, that evil Spirits inhabited, and where 'tis certain the Fairies, who are no doubt the Devil's Imps, had formerly been. I went a great way into this Copse, and when I thought I was far enough, I began to call upon, and invoke the Spirits to Assist me in this worst of Misfortunes; but after I had Prayed and Bawled for some time to no purpose, and only heard the Birds warble, which I interpreted to be their concern for my Misfortune, I returned home to my House, not at all satisfied, when throwing myself upon the Bed, I was immediately seized with such a wild Frenzy, that I even lost my Speech, insomuch, that 'twas thought I could never have escaped Death. Du Lys was ill at the same time, and much after the same manner, which has inclined me to believe ever since, that there is something in Sympathy more than ordinary, for as the Cause of our Sickness was the same, so was its effect, which we understood by our Doctor and Apothecary, having both the same, but as for our Surgeon's they were several. I grew well a little before du Lys, which made me to go, or I might rather say, be carried to see her. When I came to her House, I found her a Bed, and her Father gone to Court. She no sooner saw me, but she seemed to recover, which made me desire her to rise, but she was no sooner got out of Bed, than she fainted away in my Arms. This made me extremely sorry that I had desired so unreasonable a thing of her, and therefore I had her immediately put to Bed again, where after some time, I left her to recover by Sleep, which perhaps she would not have done had I stayed with her. Not long after, we were both entirely recovered, and passed our time very pleasantly, all the while her Father continued absent, till at last returning again, he was informed by some secret Enemies of ours, that I had kept his Daughter company ever since he had been from home. This made him to rave extremely, and to forbid his Wife and Daughters seeing me any more, which I learned afterwards by our Confidente, as likewise, that they had notwithstanding engaged in a Resolution to see me often, and informed me of the means by this Widow. The first was, that I should observe when this unkind Father came into the City, when I might go to his House, and continue there till his return, which was well enough known by his Knock. Then were I to step behind the Tapestry, and afterwards, while either a Man or Maid, or one of his Daughters took off his Cloak, I might easily slip out behind him, which he could never hear, by reason as I have told you before, that he was Deaf. This contrivance I frequently made use of, but which being at length discovered, I was forced to have recourse to another, which was to meet my Mistress and Friends in our Confidentes Garden, which I did several times, but at last that Plot was discovered likewise. We than made use of the Churches for that purpose, but which also came to be known: So that at last, we had nothing to rely upon but common Chance, which now and then afforded us a Meeting in one or other of the Walks of the Park, but then we were fain to use a great deal of caution to prevent being seen. One Day after I had been with du Lys a considerable while, for we dived to the very bottom of our Misfortunes, and took all the Measures imaginable to furmount them, I would needs accompany her to the lower-Court-Gate, where being just come, we perceived at a distance her Father coming directly towards us from the Town. To fly was to no purpose, for he had already seen us. She then immediately entreated me to think of some Invention to excuse us: I put off that task upon her, alleging she had the more subtle Capacity. In the mean time the old Gentleman got up with us, and whilst he was going to scold, she told him that I having understood that he had some Rings and other Jewels by him, for he had Jewellers always at Work for him, being as Covetous as he was Deaf, I was come to know if he would please to furnish me with some to present a young Lady at Man's whom I was going to Marry. He was easily inclined to credit my pretence, and carrying me up Stairs he shown me several, whereof I chose two, one a small Diamond, and the other a Rose of Emeralds. We presently agreed on the price, which I paid him down on the Spot. This expedient gained me a continuance of my Visits for some time till at length beginning to grow jealous of the Cheat, he demanded of his Daughter why I did not make more haste to Mans. She thereupon advised me to go thither for a little time, which I did. This City is one of the pleasantest in the whole Kingdom, as ye know very well, and where there is the most Quality, which induced me to make plenty of Acquaintance. I lodged at the Green Oaks, where also lay at the same time an Operator, who kept a Stage to sell his Physic on, but that only till such time as he could get a Company of Strollers together to Act, that being his principal design. He had already got several Persons of Quality, and among others a Count's Son, whose Name I shall beg leave to conceal; a young Lawyer of Man's, who had formerly belonged to a Company, together with a Brother of his, and an old Comedian, who was a great Proficient in Farce. He besides expected a young Lady from Laval, who had promised him to run away from her Father for that purpose. With this Man I got acquainted, and one Day for want of better discourse I made him acquainted with all my Misfortunes, whereupon he persuaded me to engage with him in his Design, and that might prove a means to make me forget my hard usage. I readily accepted his offer, and would have certainly engaged in it had but the Lady that was expected come. But it seems her Parents had been acquainted of her Intentions, and consequently took care to prevent them, which obliged me to quit the Undertaking. But Love notwithstanding furnished me with a Stratagem to renew my Conversation with du Lys without Suspicion, and that was to carry the Lawyer beforementioned, and another young Man of my Acquaintance, to both whom I had discovered my Design, along with me to Alencon. They soon after appeared in this City, one under the title of a Brother, and the other a Cousin German of an imaginary Mistress of mine. I carried them to the Sieur du Fresne's House, whom I had before desired to pass for my Relation, which he condescended to do. He did not fail likewise to say a great many fine things in my Favour, assuring them that they had pitched upon a very deserving Person to make an Alliance with, after which he invited us to Supper. My Mistress' Health was drunk and du Lys pledged it. After my Friends had continued about four or five Days in this City they returned to Man's, but I stayed after them, and had a freer access than ever to my Mistress. At last Monsieur du Fresne asked me why I delayed so long to conclude my Marriage, which made me to apprehend that my Stratagem might be at length discovered, and then I should shamefully be driven out of the House as before. This made me to enter into the most barbarous Resolution that ever Man in Despair conceived, and which was to kill du Lys to prevent another's ever having the Possession of her. For this purpose I got a Poniard, and going to her desired her to take a Walk out with me, which she granted. I thereupon led her before she was ware into a brambly part of the Park quite out of any Pathway. There I discovered to her the cruel design Despair had suggested to me to preserve her to myself, and at the same time drew the naked Poniard out of my Pocket. She looked so charmingly upon me, and spoke so many soft things to divert my Intentions, that she at length found it no difficult matter to disarm me. She seized the Poniard then, and throwing it into the Bushes told me she must be gone, and that she should not care to trust herself any more with me alone. She was going to tell me farther, that she never had deserved this usage at my Hands, when I interrupted her, desiring she would afford me a meeting next Day at her Confidentes. She promised, and accordingly came. I Saluted her and we lamented our common Misfortune together, and after a great deal of Discourse she advised me to go to Paris, 〈◊〉 promised that tho' I stayed away Ten Years she 〈◊〉 entertain no Body else in the mean time, which nevertheless she did not keep. When I was about to take leave of her, which you may imagine I could not do without a great many Tears, she said she thought it necessary that her Mother and Sister should be of the Secret, and therefore the Widow was immediately to call them● whilst I continued alone with her. It was then that we opened our Minds to each other more than we had hitherto done, and at length she told me, that if I had Thoughts of carrying her away, she would willingly consent to it, and follow me wheresoever I went, and that if any were sent out after us, and should overtake us, she would pretend to be with Child by me. However my Love was so Honourable towards her, that I would by no means consent to any hazard of her Reputation on my account, but leave the event of all things to Fortune. In the interim her Mother and Sister were come, and we broke our Resolutions to them, which caused fresh Tears and Embraces on all sides. In short I took my leave of them in order to my Journey to Paris. Before I set out I writ a Letter to du Lys, the Contents whereof I have forgot, but you may imagine I omitted nothing therein that might serve to raise her Compassion, and my Confidente that carried it assured me that she could not read it for Weeping, and much less return me an Answer. I have forborn telling the several other Adventures that happened during our Amour, that I might not trespass too far on your Patience. Such as the jealousy du Lys conceived at a Cousin-German of hers that came to see her, and lived at her Fathers for three Months together, as also on account of the Gentleman's Daughter that brought the Gallant whom I sent away packing. Together with several Rencountres I had by Night for her sake, in two whereof I was Wounded, once in the Arm, and another time in the Thigh. But to end all Digressions, I must even let you know that I departed at last for Paris, where I arrived safe, and continued about a Year. But not being able to maintain myself there equal to what I had done in this City, as well by reason of the excessive dearness of Provisions, as by having diminished my Fortune by the expenses I were at on account of du Lys, as you have heard before I was fain to put myself to one of the King's Secretaries, who had been married to his Predecessors Widow. Tho' this Lady conferred many Favours upon me yet I was always so blind as not to perceive them, tho' some of them were so open that most of the Family took notice of them. One Day after I had bought some Holland for Neck-bands and Wristbands to my Shirts, and given them to some of the Maid Servants to make, my Mistress came and observed them, when ask who they were for, and understanding they were mine, she bid them finish them assoon as they could, but leave the Lace for her to put on. Afterwards whilst she was Working upon them, I by chance entered the Chamber when she called to me, and told me she was at Work for me, which surprised me so much that I could only return her Thanks and so went out. But one Morning to my greater wonder, whilst I was Writing in my Chamber, which was not very far from hers, she sent for me by one of the Lackeys. Whilst I was going to her I heard her rave like Mad against one of her Chamber Maids, and her Waiting-Gentlewoman in these Words, Get ye out of my Chamber ye Blunderers, ye Buffleheads, you know not how to do any thing as ye should do. When they went out I came in, whereupon, after having Rallied them a little longer, she bid me shut the Door and come and help dress her, and particularly to take the clean Smock from the Toilet and put it on for her. At the same time she stripped off her foul one, and exposed herself naked to my sight. I was so greatly ashamed at this Action of hers, that I told her that I should be less Serviceable to her that way than her Maids, and therefore desired her to send for them again, which she was nevertheless obliged to do by the sudden arrival of her Husband. I had no reason to doubt of her Intentions, but as I was young and timorous, I was apprehensive of some unlucky Accident, and therefore resolved to ask speedily to be gone from her Service, which I did soon after, whereto the Husband answered nothing but retired, and the Wife sullenly turned her Chair towards the Fire and bid the Butler clear the Table. After this, I went down to Supper with the Steward, and being at Table, a Niece of my Ladies, of about twelve Years old, came to me from her Aunt, to know whether I had the courage to eat before I went. I forgot what answer I sent her, but I well remember that she immediately fell sick and was forced to keep her Bed. Next Morning betimes she sent for me to go for a Physician. When I came near her Bedside, she catched me by the Hand, and told me plainly, that I had been the occasion of her Illness. This augmented my former Apprehensions, and therefore the same Day I Listed myself in the Troops that were then raising at Paris, for the Duke of Mantua, and departed without saying aught to any Body. Our Captain came not along with us, leaving the command of his Company to his Lieutenant, who was a common Robber, as likewise were the two Sergeants, for they Plundered wherever they came, and were at last Hanged by the Provost of Troy's in Champagne, but who spared one of the Sergeants, on account of his being Brother to one of the Duke of Orleans' Valet the Chambres. We hereby remained without a Leader, whereupon the Soldiers with common Consent pitched upon me to Command the Company, which consisted of Fourscore Men. I took this Post upon me, with that Authority as if I had really been the Captain. I drew out my Company, and Mustered them, and Distributed the Arms amongst them, which I received at St. Rhine in Burgundy. at length we filled off to Embrun in Dauphiny, where our Captain came to us, expecting scarce to find a Man in his Company, but when he perceived all I had done, and that I had preserved Sixty eight of the Men, having lost only twelve in our March, he hugged me hearty, and gave me the Colours and his Table. The Army was one of the finest that ever went out of France, but which had the ill Success you may have heard of, merely through the bad Intelligence between the Generals. After its Defeat, I stayed at Grenoble, to avoid the Barbarity of the Peasants of Burgundy and Champagne, who murdered all that fled in such great numbers, that it introduced the Plague in those two Provinces, and which afterwards likewise spread itself throughout the whole Kingdom. Having stayed some time at Grenoble, where I got a great deal of Acquaintance, I resolved to go for this City where I was Born, but travelling out of the High-road, for the reason above mentioned, I came at length to a small Town, called St. Patrick. where the Lady of the Manors Son was raising a Company of Foot, to go to the Siege of Montauban. I Listed under him, and he having discovered something more than ordinary in my Countenance, after having demanded of me who I was, and being told the Truth by me, he desired me to accept of the Tutelage of a young Brother of his, to whom he had given the Colours, and which I readily did. We departed then for Noeiis in Provence, being the Place of Rendezouz for the Regiment, but before we had been there three Days, our Captain's Steward robbed his Master and fled. He gave Orders to have him pursued, but which proved to no purpose. He then desired me to take the Keys of his Coffers, which I did not keep long, by reason he was commanded from the Regiment, to wait on the great Cardinal Richelieu, who then headed the Army for the Siege of Montauban, and other rebellious Towns of Guyenne and Languedoc. He nevertheless carried me along with him, and we found his Eminence in the Town of Albi, whence we waited on him to the aforesaid rebellious City, but which continued not long so, after this great Statesman's setting down before it. During this March we had a great number of Adventures, which I don't think fit to bring you acquainted with, for fear of proving tiresome, having but too just reason to believe that I have been so too much already— To this Star replied, that he would deprive them of a great deal of Pleasure, if he did not continue his Adventures to the end. He went on then, after the following manner— I got a great acquaintance in this Illustrious Cardinal's House, and that chief with the Pages, whereof there were eighteen of Normandy, who all made extreme much of me, as did likewise the rest of his Eminences Servants. As soon as the Town was yielded up, our Regiment was Disbanded, and we returned to St. Patrick. The Lady of the Manor had a Suit at Law with her eldest Son, and was going to Grenoble to Prosecute it. As soon as we were got home, we were desired to accompany her thither, but which I had no manner of Mind to do, having determined to go as I told you before: We were however prevailed upon to comply with her request, which I have not since repent of; for whilst we were at Grenoble soliciting the Suit, the late King of France Lewis XIII happened to pass by that way into Italy, when I had the Honour to meet in his Retinue, with all the great Lords of this Country, and amongst the rest, the Governor of this City, who being well acquainted with Monsieur de St. Patrice, after having offered me what Money I wanted, recommended me hearty to him, so that I had then no reason to complain. I met likewise five young Men of this City, three whereof were Gentlemen, who had been my intimate Acquaintance. I treated them the best that I could, both at our House and at the Tavern. One Day as we were coming from Breakfast at an Inn, in the Suburbs of St. Laurence, which is on the other side of the Water, we happened to stop upon the Bridge to see the Boats pass, when one of the Five told me seriously, that he very much wonder●● why I had not enquired of them after du Lys. I told him I durst not, for fear of hearing that which would not please me. They replied, I had done well to slight her that had broke her Word to me. I thought I should have died at this News, but however I must know more to the same purpose, for they immediately acquainted me farther, that my Departure for Italy was no sooner heard of, than du Lys was Married by her Parents to a young Man, whom they named to me, and to whom I had the most aversion of any of her Pretenders. Then I began to break out and rail against her, in all the ill Language that Jealousy could suggest to me; I called her Tygress, Traitress and the like, for that she could suffer herself to be Married, when she knew I was so near, and would certainly require an account both from him and her. I than took a Purse out of my Pocket which she had given me, and wherein I kept a Bracelet of hers, and a blue Ribbon, and putting a Stone into it to make it sink, I threw it in a great Passion into the River, speaking these Words at the same time: So may I blot her out of my Memory, as I abandon this Purse to the Pleasure of the Waves. These Gentlemen were not a little surprised at my Proceeding, and therefore told me that they were extremely sorry that they had let me know so much, which nevertheless I would have come to the knowledge of some way or other. They added moreover to comfort me, that what du Lys had done was wholly by compulsion, for they perfectly perceived an aversion in her to the Person, and which was demonstrable enough, in that she languished all the time she was Married to him, and died not long after. This News increased my Grief, and comforted me at the same time. I took leave of these Gentlemen, and went home, but so altered, that young Madam St. Patrice, the good Lady's Daughter observed it, and asked me what I ailed. I gave her no answer but at length upon pressing me farther, I told her the Story of my whole Adventures, together with the News I had just heard. This good Natured young thing, was extremely concerned at the Relation, which might be perceived by her crying, and went immediately and told it to her Mother and Brothers, who all assured me they commiserated my Misfortunes, and would do all that lay in their Power to redress them, but that in the mean time I must be comforted and have Patience. The Suit betwixt the Mother and the Son, ended by an Arbitration, and so we returned. I than began to think of settling in the World. The House where I was, would have been sufficient to have afforded me a Character, had I been disposed to Marry, but tho'several good Matches were offered me, yet would I accept of none. Then I returned to my former design of being a Capuchin, and required the Habit, but I met with so many obstacles in this intention which would be but redious for you to hear, that I quitted that design likewise. About this time the King commanded the Arrierban of the Gentry of Dauphiny to go to Casal. Monsieur de St. Patrice desired me to go along with him, which I could not well refuse. We departed and arrived there, and you know what was the success of it. The Siege was raised, the Town given up, and Peace concluded through the Mediation of Mazarine. This was the first step he made to the Cardinalship, and to that prodigious Grandeur which he arrived to afterwards in the Government of France. We returned to St. Patrice where I still persisted in becoming a Recluse, but divine Providence ordered it otherwise. One Day Monsieur de St. Patrick perceiving my Resolution, told me he would advise me to take Orders as a secular Priest. I replied I had not Capacity: he answered there was those that had less. I resolved then upon it, and took Orders upon an allowance of a Hundred Livres a Year that Madam St. Patrice gave me. I said my first Mass in our Parish Church, and upon which occasion my Patroness treated about Thirty Priests and several Gentry of the Neighbourhood. I lived with too rich People to want Preferment, for in six months' time I got a considerable Priory, and two other small Benefices. Some Years after I had a very large Priory and a very good Curateship given me, for I had taken a great deal of pains in my Study, and was arrived to that perfection in Preaching that I could mount the Pulpit before the best Auditory, and even in presence of any Bishop. I managed my Revenues with discretion, and in a short time got together a considerable Sum of Money, wherewith I retired into this City, where I think myself extremely happy in meeting with so good Company, as likewise in having done them some small Service. Rather, quoth Star, the greatest that could be done for any Body. She was going to say more when Ragotin started up and said he would write a Comedy upon this Story, which would afford a more than ordinary Decoration of the Stage: For Example, a fine Park with a great Wood, and a River with Lovers Walking and Fight, and a Priest saying his first Mass in it, What could be finer? This made all the Company laugh, when Roquebrune who had all along contradicted him told him. You will never be able to do any thing in the Matter. You know nothing of the Rules of the Stage; besides you must change the Scene, and continue three or four Years upon it. Then the Prior said, Gentlemen, pray don't dispute upon this point, for I have taken care of it myself already. You may remember that Monsieur du Hardy never observed Rules so strictly, no more than some others of our late Poets have done, such as the Author of St. Eustace, etc. Monsieur Corneille likewise would not have been so nice in that particular had not Monsieur Scudery been so severe on his Cid. But for the most part these are such Faults as the better sort of Judges term beautiful ones. I must tell you, quoth the Prior, I have Composed a Play on the Subject of my Adventures myself, and have called it Fidelity preserved after Hope lost. I have also taken for my Device a withered Tree with only a few blasted Leaves on it, and a Spaniel-Dog lying at the Root of it with this Motto out of his Mouth, Deprived of Hope yet always Faithful. My Play hath been acted several times. The Title you have chose for it, quoth Star, is as much à propos as your Device and Motto, for your Mistress has proved false to you, yet you continue constant to her, resolving never to Marry any other. The Conversation ended by the arrival of Monsieur Verville and Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, and here ends this Chapter, which no doubt has been tedious as well in regard of its length as Subject.   

CHAP. XIV.  
Verville's return, accompanied by Monsieur de la Garrouffiere. The Actors and Actresses Marriages; together with an Adventure of Ragotin's.  
ALL the Company were extremely surprised to see Monsieur de la Garrouffiere. As for Verville's return it had been long expected with impatience, and that chief by the two Couples that were to be Married. The Company demanded of la Garrouffiere what News he had brought. He answered none but that Monsieur Verville having communicated an Affair of Importance to him he was glad of the occasion to come and see them again, and to offer them a continuance of his Services. Hereupon Verville made a sign to him that that matter was to be talked of in private, and to break off the discourse he presently presented the Prior of St. Lewis to him, who he told him was his particular Friend, and moreover a Man of Worth. Then Star told them he had just concluded a Story the most entertaining that could be imagined, which caused these two new arrived Gentlemen to profess their concern for not having come before to have had their share of it. Then Verville went into another Room, whither Destiny soon followed him, when after they had continued there for some time, they called in Star and Angelica, and afterwards Leander and Mrs. Cave, whom Monsieur de la Garrouffiere followed without invitation. When they were altogether Monsieur Verville told them that he had acquainted Monsieur la Garrouffiere with the Design of their Intermarriages, whilst he was at Rennes, and that he had presently resolved to go home by Alencon, to assist at the Weddings. The two Couples gave him a great deal of Thanks, and returned him their Acknowledgements of the Honour he had done them. But now I think on't, quoth Monsieur Verville to la Garrouffiere, had not we best have the Man up that waits below. I think so, replied la Garrouffiere, if the Company were willing. They answered any Friend of his or Monsieur Vervilles would be welcome at any time to them. The Man was thereupon sent for up. As soon as he entered the Room Mrs. Cave looked steadfastly upon him, and began to be moved, tho' she knew not for what. She was asked if she knew that Man? She answered she could not remember she had ever seen him. Then she was desired to take more notice of his Face, which she did, and began to find so many of her own Features in him that she cried out, It is not my Brother sure? Whereupon he immediately went to her, and embracing her, told her that he was her Brother whom variety of Misfortunes had kept so long from the sight of her. He afterwards Saluted his Niece and the rest of the Company, and then assisted at the secret Conference, where it was concluded that the two Marriages should be speedily Solemnised. All the difficulty at last was what Priest should Marry them. Then the Prior who had been called in to the Conference stepped up, and said he would talk about that with the Parsons of the two Parishes in the City, and of that of the Suburbs of Montfort, and if they made any difficulty about it, he would return to Sees and obtain leave of that Bishop, and providing he would not grant it, he would go and procure it from the Bishop of Man's, who was his intimate Acquaintance, and within whose Diocese his small concern lay. The Company was very well pleased with his Proposal, and desired him to take that trouble upon him. Then was a Notary privately sent for, and the Marriage Contracts drawn. I don't tell you the Particulars of them, because they never came to my knowledge, but certain it is, that the Parties were soon after Married accordingly. Monsieur Verville, Monsieur de la Garrouffiere and the Prior of St. Lewis were the Witnesses to the Contracts. This last went immediately to discourse the aforesaid Parsons, but neither of them would Marry them, alleging several reasons that the Prior perhaps was unable to answer for want of Capacity. This made him resolve according to his promise to go to Sees. For this purpose he took Leander's Horse and one of his Servants, and went to wait on the Bishop of that Diocese who was very unwilling to grant his Request. The Prior urged that these People were truly of no Diocese, being here to Day and gone to Morrow, and yet they could not be reputed Vagabonds, as the three Parsons would needs have them to be, by reason that they had the King's Licence, and by consequence were Subjects of that Diocese wherever they happened to come. Also that those Persons for whom he required a Licence were at present in the Diocese of Alencon, over which his Lordship had Jurisdiction, and that therefore he humbly requested the favour of a Licence for them, they being very honest People. Hereupon the Bishop gave the Prior liberty to have them Married in what Church he pleased. He would have called his Secretary to have drawn up the Licence in Form, but the Prior told him that a Word or two under his own Hand would be sufficient. Next Day our Solicitor returned to Alencon, where he found the betrothed Parties making all manner of Preparations for their Nuptials. The other Strollers who had not been admitted of the secret wondered what all that Provision meant, but especially Ragotin who was most concerned to know it. What obliged them to keep it so secret related wholly to Destiny, for as for Leander and Angelica, ever body knew they were to be Married. Another Reason likewise was their fear of not obtaining a Licence; but no sooner were they secure of one than they made the matter public, and having read the Marriage Contracts before all the Company, they proceeded to appoint a Day for the Solemnisation. This was a cruel blow to poor Ragotin whom Rancour whispered in the Ear, Did not I tell you what this would come to? I had always mistrusted it. Hereupon the poor little Man fell into a deep Melancholy, which inclined him to that Despair which you may read of in the last Chapter of this Romance. He became so disordered that while he was walking one Holiday before the great Church of Notredame, at the time of the Ringing of the Bells, he fancied that they were made to Ring the following Words on purpose to affront him, 
Thi●-Mor-ning- Ra-go-tine  
got-Drunk-by-too-much-Wine:  
Go-Home, Go-Home.   
This made him to go immediately into the Belfry and rattle the Sexton, telling him he lied, for that he had not drunk so much as he imagined. But, quoth he, I should not have been angry if you had made your Bells to cry 
The-Mu-ti-neer- Des-ti-ny  
has-got-thy-dear- Star-from-thee,  
Ra-gotin-Ra-gotin.  for than I should have rejoiced to have found inanimate Bodies sensible of my wrongs. But to call me Drunkard, a name I never deserved! I will be revenged of you and your Bells if possible. Having said this, and crowded on his Hat fast to his Head, he mounted up a pair of winding Stairs which he thought went up to the place where they were Ringing, but which were indeed the Stairs belonging to the Organ. When he began to perceive that this was not the Belfry Staircase, he was somewhat troubled; nevertheless going on forwards, he at length met with a little low Door which went under the Tiles. Here he crept in; and whereas other People would have been forced to creep on, by reason of the low pitch of the place, ●he nevertheless afterwards had room to walk upright, when ●t last coming to another Door that opened into the Ringing-Room he went in and found several Persons at it Dingdong with that eagerness that they never looked behind them. At his first entrance he saluted the Fellow that stood next him with all the injurious Language he could think of, calling him ●illain, Rascal, Sot, Puppy, Blockhead, Clown, and what not, which notwithstanding the noise of the Bells hindered that ●erson or any of the rest from hearing. At this Ragotin, be●eving himself not only affronted but despised, went up to ●he said Fellow and gave him a good lusty thump on the ●ack with his Fist. The Fellow feeling himself struck, turned about of a sudden and cried, What little T— 〈◊〉 this?— I wonder who sent thee hither to strike me. Ragetin was about to have given him the Reason for what he had done, when the Ringer holding his Bell-rope with one Hand, and catching him by the Arm with the other twirled him about, and at the same time gave him such a kick in the A— e that he sent him headlong down a pair of Stairs into the Chim●-room. He tumbled so violently, with his Face foremost against some of the Clockwork, that his Nose gus●●d out with Blood, besides the many other parts of his Body that were extremely Bruised. This made him to roar like a Bull; but perceiving no Remedy, and fearing to go up again to the Ringer, he ran down Stairs as fast as he could drive to complain to the Lieutenant Criminal who lived hard by. This Magistrate seeing Ragotin in that pickle, was easily inclined to believe what he told him, but after having heard the reason likewise, from the Sexton that followed him to his House, he could not forbear laughing immoderately, tho' he pitied him at the same time, well knowing that the little Man must needs have his Brain out of order to be guilty of such extravagancies. Nevertheless to content him what he could, 〈◊〉 told him he would do him Justice, and consequently sent 〈◊〉 Footman for the Ringer, who being come, he demanded 〈◊〉 him why he had abused that little Gentleman there with hi● Bells. To which he answered, that he knew not how 〈◊〉 could abuse him, since he and his Companions Rung only after their common rate 
Or-le-ans-Bois-gen-cy,  
No-tre-dame-de- Cleri:  
Ven-dosme-Ven-dosme.  But that indeed after he had once struck him first he did ki●● him, which happening to be towards the top of the Stairs, 〈◊〉 could not help his falling to the bottom. The Lieutena●●● Criminal hereupon bid the Ringer for the future be mo●● cautious how he bestowed his Favours of that kind, and advised Ragotin to be wiser hereafter than to trust to his Imagination, since it had so palpably deceived him. Ragotin, 〈◊〉 finding it likely to have any farther Justice done him in 〈◊〉 Case, went home as well satisfied as he could, when the A●●●ors perceiving his Face Bruised and Bloody in many plac●● enquired of him what had been the occasion, but he wou●●● by no means tell them, yet they soon after came to know 〈◊〉 by others, which caused them, together with Monsieur Verville and Monsieur Garrouffiere to laugh hearty at him. The Wedding-day being at length come, the Prior of St. Lewis told the Parties to be Married, that he had made choice of his own Church to Marry them in, whither they went soon after, with as little noise as they could, and were Married after a very pious Exhortation. The Business being thus done, they returned to their Lodgings, where they Dined, after which they did not know how to pass their time till Supper. As for Plays, Interludes, and Balls, they had been so familiar to them, that they were not at all entertaining, and therefore they proposed to hear some Novel read. Verville said for his part he knew none. If Ragotin had not been Melancholy, he had been the properest Person to relate one, but he was dumb. Then Rancour was spoke to to tell that of the Poet Roquebrune, which he had promised the Company he would do when occasion served, and none could happen better than now. His answer was, that he was not at all in Humour, and besides, that he did not care to bespatter his Friend Roquebrune with Aspersions, since he had better deserved of him of late then he had formerly done. At length Monsieur de la Garrouffiere told the Company, that if they would accept of what he could entertain them with, he would tell them some Adventures which he had been an Eye-witness of, and which you will find in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XV.  
The two jealous Ladies, a Novel.  
MY Father, who was a Councillor of the Parliament of Rennes, said Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, and who designed me for his Successor, as I am, sent me to the College to qualify me for that purpose. But whilst I continued in my own Country he fancied I profited but little, and therefore he resolved to send me to lafoy Fleche, where you know the Jesuits have their best College throughout all France. It was in this little Town that what I am about to tell you happened, and moreover at the same time that I Studied there.— There were two Gentlemen, the most accomplished in all that Place, who altho' they were a little advanced in Years, were nevertheless not Married, as it often happens amongst Persons of any Quality, who according to the Proverb, Between whom we would have, and whom we would not, we remain a long time unmarried. This Saying was nevertheless crossed at last by these two well Bred Gentlemen. One of these, who was called Monsieur de Fons-blanche, Married a Daughter of the Family of Chateau-d'un, who were a meaner sort of Gentry, but very Rich. The other whose Name was Monsieur du Lac, Married a Lady from the City of Chartres, who was not Rich, but nevertheless exceeding Beautiful, and of so good a Family, that she was related to several Dukes, and Peers, and Mareshals of France. These two Gentlemen, who could share the Town betwixt them, were always good Friends till after their Marriage, when their two Ladies looking enviously on each other, they quickly occasioned a Rupture between the Husbands. Madam de Fons-blanche, was nor, 'tis true, Handsome in Countenance, but she had nevertheless a graceful Mein, was well shaped, had a great deal of Wit, and was very obliging. Madam du Lac, as Beautiful as she was, yet wanted Address; she had Wit indeed a great deal, but so ill Managed, that she thereby rather rendered herself avoidable than acceptable. These two Ladies were of the Humour of most Women now a days, who never think they live great, unless they have a Score or two of Beaux after them. This caused them to employ all the Art they had in making Conquests, but herein du Lac succeeded much better than Fons-blanche, for she had subdued all the Youth of the Town, I mean among the Quality, for she would by no means suffer any others to speak to her. This Pride and Affectation, occasioned a great many Murmur against her, which at length broke out into open detraction, but nothing harmed her, for it is thought it rather contributed to, than hindered her procuring new Lovers. Fons-blanche was not so desirous of having a great number of Sparks. She nevertheless had some, which she managed with a great deal of Address, and whereof there was one, a very handsome young Fellow, who had as much Wit as she, and was one of the bravest Youths of his time. This Spark was her greatest Favourite, but at length his diligence caused him to be suspected by the Neighbours, and Slander began to talk loud. It was here the Rupture began between the two Ladies, who before, had Visited each other very civilly, but nevertheless with a little jealous Envy. Du Lac began at last to slander Fons Blanch openly; to spy into her Actions, and do all that lay in her power to ruin her Reputation, especially about the aforesaid Gentleman, whose Name was Monsieur du Val-Rochet. This soon came to Fons-blanche's Ears, who was extremely nettled at it, and said, that if she had Lovers, it was not by Scores as du Las had, who every Day gained new Conquests by her Impostures. Du Lac hearing this, quickly returned her the like Reflections. Whence you may imagine, that these two Women lived together in a Town like a Brace of Daemons. Some charitable People did all they could to reconcile them, but which proved in vain, for they could never be prevailed upon so much as to see each other. Du Lac thought, that the only way to offend Fons-blanche to the quick, would be to get away her Lover du Val-Rochet from her. She than caused Monsieur de Fons-blanche, to be acquainted underhand, that he was no sooner out of Doors, which he was often, either a Hunting or a Visiting his Neighbours, but that du Val-Rochet lay with his Wife; and farther, that several Persons of Credit were ready to testify, that they had seen him come naked out of her Bed. Monsieur de Fons-blanche, who had never yet had any suspicion of his Wife, was nevertheless inclinable to reflect a little upon what he had heard, and in confusion, desired his Lady to oblige him so far, as to entertain du Val-Rochet's Visits no longer. She seemed all Obedience, but nevertheless insinuated so many Reasons why she might safely admit him, that he gave her Liberty, and suffered her to Act as before. Du Lac perceiving that this Contrivance of hers had not had its desired effect, resolved to get some opportunity to talk with Val-Rochet herself. She was both Fair and Subtle, two Qualifications that were sufficient to surprise the waryest Heart, altho' it had been never so much engaged. De Fons-blanche was extremely concerned, at being like to lose her Lover, but much more when she heard, that Val-Rochet had spoke unhandsomely of her. This Grief of hers was augmented by her Husband's Death, which happened a little while after. She went into close Mourning 'tis true, but Jealousy got the Ascendant of her outward concern. Her Husband had been scarce Buried 15 Days, but she had a secret Conference with Val Rochet. I know not the Subject of their Discourse, but the Event makes me pretty well able to guests at it, for in little more than a Week after, their Marriage was made public, so that in less than a Month's time, 〈◊〉 had two Husbands, a Living and a dead. This seems to me, to have been the most violent effect of Jealousy immaginable, for to deprive du Lac of her Lover, she both forfeited her Modesty by Marrying so soon, and forgave the unpardonable Affront Val-Rochet had offered her. Du Lac was almost ready to run Mad when she first heard this News, and resolved forthwith to have him Assassinated as he went on a Journey to Britain, but which he having been acquainted with, she was prevented in that Design. Then she entered upon the strangest thought that ever Jealousy could suggest, and that was, to set her Husband and Val-Rochet together by the Ears, which she brought about by her pernicious Artifices. They quarrelled divers times, and at length came to a Duel, which du Lac encouraged her Husband in, being none of the wisest Men in the World, that du Val-Rochet might have an opportunity to kill him, which she fancied no hard matter, and then she proposed to Hang him out of the way for his pains. But as Fortune would have it, it happened quite otherwise, for Val Rochet trusting to his skill in Fencing, seemed to despise du Lac, thinking he durst not make a Thrust at him, but herein he was extremely deceived, for whilst he put himself out of guard, du Lac made a home Thrust at him, and run him through the Body, whereof he instantly died. This done, du Lac went home to his House, and acquainted his Wife therewith, who was not only surprised but concerned at so unexpected an Accident. He after this fled away privately to a Relation of his Wives, who as I have told you before, had several Persons of Quality to her Kindred, who laboured incessantly to obtain her Husbands Pardon from the King. Madam Fons-blanche was not a little astonished when she was first told that her Husband was killed, but coming afterwards to herself, she was advised to Bury him quickly and privately, to prevent his Body being Arrested by the Bailiffs. Thus in less than six Weeks time, Fons-blanche had been a Widow twice. Du Lac not long after obtained his Pardon, which was confirmed by the Parliament of Paris, notwithstanding all the opposition the deceased Person's Widow could make. This made her to entertain a wilder Design than Madam du Lac had done before, and that was to Stab du Lac as he walked in the Marketplace with some of his Friends. For this purpose she provided herself of a Poniard, and marching up to him, attacked him so furiously, that before he could get himself into a Posture of Defence, or have any of his Friends turn about to help him, she had Stabbed him mortally in two Places, whereof he died three Days after. His Wife immediately got this Virago seized and clapped up in Prison. Her Trial came on, and she was Condemned to Die, but her Execution was respited, by reason of her being with Child, nevertheless, not long after the Stench of the Prison did the Work of the Hangman, for she died of a Disease caused thereby, after having been first delivered before her time, and her Child being Baptised died likewise soon after. Madam du Lac began afterwards to reflect on what she had been the occasion of, and therefore forthwith resolved to turn Nun, which she did, after having put her Affairs in order, in the Nunnery of Almeneche, in the Diocese of Sees, where she now continues, if she be not yet dead of her Austerities which she voluntarily inflicted on herself.  
The Actors and Actresses countinued their Attention, even while Monsieur de la Garrouffiere had done speaking, so well they liked the Story he had entertained them with. Roquebrune starting up all of a sudden, told the Company, after his usual way, that this was a rare Subject for a Grave Poem, and he would make an excellent Tragedy of it, which he would reduce to Dramatic Rules. The Company took little notice of what he said, but all admired at the wondrous Courage of the Women, who being pushed on by Jealousy, did not boggle at the most hazardous Attempts. Then it was Disputed, whether Jealousy were a Passion or not, and all concluded, that whatsoever it was, it ruin'd the Noblest of Passions Love. There was a good while yet to Supper, when all the Company agreed to go and Walk in the Park, which they did, and afterwards sat themselves down on the Grass. Then Destiny said, he thought nothing so pleasant as Novels. which Leander confirming, offered to relate another concerning a Neighbour's Daughter of his, which was accepted, and after three or four times Coughing, he began as follows.   

CHAP. XVI.  
The Capricious Lady, a Novel.  
THere lived in a small Town of Britain called Vitray an ancient Gentleman who had been Married a great while to a very virtuous Lady without having any Children by her. Amongst other Houshold-Servants he had a Steward and a Housekeeper, through whose Hands most matters relating to the Family passed. These two Persons, as most Servants do sooner or later, made Love, and promised each other Marriage. They had so well played their Parts in their several Stations, that both the good old Gentleman and his Lady died not long after very much encumbered. As for the two Servants they became Rich and Married, having little or no regard to their Master's Misfortune. Some Years afterwards a certain ill Accident fell out that caused the Steward to fly his Country, and which to do the more securely, he listed himself in a Troop of Horse, leaving his Wife without Children. She having waited for his return about two Years and hearing nothing of him, caused a Report to be spread abroad that he was Dead, and accordingly went into Mourning for him. When this was a little over, she was sought after by several Persons in Marriage, and among the rest by a rich Merchant who married her, and at the Years end had a Child by her, who might be about four Years old when her Mother's first Husband returned home to his House. To tell you which was the most surprised, the two Husbands or the Wife, is not in my Power, but certain it is, that the first Husband's occasion of going away still continuing against him, he was easily prevailed upon by the other Husband to take a small sum of Money to be gone again. 'Tis true he every now and then returned secretly for a little Subsistance from his Wife, which was not refused him. In the mean time the Daughter, whose Name was Margaret, grew up, and being Rich, tho' she was not handsome, did not want for Sparks to Court her. Among the rest was a rich Merchant's Son, who did not mind his Father's Business, but loved to frequent Gentry's Company, where he often met with his Mistress Margaret, who was received among them on account of her Riches. This young Man, whose Name was Monsieur de St. german, had a good Countenance and Courage enough to engage him often in Duels, which at that time were very frequent. He Danced very gracefully, Gamed with all the better sort of Company, and was always well dressed. In the many meetings he had with this young Lass, he took all opportunities to let her know what a kindness he had for her, and how desirous he was to be her Husband. This she seemed to approve of well enough, and consequently invited him to come and see her at home, which he did by permission of her Father and Mother, who extremely favoured the Match. But afterwards, when he was about to ask her of her Parents, he would by no means do it till he had her consent likewise, not believing when she had yielded so far in other things she would oppose him in that, but to his great surprise, upon putting the Question to her, he found her to repulse him furiously, both in Words and Actions. Hereupon he went his way, and forbore visiting her for five or six Days, hoping that thereby he might in some measure abate his Passion, but to his disappointment he found that it had taken too deep root to be so easily removed, insomuch that he was quickly forced to go see her again. He had no sooner entered her House but she went out of it among her Companions in the Neighbourhood, and whither he followed her, after having had a promise from her Father and Mother to do their endeavours to make her more sociable. This nevertheless they durst not attempt to do with rigour, she being their Darling and only Daughter, and therefore they chose rather to represent to her mildly what Injustice she did the young Man, to use him so ill, after having once professed to love him. To this she gave no Answer, and notwithstanding all was said, continued still in her ill Humour, for whenever he offered to come near her she would change her place. Then he would follow her, but she always flew from him. One Day as she was getting away he caught her by the Sleeve; she told him he rumpled it, and that if he offered to come near her any more she would give him a box o'th'Ear. In a Word, the more he followed her the more she avoided him. When she was at the Ball, and he would have danced with her, she affronted. him, telling him she was out of order, and at the same time danced with another. She at length arrived to that pitch of Ill-nature that she occasioned him Quarrels, and he above four times accepted Challenges upon her account, in all which Duels he nevertheless came off safe, which she seemed to be very sorry for. All this ill usage did but inflame his Passion the more, like as Oil thrown upon the Fire, insomuch that his Visits were made the more frequently for his being discouraged. One Day above the rest he fancied his Perseverance had wrought an alteration in her, for that she suffered him to come near her, and seemed to hearken attentively to what he said to her. His Language was this, Why do you thus fly from me, Insensible Fair one! that cannot live without you? If I have not Merit sufficient to deserve you, yet consider at least the excess of my Passion, and the many Indignities I have born from you with Patience. Very well, answered she, you may flatter yourself with that Fancy if you please, but I would have you to know that the best way for you to win upon me, is to get as far out of my sight as you can, and because you cannot well do it as long as you continue in this Town, I command you, which if you have that respect you pretend for me you will obey me in, to list yourself in the Troops that are now raising, and after you have made a few Campagnes it may be you may find me more kind. This small pittance of Hope which I afford you aught to incline you to obey me, but if you will not do it lose me for ever. Then she drew off a Ring from her Finger and gave it him, saying Keep this Ring to put you in mind of me, but remember that I forbidden you to come any more tho' to take your leave of me. This said, she suffered him to take a parting Kiss of her, and then went into an adjoining Chamber locking herself in. Then this wretched Lover went to take leave of her Father and Mother, who pitied him extremely, promising to continue always his Friends, and next Day he listed in a Troop of Horse that was raising to go to the Siege of Rochel. His Mistress having enjoined him not to see her again, till after his return, he durst not pretend to attempt it; but however the Night before his Departure he gave her a Serenade under her Window with this Complaint at the end of it, which he Sung to the Melancholy strains of his Lute.  

The Words of the Serenade.  

IRis Inexorable Fair!  
Whom neither Love nor Friendships' sway,  
Will you not pity my Despair,  
Rather than Innocence betray?   

Will you for ever cruel prove,  
And must I think your Heart of Stone;  
Will you not yet consent to Love,  
But suffer me to be undone?   

Alas! Fair Nymph, at length I yield  
To Fate, and take my last Adieu.  
Never was Lover surer killed,  
Nor Mistress less concerned than you.   

When I am Dead some Friend of mine  
Shall rip up this unhappy Breast,  
And to your Power my Heart resign,  
But leave to Earth and Worms the rest.    
The capricious Creature at the sound of this Serenade got out of her Bed, and opening the Shutters of the Window peeped through the Glass, and set up so hearty a Laugh as might well make the poor Lover think that he was not like to succeed in his Design. Just as he was about to express his Mind farther, she clapped to the Shutter, crying out to him aloud, Keep your Promise, Sir, for your own sake, and it may be I may not be worse than mine. With this Answer poor St. german retired, and a few Days afterwards set out with his Troop for the Siege of Rochel. This Town as you may have heard, held out very obstinately for some time, till at length it was forced to surrender upon Discretion. Then it was that the Troop wherein St. german rid was disbanded, and returned to Vitray. He no sooner arrived but he went to wait on his unkind Mistress Margaret, who permitted him 'tis true to Salute her, but afterwards told him that he had returned too soon, and that she was not yet disposed to receive him, and therefore desired him to be gone again. His Answer was in these mournful Words, You are certainly the most cruel Person of your Sex, and I plainly perceive that you desire nothing more than the Death of him that has approved himself the most faithful Lover in the World. You have put me four times upon single Trials of my Courage, and I have always had Honourable Escapes. You than would have me hazard my Life in the Army, and I have come off safe there, even where many a less unhappy Wretch than I has met his end. But since I find you so ardently covet my Ruin, I will go seek my Fate in so many places that it shall be out of Fortune's Power to afford me any Escape; but it may be you will not be able to forbear repenting of having occasioned this, since my Death shall be of that kind as will not only surprise but incline you to pity me. Adieu! then, added he, most Cruel of your Sex, Adieu for ever! Having uttered these Words, he was rising to be gone, but which she would not suffer till she had told him that she did not by any means desire his Death, and that what she had done to engage him in Duels was only to be the better convinced of his Courage, that he might be the more worthy of her. And lastly she let him know that she was not yet disposed to receive his Addresses, but that time, for aught she knew, might make an alteration upon her to his Advantage. With these Words she left him and retired. The small Hopes she gave him put him upon a Stratagem which was like to have spoiled all, and that was to make her Jealous. He considered with himself that since she had showed some good Will towards him, she would not fail to be Jealous if she really loved him. He therefore sought out a Comrade of his that had a Mistress that loved him as much as his slighted him. He desired him to give him leave to make his Addresses to her and he to do the like to his, that he might observe how she would take it. His Comrade would by no means grant his request till he had his Mistress' consent, which nevertheless soon after demanding, he easily obtained. The first time that these two Ladies came together, which I should have told you they did almost every Day, the two Lovers made their exchange according to Agreement, St. german stepping up to and Courting his Comrades Mistress, whilst his Comrade did the like to the Haughty Margaret, who received him but very coldly. But assoon as she perceived her former Spark and his Mistress laughed, she began to fly out into a great Passion, well knowing then that this exchange had been concerted on Agreement, and therefore immediately fling out of the Company with Tears in her Eyes. This caused the obliging Mistress to go after her and endeavour to appease her, telling her that this Stratagem of her Lovers was only to know her Mind the better, and not to circumvent or affront her, and therefore earnestly entreated her to take no farther notice of it, but rather to favour the constant Addresses of so sincere a Lover as St. german had long been to her. All this notwithstanding gained little upon the humoursom Margaret; whereupon the unfortunate St. german was driven to so fierce a despair that for the future he fought nothing so much as to show the violence of his Love by some rash Action, which he hoped might procure his Death. This Resolution one Night, not long after, he had an occasion to put in Practice, for whilst he and Seven of his Comrades were coming out of a Tavern half Drunk, and with their Swords by their sides, they chanced to meet three or four Gentlemen, amongst whom was a Captain of Horse. With these they began to dispute the Wall, and which they obtained by being the greater number, but the Gentlemen returning immediately after with four or five more of their Company, they pursued these Persons that had so greatly Affronted them, and overtook them in the High-Street, when St. german being the foremost, and having been the forwardest in the Affront, the Captain discovering him to be a Trooper by his Hat, stepped up to him and gave him such a lusty blow with a Backsword that he cut through his Hat and cloven part of his Scull. Having done this, and thinking themselves sufficiently revenged, the Captain and his Companions marched off, leaving St. german for dead in the Arms of his Friends. He had little or no Pulse left, and less Motion, insomuch that they immediately carried him home, and sent for several Surgeons, who found Life yet remaining in him. These dressed his Wound, stitched up his Scull and then bound it up. The noise of this Contest had at first alarmed the Neighbourhood; but they were much more surprised when they heard a Man had been so dangerously wounded. The thing was talked about from one to tother after a different manner, but however all concluded that St. german was a Dead Man. This Report quickly got to his cruel Mistress' House, who tho' undressed, yet immediately ran to see him, and whom she found in the condition I have told you. As soon as she saw Death begin to show its self in his Face she fell down in a Swoon, and it was found no easy matter to recover her. When she came to herself the Neighbours began to accuse her of being the Cause of this disaster, and that if she had not been so unkind to him he would never have been so desperately rash, this being but the result of what he had frequently threatened. Then began she to tear her Hair, wring her Hands, and do all that Mad People are wont to do. She afterwards proceeded to serve him with that diligence that all the time of his Illness she would neither undress herself nor lie down on the Bed, not permit any of his Sisters to do any thing about him. After he came to himself, and began to know People, it was judged necessary that she should absent herself, which she was nevertheless with great difficulty prevailed on to do. He at length was cured, and when he came to be perfectly well he was Married to his capricious Mistress Margaret, to the satisfaction of every body, but much more of himself. After Leander had finished this Novel, the Company returned to the Town, where having well Supped, Danced and the like, they put the new married Couples to Bed. These Weddings had been kept so secret that they had no Visitors for two Days after, but on the third Day they were so embarrased with them that they had not leisure left them to Study their Parts. After a little time they all continued their Exercise as before except Ragotin, who was fallen into a perfect Despair, as you will find in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Ragotin's Despair and Death, with the end of the Comical Romance.  
RAncour perceiving, that he as well as Ragotin had no more hopes left of succeeding in his Love to Star, got up betimes, and went to the little Man, whom he found likewise risen and Writing at the Table. Upon his enquiry what he was doing, he told him he was writing his own Epitaph. How! quoth Rancour, Do People use to make their Epitaphs before they are Dead? But what surprises me most of all, continued he, is that you make it yourself. Yes, I have made it myself, answered Ragotin, and will show it you. He thereupon opened a Paper, which was folded, and read these Verses.  

Ragotin's EPITAPH.  
HEre th'unlucky Ragotin lies,  
Who lived a Slave to fair Stars Eyes,  
Yet Destiny him of her deprived;  
Which made him take a journey straight  
To th'other World, compelled by Fate,  
For needs must where the Devil drived.  
For her a Stroller he became,  
And here with Life concludes the same.   
This is fine indeed, quoth Rancour, but you will never have the satisfaction to read it on your Tomb, for it is the common Opinion that dead People neither see nor understand any thing of what we do that survive them. Ah! answered Ragotin, you have partly been the cause of my Misfortunes, for you always gave me hopes I should succeed, and yet I am very well assured you all along knew the contrary. Then Rancour protested to him that he knew nothing certainly of it, but confessed that he had always suspected it as he had told him before, when he had advised him to stifle his Passion, she being the proudest Woman in the World. But methinks, added he, her Profession of a Stroller, which you know is none of the most Honourable Employments, might have something abated her Self-conceit, yet it has always so happened that these sort of Women take much more upon them than belongs to them. But at length, continued he, I must discover something to you that I have kept a secret till now, and that is, That I was as much in Love with Madam Star as you, and I know not how a Person that had so much Conversation as I had with her could have well avoided it; but now that I find myself out of hopes as well as you, I am resolved to leave the Company especially since Mrs. Caves Brother is come into it, who can Act all those Parts that I did, and therefore I believe they will be the more willing to part with me. I will then go to Rennes where the other Company is, and whereinto I do not question but I shall be received, because that they at present want an Actor, Then, quoth Ragotin to him, since you were in Love with the same Person I do not know how you should speak to her for me. But Rancour Swore like a Devil that he was a Man of Honour, and had done all that in him lay to promote his Interest, but said he could never prevail to be heard. Well then quoth Ragotin, you have resolved to quit the Company, and si●● have I likewise, but I have determined withal to make a larger leap and forsake the World too. Rancour made no Reflections 〈◊〉 his Epitaph, thinking he meant only his retiring to a Convent● and therefore took no care to prevent his doing himself any harm. As for the Epitaph he never spoke of it to any body but the Poet Roquebrune, to whom at his request he gave a Copy. When Ragotin was alone he began to think what method he should make use of to rid himself out of the World. He took a Pistol and charged it with a brace of Bullets to shoot himself through the Head, but then he was afraid that way would make too much noise. Then he took the point of his Sword and put it against his Breast, but assoon as he 〈◊〉 it prick it made him Sick, and therefore that method was rejected. At last he went down into the Stable, where whilst the Ostlers were at Breakfast, he took one of the Halters that he found lying there, and fastened one end of it to the Rack, and put the other with a Noose about his Neck, but when he was about to let himself swing, he found he had not the Heart to do it, and therefore waited till somebody came in when he was resolved upon it. At length a Gentleman came and then he let go the hold of his Hands, but still kept one Foot bearing on the Manger. However he might have been strangled had he continued so hanging for any while. The Boy that went to put up the Gentleman's Horse seeing Ragotin hang in that manner, thought verily he had been dead, and therefore he began to bawl out like Mad for help. All the Family came down, and seeing a Man hanged, immediately took the Rope from his Neck, and brought him to himself, which you may imagine was not very easy to do. Then he was asked what made him enter upon so strange a Resolution, but no answer could be got from him Afterwards Rancour took Madam Star aside, whom I might have called by the name of Destiny, but being so near to the end of this Romance it will be scarce worth while, and told her the occasion as he believed of this strange Underdertaking. She seemed much surprised at it, but was much more when she heard this wicked Man tell her that he was still in the same mind to make away with himself, but would not attempt it any more by a Halter. To this Star answered not one Word, whereupon Ragotin took his leave and departed. Some little time after he made known to the Company a design he had to accompany Monsieur Verville to Mans. The Company was willing enough to part with him as long as he had a Companion, but would not have cared to trust him alone. Next Morning they set out betimes, after that Monsieur Verville had made a thousand Protestations of continued Friendship to the Actors and Actresses, but especially to Destiny, whom he embraced, professing the great Joy he had to see his designs accomplished. Ragotin made a long Harangue by way of Compliment, but which was so confused that I don't think fit to insert it. When they were ready to go Verville enquired if the Horses had drank. The Ostler told him it was too soon in the Morning, but he might let them do it on the Road if he pleased. Then having taken leave of Monsieur de la Garrouffiere, they mounted and 〈◊〉 forwards. Monsieur de la Garrouffiere mounted likewise to go Home, whom the new Married Couples returned abundance of Acknowledgements to, for coming so far to honour their Nuptials with his presence. After a hundred Protestations of Service on both sides, he set out, and Rancour followed him, who notwithstanding his Insensibiliiy could not forbear Weeping. Destiny wept also, calling to mind the many Services Rancour had done him, especially that upon the Pont-neus at Paris, when he was there set upon and Robbed by lafoy Rappiniere and his Followers. Assoon as Verville and Ragotin were got to a River they immediately went therein to water their Horses, but it was Ragotin's peculiar ill Fortune to light on a place where the Bank had been cut down, which causing his Horse to stumble, he threw the little Man violently over his Head into the River, which was exceeding deep in that part above others. Poor Ragotin knew not how to Swim, and tho' he had, his Equipage of Carabine, Basket-hilt Sword, and Cloak, would have sunk him in spite of his Teeth. One of Verville's Men immediately road after Ragotin's Horse to catch him, whilst another stripped himself and leaped in after the Master to save him, but found him Dead. Then Company was called, and the Body taken out and laid on the Grass. Next the Strollers were sent for, who mightily Condoled poor Ragotin's Fate; which having done, they took him and Buried him in St. Catharines' Chapel, which is not very far from this River. This dismal event nevertheless verified the Proverb, That he that was born to be Hanged would never be Drowned. Ragotin experienced the revers, for he could not strangle himself and so might be Drowned. Thus ended the Life and Adventures of this little Comical Advocate, who shall be remembered by the Inhabitants of Man's and Alencon as long as they have any taste for Strolling, or relish for Stage-Plays. Roquebrune seeing Ragotin in his Grave, said that his Epitaph must be altered after the following manner.  
HEre th'unlucky Ragotin lies,  
Who lived a Slave to fair Star's Eyes,  
Yet Destiny him of her deprived;  
Which made him straight resolve to float,  
To th' other World without a Boat;  
For needs must where the Devil drived.  
For her a Stroller he became,  
And here with Life he ends the same.  
The Actors and Actresses returned Home to their Lodgings, and continued their Exercise with their ordinary Applause.    

A TABLE OF THE CHAPTERS OF THE Third PART.  

Chap. Page.  
I. WHich may serve for an Introduction to the Third Part. 265  
II. Where you'll find Ragotin's Design. 268  
III. Leander's Project and Harangue, together with Ragotin's being admitted among the Strollers. 271  
IU. Of Leander's departure; the Strollers going for Alencon, and Ragotin's Misfortune. 275  
V. What happened to the Strollers between Vivain and Alencon, together with another Misfortune of Ragotin's. 280  
VI Of Saldaigne's Death. 286  
VII. The sequel of Mrs. Caves History. 291  
VIII. The end of Mrs. Caves History. 295  
IX. How Rancour undeceived Ragotin concerning Madam Star; together with the arrival of a Coachful of Gentry, and some other Comical Adventures of Ragotin's. 298  
X. The History of the Prior of St. Lewis, and the arrival of Monsieur Verville. 303  
XI. Resolutions of Destiny's Marrying with Star, and Leander with Angelica. 313  
XII. What happened in the journey to Fresnaye, as likewise another Misfortune of Ragotin's. 315  
XIII. The continuation and conclusion of the Prior of St. Lewis' History. 318  
XIV. Verville's return, accompanied by Monsieur de la Garrouffiere. The Actors and Actresses Marriages; together with an Adventure of Ragotin's. 336  
XV. The two jealous Ladies, a Novel. 341  
XVI. The Capricious Lady, a Novel. 346  
XVII. Ragotin's Despair and Death, with the end of the Comical Romance. 353   
FINIS.    

SCARON's Novels.  

NOVEL I.  
Avarice Chastised: OR, THE Miser Punished.  
'tIs not quite a thousand years ago since a pretty Younker, who was full as ambitious as poor, and had a greater itch upon him to be thought a Gentleman than a Rational Creature, left the Mountains of Navarre, and came in company with his Father to find that at Madrid which was not to be got in his own Country, I mean wealth and riches, that are sooner acquired at Court than any other place, and indeed are seldom acquired there but by importunity and ask. He had ●he Credit, I cannot inform you how it came about, to be ●eceived as a Page by a certain Prince, which quality in Spain is not so happy, as that of a Lackey in France, and ●ot much more honourable. When he first put on his Live●y, he was about twelve years old, and from that moment might be called the thriftiest Page in the World, and the ●east given to spending. All his worldly stock, not to reckon ●is expectations, that were very big, consisted in a wretched Bed set up in a Garret, which he had hired in that quar●er of the Town where his Master lived; and there he ●igged every night with his venerable Father, who may be said to be rich in Grey hairs, because by procuring him the charity of well-disposed persons, they helped to maintain him. At last the old Gentleman trooped off, at which his unrighteous Son rejoiced, fancying himself already enriched, by that which his Father did not spend. From that hour he enjoined himself so severe and strict a sort of life, and practised so wonderful a frugality, that he spent not a farthing of that little money his Master gave him to keep body and soul together. It is true, he did this at the expense of his Belly, which often grumbled at him for it, and of all his acquaintance. Don Marcos (for that was our Hero's name) was of a stature below the common pitch, and for want of due repairing the decays of his little carcase, he became in a short time as slender as a Lath, and as dry as a Deal-board. When he waited on his Master at Table, he never took off a Plate with any Meat in it, but he dexterously whipped the best part into his pocket; and because it could not so well contain Soops, and other liquids, he made money of a great number of Torches ends, which he had kept together with great industry, and bought him a pair of Tin Pockets; by the help of which he soon began to perform miracles for the advancement of his fortune. Miser's are for the most part careful and vigilant, and these two good qualities, joined to the furious passion which Don Marcos had to become rich, made his Master take such a fancy to him, that he was resolved never to part with so excellent a Page. For this reason he made him wear a Livery till he was thirty years old. But at last this Phoenix of a Servant being obliged to undergo the Tonsor●s hands too often, to clear him of his ungodly beard, his Master metamorphosed our Page into a Gentleman, and thus made him that which Heaven never designed him to be. And now you must know his revenues were augmented by the addition of several Reals aday; but instead of augmenting his expenses, our Spark shut his purse so much the closer, as his new employ, one would have thought, might have obliged him the more to open it. He had heard stories told him of some of his own profession, who for want of a Valet would call up your fellows that cry Brandy about the streets in a morning, to make their Beds, and sweep their Chambers, under pretence of buying some of their Liquor, and of others, who in the winter got themselves undressed at night by your Criers of grey pease or Link-boys: but as this was not to be done without some sort of injustice, and our Don Marcos made a conscience of wronging any one but himself, he thought it much better to shift as well as he could without a Valet. He never burned an inch of Candle in his Chamber, but what he stole, and to manage it with more Oeconomy, he began to unbutton himself in the Street at the very place where he lighted it, put it out as soon as he got to his Lodgings. and so tumbled into bed in the dark. But still finding that there was a cheaper way of going to bed than this, his busy inventing Genius set him upon making a hole in the Wall, which divided his Room from that of his neighbour, who no sooner lighted his Candle, but our Don immediately opened his hole, and by that means received light enough to do any thing he had occasion for. Being not able to dispense with himself from wearing a Tilter at his Breech, by reason of his noble descent, which required it of him, he clapped a Lath into a Scabboard, wore it one day on the right, and the next on the left side, in order to use his Breeches to some sort of Symmetry, and because his trusty Whinyard would wear them out the less, being equally divided between the right and the left. At break of day he stood at the Street-door, begging a God's name a cup of Water of every Tankard-bearer that passed by, and thus furnished himself with water enough to serve him several days. He would often come into the common Hall, where his Masters other Servants used to take their repasts, and whatever he saw them eat, he was sure to commend it to the Skies, to give him some sort of a privilege to taste it. He never laid out a farthing in Wine, yet drank more or less every day, either by sipping some of that which was publicly cried about the Streets, or stopping Porters that were carrying it to the Taverns, whom he would ask to give him a taste of their Wine, that if he liked it, he might know where to send for it. Once upon a time, riding to Madrid upon a Mule, he so dexterously cheated the eyes of his Innkeepers, that he fed trusty Dapple with the Straw of the Beds, where he lay; but the very first day of his journey, being weary of paying for his Servants dinner, who was the first he ever had, he pretended that he could not drink his Landlord's Wine, and sent the poor fellow to find out better, a full league at least from the Inn where he than was. The Servant accordingly beat the hoof thither, relying upon his Master's Honour, who fairly gave him the slip, and so the wretch was forced to beg all the way to Madrid. In short, Don Marcos was the living picture of avarice and filching, and was so well known to be the most covetous Devil in Spain, that at Madrid he advanced himself ●nto a Proverb, and they called a pinching miser a Don Marcos. His master and all his friends told a thousand merry stories of him, and even before his own face, because he understood raillery to perfection, and would stand a jest as well as a managed Horse will stand fire. 'Twas an usual saying with him, that no woman could be handsome if she loved to take, not ugly if she gave money, and ●hat a wise man ought never to go to Bed, unless for the satisfaction of his Conscience, he had turned the penny in the day time. His excellent Theory, seconded by a most exact practice, had brought him together, by that time he was forty years old, above 10000 Crowns in Silver, a prodigious sum for a Grandees Gentleman to get, but especially in Spain. But what may not a man save in the compass of many years, who steals all that he can from himself and other people? Don Marcos having the reputation to be rich, without being a Debauchee or Gamester, was soon courted in marriage by abundance of women, that love the money more than the man, whose number in all parts of the world are great. Among the rest that offered to carry the marriage yoke with him, he met a woman whose name was Isidora, who passed for a Widow, although in truth she had never been married, and appeared much younger than she was, by patching and painting and tricking herself, in all which mysteries she was skilled to admiration. The world judged of her wealth by her way of living, which was expensive enough for a Woman of her condition; and people who frequently gules at random, and love to magnify matters, gave her at least three thousand Livres a year, and some ten thousand Crowns in Plate and Jewels, and the like convenient moveables. The fellow that proposed her for a Wife to Don Marcos, was a notable sharper, one that trucked in all sorts of merchandise, but his principal subsistence was selling of Maidenheads, and making of Matches. He spoke in such advantageous terms of Isidora to Don Marcos, that he set him upon the tenterhooks to see this miracle, (a curiosity he had never expressed for any woman before) and so effectually persuaded our unthinking Cully, that she was rich, and the Widow of a certain Cavalier, descended from one of the best Families in Andalusia, that from that very instant he had an itch to be married to her. The same day this proposal was made to him, our Marriage-pimp, whose name was Gamara, came to call upon Don Marcos, to introduce him into Isidora's Company. Our covetous Hunks was ravished to see the neatness and magnificence of the House into which Gamara conducted him, but he was much more so, when this Master of the Ceremonies assured him that it belonged to Isidora. He was perfectly transported at the richness of the Furniture, the Alcoves, and Rooms of State, and a profusion of sweet Seems, that rather seemed proper for a Lady of the highest quality, than for one that was to be the Wife of a Grandees Gentleman and no better; then as for the Mistress of this enchanted Castle, he took her for a Goddess. Don Marcos found her busy at work between a Damosel and a Chambermaid, both so beautiful and pretty, that whatever aversion he had to expensive living, and a great number of Servants, he resolved to marry Isidora, if it were only for the vanity to be Master of two such charming Creatures. Whatever Isidora said to him was uttered so discreetly, that it not only pleased, but perfectly ravished Don Marcos, and what contributed to make an entire conquest of his heart, was a collation as nice as neatly served in, where the clean Linen and the Silver Plate were all of a piece with the other rich Movables of the person that gave it. There sat down at this Entertainment, a young Gentleman very well dressed and well made, whom Isidora pretended to be her Nephew. His name was Angustine, but his good Aunt called him Augustinet, although the pretty Baby was above twenty years old. Isidora and Augustinet strove who should make Don Marcos most welcome, and during the repast helped him to all the choicest bits; and while our trusty Miser laid about him like a Harpy, and crammed his half-starved Guts with Victuals enough to last him eight days, his ears were charmed by the melodious voice of the Damosel Marcelia, who sung two or three passionate airs to her Harpsicord. Don Marcos lost no time, but fell on like a Devil, it being at another's expense, and the Collation ended with the day, whose light was supplied by that of four large Candles in Silver Sconces, of admirable workmanship and weight, which Don Marcos at that moment designed within himself to reform into one single Lamp, so soon as he was married to Isidora. Augustinet took a Guittar and played several Sarabands and Tunes, to which that cunning Jilt Marcelia, and Inez the Chambermaid danced admirably well, striking their Castanietta's exactly to the time of the Guittar. The discreet Gamara whispered Don Marcos in the ear, that Isidora never sat up late, but went early to Bed, which hint our civil Gentleman took immediately, and rising from his Seat, made her a thousand Compliments and Protestations of Love, more than he had ever done to any Female before, wished her and the little Augustinet a good night, and left them at liberty by themselves to talk of him what they thought. Don Marcos, who was up to the ears in love with Isidora, but much more with her Money, protested to Gamara, who accompanied him to his Lodgings, that the charming Widow had entirely gained his affections, and that he would give one of his Fingers with all his Soul, that he were already married to her, because he never saw a woman more made to his mind than she, although in sober truth he confessed, that after Marriage he would retrench somewhat of that endless ostentation and luxury. She lives more like a Princess than the Wife of a private man, cries the prudent Don Marcos to the dislembling Gamara; and she does not consider, continued he, that the moveables she has, being t●rned into money, and this money being joined to mine, we may be able to purchase a pretty handsome Estate, which by God's blessing, and my own industry, may make a considerable Fortune for the Children Providence shall give us. And if our Marriage is without issue, since Isidora has a Nephew, we will leave him all we have, provided I like his behaviour, and find him no way addicted to ill Husbandry. Don Marcos entertained Gamara with these Discourses, or something of the like nature, when he found himself before his own door. Gamara took leave of him, after he had given him his word that next morning he should conclude his Marriage with Isidora, because, says he, affairs of this nature are as soon broke off by delays, as by the death of either of the parties. Don Marcos embraced his worthy Marriage-jobber, who went to give Isidora an account in what disposition of mind he left her Lover. In the mean time our Amorous Coxcomb takes an end of a Candle out of his Pocket, fixes it to the point of his Sword, and having lighted it at a lamp, which burned before the public Crucifix hard by, not without dropping a few hearty Ejaculations for good success in his affair, he opened the door of the House where he lodged, and repaired to his wretched bed, rather to think of his Amour than to sleep. Gamara came to visit him the next morning, and brought him the agreeable news that his business was done with Isidora, who wholly left it to his discretion to appoint the day of Marriage. Our besotted Lover told Gamara that he was upon thorns till it was over, and that if he were to be married that very day, it would not be so soon as he wished. Gamara replied, that it lay solely in his own power to conclude it when he pleased, and Don Marcos embracing him, conjured him to use all his diligence to get the contract dispatched that very day. He appointed Gamara to give him the meeting after Dinner, while he went to his Master's Levee, and waited on him at Table. Both of 'em met exactly at the time of assignation, and then immediately went to Isidora's house, who received them much better than the day before. Marcelia sung, Inez danced, Augustinet played upon the Guittar, and Isidora the principal Actress of this Farce gave her Spouse that was to be a noble repast, for which she knew well enough how to make herself full amends afterwards. Gamara brought a Notary, who perhaps was a counterfeit one. The Articles of Marriage were signed and sealed. It was proposed to Don Marcos to play a Game at Primera to pass away the time. Heavens bless me, cried the astonished Don Marcos, I serve a Master who would not let me live a quarter of an hour with him, if he knew I was a Gamester; but God be praised, I don't so much as know the Cards. How much does it delight me, replies Isidora, to hear Signior Don Marcos talk after this manner? I daily preach the same Doctrine to my Nephew Augustinet, but your young Fellows are not a farthing the better for all the good advice that is given them. Go, foolish obstinate Boy, says she to Augustinet, go and bid Marcelia and Inez make an end of their Dinner, and come and divert us with their Castanietta's. While Augustinet went to call up the Maids, Don Marcos stroking his whiskers with admirable gravity, thus carried on the Discourse. If Augustinet, says he, has a mind to keep in my favour, he must renounce gaming and staying out late a nights. If he'll keep good hours, I am content with all my heart that he should lie in my house, but I'll have my windows barred, and my doors locked and bolted before I go to bed: not that I am in the least jealous in my temper, for I think nothing can be more impertinent, equally when a man has a virtuous wife, as I am going to have; but houses, where there is any thing to lose, cannot be too well secured against Thiefs, and for my part I should run distracted, if a Villain of a Thief, without any other trouble than that of carrying off what he found, should rob me in an instant of what my great industry had been scraping together so many years; and therefore, continues Don Marcos, I forbidden him gaming and rambling a nights, or the Devil shall roast me alive, and I will renounce the name of Don Marcos. The Choleric Gentleman uttered these last words with so much vehemence and passion, that it cost Isidora abundance of fair Speeches to put him in a good humour again. She conjured Don Marcos not to trouble himself about the matter, assuring him that Augustinet would not fail to answer his expectation in all points, because he was the most tractable and the best-conditioned Boy that ever was known. The coming in of Augustinet and the Dancers, put a stop to this discourse, so they spent the greatest part of the night in Dancing and Singing, Don Marcos being loath to give himself the trouble to walk to his Lodgings so late, would by all means have persuaded Isidora to give her consent, that they might live from that time forward like Man and Wife together, at least that she would suffer him to lie at her House that night. But our Widow putting on a severe countenance, protested aloud, that ever since the unhappy day, on which her Widowhood commenced, no man living had set his Leg within her chaste Bed, which she reserved for her Lord and Master, nor should do so, till the rites of the Church were performed; adding, that in her present circumstances her reputation would not suffer her to let any man, but only her Nephew Augustinet, lie in her house. Don Marcos returned her his humble thanks, notwithstanding his amorous impatience. He wished her a good repose, returned to his own lodging, accompanied by Gamara, took his end of a candle out of his pocket, fixed it to the point of his Sword, lighted it at the Lamp of the Crucifix: in short, he did every thing as he had done the night before, so punctual was he in every respect, unless i● were that he omitted to say his Prayers, because he thought his affair as good as concluded, and so did not want the assistance of Heaven to further it. The bans were soon published, there coming a cluster of Holidays together: in fine● this Marriage, so much desired on both sides, was celebrated with more expense and formality, than one would have expected from so fordid a Miser, who for fear of touching his six thousand Crowns, had borrowed money of his friends to defray the charges of the day. The chief Servants belonging to his Master were invited to the Wedding, who al● concurred in commending the happy choice he had made. The Dinner was sumptuous and noble, though provided at th●● expense of Don Marcos, this being the first time he 〈◊〉 bled in his pocket; and to do him justice, out of his exce●● of love he had bespoke very fine Wedding clothes for Isidora and himself. All the Guests departed in good time, and Don Marcos with his own hands locked the doors, barred the gates, not so much to secure his Wife, as to secure the Coffer wherein his Money lay, which he ordered to be set near the Nuptial Bed. In short, the married couple went to bed; and while Don Marcos, not finding all that he expected to find, began even then perhaps to repent of his marriage, Marcelia and Inez were grumbling together at their Master's humour, and blamed their Mistress for being so hasty to be married. Inez swore by her maker that she would sooner choose to be a Lay Sister in a Convent, than endure to live in a house that was shut up at nine. And what would you say were you in my case, says Marcelia to Inez; for you have the pleasure of going sometimes to Market to buy things for the family; whereas I, who am my Lady's Waiting-woman forsooth, must never peep abroad, but live a solitary life with the chaste Wife of a jealous Husband; and as for the Serenades we used to hear so often, under our Windows, I expect to hear them no more than the Music of the Spheres. Yet for all this, replies Inez, we have not so much reason to complain as poor Augustinet. He has spent the best part of his youth in waiting upon his Aunt, who has disposed of herself as you see; she has set a formal pedagogue over his head, who will reproach him a hundred times a day with every bit he eats, and with his fine clothes, which God knows whether he came honestly by. You tell me news, says Marcelia, that I never heard before, and I don't wonder that our Mistress has made so foolish a bargain, when her Nephew ad honores, is forced to pass his time with us. If I would have believed his fair promises, I might easily have carried off the young Spark from his Aunt, but she has kept me from my Childhood, and I ought in conscience to be faithful to those, whose Bread I eat. To tell you the truth, continued Inez, I have no aversion to the poor Boy, and I must own to you, that I have often pitied him, to see him sad and melancholy by himself, while other people are making merry, and diverting themselves. In this manner did these Servants entertain one another, and reason upon their Mistress' Marriage. The good Inez soon fell asleep, but the virtuous Marcelia had other things to mind. No sooner did she find her Bedfellow fast, but she steals out of bed, dresses herself, and packs up in one bundle the Wedding-clothes of Isidora, with some of Don Marcos' things, which she had dexterously conveyed out of their Chamber, before the provident Master had locked the doors. When this was over, away she marches, and because she had no design to return, she left open the doors of the Apartment, which Isidora hired in that house. Inez awaked not long after, and missing her companion, had the curiosity to inquire what was become of her. She listened at Augustinet's door, not without some little suspicion, and spice of jealousy; but hearing not the least noise there, she examined every place where she thought it probable to find her, but missed of her aim, and sees the doors left wide open. She immediately ran upstairs, and rapt at the Chamber door of the new married couple as hard as she could drive, whom she strangely alarmed by this noise. She told them that Marcelia was gone, that she had left the doors open, and that she was afraid she had carried off some things, which she never designed to restore. Don Marcos leapt out of his bed like a mad man, ran to his clothes, but found them gone as well as Isidora's, and to his inexpressible mortification, saw his dear Spouse of so different a figure from what had charmed him, that he thought he should have sunk through the floor. The unfortunate Lady being awakened so on the sudden, took no notice that her Tower was not upon her head. She saw it lying on the ground near the bed, and was going to take it up; but alas! we do nothing orderly when we go rashly to work, and in confusion. She put the back part of it before; and her Visage, which had not received its usual refreshing so early in the morning, the gloss of her paint and washes being gone, appeared so ghastly to Don Marcos, that he fancied he saw a Spectre. If he cast his eyes upon her, he beheld a terrible monster, and if he carried his sight elsewhere, he found his clothes were missing. Isidora, who was in a strange disorder, perceived some of her Teeth hanging in the large, long, and well-peopled Mustachio's of her Husband, and went about in this consternation to recover them; but the poor Man, whom she had so dismally affrighted, not being able to imagine that she stretched out her hands so near his face, with any other design, than to strangle him, or pluck out his eyes, retired some paces backward, and avoided her approaches with so much address, that not being able to come up to him, she was forced at last to tell him, that some of her Teeth were lodged in his Whiskers. Don Marcos directed his hands thither, and finding his Wife's Teeth, which formerly belonged to some Elephant, a native of Afric, or the East Indies, dangling in his Beard, he fling them at her with a great deal of indignation. She gathered them up, as likewise those that were scattered in the Bed, and up and down the Chamber, and retired to a little Closet with this precious treasure, her Painting-brush and some other necessaries she had placed upon her Toilette. In the mean time Don Marcos, after he had hearty renounced his Maker, sat him down in a Chair, where he made sorrowful reflections upon his being married to an old Beldame, whom he found by the venerable Snow, which sixty long winters had shed upon her bald skull, to be at least twenty years older than himself, and yet was not so old neither, but that he might expect to be plagued with her twenty years more. Augustinet, who upon this noise had got up in haste, came half dressed into the room, and endeavoured all that lay his power to appease the worthy husband of his Aunt by Adoption: But the poor man did nothing but sigh, and beat his thighs with his hand, and sometimes his face. He then bethought himself of a fine Gold chain, which he had borrowed to set himself off on the day of marriage, but to complete his vexation, there was nothing but the remembrance of it left him, for Marcelia had taken care to secure it among the other things she carried off. He looked for it at first with some tranquillity, but as carefully as might be, but after he had wearied himself to no purpose in looking for it all over the Chamber, he found that it was lost, and his labour likewise, and then certainly no despair could equal his. He gave such terrible groans, that they disturbed all the neighbourhood where he lived. Upon these doleful cries, Isidora bolted out of her Closet, and appeared so much renewed, and so beautiful, that the poor man thought this was the third time they had changed his Wife. He looked upon her with admiration, and did not express himself angrily to her. At last he took out of one of his Trunks the clothes he wore every day, dressed himself, and attended by Augustinet enquired in every street after the perfidious Marcelia. They looked for her in vain till the hour of dinner, which was made up of what they had left the day before. Don Marcos and Isidora quarrelled with one another, like people that had a desire to dine, and dined like people that had as good a stomach to quarrel. However, Isidora sometimes endeavoured to bring back Don Marcos to his peaceable humour, speaking to him in as submissive and humble terms as she could think of; and Augustinet used his best entreaties to reconcile them to each other; but the loss of the Gold Chain was more to Don Marcos than a stab with a Dagger through his body. They were ready to rise from Table, where they had done little else but quarrel, while Augustinet all alone by himself employed his teeth to the best purpose, when there came into the room two men from the Steward of the Admiral of Castille, who desired the Lady Isidora to send him the Silver Plate he had lent her only for fifteen days, and she had kept above twenty. Isidora could not tell what other answer to make him, but that she would go and fetch it. Don Marcos pretended that the Plate belonged to him, and he was resolved to keep it. One of the men stayed still in the Chamber, lest they should remove that which they made such a difficulty to restore, while the other went to find out the Master of the House, who came, and reproached Isidora with her unjust dealing, took no notice of the opposition Don Marcos made, and in spite of all that he said to him, moved off with the Plate, and left the husband and wife quarrelling with one another about this new disaster. Their dispute, or to speak more properly, their quarrel was in a manner concluded, when a Pawn-broker, accompanied with his Porters and followers, came into the room, and told Isidora that since he was informed she was married to a man of bulk and substance, he was come to fetch the moveables she had hired of him, and the Money due for the loan of them, unless she was minded to buy them. Here Don Marcos lost all his patience, he called the Broker Saucy Rogue and Rascal, and threatened to be labour him lustily. The Broker told him he valued not his big words, that every honest man ought to restore what did not belong to him, and fell foul upon Isidora with unmannerly language, who was nor wanting on her side to give him as good as he brought. He struck her, she returned the blow, and the floor was in a minute covered with the counterfeit Teeth and Hair of Isidora; with the Cloak, Hat and Gloves of Don Marcos, who interposed to defend the virtuous Rib of his side. While the Combatants were gathering up their things that were fallen on the ground, while the Broker removed the moveables, and paid himself as honest Brokers use to do, and all of them together made a noise as if Hell were broke lose, the Landlord of the House, who lodged in an Apartment above, came down into Isidora's room, and acquainted her, that if they designed to make such a noise as that every day, they must even go seek out another Lodging. 'Tis you, you impertinent Puppy, that must seek on another Lodging, replies Don Marcos, whose anger had made him as pale as a Ghost. Upon this the Landlord answered him with a box on the ear, and our angry Don was looking for his Sword or Poniard, out Marcelia had carried them off; Isidora and Augustinet interposed in the scuffle, and with much ado appeased the Master of the House, but not Don Marcos, who beat his Head against the Walls, calling Isidora a hundred times Cheat, and Strumpet, and Thief. Isidora with tears in her eyes answered him, that a poor woman ought not to be blamed for setting her brains to work to get a man of such merit as Don Marcos was, and therefore he had more reason to admire her for her wit, than to beat her as he did; adding, that even in point● of honour, a man ought never to lay hands on his Wife. Don Marcos swearing most heroically, protested that his Money was his honour, and that he was resolved to be unmarried, whatever it cost him. To this the meek Isidora replied with a world of humility, that she would still be his loving Wife, that their Marriage had been celebrated in the usual forms, and 'twas impossible to dissolve it, for which reason she advised him to sit still and be patiented. When this point was pretty well over, the next question was, where they should take another Lodging, since this was too hot for ' 'em. Don Marcos and Augustinet walked out to find one, and in this interval Isidora enjoyed a little breathing time, and with the trusty Inez, comforted herself for the ill humour of her Husband, so long as she saw his Trunks full of Money still in the Chamber. Don Marcos took a convenient Lodging in his Master's Neighbourhood, and sent Augustinet home to sup with his Aunt, not being able, as he said, to bring himself as yet to eat with such an impudent Cheat. Towards the evening he came home as surly as a baited Bear, and as fierce as a Tiger. Isidora endeavoured by all her arts to soften him into a better temper, and next morning had the boldness to desire him to go to his new Lodging and stay there to receive the moveables, that Augustinet and Inez were going to carry to a Cart, which they had newly hired. Don Marcos accordingly went thither, and while he expected their coming, the ungrateful Isidora, the knavish Augustinet, and the jilting Inez, with all expedition conveyed the whole substance of this unfortunate man into a Cart, drawn by lusty able mules, went into it themselves, quitted Madrid, and took the Road to Barcelona. Don Marcos who had exhausted all his patience, in waiting for their coming, went back to his former Lodging, found the doors shut up, and was informed by the Neighbours, that they had removed from thence with their Goods several hours ago. Upon this he returned to the place from whence he came, but did not find what he expected. Immediately he went back to the old place, suspecting the misfortune that had happened to him, he breaks open the Chamber door, where he could see nothing but a few wretched wooden Platters, an old rusty pair of Tongues, a battered pair of Bellows, the broken leg of a crippled Andiron, and such like precious Ware, which they had left behind them, as not thinking it worth their while to encumber the Cart with them. And now he was convinced into what treacherous hands he had fallen; he tears off his Beard and his Hair, he buffets his Eyes, he bites his Fingers till the Blood came; nay, he was sorely tempted to kill himself, but his hour was not yet come. The most unfortunate men sometimes flatter themselves with vain hopes. Thus he went to find out the Fugitives in all the Inns of madrid, but could hear no tale or tidings of them. Isidora was not such a fool as to employ a Cart by which she might be betrayed, but had hired one in an Inn near Madrid, and to secure herself from being pursued, had articled beforehand with the Owner, that he should stay no longer in the City than was sufficient to take her up, her Company, and her Goods. More tired and weary than a Dog that has coursed a Hare and mist her, our poor Gentleman was returning home, after he had enquired at all the Inns in the City and Suburbs, when by mere accident he popped upon Marcelia head to head. He caught hold of her by the throat, and cried out to her, And have I met thee, thou traitorous baggage, I will keep thee fast, till thou hast restored every farthing thou hast stole from me. Oh! good Heavens, says this subtle Dissembler, without changing countenance for the matter, how did I always mistrust that this would fall upon me. Hear me, dear Master, for the love of the Blessed Virgin, hear me, before you ruin my reputation. I am a woman of virtue and honesty, I thank my good God for it; and should you disgrace me never so little before my neighbours here, 'twou'd be my utter undoing, for I am upon the point of Marriage. Let us step to yonder corner, and if your Lordship will give me the hearing, I will tell you what is become of your Chain and clothes. I knew well enough that the blame would be laid upon me for what has happened, and told my Mistress so beforehand, when she forced me to do what I did, but she was Mistress, and I a poor Servant. Well! how wretched is the condition of those that serve, and what pains do they take to get a sorry livelihood. Don Marcos had little malice in his nature; the tears and eloquence of this dissembling Cockatrice inclined him to listen to her, and even to believe whatever she told him. He walked with her therefore under a Porch belonging to a great House, where she informed him, that Isidora was an old battered Strumpet, who in her time had ruined several persons that were smitten with her, but had saved nothing out of all her get, by reason of her profuse and riotous living. She likewise told him, what she had learned from Inez, that Augustinet was not Nephew to Isidora, but a sort of a Bravo, the Bastard of another Whore, and that she caused him to pass for her Nephew, only to give her some authority among women of her own profession, and to revenge her quarrels. She acquainted him that it was he to whom she had given the Gold Chain and the clothes that were stolen, and that it was by his order that she went away in the night, without taking leave, that so only she might be suspected of so wicked an action. Marcelia told all these fine Stories to Don Marcos, not at all regarding what might be the consequence, either to get clear out of his hands, or perhaps to keep up a good old custom long ago observed among Servants, which is to lie boldly, and tell their Masters all that they don't know, as well as all they know. She cocluded her discourse with an exhortation to him to be patiented, giving him hopes that his things might be restored to him, when he least expected it. And perhaps never, replies Don Marcos very discreetly; there is little likelihood that a Traitress, who has robbed me of my goods, and is gone off with them, will ever return to restore them to me. He afterwards told Marcelia all that had befallen him with Isidora, ever since she was gone. Is it possible she should have so little conscience with her? says that wheedling Devil Marcelia. Ah! dear Master 'twas not without good reason that I pitied your hard usage, but I durst not say any thing to you of it: for that very evening you were robbed, taking the boldness to tell my Mistress, that she ought not to touch your Gold-chain, she beat me black and blue God-knows, and called me all the Whores in the Creation. But thus the case happened, says Don Marcos, fetching a deep sigh, and the worst of it is, that I see no remedy to help me. Hold a little, cries Marcelia interrupting him, I know a cunning man, a friend of mine, who will shortly be my husband, I trust in Heaven, and he will tell you where you may find these people, as plainly as if he saw them. He's an admirable man, that's certain, and can make the Devil fetch and carry for him like a Greyhound. The credulous Don Marcos conjured her to let him see this Son of Art. Marcelia promised him to do it, and told him she would certainly meet him the next day in that very place. Don Marcos accordingly came thither, nor was Marcelia forgetful of the appointment, telling our unfortunate Spark, that the Magician she had talked to him about, had already begun his operations to help him to his stolen goods, but that he wanted a certain quantity of Amber, Musk, and other Perfumes, wherewith he was to make a fumigation for the Daemons whom he intended to invoke, who were all of the first order, and of the best families in Hell. Don Marcos, without deliberating farther on the matter, carries Marcelia to a Perfumers shop, buys as much of those scents as she told him would be necessary, nay, and presented her with some Essences and Oils she begged of him, so much did he fancy himself obliged to her for helping him to a Magician. The wicked Marcelia carried him to a house of a very scurvy aspect, where in a low room, or rather a nasty Dog-hole, he was received by a man in a Cassock, whose beard reached down to his girdle, and who received him with a world of gravity. This villainous Impostor, on whom Don Marcos looked with a great deal of respect and fear, two qualities that generally go together, lighted two black Wax Candles, and gave them to the affrighted Don Marcos to hold one in each hand. He ordered him to sit down upon a little low Stool, and exhorted him, but his exhortations came too late, not to be afraid. After this, he asked him several questions about his age, his way of living, and about the goods that were stolen from him; and having looked a while in a Mirror, and read half a score lines in a Book, he told Don Marcos, who was ready to expire with fear, that he very well knew where his things were, and described them one after another so exactly to him, that Don Marcos let the Candles drop out of his hands, to hug and embrace him. The serious Magician blamed him extremely for his impatience, and told him that the operations of his infallible Art demanded a great deal of circumspection and care; giving him to understand, that for actions less hardy and indiscreet, the Daemons had sorely buffeted, nay, and strangled some persons. At these words Don Marcos looked as pale as a Criminal after Sentence, and taking the Candles again in his hands, sat down on his stool. The Conjurer then called for his Perfumes that Don Marcos had bought, and the perfidious Marcelia gave them to him. Hitherto she had been a spectatress of the Ceremony, but now he commanded her to quit the room, because, says he, the Devils don't like the company of Women. Marcelia at her going out made a profound reverence, and the Magician drawing near a little pan of Coals, made as if he threw Don Marcos' perfumes upon the lighted Charcoal, but indeed threw a noisome composition into it, which cast so thick and dismal a smoke, that the Magician, who imprudently leaned over the pan, had like to been suffocated. He coughed several times to expectorate the steams he had sucked in, and that with so much violence, that his long venerable Beard, which was not of the growth of his chin, and had been ill-fastened on, fell down, and discovered him to Don Marcos to be the pernicious Gamara. Don Marcos caught hold of him by the throat, gripped and squeezed him like any Hercules, crying out Thief in a shrill, terrible voice. As it happened, the Magistrate was going down the Street at that time, who entered the House, from whence such dismal cries proceeded, that they alarmed all the Neighbourhood; for you must know, that Gamara, whom Don Marcos all this while held by the throat, roared out as loud as he could do for the heart of him. The first person the Officers seized, was Marcelia, and breaking open the door of this Magical Apartment, they found Don Marcos and Gamara very lovingly gripping and tugging one another about the room. The Provost knew Gamara at first sight, whom he had been hunting after a good while, and had ordered to be apprehended for a Pickpocket, a Cock-bawd, and above all a notorious Thief. He hurried him away to Prison with Don Marcos and Marcelia, took an Inventory of all the Goods in the House, and saw them carefully locked up. Don Marcos was enlarged upon his Master's security, that he should appear next day. Accordingly he came as Evidence against Gamara and Marcelia, who were plainly convicted to have rob him of his Goods, that were found safe and untouched, among several other things that had been set down in the Inventory, some of which he had stole, and the rest were pawned to him, for he was a jew by Religion, and consequently an Usurer by Profession. When he was apprehended, he was just upon the point of Marrying Marcelia, who was to bring him by way of Portion, besides the things she had stolen from Don Marcos, a dexterity in stealing, not inferior to his own, a pliant wit, capable of learning any thing that could be shown her; nay, even of surpassing it: and lastly, a wholesome, juicy, young Body, considering it had been so often bought and sold, and had endured so many heavy shocks and fatigues in the Mansions of Fornication. The case appeared so plain on Don Marcos' side, who was supported by the Credit of his Master, that he had his own Goods immediately restored to him. Gamara was sent to the Galleys for the remainder of his life; Marcelia was sound whipped and banished, and all people thought that the jew and his Wife elect, were too favourably dealt with. As for Don Marcos, he was not so well pleased to have his things again, and be revenged on Gamara and Marcelia, as vexed that this great Impostor did not prove a Magician. The loss of his ten thousand Crowns had almost turned his Brain. He went every day to inquire at all the Inns of Madrid, and at last met with two Muleteers lately returned from Barcelona, who told him, that about four or five days journey from Madrid they had met a Cart upon the Road laden with Goods, and two women and a man riding behind, and that they had been forced to make an halt at an Inn, because two of the Fellow's Mules were killed with being over-laboured. They described this man and the two women to him, and the marks they gave them so fitted Isidora, Inez, and Augustinet, that without farther deliberation he disguised himself in the habit of a Pilgrim, and having obtained of his Master Letters of recommendation to the Viceroy of Catalonia, and from the Justice a Decree for his Fugitive Wife, he took the Road to Barcelona, sometimes beating it upon the hoof, sometimes on Horseback, and arrived there in few days. He went towards the Harbour to take a Lodging there, and the first thing that greeted his sight was his own Coffers, that were carrying to a Boat, with Augustinet, Isidora and Inez attending them, which was to convey them to the Vessel that expected them in the Road, wherein they designed to embark for Naples. Don Marcos followed his Enemies, and threw himself like a Lion into the Longboat. They did not know him by reason of his huge slapping Pilgrim's Hat, that eclipsed his little Countenance, but took him to be some Pilgrim going to Loretto, as the Seamen took him to be one of Augustinet's Company. Don Marcos was in the strangest perplexities of mind that can be imagined, not so much for what would become of himself, as what would become of his dear Trunks. All, this while the Longboat made the best of her way to the Merchantman, and sailed so swift, or rather Don Marcos was so puzzled with what his brains were hammering, that he found himself directly under the Vessel, when he thought himself at a great distance from it. The Sailors now begun to heave up the Trunks, which awakened Don Marcos out of his contemplations, who always kep his eye upon the dearest of his Trunks, wherein his money was lodged. A Seaman at last came to take up this very individual Trunk to fasten it to the rest with a thick Cord that was let down from the Vessel in a Poultry. And now it was that Don Marcos forgot himself, he saw his Trunk tied up just by him and did not stir; but at last seeing it mount up in the air, he caught hold of it with both hands, by one of the iron rings that served to lift it up from the ground, being resolved not to part with it. And perhaps he had accomplished his ends, for what will not a covetous Wretch do to preserve his Pelf? But by ill fortune this Trunk parted from the rest, and falling plumb upon the head of our unlucky Gentleman, who for all that would not quit his hold, beat him down to the bottom of the Sea, or if you please to the regions of Erebus. Isidora, Inez, and Augustinet knew him just at the very minute he sunk down with their dear Trunk, the loss of which troubled them infinitely more, than any apprehensions from the revengeful Don Marcos. Augustinet enraged at the loss of his Money, and not able to master his passion, struck the Seaman, who had tied the Trunks so carelessly with all his force. The Tar in requital gave him a heartier blow, which threw him into the Sea. As he fell overboard, he took the unfortunate Isidora with him, who held herself by nothing, and thus accompanied her beloved Augustinet, who against his inclination accompanied Don Marcos. Inez embarked in the Vessel with the rest of the Goods, which she spent in a short time at Naples, and after she had for a long while exercised the laudable profession of a Whore, she went off like a Whore, that is to say, she died in an Hospital.   

NOVEL II.  
The Useless Precaution.  
A Gentleman of Granada, whose true name I don't think fit to discover, but will call him Don Pedro de Castille, Arragon, or Toledo, or what you please, Courteous Reader, since after all one name costs a man no more than another: And 'tis for this reason perhaps that the Spaniards, not content with their own names, bestow upon themselves the most magnificent ones they can think of, and sometimes tack two or three together, that are as long as a Welsh Pedigree: but to quit this digression, the abovementioned Don Pedro at the age of twenty found himself without Father and Mother, and exceeding rich; which circumstances, when they meet in the same person, very often help to spoil him, if he is born with no great stock of brains; but if 'tis otherwise, put him in a capacity of making what figure he pleases. During the year of mourning he discreetly abstained from most of those diversions, to which young Gentlemen of his age are addicted, and wholly employed his time in taking an exact survey of his Estate, and settling his affairs. He was well made as to his person, had abundance of Wit, and behaving himself, young as he was, with the prudence and circumspection of an old man, there was not a fortune in all Granada which he might not justly pretend to, nor a Father that thought so well of his Daughter, but would be glad with all his heart to accept him for a Son-in-law. Among several handsome Ladie●, who at that time disputed the Empire of hearts in Granada, there was one that had charms enough to conquer that of Don Pedro Her name was Seraphina, beautiful as an Angel, young, rich, and of a good family; and although her fortune was not altogether so great as that of Don Pedro, yet every thing considered, there was no such mighty difference between them. He did not question but that at the first proposal of Marriage he made to her Parents, he should find them ready to comply with him: however, he rather chose to owe his success to his merit, and resolv●d to court her in the gallantest way, that he might make himself master of her affections, before he was of her person: His design was generous and noble, if fortune, that often delights to break the measures of the wisest Politicians, had not raised him a Rival, who had already taken possession of the Town he designed to invest, before he had so much as made his approaches. 'Tis to no purpose to tell you his name, but he was very near Don Pedro's age, perhaps he was likewise as handsome as he, but all Historians are ageeed that he was much more beloved. Don Pedro was soon sensible that he had a Competitor to remove, but this did not much alarm him, knowing few were able to dispute Estates with him. He gave Consorts of Music in his Mistress' street, while his happy Rival had the pleasure to hear them in her Chamber, and perhaps was revelling in her arms, while our poor Lover was cooling his heels, and making melancholy reflections below. But at last Don Pedro was weary of throwing away so much Powder in the Mines, that is to say, of making all this bustle and courtship, without advancing his affairs. However, his love did not slacken upon his ill success, but made him so impatient, that he thought fit to lay aside his first design of winning his Mistress' heart before he demanded her of her friends. In short, he asked their consent, which they granted him upon the spot, without deliberating further on the matter, being extremely pleased to be asked that which they so earnestly desired, and indeed could hardly hope for. They acquainted Seraphina with the good fortune that was offered her, and prepared her to give Don Pedro a kind reception, and marry him in a short time. She was troubled at this news, that aught to have given her all the satisfaction in the world; and not able to conceal her surprise from them, she dissembled the occasion of it, pretending that it grieved her to part from persons so dear to her as they were. She managed this point so dexterously, that they wept out of mere tenderness, and much commended the sweetness of her temper. She conjured them to put off her Marriage four or five months, representing to them, that she had been a long time indisposed, as her looks sufficiently discovered, and that by her good will she wou●d not marry, till she was perfectly recovered of her illness, that so she might come more agreeable to her Husband, and not give him any occasion to be disgusted with her in the beginning of his marriage; and consequently to repent of his choice. 'Tis true indeed, she had looked somewhat sickly of late, which made her Friends well enough satisfied with her request, and they took care to acquaint Don Pedro with it; who for his part was so far from taking it ill, that he liked her the better for giving so good a proof of her discretion. In the mean time the Articles of Marriage were proposed, examined, and agreed on. However, Don Pedro did not think himself excused from omitting any of his usual Gallantries, which every man is obliged to observe, that courts his Mistress in the common forms. He entertained her often with Letters, and did not miss a day to write to her. She returned him such answers that were at least very civil, if they were not altogether so passionate as his own: but she would receive none of his visits in the day time, excusing herself upon her indisposition, and at night appeared very rarely at the Window, which made Don Pedro exceedingly admire her reserved temper. He thought too well of his own merit to doubt the success of his Courtship, and questioned not to be beloved by his Mistress, when she came to know him better, although she had even an aversion for him, now he was a stranger to her. Hitherto his affairs went well enough, but at last it so happened that he could not get a sight of his Mistress for four or five days following. He was extremely afflicted at it, or at least pretended to be so. He composed several Verses upon the occasion, I mean, he either hired or bought them, and had them sung under her Window. But though he omitted nothing that the most zealous Lovers could practise, yet all the favour he could obtain was only to speak with her Maid, who informed him that her Lady was more indisposed than ever. Upon this his Poetic Faculty was strangely perplexed, or at least the Gentleman-Poet whom he employed: for upon the strictest search I find that versifying was never his talon. He caused an Air to be made upon Aminta's being sick, or Phyllis or Chloris, no matter whether: and besides his offensive and defensive Arms, taking a Guitarr with him, which we must suppose to be the best in the whole City, he walked furiously in this Equipage towards his Mistress' quarter, either to make her weep out of pure compassion, or else to set all the Dogs in the neighbourhood a barking, in order to complete the Consort. Any one, I believe, would say a hundred to one that our Gentleman must do one of the two, or perhaps both; but alas he neither did one nor the other: Within fifty paces of the thrice happy Mansion of his Divinity, he saw the door open, and a woman go out, who had much of the air and shape of his invisible Angel. He could not imagine why a woman alone, and so late at night, should so resolutely turn up into a large spacious House, lately destroyed by fire. To inform himself better, he walked round the ruins, which one might enter at several places, that he might get nearer the person whom he dogged. He believed that this might be his Mistress, who had made an assignation with his Rival to meet her in this strange place, not daring to do it at home, and not thinking fit to communicate this business to a third person, which it so much concerned her to keep secret; and he resolved within himself, that in case what he now only suspected, happened to prove true, to kill his Rival upon the spot, and to revenge himself upon Seraphina, by giving her the most opprobrious Language he could think of. So he crept along as softly as he could, till he came to a place, from whence he could plainly see her, for it was she, sitting upon the ground, and groaning so piteously, as if she was going to give up the Ghost; and, in short, after most severe pangs delivered of a small squawling Creature, which we may suppose did not give her altogether so much pain in the begetting. She was no sooner safely delivered, but her Courage giving her strength enough, she returned the same way she came, without troubling her head what would become of the poor Brat, that she had brought into the world: I will leave you to judge how great Don Pedro's surprise was. He now found out the true reason of his Mistress' indisposition: His head almost turned round to think what a Precipice he had escaped, and he thanked Heaven most devoutly for preserving him from the danger; but being generous in his temper, he scorned to revenge himself upon the faithless Seraphina, by exposing the Honour of her Family; neither in his just resentment would he suffer the innocent Babe to perish, which he saw lying at his Feet, exposed to the first dog that had the luck to find it. He wrapped it up in his Cloak, for want of something else, and making all the haste he could, he called upon a discreet woman of his acquaintance, to whom he recommended the Child, putting it at the same time into her hands, and gave her Money to buy it all necessaries. This discreet woman finding herself nobly paid, acquitted herself very well in her charge: Next day the Infant had a Nurse, was baptised, and named Laura, for you must know she was a Female.  
In the mean time Don Pedro went to a Relation, in whom he mightily confided, and told her he had altered his design of marrying, into that of travelling. He desired her to manage his Estate for him in his absence, and to receive into her house an Infant, which he said belonged to him, to spare nothing in her education; and for certain reasons, which he would acquaint her with at some other time, to send her to a Convent as soon as she was three years old; and above all, to take particular care that she should know as little as might be of the affairs of this world. He furnished her with necessary Instruments to look after his Estate, provided himself with Money and Jewels, took a faithful and trusty Servant, but before his departure 〈◊〉 Granada writ a Letter to Seraphina. She received it just at the time as she had acquainted her friends that her illness should retard her Marriage no longer: But Don Pedro's Letter, which gave her to understand that he knew what had so lately befallen her, put other thoughts into her head. She devoted herself to a Religious life, and soon after retired to a Convent, with a full resolution never to stir out of it, and could not be induced to alter her mind by all the entreaties and tears of her Parents, who used all the arguments they could think of to dissuade her from this resolution; which appeared so much the stranger to them, as they could not divine the occasion of it. Let us leave them to weep for their Daughter's turning Nun, who on her part wept hearty for her sins. Let us leave her little Daughter Laura to grow in bulk and beauty, and return to find Don Pedro on the Road to Sevil, who could not drive this late adventure out of his head, and was as much disgusted at Marriage, as once he was desirous to taste the pleasures of it. He is afraid of all Women, and not considering that there are both good and bad of that as well as of our own Sex, he concluded within himself that a wise man ought to be diffident of all women, and particularly of the witty more than the foolish; being, it seems, of the opinion of those worthy Gentlemen, who think that a woman knows more than comes to her share, if she knows a jot more than stewing Prunes, preserving Fruits, dressing her Husband's Dinner, and mending his Stockings. Tainted with these heretical doctrines, he arrived at Sevil, and went directly to the house of Don juan the Lord knows what, a man of wealth and quality, who was his relation and friend, and would not suffer him to lodge any where else but with him. The magnificence of Sevil gave him a desire to make a longer stay there than he designed at first; and his Cousin Don juan, to make his stay agreeable to him, showed him all the most remarkable curiosities of the place. One day as they road on Horseback through one of the principal Streets of the City, they saw in a Coach, that was driving towards a stately House, a young Lady in a Widow's habit, but so beautiful and charming, that Don Pedro was exceedingly surprised, and set his Cousin a laughing by the many vehement exclamations and oaths he made, that he had never seen any thing so lovely in his life. This Angel of a Widow restored the whole Female Sex to his good opinion, whom the unhappy Sepaphtna had rendered odious to him. He desired Don juan to go back through the same Street, and frankly owned to him, that he wanted little of being wounded to the heart. Your business is done, replies the other, and I am very much mistaken if the little God has not shot his Arrow so deep, that there is no plucking it out, but heart and all must come together. Alas! says the amorous Don Pedro, I will conceal nothing from you: How happy should I reckon myself, if I could pass my days with so charming a Lady. You must go this way then, replied Don juan, and travelling so fast as you do, you may in a few minutes arrive at the place, where you expect to find so much happiness. Not but that such an Enterprise, continued he, will give you difficulty enough. Elvira is a woman of condition, and very rich, her Beauty is such as you have beheld it, neither is her Virtue inferior to her Beauty, and during the two years of her Widowhood, the best matches in Andalusia have not given her the least inclination to change her state; but a man so well made as yourself, may perhaps succeed where others have failed. She is related to my Wife, and sometimes I make her a visit. If you please I will propose your design to her, and I have good hopes to succeed in my Negotiation, because I see her in her Balcony, which is no small favour, let me tell you, in so nice and reserved a Lady. She might have shut her Lattices and Windows, and so have balked our expectation. These words were no sooner out of his mouth, but our two Cavaliers made each of them a reverence after the Spanish mode, which gave them no little trouble before they came to an end of it. Especially Don Pedro made his so profoundly, and with that contortion of his Body, that he had like to have tumbled from his Horse. The Lady in the Balcony returned them a handsome Curtsy: Upon which Don Pedro and his Companion bowed again. 
And when the bright Charmer did leave the Balcony,  
One spurred on his Horse, t'other gaped like a Tony.  Alas! My dear Cousin, says Don Pedro to Don juan, what probability is there that a Stranger will be able to gain that heart, which has defended itself against all the men of quality and merit in Sevil. However, continues he, since my despair would otherwise give me my death's wound, I had as good receive it from her refusal and contempt. Therefore let me conjure you to speak to her as soon as you can, and done't so much enlarge upon my Estate and Quality, as upon the violence of my passion. Don Pedro could not talk of any thing but his love, and Don juan was sensible that he could not oblige him more effectually, than by taking the first opportunity to make this overture to Elvira. He accordingly did so, and not without success. The Charming Widow received the proposal he made for his Friend so well, that she confessed to him that she did not dislike him. But she withal acquainted him, that having obliged herself by a vow to stay three full years, from the death of her first Husband till she took a second, nothing in the world should prevail with her to break it. She added, that because she had resolved to pay this respect to the memory of her late Spouse, she had hitherto refused all the offers that had been made her; but that if Don Pedro had courage and constancy enough to serve her a whole year, in which time they might know one another's temper much better, she gave him her word to choose no other Husband but him. Don juan came to give Don Pedro an account of his Negotiation, and made him the most satisfied, and most passionate of all men living. He was not in the least deterred by the long time he was to stay, and resolved to employ it in all the refined Gallantry of a nice Lover. He bought him a Coach and Horses, made his House and his Liveries as sumptuous as might be, set all the Embroiderers and Tailors of Sevil at work, and the Musicians into the bargain. He offered to regale Elvira, but she wou●d not suffer it. Her Servants were nothing near so difficult, and accepted his Presents as hearty as he gave them. In a short time he was more Master of Elvira's Domestics than Elvira herself, whom her Damosels persuaded to appear in the Balcony, even when she had no mind to it, as often as Don Pedro exerted his Lungs in the Street, for I have been told he sung to admiration. Don Pedro had now spent six tedious months in courting Elvira, without being able to obtain a private conversation with her all this while, which daily increased his esteem and love for her. At last, by dint of prayers and presents, a Damosel bolder than the rest, or rather more covetous, promised to introduce him one night into her Mistress' Apartment, and place him in a corner, where he might see her undress herself before she went to bed, take two or three turns in her Chamber in her Shift to cool herself, and sing and play upon her Lute, which she did to a miracle. Don Pedro gave this trusty Maid a better reward than he promised her, and when night came, our Granada-Adventurer, following the Maid's instruction, slipped into Elvira's house, stole up to her Apartment, and there from a Gallery, which was over against the Chamber-door, he saw her lying upon a Couch reading a Book of Devotion, whether with much attention is more than I am able to tell you, all the while her Maids undressed her. She had only a light Gown on, and was ready to go to bed, when Don Pedro's Pensionary Damosel, who designed to give him as much reason to be satisfied with her, as she was with him, entreated her Mistress to sing. Her companions joined in the same petition, but Elvira deny●d them a good while, telling them she was very melancholy, nay, and assuring them that she had occasion to be so. But the Damosel, whom Don Pedro's presents had gained, putting a Lute into her Mistress●s hand, Elvira was so complaisant as to sing, which she did in so charming and graceful a manner, that Don Pedro was within an ace of throwing himself at her heavenly feet, and there acting the ravished Lover. The Song was soon over, and then she went to bed. The Maids retired to their own Apartments, and Don Pedro, who made the best of his way to the street, was strangely surprised to find the great Gate locked. He had nothing left him to do but to stay there till day, which would soon appear. He sat upon the side of a Well, which was in a corner of the Court, being strangely perplexed lest he should be discovered, and incur his Mistress' displeasure for so bold an attempt. He had not been here long, but he made a thousand attempts, and wished as often to no purpose that he was safe in the street, when he heard a door open in Elvira's Apartment. He immediately turned his head towards the place whence the noise came, and was strangely surprised to see the beautiful Widow come into the Court, whom he thought to be fast asleep. By the light of a Wax-Taper, which she carried in a little Silver Candlestick, he saw that her Night-dress was nicely adjusted, her Breasts open and unguarded, a fine Necklace of Pearl about her Neck, and that over her Smock, which had more Lace than Linen about it, she wore nothing but a rich Simarre. She carried in her hand a great Viol full of Jelly, Comfits, and Conserves; and in this surprising equipage she appeared so charming, that Don Pedro had like to have preferred the pleasure of discovering himself to her, to all the ill effects which so bold a presumption might have drawn upon him. But he was wise in his love, and hid himself behind the Well, though he kept his eyes upon his Mistress all the while, flattering himself sometimes that it was he she came to look for. She walked directly towards the Stable, Don Pedro followed her at some distance, and saw her go into a little room. At first he was of opinion that his pious and charitable Mistress went to visit one of her Domestics that was sick, ' tho without doing any wrong to her Charity, she might have left that affair to any of her Women. He crept behind a Horse, that stood not far from the Chamber-door, and from thence observing his dear Widow, he saw her put the Candlestick and Glass-Viol, and in short all she carried in her Ivory hands upon a little Table; and in a sorry Bed, which in a manner took up all the Room, ●he beheld a sick Negro, who seemed to be about thirty years old, but so deformed and ghastly, that he was frighted at the sight of him. His face was as meager as that of a Skeleton, and the poor fellow had much difficulty to fetch his breath. Don Pedro admired the unparallelled goodness of the beautiful Elvira, who took off all the Negro's Blankets, and having made his Bed, sat down by the sick wretch, and put her hand upon his forehead, that was all over in a cold sweat. The Negro cast a dismal look upon the charitable Angel, that came to comfort him, and seemed to pity him with her eyes full of tears. Don Pedro could not tell what to think of so unexampled a strain of Charity, and after he had first admired it, he began to alter his opinion, and concluded it was carried too far. But as yet he had seen nothing. The charming Widow first broke the silence, and weeping at such a rate as if it were to be her last, she asked the Black how he found himself? My dear Antonio, says she to him, in a voice interrupted with frequent sobs, art thou then resolved to die, and wilt thou make me die too for company? Thou dost not speak to me, my Life, my Jewel. Take courage, if thou wouldst have me live, and eat a little of this Jelly for my sake: Thou wilt not so much as afford me one kind look, cruel creature; me, I say, that love thee, me that adore thee: Kiss me, my dear Angel, kiss me, and get well, if thou wouldst not have me to attend thee in thy death, after I have so passionately loved thee in thy life. As she spoke these tender words, she joined her Angel's face to the diabolical visage of the Moor, which she moistened with her tears. I fancy that any man that had seen so odd a sight, would have thought he had seen an Angel caress a Devil. As for Don Pedro, he began to think the beautiful Elvira as ugly as her Negro; who, at last casting his eyes upon his importunate Lover, whom he did scarce vouchsafe to look upon before, and with his lean bony hand turning away her face from his, he thus spoke to her in a low feeble tone: What would you have me do, Madam? Will you not let me die in quiet? Is it not enough that you have brought me to the condition I am in, but must you force me, now I am just dying, to throw away the little snuff of life that is left me, to satisfy your libidinous appetite. Take a Husband, and expect no more drudgery from me: I will see you no more, nor eat any thing you have brought me, but am resolved to die, since I am good for nothing else. When he had said this, he sunk down in his bed, and the unfortunate Elvira could not draw the least word from him, in answer to all the tender things she spoke, whether he was already dead, or refused to speak to one, whom he believed the cause of his death. Elvira wept like a Church-Spout when it reins, and afflicted at the sad condition wherein she left her beloved Negro, but much more at his unkindness, took back with her every thing she had brought, and walked towards her Chamber, but with so sorrowful and sad an air, that it was her great misfortune that her future Cuckold did not see her in that pickle. In the mean time Don Pedro hid himself in the obscurest part of the Stable, so confounded that he was not half a quarter so much, when she was witness to Seraphina's happy delivery. He saw this monstrous Hypocrite go back the same way she came, afflicting herself like any Widow at the Funeral of her dear Husband; and some time after he heard the great Gate open, and got into the street, not at all caring whether he was seen or no, since he thought it not worth while to have any regard for such a woman's reputation as Elvira. However, he treated her like a Gentleman of Honour, and did not discover what he had seen to his friend. The next day he happened to pass by Elvira's Gate at the very instant the Moor was carried out to be buried: Her Women told him that their Mistress was sick; and for four or five days following, as he passed to and fro before her Windows, she was not to be seen there according to her custom, so inconsolable had the death of her lovely African made her. Don Pedro was mighty desirous to know how she fared. One day as he was discoursing with Don juan, one of Elvira's Slaves delivered him a Letter from his Mistress. He opened it with impatience, and read what follows.  
LETTER.  
TWo persons, who are minded to marry, don't need a third to put them in mind of it. You would persuade me that you don't dislike me, and I must own, that you please me well enough to grant you this moment, what I did not promise you till the year was ended. You may make yourself, as soon as you please, Master of my Person and Estate; and I request you to believe, that although I cannot deliberately embark in such an affair as this, yet your merit and my love will render it easy to me, and make me break through all difficulties whatsoever.  
Elvira.  
Don Pedro read over this Letter twice or thrice, and could hardly believe he was awake. He bethought himself that this was the second time he had run the danger of being married as ill as any man in Spain, and thanked Heaven with all his heart that delivered him from two such imminent misfortunes, by discovering to him two secrets of so great importance. As the Negro●s death had put Elvira upon this sudden resolution to be married, Don Pedro as suddenly resolved to get out of her sight as soon as he could. He told Don juan that it nearly concerned his life and honour to leave Sevil within an hour, and that he would only take one Servant with him, that he had brought from Granada; he desired him to sell his Coach and Horses, and to pay his Servants with the Money, and conjured him not to ask the reason of so sudden an alteration, and a Journey so hurried, promising to write to him the very first Town he stopped at. He writ to Elvira, while they went to hire two Mules for him; he gave his Letter to the Slave, and when the Mules came, took the road to Madrid; being confirmed more than ever in his first opinion, and resolving to stand upon his guard against all witty women, nay, even to detest them. While he jogged gently on, full of these virtuous resolutions, Elvira opened his Letter, and read the following lines.  
LETTER.  
AS violently in love as I am with you, yet I always prefer the care of preserving your honour to the pleasure of possessing you. Thus you could not but observe with what discretion I always managed my Gallantry. I am somewhat scrupulous in my own nature, and therefore cannot in Conscience ask you to marry me so soon, since you are a Widow of but a day's standing. You own more than that comes to, Madam, to the memory of the poor Negro defunct, and you cannot take less than a year to lament the loss of a person, who did you so considerable services. In the mean while you and I shall have time enough to consider what we have to do.  
Don Pedro.  
Elvira had like to have run distracted when she read this Letter, and it touched her more to the quick than even the ●oss of her Guinea Lover: but considering that Don Pedro had left Sevil, and another Gallant, that had all the qualifi●ations to please her, offering at the same time to marry her, she took him to supply the Negro's room. Not but that she could have found Negroes enough to have done her business, ●ut some body had told her, that there was a difference in Negroes, as well as other folks, and that every thing is not ●herefore the Devil because it is black. In the mean time Don Pedro and his trusty Mule got to Madrid, and ●he went immediately to an Uncle's house, who received him very courteously. This Uncle of his was a rich Cavalier, that had an only Son, that was betrothed to a young Cousin that was an only Daughter likewise, and who being but ten years ●ld, past her time in a Convent, till she came to be of age to marry him. His name was Don Rodrigo, and he possessed ●ll the good qualities that can make a man amiable. Don Pedro entered into a stricter league of friendship with him, ●han men usually do with a Relation, though they love him ●ever so well; for they are not always our Relations whom 〈◊〉 love best. Don Rodrigo seemed to be disturbed in his ●ind, and Don Pedro perceiving it, related all his adventures to him, that he might oblige him by this confidence to communicate his to him, and if he had any occasion for his service, to let him see, that he was much more his Friend than his Relation. After this, he told him, that he had observed that somewhat sat uneasy upon him, and therefore he begged him to let him know what it was; otherwise he must believe that his friendship was not so hearty as his. Don Rodrigo desired nothing more, hoping to receive some relief in his inquietude, when he had once communicated it. He therefore acquaints Don Pedro that he was passionately in love with a Damosel of Madrid, who was promised to a Kinsman, whom she expected every hour from the Indies, but had never seen, just as he was engaged to a Cousin, and waited till she was of age, of whom he had but little knowledge. This conformity of Adventures, said he to Don Pedro, has very much contributed to increase the affection we have for one another, although at the same time it keeps us both in our duty, whenever our passion advises us to prefer our satisfaction to those engagements, wherein the interests of our Families have linked us. Hitherto my love has made as fair a progress with her as I could wish, though I have not as yet been able to compass my desires, which she puts off till her Husband's arrival, when her Marriage may secure both of us from any ill consequences that may follow upon an Assignation, when we may probably do something else than discourse and talk. I will say nothing to you of the beauty of Virginia, since 'tis impossible to say too much of it, and because I should be apt to say so much of it that you would not believe me. However, this I am certain of, that whe● you have seen her, and her Cousin Violanta who lives with her, you will readily own, that all Spain cannot show any thing more beautiful than this incomparable pair; and whe● you have conversed a few moments with them, I will leave you to tell me, whether you ever saw wittier Women in your life. 'Tis this that makes me pity you, says Don Pedro to him. And why so, replied Don Rodrigo? Because a woman of Wit cries he, will most infallibly jilt you either sooner o● later. You cannot but know, continues he, by the recital ● have made you of my own adventures, what has happened to myself, and I seriously protest to you, that if I could hope to find a woman as foolish as I know some of 'em are witty, I would employ all arts to gain her, and prefer he● even to Wisdom itself, if she would choose me for her Gallant. You are much in the wrong, replies Don Rodrigo, 〈◊〉 I never met a man of tolerable sense in my life, but 〈◊〉 soon weary of a woman's company if she was a Fool. Indeed 'tis not reasonable, that whilst our eyes, our hands, and in short all our body finds something to divert it, our soul, which is the noblest part of the composition, should be forced to endure a tiresome insipid conversation, as that of all persons must certainly be, that have no wit to support it. Let us not carry this dispute as far as it will go, cries Don Pedro to him, for a man may say too many things upon so copious a subject. Only let me see this miracle of a woman, and her Cousin as soon as you can, that if I don't dislike her, I may have something to amuse myself with during my stay in Madrid. I don't believe you'll find your account in it, cries Rodrigo. And why so? replies Don Pedro Because, says the other, she is the only woman in the world who is least a Fool. I will however suit myself to the time, says Don Pedro To tell you the truth, answers Don Rodrigo, I don't know in what manner Madam Virginia will receive us. For these eight days last passed she has used me most unmercifully; she has sent me back all my Letters without so much as opening them, and in short has given me to understand that she will never admit a visit from me, because she saw me some time ago talking with a young Lady at Church, in whose company she had seen me the same day at the Playhouse; and this is the reason why I have been of late so melancholy. It signifies nothing, says Don Pedro, let us go and see them, and take my word for't, you'll sooner reconcile matters, by justifying yourself to her face, than by writing her a Cartload of whining Letters. Thus our two Gentlemen-Cousins went to visit the two Lady-Cousins, and the beautiful Virginia gave Don Rodrigo leave to clear himself, which was easily done. Don Pedro thought both of them to be the handsomest women he had ever seen, not excepting either the imprudent Seraphina, or the hypocritical Elvira. Violanta, who had dressed herself that day in her finest clothes, because she was to sit for her Picture, charmed Don Pedro so effectually, that he immediately broke the vow he had made, never to love any one but a Fool. On his side he did not displease Violanta, and said so many pretty engaging things to her upon the occasion of her Picture, that she was no less satisfied with his Wit than his Gallantry; and here I am obliged to make a short digression, and acquaint those that knew it not before, that your mighty retailers of Compliments and fine expressions, generally deal in whipped Cream, and are justly accused of bombast by men of Wit and Sense. If this small advice had been considered by the public, they would have found it no less useful than a Receipt against Flies in the Summer, and stinking breaths all the year round. Don Pedro, who had solemnly swore by his Maker, that he would marry none but a Fool, was now fully convinced, that Oaths made by Gamesters and Lovers, signify just nothing. He was so ravished with Violanta's Wit, no less than her Beauty, that finding he could obtain no other favours from her, but such as she might grant without any prejudice to her honour, he resolved to marry her, if she did not forbid the Banes. He frequently gave her an occasion to explain her mind upon this article, but either she did not, or would not understand him, whether it was because she loved her liberty, or had an aversion to Matrimony. Thus all things went smoothly on between these four young Lovers, and they only waited for the critical minute. One day that they had spruced themselves up like Castor and Pollux, and made no question to be Masters at least of all the Outworks they attacked, a Servant Maid, whose appearance boded worse luck than that of an Owl, came to acquaint the two Cousins, that the Indian Husband of the fair Castilian was arrived at Madrid, without sending her any advice of his coming from Sevil, where he landed: that the two Cousins concluded from thence that he had a mind to surprise them, and therefore desired our Lovers to fortify themselves with patience, till such time as Virginia had found out the humour of her Indian Spark; and that they would not only forbear to visit them, but even to walk before their Windows, till they received new orders. So all their tricking and powdering of themselves that morning was thrown away, and the next two days they had no more mind to dress, than a Criminal condemned to be hanged. They learned, among the other news of the Town, that the Indian and Virginia were married in private, that he was very jealous in his own temper, that he was a man of experience, having seen forty years; in fine, that he had so ordered his family, and kept so strict a watch over all Virginia's actions, that her Gallants, if she had any, must never expect to see her so much as at her Window. The new orders, which had been promised them, did not come, and they were impatient with expecting them. They daily walked through the street, where their ●●●●●esse● liv●d, and took their usual turns before the House, 〈…〉 hou● seeing any but unknown faces go in or out, and w 〈…〉 t being, able to meet with the least Servant or Maid of 〈…〉 acquaintance. They saw the Husband go into his H 〈…〉 day, accompanied by his Brother, who was hand 〈…〉 well made, and so young, that he was still at the College. This increased their ill humour: They went out early in the morning, and came not home till it was very late, and lost both their time and their labour. At last, upon a certain Holiday, they saw Violanta's Maid going to Mass by break of day; they stopped her at the Church-Porch, and by the neverfailing Rhetoric of Money, Don Rodrigo persuaded her to carry the following 〈◊〉 to her 〈◊〉.  
Your forgetting me does not more disoblige me, than my jealousy torments me, since it is without remedy, now you are under the Government of a Husband. However, you are not totally freed as yet from my importunities, although you have discarded me from your remembrance. The last favour I have to beg of you, is, to inform me whether I have any reason still to hope, or whether I must prepare to die.  
They followed Violanta's Maid at a distance. She delivered the Letter according to her promise, and making a sign to them to draw near, she dropped the following Answer from the Window into the Street.  
A jealous man so newly married is never out of his Wive's Company, and watches all her motions. He talks of taking a journey to Valladolid shortly without me; I will then justify myself, and pay my debts.  
This Billet, which they kissed a hundred times, by the same token that they strove which should outdo the other, gave them fresh encouragement, and made them easy enough for a few days. But at last, hearing no news from their cruel Mistresses, they began after their old laudable custom to walk to and fro a hundred times a day before their Windows; they passed whole nights in the street, but could not see a soul stir out of the house, no more than if it had not been inhabited. One day, as these despairing Lovers happened to be at Church, they had the good luck to see our young Bride come towards them. Don Rodrigo kneeled down by her, under the nose of an old Gentleman Usher that had Squired her to Church. He made his complaints to her in a few words, she excused herself in like manner, and at last told Don Rodrigo that her Husband was not to go to Valladolid, although he daily talked of it; that she was impatient to have a private conversation with him, and that she only knew one way of bringing it about, which wholly depended upon Don Pedro My husband, says she, sleeps as sound as if he took Opium every night, and we have not exchanged a word with one another these four or five days, by reason of a small quarrel between us, which is not yet made up. I had prevailed with my Cousin Violanta to take my place, but she's unhappily sick, and since none are privy to our love but she and Don Pedro, and I would not for all the world have it communicated to more, you● must e●en get him, (if you think he loves you well enough to venture it,) to supply her room, and go to bed to my Husband. This attempt seems to be somewhat dangerous at first sight; but if you consider that my good man and I are at odds, as I have already told you, and that he does not easily wake, I don't question bu● it will succeed to our expectation, and this is all I can do for you. This happy Love-Stratagem, which Don Rodrigo so earnestly desired to know, cooled him in a minute when he heard it. He not only doubted whether his Cousin would take upon him to act this dangerous part, but he likewise doubted whether he ought so much as propose it to him. His Mistress continued inflexible in her resolution, and as she took her leave of him she protested to him, that in case the Proposal she had made him was not well received, and executed in the manner she directed him, he had nothing more to hope from her, nay, that she gave him full leave to banish her out of his remembrance, although at another time she would as soon consent to her own death. Neither the time nor place would permit Don Rodrigo to talk any longer with his Mistress. She went home, and Don Rodrigo repaired to his companion, who could not get a word out of him, so much confounded he was at the unhappy Dilemma wherein he found himself, either to make so unreasonable a request to his friend, or to live without enjoying that happiness, which is always more esteemed before possession than after it. At last, shutting themselves up in their Chamber, Don Rodrigo, after he had for a whi●e refused to declare his grievance, opened the abovementioned proposal to Don Pedro, gilding the Pill as well as he boued, to make it go down the better with him. At first Don Pedro thought that he had a mind to banter him, but his Cousin protesting the contrary in a very serious air, and confirming it by so many Oaths, that he could no longer doubt of it, he must needs turn the thing into raillery, and told him he was exceedingly obliged to his Mistress, for designing him such good fortune with so lovely a Bed-fellow, and that it was undoubtedly the effect of Violanta's gratitude, who, not being in a condition to reward his services, because she was sick, and being pressed to pay her debts, turned it over to her Cousin's Husband, with whom he should certainly pass the night very agreeably. He talked much to the same purpose, and jested a long while, sometimes well, and sometimes but indifferently. But Don Rodrigo was not in a humour to be merry, and he appeared so dejected and melancholy to his Cousin, that he hearty pitied him, and was afraid that his despair would carry him to some dangerous resolutions. Don Pedro was bold in his temper, a great lover of Intrigues, and no man so ready as he to engage in any extravagant adventure: he loved Don Rodrigo tenderly, so that all this joined together made him resolve to supply the room of the beautiful Virginia, whatever her jealous Husband might do to him being therefore fully determined upon the matter, he embraced his Cousin, and put fresh life into him, when he assured him that he would hazard all that he might enjoy his beloved Mistress. You will not, added he, be so much obliged to me as you think: I consider it as an honourable action, wherein I pretend to get as much reputation, as if I should signalise myself at a breach. Word was sent to Virginia that her proposal was accepted; she appointed that very evening to put it in execution: The two Cousins went to her house, and were introduced with as little noise as was possible. Don Pedro was obliged by the fair Lady of the Enchanted Castle to undress himself before her, being resolved that her orders should not be transgressed in the least. Don Pedro having nothing on now but his shirt, was conducted by her with all the care and circumspection imaginable to the fatal room, and opening the Curtains, the softly put the bold Don Pedro between the sheets, who perhaps at that very moment repent for having gone so far, and one may swear did not throw himself into the middle of the Bed. She went away, locked the Chamber door, which put Don Pedro into cruel apprehensions, and repaired to Don Rodrigo, to whom I suppose she paid, like a woman of honour, all that she owed him, or at least as much as he demanded of her. In the mean time Don Pedro was in different circumstances from those of his Cousin, who threw himself into the arms of his charming Mistress, while our too charitable and adventurous Friend, feared nothing so much as the embraces of a detestable man, whom to his great sorrow he was like to find a very uncomfortable Bed-fellow. He then began to consider, but it was somewhat of the latest, to what hazards his foolish rashness had carried him. He blamed himself, he called himself Fool a thousand times in his thoughts, and was sensible that to transgress thus against any Husband, was an unpardonable crime, though even he himself were to be judge. These melancholy reflections were disturbed, and his just fears increased, by a great villainous arm which his Companion in bed threw over him, drawing nearer 〈◊〉 nearer to him still, and pronouncing some inarticulate words, as people do when they are asleep, and making as if he was going to embrace his Wife. Don Pedro was torribly 〈◊〉, and removed this arm, that lay heavier on hi● tha● the greatest burden, as gently as he could, for fear of awaking him, and when he had done this, with all the● recaution o● one in that danger, he crept to the Bedside, with 〈◊〉 his body out of the bed, so that he had like to have 〈◊〉 up●n the floor, cursing his Stars and his own folly, for exposing himself to such dangers, to serve the passion of two indiscreet Lovers. He had scarce begun to breathe a little, when his troublesome Bed-fellow laid his Leg over his, and this last action, as well as the former, had like to have made him die with fear. In short, the one still drawing nearer, and the other getting off as far as he could, the day appeared just at the time when the unfortunate Don Pedro was no longer able to keep his ground against a man, who still drove him farther. He arose as softly as might be, and went to open the door, which he found locked, a greater misfortune than any had yet befallen him. As he was endeavouring in vain to open it, it flew open all on the sudden, and had like to have broke his Nose. Virginia came boldly into the Chamber, and asked him aloud, Wither he was going in such haste? Don Pedro conjured her in a low voice not to make such a noise, and asked her whether she had not lost her senses, to venture the waking of her Husband thus, and desired her to let him go. How, go! says the Lady aloud to him, I am resolved my Husband shall see whom he has lain with to night, that he may know what his jealousy has brought him to, and what I am capable of doing. When she had said this, as bold as a Lioness, she took Don Pedro by the arm, who was so confounded, that he had not strength enough to get lose from her, opened the Window-Shutters, without quitting her hold, and pulling him to the Bedside, drew the Curtains, and cried out aloud, See, jealous master of mine, see whom you have lain with to night. Don Pedro turned his eyes towards the terrible Bed, and instead of an ugly fellow with a beard, he beheld his charming Violanta, who had lain by his side all night, and not the jealous Husband of Virginia, who had gone into the Country about eight days before. The two pretty Cousins pelted him with their raillery; never did man of wit make so lame ● defence, or say so little for himself. Violanta, who was naturally gay, and rallied with a grace, had like to have made her Cousin die with laughing, when she pleasantly exaggerated to her what bodily fears she put poor Don Pedro in, as often as she made as if she were awake, and drew nearer to him. It was a long time before Don Pedro cou●d recover out of this confusion, and set his countenance in order. At last Virginia took compassion of him, and left him alone with her Cousin, with whom we may suppose he had affairs of great importance to settle, because he was shut up with her till noon. From this happy hour, all the while the Husband stayed in the Country, the two Gentlemen-Cousins and the two Gentlewomen-Cousins met frequently together, and made the best use of their time. When the Husband came to Town again, Rodrigo was the less happy of the two, for Don Pedro, by the charitable assistance of the Servants, whom his presents had brought over to his side, made a shift for two or three months to pass most of the nights with Violanta, who was mistress of her own actions, and ever since the marriage of her Cousin lodged in a separate building, which had a door into another street. He became so passionately in love with her, that he earnestly desired to marry her; but whenever he made any such proposal to her she turned off the discourse so dexterously, that he could not positively tell whether she did it out of design, or because she did not listen to him. In short, as there is nothing permanent in this transitory world, Violanta began to slacken in her passion, and grew cold by little and little, so that Don Pedro could not forbear to complain of it, and not knowing how to account for this alteration otherwise, accused her of infidelity, and reproached her with having some other Gallant more happy than himself. Instead of mending matters by this procedure he utterly ruin'd them, and made himself so insupportable to Violanta, that she not only refused to see him a nights, but likewise to admit his visits in the day time. This treatment did not in the least discourage him; he gained by virtue of his Money one of her Maids, who was so treacherous as to inform him, that her Mistress was passionately in love with her Cousin's Brother-in-law, who had just left the College; that he was a very handsome youth, and no less in love with Violanta, than Violanta was with him. To complete her perfidious treachery, this ill-conditioned Devil advised him to pretend himself sick, to acquaint her Mistress with his illness, and complain of her for being the cause of it, which was likely enough; and in short to feign it so well, that her Mistress that had no aversion to pleasure. She informed herself particularly of the Gallantry of Naples, desired to know whether the women there were allowed any liberty, and whether the Italian Gallants carried on their amours as bravely as those of Spain. At last Don Pedro confirmed himself by the questions she put to him, that if she did not go to the bottom of an Intrigue, 'twas not for want of good will. She made him dine with her, to the mutual satisfaction of both. Our Granada Adventurer would have taken his leave of her after dinner, but she would not suffer it, and told him, that since the Duke her Husband wou●d not come home that day, she desired him to be her Guest; adding obligingly, that pers●ns of merit were very rare in Catalonia; and therefore when she had the happiness to meet them, no wonder she coveted to enjoy their conversation as long as she could. She led him into a large Closet, very cool and refreshing, adorned with fine Pictures, China, and other rich furniture. It wanted not, since we are obliged to be particular, a noble Alcove, embroidered Cushions, and a convenient Couch, with a rich Satin Quilt thrown over it. Here our Traveller recounted to her all his adventures ●at Granada, Sevil, and Madrid, together with those of Italy, which are not as yet arrived to my knowledge. The Duchess listened very attentively to them; at last he told her that he was resolved to marry, if he could find a woman fool enough, from whom he should have no reason to apprehend any of those ill offices, which witty women are able to do their Husbands. I have an estate, continues he, that is far from being contemptible, and though the woman I marry does not bring me a farthing, provided she has been well educated, and is not deformed, I shall make no scruple to choose her; although, to deal ingenuously with you, I would much sooner choose a woman that is deformed, provided she is fool enough, than one that is handsome, and is not so. You are certainly wrong in your notious, replies the Duchess; but what do you mean by being well educated? I mean a woman of virtue, answered our Traveller; And how is it possible for a Fool, to be a woman of virtue, cries the Duchess, if she neither knows what virtue is, nor is capable of being taught it? Besides how can a Fool love you, that has not sense enough to know your merit? She will trespass against her duty, without knowing what she does, whereas a woman of Wit, although she should distrust her honour, will know how to avoid those occasions where she may run any danger of losing it. They argued along while Pro and Con upon this subject; our Don maintaining that all the knowledge required in a woman was to love her Husband, to be faithful to him, and carefully look after her Family affairs and Children; and the Duchess endeavouring to convince him that a Fool was not capable of doing it, nay, that though she was beautiful, she would certainly disgust him at last. They gave one another several proofs of their Wit, and the good opinion they had of one another soon improved into esteem, nay, and something better than that. Our Spaniard did not only differ from the Duke in age, wit, and person, but was one of the handsomest best-shaped men in the World, and if he appeared as such to the Duchess, he thought her the loveliest woman he had ever beheld. He was as bold as a Lion, and never found himself alone with a woman, but he presented his service to her. If she accepted it, he did his best to acquit himself, and if she took snuff at it, he would fall you down upon his Marrowbones, and calling himself the horridst Sinner in the world, ask pardon so ingeniously, and with so much Hypocrisy, that the Lady must needs pardon his transgression, or perhaps by way of atonement make him transgress again. I could never have imagined, says he to the charming Duchess, that any one was able to make me throw up an opinion, the truth of which so many experiments have confirmed to me, but it was never yet opposed by so extraordinary a person as yourself, whose Soul, without being beholden to her beauty, which however is not to be matched in the Universe, may acquire her as large an Empire as she pleases, over all those that have wit enough to discover, that she has a greater share of it than all her Sex put together. You have cured me of an error, added he, but you leave me troubled with an illness, which is so much the more dangerous and hard to cure, as I am pleased to have it, and by suffering it gratify the noblest ambition that a mortal is capable of. I cannot positively tell you, how many other Hyperboles he shot against the Duchesses' virtue, and whether he did not speak abundance of pathetical impertinences, for upon such occasions as this, a man is most terribly given to be impertinent. Neither do I know in what manner the Duchess received a declaration of love, which her Gallant delivered in due form, I mean whether she seemed to like it by an answer suitable to the occasion, or whether by answering nothing, she made good the old Proverb, Silence gives consent. But this is certain, that a Maid of hers, who died of the King's Evil in France, often owned before several credible Gentlemen, that the closet door was shut for some two hours upon them, that they were together till Supper time, and although this Maid, whom I suppose to have been an Andalusian, had never told me this, yet I know full well, that opportunity makes a Thief. The night came, that favourable Goddess to stolen love, but neither was Don Pedro, nor the Duchess the better for it, for partly out of good manners, and partly not to give the Servants an occasion to guests, who generally guests beyond the truth, to which they have a natural Antipathy, they called for Candles, which were almost eclipsed by the brighter eyes Heaven had bestowed upon the Duchess, and which at that moment twinkled prettier than any pair of Stars in the Firmament. The vermilion of her Cheeks was double to what it used to be, which made her appear brighter than the Sun on a fine Summer's day to Don Pedro, whose visage too was a little inclined to Scarlet. Thus they merrily passed away the time in exchanging glances with one another, when a Servant came to acquaint the Duchess, that his Grace her Husband was below in the Court. All that she could do in this surprise, was to shut up the thrice astonished Don Pedro in a large gilt cupboard, where she kept her perfumed waters, and putting the Key in her pocket, to throw herself upon the Bed. The Duke, who was at least threescore years old came into his Wive's Closet, and found her as gay and fresh as a Rose upon the stalk. He told her, that he had received a Letter from the King, which obliged him to return sooner than he thought. He was very hungry, and ordered the Servants to bring whatever they had ready in the House, into the same Closet, and the Duchess, who had no great Stomach to eat, while her Traveller, perhaps wished himself ten foot under ground, took a chair near the Table. She was exceeding cheerful and brisk, and of a gaiety, that bestowed new youth upon her old Husband, so much did it revive his Spirits. It was a customary thing for her to lay extravagant wagers with him, but especially when she wanted money, which her good man took a pleasure to lose to her, being perfectly charmed with so agreeable a Wife. He never fancied her more beautiful than then; she told him a hundred merry stories, by the same token, that our Duke had like to have choked himself with laughing at 'em, for eating hearty and laughing hearty at the same time, a bit of meat happened to go down the wrong way, but Heaven be praised, it did him no harm. At last the Duchess, who was of a humour to turn every thing into merriment, had a mind to divert herself at the expense of her gallant in the Sweating-tub: Says she to the Duke, methinks it is a long while since we laid a wager last, now I would fain lay a hundred Pistoles, that I have occasion for, upon the first subject, that offers itself. The Duke told her he was ready, and that he would leave it to her, to propose any subject. The Duchess proposed several to him, which she knew he would not accept, and at last asked him, whether he would lay a wager, that he could reckon up all the things in a Family that are made of Iron. The Duke took her at her word, though he thought it a very foolish thing to lay a wager on, and calling for Paper and Ink, so soon as the Cloth was removed, and his Chaplain had said Grace, (for the Duke you must know kept a good decorum in his family) he writ down the names of all the Iron utensils he could think of, but it fell out luckily for the Duchess, that he forgot to mention a Key. She got him to read over what he had written two or three times, and when he had done so, asked him if he was satisfied with it, and whether he had any thing to add? She then folded the paper, telling him she would examine it at her leisure, and that she would relate to him one of the prettiest adventures he had ever heard. A little after you were gone out upon your sport, I was, continues she, looking out of one of our windows that faces the high Road, when I saw a man of an extraordinary mien mounted on a Mule, who pricked and spurred his Beast to make all the haste he could. I had the curiosity to know whither he was going in so much haste, and dispatched one of my Pages to tell him I would speak with him. To be plain with you, I never in all my life saw a man better made, or more likely to make even a woman of virtue dispense with a conjugal vow. I asked him whence he came, and who he was? he answered me so genteely, and with so much wit, that I was desirous to have more of his Conversation. So I engaged him to stay with me the remainder of the day, and to acquaint me with all his Adventures, which must certainly be very curious and entertaining, as I imagined. He performed it to my expectation, and I must frankly own to you, that I was never better diverted with any History in my life, and I am resolved, says she, to divert your grace with it likewise. Then she recounted to the Duke all that had happened to Don Pedro at Granada, Sevil, and Madrid, and her good man, who was as merry a Wight, as 'tis possible for a Duke to be, fell a laughing, as if he would have burst his hoops, which made the Duchess and some of his chief Servants, whom he allowed to be familiar with him, join in this merry consort After this she acquainted him, with all that had befallen our Granada-Gentleman in Italy, which was very pleasant as I have been told, for I could never inform myself what the particulars were. All I know is, that the Duke laughed as hearty at them, and that Don Pedro himself could not forbear laughing in the Chest In short, after she had very well diverted herself by making her Husband laugh, and all the company, and Don Pedro into the bargain, who till now had had his share in the Mirth, she told her Husband that our Traveller, after he had recounted all his adventures to her, was so hardy as to make love to her, and did it with so much address, that she could not find in her heart to be angry with him for carrying his Gallantry so far, who could not but perceive that he was by no means displeasing to her. But why should I multiply words in vain, continued the Duchess, a Gentleman so well made as he is may attempt any thing without danger. We passed the greatest part of the day together, to our mutual satisfaction, and we had done so still, but that you came home when I little expected you. Not to mince matters, your return both afflicted and surprised me. My lovely Stranger seemed to be in a greater consternation than myself, so I hastily shut him up in my Chest of perfumed Waters, from whence he must needs hear me, if he is not already dead with fear. But knowing what an ascendant I have over you, and being in my own temper uncapable of dissembling even those very things, where my too great freedom may do me harm, I was resolved to divert you at the expense of this poor Gentleman, whom I will draw out of his hole, so soon as you are gone to your own apartment, and leave him to pursue his Journey to Granada, where he is going, as he tells us, to find out a woman, who is Fool enough it seems to deserve to be his Wife. The Duchess gave such an air of probability to this true story, that the Duke quitted his good humour, and turned serious all on the sudden. He looked pale, he was afraid that what his Wife had told him was true, and could not forbear ask for the Key● of the Chest, wherein, as she pretended, the Stranger was shut up. She changed the discourse, and by that means increased his suspicion and his fears. He asked her once more for the Keys of the Chest, which she refused him. He was resolved to have them, and arose from his seat in a passion. Very well, Sir, very well, said the Duchess to him, before you ask me for the Keys in such haste, pray be pleased coolly and calmly to read over your Catalogue; you have forgot to set down Keys in it, you cannot deny but that they are made of Iron, and that you own me a hundred Pistoles upon the wager. Pray give 'em me now, as you are obliged in honour, and take notice that if I have told you a merry story, 'twas only to put you in mind of what you had lost, and at the same time to divert you, that you might part the freer with your money. The next time I would have you to be more wise, than to take an invented story for a true one. 'Twas not probable that so many extraordinary adventures should befall one single man, and much less so, that I would have told you such a story if it had been true. He laughed as if he had been distracted, he admired the prodigious wit of his Wife, and commended it before his Servants, who were perhaps as arrant fools as himself. See now, cries he as loud as he was able, and laughed at the same time, see now by what a cunning fetch the Gipsy has told me that I have lost. The Duchess had liked to have killed herself with laughing, her Woman seconded her, and Don Pedro was half dead with stifling his laughter in the Chest At last, the Duke, after he had ordered the Steward to pay his Wife a hundred Pistoles, leaves her to go to his own Apartment, often saying to himself that she was a true Devil, and sometimes that she had the Wit of a Devil. The Duke's Servants repeated the same words after their master, so that all the while the Duke was going towards his Chamber, you could hear nothing else upon the stairs, but different voices, crying, my Lady Duchess has the wit of Devil, my Lady Duchess is a true Devil. In the mean time the Steward paid the Duchess her 100 Pistoles, and went his way. The Duchess shut her Chamber door, and freeing Don Pedro out of his little ease, who had scarce recovered out of his fright, she endeavoured to convince him, that a woman of Wit could disengage herself with honour out of a scurvy business, the very thoughts of which would have made a fool die with fear. She would have had him take part of a Collation, which her women had just set upon the Table; but he begged her pardon, and desired her to let him go. She gave him the hundred Pistoles she had won of her Husband, with a Gold Chain and her Picture, that were worth as much more, conjuring him not to forget her, but to let her hear from him now and then. After this she tenderly embraced him, and put him into the hands of her Maids, who let him and his Mule out privately by a back door. He did not think it convenient to lie in that place, but road two leagues further till he came to the Town, where he intended to have dined the day before, if the Duchess had not stopped him. This odd adventure, with the Catalonian Duchess, ran perpetually in his head. Be could not enough wonder at her falling in love with him so on the sudden before she knew him, at her rashness in relating to the Duke a story so nice, but so true, and last of all at her great address in applying it to her wager. He likewise admired the good temper of the Duke, he pitied his condition, and fortified himself more than ever in his opinion, that a woman of wit was hard to be looked after, and doubted not but that if the Duchess had not too much relied upon the goodness of her invention, she durst never have carried on her intrigue so far, nor had the boldness to communicate it to her Husband. He promised himself that he would never run any such risk of being ill-married, because he would either take no Wife at all, or if he did, pitch upon one that was so foolish, that she should not be able to distinguish between Love and Aversion. As he was making these wise reflections, he arrived at Madrid, where he found his Cousin Don Rodrigo, had inherited his Father's Estate, and was married to his Kinswoman. He was informed by him that Violanta had disposed of herself in Matrimony, and that the beautiful Virginia, was gone to the Indies with her Husband. From Madrid he arrived at Granada. The first visit he paid was to his Aunt, who welcomed him with a thousand embraces, and told him that Seraphina lived like a Saint, and that her Lover had died of grief, because he could not persuade her to quit the Cloister to marry him. Next day he went in company with his Aunt to see the young Laura, Seraphina's Daughter. She had been put into a Convent when she was but four years old, and then might be about sixteen. He found her as beautiful as all the Angels put together, and as foolish as all the Nuns that come into the world without Brains, and are taken out of it in their Infancy, to be buried alive in a Convent. He gazed upon her, and was charmed by her beauty; he made her talk, and admired her innocence. He now flattered himself that he had found out what he had been so long looking after, and what made him take a greater fancy to Laura, was that she much resembled Seraphina, with whom he had once been passionately in love, though the Copy infinitely exceeded the Original. He told his Aunt that she was not his Daughter, and acquainted her with his resolution to marry her. The old Gentlewoman approved his choice, and communicated the good news to Laura, who neither rejoiced, nor was sad at it. Don Pedro furnished his house, looked out for the most foolish Servants he could find: He likewise endeavoured to get a set of Maids, full as great fools as Laura, which gave him no small trouble. He presented his Mistress with the richest clothes and the finest things that Granada could afford. All persons of quality in the Town were invited to the Wedding, and were as much pleased with Laura's Beauty, as they were disgusted at her Simplicity. The company broke up very early, and our new couple were left alone by themselves. Don Pedro sent his Servants to bed, and ordering his Wife's Maids to retire, so soon as they had undressed her, shut the Chamber door. And now the Devil put it into his head to execute the most nonsensical frolic, that ever man was guilty of, who had past all his life for a man of sense. He ●at down in a Chair, making his Wife stand all the while before him, and spoke the following words to her, or others much more impertinent. You are my Wife, and I hope I shall have reason to bless God for't, so long as we live together. Be sure to remember what I tell you, and carefully observe it while you live, lest you offend God, and displease ●●e. At these words the Innocent Laura made many profound Curtsies to him, whether seasonably or no it signifies nothing; and with her two little roguy blinking eyes, she looked as fearfully upon her Husband, as a new Scholar does ●pon an imperious Pedagogue. Do you know, continued Don Pedro, how married people ought to live? Not I, forsooth, replied Laura, dropping him a Curtsy much lower than all the rest, but if you'll teach me, I'll remember it better than my Ave Mary; and then she dropped him another. Don Pedro thought himself the happiest man upon earth, to find more simplicity in his Wife than he ●urst have hoped. He took from his Armoury, a very ●ich, but light suit of Armour, which he had wore formerly at a magnificent Reception, that the City had made for ●he King of Spain. With this he equipped his pretty Idiot, ●he put a little gilt Murrain on her head, finely adorned with Plumes, he girt a Sword by her side, and putting a Lance into her hand, gravely told her, that it was the du●y of 〈◊〉 married Wives, who had a mind to be thought 〈◊〉 to watch their Husbands while they slept, armed 〈◊〉 points as she was. She answered him with 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Courtesies, and kept on Court'sing, till he bid 〈…〉 or three turns about her Chamber, which 〈…〉 to perform with so good a grace, her 〈◊〉 Beauty, and her Military habit not a little contributing to set her off, that our too refined Politician of a Husband, was perfectly charmed with her. He went to Bed, and Laura continued in motion till five a Clock in the morning. Our Gentleman, who was the most considering and discreet of all Husbands in the Universe, or a● lest thought himself such, got up, dressed himself, disarmed his Wife, helped her to pluck off her clothes, put her into bed, which he had just quitted, and kissed her a thousand times, weeping for mere joy, that he had at last found so unestimable a Jewel. He then wished her a good repose, and forbidding his Servants to awake her, went to Mass, and about his other affairs: for I had forgot 〈◊〉 inform the courteous Reader, that he had purchased a Plac● in Granada, much like that of our Maires, or Provosts 〈◊〉 the Merchants. The first night of their Marriage passed 〈◊〉 the manner as I have re●a●xsed it, and the Husband was suc● a confirmed Sot, as to employ the second no better. Accordingly Heaven punished him for his stupidity. An unlucky business happened, which obliged him to take 〈◊〉 that very day, and ride to Court. He had only time 〈◊〉 change his clothes, and take leave of his Wife, enjoyni● her under pain of offending God and displeasing him, ●observe exactly in his absence the duty of married wom●● Those that have business at Court, let them be as good A●strologers as they please, cannot assign the precise ti● when it shall be concluded. Don Pedro did not think ● staying there above five or six days at farthest, but was for ● to wait five or six months. All this while the simple Lau●● did not fail to pass her nights in her Coat of Armour, a●● spent her day● in working at her Needle, which she h●● learned in the Convent. A Gentleman of Cordova came ● Granada at this time about a Lawsuit. He was no fools to his intellectuals, and was well made as to his perfo● He often saw Laura in her Balcony; he thought her 〈◊〉 ●ceeding pretty; he passed and repassed before her Wi●dows a hundred times a day at least, after the Mode ● Spain, and Laura let him fairly pass and repass without knowing what it meant, or so much as desiring to know ● There lived over against Don Pedro's House, a poor so●●● a woman, but charitable in her nature, and ready to ●●lieve the wants of her Neighbours, who soon perceived be● the Strangers love, and the small progress he had made ● the charming Laura's affections. She was a woman of ● 〈◊〉 and her chief business was that of bringing good 〈◊〉 together, for which she was admirably fitted by her Trade, which lay in Commodes, Towers, Washeses, Essences, Elixirs, and some fine secrets for beautifying the Skin, and taking off freckles; but what recommended her most to this virtuous employment, she was supposed to be skilled in the Black Art. She so punctually bowed to the Cordovan Gentleman, and good-morrowed him so often as he passed before Laura's Windows, that he fancied she did not do it without some design. He accosted her, and all at once struck up an acquaintance and friendship with her; he discovered his passion to her, and promised to make her fortune if she served him in his Amour. This old Agent of Lucifer loses no time, gets herself introduced by the foolish Servants into the Company of their foolish Mistress, under pretence of showing her some fine curiosities. She commended her Beauty, lamented her being so soon forced to lose her Husband's Company, and when she found herself alone with her, she spoke to her of the fine Gentleman that passed so often before her Windows. She told her that ●e loved her more than his life, and that he had a violent inclination to serve her, if she saw fitting. In truth, I am very much obliged to him, replied the innocent Laura, ●nd I should like his service well enough, but our House ● full of Servants, and should any of them go away, I ●urst not receive him in my Husband's absence. Howe●er, I will write to him about it, if the Gentleman desires ●t, and I don't doubt but I shall obtain what I ask of him. This was enough to so experienced a Bawd as ours was, to convince her that Laura was simplicity itself. She therefore endeavoured to explain to her as well as she was able, in what manner this Gentleman desired to serve her: She ●old her that he was full as rich as her Husband, and that ●f she had a mind to see any proofs of it, she would bring her from him the finest Jewels, and the richest clothes that ●ould be. Alas! Madam, says Laura, I have so much of what you talk of, that I don't know where to put them. Since 'tis so, answered this Ambassadress of Satan, and you don't care that he should present you, suffer him at least to ●isit you. He may do that, says Laura, when he pleases, no one will hinder him. That is as well as may be, replies this venerable Bawd, but yet it would be much better still, if your Footmen and Maids knew nothing of it. That's ●asy enough, answered Laura, for my Maids don't lie in my Chamber, I go to bed without their help, and very late. Take this Key which opens all the rest in the House, and about eleven at night he may come in at the Garden-door, where he will see a little Staircase, that will lead him to my Chamber. This old Beldame took her hands, and kissed them a hundred times, telling her she was going to bestow new life upon this poor Gentleman, whom she had left a dying. And how came that about? cries Laura all in a fright. Why 'tis you that have killed him, replies this dissembling Gipsy. Laura looked as pale as if she had been convicted of Murder, and was going to declare her innocence, if this wicked woman, who did not think it convenient to abuse her ignorance any longer, had not left her, throwing her arms about her neck, and assuring her that the sick man would not die. You may imagine she understood her Trade too well to forget the miraculous Key that could open all the doors. Some malapert Critic now will fall upon my bones for this Key, and tell me, 'tis all over witchcraft, and smells of a Fable; but let him know from his most humble and most obliged Servant, that the Gentlemen in Spain have such sorts of Keys, which they call Mistresses, and that in the days of yore people were better bred and more civil than to blame what they did not understand. Let him maul fore-stroke and back-stroke, all that falls within the compass of his little Capacity, but I should be reckoned as great a Coxcomb as he, to trouble my head any more about him. To return then to our old Matron: She went to find out the impatient Lover, and told him with an infernal sneer, what progress she had made in his business he rewarded her like a liberal Gentleman, and expected the night with impatience. The night at last arrived, he opened the Garden-door, and stole up as softly as he could to Laura's Chamber, at the time when this silly creature was walking up and down in her room, armed at all points, with a Lance in her hand, according to the salutary instructions of her extravagant Husband. There was only a small light in a corner of the Room, and the door stood open, without question to receive the Cordovan Gallant. But our Spack seeing a person all in Armour, did not doubt but that they designed to get him in their clutches● His fear then prevailed over his love, as violent as it was and away he fled faster than he came, fearing that he should not get into the street soon enough. He went to his trusty Goer-between, and informed her what a hazard he had run, who being mightily concerned at what had happened, went directly to Laura's house, to discourse her about the matter. Our silly Innocent no sooner saw her, but she asked her why the ●entleman did not come, and whether he was still sick? He is not sick, replies old Iniquity, but came to wait on you last night, and saw an armed man in your Chamber. At this Laura made a longwinded laugh, than she fell into a second fit, and then into a third, and all this while the old woman could not tell what to make on't. At last, when she had fully satisfied herself with laughing, and was at liberty to talk, she told the Reverend Beldame, that it was plain the Gentleman was not married, and that it was she who walked all armed in her Chamber. Our virtuous Matron could not imagine what to make of these words, and for a pretty while believed that Laura was a downright natural, but after she had put several questions to her, she came to understand, what she could not otherwise have believed, as well the great simplicity of a Girl of fifteen, who ought to have known what was what at that age, as the extravagant precaution her Husband used, to secure his Wife's Chastity. However, she thought it best to leave Laura in her error, and instead of showing herself surprised at the novelty of the thing, as much as she was, she fell a laughing with Laura, at the great fright the Gallant had been in. A meeting was appointed that night, the old woman encouraged the Gallant, and admired as well as he at the strange stupidity of our Husband and his Wife. The night came, he got into the Garden, crept up the little Staircase, and found his Lady in Armour, performing her Conjugal Duty, as she thought He embraced her all covered with Iron as she was, and for her part she received him, as if she had known him from her Cradle. At last he enquired of her what she designed to do in this Armour. She fell a laughing, and told him that she durst not take it off, nor pass the night in any other Equipage; and informed him, since it seems he knew it not, that it was a Mortal sin to do otherwise. Our charitable wheedling Cordovan took abundance of pains to undeceive the poor Creature, and persuade her that she was abused, and that married persons passed their time after another manner. At last he prevailed with her to disarm, and to learn a more easy and pleasant way of performing the duties of Matrimony, than her Husband had taught her, which Laura owned to be a cruel fatigue. He was not long in getting off her Armour, he likewise helped her to unrig, finding she was too long about it herself, and then threw himself into the bed by her side, where he made her confess that Chalk and Cheese were not more different than his precepts of Matrimony, and those of her Husband. In short, he taught Laura all that he knew; who for her part was not backward to learn it, while her Husband danced attendance at Court. At last she received a Letter from him, wherein he sent her word, that his business being at last over, he was now preparing to come home: and at the same time our Cordovan having dispatched his affairs at Granada returned to Cordova, without taking leave of Laura, being, as I suppose, not very much concerned to part with her, since nothing is so short-lived as our love of a fool. Laura was not much mortified at it, and received her Husband with as much joy, and with as little concern for the loss of her Gallant, as if she had never seen him. Don Pedro and his Wife supped together, to their mutual satisfaction. The night was now pretty well spent: Don Pedro went to bed according to his custom, and you may judge what a surprise he was in, when he saw his pretty Consort in her smock coming to lie by him. Being much disturbed in his righteous spirit, he asked her why she was not in her Armour? Oh, says she, I know a much better way of passing the night with one's Husband, which my other Husband taught me, I thank him. What, have you got another Husband? replies Don Pedro. Yes, says she, and so fine and handsome a Husband too, let me tell you, that you'd be pleased to see him; but in truth I don't know when we shall see him, for ever since the last Letter you sent me he has not been here. Don Pedro dissembling his vexation, asked her who he was? but she could not resolve him that question, and like a loving Tit proposed to Don Pedro to show him what a pretty Game her other Husband had taught her. Our unfortunate Gentleman pretended to be sick, and perhaps was so, at least in mind. He turned his back to her, and chewing the cud upon the blessed choice he had made of a Wife, who had not only violated the honour of his Bed, but had not sense enough to conceal it from him, bethought himself of the wholesome advice of the Catalonian Duchess, detested his errors, and owned (but it was somewhat of the latest) that a woman of Wit knows how to preserve the laws of Honour; or if out of weakness she breaks them, knows at least how to keep her transgression private. At last he comforted himself as well as he could for a calamity that was not to be redressed: he feigned to be indisposed for some time, to see whether the instructions of his Deputy would have any other effect than just teaching her a Lesson, which he had done better to have taught her himself. He lived several years with her, had always a watchful eye upon her actions; and when he died left her all his Estate, upon condition that she would take the habit of a Nun, in the same Convent where Seraphina lived, who was informed by him that Laura was her Daughter. He sent all the particulars of his History to his Cousin Don Rodrigo at Madrid, and confessed to him how finely he had found himself mistaken in his erroneous opinion. He died: Laura neither rejoiced nor grieved at it. She entered herself in the same Convent where her Mother lived; who finding what a great Estate Don Pedro had left her Daughter, founded a Religious House with it. The History of Don Pedro was divulged after his death, and convinced all those people, who doubted of it before, that virtue cannot be perfect without good sense, that a Witty Woman may be honest of herself, but that a Fool cannot be so without assistance, and good looking after.   

NOVEL III.  
The Hypocrites.  
IT was at that lovely season of the year, when Flora and Apollo, no, I beg your pardon, Apollo and Flora, dress the Earth in her gayest livery, that a Woman arrived at Toledo, the most ancient and most renowned City of Spain. She was fair and young, as subtle as the old Serpent, and so great an enemy to truth, that for several years she never suffered that virtue to approach her lips; and what is more wonderful, she did not find herself a jot the worse for it, at least she never complained of it. Thus she trafficked in lies, and generally made a good market of them; for nothing is more certain, than that a Cheat of our Heroine's complexion has sometimes stole herself into the approbation even of those persons, who have a mortal aversion to falsehood. She had a magazine of fiction large enough to furnish all the Poets, Heralds, Vision-mongers, Quacks and Astrologers in Christendom. In short, this natural qualification, which she had taken care to cultivate from her infancy, joined to the charms of her face, had got her in a short time a fine parcel of Pistoles. Her eyes were black, lively, sweet, large, as fine as fine could be, but most notorious killers, convicted of some four or five murders, suspected of fifty more that were not sufficiently proved upon them; and as for the wretches they had wounded, their numbers could not be computed, nor even imagined. No woman in the Universe dressed finer than she; the least pin set on by her hand carried a particular charm with it. She advised with no other Councillor as to her dress but her Looking-glass, which was her Chief Minister of State, her Treasurer, and Father Confessor. She was a most dangerous woman to see, that's certain, for a man could not for the heart of him help loving her, and could not be long her Gallant, without being her Slave as long. Well, our Lady, such as I have described her to you, arrived at Toledo towards the evening, just at the very nick of time when all the Cavaliers of the City were preparing a Masquerade for the Wedding of a young Gentleman of the neighbourhood, who was to marry a Lady, descended of one of the best Families in that City. The Windows were illuminated with Torches, but much more with the brighter eyes of the fair Ladies, and the incredible number of Wax-lights triumphed o'er the vanquished night, and restored another day. Women of the least quality showed all their finery upon this occasion. A world of Beaux had most nicely spruced up their fine persons with a felonious intention to kill the Ladies; I mean those empty Fops, that all great Cities are plagued with, who don't care a farthing whether they make real Conquests, provided they can but have the reputation or scandal of them, choose you whether: who never attack but in a Troop, and always with insolence; and who by virtue of a handsome Face, Red Stockings, a gilt Snuff-box and a fine Periwig, think they can command the lives of all they meet, and murder all the women with love, and all the men with fear. Oh what a fine time had the men of compliment that day to show the fruitfulness of their imagination; and how much glittering Rhetoric was thrown away upon Goddesses, who had not been deified a full hour? Among the rest, a dapper Younker, who from a Schoolboy had advanced himself to the dignity of a Page, surpassed himself in talking magnificent nonsense before our Heroine, and never was better pleased with his dear person than then. He had seen her alight out of the Stage-Coach, by the same token he was terribly smitten with her; but resolving not to stop there, he followed her to the very door of the House where she hired a Room, and from thence to all the several places where her curiosity led her. At last our stranger stopped at a certain place, where she might behold the Masks at her ease; and our eloquent Page, who had put on his best Linen that day, and was finer than ordinary, immediately entered into a conversation with her, and began to display his talon. She was a woman that understood the world very well, and loved dearly to banter and laugh at your forward young Prigs, that think they are born with a Patent to be troublesome. Judge therefore, if finding our Page an everlasting Talker, that cared not what came uppermost, she did not ●oon carry the shallow sot out of his depth, and manage him as she pleased. She intoxicated him with her praises, so that ●oth his heart and soul were at her service. He told her, that ●e waited on an ancient Cavalier of Andalusia, Uncle to the young Gentleman that was to be married, for whom the City made all this rejoicing; that he was one of the richest men of his quality, and that he had no other Heir but this young Nephew, whom he loved exceedingly, although he was one of the most extravagant young fellows in Spain, a lover of all the women he saw, and besides a little army of Whores and other Women whom he had inveigled, either by fair Speeches, or Money; had committed several Rapes, without respect to age, degree, or condition. He added, that his follies had been very expensive to his old Uncle; who was the more desirous to link him in Matrimony, to see whether he would not alter his manners with altering his condition. While the Page discovered all the affairs and secrets of his Master, she made him giddy with her flatteries, commending every word he spoke, and bidding the company observe with what a grace he told his story; in short, omitting nothing that might help to turn the head of a young Fop, who had already but too good an opinion of his own parts.  
The commendations and applauses that come from a fair mouth are dangerous and deceitful. Our indiscreet Page had no sooner informed Helen that he was a Native of Valladolid, but she began to express herself very much in favour of that City and its Inhabitants; and after she had put herself to the expense of some hyperboles in praising them, she assured our young Coxcomb that of all the fine Gentlemen she had known of that Country, she never saw one so well made and accomplished as himself. This was the finishing compliment, that pinned up the basket. Just as our Page was going to take his leave of her, she invited him to conduct her to her Lodgings, and you must not ask the question why she gave her Lily-white hand to him rather than another. This unexpected favour made his heart leap within him, so that he was perfectly out of his little senses; and he concluded within himself that a man ought not to despair of his good fortune, although he is never so miserable. When our charming Flatterer came ito her Room she placed the Page in the best seat: He was so confounded with this treatment, that for want of taking due care, he came sauce with his breech to the ground: his Cloak fell one way, and his Hat and Gloves another, and he had like to have run himself through with his Poniard, which dropped out of the Scabbard as he fell. Helen went to help up our poor Spark, and seemed to be mightily concerned at his mischance: She put up his Poniard, and told him she could not see him wear it any more that day, after the slippery trick it had played him. The Page picked up the scattered remains of his Shipwreck, and made several wicked compliments suitable to the occasion. All this while Helen made as if she could not recover herself from her late fright, and began to admire the fine workmanship of the Poniard. The Page gave her to understand that it belonged to his old Master, who had formerly bestowed it upon his graceless Nephew, with a Sword and other accoutrements belonging to it; and that he had chosen it among several more, that were in his Master's Wardrobe, on purpose to make a better figure upon a day of such public solemnity. Helen made the Page believe she had a mind to go out in disguise, to see after what manner people of quality were married at Toledo. The Page told her that the Ceremony would not be performed till midnight, and offered her a small Collation in the Chamber of the Master of the House, who was his friend. He railed at his unpropitious Stars, that he was forced to quit the most agreeable company in the world, to wait upon his Master, who kept his bed by reason of his illness. He added, that his Gout was the reason why he did not assist at the Wedding, which was to be kept in a great House in the City, at a good distance from his own, that was called the Hotel of the Count de Fuensolide. He was pumping his brains to make some pretty compliment at parting, when he heard somebody knock very hard at the door. Helen seemed to be strangely discomposed at it, and desired the Page to retire into a little Closet, where she shut him up longer than he imagined. He that made such a rapping at the door was Helen's Gallant, half Pimp and half Bully, whom, to stop the mouths of the wicked, she was pleased to call Brother. He was the trusty Accomplice of all her wicked actions, and drudge in ordinary to her private pleasures. She told him how she had disposed of the Page, and discovered to him her design to finger some of his old Master's Pistoles, which required as much speed as dexterity in the execution. The Mules, though very well harassed, were immediately put into the Coach, that had carried them from Madrid; and Helen with her company (which was composed of the terrible Montafar, the venerable Mendez, and a small Lackey) embarked in this foundered Vessel, which carried them to a sort of Long-lane, where a parcel of Christian-Jews live, whose faith is as threadbare as the second hand clothes they sell. The Masks ran still about the streets; and it so happened, that the Bridegroom, who was masked as well as the rest, met Helen's Coach, and beheld our dangerous stranger, who seemed to him to be Venus in disguise, or the Sun hurrying about the streets. He was so strangely tempted at this bewitching sight, that he was within an Ace of leaving his Bride Elect in the lurch to run after this unknown fair; but at that time his prudence had power enough to stifle this growing passion. He followed his companions in the Masks, while the Stage-Coach drove furiously on towards the aforesaid street, where the Brokers lived, and here without much higgling and making of words, Helen soon equipt herself in mourning from top to toe, together with the ancient Mendez, Montafar● and the little Boy. After this getting into the Coach again, she ordered the fellow to stop at the Hotel of the Count de Fuensalide. Our diminutive Lackey went in first, enquired out the Apartment of the Marquis de Villefagnan, and told him that a Lady from the Mountains of Leon was at the door, who had some business of great importance to communicate to him. The good Gentleman was surprised to hear of a visit from such a Lady, and at such an hour: he raised himself upon his bed as well as he could, adjusted his wrinkled Cravat, and ordered two Cushions to be put under his back, to receive so important a visit with a better Grace. He kept himself in this posture, with his eye still fixed upon the Chamber door, when he saw enter the room (not without the great admiration of his eyes, and as great a palpitation of his heart) the sorrowful Montafar, muffled up in as much black Crape as would serve half a score Hearses, followed by two Women in the same habit, the youngest of whom he led by the hand, and who covering part of her Face with her Veil, seemed to be the most sorrowful and considerable of the two. A Lackey held up her train, which was so enormously prolix, that when it was spread out it covered the whole floor. At the door they saluted the sick old Gentleman with three profound Reverences, not reckoning that of the little Lackey, which was worth nothing: In the middle of the room with three other Reverences all at the same time, and three more before they took their Seats, which were brought them by a young page, Comrade to him whom Helen had locked up safe in the Closet; but these three last Reverences were so extraordinary, that they effaced the remembrance of the former. The Courteous soul of our old Gentleman was strangely surprised at so odd a Scene, the Ladies took their Seats, and Montafar and the little Lackey retired bareheaded towards the door. The gouty Cavalier was at his wits end to find them compliments, and he afflicted himself at their mourning, before he knew the cause of it, which he entreated them to let him know, as likewise the reason why they did him the honour of a visit at so unusual an hour for persons of their condition. Helen, who needed not to be informed what a strange efficacy and persuasion there is in tears that come from beautiful eyes, immediately poured out a torrent of tears, intermixed with violent sobs and sighs, raising and falling the tone of her voice as she saw most proper. She discovered ever and anon her white hands, with which she wiped her tears, and sometimes showed her face, to let him see she was as beautiful as afflicted. The old Gentleman expected with impatience when she would open, and began now to hope it, for that impetuous flood of tears, which had overflowed her charming Field of Lilies and Roses, was in a manner stopped, when the venerable Mendez, who judged it convenient to reassume this mournful harmony, which the other had finished, began to weep and sob, and lay about her with that violence, that it was a misfortune and shame to Helen that she did not grieve enough. The old Matron did not stop here, but resolving to outdo Helen, thought that to tear a handful or two of her Hair, would not have an ill effect upon the Audience. It was no sooner thought of, but done: she committed most horrible ravage upon her Locks, but in truth this was no mighty loss to her, for there was not one single hair of the growth of her head. After this manner did Helen and Mendez strive who should exceed the other, when Montafar and the Lackey, at a signal concerted between them, began a doleful Consort at the Door, and wept and sighed so cruelly, that one would have thought they designed to outrival the two pensive Ladies near the Bed; who by this new striking up of the Chorus, began to play their parts so furiously, as if they had been too remiss before. The old Gentleman was almost distracted, to see them weep so immoderately, yet know nothing of the occasion. He wept however to keep them company, as well as he could, sobbed as strenuously as the best of them, and conjured the afflicted Ladies by all that was good and sacred, by their seraphical Eyes, and their celestial Charms to moderate their grief a little, and acquaint him with the cause of it; protesting, that his Life was the least thing he would hazard for their sakes, and regretting the loss of his youth, which hindered him from showing the sincerity of his Heart by his Actions.  
At these words the Sky began to clear up a little, the Countenances were not so overcast as before, and they thought that they had wept enough in all conscience, since they could weep no longer without spoiling the jest. Besides, they were good Husbands of their time, and knew that they had not a minute to lose. Our old Matron therefore lifting up her Veil above her head, to the end that her venerable looks might give her all the credit she wanted on this occasion, declaimed in the following manner. God of his Almighty Power and Goodness preserve and shield my Lord Marquis de Villefagnan from all harm, and restore him to his former health. Although to speak truth, the tragical Story we are going to tell him, is not very proper to give him joy, which is the Elixir of Health: but O●● misfortune is of that nature, that we must communicate it, At this the poor Marquis the Villefagnan striking himself with the palm of his hand upon his Thigh, and fetching: sigh from the bottom of his Heart; Heaven grant, says he, that I am mistaken, but my foreboding mind tells me, that 'tis some foolish Frolic, or rather some Extravagance of my Nephew. Go on Madam, go on, and excuse me for interrupting you. Our old Matron fell a weeping, instead of returning him an Answer, when the pensive Helen took up the Discourse. Since you know by sorrowful Experience, says she, that your Nephew is a Slave to his extravagant Appetites and have been but too often troubled to compound for his Outrages, you will make no difficulty to believe his brutal usage of me. When you unhappily sent him to Leon la●● Spring, he saw me at Church, and at this first interview said some things to me, which, had they been true, neither of us ought to have stirred out of that holy ground; myself, for fear of Justice, as being his Murderer, and he as ● dead Man, and fit to be put in his Grave He told me ● hundred times that my Eyes had killed him, and omitted none of those insinuating wheedling tricks, that Lovers employ to abuse the simplicity of poor Virgins. He followed me home to my Lodging, he road before my Windows every day, and serenaded me every night. At last, finding that all his amorous arts signified nothing, he corrupted by his Money a Black Wench, a Slave of ours, to whom my Mother had promised her liberty, and by her infernal treachery surprised me in a Garden we have in the Suburbs of the City I had none but this perfidious Maid with me: he was ● companied by a Man as wicked as himself, and had 〈◊〉 the Gardener to go to the other end of the Town under 〈◊〉 of business. What need I say more; he clapped his Poniard to my throat, and finding that my Life was less dear to me than my Honour, by the help of the Companion of his crime, he took that by force, which he could never obtain by fair promises. The Black acted the part of a distracted Woman, and the better to hid her perfidy, she wounded herself slightly in the hand, and then vanished. The Gardener returned: your Nephew affrighted at the blackness of his Crime, leapt over the Garden-wall in so much precipitation, that he dropped his Poniard, which I took up. However, this insolent young man had nothing then to fear; for not being in a condition to stop him, I had command enough over myself, to dissemble the inexpressible misfortune that had befallen me. I did all I could to appear no more concerned than I used to be. The wicked Slave was not to be seen from that moment. Soon after I lost my Mother, and I might say that I lost every thing with her, if my Aunt, whom you see there, had not been so kind as to take me to her own House, where she makes no difference between her tow beautiful Daughters and myself. There I came to be informed, that your Nephew was so far from designing to make me reparation for the injury he had done me, that he was upon the point of marrying in this City. Upon this I flew hither in the greatest haste I could, and expect, before I go out of your Chamber, that you will give me in Money or Jewels, the worth of two thousand Crowns, to settle me in some Convent; for after what I have known by fatal experience of the temper of this Cavalier, I can never bring myself to marry him, altho' he and his Relations should endeavour to persuade me by all sorts of Offers and Entreaties. I know well enough that he is to be married to night, but I'll soon stop all proceed, and raise such a hurricane, as shall make his heart ache as long as he lives, if you don't comply with my proposal: And to let you see, continued this dissembling Hypocrite, that what I have told you of your Nephew is so true, that nothing can be more, see the fatal Poniard which he clapped to my throat; and would to God he had done something more, than only threatened me with it. She began to weep afresh at the conclusion of the Story. Mendez took it in a higher Key than she, and the harmonious Consort at the Door, of which the little squeaking Lackey made the Triple, and Montafar the Bass, tuned their Pipes to admiration. Our old Gentleman, who had already but too easily believed, 〈◊〉 the greatest ch●at of her Sex had told him, no sooner saw the Poniard, but he immediately knew it to be the same he had formerly bestowed upon his Nephew. Therefore all his care was to prevent this Story's taking air, lest it should hinder the Match.  
He would have sent for him with all his Heart, but he was afraid lest some people should be so curious as to inquire into the occasion; and as 'tis natural for us to fear where we desire, he no sooner saw our afflicted Ladies rising from their Seats, and making as if they were going to break this Marriage to pieces, which he so earnestly desired, and had taken so much pains to bring about, but he ordered his Page to bring him his Cabinet, and tell out two thousand Crowns in four Pistole pieces. Montafar received them, and told them one by one, and the old Marquis having made them promise him to honour him with a visit next morning, excused himself a hundred times to the Ladies, that he was not able to wait upon them to their Chariot. Away they went very well satisfied with their visit, and ordered the Coachman to drive back to Madrid, concluding with themselves, that if they were pursued, it would be on the Road to Leon. In the mean time their Landlady finding that her Lodgers did not come home, went into their Chamber, she found the Page in the Closet, who could not imagine why they shut him up there, and she let him go about his business, because she knew him, or rather because upon enquiry she found none of her moveables missing. Those people that make a Trade of robbing, and wholly subsist by it, though they don't fear God, always fear man. They are of all Countries, and yet are of none, as having no settled habitation. As soon as they set foot in one place, they make the most on't they can, and when they have grazed it bare, remove to fresh quarters. This cursed occupation, which is learned with so much pains and danger, differs from all others in this respect, that whereas we leave the rest when we grow old, purely for want of strength to follow them, that of robbing generally leaves a man in his youth, and yet 'tis for want of living longer● One would think that the Gentlemen that follow it, must find some unaccountable charms in it, since for its sake they venture a great number of years, which are sooner or later concluded by the Hangman. Helen, Mendez and Montafar, had none of these pious reflections in their head, 〈◊〉 rather were in perpetual fears lest they should be 〈◊〉 sued. They gave the Coachman double his fare to 〈◊〉 the more haste, who, without question, did all he 〈◊〉 please his passengers that paid him so liberally; so that we may reasonably conclude, that never did any Leathern Vehicle make more expedition to Madrid Montafar was very uneasy, and showed by the many sighs that escaped from him, that he was rather in a penitential than a merry strain. Helen, who had a mind to divert his melancholy, by recounting to him the particulars of her life, which till that moment she had carefully concealed from him: Since I find thou art in such a musty humour, said she to him, I will satisfy the great longing thou hast always expressed to know who I am, and what adventures have befallen me before we came acquainted together. I could tell thee that I am descended from a noble family, and according to the vanity now predominant give myself an illustrious name, as easily as any of my neighbours; but I will be so sincere with thee, as to acquaint thee, even with the least faults of those who sent me into the world. You must know then, that my Father, of happy memory, was a Gallician by birth, a Lackey by profession, or to speak more honourably of him, a Footman. He held the memory of the Patriarch Noah in singular veneration, for his noble invention of the Vine; and were it not for his particular respect to the juice of the Grape, one might say of him that he cared but little for the vanities of this wicked world. My Mother was of Granada, to speak frankly to you, a Slave, but you know there's no contending with our destiny. She answered to the name of Mary, which her Masters gave her at her Baptisin; but she was better pleased to be called Zara, which was her Moorish name: for since I am to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, she was a Christian in complaisance and fashion; and a Moor in reality. Nevertheless she frequently confessed, but 'twas rather the sins of her Master than her own; and as she amused her Confessor not with her own failings, but with the things she was forced to suffer as a Servant, and showed him of what a meek, humble, and patiented spirit she was, the charitable old Father, who was a godly man, and judged of others by himself, believed her upon her word, commended her instead of reproving her, so that any one that had stood near enough, would have heard nothing but praises on both sides. Perhaps you are in pain to know ●ow I came acquainted with so particular a secret, and you may very well imagine that my Mother never disclosed it to ●e: but I must inform you, that I am very inquisitive in my nature, and as young as I was at that time, my Mother never confessed herself, but I got as near her as I could to overhear her confession. But to proceed, as tawny, or to express myself more properly, as black as she was, her face and shape were not disagreeable, and there were more than six Cavaliers, Commanders of red and green Crosses, that were her humble admirers, and strove who should be most in her good Graces. She was of so charitable a temper, that she granted them all they asked of her, and her gratitude to her Masters was so great, that to make them some amends for the pains they had been at in rearing her from her Childhood, she did all that lay in her power every year to give them a little Slave, Male or Female: but Heaven did not second her good intentions, and all her morly progeny, her chequered issue, I mean all the squawling Demi- Negro's of her making, died as soon as they were born. She was happier in bringing up the Children of other people. Her Masters that had lost all their own in the Cradle, got her to nurse a young Child, despaired of by the Physicians, who in a short time, by her good looking after it, and the good qualities of my Mother's Milk, was perfectly recovered of its illness, and showed all the symptoms of a long and healthful life. For this piece of service to her Family, my Mother's Mistress gave her her liberty when she died. Being now at her own disposal, she set up for washing and whitening of Linen, and succeeded so well, that in a short time there was scarce a Beau or Courtier in Madrid, that thought his Linen well washed unless it passed her hands. And now she began to practise those Lessons again, which her Mother had formerly given her, I mean to renew her acquaintance with her correspondents in the other world. She had laid aside this ticklish employment rather out of modesty, and because she was tired with the encomiums that were given her for being so well skilled in her art, than for any fear of justice, or apprehensions of the Magistrate. In short, she applied herself afresh to it, only to oblige her friends, and in a little time made so great a progress 〈◊〉 this noble Science, and acquired such a credit in the Kingdom of darkness, that Daemons of the highest reputation were not thought to be worth a farthing, if they were not in league with her. I am not vain, neither do I love to tell lies, added Helen; for which reason I will not bestow any good qualities upon my Mother which she did not possess, but I am obliged at least to pay this testimony to her virtue. The secrets which she fold, those which she revealed and her Oracles, which made her pointed at in the Streets were vulgar talents among those of her Nation, in comparison of what she knew in the Mystery of Maidenheads. That incomprehensible Flower was much better after she had lent it a helping hand, than before it was gathered, and bore a greater price at its second Edition, with my Mother's Corrections and Amendments, than at the first. She might be about forty years old, when she married my Father, the good Rodrigo. All the Neighbourhood wondered that a man who loved Wine so well, would marry a woman that never tasted it, as if she still continued a Disciple of Mahomet, and who had her hands always in water, as being a Landress by profession. But in answer to this, my Father worthily replied, that love cleared all difficulties, and made every thing easy. Some time after, her Belly swelled to her chin, and she was happily delivered of me. But this joy did not last long in our Family. I was about six years old, when a certain Prince clothed a hundred Lackeys in his own Livery against a Bull-feast. My Father was one of the number, drank a large morning's Draught, and being Pot-valiant, must needs encounter a wild Bull, who tossed him two or three story high, and tore out his Guts. I remember they made Ballads upon my Father's death, and the burden of the Song was, That two of a Trade can never agree. I did not understand the meaning on't then, but I have been informed since, that it alluded to his being a cornuted Animal like a Bull: but you know 'tis impossible to stop people's mouths, if they have a mind to prate, and vent their ill-natured mirth. My Mother was afflicted at my Father's misfortune, and so was I, she was comforted and so was her Daughter. When I was grown up, my Beauty began to make people talk of me; and Lord! what pressing and thronging there was to carry me to the Park, to the Playhouse, and to give me Collations upon the Banks of the Mansanares. My Mother watched me like a second Argos, so that I grumbled to be so confined; but she soon made me sensible that it was for my advantage. Her severity, and the high price she set upon me, enhanced the value of her Merchandise, and raised a terrible competition between those that pretended to my favours. I was as it were put up by way of Auction, each man thought he had the better of his rival, and each man fancied he had found that, which was long ago gone and vanished. A rich Genoese Merchant who courted me in private, so dazzled the eyes of my prudent Mother with his yellow Metal, and bled so plentifully, that she favoured his good intentions. He possessed the f●●st p●ace in my affection, but this superiotity proved very expensive to him. We continued faithful to him, so long as we believed he doubted us: when we found him no longer upon his Guard, we fairly duped him. My Mother was too tenderhearted, and sensible of the pains of Lovers, not to be touched with the continual complaints of these Gentlemen, who were all of them topping Cards at Court, and as rich as Croesus. 'Tis true, they did not throw their Money about them so plentifully as the Genoese, but my Mother, as she knew how to set a value upon great gains, so she did not despise the smaller; and besides, she was obliging rather out of a principle of Charity than Interest. The Genoese in short was declared a Bankrupt, and I don't know but we might lend a helping hand to his breaking. He was engaged in several scuffles and quarrels for me: The Magistrates came to visit us more out of civility than for any other reason; but my Mother had a natural aversion to the Gentlemen of the long Robe; and no less hated your Bullies and Rakehelly Red-coats, that began to besiege us. She therefore thought it expedient to remove to Sevil, turned all her Plate and Furniture into ready money, and took me with her in the Stage-Coach. We were betrayed by our villainous Coachman, robbed and stripped of all we had, and my Mother was so bruised and battered, because she defended her own Goods as long as her little strength would give her leave, that before I could drag her along with me to a wretched Inn, she gave up the Ghost at the foot of a Rock. I armed myself with resolution, although I was but very young. I bundled up every rag belonging to the old Gentlewoman, but our Thiefs had been so careful that they left me little to carry off. Thus I left her to the discretion of the next passengers, not doubting, but that upon so great Road as it was between Madrid and Sevil, some charitable Christians would come by, and take care to see her Corpse interred. I arrived at Madrid; my Lovers were acquainted with my misfortune, and in a short time I was equipped with new Rigging and Furniture. About that time I happened to meet with thee at one of my Female Companions, and I was perfectly charmed with thy good qualities. What has happened since I need not relate to thee, since we have never been asunder. We came to Toledo; we left it in haste, but made so good a Market there, that if thou art a man of that courage as I take thee to be, thou wouldst be merrier than thou art. But since this long story has made thee inclined to take a nap, as I find by thy yawning and nodding, lay thy head upon my Lap and sleep: But know, that if there is any thing good or useful in fear, 'tis before we have committed a crime, for 'tis the vilest and most dangerous quality in the world after we have done one. Fear always discomposes the minds of the guilty, in such a manner that instead of flying from those that pursue them, they throw themselves frequently into their hands. Montafar fell asleep, and the morning awaked, so beautiful and charming, that the Birds, the Flowers and the Fountains saluted her each after its manner; the Birds by singing, the Flowers by perfuming the air, and the Fountains by smiling or murmuring, no matter which, for one is as true as the other. And now the Nephew of the Marquis de Villefagnan, the sensual Don Sancho was getting up from his new Bride, tired enough in all conscience, and perhaps already glutted with the pleasures of Matrimony. He could think of nothing but the pretty stranger, I mean the dangerous Helen, whom he had seen the night before in the Stage-Coach, and fancied to be the Phoenix of her Sex; in which particular he was guilty of great injustice to his own Lady, who was very beautiful, and so amiable that several Lovers in Toledo sighed for her, while at the same time she sighed for her ungrateful Husband, and that monster of inconstancy sighed for an infamous mercenary Strumpet, that would have licked the Devil's cloven foot for half a Crown. But nothing is so irregular as our appetites. A Husband that has a pretty Wife runs after a draggle-tailed nasty Servant-wench. A Nobleman that has his Ragous' and Ortolans', despises what he sees before him, and calls for the sturdy Beef and Pottage that his Footmen dine on. All the world has a depraved taste in many things, but your men of Quality more than any. As they have more wealth than they know what to do with, and fond perplex themselves in searching after what is never to be found, they choose course ordinary things, only for variety. Thus we see they spare neither pains, nor money to purchase trifles; and sometimes court some common ●ilt a twelvemonth before they can obtain those favours of her, which she flings away upon others without ask. Heaven permits this, on purpose that they may punish themselves with an evil of their own seeking. Wretched man! on whom Heaven has bestowed those two things that contribute to make life happy, Riches in abundance, and a lovely Wife: Riches to support and relieve those that deserve, but have them not, and to secure thee from stooping to those meannesses, to which poverty often exposes the most generous souls; and a Wife that equals thee in quality, beautiful both in her body and mind, wholly perfect in thy eyes, but much more so in the eyes of others, who see farther into the affairs of their neighbour than their own; and, in short, possessed of those shining qualifications, Moderation, Chastity and Virtue. What is it thou art looking for elsewhere? hast thou not at home thy other half, thy Wife, whose wit can divert thee, who yields her body entirely to thy pleasure, who is jealous of thy Honour, frugal of thy Fortune, careful to preserve thy Estate, who gives thee Children to divert thee in their childhood, to support thee in thy old age, and to keep up thy name after thou art dead. What is it I say thou art looking for abroad? I will tell thee in a few words, to ruin thy estate and reputation, to enfeeble thy body, and lose the esteem of thy friends, and to create thyself abundance of enemies. Thinkest thou that thy honour is safe, because thou hast a virtuous Wife? Alas! thou hast little experience of the things of this world, and art little acquainted with humane frailty. The most tractable and quiet Horse in the world grows restiff under an ill Horseman and throws him to the ground. A Woman may now and then resist a temptation of doing ill, and yet commit a crime of the last consequence, when she fancies herself most upon her Guard. One fault draws many after it, and the distance between virtue and vice sometimes is not above a day or two's journey. And now methinks I see some malapert Critic cock his Hat, toss his Wig over his Shoulders, look fierce, and ask how these Moral Aphorisms come to be thus brought in hand over head. Why, pray Sir don't be so choleric; make use of them, or let them alone as you see fit; 'tis all a case to your humble Servant, I'll assure you● but under favour, Sir, methinks you ought to thank the man who gives you them for nothing. But to return to our story: Don Sancho was ready to rise from his young Wives when his Uncle's Steward brought him a Letter, wherein the old Gentleman sent him word of the strange Lady who had visited him the night before, and whom he suspected to have cheated him, because she was not to be found in any of the Inns in Toledo, where he had sent to inquire after her, and desired him in the same Letter to send him one of his Servants to pursue this notorious Cheat to Madrid whither he supposed she steered her course, because he had sent his people upon all the great Roads from Toledo to me neighbouring Cities, and could hear no news of her. 〈◊〉 Sancho was not made of Brass, or Marble. He found himself attacked in the weakest part of his Soul, and was wondrous fierce and uppish to be once in his life wrongfully accused of a fault, who had been found guilty of so many before. The loss of so great a sum, and the shame that had been put upon his Uncle equally incensed him. He told the 〈◊〉 story his Wife and some of his Relations, who came to give our married pair the good morrow, and being not to be dissuaded from his resolution by the entreaty of his Wife, or the advice of his Friends, he dressed himself in a minute, eat a little Breakfast, and ran to his Uncle's house. The Page, who had introduced Helen into the old Marquis his Chamber, described the Coach to him, informed him how many they were in company, and by what marks they might be discovered. He took post from Toledo to Madrid, attended only by two Footmen, whose courage was not unknown to him. He road four or five stages so fast, that he had no leisure to think of the Beautiful Stranger; but when his indignation was a little evaporated by his journey, Helen took place again in his fancy, but so beautiful and charming, that he was in the mind once or twice to return to Toledo to find her out. He wished himself a hundred times at the Devil, for concerning himself so far about his Uncle's Robbery; and called himself sot and blockhead, and enemy to his own pleasure as often, to fatigue himself thus in riding Post, whereas he might have employed his time to better purpose, in seeking a happiness, the possession whereof, in his opinion, would have made him the happiest man in the world. While these amorous reflections took up his thoughts, he often talked to himself, as fools use to do, and so loud, that his Servants that road before him stopped short, and turned back to inquire what he would have. Why, would he often say to himself, did I leave the place where I first beheld her, and shall not I be the most unhappy of all men, if this Stranger leaves Toledo before my return? Well, 'tis no more than what I deserve, who must take the office of a Thief-catcher upon me, unasked and unsought; but, continued he, if I return to Toledo without doing something, what will my Friends say of me, who would have dissuaded me from this enterprise, and ought I to leave those villains unpunished that have robbed my Uncle in so unheard of a manner, and besides have so perfidiously wounded my reputation? These different agitarions employed the mind of our young Extravagant, when near Xetaffe his Footman discovered Helon's Coach by the marks that had been given them. They cried out with one voice to their Master, Yonder are the Thiefs, and without staying for him, road up to the Coach with their Swords in hand. The Coachman stopped, being terribly affrighted, and Montafar was much more than he: Helen ordered him to let down the Glasses, and looked out to see how she might prevent so dangerous a storm. She saw Don Sancho riding towards her with Sword in hand, whose angry countenance promised no good; but our amorous Gentleman no sooner cast his eyes upon those two bewitching Stars, which had so terribly wounded him, but his wounds bled afresh, and he immediately believed that his Servants had mistaken; for we have always a good opinion of the person we love; and as if he had known Helen from his Cradle to have been a Lady of unblemished credit, he laid about his Footmen with his Sword like a distracted man. You Dogs, cried he, you Villains, did not I bid you have a care not to mistake; and done't you deserve to have your Throats cut for offering this rudeness to a Lady who deserves respect from all Mankind? The poor Footmen, who had fallen so hastily upon the Coach, seeing it had all the marks the Page had given them, and sound within it a Lady of so much beauty, which commands veneration even from the most brutal Clowns, kept off at a distance to avoid their Master's fury, who thought he had reason on his side for what he had done, and that he was kind to them not to cut them to pieces. Don Sancho begged Helen's pardon, and acquainted her with the occasion why those Sons of a thousand Whores his Footmen had attacked her so rudely, which she knew as well as himself. See, I beseech you Madam, says he, in what premunires these Rascals may engage their Masters; had not I happened to be with them, these Blockheads upon a few foolish marks would have set the whole Country in an uproar, raised the Mob, and by mere force have carried you to Toledo for a Thief: Not but that you are one, ● cries our Gentleman, smoothing his Countenance, but Madam, you steal hearts and nothing else. Helen thanked Heaven within herself for giving her a face that stood her in such stead, by clearing her from the wicked actions she used to commit, and recovering out of her fright, answered Don Sancho with a great deal of modesty and in few words, knowing that to take a world of pains to clear ones self of a thing that is laid to one's charge, rather increases than lessens the suspicion. Don Sancho was surprised to find that Treasure by mere accident, which he had so violently longed to see, and was such a fool as to think that Heaven favoured his passion, since it hindered him from going back to Toledo, as it had been in his thoughts, which had he done, he had missed this happiness. He asked Helen what her name was, and where she lived in Madrid, and begged her to give him leave to wait on her, that he might by his actions confirm the services he offered her. Helen told him both false; adding, that she should think herself very happy to be honoured with his visits. He offered to see her safe home, but she would by no means consent to it, representing to him that she was married, and that her Husband was to meet her on the Road, and whispered him in the ear, that she was afraid even of her Domestics, but much more of her Husband's jealous temper. This small confidence she seemed to repose in him made Don Sancho believe that she did not hate him. He took his leave of her, and carried swifter by his hopes than by his trusty Steed (if I may be allowed so to express myself) made the best of his way to Madrid. He no sooner arrived there, but he enquired after Helen, and her habitation, by the marks she had given him. His Footmen were foundered in looking after her, nay, he employed all his friends upon this occasion, but to no purpose. When Helen, Montafar, and the venerable Mendez came to Madrid, their first care was how to get out of it. They knew well enough that it would be impossible for them to escape the Toledo Cavalier, and that if they stayed to give him a more particular knowledge of their merits, they should find him as dangerous an enemy, as than they took him to be their humble admirer. Helen disposed of all her moveables, and the next day after her arrival bought Pilgrims habits for herself and companions. In this equipage they beat the hoof towards Burgos, where Mendez was born, and where she had a Sister of her own profession still living. In the mean time, Don Sancho lost all hopes of meeting with Helen, and returned to Toledo, but so confounded and ashamed, that he did not speak one word from Madrid till he came to his own house. After he had saluted his Wife, who gave him a thousand caresses, she showed him a Letter from his Brother, who lived in one of the finest Cities in Spain, where he had very good preferment in the Cathedral Church, and was one of the richest Clergymen in all the Country, wherein he sent him word that he was at the point of death. So he stayed but a night at Toledo, and took post, either to contribute to his Brother's recovery, or in case he died, to take possession of his Estate. In the mean time Helen pursued her Journey to Burgos, being as much dissatisfied with Montafar, as she had formerly loved him. He had shown so little bravery, when Don Sancho and his Footman stopped their Coach, that she did not question but that he was a rank Coward. This rendered him so odious to her, that she could scarce endure his sight, her thoughts were wholly employed how to deliver herself from this domestic Tyrant, and she flattered herself with hopes that she should soon get out of his clutches. It was the venerable Mendez that first put it into her head, and fortified this pious resolution, with all the reasons her prudence could suggest to her. This industrious Matron was vexed to the heart to see a lazy useless Lubber command her, govern Helen, and enjoy all the fruits of their labour, while he did nothing himself. She incessantly represented to Helen the unhappiness of her condition, which she compared to that of Slaves working in the Mines, who every their Masters with the Gold they dig out of the Earth with incredible labour and hardship, and instead of being the betber treated for it, are commonly rewarded with drubs and bastinadoes: She continually preached to her, that Beauty was a good of a short duration, and that her Looking-glass, which showed her nothing now but what was amiable, and never spoke to her but to her advantage, would in a short time present her with a sight that would not please her, and tell her most dismal news. Madam, says she to her, a woman that has seen thirty, loses every sixth month one of her charms, and sees some new blemish or wrinkle rise up every day in judgement against her face and body. That wicked thing called Time makes young women old, and old women wrinkled. If a woman that has enriched herself at the expense of her Chastity and Reputation, yet is for all that despised by the world, notwithstanding her wealth and fortune, think how wretched and miserable she must needs be, if she joins poverty to infamy; and what reason has she to flatter herself that any one will relieve her in her misery? If with the Money you have acquired by certain means that are not approved by all the world, you should free an honest fellow out of Jail and marry him, you would do an action pleasing to God and man, and the end of your life would make some sort of atonement for the beginning of it: but you throw away yourself and all that you have upon a Rascal, who is as villainous as he is cowardly, who makes it his sole ambition to fleece poor women, whom he only gains by his menaces, and keeps under by his Tyranny; now, under the Rose be it spoken, this is to squander away ones wealth, on purpose to make one's self the greatest wretch alive, and to take pains to advance one's ruin. By these and such like discourses the judicious Mendez, who knew much better how to talk than act, endeavoured to turn the Heroic Montafar out of the good affections of the virtuous Helen, who had no other reason almost for loving him, but because she had been so long used to his company, and who was a woman of too good sense not to approve those reasons in her own thoughts, that the old Matron laid before her. In short, they were not urged to no purpose. Helen received them in good part, and so much the more readily, as Mendez's interest alone was not concerned in them; and because at that time Montafar was coming up to them, that they might enter Guadarrama in a body, the place where they intended to dine, they adjourned to a more convenient opportunity, their thinking of ways and means how to give him the slip, and get rid of him. He seemed to ●e very much disgusted all dinner time, and going to ●ise from Table was seized with a great shivering, and afterwards a violent Fever, which held him the rest of the day and all night, and increasing upon him next morning, gave Helen and Mendez some hopes that this lucky Distemper might assist their designs. Montafar finding himself so weak that he was hardly able to crawl, gave our Ladies to understand that they must not stir out of Guadarrama, that ●hey must send for a Doctor whatever it cost, and must take ●ll imaginable care of him. He spoke this with as much ●aught●●ess and authority, as if he had talked to his Slaves, ●nd was master of their Lives as well as their Money. In ●he mean time the Fever found a way to his Pericranium, ●nd brought him to so low a condition, that if he had not ●all'd now and then for drink, one would have sworn he had been as dead as a door nail. The people of the Inn wondered why they delayed so long to send for a Confessor to him, when Helen and Mendez, who did not doubt but this Fe●er would give him a lift into the other world, sat on both sides of his Bed, where Helen began the discourse as follows. ●f thou canst remember, my dear Montafar, in what manner thou hast always lived with me, to whom thou hast all ●he obligations imaginable, and likewise with Mendez, ●enerable for her age and virtue, thou may'st easily imagine, that I shall not very much importune Heaven to restore thee to thy health: but although I should desire it as hearty as I have just reason to wish for thy death, yet the will of Heaven must be done for all me, and I ought to offer up ●o it with the utmost resignation what I loved most. To deal frankly with thee (for this is not a time to dissemble) both of us began to be so weary of thy Tyranny, that our parting was not to be avoided, and if providence had not kindly visited thee with this sickness, which will soon do thy business (for know to thy consolation that thou art riding full gallop to another world) we would have endeavoured at least to have settled in some place in Spain, where we would have no more thought of thee than if thou hadst never had a being. In short, whatever foolish desire thou mayst have to live, thou oughtest to be very well pleased with thy death, since Heaven, for reasons unknown to men, gives thee a more honourable end than thou dost deserve, permitting a Fever to do that for thee, which either the Hangman does for such Villains, or fear for such mean-spirited Rascals as thou art. But my dear Montafar, before we part for good and all, tell me sincerely once in thy life, Didst thou ever think I was such an errand fool as to stay here to watch thee a nights, to give thee thy Juleps, thy Potions, thy Cordials, and administer thy Clysters. Don't suffer such vanities as these to come into thy noddle so near death, Tho it concerned not only thy health, but that of thy whole family, I would not stay here a quarter of an hour longer. Cause thyself to be carried to some Hospital, and since thou hast always followed my advice, don't despise this, which 〈◊〉 the last thou art like to have from me. I mean, my poo● Montafar, don't send for a Physician, for he will most assuredly forbid thee Wine, and that alone, without the help of a Fever, is enough to kill thee in twenty four hours. While Helen talked, the charitable Mendez ever now and then felt Montafars pulse, put her hand on his Forehead, and finding that her Mistress had done, she thus reassum'd● the discourse. In truth, Signior Montafar, your head is as hot as a Glass-house, and I am mightily afraid that this distemper will carry you off without giving you leave to reflect on your past life. Take me therefore this Chaplet, added she, and run over your Beads devoutly till your Confessor comes. This will do full as well for the discharge of your Conscience. But if we may believe the Annalists of the Hangman of Madrid, that have so often employed their Pens to describe your gallant Exploits, your Excellence● exemplary life will not require much repentance; besides Heaven will reckon to you without doubt the dolorous perambulation you made in the principal Streets of Sevil, i● the sight of so many people, and guarded by so many Offic●● on Horseback, that one would taken you for the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 but that he always marches at the head of them, and you were content at that time to march in the rear. And what may further help to wipe off your Scores, is your notable life at Sea, where for six years together, you did abundance of things pleasing to your Maker, working much, eating little, and always in action and what is more consideable, you were scarce twenty years old, when to the great edification of the Neighbourhood, you began that holy Pilgrimage. Nor is this all, says our ancient Matron, for it is ●ot to be supposed, but that you will be amply rewarded in other World, for the care you have taken in this, that the women that live with you should not be lazy and unactive, ●aking them maintain themselves, not only by the labour of ●heir hands, but by the sweat of their whole body. After ●ll, if you die in your bed, it must be an inexpressible conflation to you, that you will put a pleasant cheat upon the ●dge of Murcia, who swore a great Oath that he would ●ake you die in your shoes, who expects to have the satis●hction to see you cut capers in the air, and will be ready 〈◊〉 hang himself, when he comes to hear that you were so ●alicious as to die of yourself, without the help● of a ●ird Man. But I lose time in talking to thee, not considering that 'tis high time to begin our Journey, which ●e so earnestly desire: And therefore, old Friend of mine, ●ceive this Embrace with as good a heart as I give it, for ●am of opinion, that we shall see one another no more, as soon as she had concluded this comfortable speech, Men●z threw her Arms about his Neck, Helen did the same, ●d thus they went out of the Chamber, and soon after out 〈◊〉 the Inn. Montafar, who had been accustomed to their ●illery, and could return them a Rowland for their Oliver ●on occasion, thought that they had said all this only with design to divert him, and had not the least suspicion of ●em when he saw them quit the Room, fancying to him●f, that they were gone down to make him some Water●uel or Posset-drink. After this he fell into a slumber, and ●o he could not be properly said to be fast asleep, yet it held ●m so long, that our Damosels were got a league of their ●ay before he awaked. He asked the Woman of the Inn here they were, who told him that they were gone, and ●d given her Orders not to disturb him, because he had not ●pt a wink the night before. Montafar then began to beeve that the Lasses had left him in good earnest. He cursed 〈◊〉 Innkeeper and Inn to the pit of Hell, he threatened even ●e ground they walked upon, and the Sun that gave them light. He must needs rise to put on his clothes, but was so feeble that he had like to have broke his Neck. The good Hostess endeavoured to excuse the two Damosels, and backed what she said with such impertinent reasons, that it set out sick Man a raving like one distracted, and he called her all the vile Names he could think of. He was so vexed, that he would not eat a Morsel in four and twenty hours; and this no-diet joined, with plenty of Choler, had that good effect upon him, that after he had recruited himself with 〈◊〉 little Water-gruel, he found himself lusty enough to pursue his fugitive Slaves. They were got two days journey before him; but two hackney Mules, that were sending back to Burgos furthered his design, as much as they ruin'd that of our two pretended Pilgrims. He overtook them within s●● or seven Leagues of Burgos, they changed Countenance a● soon as they saw him, and excused themselves as well as they were able. Montafar did not seem to be in the jest angry with them, so great was his joy to have them in his Clutche● He laughed as hearty as they did at this merry frolic o● theirs, and acted his part so well, that they believed him i● their Souls to be a down right passive Blockhead. He per●swaded them that they had lost the road to Burgos, an● leading them among some Rocks, where he very well knew that no body would come to interrupt him, he put his ha●● upon a Baggoner, to which they had always paid a world o● respect, and told them, like a merciless Devil as he wa● that they must immediately deliver all their Gold and S●●ver, and Jewels. At first they believed that their te●● would accommodate the business. Helen threw her Ar●●● about his Neck, and wept most plentifully; but our Cancelier was so haughty, now he had them in his power, that 〈◊〉 was deaf to all their Prayers and Entreaties, and signi'yed 〈◊〉 them his last will and pleasure, which was, that they mu●● surrender up all to him in a quarter of an hour; otherwise they knew what to expect. Thus our poor Damoseis 〈◊〉 forced to sacrifice their Purses to their safety, and it was 〈◊〉 the last regret that they parted with their Money, whi●● they loved so passionately. But Montafar's revenge did 〈◊〉 stop here, for he produced certain things called Cords, 〈◊〉 which he had purposely provided himself; and binding 〈◊〉 of them to a Tree, just over against one another, he 〈◊〉 them with a treacherous smile, that knowing how rem●●● and negligent they had been in doing penance for the sins, he was resolved to give them holy discipline with 〈◊〉 own hands, that they might remember him in their 〈◊〉 He executed his pious design with some Broom-branches, and after he had satisfied himself at the expense of their backs, he sat himself down between these two meek-hearted sufferers, and turning himself towards Helen, he spoke to her as follows. My dear Helen, take not in ill part what I have done, but consider my good Intention, and know that every one is bound in conscience to follow his own Vocation: 'tis thine to be malicious; for alas, the World is composed of bad as well good, and 'tis mine to punish the malicious. Whether I have acquitted myself as I ought, thou knowest better than any one; and if I have hearty chastised thee, be satisfied that I as hearty love thee. If my duty did not render me deaf to all pity, I would not leave so virtuous and honourable a Damosel naked and tied to a Tree, to the mercy of the next Passenger. Thy Illustri●ous Birth, with which thou didst lately acquaint me, deserves another destiny; but thou wilt own, I know, that thou wouldst do the same that I have done, if thou wert in my place. What falls out most unlucky for thee is, that being so public as thou art, thou wilt be soon known; and ●tis to be feared that our Magistrates, out of a Maxim of policy, will order this wicked Tree, to which thou art as it were incorporated, to be burnt, together with the wicked Fruit it produces; but know, to thy great comfort, that if thy wicked Actions put thee now in bodily fear, the time will come, when it will be a pleasure to thee to relate them, and when among thy other laudable qualities, thou wilt possess that of being able to pass a long Winter night, and set●ing folks asleep with the recital of thy famous Exploits. But should give the good Mendez just occasion to complain of ●ny unkindness, should I address my discourse any longer to ●hee, without taking notice of her: Nay, I should be wanting in my duty to my Neighbour, if I should not in charity give her some advice, that may be useful to her in ●he present posture of her affairs. They are, continueth he, ●nd turning himself towards Mendez, in a worse condition ●han you imagine, let me persuade you therefore, to recommend yourself seriously to your Maker, once in your life at ●ast, since your old foundered Carcase will scarce be able to ●●pport the fatigue of this day; and On! that my Prayers 〈◊〉 as easily procure you a Confessor, as 'tis certain that 〈◊〉 want one. Not but that your exemplary life may leave our Conscience in repose; you have been so public-spirited ●d charitable all your days, that instead of censuring 〈◊〉 magnifying the faults of others, you have repaired those of a Thousand young Maidens; and since you have taken such pains to study the most darkest and most concealed Sciences, ought you not to be commended for it? 'Tis true, the Inquisition has no great kindness for you upon this score, nay, and has given you some public marks of its displeasure, but you know 'tis composed of wicked men, and that 'tis natural for people of the same profession to hate one another. This is not all, for those Gentlemen have a very ill opinion of your Salvation; but although what they say should be true, yet a little time will reconcile one to the worst place that is, even to Hell itself, where you may take it for granted, that you will receive all imaginable marks of civility from the Inhabitants, having conversed and dealt with them from your infancy. I have one word more to say to you, and I have done: I might have chastised you, Madam, after another manner, but I considered that old people, according to the Proverb turn Children again, that your Ladyship is old enough to be in your first state of innocence, and therefore whipping was more proper for the little trick of youth you played me, than any other chastisement. And thus Ladies I take my leave of you, earnestly desiring you to have a care of your dear persons Having raillied them in this fashion, good or bad, as the Reader pleases, away he went, and left them rather dead than alive, not so much for the grief of their having been whipped, as because all their Money was gone, and they were left in a lonely place tied to Trees, where they must expect to be devoured by Wolves. With these Melancholy contemplations in their heads, as they were looking sorrowfully at one another, without saying a word, a Hare crossed the Road before them, and some time after a Greyhound thundering after poor Puss, and a Cavalier well mounted thundering after the Greyhound. Who should this Cavalier be but Don Sancho de Villefagnan, who had made a Journey to Burgos to see his sick Brother, and kept him Company at a Country house not far from thence, whither he had retired to take the fresh air: He was extremely surprised to behold two women thus bound to their good behaviour, but much more so, when he found one of them to resemble the beautiful stranger whom he had seen 〈◊〉 Toledo, whom he searched after at Madrid, and whom he had ever since perpetually in his mind. Being firmly perswade● that she was a woman of Quality and married, he doubte● whether this was she, for he could not imagine what should bring her into that part of the world in so wretcheed an equipage; But Helen's Face having lost nothing of its former Beauty, although somewhat disordered by her fright, made him conclude, that he at last had accidentally met with that treasure, which had cost him so many desires and inquietudes. So he raised himself upon his Stirrups to see whether the Coast was clear, and was fool enough to suspect that this was nothing but a Diabolical Illusion, which Heaven had permitted to punish him for his sensuality. Helen on her side was taken up with a thought full as mortifying, and fancied that her ill Stars had chosen that unlucky day, to show her to all those that had any thing to say to her. Don Sancho looked upon Helen with great amazement, and she looked upon him with no less disorder; each expected when the other would speak first, and Don Sancho at last was going to begin the discourse, when a Servant came full speed to tell him, that ●ome of his Relations were going to ●ill one another. Upon this he spurred his Beast, attended by the Servant; and when he came to the place where a left his Company, he found some four or five drunken Fellows, calling one another Rogue and Rascal, with their Tilters in their Hands, and flourishing them notably in the air, to the prejudice of some Neighbouring Trees, that lost some of their best branches upon this occasion. Don Sancho, who was enraged to be deprived of the charming Vision he had so lately seen, did all he could to reconcile these furious and terrible Gentlemen; but all his Arguments, his Entreaties and his Menaces had signified little or nothing, had not the Wine that overloaded their Brains, and down right lassitude tripped up their Heels, and left 'em snoring on the ground, as peaceably as if they had never fallen out. Don Sancho spurred his Horse towards the happy Tree, which kept the Idol of his heart, and was at his wits ends, when he saw the Women were gone: He turned his eyes all about him, to see which way they could be gone, but saw nothing but a lonely melancholy place; he spurred his Horse and examined every cornere, and at last came back to his beloved Tree, which like a good natured Tree as it was, still kept its old place. But as Don Sancho was a Poet, and what is more, a tenderhearted whining Poet, he had not the same indifference for this insensible Tree. He alighted therefore from his Horse, and harangued it after the following manner, or at least he ought to have done so, if he was really so great a Coxcomb, as I have been told he was. Oh thrice happy Trunk! since thou hast had the honour to be embraced by that divine Creature, whom I love without knowing her, and whom I know only because I love her. May thy Leaves for ever shine among the Stars; let the sacrilegious Axe never presume to wound thy tender Bark; may the Thunder reverence thy Boughs, and the worms of the Earth not dare to approach thy root; let the Winter spare, and the Spring adorn thee; let the proudest Pines envy thy condition, and lastly, may Heaven protect thee. While our worthy Gentleman spent himself in these vain contemplations, or if you please, in these Poetical follies, which, by the by, are of greater importance than any other, and ought not to be used every day in the week, his Servants, who knew not what was become of him, after they had looked for him a pretty while, at last found him and brought him home. He returned to his Brother's House very much concerned at his late adventure; and unless I am mistaken, I have heard some people say, that he went supperless to bed. Some Critics perhaps will tell me, that I have left my Reader too long in suspense, who without question is impatient to know by what strange Enchantment Helen and Mendez came to disappear to the amorous Don Sancho. But let him have patience, and I will soon inform him. Montafar was at first pleased with that piece of justice he had done upon the two Fugitives; but no sooner did the heat of his revenge begin to cool, but love inflamed him, and represented Helen to his thoughts, infinitely more charming than he had ever seen her. He considered with himself, that the prize he had taken from her would be soon spent, whereas her Beauty was a certain revenue to him, so long as he kept well with her, whose absence was already become insupportable to him. So he came back the same way he went, and with those individual barbarous hands, that had so rigorously bound the two Dames to the Trees, and afterwards had so unmercifully lashed them, he broke their Chains, that is to say, he either cut or untied their Cords, (for Historians differ) and set them at liberty, at the same time when Don Sancho was employed not far off, to reconcile his drunken Companions, that were in a fair way to cut one another's throats. Montafar, Helen and Mendez shook hands upon the road, and after they had mutually promised to forget all that was pas●, embraced with as much tenderness, as if nothing had happened; doing just as your'great persons do, who neither hate nor love, but accommodate these two contrary Passions to their Interest, and the present state of their affairs, They deliberated which way to take, and 'twas agreed, Nemin● Contradicente, that it was by no means adviseable for them to go to Burgos, where they would be in danger of having their quarters beaten up by the Toledo Cavalier. Therefore they pitched upon Sevil to be the place of their retreat, and Fortune seemed to approve their design; for coming into the Madrid road, they met a Muleteer with three empty Mules, who agreed to carry them to Sevil, at the very first proposal that Montafar made him. He took care to regale our Damsels upon the road, to make them forget the ill treatment they had received from his hands. At first they could hardly bring themselves to trust him, and had resolved to be revenged on him the first opportunity that presented itself; but at last, rather for reasons of State, than any principle of charity, they became better Friends than ever. They considered that discord had ruined the greatest Empires, and believed that they were in all probability born for one another. They did not think fit to give any specimen of their Profession upon the road to Sevil; for as their design in shifting their Country, was only to get at a distance from those that might pursue them, they were afraid of bringing themselves into new trouble, which might hinder them from going to Sevil, where they had great designs to put in execution. They alighted within a league of the City, and having satisfied the Muleteer, got thither about the dusk of the Evening, and took up their Lodging at the first Inn they found. Montafar hired a House, furnished it with very ordinary Furniture, and dressed himself all in black, with a Cassock, and a long Cloak of the same colour. Helen took the Habit of a Religious Sister, that had devoted herself to works of Piety. Mendez went dressed like a Saint, valuing herself upon her hoary locks, and a huge monstrous Chaplet, each Bead of which was big enough to load a Demi-culverin. The very next day after their arrival, Montafar showed himself in the Streets, apparelled as I have already described him, marching with his Arms across, and looking on the ground when he met any Women. He cried out with a shrill voice that was enough to have rend a Rock, blessed be the holy Sacrament of the Altar, and the thrice happy Conception of the Immaculate Virgin, and uttered many more devout Exclamations, with the same everlasting Lungs of leather. He made the Children whom he met in the street repeat the same words, and assembled them sometimes together, to teach them to sing Hymns and Songs of Devotion, and instruct them in their Catechism. He repaired to the Goals, and preached before the Prisoners, comforting some, and relieving others, begging Victuals and other Provisions for them, and frequently walking to the Prison with a heavy Basket upon his back. O detestable Villain! thou wanted'st nothing but to set up for a Hypocrite, to be the most profligate accomplished Rascal in the Universe. These actions of Virtue, in a fellow that was the least virtuous of all Mankind, gave him in a little time the reputation of a Saint. Helen and Mendez likewise did all that in them lay to deserve Cononization. The one called herself the Mother, the other the Sister of the thrice blessed Friar Martin. They went every day to the Hospitals, and there they assisted the sick, made their Beds, washed their Linen, and did all this at their own expense. By these means the most vicious people of all Spain obtained the universal admiration of all Sevil. About this time, a Gentleman of Madrid happened to come thither about some private Affairs. He had formerly been one of Helen's Lovers, for women of her character have more than one string to their bow: He knew Mendez to be a notorious Cheat, and Montafar to be no better. One day as they came out of the Church together, encompassed by a great number of persons, who kissed their very garments, and conjured them to remember them in their prayers, they were known by the aforesaid Gentleman, who burning with a Christian zeal, and not able to suffer three such notorious Impostors to abuse the credulity of a whole City, broke through the Crowd, and giving a hearty box on the ear to Montafar, You wicked Cheats, cried he to them, do you neither fear God nor man? He would have said more, but his good intention, which in truth was somewhat of the rashest, had not the success it deserved. All the people fell upon him, whom they believed to have committed Sacrilege, in offering this violence to their Saint. He was beaten down to the ground, and had certainly been torn to pieces by the Mob, if Montafar by a wonderful presence of mind had not undertaken his protection; covering him with his body, keeping off those that were most enraged against him, and exposing himself even to th●●● blows. My Brethren, cried he to them as loud as he was able, let the poor wretch alone for the love of God; be quiet for the love of the Blessed Virgin. These few words appeased this horrible tempest, and the people made room for Brother Martin, who got up to the unfortunate Gentleman, well pleased in his heart to see him so used, but showing by his looks that he was mightily concerned for him. He raised him up from the ground, he embraced and kissed him all covered with blood and dirt as he was, and reprimanded the people for their rude behaviour. I am a wicked man, said he to the standers by, I am a sinner, I am one that never did any thing that was pleasing in the eyes of God. Do you believe, continued he, because you see me dressed in this Religious garb, that I have not been a Robber all my life, the scandal of others, and the destruction of myself? Alas you are mistaken, my Brethren: make me the mark of your contumelies, pelt me with Stones, and draw your Swords upon me. Having spoken these words with a counterfeit sorrow, he went to throw himself with a zeal yet more counterfeit than that, at the feet of his Enemy, and kissing them, not only begged his pardon, but likewise gathered up his Sword, Cloak and Hat, which he had lost in this confusion. He helped him on with them, and leading him by the hand to the end of the Street, took his leave of him, after he had bestowed abundance of embraces, and as many benedictions upon him. The poor man was as it were out of himself with what he had seen, and with what had been done to him, and was so full of confusion, that he durst scarce show his head in the Streets all the while his affairs detained him at Sevil. Montafar had won the hearts of all the City by this pretended action of Devotion. The people gazed at him with admiration, and the Children cried after him, a Saint, a Saint, as they cried out a Fox, a Fox, when they saw his Enemy in the Street. From this moment he lived the happiest life in the world: The Nobleman, the Cavalier, the Magistrate, and the Prelate perpetually invited him to Dinner, and strove who should have most of his company. If he was asked his name, he would answer, that he was a beast of Burden, a sink of Filth, a vessel of all Iniquity, and such like noble Attributes did his counterfeit devotion dictate to him. When he visited any of the Ladies, he complained to them incessantly of the nothingness of his dispensation, and the deadness of the inward man; adding, that he wanted concentration of heart, and recollection of Spirit; in short, he always talked to them in this magnificent cant, and holy Gibberish. No alms were given in Sevil but what passed through his hands, or those of Helen and Mendez, who were not wanting on their side, to act their parts to admiration, and stood as fair to obtain the red-lettered preferment of the Almanac, I mean to be Sainted, as Montafar himself. A Lady of quality who was a Widow, and devout even to superstition, sent 'em every day two dishes of Meat for their Dinner, and as many for Supper, and these dishes were dressed by the best Cook in all Sevil. Their house was too little to receive the numerous presents that were sent to them: A woman that had a mind to be with child put her petition into their hands, that by their mediation it might be presented to the Tribunal of Heaven: Another that had a Son in the Indies did the same, as likewise a third that had a brother prisoner in Algiers. Nay, the poor Widow who had to contest with a powerful adversary before an ignorant or a covetous Judge, did not doubt the success of her cause, when she had once made a present to them according to her ability. Some gave them Sweetmeats and Conserves, others Pictures and ornaments for their Closet. Several charitable persons trusted them with great quantities of Linen and Woollen Cloth, to dispose among the needy that were ashamed to beg, and with considerable sums of Money to distribute as they saw convenient. No one came to visit them with empty hands, and their future Canonization was as firmly believed as an Article of Faith. At last, the the credulity of the people ran so high, that they came to consult them about their doubtful affairs, and things to come. Helen, who was as subtle as a Devil, managed all the answers, delivering her Oracles in a few words, and those capable of receiving different interpretations. Their beds were mean and homely, covered in the day time with course Blankets, but at night with all the fine Furniture that a man could desire, that loves to sleep deliciously; their house being plentifully furnished with good Featherbeds, fine Coverlids, and in short, with all sorts of Movables that contribute to the convenience and pleasure of life: and all this they pretended was to be given to some poor Widow, whose Goods were seized in Execution, or to furnish some young Woman's house, who had married without any fortune. Their doors were shut up in Winter at five, and in Summer at seven a clock, as punctually as in a well-regulated Convent; and then the Jack was wound up, the Spits turned merrily round, the Capons were set down to the Fire, the Table was handsomely spread, and our Hypocritical Triumvirate eat hearty, and drank plentifully their own healths, and those of the people they cheated. Montafar and Helen lay together for fear of Spirits, and their Footman and the Maid, that were of the same complexion, copied so pious an example. As for the good Mendez, she always lay alone, being more taken up with contemplation than action, even since she had addicted herself to the Black Art. This was their constant practice of life, instead of employing their time in mental prayer, or doing penance. 'Tis no wonder if living so jolly a life, they looked plump and fat. All the City blessed Heaven for it, and were mightily surprised that persons of so much austerity and self-denial looked better than those that lived in luxury and ease. For the space of three years they deceived the eyes of all the Inhabitants of Sevil, receiving presents from every one; and appropriating to their own use the alms that passed through their hands, they heaped together an incredible number of Pistoles. All good success was ascribed to the efficacy of their prayers; they stood Godfathers for all Children, made matches for all the City, and were the Arbitrators of all differences. At last Heaven was weary of conniving longer at their impious life. Montafar, who was choleric in his temper, used frequently to beat his Valet, who cou●d not bear it, and had quitted his service a hundred times, if Helen, who was more discreet than her Gallant, had not prevented it, by appeasing him with fair words and presents. One day he drubbed him immoderately for little or no reason; the Boy got to the door, and blinded by his passion, ran directly to the Magistrates, to inform against these three Hypocrites, whom the world took for Saints. Helen's diabolical Spirit misgave her what would happen, so she advised Montafar to rub off with all the Gold they had in the house, and retire to some place of security, till this Tempest, which threatened them, had spent itself. It was no sooner said but put in execution: They carried off the most valuable things they had, and walking down the Street as unconcerned as if they dreaded nothing, they went out at one gate, and came in at another, on purpose to lose the scent of their Pursuers. Montafar had insinuated himself into the good graces of a Widow, as vicious and as rank a Hypocrite as himself. He had communicated this secret to Helen, who was no more jealous of this Matron, than Montafar would have been of a Gallant, that would have promoted the good of their little Commonwealth. Here they absconded in safety, and lived luxuriously, the Widow loving Montafar for his own sake, and Helen for Montafar's. In the mean time the Justice was conducted by the vindicative Valet to the famed Mansion of our pretended Saints. When he came there he found the Birds were flown, and the Maid was not able to inform him whither they were gone: However, he sealed up all their Trunks, and took an exact Inventory of all that was in the House. The Sergeants found more Provision in the Kitchen, than would serve to regale them one day, and you may be sure took care to lose nothing of what they might privately sink to their own use without being observed. In the midst of this bustle the venerable Mendez entered the House, little imagining what had happened. The Sergeants apprehended her, and carried her to prison with a vast concourse of people at her heels. The Servant and Maid were likewise sent thither to bear her company, and having talked too much, as well as the old Matron, they were condemned as well as she, to receive two hundred lashes on the back. Mendez died three days after this Chastisement, it being somewhat of the severest for a person of her age, and the Servant and Maid were banished Sevil for their lives. Thus the foreseeing Helen preserved her dearly beloved Montafar, and herself from the hands of the Magistrates, who sear●chd after them in vain, both within and without the City. The people were all ashamed to be so notoriously cheated, and the Ballad-singers who, had sung their praises the week before, employed their Hackney-Sonnetiers to expose these pretended Saints in lamentable Doggerel. These Infects of Parnassus exhausted all their little Stock of scandal upon this subject, and the wretched Rhymes they composed against these godly Cheats, who, not long before were the Idols of the people, are still sung in Sevil. Montafar and Helen took the Road to Madrid, as soon as they could do it with safety, and arriv●d there rich, and in the circumstances of Husband and Wife. The first thing they did was, to inquire after Don Sancho de Villefagnan, and finding that he was not in Madrid, they appeared in Public; he dressed as fine as a Lord, and she in the Equipage of a woman of quality, and as beautiful as an Angel. She was married to Montafar, as has been said above, but it was upon this condition, that like a Husband of good sense and great patience, he should not take ill the visits of her beauty occasioned her, and she on the otherwise Promoters of a good intelligence, between the two Sexes, vulgarly called Bawds, or to speak more honourably of them women of intrigue, soon came acquainted with Helen, and directed her how to manage herself. One day they made her show herself at the Playhouse, the next day in the Park, and sometimes in the high Street of Madrid in her Coach, where bestowing a glance upon one, a smile upon another, and giving hopes to all, she soon furnished herself with a set of Lovers enough to man a Galley. Her dear Husband religiously observed every Article of the Original Contract; he encouraged his Wife's bashful Gallants by his obliging behaviour, and led them as it were by the hand to her Apartment, where he was so courteous and discreet, that he always pretended some extraordinary business or other called him out, in order to leave them by themselves. He scorned the acquaintance of any that were not, rich and would not spend their money freely, and never knocked at the door till he was assured by a certain Signal that always hung out of his window, when his virtuous Spouse was taken up in private business, that his presence would spoil no sport; and if the aforesaid Signal forbidden his coming in, he trooped off merry and well satisfied, as knowing business went on in his absence, and passed away an hour or so at some gaming Academy, where every one caressed him for his Wife's sake. Among the rest that paid Tribute to Helen, a certain Gentleman of Granada surpassed all his Competitors in his excess of love and his expenses. He was descended of so good a Family, that the Titles of his Nobility were to be found in the Archives of the Capital City of judea, and those that were particularly acquainted with his pedigree, have affirmed, that his Ancestors were the Hangmen of jerusalem, both before and after Caiphas. His great affection to Helen made him release a great number of Pistoles, ou● of an obscure Dungeon, where he had imprisoned them for many years. In a short time Helen's house was the best furnished of any in Madrid. A Coach and Four that cost her nothing the keeping, came punctually every morning to her door to receive her orders, and waited on her where she pleased to command them till night. This prodigal Lover took one of the side Boxes at the Playhouse. ●or her for a whole Twelvemonth, and scarce a day passed over ●is head, but he provided some magnificent collation for her ●●nd her Friends, at one of the Summer-houses near Madrid. Montafar who loved his belly like a Churchman, never ●all'd to make one of the number. He went as fine as a ●rince, had as much Money in his Pocket as a Clerk of the treasury, eat like a Frenchman, and drunk like a German. ●e paid a wonderful deference to our Granada Gentleman, who was so liberal of his Money, and indeed had na●rally an esteem for persons of that character. But at ●st the wind veered about, and raised a terrible storm. He●●●● now and then used to receive visits from a young Swaggering Spark, one of those furious Heroes that never made. Campaign in their lives, though they talk of nothing but slashing and killing, but live upon some wretched Harlot, whom they insult at discretion, who go every day to the Playhouse, to pick Pockets, or make quarrels there, and at night draw their Swords and hack them against some passive wall, swearing next morning that they were engaged in a dangerous rencontre the night before with at least half a dozen Bullies at once. The sage Montafar often told Helen, that he was not pleased to see such a visitant in his house, from whom they could expect nothing; but for all he could say to her, she was not in the mind to part with her Gallant. Montafar was angry with her, and to make himself some amends out of her Carcase, treated her with the same chastisement, which Mendez of happy memory and she had formerly suffered in the Mountains of Burgos. Helen pretended to be easily reconciled to him, but meditated revenge in her heart. The better to accomplish her design, she caressed him so lovingly for eight days together, that Montafar persuaded himself she was one of those tractable women that adore their Tyrants, and use their humble Servants scurvily. One day that our Granada Gallant had promised to sup with them, but by reason of some unexpected business, could not come to the noble entertainment he had provided for them, Montafar and Helen drank hand to fist several Bumpers to their Benefactor, to whom they were obliged for all this good cheer. Montafar got fuddled according to his laudable custom, and towards the end of the repast, must needs taste a Bottle of perfumed Hipocrass, which the Gentleman had sent them as an extraordinary present. It is not certainly known whether Helen, who opened the Bottle before Supper, put any poisonous Drugs into it: but this is agreed on all hands, that soon after Montafar had emptied it, he felt a strange heat in his Bowels, and intolerable pains after that. He suspected that he was poisoned, and ran towards his Sword, at the same time that Helen ran towards the door, to avoid his fury. Montafar went in to his Chamber, thinking she had hid herself there, and lifting up the Tapestry, he discovered Helen's young Gallant, who without any more ceremony whipped him through the Guts. Montafar, though h● had received his death's wound, held him fast by the throat. The Servants made such a hellish noise with crying out Murder, that the Justice coming that way ran into the house, just as the young Bravo, who had done Montafar's business for him, was making his escape. In the mean time Helen, who had got into the Street, and knew not which way to take, ran into the first house she found open. She saw a light in a lower room, and a Cavalier walking up and down in it. Without ask him any questions, she threw herself at his Feet to implore his assistance and protection, and was strangely surprised to find it was Don Sancho de Villefagnan, who on his part was no less astonished to see the Idol of his heart, this being the fourth time of his meeting with her by accident. Don Sancho had lately fallen out with his Wife, who had procured herself to be divorced from him upon the score of his ill usage of her, and his disorderly life. He had obtained a Commission at Court to go and settle a new Colony in the Indies, and was to embark at Sevil in a short time. While Helen told him a thousand lies, and he was ravished to find she was ready to follow him into America: the Justice apprehended the Assassin of Montafar, and made a strict search after Helen in Madrid, and seized all that he could find in her house. Don Sancho and Helen arrived happily in the Indies, where several Adventures befell them that cannot be contained in so short a volume, and which I promise to oblige the public with, under the name of the Perfect Courtesan, or the Modern Lais, if I find the world inclined to receive it.   

NOVEL IU.  
The Innocent Adultery.  
THe Spanish Court was very much bedaggled and bemired at Valladolid, where they are as much bedaggled as they are at Paris, according to the observation of a famous Spanish Poet, when in one of the coldest nights of a very cold Winter, and about the time when most of ou● Convents ring to Matins, a young Gentleman, Don Garci● by name, came out of a house where he had spent the evening in conversation, or else in play. He was now got into the Street where he lodged, and although the night was exceeding dark, because the Sky was overcast, yet he had no light with him, whether it was because his Footman had lost his Link, or because he was a Gentleman that did not stand upon these Punctilios, when a door opened all 〈◊〉 the sudden, and he saw some body thrown out of it with so much violence as to fall on the other side of the way where he was. If he was surprised at so odd an Adventure, he was much more so, when going to lend his hand to th●● person that was so rudely treated, he perceived that s●● was in her Smock, and heard her sigh and lament herself without making the least effort to rise. He concluded she was hurt with the fall, and with the help of his Footm●● having set her on her Legs again, he desired to know where he might serve her. 'Tis in your power to save both 〈◊〉 Life and Honour, answered this unknown person, in a 〈◊〉 interrupted with frequent sobs, and which discovered 〈◊〉 him that she was a woman. I conjure you, added she, 〈◊〉 the same generosity that inclined you to pity my misfortune to carry me to some place of security, provided that not but yourself, or such whose fidelity you can trust, 〈◊〉 know where I am. Don Garcias covered her with his 〈◊〉 and commanding his Footman to hold her upon one side, as he did on the other, he soon arrived at his lodging, where every one was gone to bed but the Maid, who opened the door, and very hearty cursed them for making her sit up so late. All the answer the Footman made her was to blow out the Candle, and while she went to light it, and called him a hundred Rogues for his pains, Don Garcias conducted, or rather carried the afflicted Lady, who could scarce make a shift to stand, to his room, which was up one pair of Stairs. His man soon brought a light, and then Don Garcas beheld one of the most beautiful women in Spain, who at the same time inspired him with love and compassion. Her hair was as bright and as black as Jet, her complexion a mixture of Lilies and Roses, her eyes two Suns at least, her ●reast above all comparisons, her arms admirable, her hands much more than her arms, and her shape like that of a Queen of one's own creating: but this black hair was in dis●●der, this charming complexion was eclipsed, these piercing yes were full of tears, these incomparable breasts were ●oody, these arms and hands were in no better a pickle; in ●ort, this fine body so delicately shaped was covered all over ●ith black and blue marks, as if it had undergone the disci●ine of a Dog-whip or a Cats-of-nine-tail, or something as 〈◊〉 as that. If Don Garcias was ravished to behold so beautiful a creature, this beautiful creature was as much Con●●n'd to see herself in her present circumstances, in the ●wer of an unknown Gentlemen, who seemed not to be 〈◊〉 twenty five years old. He was sensible of it, and did 〈◊〉 that in him lay to persuade her that she had no reason to 〈◊〉 any ill usage from a man, who should think himself 〈◊〉 to die in her service. In the mean time his Foot●●● made a little Coal-fire, for in Spain they use scarce any 〈◊〉 firing, which by the by is none of the best in the world. 〈◊〉 laid a pair of clean sheets, or at least he ought to have 〈◊〉 them, on his Master's Bed, who wishing the Lady a 〈◊〉 night, left her in possession of his Chamber, which he able locked, and went to lie, under what pretence I can 〈◊〉 tell you, because our History is here silent, with a 〈◊〉 of his acquaintance, that lodged in the same house. slept in all probability much better than his Guest, who at all night long. The day appeared, Don Garcias arose, dressed himself as spruce as a Courtier for a Ball. He list●●● at his Chamber door, and hearing the poor Lady still 〈◊〉 herself, he made no difficulty to come in. As soon 〈◊〉 saw him, her grief attacked her with new violence. You see, says she to him, a woman who was yesterday the most esteemed in Valladolid, now infamous to the last degree, and that more deserves to be pitied, than ever she did to be envied; but let my misfortune be never so great, the charitable protection you have so seasonably given me, may still alleviate it in some measure, if at night you will see me conducted in a Chair or Coach to a certain Convent I shall name to you. But, continued she, after so many obligations ought I to beg the favour of you to step to my house, and inform yourself what is said and done there, and in short to know in what manner the Court and City talks of an unfortunate woman, whom you have so generously protected. Don Garcias offered to go wherever she would be pleased to command him, with all the eagerness of a man who gins to be in love. She gave him all the instructions that were necessary upon this occasion: he took his leave of her, promising to return immediately, and the poor Lady fell a weeping and lamenting herself as violently as if she had begun but that very moment. Don Garcias did not stay a full hour before he came back, and finding his beautiful Guest as much afflicted, as if she already knew that he had ill news to impart to her: Madam, says he to her, if you are Eugenia, the Wife of Don Sancho, I have something to tell you which nearly concerns you. Eugenia, is not to be found, Do● Sancho is in the hands of the Magistrate, accused for the death of his Brother Don Lewis. Sancho is innocent, cries she, I am the unfortunate Eugenia, and Don Lewis was the most wicked of all men. Her tears which trickled down a pace, and her sighs which redoubled their violence, woul● not give her leave to say any more; and in all probability Don Garcias was not a little perplexed all this while, 〈◊〉 put on a sorrowful air to keep her company. At last, ● violent things are never of long continuance, Eugenis grief began to abate, she wiped her tears, her sighs 〈◊〉 gentler than before, and she reassumed the discourse in 〈◊〉 following words. 'Tis not enough that you know 〈◊〉 name and quality of the unhappy Woman, whom you ha●● so highly obliged in so short a time, she is willing to 〈◊〉 acquaint you with the particulars of her life, and to testify 〈◊〉 some manner her gratitude to you, by reposing this co●●dence in you. I am, continued she, descended from one 〈◊〉 the best Families of Valladoli●d. I was born rich, and 〈◊〉 beauty enough to make me proud of it with some 〈◊〉 The charms of my person brought me more Lovers 〈◊〉 those of my Fortune, and the reputation of both together gave me adorers in the remotest Cities of Spain. Among the rest who believed they should be happy in possessing me, Don Sancho, and Don Lewis, two Brothers, equally befriended by Fortune and Nature, signalised themselves by the excess of their passion, and by the mutual emulation there was between them, who should render me the most important services. My Relations declared themselves in favour of Don Sancho, who was the eldest, and my inclination following their choice, I gave up myself entirely to a man of above forty years old, who, by the sweetness of his temper, and the extraordinary care he took to please me, had made as great a progress in my affections, as 'twas possible for any person, whose age had been better suited to my own. The two Brothers, notwithstanding they were Rivals, had all along lived very amicably together, and Don Sancho when he had married me, did not lose the Friendship of his Brother Don Lewis. Their Houses were contiguous, or properly speaking, were but one house, for ●he Wall that divided them, had a door, which by common consent was always left open. Don Lewis did not forbear to pay the same devoirs to me before his Brother, as 〈◊〉 had done while he was his Rival, and Don Sancho, whose ●ove increased after possession, and who loved me better ●an his life, was not in the least offended at his Gallan●●y. He himself was used to call me the Mistress of his Bro●●er, who on his side made a real love pass for a feigned ●e, with so much address, that I was not the only person ●at was deceived by it. In short, after he had accustomed 〈◊〉 to hear him talk of his passion before company, he ●oke to me of it in private with so much importunity, ●d so little respect, that I no longer doubted that his ●ssion was criminal. As young as I was, I had discretion ●ough to make him still think that I took his love to be on●meant in mirth. I made a jest of what he spoke in erst, and though I was never more enraged than at that 〈◊〉, yet I forced myself as well as I could, not to lose my ●inary temper. He was provoked at it, instead of 〈◊〉 a right use of it, and looking upon me with his eyes, 〈◊〉 his wicked designs had made wild and staring; No 〈◊〉 Madam, says he to me, I feign much less since I have 〈◊〉 you, than I did when I had some hopes to possess you; 〈◊〉 though your rigour is great enough to deliver you soon ●n the importunities of your Lover, yet you have so long customed me to suffer, that you will do much better— Never to be alone with you if I can help it, said I interrupting him. One of my women that came into my room at that time, hindered him from carrying his insolence farther, and me from showing him my resentment of it as it deserved, and I was going to do. I was afterwards very glad that I did not do it, as well for my Husband's sake, as because I was in hopes that this wicked Brother would at last love me less, and come to esteem me more; but still he continued to make feigned love before company, and to solicit me in private. I combated his Transports with all the severity I could summon to my help; nay, so far as to threaten him to acquaint his Brother with it. I used all my address to cure him of this folly. I prayed, I wept, I promised to love him as my Brother, but he would be loved as a Lover. In short, sometimes a sufferer, sometimes ill-treated, but always as much in love as he was hated, he had made me the most unhappy woman in Spain, if my conscience, that can reproach me with nothing, had not preserved tranquillity in my Soul. But at last my Virtue, which had all along so well defended me against so dangerous an Enemy, abandoned me, because I abandoned it first, and helped to betray myself. The Court came to Valladolid, and brought all its gallantry along with it. As all new things are apt to please, our Ladies fancied they saw more in the Courtiers than they could find in the City-Gallants, and the Courtiers endeavoured to please our Ladies, whom perhaps they looked upon as assured Conquests. Among the other Cavaliers that attended the Court, in hopes of being recompensed for their services, a Portuguese, whose name was Andrada, had rendered himself one of the most considerable, by his wit and good mein, but much more by his expensive way of living, th● most efficacious charm to gain women of no experience who judge of the beauty of the Soul by that of the equipe or habits: He had no great fortune of his own, but pla● made him master of that of other people, and his gains th● way were so considerable, that he made as great a 〈◊〉 as the richest and most magnificent Nobleman at Court. ● was unfortunate enough to please him, and when my 〈◊〉 vanity, backed by his continual Addresses, had perswade● me that I was not disagreeable to him, I reckoned mysen the happiest woman upon Earth. I can hardly express to you how well he knew to make himself be beloved, ● to what excess I loved him. My Husband, so good, ● dear, and so respected, became to me in a little time ● contemptible as odious. Don Lewis appeared more hate● to me than ever. In short, nothing pleased me but Andrada. I loved none but him, and in all places where I did not see him, I surprised all the Company with my distractions, and restless behaviour. Andrada on his side loved me full as passionately. His Predominant passion for Play gave way to his love: his Presents gained my women; his Letters and his Verses charmed me, and his Serenades set all the Husbands in our Street a thinking for whom they were designed. In short, he attacked me so well, or I defended myself so ill, that I surrendered. I promised him all that it lay in my power to give him, so that now we had no other difficulty to surmount, but that of a convenient time and place. My Husband had engaged in a hunting match, which would keep him several days in the Country. I sent to acquaint my dear Portuguese with this news, and we agreed to execute our amorous designs that very night, after my Husband was gone out of Town. I was to leave at a certain hour the backdoor of our Garden open, and under pretence of passing part of the night there, by reason of the excessive heats, I was to set up a Field-bed in a little Summer-house, that was open on all sides, and encompassed with Orange trees and Jessamines. At last my Husband quitted Valladolid, and that day seemed to me the longest I ever knew. The night came, and my women having set me up a Bed in the Garden, I pretended to be very sleepy, and as soon as my Maids had undressed me. I commanded them all to go to bed, except one Chambermaid, who knew the secret of my Amour: I had scarce laid me down, and the Maid, whose name was Marina, had scarce shut the Garden-door that faced the house, and opened the back door, when my women came to tell me that my Husband was coming. I had but just time enough to shut the Garden door, which I had ordered to be left open for Andrada. My Husband caressed me as he used to do, and you may may imagine how I received him. He told me that he was forced to come back, because the Gentleman, who had invited him to the sport, had unluckily fallen from his Horse, and broken his Leg. After this he commended my Judgement for choosing so cool and refreshing a place, and concluded that he would take up his quarters there. He got himself undressed at the same time, and came to bed to me. I did all I could to conceal my vexation for his return, and to show him by my feigned embraces that his were not ungrateful to me. In the mean time Andra●a came at the hour of assignation, and finding the door shut, which he thought to have found open, by the help of his Valet he leapt over the Garden-wall, where he had hoped to pass the night with me. He has confessed to me since, that his jealousy put him upon so hardy and dangerous a design; that he did not doubt but that some happy and better beloved Rival enjoyed that happiness, which I had promised him. These suspicions of his, that perhaps I diverted myself at his expense with another Gallant, so inflamed his anger, that he was resolved to use me ill, in case he found what he suspected to be true, and to revenge himself upon his Rival to the last extremity. He crept up to the Summer-house, where we lay together, as softly as he could. The Moon shone very bright, I saw him, and knew him as soon as he came in: he saw that I was very much affrighted, and made a sign to him to be gone. At first he could not discern, whether the person, that was in bed with me, was my Husband or some one else; but observing in my countenance less fear than confusion and shame, and seeing upon the Table the clothes and Plume of Feathers, which he had seen my Husband wear that very day, and which were as singular as they were remarkable, he saw satisfied that it was Don Sancho, whom he saw a bed with me, and found him to be faster asleep than a Gallant in all probability would have been. However, he drew near that part of the Bed where I lay, and stole a kiss from me, which I could not well hinder, considering the fear I was in, lest my Husband should awake. He had no mind to keep me longer in this fright, but went away, lifting up his eyes to heaven, shrugging his Shoulders, and showing all the marks of a man that was deeply afflicted at this disappointment, and leapt back again over the Garden-Wall, with the same facility as before. Early in the morning I received the most passionate Letter from him that I ever read, accompanied with a pretty Copy of Verses upon the Tyranny of Husbands. He spent the remainder of the night, after he had parted with 〈◊〉 writing them, and next day when I received them, 〈◊〉 could hardly do any thing else but read them over and over● as oft as I could do it in private. Neither of us sufficiently reflected upon the hazard we had run, to make it a wanting to us not to expose ourselves so any more. But altho' had not been inclined of myself to grant him all that ● asked of me, or had loved Andrada less than I did, or had not yielded to the insinuating flattery of his Letters, yet could not have resisted the persuasion of my Chambermaid who talked to me incessantly in his favour. She repreach'● me with want of resolution, which had made me think no more of Andrada, and talked of the passion he had for me with the same vehemence, as she could have told a Sweetheart of her own, what a kindness she had for him. By this I found that she was not to learn her Trade now, and likewise saw of what importance it is to be careful in the choice of those persons, that are placed about those of my age and condition. But I was resolved to ruin myself, so that if she had been more virtuous than she was, she had enjoyed a less share in my confidence. At last she over-persuaded me to receive Andrada in a Dressing-room near my Chamber, where she lay by herself; and we agreed that so soon as my Husband was fast asleep, she should lie by him in my place, while I passed the night with Andrada. Thus we got him concealed into my Dressing-room; my Husband fell asleep, and I prepared to meet my Lover with all the emotions of one whose desires are violent, yet who has a great deal to fear, when a terrible noise of confused voices that cried out Fire, Fire, alarmed my ears, and waked my Husband: At the same time my Chamber was all in a smoke, and I could perceive the flames through my Windows. A Negro Maid, that served in the Kitchen, had set it on fire being drunk, and it was not perceived till it had taken hold of some dry Wood, and the neighbouring Stables, and now had seized the boards of my apartment: My Husband was very well beloved: In an instant the house was full of neighbours that came to help us to quench the fire. My Brother-in-law Don Lewis, whom the common danger had made more active and diligent than the rest, was one of the first that helped us with his Servants, and pushed on by his passion, made his way into my Chamber through the flames, that had already seized the Staircase. He was in his shirt, and had nothing over it but his Nightgown, in which he wrapped me up, and taking me between his arms, who might more properly be said to be dead than alive, for the danger to which Andrada was exposed, rather than for my own; he carried me to his own room, through the communication his house had with ours, and setting me down upon his bed, left me there, accompanied 〈◊〉 some of my Women. In the mean time my Husband, and all that had concerned themselves in this accident, that had 〈◊〉 us, bestirred themselves so notably, that the fire was ●ut out, after it had done a great deal of damage. Andrada made his escape without difficulty among the crowd and 〈◊〉 of people that came to help us; and you may imagine how joyful I was when Marina told me the agreeable news. He writ to me a hundred foolish things the next day, which I answered with more transport than he had shown; and thus we made a shift by writing to one another to soften and relieve that pain, which absence gave us. After we had repaired all the mischief that the fire had done us, and I had left Don Lewis' room to return to my own, Andrada easily persuaded me to let him try the same way once more, which had not failed the last time but for so unfortunate and unexpected an accident. That very night we pitched upon to make ourselves full amends for the time which the fire had made us lose, a Cavalier of my Husband's acquaintance, who was in some trouble about a Duel, and had fled to an Ambassadors house, where he did not think himself safe enough from the Civil Magistrate, was obliged to abscond somewhere else. My Husband carried him privately to his own house, and took himself the key of the street door, which he caused to be locked before his face, lest any servant through treachery or indiscretion should discover the place of his retirement. This order, at which. I was equally surprised and troubled, was unluckily put in execution just as Andrada made the signal in the street, which he had told Marina of before. The poor Maid was in a strange confusion, what to do, and made him a sign from a low Lattice Window to stay a moment. We deliberated upon the matter a little, and afterwards she went and told him in a low voice what new obstacle our ill-natured destiny had trumpt up to oppose our design; so she proposed to him to stay till all our people were gone to bed, and then he should try to get in through one of the Kitchen Windows, which she would open for him. Nothing seemed difficult or dangerous to Andrada, provided he could satisfy his love. My Husband saw his friend to bed, and went to bed himself in good time, after the example I set him; all our Servants did the same; and Marina, when she thought the whole family was fast asleep, opened the little Window for Andrada, who with all the ease in the world got half way through, but so indiscreetly or unfortunately, that after several efforts, which rather did him a mischief than help● him, he stuck fast by the waist between the Iron bars of the Window, without being able to stir backward or forward. His Valet could not help him from the street, no more could Marina from the place where she was, without some one else to assist her. So she went to call up one of the Maids, in whom she could repose confidence, and told her that she had been over-persuaded that night by her Sweetheart, whom she loved entirely, and was to marry in a little time, to try to let him in at the Kitchen Window, but that he stuck so fast in the Iron Bars, that there was no getting him out without filing them, or wrenching them out of their place. She desired her therefore to assist her in this extremity, to which the other readily consented, but for want of a Hammer or some such Iron utensil, Andrada had not been a farthing, the better for the help of these two wenches, if he had not be thought himself of his Poniard, which did the business so effectually, that after a great deal of struggling and sweeting the Iron Bars were by main strength wrested from the Wall, and my Gentleman delivered from the terrible fear of being found so scandalously wedged in a place, where he could be taken for nothing else but a House-breaker. However, this could not be done with so little noise but that some of the Servants heard it, and looked into the street, at the same time when Andrada carrying with him the Iron hoop, which enclosed him about the waist, rubbed off as hard as he could drive, attended by his Footman. The neighbours and our servants cried out Stop Thief after them, and made no question but that some Villains had attempted to rob Don Sancho's house, especially when they saw the Iron Bar gone. In the mean time Andrada got safe to his lodgings, and was forced to file off the Iron Bar, which gripped him as close as a Belt; for notwithstanding all the tricks that his man and he played, there was no getting it off otherwise. This third accident put him in a very ill humour, as I came to be informed afterwards. As for me, I took it quite otherwise, and while Marina, not yet recovered from her fright, told me the story, I thought I should have killed myself with laughing. However, I was no less concerned than he, at this series of disappointments, which rather inflamed than cooled our desires, and would not let us defer the happy minute of enjoyment any longer, than the very next day after this pleasant but unlucky Adventure. My Husband was in the City, endeavouring to make up his friend's business for him, which in all probability would keep him there the remaining part of the day. I sent trusty Marina to Andradas Lodgingss, that were not far from my house, she found him a 〈◊〉, still discomposed with the fatigues of the last night, and 〈◊〉 dejected by these unlucky crosses in his amours, that Ma●●na was partly scandalised to see with what coldness he received the advances I made him, and to find him so backward 〈◊〉 give me the meeting, although she often assured him, that 〈◊〉 was an opportunity that was not to be lost. To make short of my story at last he came, and I received him with all the transports of joy which a woman wholly abandoned to her passion can feel. I was so blinded by it that I did not perceive, as well as Marina did, with what indifference he made his approaches to me, although it was too visible. However my embraces at last drew on his. Hitherto our mutual joy could not be otherwise expressed than by our silence, and the thoughts of what each of us desired with so much ardour, put me into so great a confusion, that I could not look Andrada in the face, and by this means gave him an opportunity to attempt what he pleased, when Marina, who like a discreet Chambermaid had gone out of my room to be upon the watch, came in all affrighted, and told me my Husband was come home. She carried Andrada into my dressing room, rather dead than alive, and seeming to be much more concerned than myself, although I had more reason to be so. My husband gave some orders to his people below before he came up into my chamber. In this interval I had just time enough to compose myself, and Marina to empty a great coffer full of lumber, into which she put the despairing Andrada She had scarce stowed up her Lover in this little sanctuary, when my Husband came into my room, and only kissing me as he passed by, without any farther, stay went into my dressing room, where he found a Book of Plays and unhappilly opened it. He lighted upon a place that pleased him, and had engaged him to read longer, if Marina had not advised me to go to him, and try to bring him into my chamber. My misfortune did not stop here, for Don Sancho, finding me strangely discomposed and thoughtful, as I had but too much reason to be, endeavoured by his own good humour to put me in a better. Never in his life did he take so much pains to divert and please me as now, and never did he vex and importune me more. I begged him to quit my chamber, pretending to be so sleepy that I could not hold up my eyes; but by an unseasonable fit of pleasantry which was not usual with him neither, he kept me company in spite of what I could say to him, and though he was the most complaisant man alive in his temper, yet he showed so littl● of it then, that I was forced to turn him out. As soon as 〈◊〉 had locked my Chamber door, I ran into my dressing room to deliver Andrada out of his prison. Marina opened in a● hast the Coffer wherein she had put him, and both of us had like to have died of fear and grief, 〈◊〉 we found him without pulse and without motion like a dead man, and so in effect he was according to all appearance. Imagine to yourself what terrible agonies thi● fight gave me, and what measures it was possible for me to take in so cruel an extremity. I wept, I tore my hair, I grew desperate, I believe I had resolution enough to stab myself with Andradas Poniard, if my excessive grief had not so enfeebled me, that I was forced to throw myself upon Marina's bed. This maid, although she was concerned to the last degree, yet preserved her judgement better than I did, in this our common misfortune, and bethought herself how to remedy it, which for my part I wanted strength to execute, although my reason had not been disordered in the least. She told me that perhaps Andrada was only in a swoon, and that a Chirurgeon either by bleeding, or some other speedy relief might restore him that life, which he seemed to have lost. I looked upon her without returning her any answer, my grief having in a manner made me stupid. Marina lost no time in ask me more questions, but went to put in execution what she had proposed to me; but no sooner had she opened the door with this intention, but my brother-in-law Don Lewis popped in upon us, and this second disaster was more terrible than the first. Although the Body of Andrada had not been exposed to his view, as it was, yet the confusion and surprise he might read in our faces, would have told him that we had been engaged in some myssterious affair, which he would not have failed to examine to the bottom, being so much interested in me as he was, both as a Brother-in-law and a Lover. I was therefore obliged to throw myself at the feet of a man, whom I had often beheld at mine, and relying upon the love which he had for me, and upon his generosity, the essential quality of every Gentleman, to resign the dearest thing I had in the World entirely to his will. He did what he could to raise me up, but being resolved to continue upon my knees, I frankly told him, as well as my tears and sighs would give me leave, what a sad accident had befallen me, at which I done't at all question but he was pleased in his heart. Don Lewis, said I to him, I don't implore thy generosity now to prolong my Life a few days: my misfortunes have made it so odious to me, that I would take it away myself, were I not afraid that my despair could not effect it, but at the expense of my honour, from which that of Don Sancho, and even his life are perhaps inseparable. Thou may'st believe, that the disdain I have all along shown thee, was rather the effect of my aversion than of my virtue, thou may'st rejoice at my disgrace, nay and glut thy revenge with it; but darest thou reproach me with a crime, which thou hast so often tempted me to commit, and canst thou want indulgence for her, who has so often shown it to thee? Don Lewis would not let me go on, But Madam, says he to me, you see that Heaven has justly punished you for bestowing your affections upon one, whom you ought to have hated: but I have no time to lose, that I may convince you, by drawing you out of this praemunire, that you have not a better friend in the world than Don Lewis. Having said this, he left me, and returned a moment after with two Porters, whom he had ordered to be sent for. Marina and I, in the mean time had put Andradas Body again into the great Coffer. Don Lewis lent a helping hand to put it on the fellow's Shoulders, and bid them carry it to a certain friend's house, to whom he had discovered this Adventure, as he had before trusted him with the secret of his amour. Here, after he had before taken Andradas Body out of the Coffer, he ordereed it to be laid at full length upon a Table, and while they were taking off his clothes he felt his Pulse, and put his hand on that part of his breast, where the palpitation of the Heart is best to be discovered, and found there were still some sparks of life left in him. He sent for a Chirurgeon in all haste, while in the mean time they put him to Bed, and employed all the remedies that were proper to bring him to himself again. 〈◊〉 ●ort, he came to himself, and was blooded. A Servant was left to attend him, and the company quitted the room to afford time to nature and rest to complete that cure, which their remedies had so successfully begun. You may imagine how great Andradas surprise was, when after so long a deliquium he found himself in Bed, and could only remember what a fright he was in, when they put him into the Coffer; he knew not where he was, nor what he had to hope or fear. He was taken up with these mortifying thoughts, when he heard the Chamber door open, and when the Curtains were drawn, he saw by the light of some tap●●, that were brought into the room, Don Lewis, whom he very well knew to be my Brother-in-law, and who having taken a chair, spoke to him as follows. Am I a stranger to you Signior Andrada, and done't you know, that I am Brother to Don Sancho? Yes replied Andrada, I know you well enough. And do you remember, cries Don Lewis, what happened to you to day at his House? Take my word for t, continueth he, that if you pretend any more to carry on your intrigues with my Sister-in-law, or if I ever see you more in our Street, you shall sorely repent it; and know that thou hadst been a dead man, if I had not taken compassion on a foolish and unfortunate woman, who has been pleased to put her life and honour in my hand, and if I were not fully assured, that thy criminal designs against my Brother's honour have not been put in execution. Change your habitation, continues he, and think not to escape my resentments, if you break the promise I expect you should make me. Andrada promised him more than he asked, he made him the meanest and most abject submissions he could think of, and protested to him that he owed him a life for saving his now. He was weak enough in all conscience to keep his bed, but his excessive fear gave him strength enough to get up. From that very moment he conceived as great an aversion for me, as his affection before had been violent, nay he had my very name in horror. In the mean time I was uneasy to know what was become of him, but I had not assurance enough to ask Don Lewis, nay not to look him in the face. I sent Marina to Andradas Lodging, where she arrived just at the same time as he came in himself, and had ordered his trunks to be got ready, in order to remove to another quarter of the Town. As soon as he saw her, he forbade her to come to him any more from me, and recounting to her in a few words all that had passed between Don Lewis and himself; he added that I was the most ungrateful and most perfidious woman in the world; that he would only consider me for the future as one that designed to ruin him, and desired that I would no more think of him than if I had never seen him. Having said this, he turned Marina out of his Chamber, who was extremely surprised at his treatment: However her astonishment was not so great, but that she had presence of mind enough to dog him him at a distance, and observing the house where his Trunks were carried, by that means came to know his new lodging. The vexation I felt to be accused of a crime, whereof I was innocent, and to be hated by the man, whom I loved so tenderly, and for whom I had hazarded my life and reputation, hindered me from taking so much satisfaction in his safety, as otherwise I should have done. I fell into a fit of melancholy, which threw me into a sickness, and my distemper, which the Physicians could not tell what to make of, was no little affliction to my Husband. To complete my misfortune, Don Lewis began to value himself upon the important service he had done me; he incessantly importuned me to grant him that happiness, which I had intended for Andrada: reproaching me that I was in love with the latter, all the time I preached to him what I owed to my Husband, and what he owed to a Brother. Thus being hated by the man I loved, loved by the man I hated, seeing Andrada no more, seeing Don Lewis too often, and perpetually accusing myself for having been so ungrateful to the best husband in the World, who left nothing undone to please me, and who was distracted at my illness, when he had the justest provocations to take away my life: being thus troubled with remorse of conscience, of love, and hatred, two passions so contrary, I kept my Bed for two Months, expecting every moment my death with joy; but Heaven, it seems reserved me for greater misfortunes. My youth, in spite of myself, assisted me against this inconsolable grief. In short, I recovered my health, and Don Lewis persecuted me much more than ever he had done. I had given orders to my women, and particularly to Marina, never to leave me alone with him. Enraged at this usage, and the resistance I made him, he resolved to obtain by the blackest piece of treachery that ever was known, that which I refused him with so much steadiness. I have already told you, that there was a way from his house to ours, through a door that was seldom shut. On the night he pitched upon for the execution of his damnable design, and at the hour when he thought every one was asleep both at his house and ours, he got in by this door, opened the gate towards the Street, than turned all our Horses, out of the Stable, that immediately ran into the Court, and from thence into the Street. The noise they made soon awakened the Servants that looked after them, and my husband. He was very fond of his Horses, as soon as he knew that they were got into the Street, he immediately ran after them in his Morning Gown, swearing hearty at his Grooms, and at the Porter, who had forgot to shut the great Gate. Don Lewis, who had hid himself in my Antichamber, and saw my husband go down stairs, followed him into the Court soon after, and having shut the Street door, and tarried a little to give the greater probability, to what he had a mind to effect, came to Bed to me, personating my husband so well, that 'tis no wonder if I was mistaken. He was excessive cold with standing so long in his Shirt. Good God Sir, said I to him, how cold you are! 'Tis very true, answers he, counterfeiting his voice, I had like to have been starved in the Street. And are your Horses, I said to him, retaken? My Servants are gone after them, cries he, and then drawing nearer to me, as to warm himself, and embracing me very lovingly, he proceeded to betray me, and dishonour his brother. As Heaven permitted this crime, perhaps it reserved the punishment of it to me, that so my honour might be retrieved by my own hands, and my innocence known. Having satisfied his wicked desire, he pretended to be in pain for his Horses, so up he got, and opened the Street gate, and then retired to his own lodging, well pleased perhaps with his crime, and rejoicing in that which would be the cause of his destruction. My husband came in soon after, and getting into Bed crept close to me, half frozen and starved as he was, and obliged me by his caresses, which I thought were extraordinary, to desire him to let me sleep. He thought it strange; for my part I was surprised, and did not doubt but that some treacherous trick had been played me● could not sleep a wink till it was day, I got up much earlier than I used to do, I went to Mass, and there I saw Don Lewis in his finest clothes, and with his countenanceas gay, as mine was sad and melancholy. He presented me with the holy water, which I received very coldly, then looking upon me with a malicious sneer, Good God, Madam, says he, how cold you are! At these words, that were the same I spoke to him the night before, and made me no longer doubt my misfortune, I turned pale and then reddened. He might easily find by my eyes, and the disorder these words gave me, how heinously I resented his insolence. I parted from him, without so much as looking at him, I passed all the time at Mass very uneasy, as you may well imagine. I made my Husband so too, when at dinner, and all the rest of the day, I looked like a distracted woman, sighing incessantly, and showing that I was troubled in mind, notwithstanding all the care I took to conceal it. I retired to my Chamber sooner than I used to do, pretending a slight indisposition. I thought of a hundred different designs to revenge myself. At last my indignation put me upon that which I resolved to put in execution. The night came, I went to bed when my Husband did: I pretended to sleep to oblige him to do the same; and when I saw him fast, and supposed that all our servants were so too, I got up, I took his Poniard, and wholly blinded and transported by my passion, I made a shift however, by the same door and the same way through which my cruel enemy had got to my bed, to find the way to his. My fury made me not do things at random. I groped out where his heart lay with my hand that was free, and discovered it by its palpitation: My fear of missing my blow did not make the other tremble wherein I held the Poniard. I sheathed it twice in the heart of the detestable Don Lewis, and punished him by a gentler death than he deserved. In the heat of my rage I gave him five or six hearty stabs more, and returned to my Chamber in that tranquillity and peace of mind, that convinced me I never did any thing with more satisfaction. I put up my husband's Poniard, all bloody as it was, into the Scabbard: I dressed myself in as much haste, and with as little noise as I could; I took with me all my Jewels and Money, and as much transported by my love, as I had been lately hurried by my revenge, I ran away from my husband, who loved me better than his life, to throw myself into the arms of a young man, who had not long ago taken care to let me know that I was become odious to him. The natural cowardice of my Sex was so well fortified by the impetuous passions that reigned in my Soul, that though it was midnight, and I all alone by myself, yet I walked from my own house to Andradas Lodging with as much assurance, as if I had been going to do a good action in the day time. I knocked at Andradas door, who was not at home, being engaged it seems at play at a friend's house. His Footmen, who knew me well enough, and were not a little surprised to see me there, received me with a great deal of respect, and lighted a fire for me in their Master's Chamber. He came home soon after, and I suppose little imagined to find me in his Room. He no sooner saw me, but looking wildly upon me, What has brought you hither, Madam Eugenia, says he; and what have you to say to me of all men living, whom you designed to sacrifice to the revenge of your Brother-in-law and Gallant? How! Andrada, said I to him, do you put so ill a construction upon an an inevitable accident, which forced me to have recourse to the only man in the world whom I was most afraid to be obliged by? and could you pass so disadvantageous a judgement of a person, who had given you so many proofs of her affection? I expected something else than reproaches from you, which you would not have been in a condition now to make, had I not done that very thing for which you condemn me, and charge me with as a crime. Alas! if I have been guilty of a crime, 'tis not against you, but against my husband, to whom I ought to have been faithful, to whom I have been ungrateful, because I would not be so to you, and whom I have left to throw myself upon a cruel man that uses me ill. When your death, which I looked upon to be real, had fling me into that despair, which how could a woman avoid, that expected every moment surprised by her husband; and when Don Lewis found me in this deplorable condition, what could I otherwise do than rely upon his generosity, and the love he had for me? He has most treacherously betrayed me at the expense of his own honour, but it has been also at the expense of his own life, which I have just now taken from him: and ●tis this, my dear Andrada, that has brought me hither. 'Tis necessary that I should conceal myself from Justice, till I find a proper time to inform the world what Don Lewis' crime was, as well as my own misfortune. I have Money and Jewels enough to maintain you with splendour in any part of Spain, where you will think sit to accompany a miserable woman. I shall convince the whole world in a little time that I rather deserve to be pitied than blamed, and my future conduct shall justify my past actions. Yes, yes, cried he, interrupting me, I will go and take Don Lewis' place, now thou art cloyed with him, and have my throat cut like him, when thou art cloyed with me. Ha! thou lascivious woman, continueth he, how well does this last wicked action of thine confirm me in my belief that thou designedst to sacrifice me to thy Gallant? but think not to come off with reproaches only, I will rather be the punisher of thy crime, than the accomplice of it. He had no sooner spoke these words, but he stripped me by main force, in so barbarous a manner, that even his servants were ashamed at it; he gave me a hundred blows, naked as I was, and after he had satisfied his rage till he was quite weary, he threw me into the street, where if I had not happily met with you, I had died ere this, or fallen into the hands of those who perhaps are now searching for me. When she had ended her discourse, she showed Don Garcias the black and blue marks in her arms, and those parts of her body, which modesty would allow her to show, and then resumed it as follows. You have heard, generous Don Garcias, my deplorable history: Tell me therefore, I conjure you, what measures an unhappy woman ought to take, who has caused so many calamitous misfortunes? Ah, Madam, cries Don Garcias interrupting her, that I could as easily advise you what to do, as punish Andrada, if you would give me leave! Don't rob me of the honour of revenging your quarrel, and done't refuse to employ, ●n whatever you think fit to command him, a man who is 〈◊〉 less concerned for your misfortune, than for the outrage that has been done you. Don Garcias pronounced these words with a heat, which convinced Eugenia that he no less loved than pitied her. She thanked him in the most obliging terms that her civility and gratitude could suggest to her, and ●●egg'd him to give himself the trouble to go once more to ●●er Husband's house, to inform himself more particularly what people said of her flight, and of the death of Don Lewis. He happened to come there just at the time, as they were carrying Don Sancho to prison, together with his Domestics, and those of Don Lewis, who had deposed that their Master was in love with Eugenia. The common door between the two houses which had been found open, and the Poniard of Don Sancho yet reeking with blood, were circumstantial proofs that he had murdered his Brother, of which nevertheless he was as innocent, as he was afflicted at it. The running away of his wife, his Jewels and Money that were missing, so strangely surprised him that he could not tell what to make on't, and this troubled him infinitely more than his imprisonment and the proceed of the Magistrate. Don Garcias was impatient to carry this news to Eugenia, but he could not do it so soon as he desired. One of his friends, who had business with him, stopped him a long while in the street where his lodging was, that happened to be over against Andradas, from whence he saw a servant come out booted, carrying a Portmantle. He followed him at a distance, accompanied by his Friend, and saw him stop at the Posthouse. He came in after him, and found he had hired three Horses, that were to be got ready in half an hour. Don Garcias let him go, and ordered the same number of Horses to be ready at the same time. His friend asked him what was the meaning of this, he promised to tell him, provided he would make one of the number, to which the other readily consented, without troubling himself what the matter was. Don Garcias desired him to put on his Boots, and stay for him at his Lodgings● while he made a short trip to his own. Thus they parted, and Don●● Garcias went immediately to wait upon Eugenia to inform her what he knew of her affair. At the same time he gave orders to his Landlady, who was a woman he could trust, to furnish Eugenia with clothes and other necessaries, and carry her that very night to a Convent, the Governess whereof was her relation and friend. After this he privately ordered his man to carry his riding Coat and Boots to the Gentleman's Lodgings, whom he last parted with, and having once more conjured the woman of the House to take care of Eugenia, and conceal her from all the World, he went to call upon his Friend, and walked with him to the Posthouse, where they had not been a minute but Andrada came there. Don Garcias asked him whither he was going, he told him to Sevil. Why then, replied Don Garcias, we shall need but one Postilion. Andrada liked the motion, and perhaps thought Don Garcias and his Friend were a brace of Cullies, whom he might easily bubble of their money at play They road out of Valladolid together, and galloped a pretty while, without doing any thing else but gallop, for I think 'tis agreed on all hands, that when men ride post they are none of the best conversation. Don Garcias finding they were now in a fine open plain, fit for business, and remote enough from any house, road a little way before the company, then come back and bid Andrada stop. Andrada asked him what he would have. I must fight you, answered Don Garcias, to revenge if I can Eugenia's quarrel, whom you have mortally injured by the most cowardly, and villainous action that ever was known. I don't repent me for what I have done, replied Andrada to him fiercely, without seeming to be surprised, but perhaps you may have occasion to repent of this insolence. He was a man of Courage, and alighted from his Horse at the same time that Don Garcias alighted from his, who would not vouchsafe him an answer. They were now coming up to one another with their Swords in hand, when Don Garcias' Friend told them that they must not offer to tilt without him, and offered to fight Andradas Footman, who was a well shaped young Fellow, and of a promising countenance. Andrada protested, that although he had the best Swordsman in Spain for his second, he would only fight one against one. His Footman not contenting himself with his Master's protestation, protested likewise, that for his part he would fight no man whatever, for what cause whatever, at any Weapon whatever. So Don Garcias' friend was forced to be an humble Spectator, or if you please, Godfather to the two Combatants, which is no new thing in Spain. The Duel did not last long, heaven so much favouring the righteous cause of Don Garcias, that his Enemy pressing upon him with more fury than skill, ran upon his Sword, and fell down at his feet, losing his blood and life together. Andradas Footman and the Postboy, neither of whom were made for Heroes, threw themselves at the Feet of Don Garcias, who meant them no mischief. He commanded Andradas Footman to open his Masters Portmantle, and give him all that Andrada had taken from Eugenia. He obeyed him immediately, and put into his hand a rich Manteau Gown and Petticoat, and a little Box, which by its weightiness would have made a blind man swear that it was not empty. The Footman found the Key of it in his Master's pocket, and gave it to Don Garcias, who bid him do what he pleased with his Master's body, threatening to cut his throat if he ever saw him in Valladolid. He commanded the Postboy not to come back till the dusk of the evening, and promised him he should find the two Horses, that he had hired, at the Posthouse. I suppose he was punctually obeyed by these two worthy Gentlemen, who were ready to die for fear, and thought they were exceedingly obliged to him, because he did not kill them as he had done Andrada. History leaves us in the dark as to what his Footman did with his Body, and as for his moveables, 'tis very probable that he kept them for his own use. Our Memoirs likewise are wanting to inform us how the Post-boy managed himself in this affair. Don Garcias and his Friend galloped it all the way to Valladolid, and alighted at the Imperial Ambassador's House, where they had Friends, and stayed till it was night. Don Garcias sent for his Footman, who told him that Eugenia was in pain to see him. The Horses were sent back to the Posthouse by an unknown person, who cunningly rubbed off, after he had delivered them to one of the Ostlers. As for Andradas death, the people of Valladolid either talked nothing of it, because they never heard a word of it, or if they talked of it, they said no more but that a Cavalier was killed by some unknown Enemy, or by Thiefs. Don Garcias returned to his Lodgings, where he found Eugenia dressed in the clothes which his Landlady had taken care to provide for her. I am apt to believe that she took them up at a Broker's, for in Spain 'tis a common thing for persons of quality, both men and women, to rig themselves in such places. He restored Engenia her things again, and particularly her Jewels, and informed her after what manner he had revenged her quarrel upon Andrada. Being of a sweet and tender disposition, she was extremely concerned for the unfortunate end of a person, whom she had once loved so dearly, and the thoughts that she was the cause of so many Tragical disasters, afflicting her as much as her own misfortunes, caused her to shed abundance of tears. That day public notice had been given at Valladolid that no one should entertain or conceal Eugenia, and two hundred Crowns were offered by way of reward to any one that could bring any news of her. This made her resolve to get into a Convent as soon as she could. However she passed that night in the lodging where she was, and slept as little as she did the night before. Don Garcias risen by break of day to go visit the Governess of the Convent that was related to Eugenia, and promised to receive her, and keep her private as long as she was able. From thence he went to hire a Coach, and ordered it to stop at a by-street adjoining to his, whither Eugenia came, accompanied by the Gentlewoman of the house, both of them being covered in their veils. The Coach carried them to a certain place, where they ordered the Coachman to set them down, and there they alighted, that no one should find out the Convent, where Eugenia retired. She was courteously entertained there; Don Garcias' Landlady took her leave of her, and went to inform herself how matters were like to go with Don Sancho. She was told that things looked with an ill aspect, and that the least they talked of doing to him was to give him the Question. Don Garcias communicated this news to Eugenia, who was so much concerned to see her husband in danger of being punished for a crime, which he was no way guilty of, that she was resolved to surrender herself into the hands of Justice. Don Garcias dissuaded her from it, and advised her rather to write to the Judge Criminal to let him know, that only she could inform him who it was that killed Don Lewis. Upon this the Judge, who by good luck was related to her, went attended with several other Officers of Justice, to discourse her. She freely confessed to them that she had killed Don Lewis, acquainted them with the just provocation he had given her to serve him so, and recounted to them the particulars of all that had passed between Don Lewis and herself, except what related to Andrada. Her confession was taken down in writing, and a report of it made to his Catholic Majesty, who, considering the blackness of Don Lewis' crime, the just resentment of Eugenia, her courage and resolution, the innocence of Don Sancho and his Domestics, ordered them all to be set at liberty, and granted his Royal Pardon to Engenia, at the instance of all the Court, who appeared in her behalf. Her husband was not much displeased with her for the death of his Brother, nay, if one knew the truth, perhaps he loved her the better for it. He made her a visit as soon as he was enlarged, and would fain have taken her home with him, but she would not consent to it, notwithstanding all his importunities and prayers. She did not question but that he took Done Lewis' death as he ought to take it, but she knew very well that he had heard something of what had passed between her and the Portuguese Cavalier; that the least blemish in a Woman's honour may raise her Husband's jealousy, and sooner or later untie the Conjugal Knot, let it be never so well tied. Poor Don Sancho visited her often, and endeavoured by all the tenderest remarks of kindness he could show her, to oblige her to return home, and be absolute Mistress of his Estate and him. She continued inflexible in her resolution, reserving for herself a pension suitable to her quality and fortune: But though Don Sancho could not prevail with her to go home with him, yet she behaved herself so obligingly to this good Husband, that he had all the reason in the world to speak well of her. But all that she did in the Convent to please him, only encreas●d his concern that he was not able to get her out of it. This threw him at last into so deep a melancholy, that he fell sick, and his sickness brought him to death's door. He conjured Eugenia to give him the satisfaction of seeing her, before he must part with her for ever. She could not refuse this sorrowful pleasure to a Husband who had been so dear to her, who had loved her so tenderly, and who still loved her so well. She went to see him die, and had like to have dy●d herself with grief, to see him show so much joy in seeing her, as if she had restored that life to him, he was going to lose. This goodness of Eugenia did not go unrewarded: he left her all he had, by which means she found herself one of the richest and beautifullest Widows in Spain, after she had found herself upon the brink of being one of the most unhappy Women in the world. Her affliction for the death of her husband was as real as it was great. She gave necessary orders for his Funeral, took possession of his Estate, and returned to her Convent, resolving to pass the remainder of her days there. Her Relations proposed to her the best matches in Spain, but she was resolved not to sacrifice her repose to her ambition: and finding herself everlastingly persecuted by crowds of pretenders, whom her beauty and wealth drew after her to the Parlour of the Convent where she was, she would at last be seen by no one but Don Garcias. This young Gentleman had served her so opportunely upon so important an occasion, and with so much warmth, that she could not see him without saying to herself that she owed him something more than bare civilities and compliments. She discovered by his livery and equipage that he was not over-rich, and she was generous enough to offer him some assistances, which a person in ordinary circumstances may receive without shame from one that is richer than himself. In the little time she had been at his lodgings, and in the conversation he had often had with her, he made her sensible that he had a lofty soul elevated above the common rank, and entirely disengaged from all fordid Interests, and wholly devoted to honour. She was therefore afraid that she should affront him if she made him any present, which to be sure would have been answerable to her generous temper, and on the other hand she feared that he would have but a sorry opinion of her gratitude, if she did not give him some proofs of it by her liberality. But if Don Garcias gave her some pain upon the aforesaid occasion, she gave him no less on her side, and so was even with him. In short, he was in love with her, but though the respect he bore her could not have hindered him from acquainting her with it, how dared he mention the word Love to a Woman, whom Love had so lately exposed to such terrible misfortunes, and that at a time too, when the sorrowful air of her face, and the tears which trickled down incessantly, were evident demonstrations, that her Soul was yet too full of grief to be capable of receiving another passion: Among the rest that made their visits to Eugenia, in quality of her thrice-humble Slaves, in hopes I suppose to become one day her thrice imperious Masters; among the rest, I say, who had offered themselves to her, and she had refused, there was one Don Diego, who having nothing else to distinguish him, was resolved to signalise himself by his constant persecutions. He was as foolish as 'tis possible for a young fellow to be, as unmannerly as he was foolish, as troublesome as he was unmannerly, and hated by all the world for being troublesome, unmannerly, and foolish. His body was of a piece with his soul, ugly and ill-fashion●d, he was as poor in respect of the blessings of this transitory world, as he was covetous to obtain them. But being descended from one of the best families in Spain, and nearly related to one of the principal Ministers of State, which only helped to make him the more insolent, people showed him some little respect for the sake of his quality, although it was not recommended by the least merit. This Don Diego, who was for all the world such a Spark as I have described him, thought that Eugenia had every thing that a man could desire in a woman, and hoped to obtain her with ease by the credit of his friends at Court, who and promised to make up the match for him. But Eugenia was not to be so easily persuaded into an affair of that importance, as they imagined, and to favour a private man the Court would not commit a violence that must needs have disgusted all the World. Eugenia's retiring into a Con●ent, her resolution never to leave it, her positive orders to receive no more visits, the coldness of those that at first encouraged Don Diego in his pretensions, made him despair of ever obtaining her without difficulty. For this reason he was resolved to carry her by main force out of her Convent, ●n attempt the most criminal that can be undertaken in Spain, and which none but a fool like himself would ever have dreamt of. He found for his money fellows that were as great fools as himself, and gave orders to have fresh horses left upon the Road down to the Seaside, where a Vessel lay ready for him; in short, he forced the Convent, carried off Eugenia, and that unfortunate Lady had become the prey of the most dishonourable Wretch alive, if Heaven had not raised up an unexpected Champion for her, even then when she thought herself most abandoned by it. One single Gentleman, whom Eugenia's cries drew after her ravishers, opposed their whole body, and hindered them from passing farther, with so much valour that he immediately wounded Don Diego, and several of his Accomplices, and gave time to the Townsmen, who had taken the alarm, and to the Civil Magistrate to come down upon them with such numbers as to force Don Diego and his Companions to surrender, ● else lose their lives upon the spot. Thus Eugenia was delivered, but before she would suffer herself to be carried 〈◊〉 her Convent, she desired to know what was become of tha● valiant Gentleman, who had so gallantly exposed his life for her sake. They found him wounded in several parts of his body, and he had almost lost all his blood as well as his senses. Eugenia had a mind to see him, and no sooner 〈◊〉 her eyes upon his face, but she knew him to be Don Garcias● If her surprise was great, her compassion was no less, an● she gave such tender proofs it, that the standers by might have interpreted it to her disadvantage, if she had not a just occasion besides to afflict herself. She prevailed with the● by her entreaties and prayers, not to carry her generous 〈◊〉 fender to prison, whom Don Diego, who was upon the poi●● of expiring, and his Accomplices confessed not to belong to their Company, but to be the man that had attacked the●● So he was carried to the next house, which happened to ● that where Don Sancho lived formerly, and now belonged 〈◊〉 Eugenia, who had left all her Furniture, and a few Servan● in it. He was put into the hands of the Surgeons be●longing to the Court and City. Eugenia retired to her Convent, but was forced the next day to leave it, and return her own house, because a new order was issued out, whi●●● prohibited all Convents of Nuns to receive and Seculars a●mong them. Next morning Don Diego died, and his Relations had interest enough to hinder his process being ma● after his death; but his Accomplices scaped not so, 〈◊〉 were punished according to their deserts. In the mean 〈◊〉 Eugenia was almost distracted to see Don Garcias out of 〈◊〉 of a cure. She implored the assistance of heaven, and offered to give the Surgeons whatever they could demand; but their Art was exhausted, and they had no hopes but in heaven, and the youth of the sick party. Eugenia would not stir from his bedside, and attended him night and day so carefully, that she was in danger of bringing herself into the same condition, I mean, of wanting another to do the same offices for herself. She heard him often pronounce her name in the delirious fits of his Fever, and among a thousand incoherent things, which his disturbed imagination made him say, she heard him often talk of love, and discourse like a man that is afighting or quarrelling. At last Nature, assisted by so many remedies, surmounted the obstinacy of his illness; his Fever abated, his wounds began to close up, and the Surgeons assured Eugenia there was no danger, provided no unexpected accidents befell him. She gave them handsome presents for their pains, and ordered Prayers to be put up in all the Churches of Valladolid. IT was at this time that Don Garcias was informed by Eugenia that she was the woman whom he had saved, and that she came to be informed by him how he happened to come so seasonably to her relief, as he was returning home from a friends house. She could not forbear to let him know how many obligations she had to him, and he could not conceal his excessive joy for serving her so opportunely, but durst not presume to acquaint her with a thing of greater importance. One day when she was all alone with him, and conjured him not to let her be any longer ungrateful to him, but to make use of her upon some important occasion, he thought it a proper time to discover the real sentiments of his soul. He sighed at the very thought of what he was going to do, he looked spale, and the disorder of his mind was so visible in his countenance, that Eugenia was afraid that something extraordinary ailed him. She asked him how his wounds fared? Alas, Madam, answered he, my wounds are far from being my greatest misfortune. And what is the matter? said she to him, very much affrighted. 'Tis a misfortune replied he, that is without Remedy. 'Tis true, answered Eugenia, you were unfortunate to be so dangerously wounded for an unknown person, who was not worth the while, for you to expose your life for her● but still 'tis a misfortune that can't 〈◊〉 always, for your Surgeons don't doubt but that you'll be well in a little time. And this it is that I complain of, 〈◊〉 Don Gracias; If I had lost 〈…〉 in serving you, con●●● he, I had died gloriou 〈…〉 I must drag a wretched life against my Will, and live to be the most unhappy man in the world. With all the good qualities that you possess, I cannot believe you to be so unhappy, as you talk, replies Eugenia. How Madam, says he to her, don't you think that man very unhappy, who knows your value, who esteems you more than any one living, who loves you better than his life, and with all this, who cannot pretend to merit you, though Fortune had been as favourable as she has hitherto been averse to him? You mightily surprise me, said she to him blushing, but the great obligations I have to you, give you a privilege with me, that under my present circumstances I should allow in none but yourself. Only think of getting well, continued she, and rest assured that your misfortunes shall not trouble you long, when it is in Eugenia's power to put an end to them. She would not stay for his answer, and by that means saved him a world of Compliments, which fell out luckily for him, because he must have strained hard to make good ones, and that perhaps might have done him harm in his present weakness. She called to some of her Servants that looked after him, and went out of the room, just as the Surgeons came in. Satisfaction of Mind is a Sovereign remedy to a sick body. Don Garcias gathered such hopes of the happy success of his Amour from Eugenia's words, that from the deep Melancholy, wherein he was plunged like a despairing Lover, he now gave up himself to joy, and this joy contributed more to his cure, than all the Remedies of the Surgeons. He was perfectly cured, and out of good manners quitted Eugenia's house, but not his pretensions to her heart. She had promised to love him, provided he did not make any public discovery of it; and after all perhaps she loved him as much as he loved her, but having lately lost her Husband, and been engaged in some adventures, which rendered her the common subject o● conversation in Court and City, she thought it not adviseable to expose herself afresh to the malicious censures of the world, by a marriage so unseasonable, and against the rules of decency. At last, Don Garcias over came all these difficulties by his merit and constancy. He was so well made in his person, as to make any Rival whatever despair. He was a younger brother of one of the best Families of Arragon, and although he had not actually signalised himself in the Wars, as he had very gallantly, yet the long services his Father had done the Crown of Spain, might 〈◊〉 make him hope to find a reward of as great profit●● honour at Court. Eugenia could not defend herself against so many noble qualities, nor was she willing to be any longer in his debt, after she had received so many obligations from him. In short, she married him: Both Court and City approved her choice; and that she might not have any reason to repent of it, not long after it so happened, that the King of Spain bestowed a Commandery of St jago upon Don Garcias: And before that happened, it so happened, that our Bridegroom convinced Eugenia the first night of his bedding her, that he was another sort of a man than Don Sancho, and she found in him what she had not found in the Portugese Andrada. They had abundance of Children, because they took abundance of pains to get them; and the people of Spain to this day tell their History, which I have given you here for a true one, as it was given me.   

NOVEL V.  
The Generous Lover: OR, The Man of Deeds, and not of Words.  
UNder a King of Naples, whose name I cannot tell, however I suppose it might be Alphonso, Leonard de Saint Severin, Prince of Tarento, was one of the greatest Lords of his Kingdom, and one of the most celebrated Generals of his time. He died, and left the Principality of Tarento to his Daughter Mathilda, a young Princess about seventeen years old: as beautiful as an Angel, and as good conditioned as she was beautiful, but so extremely good conditioned, that those that did not know she had an infinite deal of wit, would have been apt to call it in question. Her Father long before his death had promised her in marriage to Prosper, Prince of Salerno. This latter was a man of a haughty disagreeable temper, and the sweet and gentle Mathilda, by virtue of being long accustomed to bear with him, was so well prepared to love and fear him, that never did Slave depend more upon the imperious will of his Master, than this young Princess did upon that of old Prosper. I think a man at the age of forty-five may very well be called old, when he is mentioned with one so young as Mathilda. Her affection to this superannuated Lover may be said to proceed rather from custom than inclination, and was as sincere as his was interressed. Not but that he was as fond of her too, as 'twas as possible for him to be, and this was no more than what any man would have done as well as himself, for indeed she was all amiable; but 'twas not in the nature of the beast (I beg his pardon, but 'tis out) to love very much, and he rather esteemed a Mistress for her dirty acres and unrighteous Mammon, than for her merit and beauty. The truth is, he made love but awkwardly: however he was so happy, or, to express myself more properly, she was so easy to be pleased, that although he did not pay her half the respect and complaisance which one might expect from a generous Lover, yet for all that he was absolute master of her heart, and had brought her to such a pass as to submit to all his ill conditions. He found fault with all her actions, and plagued her incessantly with those musty advices that old men in their great wisdom so often inculcate to the young, and the other so little care for. In short, he would have been a greater thorn in her side, than a peevish malicious Governante, if he could have found out any faults in her conduct. It is true, that when he was in a good humour, he would tell her stories of the old Court, play on his Guitarre, and dance a Saraband before her. I have already told you his age, but to go on with his Character. He was spruce in his Person and clothes; curious in his Pertiwigs, an infallible sign that his hair was none of the best; he took mighty care of his Teeth, though time began to play tricks with them; he valued himself. upon his Lily-white hands, and suffered the Nail of his left little Finger to grow to a prodigious length, by the same token he thought it one of the prettiest sights in the world. He was nice to admiration in his Feathers and Ribbons, punctually twisted up his Mustachio's every night, was always perfumed, and always carried some tidbit in his pocket to eat, and some Verses to read. As for himself, he was an execrable versifyer, was a walking Magazine of all the new Songs, played upon most Instruments, performed his Exercises with a grace, but his chief Talon was Dancing. He loved the wits that asked him nothing, had performed some actions in his time that were brave, and some that were otherwise, and as one might say, he had two Buzzards to one Hawk, or if you please, two Blanks to one Benefit. In short, I may properly apply to him a burlesque Song of my own making, the latter part of which is almost worn into a Proverb.  

SONG.  
HEre lies a sine wight,  
That could sing you at sight,  
And dance like a spirit,  
And verses indite,  
And bravely recite.  
What's more, he could fight,  
(I swear by this light)  
Like Fury, or Knight.  
He knew what was what,  
Could gallop and troth,  
And toss off his Pot,  
And swear at the Shot.  
Yet with all he had got,  
It was the hard lot  
Of this boaster, God wots,  
To be a damned sot.   
With all these fine qualities, one of the loveliest Princesses in the world was desperately in love with him. 'Tis true indeed, she was but seventeen years old; but our Noble Prince of Salermo did not stand much upon that. There is no doubt but the Princess Mathilda, being so rich and beautiful as she was, would have had a hundred Gallants more, if it had not been universally believed in Naples, that her Marriage with Prosper was as good as concluded in her Father's time, or if that Prince's quality had not discouraged other pretenders, who (though they wanted his Title) were men of fortune and birth good enough to be his Rivals. Thus the greatest part of these Lovers, either governed by a principle of fear or discretion, were content to sigh for her in private, without daring to speak. Hippolito was the only man that had the courage to own himself in public the Rival of Prosper, and the respective Lover of Mathilda. He was descended from one of the best Families in Spain, and came in a direct line from the great Ruis Lopez●d● Avalos, Constable of Castille, who was so remarkable an instance of the inconstancy of fortune, since from the richest and most powerful Grandee of his own Country, he was turned out of it poor and miserable, forced to borrow money of his Friends, and fly to the King of Arragon, who took him into his own protection, and gave him a fortune sufficient at Naples to support him according to his quality. This Hippolito was one of the most accomplished Cavaliers of his time: His valour had gained him reputation in several parts of Europe, and all the world owned him to be a man of the nicest honour. As I have already told you, he was an humble admirer of Mathilda, and though he could never hope to succeed, so long as she loved Prosper, yet he resolved to love her on to the end of the Chapter. He was liberal even to prodigality, whereas his Rival was thrifty even to avarice. He omitted not the least opportunity to show his Magnificence to Mathilda, and although he carried it as far as his Fortune would give him leave, yet she seldom saw it, for her Tyrant Prosper hindered her from giving any countenance to these gallantries of love, let them come from what quarter they would. Our obstinate Lover frequently ran at the Ring before his Mistress' Window, often gave her Serenades, and diverted her with Tilts and Tournaments. The cipher and colours of Mathilda were to be seen in all his Liveries: the praises of Mathilda rung through all Italy, in the verses he composed, and in the Airs and Songs he caused to be made; but she was no more moved with all this, than if she had known nothing of it. Nay, by the express order or the Prince of Salerno, she must go out of Naples, whenever there was to be any Running at the Ring, Dancing, or any Gallantries of the like nature, which the amorous Hippolito provided for her. To make short, she affected to disoblige him upon all occasions, with a cruelty that seemed to be a violence upon her Nature, and made all the world exclaim against her. This did not in the least discourage Hippolito, and the ill treatment of Mathilda increased his love instead of lessening it. He did more than this: he showed that respect to Prosper, which he did not owe him, and to please Mathilda, paid him the same deference, which is usually shown to persons of superior quality, although there was no other difference between the Prince of Salerno and him, than their Estate. In short, he respected his Mistress in his Rival, and perhaps forbore to hate him, because he was beloved by Mathilda. But Prosper was not so complaisant: he hated Hippolito mortally, he made a hundred scurvy jests upon him, nay, would never have scrupled to tell lies of him, if he thought any one would have believed them. But Hippolito was the delight of Naples, and his reputation was so well established there, that although he had actually deviated from his Character, he could hardly have destroyed it. Thus Prosper was the happy man, and stood possessed of Mathilda's affection, though he did nothing to deserve it. That beautiful Princess did not think she saw him often enough, though she saw him every day, when Fortune all on the sudden threw her from the height of happiness, into the extremity of misery. She had a Cousin-german by her Father's side, who might have passed for a man of merit, had he been a man of less ambition and avarice; he had been bred up with the 〈◊〉 was of the same age, and had insinuated himself so 〈◊〉 his good graces, that he was the sole manager of all his pleasures and sports, and the dispenser of all his Favours. This Roger de Saint Severin (for so he was called) was possessed with a fancy, that the Principality of Tarento belonged to him, and that a Daughter could not legally inherit it, to the prejudice of the Male line. He spoke to the King about it, who encouraged him to claim his right, and promised to support him by his Authority. The affair was kept secret; Roger made himself Master of Tarento, and had placed a good Garrison there, before Mathilda had the least mistrust of it. Our poor Princess, who had never been in any trouble before, was as it were thunderstruck with this news. No one but Hippolito declared himself in her favour, who scorned to truckle to the King's Favourite; and Prosper, who was more obliged to her than any man living, did even less for her than any man, whereas Hippolito not only discharged his duty, but was carried by his zeal beyond it. He waited on her to offer her his service, but she durst not accept of it, for fear of disobliging her Prince of Salerno, who since her misfortune did not visit her so often as he used to do, when she was peaceable Mistress of Tarento. In the mean time Hippolito talked boldly of the injustice that was done her, and sent a challenge to Roger: for which he had Guards placed about him, and was commanded to desist; but as he was generally beloved by all people, he might have easily raised a party in Naples, strong enough to have made the Favourite doubt the success of his ill designs. He made several attempts upon Tarento, all which miscarried, by reason of the great care Roger had taken to prevent all accidents of that nature. At last the breach between the two pretenders growing wider every day, and most of the Italian Princes interesting themselves one way or tother, the Pope employed his mediation to procure a peace, made them lay down their arms, and prevailed with the King of Naples to refer the decision of the dispute between his Favourite and Mathilda, to Judges of known integrity. The Reader may easily guests what an extraordinary expense Hippolito was at, being the head of a Party, and so liberal in his temper; he may likewise easily imagine, that Mathilda, as much a Princess as she was, was in a short time reduced to very pressing necessities. Roger had possessed himself of her Lands. He had persuaded the King that she kept private intelligence with his Enemies; her rents were no longer paid, and no one durst lend money to the woman, whom the Favourite had a mind to ruin. Prosper abandoned her at last, but she still loved him so violently, 〈◊〉 she less resented his ingratitude, than his forgetfulness. Hippolito would not offer her money, because he knew she would refuse it, but went a more generous way to work. He sent her some by one of his Friends, who took the honour of it upon himself, and without telling her that it came from Hippolito, obliged that Princess by oath never to talk of it, lest this kindness might draw upon him the indignation of the Favourite. In the mean time the Process came on, and sentence was given in favour of Mathilda. The King was displeased at it, Roger was enraged, the Court was astonished, every one was vexed, or rejoiced according to his own inclination or interest, but the generality of people admired and praised the probity of the Judges. Mathilda, who to her glory had obtained so important a Process, sent a Gentleman to Prosper, with a transport that can hardly be imagined, to acquaint him with the happy success of her affair. Prosper● rejoiced exceedingly at the news, and to testify it to this Gentleman, he hugged and embraced him at a strange rate, and promised to serve him, whenever an opoportunity should present itself. Hippolito knew nothing of it till after his Rival, yet he bestowed a Diamond Ring of great value upon the man that brought him the news. He feasted all the Court, prepared Lists before Mathilda's window, and for eight days together run at the Ring against all people. Gallantries of this nature generally make a great noise. Several Princes of Italy, and most of Mathilda's Relations and Friends were present at it, and signalised themselves: nay, the King himself, who passionately admired this sort of Exercise, was pleased to honour it with his Royal Presence. Roger had interest enough with his Master to have hindered him, but by a cunning fetch of his politics he had reconciled himself to Mathilda, and declared to all the world, that unless he had really thought that Tarento belonged to him, he would never have attempted to make himself Master of it. The King was mightily pleased with him for so readily submitting to the sentence of the Judges, and that he might recompense him for the loss of his trial, and his pretensions upon Tarento, gave him one of the most important Governments of the Kingdom, besides the places he had before. Hippolito performed wonders at running at the Ring, and carried away the honour of it. Prosper had a mind to dispute it with him, so all be-plumbed and be-feathered, that any one would have taken him for an American Prince. But he was thrown the very first course, either through his own fault or that of his Horse's, and was sufficiently bruised, or at least pretended so to be. He was carried to Mathilda's house, who for vexation quitted her Balcony, and cursed the amorous Hippolito a hundred times for his pains. He came to hear of it, and was so concerned that he broke up the Assembly, and retired in the greatest despair, to a fine house he had within a league of Naples. In the mean time Prosper was so enraged at his fall, that he treated Mathilda after a most terrible manner, telling her that she was the cause of his disgrace, and reproached her with being in love with Hippolito. Mathilda, always gentle, always humble, and always blindly fond of her haughty Tyrant, begged his pardon, and in short, was as chicken-hearted, as he was brutal. Hippolito had a Sister that was bred up with the Queen of Spain, and was lately returned to Naples, for reasons that I don't know, and signify nothing to our history. Besides that she was beautiful to a miracle, she was a Lady of extraordinary merit, that rendered her deserving of the vows of the best men in the Kingdom. At her return from Spain, she found her Brother's Affairs in so low a condition, that when he set up the running at the Ring, she would not appear at Court, because she wanted an Equipage suitable for a person of her quality, but always kept at her Brother's house, which was all that was left him of his Estate, for he had parted with his Lands. She came Incognito to see the running at the Ring, and observing her Brother break up the Company, and leave Naples so abruptly, followed him home, and found him in the most lamentable condition that could be. He had broke his Lances, tore his Feathers and his Hair, mangled his clothes and his Face; in short, he was in such a distraction, that she would have despaired of ever seeing him come to his Senses again, had she not known very well, that a smile, nay an indifferent look from Mathilda, would have made him forget a thousand ill treatments. She did all that lay in her power to bring him to a good humour, gave way to his passion instead of combating it, railed at Mathilda, when he stormed against her; and said all the good things she could think of her, when after all his Transports the Scene changed, and she found him the most amorous Lover that ever was. But the surly Prosper had not the same complaisance for Mathilda; his fall still broiled in his Stomach, and he daily laid it to her charge, tho' she was by no means accessary to it. One day, when after having thanked her Judges, she went to wait upon the King to thank him likewise, although he had been against her; but a Court 'tis a point of indiscretion to speak one's real thoughts, or receive a denial otherwise than with fawning and cringing: One day therefore when she was in the King's Antichamber, she saw the obsequious Prosper come in. Ever since his fall he had never made her a visit but to scold and quarrel with her for suffering Hippolito to run at the Ring under her window. Nothing could be more unjust than Prosper's complaints. It was not in Mathilda's power to hinder a public diversion, even though it had not been designed for her sake, since her Palace took up one side of the great square: and although it had been in her power, yet she ought not to have done it, unless she resolved to be thought a woman of no manners nor gratitude. Prosper was the only man, who by his false way of his reasoning fancied that she had done him an irreparable injury, and his anger soured him to that degree that he went no more to visit her, as if he had broke off with her for good and all. The poor Princess was ready to run distracted about it, and no sooner saw this Tyrant of hearts, who was just going into the King's chamber, but she threw herself in his way and stopped him. He endeavoured to avoid her, and pressed forward: she caught hold of him by the arm, and casting a look at him that was enough to charm any one but this haughty Brute, she asked him, what she had done to him that he should shun her thus. What have you not done, replied this Prince arrogantly, and how can you ever retrieve the reputation you have lost by suffering the Gallantries of Hippolito. I cannot hinder them, nor hinder him from loving me, answers Mathilda, but 'tis in my power not to approve either his Love, or his Gallantry; and I think, continues she, that I have sufficiently testified my dislike of them, when I went from my Balcony, before the show was over. You should not have appeared there at all, replies Prosper, and the reason why you went a way at last was only because you saw all the company pointed at you for being there. But your love for Hippolito has made you lose all your reason, and his Gallantries have quite effaced all the services I am capable of doing you. Mathilda was vexed to the heart to hear this, and was going to answer him, but he would not give her time: besides the anger, that appeared in his countenance, made the Princess so afraid of him that she was perfectly speechless. When you were no more Mistress of Tarento, said he to her, and the King ordered you to be apprehended, I had a mind to see how far your indiscretion and mean spirit would carry you, and whether Adversity could cure your faults. For this reason I made no Feasts like your Gallant, nay I pretended to be no longer in your Interesta. In the mean time Hippolito made a mighty bustle, and did you little service, and your affairs for a long time seemed to be in a desperate condition. Then you could condescend to make some advances towards me, in order to bring me back to you again, but this was only a copy of your countenance, since you still preserved your Hippolito. Your Politics I confess were not amiss: You drained this poor despicable Gallant while he had a drop to part with, flattering yourself, that after you had exhausted him to all intents and purposes, you should do me an extraordinary favour to take me in his room; and you made account, that although you should lose Tarento at your Trial, yet your Beauty would make you Princess of Salerno, when ever you pleased. But no sooner did a favourable Decree revive your hopes, but you changed your Maxim of State with your Maxim of Love. You thought that a young ruin'd Prodigal would better fit your turn than me, and considered, that if you married the Prince of Salerno, you must expect to live with a Master, authorised by Custom and the Laws, whereas you would find in Hippolito a supple Slave, that would make it all his business to please you. Imprudent Princess! continued he, durst such a poor needy wretch as Hippolito pretend to make love to a Woman of your Quality, unless she gave him encouragement; and can any one believe, that for bare hopes only, he would have put himself to such an expense, that he's utterly beggared; and so foolishly too, that he enriched, with one single Present, the Man that came from you, to bring him the news that you had gained your cause? Yet after all these Testimonies I have of your indiscretion and infidelity, you are vain enough to believe that I love you never the worse for them. Be happy if you can with your Hippolito, but delude yourself no longer that I will be unhappy with Mathilda. He would have left her after he had spoke these words, but the Princess still kept her hold, and once in her life had the courage to contradict him. Ungrateful Prince! said she to him, one of the greatest proofs I can give thee that I yet love thee, is not to hate thee, after thou hast said so many disobliging things to me. They rather make against thee than me, and I cannot employ them better to thy confusion and my own advantage, than by confessing that they are true. Yes, continued she, Hippolito has loved me; Hippolito to serve me, neither feared the hatred of a Favourite, nor the indignation of a King; he respects me, he does every thing to please me. He would have protected me when I was abandoned by all the world, nay, he has done more, for he has ruined himself for my sake. What didst thou ever do like this? Thou wilt tell me that thou lovest me; how! love me, and not show common civility to me; thou who ought'st to have shown it to my Sex, altho' it was not due to my Quality. And yet what ill-conditioned Master ever treated a Slave more unworthily than thou hast treated me, and who would have thus trampled on a person who loves thee so well as I do? No, no, Prince, thou hast no reason to complain, and thou art obliged to me that I don't. But I will go farther than this: I will own, if thou wilt have me, Crimes that I never committed. I will never see Hippolito more, nay I will be ungrateful to him, that thou mayst not be so to me. In fine, to regain thy Heart, there is nothing so difficult but I will put it in execution. And there is nothing impossible to those bright eyes, says the Prince to her, adjusting his Periwig. They have disarmed me of all my anger, and provided they always keep their favourable glances for me, the too happy Prosper will never adore any one but the beautiful Mathilda. The amorous Princess thought herself more than paid with these few Compliments of her old Gallant. In a less public place perhaps she would have thrown herself at his Feet, to thank him for this mighty condescension, but neither time nor place would give her leave to answer him. The King came out of his Chamber: She begged of Prosper to stand by her when she spoke to him, but he shrinking away from her, told her, that it was not convenient for them to be seen together, for some reasons that he could tell her. She perceived well enough, that he was afraid of making his Court ill, but she was so near the King, that she had not time to reproach Prosper, with being a better Courtier than a Lover. She presented herself to the King, paid her respects to him, and made her compliment of thanks. The King received her very coldly, and his answer was so ambiguous, that it might be interpreted as well to her disadvantage as otherwise But the sweet things that Prosper had said to her, gave her such satisfaction, that his last ingratitude, in refusing to introduce her to the King, made no impression upon her mind, no more than the ill reception his Majesty gave her, so much transported she was to be reconciled to her imperious Lover. That day she was visited by all the Ladies of Quality in Naples, who agreed to go a hunting the next morning a Horseback, in a Campaign dress, and Caps set off with Feathers. The greatest Gallants at Court were there, so we may easily imagine, that the Prince of Salerno, who was Gallantry itself, made one of the Company. This was not all; he resolved to make the Princess a Present, which he had never done before. He sent her a most passionate Letter, attended with a fine Cap; but to tell the truth, he himself sorted and ordered the Feathers, by the same token that there was not one new Feather amongst them. As I take it, I have already observed, that he had an admirable fancy at Feathers. This was the only Vanity on which he would lay out any Money, tho' to do him justice, he husbanded his Plumes to a miracle, for he would often diversify them, transplanting them from one Cap to another, and as old as they were, knew how to make them appear fresh and new upon occasion, as well as if he had served seven Years Apprenticeship to the Trade. I am willing to believe that he sat up the best part of the night to put it in order, that nothing might be wanting to so magnificent a Present. The Princess received it as if it had been sent her from Heaven, gave him a hundred more thanks than it deserved, and promised him in a Letter she sent in answer to his, that she would honour herself with this miraculous Cap as long as she lived. I will not tell you what sport they had in the Chase, because the particulars never arrived to my knowledge. But we may reasonably suppose, that some of their Horses foundered, that the Cavaliers were so well-bred as to wait upon the Ladies, that Prosper displayed all his Gallantry, and that he engrossed the whole talk to himself, being the greatest Talker of his age. Our Ladies were so well pleased with the Chase, that they resolved to take their pleasure the next day; and in order to change their Diversion, they designed to go by Sea to Puzzolo, where the Princess Mathilda promised to give them a Collation and Music. They no less spruced themselves up for their Voyage by Water, than they had done the day before for hunting. The Boats that carried them were finely adorned, covered with rich Tapestry, whether of Turkey or China, I won't be positive, and the meanest Cushions were of Silk or Velvet. Prosper would needs go thither by land, and had none but his dear self to accompany him, either to save Money, or because he was melancholy, for some folks are so out of pride. He was mounted upon his finest Horse, had dressed himself in his richest Campaign Suit, and loaded his head with the spoils of many an Ostrich. Hippolito's House lay in the road to Puzzolo, near the Sea, and the Prince of Salerno must of necessity ride just by it. He no sooner saw it, but a noble thought came into his head. He knew that Hippolito was at home, and alighted from his Horse to have a little Conversation with him. Hippolito received him with all the respect and civility that was due to his Quality, altho' the other had not the manners to return it. Prosper made him a very rude Compliment upon his presuming to be in love with a Princess, who was to be his Wife. Hippolito bore all his impertinence for a long while, and answered him with all the sweetness imaginable, that he ought not to be offended at his Gallantry, which a Love without hopes put him upon. But at last Prosper's Insolence forced him to change his Language, and he had already called for his Horse to go out and fight him, when word was brought him that the Sea was very tempestuous, and that the Boats wherein the Ladies were, which they could behold from the shore, were in danger of being dashed against the Rocks. Hippolito did not doubt but that these Ladies were Mathilda and her Company, he persuaded Prosper to run to the relief of their common Mistress, who excused himself upon his not being able to swim, and that he was not yet recovered of the bruise he received when he run at the Ring. The generous Hippolito, detesting in his Soul the ingratitude of his Rival, ran or rather flew to the Seashore. His Servants followed him, threw themselves into the Sea after his example, and by the assistance of some Fishermen, who happened by good luck to be upon the Coast, they made a shift to save Mathilda's Life, and the Ladies in her company. Their Boats were overturned within a hundred Yards of the shore; and Naples had bewailed the loss of all its Beauties at once, if it had not been for this seasonable relief. Hippolito was so happy, that Mathilda owed her life to him. His love made him soon distinguish her from the other Ladies, whom the waves were going to dash against the rocks that bond the shore. While the Fishermen and his Servant helped the first persons they found, he caught hold of the Princess just as she risen above water, and holding her with one hand, while he swum with the other towards the shore, he happily gained it without any one to help him. Mathilda found herself much more ill after her Shipwreck, than the rest of the Ladies that were saved with her. After they had vomited their salt-water, changed their clothes and recovered their fright, they were able that very day to take Coach for Naples. As for the Princess of Tarento, it was a long time before they brought her to herself. Even than they much doubted her Life, and Hippolito and his Sister Ir●ne took all the care of her that was possible. He sent to Naples for the ablest Physicians, besides him belonging to the Princess, and quitted his House entirely to Mathilda, and to some of her Domestics that came to wait on her. He and his Servants made a shift to lodge at a little Farm not far from his own House, and sent every other moment to inquire how the Princess did, when he could not go thither himself. As for Prosper, very well pleased with the rough Compliment he had passed upon Hippolito, he left Mathilda and the rest of the Ladies to swim for themselves as well as they could, without troubling his head what became of them; thinking perhaps, that since he was none of the fittest man to help them, he ought not to pollute his eyes with so 〈◊〉 a spectacle, and so jogged on gently to Naples, expecting the doubtful event of the Shipwreck, to rejoice at it or otherwise, according as it would have made him happy or unhappy. In the mean time Mathilda, assisted by her youth, and the remedies that were given her, recovered her Health and Beauty all at once, and was extremely satisfied with the great care of Hippolito and his Sister, who dexterously insinuated to her, with what indifference Prosper had beheld the peril she was in. Mathilda did not discover the least mark of resentment in her face or discourse; whether it were because her love mastered it, or because she dissembled her ill usage. The Night before she designed to leave Hippolito's House and return to Naples, she could not sleep, and called for a Book and a Candle. Her Women were gone out of her Chamber to sleep or do something, else, when she saw Prosper come into the Room. We may readily guests what a surprise she was in, to see him at so unseasonable an hour, and how much she looked upon herself affronted by so disrespectful a visit: She spoke to him of it with some warmth. Prosper was warmer than she, and as if this Princess had thrown herself into this danger of losing her life, on purpose to give Hippolito the glory of saving it, he reproached her with her Shipwreck, as a blemish to her honour, and taxed her with infidelity, because she was in the House of one that was in love with her, lodged in his Chamber, and lay in his Bed. Mathilda would not condescend to show him how unjust his reproaches were, but retorted upon him for not having endeavoured to save her, and in a cutting way of raillery, complained of him for not being able to swim, as also for not being fully recovered of his late dangerous fall. Prosper reddened with anger and confusion, treated her with opprobrious language, and told her he would never see her any more, since Roger the King's Favourite offered him his Sister, and with her all the advantages he might expect from the alliance of a Man in his Post. Mathilda could not hold out against so terrible a menace; her Blood curdled within her, and her Love soon conquered her Indignation. She had began to exert herself a little, but all on the sudden became a suppliant. He relented too on his side when he saw her humbled as much as he thought convenient, and according to his custom cajoled her, and said the same soft things to her as he ought to have done, if in all the love qurrrels he had had with her, he had never trespassed against the respect and tenderness he owed her. He made new protestations of Love to her, and straining hard to surprise her by some topping Compliments, he made very impertinent ones, for he wished her all sorts of Adversities, that he might have an opportunity forsooth of convincing her, how much he was her humble Servant For God's sake Madam, said he to her, in a passionate tone, why are you not out of favour at Court? Oh that you were still persecuted by Roger! Oh that you were yet out of your Principality of Tarento! that you might see with what zeal and ardour I would solicit the King for you! with what vigour I would espouse your cause against your Enemies, and whether I should be afraid to venture my Person, and all that I am worth in the world, to reinstate you in what was usurped from you. Come, come, says the Princess, there's no necessity that I should be more unfortunate than I am, to give you the opportunity of showing your generosity; and I would not willingly put your Love to so dangerous a proof. They were engaged in this discourse, when a noise of confused and dreadful voices, that cried out fire, made them run to the windows, where they saw all the lower part of the House under them, vomiting fire and smoke, and at the same time the flames began to enter the Chamber by the Staircase, and took from them all hopes of saving themselves that way, as Prosper was preparing to do. The Princess all in a fright, conjured him not to abandon her in so great a danger, and proposed to him to make use of the Sheets and Hang to get out of the window. The Prince, as much affrighted as she, told her, that they would not have time to do it; and measuring with his eyes the height of the windows, and considering which would be the best way to leap into the Court, he told Mathilda very plainly, that upon these occasions every one ought to shift for himself. But thou shalt not go without me, said she to him very resolutely, and I will run no danger here, which the most ungrateful and ungenerous Man alive shall not partake with me. She had no sooner said these words, but she caught hold of Prosper, and her indignation at his baseness gave her so much strength, that in spite of all his striving and struggling, he could not disengage himself from her. He swore, he called her names, he was Brute enough to threaten to drub or kill her, (I don't know which of the two it was) and had certainly been as good as his word, if at the time as he was tugging with her, as rudely and fiercely as if he had been to deal with an Enemy, the generous Hippolito had not come into the Room. The Princess seeing him, left Prosper at liberty, and came up to Hippolito, who without giving her time to speak to him, covered her with a wet Sheet, which he had brought on purpose, and taking her in his Arms, he threw himself like a Lion with his prey through the flames, which now filled all the Staircase. He had no sooner set her down in a place of safety, but was so generous to do the same service for his Rival. 'Tis true, he burned his clothes, singed his Hair and his Eyebrows; but I would fain know what signifies the burning of one's clothes or the singing of one's Hair, to a Man whose Heart was burnt to a coal by Love? While Mathilda recovered her Spirits, and Prosper got back to Naples, without so much as thanking his Deliverer, the other beheld his House burnt down to the ground, and with that his Furniture and Horses, in short, all that his former profuseness had left him: Mathilda was afflicted at it, I will not say more than he was, for alas he scarce thought at all of it, but as much as if she had seen all that she had dear in the world destroyed. She looked upon herself to be the occasion of this misfortune to him, and indeed she was not mistaken. Her Cousin Roger, who had reconciled himself to her with no other intention, but to accomplish her ruin more easy, had bribed some of Hippolito's Servants, that were Villains enough to take his Money, to lay a great deal of combustible stuff in the Vaults and Cellars of his House, and set it on fire in the dead of the night, when all the Family was asleep. This unjust Favourite made no conscience to ruin a poor Gentleman, nay, procure his death too, provided he could do the same to a Relation, whose Estate he hoped by this means to inherit; and as if her death would not satisfy him, which had most infallibly happened, in case his design had succeeded, he likewise endeavoured to make her Memory odious. At the time when Hippolito's House was on fire, Roger had managed his Cards so dexterously, that Messengers were ordered to search Mathilda's Palace, and opening her Closet found some forged Letters there, which seemed to be written to the Duke of Anjou, and plainly convinced her of keeping a private intelligence with that dangerous Enemy of the Government. Our unfortunate Princess received this unlucky News, just as she was going to send to Naples for her Coaches to bring her home. She was extremely troubled at it, and without staying a moment longer, ran to Naples with all her Servants a foot in the most lamentable condition that can be imagined. Hippolito offered to accompany her, but she positively forbidden him, fearing I suppose to disoblige her musty Spark Prosper; and thus our unhappy Lover saw her departed, and was infinitely more concerned at this last Misfortune which had befallen the Princess, and at her commanding him to leave her, than at the burning of his House. Mathilda no sooner came to Naples, but she was taken into custody. She demanded to speak with the King, but it was refused her. She sent to speak with Prosper, but the old Gentleman pretended to be wondrous sick, and thus Mathilda beheld herself all at once abandoned by all her Friends, as if she had been infected with the Plague. The very same day she received an Order from the King to leave Naples. Her own Domestics basely and scandalously deserted her; her Creditors, without any respect to her Quality, persecuted her most unmercifully: In short, she was reduced to so wretched a condition, that she could not procure Coach nor Horse, to carry her to a certain Prince of Italy, who was the nearest Relation she had in the world next to Roger, and who had always espoused her quarrel against that haughty Favourite. Being thus forsaken by all her Friends, destitute even of the necessaries of Life, and uncapable of obeying so rigorous an Order, she took sanctuary in a Convent, where they would not receive her without his Majesty's permission for so doing, who granted it, upon condition that she should leave it that very night. She went out of it in disguise● and so secretly, that with all the search and enquiry Hippolito could make, he could not meet the least information which way she was gone. However, he resolved to follow her just as chance directed him, rather than sit still at home, and make no enquiry after her. While he was in quest of her, or at least fancied he was, she thought no more of him, and Prosper thought no more of her. He represented her as a Criminal of State, made his Court very regularly to the King and his Favourite: and as the generality of Mankind use to alter their Measures with the time, he made love to Camilla, Roger's Sister, and begged of the King to help on the Marriage. The King, who looked upon it as an advantageous Match for the Sister of his Confident, whom he loved the best of any Subject in his Dominions, spoke about it to his Favourite, who always likes that which his Master likes. This Sister of Roger was one of the most beautiful Ladies of Naples, and tho' she shared in her Brother's good Fortune, yet she had no hand in his wicked designs. As she was looked upon at Court to be the best Match in the Kingdom, she looked upon Hippolito to be the compleatest Gentleman of his time, and perhaps loved him, or at least would have loved him, if she had not beheld him so passionately in love with another. She took Mathilda's misfortune so to heart, and was so generous in her temper, that if she had in the least suspected that it was all owing to her Brother, she would most undoubtedly have reproached him with so black an action, and been one of the first to exclaim against it. She was so afflicted at Hippolito's late loss, that not valuing what the World would say of her, she went to find him at his Habitation that was burnt down to the ground, to offer him Money, or whatever he wanted that lay in her power. She met with his Sister there, who little expected such a visit, much less to be invited to take up her Quarters at Camilla's House. This beautiful Lady could not refuse so obliging an offer, and went with her to Naples. What better course could a young person of her Sex and condition take, who found herself without a Farthing to relieve her, without a House to cover her, without hopes of mending her Fortune, in a Country too, where she scarce knew any one but her Brother, who was as good as lost to her, since as soon as he was informed that Mathilda had left Naples, he ran in quest of her like a Madman, without knowing whether she was gone. That day on which Camilla went to find Irene at her Brother's House, with a design to carry her home with her, the King was pleased to honour her with a visit, and presented to her our gallant Prince of Salerno and all his Gallantry. Camilla, who had Hippolito always in her thoughts, received Prosper's Compliments with as much indifference, as she expressed thankfulness to the King for condescending to see her. The sorrowful Irene bore her company, and under all her affliction appeared so charming to the eyes of the young King, that he fell in love with her. His Love was violent in its very infancy. He approached her with as much respect and awe, as if she had been in his condition, and he in hers. He said a thousand fine things to her upon her beauty, and this lovely young Lady, who demeaned herself neither with too much haugh●ness nor submission, discovered at once so much wit, prudence and modesty, that he considered her from that very moment as the only happiness that was wanting to his fortune. He stayed at Camilla's house as long as possible he could, and the pleasure he took in conversing with Irene, was so much the more taken notice of, as the young King had always seemed insensible to love, and behaved himself with great coldness towards all the most celebrated beauties of Naples. Irene was so charming that it was impossible for a man, though never so little inclined to Love, and never so uncapable to judge of her merit, to avoid falling in love with her. Camilla before she knew her, intended to serve her for her Brother's sake, but no sooner came she acquainted with her, but she lov●d her for her own. She easily believed that the King was in love with her, because she desired it, and far from envying her good fortune, as any other handsome Lady but herself would have done, she rejoiced at it exceedingly. She congratulated Irene upon so important a Conquest, and had without question flattered the vanity and hopes of any Lady less presuming than her. But this modest Damsel could not be persuaded, but that the King was more a Gallant than a Lover, that he had no other design but only to divert himself, and that he would think no more of her, when he was out of her sight. But she was mistaken: it was not long before the King came again to her to acquaint her with his passion, which was so impetuous that it would not suffer him to be longer without seeing her than that very evening after he fell in love with her. He told the Prince of Salerno that he was resolved to go incognito after the Spanish mode to make love to Irene under Camilla's Balcony. Prosper was mightily pleased to be made the confident of his Master's Pleasures, and accompany him in an amorous Adventure. In all probability Roger had been chosen for this affair, or at least had bore his share in it, but that very day he had taken his leave of the King to go to Tarento, whither some important business call●d him. The Night came, and the King accompanied by Prosper, who was armed like himself after the Italian manner, that is to say, with more offensive Arms than a single man can be supposed to want, came under Camilla's Balcony, who had been before hand acquainted with his coming by Prosper. She knew the method and good breeding of the Court too well, not to leave the King at liberty to entertain himself with his Mistress in private. For this reason she retired to another Balcony, notwithstanding all the entreaties of Irene to stay with her. The King reproached this young Lady for her uneasiness to be alone with him, and told her, that she ●ow'd at least some complaisance to a King, who had for her something above it. I should owe all to your Majesty, replied Irene, if I did not likewise own something to myself, which I cannot owe to any one else. And what do you own to yourself, says the King, which you do not owe to my Love? Why not to believe that you have any for me, answers Irene. Alas! cries the King sighing, there is nothing so sure, and there is nothing I would not willingly do to hinder you from doubting it. If I could believe what you tell me, says she, I should have more reason to complain of your Majesty, than thank you for it. How cruel Damosel, answered the King, and can a passion so sincere as mine offend you. It would be a honour to some great Queen, replies Irene, but it would very much call in question the Judgement of any one else. 'Tis true indeed, says the King, that you are no Queen, but she that deserves to be one, is in a possibility of making one. I am not so vain of my own merit, answers Irene, as to expect any such alteration in my fortune, and your Majesty has more goodness, than to divert yourself longer at the expense of an unhappy Creature. Beautiful Irene, says our amorous Prince, I love you as much as 'tis possible for the most passionate and faithful Lover in the Universe to love you, and if my Tongue has informed you of what my looks and sighs could not have acquainted you with in so short a time, don't think that I have any design to dispense by my quality any of the pains of a long servitude, or any of the services and cares which the most charming woman upon earth may expect from the most respectful Lover. But so violent a pain as mine wants a speedy remedy, and you ought to be satisfied in my opinion, however scrupulous and rigid you may be towards a King, who is afraid to displease you, with this declaration of my Love. He said to her abundance of things more passionate than this, which the person who overheard them unluckily forgot, as I can assure you he did. So I leave the discreet Reader to imagine them within himself; for to make a King of Naples express himself so tenderly as ours did, and at the same time not to maim his thoughts, a man must be as much in love as he was, which I humbly presume is none of my business at present. Irene always answered him with her usual modesty, and without showing herself too hard, or too easy to be persuaded, she disengaged herself so handsomely from so nice a Conversation, that it increased the King's esteem for her, who parted from her infinitely more in love than he had been before. From that time there passed not a day over his head, in which he did not visit Camilla and Irene, nor a night but he came to that Lady's Balcony, where he employed all his amorous eloquence, to persuade her of the sincerity of his Passion. One night that he had given orders to his Guards not to attend him, he walked in a disguise through the Streets of Naples, accompanied only by the Prince of Salerno, and found so much diversion in this Ramble, that the greatest part of the night was spent when he came to Camilla's Balcony. He found this Post already taken up by two Men, or at least they stood so near it, that they must needs have overheard every word of the Conversation he hoped to have with Irene. One of these Men parted from the other and went into Camilla's House, and his Companion tarried in the Street. The King stayed a while to see whether he would not go away of himself, and leave him the Street free; but finding that he stirred no more from the place than a Statue, he grew impatient, and commanded Prosper to go and see what the fellow meant by staying there, and oblige him to retire. The Prince of Salerno walked toward him, with as much difficulty as if he had been sent upon some dangerous exploit, and the other seeing him come up retired from him. Prosper was resolved to see who he was, the other mended his pace, and seeing that Prosper did the same, he very fairly betook himself to his Heels, and the Prince of Salerno ran after him, and coursed him into another Street. In the mean time the King did not stir from his place, expecting every moment when Prosper would come back, that he might send him to Camilla and Irene, to let them know that he expected them under her Balcony, and in all probability he was wholly taken up with his Amour, for a Lover does nothing else when he is alone, when the Man who had parted from him whom Prosper pursued came out of Camilla's House, and mistaking the King for his Comrade: Look Calixtus, said he to him, here is your dispatch. The Governor of Cajetta will order you a Vessel to carry you to Marseilles. The King without returning any answer, received the Packet of Letters which ●e presented to him. Calixtus, adds this unknown Person, ●he rest depends upon thy diligence: And thou hast in thy ●●ands the fortune of the Duke of Anjou, thy Master and shine. Ha! ungrateful Villain and Traitor! What wicked ●esigns art thou carrying on against me, cries the King, laying his hand upon his Sword. Roger, for it proved to be ●im, distracted at his making so fatal a mistake, and hurried ●n by his despair to be more wicked than he was, thought of ●othing but losing his life, and taking away that of the King, who had loved him so tenderly. The reproaches which he so unjustly expected for his unparallelled ingratitude and villainy, affrighted him as much as the severest tor●●ents that could be inflicted on him. He put his hand to ●is Sword almost at the same time as the King did, who ●arg'd him with so much vigour and fury, that Roger, trouped with a remorse for his crime, was for a long time forced to defend himself. At last, his rage filling him with new strength and courage, he pushed furiously at the King, whom he looked upon now to be no otherwise than his enemy; and by the desperate thrusts he made at his sacred person, obliged him likewise to defend himself. But Kings, who may be valiant as well as other men, are usually assisted by a more powerful genius than that of ordinary mortals. Roger, as brave and furious and desperate as he was, could not have maintained his ground long against his incensed Prince, although the clashing of Swords had not brought several persons upon the spot, who could hardly be kept from hacking to pieces an execrable Villain, who durst attack the Life of his Sovereign. His own Domestics, and those of Camilla were the first that came with lights into the Street, and were strangely surprised to see their Master engaged with the King. The unfortunate Roger no sooner saw the light which exposed him to the terrible looks of his Prince, but he was utterly confounded. His rage and his valour abandoned him both at once, and his Sword dropped out of his hand. The King, who had the pleasure to see him wounded, after he had had occasion for all his valour to hinder himself from being wounded by him, seized him with his own hands, and gave him to the Captain of his Guards, who came luckily by with a party of Soldiers, and had received orders to watch all night long the avenues leading to Camilla's House. In the mean time Prosper ran after his men, who, flying from him as fast as his legs would carry him, unluckily fell into the hands of the Watch, who were walking their rounds that night, as their custom was to prevent all disorders in the streets. He seemed so astonished, and faltered so strangely in his answers, that they had certainly stopped him, although Prosper, who pursued with Sword in hand, and had made himself known unto them had not commanded them in the King's name to secure him and to be answerable for his forth coming. He immediately sent back to acquaint the King with what he had done and if he was surprised to see such a number of Flambeaux i● the street, and the King surrounded by such crowds of people, he was much more so to find what had passed between the King and Roger; and to see that Favourite, who● all the Court so lately adored, cursed by all the company and in the hands of the Guards, who were carrying him to prison. That night the King did not see Irene, because 〈◊〉 would avoid the sight of Camilla, whom he ordered Prosp●● to wait upon, and to assure her from his mouth, that 〈◊〉 distinguished her from her Brother, whose crime should not in the least lessen his esteem for her. Irene writ to him in favour of Roger; and to oblige Camilla, did that which the repeated instances of an amorous Prince could not obtain from her. The next day Roger was examined, and found guilty of High Treason, for maintaining a private correspondence with the Duke of Anjou, who had a great party still in the Kingdom of Naples. He had been informed by some of them of the insatiable ambition of Roger, and having offered to him in Marriage a Princess of his own blood, with certain advantages, which he could not hope from his present Master, this ungrateful Favourite, violating his Faith and Honour, had engaged to receive the French in Cajetta and Castellamara, whereof he was Governor. The same Judges who convicted him of Treason against his Prince, discovered his villainous Plot against the Princess of Tarento; and now that mirror of Constancy the Prince of Salerno, who had abandoned her when he saw her in disgrace, to offer his services to Camilla, whom he saw in favour, no sooner did he find the King repent of the ill treatment he had given her, and resolved to reinstate her in her former honour and fortune, which had been unjustly taken away from her, but likewise to confer new ones upon her, but this generous Lord, who had so lately importuned the King to marry him to Camilla, now humbly entreated him to dispense with his promise, and give him leave to carry on his pretensions to Mathilda, and desired his Majesty, who designed to make enquiry after her, to leave the care of that to him, and give him a Commission to go and find her wherever he could hear any news of her, in order to bring her again to Court. The King's affection was too deeply settled upon the beautiful Irene, not to think of her Brother Hippolito, and be concerned that no body could tell where he was. He dispatch Courriers into all parts of Italy, who had orders to inquire after him as they searched for Mathilda, and in case they found him, to bring him to Naples. He hoped by this means to convince Irene, how cordially he espoused the interests of her family, and how much it afflicted him, that she knew not what was become of her Brother, whom she loved so dearly. This amorous Cavalier, after he had searched a long time for his Princess with the utmost care and diligence, without being able to find her, resigned himself to that blind guide chance, and ●ambl'd wherever his Horse carried him, making no longer a stay in any place than his Horse and that of his Servants, who we may suppose were not so solicitous in the search of Mathilda, had time to rest themselves. As for him, he enjoyed no more repose than a condemned Criminal, and after he had passed whole days in sighing on Horseback, he spent whole nights in complaining to the Trees and Rocks of the cruelty and absence of Mathilda, and quarrelling with the innocent Stars, that generally lighted him to Bed, because he lay in the open Fields, and under the Canopy of Heaven. One day, when he was so taken up with his melancholy thoughts, that he did not consider that his Servant and his Horses could not like himself, feed upon so slender a Diet as Love, he found himself towards Sunsetting near a solitary Inn, which rather looked like a retreat for Cutthroats and Banditti, than a place to lodge Travellers. Hippolito road beyond it, for your true Lover is an indefatigable Animal, when his Valet informed him, that his Horses were not able to jog on a step further, for mere lassitude and hunger, not to talk of himself, who wanted to eat and repose himself as well as they; upon this our despairing Lover condescended to alight, but the Innkeeper, who stood before his Gate, with his Wife and an ill-looked fellow, who seemed to be a Soldier, told him rudely, that he had no place to entertain him in, and that his Rooms as well as his Stables were all taken up. Hippolito was not much concerned that he could not get a lodging here, and his Servant despaired of getting one, when the Soldier that stood by the Innkeeper, after he had whispered a few words in his ear, told Hippolito in Portuguese, that if he pleased he might come in, and that he should be very proud to lend his room to so fine a Gentleman, and while Hippolito made a scruple to accept so courteous an offer, the Man of the House, that spoke so rudely to him a little before, came and held his Stirrup, while he alighted, with a smiling cutthroat look, which showed he designed to make a penny of him. Thus Hippolito was persuaded to come into the Inn. He would not eat a bit, and having only drank a Glass of Water, (for Philosophers have observed that Love and Sorrow are very dry) he walked out to take a turn or two, in a place very proper to entertain his melancholy Contemplations, which he had observed, not far from the Inn. In the mean time his Valet sat down to supper with the Landlord and his Wife, and the civil Portuguese, who had so obligingly parted with his Chamber to Hippolito. He fell on like a man that was half starved, and did not guzzle down so much Wine as he could have done, because he was forced to call upon his Master to put him in mind of going to bed, which was a thing he frequently forgot. He went to find him among the Rocks, where he found him feeding his Melancholy, by reflecting upon the ill condition of his affairs and his Love, and brought him back to the Inn, where they showed a vile Room, with a Bed more vile than that, and which having no Curtains, lay exposed to the Sun and Wind on all sides. Hippolito would not undress, but threw himself with his clothes upon the Bed, and his Man upon another, where he slept so hearty, that it would have made any man but his Master envy him, who for his part could not sleep a wink; but a true Lover would think he had committed an unpardonable sin, should he sleep like other Mortals. In a short time all the people in the Inn were got to bed, and every thing was hushed, when some persons on Horseback disturbed their repose, and thundered at the Gate, like Men that were impatient to be let in. The Man of the House, that got up to see what the matter was, knew them, and opened the Gate to them. Soon after Hippolito heard the next Chamber to his open; several persons went into it, and some of them went out again immediately, while the rest that stayed talked to one another. He was too much taken up with his own private affairs, to have any great curiosity for those of other people, and he had not listened to their discourse, if one of them had not talked so loud, that he fancied he was not unacquainted with the voice. This made him desirous to know what they talked of, and at last he heard them speak the following words distinctly. Yes, my dear julia, I must once more say it, few persons of my condition have been treated worse by Fortune than myself, she has plunged me in miseries that are not to be paralleled: But as great and vexatious as they are, they don't so much disturb me as the ingratitude wherewith the basest of men requites my affection for him; and this ingratitude does not sit so heavy on me, as mine to the man whom I ought to love. I blame myself incessantly for it, and my inquietude on this score is infinitely more afflicting to me, than all the losses I have sustained, and all the calamities that oppress me. The other person that took up the discourse talked so low, that Hippolito could hear nothing but a few incoherent words, that were frequently interrupted by sighs. He got up and crept to the Wainscot which divided the two Rooms, but the noise he made was heard by the persons whom he had a mind to listen to, so their Conversation ceased, but not the sighs of the afflicted party, whose voice he imagined to resemble that of Mathilda. The Reader may easily guests how impatient he ●as to know whether he was mistaken, and to satisfy himself in so important a doubt, he was preparing to go out of his Chamber, when all on the sudden the door opened, and by the ●●ght of a dark Lantern, he saw four Men come into the Room with their Swords in their hands, among whom he observed the Portuguese Soldier and the Master of the House. If he was surprised at so unseasonable a visit from these men, who did not seem to come with any good design, they were no less so to find him up and awake, who they hoped was in a sound sleep. Hippolito clapping his hand to his Sword, asked them what they wanted in his Chamber at such an hour and in such an equipage; and he no sooner saw them put themselves in a posture to attack him, but he fell upon the first with such bravery and skill, that he soon made the Room too hot for ' 'em. In the mean time his Footman awaked, followed the noise, and seeing his Master set upon by so many Enemies, seconded him very valiantly at that instant, when having wounded all those that had attacked him, he had laid the most dangerous of them at his feet. These Men defended themselves like Fellows that did not value their lives; but though they had been more in number than really they were, yet they could not have resisted the valiant Hippolito, seconded by so courageous a Servant. He killed another of his Enemies, and the two that were left very fairly betook themselves to their heels. He was so vexed at a slight wound he received in his own arm, that he was resolved to pursue them, and in all probability had cleared the World of them, as well as he had done of the other Sparks, if these Villains had not been so wise in their fear, as to make one leap of it down the Staircase, and shut the door after them. Hippolito was a long while before he could open it, which gave the two Murderers time enough make their ●●escape, so that he and his man returned to the Inn without them. He ran directly to the Chamber, where he thought he had heard Mathilda's voice, but found it open and no one in it, no more than in the rest of the rooms in the House, which he searched with as much care as inquietude Fulvio, said he to his Man, I heard Mathilda talk, I knew her voice, and no one but such an unhappy wretch as I am, could have missed her when she was so near him. He afterwards repeated to Fulvio the words he heard Mathilda speak, interpreted them to his advantage, as he had some reason to do, but instead of giving him consolation, they only ●●●●reas'd his affliction, for he thought this was a trick of For ●●●●e, to let him hear Mathilda's voice, for no other end 〈◊〉 to make him more concerned for not being able to 〈◊〉 her, or know what was become of her. He looked a 〈◊〉 this Princess in all the places thereabout, and was 〈◊〉 otted as to come back to the Inn to search her there, 〈◊〉 a Soul was to be seen, except only in the Stable 〈◊〉 whence Fulvio took four Horses besides his own 〈◊〉 Master's. Hippolito quitted this Inn in the most pensive Condition that can be imagined. Fulvio proposed to carry off the Theives Horses, as being lawful Prize, and represented to him, that perhaps they might find Mathilda, and then they should want a Steed to mount her on. Hippolito did not hear what he said, or else would not vouchsafe to make him an Answer, so strangely was he taken up with his Melancholy Thoughts. Fulvio took his Master's silence for consent, and tying the Horses by the Tail, drove them before him, designing, I suppose, to make ready Money of them, the first Chapman he could find, They road part of the Day together, without Hippolito's answering so much as one of the many Questions Fulvio put to him, in order to divert him: They lost their way, and at last were got among a parcel of barren Rocks by the Seaside that was hard by, and ended in a sandy Plain. Among these Rocks, in a Creek where the Sea run into the Land, as they came from a narrow Lane, they fell upon a Company of Peasants, armed with all sorts of Clubs and Weapons, who where at first surprised to see two Men on Horseback, followed with so many Horses without any to ride them; but taking Heart of Grace to see so few, and themselves so many, for there was at least a Hundred of them got together, they encompassed them in a tumultous manner, and held the butt ends of their Muskets against them; some cried out, Who goes there? Others, Who are you for? Others, Knock them down, and lastly, some more Conscientious, Who are ye? Hippolito could not answer so many Questions at once, and these illbred Clowns made such a confounded noise that there was no hearing of him. At last an old Man of a tolerable good aspect, who afterwards discovered that he commanded these formidable Hero's (for then every Man set up for himself) partly by speaking out a loud to them, which set him a coughing like an Alderman at Church, and partly by the Rhetoric of a good Oaken ●●dgel, made a shift to compose the mutiny. He asked Hippolito peaceably and civilly who he was, and what business he had in so Solitary a place, so remote from the great Road. Hippolito told him that he was a Cavalier of Naples, and that he had lost his way to Ancona. He then asked the old Spark what business brought so many People together, who informed him that some Corsairs of Barbary had ●anded a great number of Soldiers, that had pillaged some places near the Sea, and finding none to oppose them, and ●●ovetous of a greater Booty, were so Foolhardy as to March higher into the Country. He added, that most of these Men whom he saw Armed, were Robbed, and that they resolved under his Conduct to wait the coming of the Enemy, and fight them as they came back with their Slaves and the Plunder of a Neighbouring Village, which in all probability they were gone to Attack; that 'twas impossible for the Moors to escape them, there being no other way for them to get back to the Sea again but this, and that it was not so much the loss of their Goods that had encouraged these Peasants to attempt so bold a design, as that of their Wives and Children. Hippolito offered to venture his Life in their Quarrel, and they took him at his Word. The old Man gave him the Command of them, which he accepted, to the great Satisfaction and Joy of our Boors, who promised themselves mighty matters from Hippolito's Military Phiz. Four of the likeliest among them, of which the old Fellow was one, were mounted upon the four Horses, which the provident Fulvio had brought with him from the Inn. Hippolito divided his Men into three Parties. He posted one among the Rocks, where they could not be seen by the Enemy, with orders not to fight them before they came up to them. He posted the second in a narrow Passage that led towards the Sea, to hinder the Infidels from getting back to their Ships, and he placed himself with his Men on Horseback at the Head of the third, encouraging them to behave themselves bravely, and fall in with the Enemy to make their Arrows uneffectual. He had scarce given these Orders, and Posted his Men, when the Enemy appeared to the number of a Hundred and Fifty Men. They drove several Horses before their Main-Body laden with Booty, and the Women and Children they had made their Slaves. Being old experienced Soldiers, they were not at all discouraged to see Hippolito and his Troop march towards them, or perhaps they despised so small a number. I will not trouble myself to set down the particulars of this noble Battle between the Moorish Corsairs and our Peasants, altho' Hippolito did abundance of Gallant Actions there, which deserve to be remembered. I will only tell you that his Orders were well Executed, that the Arrows of the Moors did them little or no harm, because they fell in with them so Gallant●y, that he began their overthrow with the Death of their Captain, and concluded it by that of their stoutest Men. Our Peasants when they were once blooded put all the Moors to the Sword, whether they cried out Quarter or no, notwithstanding all the endeavours Hippolito used to prevent this Massacre, The Dead were lamented as much as the common Joy would give them leave, and the Wounded bound up their Wounds. Hippolito received a thousand Commendations, and as many Thanks from these poor People, who believed they should not have got the better if it had not been for him. They offered him the best part of the Booty they recovered from the Enemy, which be refused, as likewise to go and make Merry with them after the Victory, when Fulvio brought two Women before him in the Habit of Pilgrims, one of whom had no sooner taken off a great Hat which hide her Face, but he knew her to be Mathilda. He alighted, or rather he leapt from his Horse, to throw himself at the Feet of this Princess, who embraced him with all the marks of Tenderness that showed nothing of that disobliging Treatment, which the Tyranny of the Prince of Salerno had obliged her formerly to show to Hippolito. This faithful Lover wanted Expressions to tell Mathilda how glad he was to see her, never did his Eloquence leave him so in the lurch; never did he so strain to declare his Thoughts, and at the same time Murder them. In short he did not know what he did, so great was the disorder of his Mind. He was uncertain for some time whether he should inform Mathilda of the pains he had been at to find her, so much did his excessive Modesty keep him from valuing himself upon his Services. However he gave her at last a true recital of his Adventures, ever since he had left Naples for her sake, and forgot not to acquaint her with what happened to him ●n the Inn, where as he fancied, he had heard her Voice. Mathilda gave him abundance of Thanks for these last Obligations she had to him, adding that she looked upon herself to owe both her Life and Honour to him, since the defeat of the Moors was entirely owing to his Bravery and Conduct. She owned to him that it was she who was in the next Chamber to him at the Inn, promised to inform him by what accident she was carried thither, and in short to give him her whole History, when she had a convenient time and place. The other Pilgrim that accompanied Mathilda was one of her Chambermaid's called julia, who was the only Servant that had Fidelity enough to follow the same Fortune with her Mistress, and bear a part in all her Afflictions. 'Tis very probable that Fulvio and she were ●●lad to see one another; and for my part, I am apt to believe that they said abundance of fine things, and displayed their Subaltern Eloquence (if I may so express myself) very plentifully upon this occasion. Our Victorious Peasants that observed with what concern Hippolito and Mathilda received one another, redoubled their courteous offers to Hippolito, who made no difficulty to accept them for the Princess' sake. Among the rest the old Man, who as I have already taken notice, led the Peasants on to Battle, before Hippolito came to them, begged of him and Mathilda that they would do him the Honour to take a sorry Lodging at his House, which they accepted. He sent one of his Sons in all haste to get all things ready at Home for the better reception of his Guests, and now they prepared for their Journey. Mathilda and julia were mowted upon the two best Horses they could find. Among several Women, whom they freed out of the Hands of the Moors, Fulvio observed one, whom he thought he had seen somewhere, who avoided as much as she could his looking at her, as if she knew him, but had no mind to be known by him. At last he came up to her, and found her to be the Inn-keeper's Wife that designed to Murder them. He went to inform his Master of it, and desired some Peasants to look after her. Towards the dusk of the Evening they arrived at the Village: Mathilda and Hippolito were received by our old Man with all the Marks of Esteem and Gratitude. The other Peasants of the Village went home to their own Houses, to make Merry after so notable a Victory, and those that lived farther off, marched home-wards likewise. Hippolito commanded the Inn-keeper's Wife, whom Fulvi● had apprehended, to be brought before him, and upon the very first threatening to deliver her into the Hands of Justice, she confessed, that their Inn was a Meeting place of Bandities and Robbers, that her Husband kept a Correspondence with all the Thiefs of the Country, and tha● the Reason why he at first refused to entertain Hippolito, was because he expected a famous Highwayman that Night. Companion to the Portuguese, whom he had seen at the Inn, to confer with him about some Robberies they had in hand. She likewise informed Hippolito, that the Portuguese had a great mind to his Horse and Equipage, to rob him of which after he had whispered with her Husband, and persuaded him to join in the Action, he had lent him his Room. History does not tell us what they did to this Woman, after they had learned out of her all that they desired to know Hippolito and Mathilda, the better to conceal their Quality made Fulvio and julia, the old Man and his whole Family, to Sup with them. After Supper (I cannot tell whether it was a good or a bad one) Mathilda would not suffer Hippolito to languish any longer under his Impatience to know her Adventures, and informed him by what Accident she came to the Inn, and afterwards into the Hands of the Moors.  
After the King had commanded me, said she, to him, to quit Naples, and by the great Interest of my Enemies, I had but one Night allowed me to put myself in a Condition to obey so rigorous an Order; I implored the Assistance of some Gentlemen at Court, whom I thought I had obliged enough to be my Friends, but I found to my disappointment, that they were only Friends to my Fortune, and not to me. I had more reason to complain of my Domestics, who all abandoned me in this Extremity but Julia. She had a Brother Married in Naples, who had the Generosity to leave his Family at the entreaty of his Sister, and to Conduct me to the Place where I designed to Steer my Course. He bestirred himself so effectually, that the very Night I was commanded to leave Naples, I got every thing ready for my journey, before break of Day. We dressed ourselves in the Habit of Loretto-Pilgrims, by which means we were not discovered at the City Gates. I Walked that Day as many Miles as could be expected from one of my Sex, who had never been used to Travel before, and we jogged on peaceably several Days, without any cross Adventures to disturb us. Yesterday a little before Night, we were met in a narrow Way by three Men on Horseback, that had the Looks of Villains. I designed to avoid them, and did it in so much baste, and so unluckily, that my Foot slipped against a piece of rising Ground in the Highway, and so I fell at the Foot of one of the Horses that came thundering after me. My large Hat which covered my Face, and my Head cloaths tumbled off with the Fall, and my Hair fell about my Shoulders. My ill Stars would so have it, that these Men saw something in me that did not displease them. They talked a while together, then alighted from their Horses, one of them seized Julia, another caught hold of me, while the third attacked Julia's Brother, who put himself in a Posture to Defend us, and whom we saw fall soon after, being r●n through the Body. After so many Misfortunes which had happened to me, and which from a happy Princess, at least so in appearance, made me the most miserable Woman in the World, I had some reason to believe, that all the Prudence and all the Precaution imaginable, signify nothing against Fortune, that we must even let her Act as she pleases, and persuade ourselves, that her Inconstancy which makes us feel her Hatred, then, when we thought ourselves the most secure from it, will restore us likewise to her Friendship, when we least expect it. Thus I resigned myself, continues Mathilda, to my private Destiny, and when I found myself stopped and seized by these Strangers, I submitted myself without any struggling, to be mounted upon one of their Horses, because I knew they could otherwise have done it by main Force, and altho' I was in their Hands, yet Death could deliver me from them, when ever their Insolence should oblige me to have recourse to this last Remedy. Julia, who fell a screaming and crying out as loud as she was able, when she saw her Brother drop, suffered herself to be carried off after my Example, but still continued afflicted. At Night we arrived at the Inn, where you heard my Voice. Your Engagement with the Robbers troubled us exceedingly at first, but when you had driven them out of the House, and the noise was over, Julia and I quitted our Room. Finding no Body in the Inn, we resolved to make our escapes out at the Garden-door, which stood open, and the fear of being retaken, made us double our speed. We walked all Night and part of the next Day, till the heat of the Sun, and our Weariness together, forced us to rest ourselves among the Rocks, not far from this Place, where we found a convenient Shade, and were taken asleep by the Moors, whom you defeated.  
Matilda concluded the recital of her Adventures, with making fresh Protestations to Hippolito, that she would never forget what he had done for her. However she did not tell him the Name of the Place where she intended to retire, and for his part, he did not ask her to do it, No doubt on't, but it was to one puny Prince or other in Italy, in which cattle that Country abounds, for any Man that has Money enough, may be made a Highness, without any other Qualification. I might easily have bestowed what Name I pleased upon him, since History has been silent in the matter, but I found upon second Thoughts, that his Name would be no great Ornament to the Narration. Hippolito offered to Conduct her whither she had a design to go, but she would by no means suffer it, however she was forced at the repeated Instances o● our officious Cavalier, to take his Servant Fulvio with her and two Horses for herself and julia. I will not mortify the Reader with the Melancholy parting between Hippolito and Mathilda, I will let her go in quiet to Ancon● where she sold some of her Jewels, and bring back the poo● Hippolito to the sad Ruins of his House, where he arrived without a Farthing in his Pocket, and all the Earthly Goods he had in this transitory World, was the Horse he road upon. He had scarce set Foot to Ground, when he met with a Neapolitan Gentleman, who was in quest of Mathilda, as well as several more, whom the King dispatched to all Parts of Italy to find her out, and went just as Chance directed him. He acquainted Hippolito with Roger's Disgrace, after what manner Mathilda's Innocence came to be discovered, the Orders the King had given to find her if possible, in short, with all that had happened at Naples ever since he had left it, except his Majesty's violent Love of the Beautiful Irene, which was known to all the World; however our Gentleman concealed it from him, whether out of an excess of Discretion, or for some other Reason which I don't know. You may imagine, that Hippolito, Generous as he was, and loving Mathilda better than himself, was extremely pleased to hear of so unexpected a Revolution in her Fortune, altho' at the same time, he came to know that his own Condition was more desperate than ever. This Gentleman assuring him, that the King had promised Prosper, that he should Marry this Princess, as soon as she returned to Naples. This last News hindered the wretched Hippolito from going to Court, it made his Life odious to him, and he avoided all manner of Company so carefully, that he was the only Man in the Kingdom, who knew not what a great Ascendant his Sister had over the King. In the mean time Mathilda was not where to be heard of, altho' the Gentleman that had accidentally met with Hippolito, went to Ancona, whither he told him she was gone, yet he could hear no News of her, notwithstanding all the enquiry he made to that purpose. A Report ran of this Princess' Death, and some People pretended to relate the very Circumstances of it, at last it came to Hippolito's Ears, and threw him into a fit of Sickness, which had like to have cost him his Life. But in short, his Body recovered a little Strength, in spite of the Indisposition of his Mind. He sometimes road on Horseback along the Seashore, and 'twas in one of these Melancholy Freaks, that after he had made several Reflections upon the Misfortunes of his Life, he resolved to go and end his Days in the War which the Grecian Princes were at that time carrying on against the Turk, who began to extend his Conquests from Asia into Europe. At last Mathilda was found, and Hippolito was so ravished with Joy, that he bestowed his Horse, the only Movable he had left him in the World, upon the Man that brought him the News. The same Day his Servant Fulvio came to him, and was exceedingly astonished to find his Master so Melancholy, and in so bad an Equipage, at a time when all Italy talked of nothing but the great Power his Sister Irene had over the King, and the Love he had for her. He told Hippolito the Princes' Name, where Mathilda retired, he informed him in what manner Prosper came to Compliment her from the King, and Conduct her to Naples, and according to the laudable Custom of Servants, that always make haste to tell their Masters ill News, he exaggerated to him the joy Mathilda had discovered when she saw Prosper, and the Marks of Affection she showed him. Her Passion for him is so increased, continues this indiscreet Valet, that she has newly spruced up the old Cap of Plumes, with which Prosper formerly presented her, which he has so often upraided her with, and which is so well known at Naples, by the many jests that have been made on it at Court. I can't imagine, says he, where the Devil she had laid it up, to find it at so so critical a juncture, but to be sure she must set a mighty value on it. After this rare trusty Fulvio began to rail at the Princess of Tarento a little more than became him; but Hippolito bid him hold his Tongue, and perhaps had Cudgeled him, if he had not given off, or altered his Language. Fulvio likewise told his Master, that the Princess desired him to come and meet her. How! cries Hippolito, and does she not sufficiently afflict me by not loving me, but to enhance my Affliction, must she make me see how well she loves another, and will she Caress Prosper before me? To give him I suppose the Pleasure to see me die of Grief, as if their Happiness wanted nothing to complete it but my Death. But, continues Hipoli●o, I must obey her, and see how far her Injustice will go. He was in a good Vein to complain of his ill Treatment, and perhaps had effectually done it, as he had just provocation, when he saw afar off a Body of Horse, which Fulvio assured him, came with the Princess of Tarento, who designing to see Hippolito, would needs pass by his House, in hopes to find him there. Although the King had sent his Coaches for her, yet she was resolved to make her Entry into Naples on Horseback, Prosper looked as big upon his Prancer, as a Holiday-Heroe, and being all over covered with Feathers like an Indian Monarch, road by her side. He entertained the Princess with a World of triple refin'd Compliments, and every other Moment Sung some Amorous Ditties to her, very Methodically, and like a Man of Art. Hippolito, who was out of sorts, both as to his Mind and Body would fain have declined seeing his Rival, and appearing before so much Company, but Mathilda, who knew him afar off, because perhaps she saw Fulvio with him, who had parted from her so lately, road up to him, and Prosper and the rest of the Company did the same. Mathilda repreached Hippolito in the most obliging manner that could be, that being her best Friend, he had not done her the Honour to meet her on the Road, as some of the best Quality in City and Court had done. Hippolito protested to her, that he had never heard of her happy Return till now, and added, that altho' he had known of it, he had not presumed to meet her, for fear such an unhappy Wretch as he was, should infect and disturb the public Joy. Mathilda assured him, that he had disturbed hers, if she had not been so happy as to meet him. She conjured him to come and take part in her good Fortune, as he had done all along in her Adversity, and added, that having a design to Marry, because she had found by woeful Experience, that a young Princess without Father and Mother, had occasion for a Husband of Power and Interest to Protect her, and that having cast her Eyes upon the Man she designed to make Prince of Tarento, she desired him to do her the Honour to assist at her Wedding, which she would not Celebrate without him. Prosper, as having the principal Interest in this Affair, joined his Prayers to those of his Mistress, and contrary to his Custom, spoke abundance of Civil things to his Rival, and pretended to be overjoyed to have his good Company. A despairing unhappy Man, interprets every thing to his disadvantage, as a sick Man beyond all possibility of recovery, turns the best Aliments into Poison. Hippolito took the Civilities and Obliging words of Mathilda, to be so many Cruelties she was minded to persecute him with. He could not conceive how she could have so hard a Heart, as to make him be a Spectator of the Nuptial Ceremonies. He could not tell what Answer to make her, and looked upon her with Astonishment. The Faithful Fulvio, who was as much scandalised as himself, cursed her hearty behind his Master, and whispering him in the Ear, desired him of all Love not to go: Swearing that she was a Fury incarnate, to ask him to see her Married to Prosper. In the mean time Mathilda redoubled her Petition with so much Importunity, that Hippolito was not able to refuse her. She would have him that very Minute get upon a Horse that was brought to him, and perhaps it might so happen at that time, that he was not Master of a Pair of Boots. Thus we see Hippolito mounted, very much out of Humour, and out of Countenance, by Mathilda's side, who road between him and Prosper. The Princess still continued to talk very obligingly to him: She exaggerated the Obligations she had to him, and entertained the Company with a recital of all the valiant Actions performed by Hippolito, both against the Robbers that attacked him in the Night, and against the Moors, whom he attacked in the Day, altho' they were much Superior to him in Number, with a small Body of unexperienced Peasants. She was interrupted by Prosper, who with an Impertinence peculiar to himself, must needs acquaint her with the Miracles of that famous Night, in which Roger was taken, and with what swiftness he pursued the above mentioned Calixtus, who was privy to the Correspondence, which that chief Minister kept with the Enemies of the State. Mathilda did not bestow much Attention upon his Discourse, and still addressed he self to Hippolito, altho' the latter seldom made her any Answer. But Prosper by telling the same Story a hundred times over, made People listen to him, whether they would or no, and whatever happened to be talked of, he perpetually loaded the Conversation with the important Service he had done the King and Government, in running after Calixtus. He had mortified the Company much longer with this important Exploit, if the King had not appeared, attended by all the Topping Persons of both Sexes at Court and City. Prosper to show what a fine Figure he made, road towards the King, and then without knowing why or wherefore, road back again to Mathilda, with full as little Reason, and presented her to his Majesty, altho' there was no occasion for it. She was received by him, as well as she could desire or expect: He excused himself for all his ill Usage of her, laying the blame of it upon Roger, and to make her some reparation for the Injuries, which by the Instigation of this treacherous Favourite he had done her, he bestowed upon her one of the best Preferments in the Kingdom. Mathilda thanked the King with a great deal of Humility, but much more Wit. I will not here pretend to set down, any of the fine Compliments, that her Gratitude suggested to her upon this occasion. I will only tell you, that they were admired, nay, and applauded by all the Company, as I have been credibly informed. Prosper likewise interposed to thank the King for her, but only repeated what she had said before. In the mean time Irene road up to Hippolito, whom she knew behind some of the foremost, and seeing herself out of the King's sight, threw herself about the Neck of her dear Brother, who had made her shed so many Tears, and drew some from her now. Hippolito, who loved Irene as much as so amiable a Sister deserved, embraced her in so tender a manner, that it was enough to soften a Heart of Iron or Marble, according as the Reader pleases. The King who miss Irene, and could not be long without her, looked for her in the crowd, and perceiving her with her Brother, his amorous impatience must needs make him ride up to her. He did not receive Hippolito as a bare Subject, when she presented him to his Majesty. Mathilda Prosper, and in short all the Persons of Quality about the King, observed that he talked to Hippolito after such a manner, as made some of the Politicians in the Company then conclude, that this Cavalier would make no little figure at Court. But all the King's smiles could not cure him of that mournful Air, which the Gaiety of his Rival occasioned in him, who appeared as jolly and well satisfied as if he had the whole World at his beck. All this while the Sun who darted his Rays very fiercely upon this noble Company, warmed most of their Heads deliciously, but especially those that were bald. All the Flies from the Seashore, the Gnats from the Neighbouring places, those which the Horses belonging to the King's Retinue had brought with them from Naples, those which Mathilda's Horses brought with them more distant Parts; in sine, all these buzzing Infects, which we may call the Parasites of the Air, incommoded their Faces exceedingly, tormented their Horses cruelly; and those poor Tits were most exposed to these cursed Flies, that had the least Tails to whisk about them. I must own indeed that the Umbrellas protected those that had them from the Sun, but not from the burning Reverberation of the Earth, or from the Clouds of Dust, with which the Si●tole and Diastole of the Lungs commonly called Respiration, filled the Throats of all the Company, his Majesty not excepted. In a Word, the place was not tenable; but to the great Consolation of those who suffered most by the Sun and Flies, the King who was never weary where Irene was, had not as yet told Mathilda all that he had a mind to tell her, and therefore talking loud enough to be heard by those that were about him, he spoke the following numerical, individual Speech to her, for it was faithfully repeated to me Word for Word. Beautiful Princess! after the Persecutions you have suffered from me, and in some measure by my orders, and after all the losses you have sustained, you would have little reason to be satisfied with me, and I should have as little to be satisfied with myself, if I did not do all that lay in my Power to contribute as much to your Happiness, as hitherto I have done to your Misfortunes. 'Tis not enough that I have declared you Innocent, that I have restored to you all that was taken from you; nay, that I have increased your Fortune by my Favours, if I don't see you married to the Prince of Salerno. By making you this present of the Prince, I acquit myself in part of what I own you; and by rewarding him with so beautiful a Lady as yourself, I think I sufficiently require him for all the great Services he has done the State. Ah! Sir, said Mathilda to him, let your Majesty take care that while you intent to be just to Mathilda, you be not so to Prosper. Acknowledgement has its excess, as well as Ingratitude. You will not give Prosper all that he deserves, in giving him only Mathilda, and in giving me the great Prince of Salerno, you will give me more than I deserve. I am as well satisfied with your Majesty, as 'tis possible for me to be; and these last Testimonies of your Goodness, which I own to my Misfortunes, render them so dear to me, that they will be the most agreeable things I can think of as long as I live. But, Sir, continued she, since your Majesty is so Religious as to pay what you think you own, and since a Subject aught to govern himself by the good Example of his Prince, will not your Majesty give me leave, now you have put me in a Capacity to pay my Debts, to do it immediately upon the Spot, and pay others in the same Coin they have paid me. Draw near therefore brave Hippolito, said she to this Cavalier, turning towards him, come and thank my Gratitude, after you have had so much reason to complain of my Unkindness. I own you a love of many Years, which is not in the least lessened by my illtreatment of you. I own you, besides the Expenses wherein this constant Passion has engaged you, and besides the greatest part of your Estate which you spent to support my Quarrel, and your ●ine House, which was burnt all along of me; I own you I say, my Honour and my Life, that were in danger between the Robbers and the Moors, and I own you likewise a Life, which you hazarded in my deliverance. I will take care to acquit myself, Generous Hippolito, of all these Obligations; but those I have to Prosper, being of the oldest date, are consequently the more pressing, and must be first discharged. Hippolito looked as pale as Death at these last Words of Mathilda, and immediately reddened after he had looked pale. Prosper Smiled upon him, and gazed at Mathilda with a very Amorous look, who spoke to him as follows. Prince of Salerno! You would make me believe that you loved me from my Infancy, and indeed you have always treated me like an Infant. You made yourself to be feared by her, whom you called your pretty Mistress, you have always amused her with sine Compliments and Songs, or treated her with Reproaches and Reprimands, at the time when she expected the most important Services from you. In fine, the greatest token of Love you ever gave me, was a Present of some of your old Feathers, which I promised to keep for your sake, and have been as good as my Word. With this she took the Cap off her Head, which Prosper had given her, in the Days of Yore, and presenting it to him. At the same time, continued she, that I discharge my Debt, by returning you the fair Words and Feathers you gave me, I bestow myself upon Hippolito, and make him Prince of Tarento, to acquit myself towards the most generous of all Men, whom I have always found to be a Man of Deeds and not of Words. When she had said these Words, she gave Prosper his fatal Cap with one Hand, and with the other the took that of the despairing Hippolito, who from that happy Moment ceased to be so, and no more dreamed of this unexpected Happiness, than Prosper did of being repaid with his Cap. The King, as well as his Courtiers, was not a little surprised at this sudden turn of the Scene; but Irene's great Interest with him, and the Justice as well as generosity of Mathilda's Action, made him approve it: And the Commendations he bestowed upon the Princess at the same time, kept the Prince of Salerno in his Duty, who blushing with Shame and Confusion, could not tell how to behave himself, and we may suppose that if it had not been for the fear he lay under of displeasing his Master, he would have quarrelled with Mathilda, according to his ancient Custom, if the Interest of his Fortune had not been too prevalent for his natural Arrogance. The King took pity of him, and presenting Camilla to him after he had talked a while in private with her and Iren●, told Prosper that so beautiful a Lady with all her own Charms, and her Brother Roger's Estate might very well comfort him for the loss of Mathilda. In the mean time all the Court strove who should be most forward to Congratulate this Princess upon her just choice of Hippolito, and to assure this happy Lover how overjoyed they were at his good Fortune. They were most plaguily embarrassed on both sides, to find out Compliments to serve them upon this occasion, and were forced to repeat the same things over and over again: But the King came very luckily to deliver them out of this trouble. Beautiful Princess! says he to Mathilda, you have taught me that we ought to discharge our Debts when we are able. I therefore acquit myself of the Debt I own to Irene's Beauty and Wit, and this Day make her Queen of Naples. This unexpected Declaration of his Majesty surprised, as we may imagine, the Company infinitely more, than that of Mathilda had done. Irene throwing herself at the King's Feet, testified to him by her Respect and her Silence, her Humility and Resignation. The King raised her up, kissing her Hand, and from that Moment treated her as he would have done the greatest Queen in the World. All these strange Adventures so took up People's Thoughts, that those that were most incommoded by the heat, complained of it no longer. In short they turned back towards Naples, where all sorts of Rejoices began, till all things were prepared for the King's Marriage, who caused that of Hippolito and Mathilda, as likewise that of Prosper and Camilla to be deferred, that the same Day might be signalised by three such illustrious Weddings. The King never repent of choosing Irene for his Wife. Mathilda, who was of so loving a temper, that she loved Prosper more than he deserved, for no other reason but because he happened to be loved by her first, loved Hippolito exceedingly, who for his part loved her as much when a Husband, as he had done when a Gallant. Only Camilla lived unhappily with Prosper. She durst not refuse him for fear of offending the King, who punished Roger only with Banishment; and thus to save her Brother's Life, she rendered her own uneasy, being married to a Covetous, Impertinent, Jealous Prince, who while he lived was the scorn and laughter of the Court of N●ples.  
FINIS.    

THE BOOKSELLERS TO THE READERS.  
WE shall not trouble you with a long Harangue in Praise of our Author, he being known to be one of the wittiest Men of his Age, and Husband to the great Madam de Maintenon, whose Polities and Wit have made her famous all Europe over; but to give you some account of this Edition, we having observed that the Comical Works of Scarron had been several times printed at Paris, at Amsterdam, and elsewhere, thought it would not be unacceptable to the English Reader, if we got them Translated and Collected into one Volume, which we were the more induced to undertake, because the Third Part of the Comical Romance was never in English, as likewise several of his Novels and Characters, and because Part of his Works had been Translated near Forty Years ago, from Copies neither so Correct nor full, as this last Paris Edition, from which we had this Translation. Besides that, what was Printed of our Authers in English, was part in a Folio Volume, and partly an Octavo, and so could not be bound together. Some Persons may object why is not the City Romance here? To which we answer, it was none of his, but only Fathered upon him to make it sell; and our design was only to Publish his Genuine Works, which we have done from the best Paris Edition; and as to the English, we hope the Translators have done themselves and you justice, several of these Novels being interspersed in the Comical Romance, we here add the Names of them and Page, for the ready finding of them, and remain  
Your Servants, etc.  


Scarron's Novels.  
The Invisible Mistress. p. 20.  
The History of Destiny and Mrs. Star. p. 44.  
The Impostor out Witted. p. 103.  
The History of Cave. p. 151.  
Leander's History. p. 162.  
The judge in her own Cause. p. 198.  
The Two Rival Brothers. p. 240.  
The History of the Prior of St. Lewis. p. 303.  
The Two jealous Ladies. p. 341.  
The Capricious Lady. p. 346.   

All these in the Comical Romance.  
Avarice Chastised, or the Miser Punished. p. 1.  
The useless Precaution. p. 20.  
The Hypocrites. p. 66.  
The Innocent Adultery. p. 92.  
The Generous Lover. p. 121.     

SELECT LETTERS OF M. SCARRON.  
Done into English by Mr. Brown.  

LETTER I.  
To the Countess of Fiesque.  
Madam,  
YOU have not a better Friend upon the Face of the Earth than Fame. If you knew how many Good Offices she daily does you wherever she goes, you would own you have a thousand Obligations to her. Ever since the City of Orleans has been taken— by a Young Princess, attended by Two Countesses, who want give the Wall to any two Counts in Christendom, this everlasting Babbler has deafened all the World with the Recital of your Exploits. But 'tis agreed on all hands, that 'tis impossible for her to talk too much of them: so let us even leave her to prattle as she pleases, and not Reproach her for being guilty of the Sin of Repetition. I confess, the Action was Noble and Heroic, and my Muse lies under a violent Temptation to try how she can Celebrate it, tho' I have laid an Injunction upon her to be a Mute as long as I live. How in the name of Wonder! What Scale a City? I defy our fiercest Heroes to do more than your Illustrious Heroine; even Clorinda and Camilla could not have behaved themselves more bravely at the Assault, than your Ladyship and Madam de Frontenac. You are two Bold-spirited Amazons, and I will maintain you to be such, not only in F●ance, but all over the Universe. Neither lafoy Hire, nor Poton, nor the Gallant Dunois, have carried their Glory farther by following the Steps of the Old Maid of Orleans, that was burnt, than you have acquired Reputation by imitating the Modern one, who Burns all that behold her: 
Her Charming Eyes inflame the Nation,  
And cause a General Conflagration.  In short, let the Great Prince, who will make her change her Name one of these days, be as Brave as he pleases, I question not but all the World will own, that the Lady is in all respects as good as the Lord; nay, I dare almost swear, before I have seen America, whither my Dog of a Destiny will send me in my latter days, that at my coming there I shall hear the Indians talk of the Noble Exploits, which her Incomparable Royal Highness, attended by her Brave Lieutenant-Generals, has performed for the Party. I would expatiate upon this Argument in Verse and Prose, if I concerned myself at all in the Affairs of Europe: and besides, it would look ill in such an Unfortunate Wretch as I am, to pretend to meddle with any gay Subjects. My meaning therefore in Writing to you now, was only to thank your Ladyship for being so kind as to remember my last Petition; for which I shall be obliged to you as long as I live, tho' the Business does not succeed. I am  
Your Ladyship's most humble, and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER II.  
To Mademoiselle de Nevillan.  
Madam,  
ALtho' in the common Language of the World we use to say Damned Poets and Poor Cripples, yet certainly there's nothing like being one of the two or both; since with these unhappy Qualities, I have deserved a Letter from Madam de Nevillan. However I will be so wise as not to Boast of this Favour; for if I should, every Coxcomb in Town would fall a writing of Verses, tho' he had no Genius for 'em, and your Ladyship would be perpetually persecuted by these wretched Rhimers. In the next place a world of our well-shaped Beaus would immediately break their Legs and Arms, to put themselves in the same Predicament with me, and that would really be a pitiful Sight; yet after they had done so, perhaps you would not Write to them, and that would be the Deull and all of a Disappointment. For this Reason I will not thank you in Public for the Obliging Letter you were pleased to Write to me. I beg you to believe that I shall always be obliged to you for it, and that I am,  
Madam, Your most humble, and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER III.  
To Madam de St. Denis. Nun.  
Madam,  
THE Present you made me is very Pretty, but the Letter you sent me is infinitely more. I am resolved to wear your Bracelets on all Days of Ceremony, and I will carefully preserve your Letter among my Richest Curiosities. But 'tis not enough to thank you in Prose.  
Your Present, Fair Nun,  
Has your Vassal undone.  
To my sorrow I say it,  
He can never repay it.  
This I plainly declare,  
But you'll force me to Swear.  
Why let Fevers attack me,  
Or Rheumatism rack me.  
If this won't suffice,  
You some Oath must devise  
Of a terrible Size.  
L●t it be what it will, I'll Swear like a Dragon,  
Or Gamester that loses, and has not a Rag on.  
The Spirit of Versifying being spent, I return to my Prose, to tell you that I am,  
Madam, Your most humble Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER IU.  
To Monsieur Sarrazin.  
YOU must certainly have little or no Business upon your hands in your Kingdom of Bourdeaux, since you can condescend to Write to such a mean Fellow as I am; or else Madam de Viger has got entire Possession of your Heart and Soul, since you could put yourself to the Expense of so many Lines, to let me know what famous Exploits she has performed in Peace and War. For my part, if she is so handsome as you tell me she is, I must freely own to you, that I would much rather break my Leg, than have known her when I was able enough to lead up a Country-Dance; and I would advise you, dear Friend of mine, not to meddle there, since you have not much time to lose. But after all, is not this Miracle of Beauty purely framed in your own Imagination? For you tell me such stranger Stories of her, that I protest I should not believe 'em, but that I know you too well to think you would say so many fine things for nothing. Till you thought fit to undeceive us, 'twas an Article of Faith with us at Paris, that nothing at Bourdeaux was capable to inspire Love but M. Guyonet: 
Whose Smiling Looks and Charming Air,  
The Hearts of every Nymph ensnare.  But since we have read your Letter, we easily believe, that if Madam de Viger makes a right use of her Charms, she will at least make as many Slaves, as Guyonet has made unhappy Damosels, and will abundantly revenge herself upon the poor Men, for all those Ravages which that dangerous Hero of Bourdeaux has made on her own Sex. But tell me dear Friend of mine, fairly and honestly tell me, are you not afraid to make one of those Slaves; you that pretend to be such a Servant to Love? As for me, were I now what you tell me you are, 
Qualis eram bonae  
Sub regno Cinarae  And were at this present Writing upon the Banks of the Garonne, where she makes so many Flowers spring under her Feet, it would— let me see— it would at least cost me two or three Thousand Inquietudes, seven or eight Hundred Jealousies, the Devil and all of restless Nights and uneasy Days, and numberless Tuns of Tears; for you must know, I have as good a hand at Crying as any Man in the World, nay even as yourself, tho' you can cry like any Priest in a Lent-Sermon. But to return to Madam de Viger, 'tis a thousand pities that she is Wiser than Solomon: to my knowledge there are abundance of Men in the World, that would be content with all their hearts, to be as great Fools for her, as the Queen of Sheba was for the aforesaid King of jerusalem. For instance, your humble Servant, who does not pretend to be so Wise as the Son of Bersheba, as she it seems tells you I am, tho' for my part I think her ten times more Amiable than the Queen of Sheba, would immediately ride Post to Bourdeaux to see her, if I went to Bareges, as I designed; but a confounded Planet, that breaks all my Measures, will force me in my own Defence to set sail for America within this Month. What fortifies me in this Resolution, is, that we are eternally plagued here in Town with a New Crop of Sots, who call themselves Platonists forsooth, and are perpetually plaguing us with their damned airy Doctrines. They● no longer trouble their heads to inquire whether a Man is a Man of Honour, or Worth, and so forth, but whether he is a Wit of the new Stamp, and can talk Platonically. I don't doubt but we should soon see these Platonic Rogues hooted out of the World, but some of the most considerable among them give out, that they are countenanced by a certain great Princess, whose Wit in truth is equal to her high Rank, otherwise these refined Platonists, with a Pox to them, had been hissed off the Stage long ago. Thus, my most Witty Friend, I have laid before you, my Reasons why I am resolved to go to the West-Indies, I have been tempted too for a Thousand Crowns to enter myself in our New West-India Company, which is going to settle a Colony within 3 Degu of the Line, upon the Banks of the Lorillaine and the Lorenoque. So adieu France, adieu Paris, adieu ye She-Devils in the Shape of Angels, adieu ye Menages, ye Sarrazins, and ye Marignies: I take my leave of Burlesque Verse, of Comedies, and Comical Romances, to go to a Happy Climate, where there are no Affected Beaus, no Godly Canting Rascals, no Inquisition, no Rheumatisms to Cripple, and no confounded Wars to Starve me.   

LETTER V.  
To Madam de Sevigny.  
I Have lived the most Regular Life in the World, and have taken as much Care of myself as a dying Pope, and all in Obedience to the Commands you were pleased to lay upon me, not to Die till you had seen me. But Madam, with all my Care and Caution I find myself a Dying, out of the impatient desire I have to see you. If you had better considered your own Strength and mine, you would never have put me upon so unrighteous a Task. You Ladies, forsooth, with your Charms and other Merits, imagine that you have nothing to do but Command, and carry all before you; but we poor Wretches forsooth cannot dispose of our Lives just as you would have us. In my Opinion now, you may content yourselves to kill those Gentlemen, that see you sooner than they desire, without obliging those to Live, who are deprived of your Sight, as long as you desire it. You may even thank yourself if I cannot Obey this first Command of yours, since you have hastened my Death: though one would have thought, that, to please your Ladyship I should have had as good a Stomach to live a Hundred Years as any Man else. But Madam, can you not change me this kind of Death? for if you could, you'd infinitely oblige me. These foolish Deaths that come from Love and Impatience, are by no means proper for one of my Age, much less are they things I have a fancy for; and if I have Wept a hundred times in my life for those unhappy Gentlemen that died of these Distempers, pray consider how lamentably I shall bewail myself, who take it for granted, that I shall die this pretty Death. But 'tis impossible for a Man to avoid his Destiny, and whether I had been your Neighbour, or lived a thousand Miles from you, 'tis all one, for I am fated to receive my Death's Wound from you. What comforts me is, that if I had seen you, my Death had been ten times more cruel than now it is like to be. I am informed on all hands, that you are a very Dangerous Person, and that those who look upon you without due Care, grow Sick upon't immediately, and are not Long-lived. Therefore Madam, I will keep to the Death you have allotted me, and forgive you for it with all my heart. Adieu, Madam, I D●e your most Obedient Servant, and I pray to Heaven, that your Diversions in Bretagne may not be spoiled, by any Remorse of Conscience, for killing an Honest Fellow that never did you any Harm: 
At least remember, Fair Ingrate,  
That if I Die before I see you,  
Heaven knows it is no Fault of mine.  These are none of the best Rhimes, that's the truth on't; but at the Hour of Death a Good Christian rather thinks of Dying well than Rhyming well.   

LETTER VI.  
To the Marquis de Villarceaux  
FOR the Discharge of my Poor Conscience, I am obliged to tell you, that your Lordship did not know what you did, when you offered me your Friendship, and demanded mine in exchange. As much accustomed as you are to do Generous Actions, yet your wishing well to such an Unfortunate Fellow as I am, is a strain of Charity more dangerous to put in Execution than you would imagine. For my part, I see but very little for you to Hope, and a great deal to Fear, tho' I am never so great a Gainer by the Bargain. This, and nothing in the World else, cost Armenti●res his Life in the Days of Y●re, and t'other Week poor Haucourt; not to mention to you the Lord knows how many more, whom I could name, but you don't know them, who all Died Suddenly and before their time, for no other Reason, but because they had a Kindness for me. Would you have me cite you other Examples to convince you, that my Unhappiness is Contagious? Know then, that Cardinal Richelieu Died within a Month after I had the Honour to be introduced into his Company and to please him. The late Prince of Orange no sooner showed an Inclination to be kind to me, but he fell ill of the Smallpox, which carried him off. The Precedent de Mesme fell immediately into a Consumption, after he had given himself the trouble to Visit me in my Quarters Three Story high. In short my Friendship is so certain to hurt, and that speedily too, that I can't for the heart of me unriddle it, how our New Cardinal de Retz came to be promoted to the Purple, against Wind and Tide as the saying is, at the time when he was so indiscreet, as to tell all the World that he had an Esteem for me. Now after all these Fatal Instances, if you are resolved to Honour me with your Heart, I surrender myself Body and Soul to your Discretion. I am not such a Coxcomb as to refuse Happiness when it is proffered me, or slight the Friendship of a Person whom I Passionately Love, as well upon the Score of his own shining Qualities, as my own Natural Inclination. However, I can't help Pitying you exceedingly, for once more I must tell you, that I am the unluckiest Devil in the Universe, and a certain Forerunner of Mischief wherever I come. I will tell you more of this matter to Morrow, at Madam de Lenclos', whither I will come in a Chair about Dinnertime, etc.  
Your most humble, and Most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER VII.  
To the Queen of Sweden.  
Madam,  
TO Offer your Majesty a Play of my own Composing, is to make you a Present unworthy of your Merit and Quality; but 'tis my Opinion, that every Man ought to be Taxed according to his Estate, towards the Payment of that Tribute, which all our present Writers are obliged to pay you. The Authors of the Augustan Age, paid the same Tribute in Verse and Prose to that Patron of Wit, Maecenas of Happy Memory, whom your Majesty knows much better than myself, by the Testimony of all the Poets, to have been a very generous gallant Person. But notwithstanding all the Noise that his Name has made in the World, he has no other Advantage over your Majesty at present, than that of being born before you, and I durst lay every farthing I have in the Kingdom of Parnassus, that your Majesty would have carried away all his Practice from him, and made him as angry, as the Great Gustavus your Father would have made his Master Augustus, if he had been to dispute the Empire of the Universe with him. But Madam, if so inconsiderable a Wretch as I am may be allowed to put a few Questions to so great a Queen as you are, does not your Majesty find yourself sometimes incommoded by being so great a Heroine? Even extraordinary Merit has its Inconveniences, and those solemn Trifles called Epistles Dedicatory, which we Poets, forsooth, would palm for Incense upon the Persons whom we pretend to deify, are not always of the same Value, nor have they the same Effect. Some of these Drugs make a mighty Smoke, but do not perfume; and indeed I am not Prophet enough to foretell whether what I now offer to your Majesty will pass in your Court for right Spanish, or Common Essence. The late Prince of Orange thought otherwise of it, and found it to answer. If your Majesty likes it, pray don't be sparing of it. I shall soon have a Recruit and will keep it for your Use, whom all the World unanimously owns to surpass in Merit all the Princes of former Ages, to eclipse all those of the present, and to be the best Example for all that come after you to Copy. This is as true, as that I am, with the profoundest Humility,  
Your Majesty's most Obedient Servant S—   

LETTER VIII.  
To—  
YOU are taken ill of a Tertian Ague; if it turns to a Quartan, we must even expect to be plagued with it all this Winter; for you need not question but it will torment me as much as yourself. Pray be so kind as to inform me how many Fits we have already had, and what the Physicians say to them for you have them first, and 'tis a very odd business, upon my word, that you should know all my News four or five hours before I myself do. 'Tis a Sign I have a good Opinion of my Strength, since mortified thus by my own Distempers, I can afford to bear so great a share in yours. I don't know whether I had not done much better to have stood upon my guard against you the first time I saw you: 'Tis plain, I ought to have done it, if we are to judge of things by their Events. But who the Deuce would have thought that a young Lady would disturb the Repose of an Old Fellow, and prove such a Thorn in my Side as to make me lament my unkind Destiny, because I am not in a Condition to revenge my Quarrel upon her. Jesting apart, I know you are very ill, but don't know whether the People about you take such care of you as they ought. This Inquietude not a little augments my Concern to see you so unhappy, and myself incapable of doing you any Service. 
While you all naked in your Bed  
Those wanton roguy Breasts display,  
Where Cupid does recline his Head,  
And Sleeps his happy Hours away.  
I toss and tumble till the Morn,  
I pass the Night in restless Sighs:  
The God of Sleep my Prayers does scorn,  
And fr●m my wearied Eye lids flies  And all this I suffer forsooth for loving you more● than I thought to do. Good Heavens! that I should not only love you, but that like a Sot I should dote on you so vainly. Od's Life, How comes this about, that every moment of the Day I should long to go to Poitou, tho' the Wether is so cold, that Bears in their Russian Furs would scarce venture to peep abroad. Is not this downright Conjuration? Return Madam for Heaven's sake, return, since I am such a Milksop as to disquiet myself for your Absence, Indeed I ought to know myself better, and to consider that 'tis Plague enough for me to be a Cripple from Head to Foot, without being bedeviled with that cursed Disease, which our New Weekly Bills call The Impatience to see you. 'Tis a confounded Disease, that's certain. Don't I see how it racks and persecutes poor M— because he cannot see you so often as he would, altho' he sees you every Day in the Week. He writ to me like a Man in Despair, and I dare engage to you that this very Minute I am talking to you, he's on the side of the Damned, not because he's a Heretic, but for loving you, and that's enough in all Conscience. However Madam you ought at last to put a stop to your Conquests, and suffer poor Mortals to live in Peace.  
Command those Eyes to leave off Killing,  
If to oblige Mankind you're willing.  
'Twere happy for you, Fair Lady, that you had nothing to do with me, for I shall certainly be even with you. Perhaps you laugh at these Menaces; but know, imperious Fair, that Men will never be wanting to assert their Rights, where the Public is concerned. What! can you find no better Employment than to kill and murder poor People? Tell me, my charming Tormenter, are you a Christian? Set your Hand to your Heart and resolve me this Question. You are a Turk, upon my honour, I know it full well, and one of the worst sort of Turks too. Your Turks of the better sort are a good-natured honest People, and delight in works of Charity; but I know by Experience that you are of a different Temper, and would not do the least Act of Goodness for an Empire, even to those that love you as their Eyes; therefore I must bluntly tell you that you are not worth a Farthing, altho' your Outside is one of the finest in the world, and you are made up of a thousand good and pretty Ingredients. No one confirms the Truth of the Proverb so well as yourself, that all is not Gold that glisters. In short, you are as much a Devil as you are Fair. But after all this (see what it is to be beautiful) no Man loves and honours you more than  
Your most humble, and most obedient Servant, S—   

LETTER IX.  
To—  
Sir,  
I Am informed by Monsieur Du Pin with what Generosity and Readiness you offered to do me any good Services with the King, which you may expect to succeed in, for a thousand Reasons that shall be nameless: But if I should suffer you to combat with my ill Fortune that has hitherto persecuted me, I am afraid you'd have the Dissatisfaction to see yourself once in your Life disappointed, in your Generous Designs. For this Consideration, I would advise you not to pretend to oppose my unlucky Destiny; however, I have all those Obligations to you for your kind Offer, which a Man ought to have, who has scarce the Honour to be known to you, who never did you the least Service, who is uncapable to do you any, and to whom, notwithstanding all this, you have offered your Protection. This uncommon strain of Generosity is so peculiar to you, that as far as I know you by your Reputation, I should immediately have guessed it to come from you, tho' M. du Pin had concealed your Name from me. I have a particular Veneration for those Persons that resemble you, and am vexed, that the little time I have to live, will hinder me from knowing all your History, which I would have Studied with as much Satisfaction, as I have done that of the most Illustrious Men. Although Nature never out me out for a good Courtier, yet I am one of those Persons, to whom the Greatest Men in the Kingdom have oftenest made Liberal Promises, and oftenest broke their Word. However, neither this Misfortune, nor a thousand others that attend me, shall hinder me from being very well satisfied with my Fate, while you believe that I am with the utmost respect,  
Sir, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER X.  
To—  
WHY how now Madam! You are a Lady of the most quarrelsome Temper I ever met with. Had you not some other good Qualities to balance it, upon my word I should pass but an uneasy Life with you. A very pretty Business this! To have all this Noise and Clutter about ones Ears, because I was once worse than my Word. Why Madam I can break my Word with you a Hundred times over, and yet not Love you a jot the less. Be satisfied, I love my Friends so violently, so terribly and all that, that I am even ashamed on't; but then I must inform you at the same time, that there are some small trifling Inconveniences to suffer from me. In the first place I am as Lazy as the Devil, and to convince you that what I say is true, 'tis out of pure Laziness that I cannot stir to my Cabinet to look out the Verses I promised you, although I have as great a Desire to do it as yourself, however I will do it anon. When you Rail at me next for this, you shall see with what a Christian Patience I will bear it; and then I will leave you to judge, whether I am not at least good to be Railed at, tho' I am good for nothing else. Your Nephew needs not give himself the trouble to set us at Variance, for you and I will make a shift to Quarrel between ourselves like two Furies, without any Body's interposing; but then we'll be Friends again in a Minute, and that will be a Diverting Scene. Adieu, Madam, I am your most humble and most obedient Servant, or may the Old Gentleman in Black hurry me to his Dominions.   

LETTER XI.  
To the Bishop of Mans.  
My Lord,  
I Am not Dead, Heaven be praised for it, as your Eight Canons, whose prebend's you have disposed of, and yet you have made so free with your humble Servant as to give away mine. I should be hearty concerned if they were no more Dead than I am; not but that I love my Neighbours very well, but if they were not Dead, Mons. Costar and the ●Eslèe, who perhaps are still my Friends, would not be Archdeacon's and Deacons. I can't tell how I came to stumble upon this Word perhaps. Perhaps I had not used it if I had thought better of the matter. The next time do myself the Honour to Write to you, I will have a foul Copy by me, because I will do nothing against my Conscience. But to return to my Prebend, since you have given it away, you ought to give me another in recompense, nay, tho' it were only to make me amends for losing so much time in relying upon the Promises of your late Uncle of Happy Memory, and no Performances. I need not inform you what you are to do; but if I were in your place, I would bestow a good Benefice upon one that would be in mine: for● I know you never want means to make Vacancies, without offending against Good Manners; as an Eunuch did, whose Name was Mortier, Uncle to the Abbot of Euron, and who was himself of Marmoustier, I don't mean Eunuch but Abbot. This Jewel of a Monk Poisoned a Score of Priors once at a Dinner, and thereupon Writ a Treatise, entitled, A Method to make Benefices Vacant, Published by the Right Reverend Father in God, such a one, etc. 'Tis a great sign that I grow Old, when I set up for a Teller of Stories. But the Clock has struck Twelve, and the Laverdins, who are great Talkers, don't love those that Talk as much as themselves, and as for myself, I am one of the greatest Talkers I know. For this Reason therefore, and because I Writ this Letter only to tell it you, I will conclude. However, I will make bold to add, that now you are in the Kingdom of your Fathers, you ought to remember, my Friend Menage, who with all his Merit and Learning, has got but little Preferment in the Church, and you would do well to give him a lift. I bethink myself likewise, that I have forgot to Flourish my Letter here and there with as many My Lords, as are due to a Prelate, but I will avoid this Fault for the future, and never Writ to you without having a foul Copy by me. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, and what's more, Your dutiful Canon, Scarron.   

LETTER XII.  
To his Eminence my Lord Cardinal de Retz.  
My Lord,  
YOU have made me Rich in spite of Fortune, in getting yourself made Cardinal in spite of your Enemies. I hazarded all I was worth in the World, that you would be advanced to this Dignity; and if I have to do with Gentlemen of Honour, I shall be worth half as much again as I was before. I pray God that you may be able to say the same; and let his Providence bring it about as he shall think most convenient. 'Tis likely he will do it all at once, and your New Purple will soon, I hope, be supported with every thing Necessary to its Grandeur, to show all the World, that the Hand which made Amboise and Richelieu Cardinals, has not yet shown all it is able to do. I hope we shall in a short time have the Satisfaction of seeing this come to pass. In the mean time, My Lord, I humbly entreat you to believe, that in France, in the Indies, or wheresoever my Unfortunate Destiny shall carry me, I will always be, with the utmost Zeal and Respect,  
Your Eminence's Most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XII.  
To the Duke of Retz.  
My Lord,  
YOU take a Pleasure perhaps to be Generous, but pray be undeceived. 'Tis the greatest Plague can happen to a Person of Quality, when he is so indiscreet as to show any Favours to such an unfortunate Fellow as I am. 'Tis not enough with us Authors to be once obliged, for we are importunate Duns to our Patrons as long as we live. Tother day you gave me Voiture's Works, and am I not an Impudent Fellow to ask you a thing of greater Importance? I know some Lords in the World that would immediately change colour upon these Words, but the Duke of Retz, I am persuaded, will read 'em without any dread, and I dare engage, that he is as impatient to know what I am going to Beg of him, as I am confident I shall obtain it. The Matter, in short, is as follows. A Young Gentleman of my Acquaintance, who at Twenty Years of Age has Fought Twenty Duels, and all as Noble as that of the Horatij and Curiatij, and who is as Wise as Valiant, has Killed an Impudent Scoundrel that forced him to Fight him. Now he cannot get his Pardon out of Paris, and by his good will would be in Security there, because he has a Natural Aversion for Hanging. I could make a shift to find him a Lodging at a certain Prince's Palace, but then he would run the risk of Starving there; now I humbly conceive, that Famine is rather worse than the Gallows. If you will be pleased to afford him Sanctuary in your House, I know he will have no reason to fear either one or the other; and besides, 'twill be no little Satisfaction to you, to have protected a Young Gentleman of his Merit. This is not all, for you'll take the greatest Pleasure in the World to see him Snuff the Candles with a Pistol, as often as you have a mind to see the Pastime. As you are the most Generous Person living, I don't doubt but you'll thank for me giving you so handsome an occasion to exercise your Generosity, and for my part I promise you it shall not rest here; for as soon as you have granted me this Favour, I will every day importune you to employ your own Interest and that of your Friends to obtain his Pardon. The Burlesque Muse will not be silent of such a Kindness, but will endeavour to show her Gratitude, though till now she never engaged in an Affair of this Nature. I ask you a thousand Pardons for the length of this Letter; and as often Kiss your Fair Hands, or such as they are. Oblige with a few Lines,  
My Lord, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, S.   

LETTER XIII.  
To the Queen of Sweden.  
Madam,  
I Have sent your Majesty some of my Works, which perhaps you have not yet seen. If you find any thing in them to Please you, I shall be as glad as 'tis possible for a Man to be, who after he has had the Honour of seeing you, is now so Unhappy as to be deprived of that Blessing. Nothing was wanting to complete the Calamities of my Life, but that I should afflict myself for your Majesty's Absence, and at the same time Envy all those that are near you. I don't know whether these Persons are sensible of the Happiness they enjoy, but I shall reckon them the most Stupid of all Irrational Animals, if they entertain not the highest Admiration and Respect for your Majesty. As for me, if I were in their place, and able to ramble from one Country to another, I should immediately set up for a little Orlando for your sake. 'Tis true, I should not with one single Stroke of my Sword fell so many thumping Trees, or commit so many Ravages as my Brother Hero in Ariosto. My Follies should give more Diversion than his, tho' they were nothing near so Terrible, and perhaps they would not excite less Compassion. You see Madam, I have made use of the Permission your Majesty gave me, as being a Gallant of no Consequence, to be that for the greatest Queen that ever was, which this Romantic Blusterer was for a Queen that was never in being. 'Twas well your Majesty gave me this Permission, for otherwise I might have taken it, and by refusing it, you might have seen yourself Disobeyed by one, who would not do it upon any other Occasion, tho' it cost him his Life. Setting aside Majesty, you are, Madam, one of the most Admirable Women in the Universe. Wherever you go, your Eyes make you more Subjects than a great Kingdom gave you, and as they do of themselves all those Miracles we have seen them do, without your taking any Pains to Teach them, we must be forced to own, they are the Finest and most Charming Eyes in the World, but withal the most Dangerous. Thus I behold nothing but Rivals in all the Persons that come to see me, and I behold no fewer Rivals among the Ladies, which is none of the least Miracles your Majesty has performed, I mean your makin● them so Just to you, who are naturally Envious to the 〈◊〉 their Sex. I should fear Madam, that I took too much 〈◊〉 with your Majesty, if you did not know better than ●y one, that a great deal of Icarus and Ixion enters into the Composition of a Poet, and that the History of these two rash Adventurers, tho' by the by, their end is not very much for the Advantage of these Traders in Immortality, is of all Fables that which pleases them most, and is of the greatest use to them. There is not a Poet to be found, who would not prefer the Reputation of being a Modern Ixion, to that of turning a Stanza handsomely, and a happy Boldness (for so they are pleased to christian their Love of Contemplation) to the Laurel or Money, or both together. But Madam, perhaps I begin to abuse the Command your Majesty laid upon me to write to you, if I have not already abused it. I beseech you therefore, that if you think fit to continue this Honour to me, you would let me know how far my Letters may be privileged with you, that they may never go beyond the Respect I own you. I am,  
Your most humble, most obedient, and most dutiful Servant, Scarron.   

To the Countess de Brienne.  
Paris, August 7. 1657.  
Madam,  
YOU had the Curiosity to see me as well as the Queen of Sweden; you ought therefore, like her, to give me leave to be in love with you, and allow me the Honour of a Passion, which now perhaps no longer depends upon your consent. If you are of opinion that I ask more than you ought to grant me, or that I undertake more than I am able to perform, I will content myself with being one of your Friends, and conceal the Lover from you. Unless you think fit to allow me this Favour, you must even discard me your Service, which will be a severe Mortification to me, for I have a furious desire to please you with all my Might. After so frank a Declaration, you may very well imagine, that I would not deceive you for all the World, I will therefore honestly acquaint you with all the good and ill Qualities of the Person, who is resolved to devote himself to you while he lives. His Body, in truth, is somewhat ill-shaped and out of sor●s, as you could not but observe when you saw him, and Women with Child are forbidden to make him any Visits. As for his Soul, he is so well satisfied with it, that he would not exchange it with any but yours. When he is in love, he loves with so much violence, that he is sometimes ashamed of himself for it; and since all must out, although he is nicely punctual in discharging the Offices of Friendship, yet he is a little remiss in writing to his Friends. But then he speaks well of them upon all Occasions, with a sort of Fury too, and sometimes so much, as to tyre his Hearers; and when he is obliged to espouse a Man's part whom he pretends to love, a Lion and he are one and the same thing. If you like me after this Description, I am entirely at your Service. Thus expecting that you'll pronounce either my good or bad Destiny, I am, and always shall be, after what rate soever you think fit to treat me,  
Your Languishing Ladyship's most Passionate Admirer, Scarron.   

LETTER VII.  
To the Countess de Brienne. Paris, Aug. 8. 1657.  
Madam,  
IT was in your Power, I own it, to choose whether you would receive a Declaration of Love from your humble Servant: but as it was not in your Power to hinder him from being so bold and presumptuous as to make one, allow me to doubt, whether you have rejected it, till such time as you absolutely Command me to believe the contrary. 
If you a Common Beauty were,  
One Frown might make your Slave forbear.  
But Madam, who can you behold,  
Made of Nature's richest Mould,  
A Nymph so Charming who can see,  
And not with Love transported be?  
And when with his resistless Dart  
The little God has pierced the Heart,  
What Mortal can conceal the smart?  
No, the poor Wretch is forced to show it;  
By sad Experience I know it.  Come, let us go to Confession, Madam, and honestly own, that neither of us were so sincere as we ought to have been in the first Letters we writ to one another, and that if it is impossible not to speak to you of Love, being so Beautiful as you are, 'tis no less so for me, who pretend to an indifferent Judgement, to content myself with only being one of your Friends, as I intimated to you in my last. If the Conclusion of your Letter is as sincere as the Beginning of it is otherwise, the good Opinion you promise to have of me, will produce tragical Effects at Court; and you will see hundreds of Pretenders there cripple themselves, and all to rival me. For my part I can't help it if they do; and tho' I shall strive by the Violence of my Passion to deserve what your natural Goodness permits me to hope, yet I shall not be so lovesick neither, as to attempt to please you at the Loss of my Understanding.   

LETTER XVII.  
To the Count de Vivonne. June 12. 1660.  
IN vain, my Lord, you post it away,  
And kill your Brace of Steeds a day,  
And o'er the dusty Plains come pouring,  
Like Husband for a Midwife scouring,  
Or Winds the Clouds before them driving,  
Or Parson scamp'ring for a Living.  
You'll come too late to see that 
* The Marriage of Lewis XIV. of France, and Anne of Austria.  Sight  
That does two Warlike Realms unite,  
And in eternal Friendship join  
The Golden Tagus and the Seine:  
Oh that the Happy Royal Pair,  
(And faith, my Lord, they promise fair)  
Would get this Night a Son and Heir!  
Or, to complete the People's joys,  
Give them a Brace of Chopping Boys.  
What Shows, what Triumphs would be seen,  
How should we bless and thank the Queen!  
How would it scare both Turk and Persian,  
Pox on't, I want a Rhyme for Ersian.  
Then since Thalia jaded grows,  
I'll throw up Verse, and come to Prose.  
To return then to my Prose; Oh, brave Count de Vivonne, I come to tell you, altho' you know it as well as myself; but I must write you a Letter, and have but little or no Matter to fill it with, I must tell you then that Paris is exactly as it was when you left it; that for one Man of Sense, you may see a hundred thousand that are not, and never will be, and that it is with the Women just as 'tis with the Men. The young Sparks of Paris carry the World before them in the Absence of the Court; wear their long Periwigs and Swords, and set off every thing with an Air of Quality. There is scarce a Quarter of the Town but some Poet, either good or bad, lives in it; or a House that receives Visitants but is plagued every Day, at least, with half a score empty Praters or conceited Coxcombs. Now I talk of Houses, mine is the only House in France, where the merriest Tales are to be heard, and where you have the greatest Power. Your Health is often drank among us, and d'Elbene rails at you like a Dragon, when he and I are at our Kickshaw Repasts. As for me, I find myself daily decline, and go down the Hill much faster than I could desire. I have a thousand Pains, or rather a thousand Legions of Devils in my Legs and Arms; yet in this wretched Condition have been so undaunted and rash, as to love you most inordinately. I can't tell how the Freak came to take me in the Head; but this I know full well, that you are a great deal of Friendship and Esteem in my Debt; so that if you do me Justice, I shall have Reason to boast that I was so happy in the latter end of my Life, as to make the most advantageous Acquaintance I ever had, meaning yourself. 'Tis true, my Ambition, as great as it is, aught to stop here; but you have told me so many things of Monsieur Manchini, that I am resolved never to release you of the Promise you made me, to bring me acquainted with him; provided always, nothing in this Letter to the contrary notwithstanding, that he is not a Man of mighty Compliments, and the Reason is because I immediately fall a weeping whenever I hear 'em, or am forced to make 'em myself, and come off so sneaking and pitiful that you'd laugh at me. In short, Compliments are my Aversion, as Serpents and Toads are that of all Mankind; and I am as much afraid of them as of a strong Breath, or an Old Lady's hollow Tooth, or a wou'd-be Wit. That nothing of this kind may be laid to my Charge, I will send my Letter without making you one, that is to say, a Compliment; and will bluntly and roundly tell you, that no Man in the World honours you more than,  
Sir, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XVIII.  
To Monsieur du Rincy. Feb. 23.  
Sir,  
THE Proceed at the Town-hall to morrow will be another Battle of Pharsalia to me. I mean, my Destiny will be decided there; and I shall know in a few Minutes whether 'tis worth my while to live, or whether I must go hang myself. I therefore conjure you, Oh Gallant du Rincy, to represent to the generous Pelisson, that this is an Affair of Consequence, that he must now or never redouble the Recommendation of his Patron, before whom every Knee bows, and get him to speak to the Provost of the Merchants, and the four Sheriffs who are to meet on Thursday Morning about ten, at the Town-hall. It will not be enough barely to desire them to do Justice, for that they own to the meanest Scoundrel, but to beg a Favour of them, if there be Occasion for it: But between Friends the Affair is honest, and they may easily pass it without getting the ill will of one Man in the City.   

LETTER XIX.  
To Monsieur de Marigny.  
Sir,  
TO deal freely with you, I scarce know how to behave myself, after the Prince of Conde has done me the Honour to remember me, and altho' I am the most wretched and melancholy Man that ever was, yet I must publish my Joy to all the World, since you send me word, that his Highness is pleased to divert himself with reading my Letters. I cannot imagine how you come to think them so pleasant at Brussels, for the Person that writes them at Paris is to my Knowledge sometimes so confounded splenetic and ill humoured, that there's no enduring him. And who, in Lucifer's Name, would not be so under my Circumstances? 'Tis true indeed, the World sometimes seems to have an Esteem for me, and often too think me worthy of their Pity, but alas, that is all; for they take no care to relieve me.  
Each Hour, Alas! I older grow,  
Time on my Temples sheds his Snow.  
And as I find myself decay,  
And hasten to my Mother Clay,  
My past and present Ills conspire  
To jade my Muse, and damp my Fire.  
When I consider that I was born well enough made, to have served the Respects of the Bois-Roberts of my time.  
That merry bant'ring Priest, you know,  
Who not a Rag of Sense can show,  
Thanks to his noble Front of Brass,  
For a profound Divine does pass.  
When I bethink myself, that till the Age of Twenty seven I had a Constitution strong enough to out-drink a Dutchman; that I am still so sound within, that I drink all sorts of Liquors, and eat all sorts of Meat with as keen an Appetite as the greatest Epicure of them all. When I consider, that for the Faculties of my Mind, I am neither dull, nor weak, nor impertinent; that I am free from Ambition and Avarice, and that if Heaven had been pleased to have left me the Use of my Legs, which in the Days of Yore could have made a shift to lead up a Dance, and of my Hands which once knew how to paint, and tickle a Violin, and in short, my Body straight and well-shaped, I might have lived a comfortable Life, tho' somewhat obscure. When these cruel Thoughts come into my Head, I swear to you, dear Friend of mine, that if it had been lawful for me to make away with myself, I had long ago dispatched all my Miseries with a hearty Dose of Poison; and in my Conscience I shall be forced to come to it at last.  
Under those cruel pains I groan,  
Would force Complaints from Hearts of Stone;  
And cannot hope to find Repose,  
Till Death my wearied Eyes does close.  
Why should my barbarous Stars delight  
On me to shed their restless Spite?  
'Tis plain, I suffer for the Crime  
Of trespassing in wicked Rhyme.  
To make you amends for this Melancholy Letter, wherein I was forced in spite of my Teeth to unbosom myself to you, I send you six new Stanza's which I have added to my Baroncide.  
The Novel called the Spanish Paralitic, which was trumped up against me to outdo what I had done of that Nature, as far as I can find, has done me no Harm, but made the Author ridiculous. Spanish Grammars did not sell for 50000 Livres, as you sent me word, but they did not come much short of it. However that Tongue was never so corrupted in this World as it has been of late years in Paris. I am exceedingly obliged to you for the Trouble you gave yourself to procure me the Spanish Plays, and remain, etc.   

LETTER XX.  
To the same. Aug. 1.  
Sir,  
IT vexes me that at the very time, when you tell me I might divert his Highness, I cannot write to you with that Gaiety as I would, and that my Hand rebels against my Inclinations; for to my sorrow I have been plagued with a cruel Fit of the Gout for this Month last passed as well as his Highness; as if I had not had Miseries enough before to torment me. All I can do under this new Indisposition and those other Calamities my ill Fortune persecutes me with, tho' I say it without Boasting, is, that I swear as heroically, and with as good a Grace as any Man in France; and I humbly conceive that if his Highness would now and then condescend, like other frail Mortals, to swear a little, he would find some Relief and Benefit by it. I would by no means advise him to lay it on so plentifully as I do; but if his Highness would sometimes stumble upon an Oath or so, without any Wicked Intention, but only to expectorate himself; I fancy it would not be amiss. For my part I am sometimes so very mad, that if all the Furies in Hell came to fetch me away, I believe in my Conscience, I should almost go and meet them halfway. This is the second Melancholy Letter I have plagued you with. If his Highness were as well acquainted with the nonsensical Stuff of our witty Coxcombs as he is with Military Affairs, and every thing else that happens in the World, it would be some Diversion to him to read this Letter. Madamoiselle de l' Enclos, who supped last Night with d'Elbene and myself, told me she would write to his Highness to Day● I sent to compliment Monsieur de Rochefort at the Hostel d'Estrée, but he took no notice of it; but 'tis ten to one I shall be even with the Gentleman e'er long, and quit Scores with him at Paris. My Letter is of the shortest as well as yours was; but next Friday I will take care to make you amends. Adieu.   

LETTER XXI.  
To the same. May 8th.  
Sir,  
YOU oblige me in the most sensible Part, when you writ to me. I have no other Comfort in this World but my generous Friends; and when you are pleased to assure me that you are still one of that Number, you rejoice me infiniteély more than the General Peace will do. This Comparison at first Sight, I suppose, will appear weak to you; and indeed I must needs own that the Affairs of Europe may change a hundred times, and still for the better, whereas mine are in no likelihood of mending. But I have a wonderful Desire to see your Prince once more in France, if it were for no other Reason, but because France has had a very ill hand at Princes this year, altho' she has more of them than ever, and perhaps the succeeding years will be no better than the former, as likewise to embrace my fat, my plump, my jolly M— for I make no question but that the Flemish Double Beer has improved his Shape to a Miracle. But is it possible that the Great Conde should know I am still in the World? My Friend Guenault told me that he saw the Second Part of my Comical Romance lie upon his Table, which has made me as proud as Lucifer. These Furious Devils called Hero's would be worth their weight in Gold, would they but stoop so low as to have a little Love for us poor Mortals, who love them exceedingly. As for yours, one would swear that a Hundred Hero's at least went to the making of him, since he has put our invincible Troops so often to the scamper. It may truly be said of him, that if he was a great Prophet in his own Country, which the Scripture tells us no Man ever was, he was a greater in a Foreign Country. If he takes the Trouble to cast his Eye upon the Five Letters I have sent you, pray let me know what he says of them. The Melancholy Letter comes just now from me piping hot, the rest were written last year. I will shortly send you a Sketch or Essay that has something of the Spirit of satire in it; 'tis my Misfortune that 'tis writ upon a Rascal who is not known enough in the World. In short 'tis a Son of a Whore of an Extortioner that owes me Six hundred Pistols, and refuses to pay me. But, to drop this Villain, I will tell you after what Manner the Third Volume of my Comical Romance gins. There were not as yet any jilting Females in the World, and these Jansenists of Love had not as yet began to despise Mankind. Our Ears were not as yet persecuted with Life of Life, Angelic Fair, and Charming Goddess, when the little Ragotin, etc.  
Well, Old Tost, and how dost thou pass thy time? Tell me, Bully Rock, art thou still strong and Iusty? Are the Bona Roba's kind, and will they venture a Broadside with one? Adieu, thou everlasting Devourer of Tarts, thou Ocean of Custards, and Walking Quagmire of Butter. When the gallant Persan comes to Paris, 'twill be his Fault if we don't drink t'other Pot of Tea in my little Room. Pray give my humble Service to him, and make a Compliment in my Name to those worthy Gentlemen, Bouteville and Rochefort. Take care in good time to inform the pretty Lady, who you say is fallen in love with me, that for the Punishment of my Sins, my Person is become so hideous and terrible, that here in Paris they forbidden bigbellied Women to come near me. To conclude, I must conjure you still to love me, by your— Long and Strong, I will not say— but such as Providence has given it you.  
Lazarillo de Tormes.   

LETTER XXII.  
To the Marshal d'Albret. Aug. 20.  
My Lord,  
YOU may conclude we have little News stirring here, when I am reduced to so low an ebb, as to tell you that Boncaur and Charleval are in Normandy, and that Madam de Martel and her Daughter came yesterday to Town. If I must needs send you a long Letter, and by the Pains I take to divert you, must at least convince you that it was not my Fault if I could entertain you no better, 'tis certain that in this present dearth of News I must bestir myself most notably. Tho' the Sights at the 
* The Place of Execution at Paris.  Greve, are none of the properest things to send to a Person of your Quality, yet I must inform you that we hang and break upon the Wheel every Day in the Week, that the Hangman is wearied with so much Drudgery, and talks of taking in a Partner; and that Madam— who next to Monsieur de— loves nothing in the World so much as to see People die in Public, gins to be glutted with such Sights, and if it were not upon St. Ange's Score, whom she desires to see broke upon the Wheel whatever it costs her, she would forswear going to the Greve this twelvemonth. All these worthy Gentlemen are Natives of Paris, most of them the Sons of Pastry-cooks and Vintners, who rob all the Coaches and Chairs that came in their Way, and several Gavottes, Fanchons, and Nanons, that have now Stone Doublets upon their Backs, are in great Danger of swinging in the Air. I must tell you be way of Digression that my Countrymen the Parisians are, generally speaking, valiant enough in all Conscience, but they have a strange Inclination to die in their Shoes, and cut Capers under a cross piece of Timber. Now I talk of violent Deaths, I will tell you of one that is not altogether so scandalous as Hanging, but full as terrible. Before I enter into my Story, you are to understand that at Charenton, the next Day after their Sundays or Holidays, the Devil a jot of any thing you can get to eat there, and new Bread is as hard to come by as a Maidenhead at Court. It was upon a Monday, when the Furious Rincy, the Eloquent Pelisson, the never-to-be-too-much commended Madam Scudery, and the discreet Madam Bocquet, at half an hour after Ten precisely in the Morning, sent word to that Pink of Courtesy the Noble Izar, who had been about eight Days at Charenton to take the Air, that they intended to dine with him, and that he needed to provide nothing else but a good Soop and a Dessert, because they would bring Victuals along with them from the Cook's. Izar and a Man of the Law, whose Name was du Mas, that kept him Company in the Country, set all Hands to work, for the better Reception of these Illustrious Guests; for you must know the four Persons abovementioned are not to be seen every day together. Three Pullet's were thrown into the Soop, with abundance of Green Pease; and while a Fellow was sent on horseback to Bagnolet to buy Strawberries, the most celebrated Pastry-Cooks in Charenton were employed in making Tarts and Cheesecakes. The Garden was pitched upon as the fittest Place to dine in, and both the Tablecloth and the Napkins, that smelled most daintily of Lavender, were covered with a heap of new-gathered Flowers. At last our jolly Company of Wits arrives. Rincy alights out of the Coach, and immediately runs into the Kitchin. The Soop displeased him, and all the Preparations that Izar and du Mas had made, and he delivered himself with so much Vehemence and Authority, that from that very moment du Mas began to respect and fear him. He that had a mind to wash his hands, washed them. At last down to Dinner they sat; Rincy made Jests upon the Country-Soop, and was trying to cut a Loaf asunder, but finding it hard and over-baked, he made no more ado but fling it at a neighbouring Apricock-tree, by the same token he spoiled it for ever bearing Fruit more, by breaking its greatest Boughs. He tries a second Loaf, and finding it stolen and hard as the former, with the same Vigour and Alacrity he discharges it at another Tree. In short, with six or seven Loaves of the same hardness with their Predecessors, he knocks down as many Fruit-trees more, to the exceeding Vexation of the Woman of the House, who ran to prevent the Desolation of her Garden, and made most horrible Out-cries. Rincy was not a jot moved by them; he swore that no Body should eat a Bit till they got him some new Bread. Messengers were forthwith dispatched to all the Houses that baked, and they found at last some Bread just coming out of the Oven. It was laid before Rincy, who found it so terrible hot, that they were glad to pick up, among the broken Boughs of the Trees, those Loaves that had been thrown away, but were much more eatable than this Bread that burned their Mouths. Rincy's blunt Behaviour and Talk exceedingly surprised our Counsellor du Mas, and his imperious Air no less affrighted him. From that very hour he had Rincy always in his Imagination. He could not sleep without terrible Dreams, and these Dreams were full of nothing but Rincy. At last the Fright that Rincy gave him, threw him into a Fever. This Fever carried him off in less than fifteen Days, and he died stark raving Mad, talking incessantly of Rincy.  
This is all I know at present, My Lord, that is worth the while to communicate to you. Madam Scarron bids me tell you that she cannot resolve to write to you, till she sees something cheerful and pleasant in your Letters. This makes me reflect that if you suffer yourself to be as much afflicted at P●●s as you were at Paris, this Letter of mine comes to visit you at a very improper Season; but Time, and more-especially your Reason, will I hope produce their ordinary Effect upon a Misfortune that is not to be remedied. I am, with the utmost Respect,  
Your Lordship's most humble, and most obedient Servant, S—   

LETTER XXIII.  
To the same. Febr. 4. 1660.  
My Lord,  
I Can't tell whether you have received a Letter twenty eight Pages long, which I sent you the last Post. That long tedious Epistle shall atone for the Shortness of this: For which Reason I accompany it with my Epigrams upon— till the Baroncide is finished, which I hope to send you on Sunday next. I likewise send you a Ballad which is not contemptible, some Verses of Benserade that follow those he composed upon the Peace, and a Sonnet upon Enjoyment, written by a young Lady of about Nineteen, whose Name is— 'Tis a thousand pities that she is not so Handsome as she is Coming, and that her Face is not so good as her Intentions. I daily expect to see the Effect of the Promises of Monsieur le sur Intendant, as much as the jews do to see the Messiah. The Devil on't is, that a Man is upon the Rack all the while he hopes, at least he is uneasy, and Delays in Affairs of this Nature, never do any Good, but frequently Hurt. As for me, I am so unlucky a Dog, that I never had any good Fortune befall me in the whole Course of my Life, but I was forced to break through a thousand Difficulties first. You will pardon this Melancholy Reflection in a Wretch who is the Football of Destiny, and can scarce make a shift to keep Soul and Body together. I have been in this confounded Predicament two Months and upwards. We begin to despair of the Recovery of the Duke of O●leans. Yesterday the Duke of Lorraine took Post for Blois. Vilarceau lies still in the Bastile, altho' those worthy Gentlemen the M●reschals gave him hopes that he should only go in and come out again. This, my Lord, is all the News the Town at present affords. If any of my Letters have not been employed to light Fires, I beseech you to let me have them again. I may pick some Fragments out of them, perhaps, that may serve to fill a new Collection I am going to publish.   

LETTER XXIV.  
To the same. Dec. 2. 1659.  
My Lord,  
SInce the Pastry you were pleased to send me, I have received your excellent Cheeses. For my part I believe you design to pamper me with the greatest Rarities in the World. Your Liberality has extended itself to all my Boarders, who are civil Persons, I'll assure you, and have drank your Health very plentifully. If your great Pastry was admirable, your Cheeses deserve no less Commendation, being as good as 'tis possible for Cheeses made of Mortal Milk to be. But not to rob your fine Presents of the Praises they deserve, you must permit me to say something of the Letter you did me the honour to write to me, and to tell you that nothing could be more sprightly and more gallant; particularly as for that Passage where you are pleased to tell me that you leave it to others to regale my Wit, whereas you only pretend to regale my Taste, I defy our finest Writers to say any thing so happily upon such an Occasion. By this, my Lord, it appears that you are a Person of insatiable Ambition, and that you are not content with the Glory you have acquired in the War by your Arms, but you must triumph over us poor Authors in the time of Peace, win our Laurels, and carry away the Prize of Eloquence from us. I wish I had any News to send you. All the Talk of the Town is about Meniville who is dangerously sick. All our Courtiers are returned to Paris except the Marshal de Villeroy. So soon as any thing happens that is worth the writing, I will take care to let you see by so small and inconsiderable Service as that is, and which indeed is the only one I am able to do you, with what Zeal I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XXV.  
To—  
My Lord,  
IT belongs in a peculiar Manner to those of your Family to carry their Generosity and Goodness as far as 'tis possible to go. Your Brother the Attorney-General has been pleased to give me a Pension, without my ask it; and your Lordship has been pleased to come and see me at my poor Habitation, without my soliciting the honour of a Visit from you. This unparallelled Goodness, to express myself in the new Language of my Brother-Writers, has engaged me most terribly to your Lordship. I know full well, my Lord, that 'tis one of the Meanest Presents that can be made you, but I offer it with so good a Heart, that yours must be very hard indeed if you will not condescend to receive it, and give me leave as long as I live to assume the Quality of,  
My Lord, Your most humble, and Most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XXVI.  
To the Attorney-General and Sur-Intendant of the Finances.  
My Lord,  
'TIS not for so worthless and inconsiderable a Wretch as I am to ask Favours of you; but I am already in Possession of receiving them, and you have already given me so many Proofs of your Goodness and of your Compassion for my Misfortunes, that without applying myself to any other Persons, who have more Interest in your Lordship, and honour me with their Acquaintance, I have presumed to rely on my own single Credit with you, to beg a small Favour of your Lordship. 'Tis one of those Favours you sometimes grant, as you may see by the Petition I have sent with it; and I humbly beseech you to have the Goodness to read it. 'Tis for a Relation of my Wife, who has always been a faithful Servant to the King, and who is persuaded that your Lordship does me the Honour to love me. It lies on your side, my Lord, to let him see that he is not mistaken, as it will on mine to publish to all France that you are the most Generous of all Men, as well as you are the Ablest Minister of the Age. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XXVII.  
To the same.  
My Lord,  
I Knew not a Syllable till Yesterday, of your great Loss, but in the little time I have had to afflict myself for it, I have as well acquitted myself as those who knew of it long before me. I have great Reason to complain of Monsieur de Chaulne for not acquainting me with it sooner, that I might have had the Honour of coming one of the first, to assure you how much I am concerned at whatever affects you. 'Tis undoubtedly the Effect of my constant ill Fortune, which would endeavour to make me seem wanting in my Duty to you, contrary to my Inclinations, in order to make me unworthy of the Favours I receive from you, and which I never received from any one besides. Monsieur de Mares who did me the Honour yesterday to make me a Visit, can tell you how much it troubled me that I should be a Stranger to that which all the World besides knew. Upon his Encouragement I have composed a wretched Sonnet, which I made some Difficulty of sending to you, for fear I should renew your Grief. But my Lord, I had rather be blamed for coming too late, than give you the least Umbrage that I am unconcerned at any Affliction, which has made such an Impression upon you. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc.   

LETTER XXVIII.  
To the same.  
My Lord,  
I Was, it seems, but too true a Prophet, when I sent you word some time ago, that my Ill Fortune was never to be vanquished, but by a Person of the same Generosity and Authority with yourself. Under my present Circumstances, I cannot make a better Requital to Mons. Pelisson, for his kindness in speaking to you of my Affair, and acquainting me with the obliging Answer you made him, than to send you the Letter he writ to me on that Occasion. It so truly discovers the profound Respect he has for your Lordship that I presume I shall not make his Court amiss to you, in letting you know by this means, without his knowing any thing of the matter, what, perhaps, he is very desirous you should know, but dares not say it to you. 'Tis a difficult thing to talk of you, though it were before your Face, and not to Praise you; 'tis no less difficult to Praise and not to displease you, but 'tis the most difficult thing of all for one to avoid Praising you. For this reason I would have some body else tell you in my stead, that you are the most Generous Man in the Universe, and that all the Favours you have shown me, have far exceeded my Wishes and Expectations. But my Lord, will you not be apt to suspect, that the Good Office, which I imagine I do my Friend, is not altogether free from Interest, and done't you think, that my showing his Letter and commending it to you, so frankly as I do, is a cunning Trick to make use of his Thoughts, in order to express my own to you, without running the hazard of trespassing against your Modesty? I must honesty own to you, that there is something of that in it; but since I am not able to conceal it from you, judge by this Free Confession, how sincere I am in my Nature; and believe, that nothing is so true, as that I am more than any Man breathing,  
My Lord, Your most humble and most obedient, and most dutiful Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XXIX.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
IF a Man did not find a Satisfaction within himself when he● does a Charitable Action, I can't assign any reason why you should do so many to me. I don't pretend to be in the least serviceable to you, and I dare not desire that ever I may be so, for fear of wishing something that might be Disadvantageous to you. Neither can I hope to contribute much to your Diversion, not being in a condition to wait upon you, nor to make myself any otherwise known to you, than all the rest of the World knows me, that is, for being an unfortunate abandoned Wretch, and for Writing of Books sometimes, that is to say, for being (so my unlucky Stars would have it) one of the greatest Plagues and Nuisances of Humane Life. But though I were Master of better Qualities, though an Acquaintance of many Years had gained me your Friendship, and though I were in a capacity to cultivate it by a Commerce of Letters, yet the Affairs of the Ministry would not allow you time to read them. In truth, my Lord, these Thoughts give me no little uneasiness, as often as I partake of your Liberality; and I am much ashamed, that I have no way to preserve myself in your remembrance, but by some miserable Productions of my Mind, to which a Body more miserable, and a Destiny still more miserable than that jaded Body, have, in a manner, denied all Tranquillity. But, my Lord, since I have happened to make mention of my Writings and all that, has my Fable of Hero and Leander had the Happiness to please you? Mons. the Chaulne would fain make me believe it has, but perhaps he only designed to flatter an unhappy Wretch. I conjure you, my Lord, either to give me your Approbation of it under your hand, which I shall prefer to the Testimony of all the Academies in the World, or else to censure it, in order to make me know myself. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XXX.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
THE Goodness you were pleased to show me in not despising the Comedy I presumed to Dedicate to you, is of itself Obligation enough to make me devote myself to your Lordship, although you had not engaged me to do so, by overwhelming me with new Favours. I flatter myself, that I thank you in some manner for them, when I honestly confess to you, that I cannot thank you enough, and that I better express my Gratitude to you by this Confession, than by all the Compliments in the World. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XXXI.  
To the Same.  
I So little deserve the last Favour you were pleased to confer upon me, that I should have been surprised at it, if I had not already received so many Marks of your Liberality, or if I were the only Man in the Kingdom who was ignorant that you are incessantly doing Good to all Mankind. I beg you to believe, that I have as grateful a Sense of all your Favours, as 'tis possible for one to have. But, my Lord, if 'tis the greatest Satisfaction to me to find, that all the pressing Affairs of State, which you so wisely manage, can't hinder you from thinking of mine; 'tis no small Affliction to me, that I cannot conceal your Kindnesses without Ingratitude, nor publish them without making the World suspect, that 'tis less out of Inclination than Interest, that I have been all my Life,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XXXII.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
NEver was any Sur-Intendant in France so much Esteemed and Beloved as you are; and indeed never was any Man so Generous and Obliging. But I am of opinion, that it costs you not a little; and that this Fine Reputation exposes you to a thousand Importunities. As for me, I should have a continual Remorse of Conscience for troubling you all my Life, and not being able to leave it off yet, did I not see at the same time, the Wealthiest Persons, and those of the highest Condition, beg Favours of you with more importunity than I do, although they have not such a right to pretend to your Favours, as an Unhappy Wretch like me, whom you have promised to make easy. 'Tis, my Lord, an Undertaking worthy of you: And that I may give you the Satisfaction of seeing it sooner over, I have made bold to recommend to you my Interests in the Affair of the Debentures. You know very well, my Lord, that you were pleased, at my instance, to grant the Confirmation of them. The Persons for whom I solicited you, offered me a small Part in the Business; but as I was never Fortunate in my Life, and could not tell what would be the Success of it, I rather chose to accept the Six Hundred Pistoles, which they promised me under Hand and Seal, upon the first Sums they received. At present I have no manner of Concern in the Affair, neither have I received a Farthing of the Money they promised me, in case I procured a Grant for them. Now one Word from you to the Party who has the Management of it, would secure me either one or the other, or, perhaps, both together. I make no question but you'll grant me this Favour, since I am more than any one living,  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XXXIII.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
I Take the Freedom to make a Request to you with as much Boldness, as if after a Court of many Years I had done you some important Service; but Men of your Quality, and Generous to that degree as you are, not only oblige their Friends and Servants, but all those that want their help. They are incessantly busied to protect the Unfortunate, and see Justice done them; and as for you, my Lord, I believe there scarce passes a day over your Head, but some Knight or unhappy Damosel comes to beg relief of you. I therefore conjure you, as being the most miserable Man in the World, but one who honours you the most, to grant me a small Favour. 'Tis, my Lord, that you would be pleased to prevail with the Provost of the Merchants, that he would ned oppose the establishing some Offices in the City, the Propriety whereof I have acquired. This Affair may make me easy in the World, and be worth to me two or three Thousand Livres a Year. But my constant ill Destiny, which loses not the least opportunity to do me a Mischief, has raised a busy, troublesome Coxcomb against me, who, although he has not the least Interest in this Affair, has prepossessed the Provost of the Merchants, and made him my Enemy. I desired the Precedent Mons. the Guenegot, to speak a good word for me, and he was so kind as to carry Mons. the Franquetot and my Wife to him; but his Recommendation has signified little or nothing. I expect another sort of effect from one of your Letters to him, which I humbly beg you to write, and send by one of your own People. When you once let him see that I have the Honour of being known to you, he will soon draw this Inference, that it will be worth his while to Oblige me. But if you would farther be pleased to intimate to him, that I am not indifferent to you, he will make my Business his own, since he will believe that 'tis yours in some manner; and you'll receive this Satisfaction by it, that the most Zealous of your Servants will not be likewise the Poorest, and thus he will with more Serenity enjoy the Honour of your Friendship. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XXXIV.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
ALthough you are the most able Minister of State we have, yet give me leave to tell you, that you did not know what you did, when you condescended to assure me by the most obliging Letter in the World, that I had some share in your Good Will and Friendship. The Unfortunate, in which number I may justly reckon myself, are often Troublesome against their Inclination, and Persons of the same Generosity with your Lordship, have sometimes reason to repent of their being so. After all these mighty things you have done for me, for which I shall be obliged to you so long as I live, although the Success of 'em does not answer my Expectation, I should not have a pretence to importune you any more, if either my Unhappy Stars would leave persecuting me, or if 'twas possible for your Generosity to be wearied. But, my Lord, you have made me too great Promises to give me any Apprehensions of ask too much: Besides, that the Affair I beg you to dispatch for me, is one of those that are seldom or never rejected at the Council-Table. 'Tis what I signified to you in my last, which in a little time will bring Money into the King's Coffers; and if it succeeds, I shall have as much reason to bless my Fate for your Favours to me, as I hitherto had to bless them for your extraordinary Civility. But let things fall out as they will, I should be the most Ungrateful Man in the World, if I were not whilst I live,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc.   

LETTER XXXV.  
To the Same.  
My Lord,  
DOn't I take too much freedom upon me to persecute you with my Letters? Let me know your Mind I beseech you, that if I have committed a Fault, I may amend it for the future. To deal frankly with you, I cannot help being a little familiar with those Persons whom I exceedingly love, nor be serious till I come to the end of my Letter, though I begun it with MY LORD, in huge Capital Letters. I would not have you infer from hence, that I am ever wanting in my Respect for your Lordship: I will always acquit myself towards you, as I am in Duty bound, and will attempt to write to you in the sublime Style when there is occasion for it: But this same individual Man, my Lord, that will sometimes place half a Foot distance between your Title and the beginning of his Letter, who will lavish all his Stock of Hyperboles there, and will not forget the least of your Qualities, to make his Performance more Solemn and Authentic, will be sometimes so bold as to trouble you with Trifles, and strive to cheer up a little that serious Countenance, which, in my opinion, becomes you so well when you are making Decrees. In short, he will sometimes endeavour to Vn-Cato you, if I may so express myself. He will not indeed presume to offer at this, when you are taken up with important Affairs of State, and when you are Attorney-general, Sur●Intendant of the Finances, and Minister of State altogether. Mons. the Chaulne will take you at a more seasonable time, and will not introduce me to you, but when you are plain Mons. Fo●quet, that is to say, the most Obliging and Generous Man in the Universe, when you shine by your own proper Light, without borrowing that of your Dignity and Offices; when having quitted the Magistrate's Robe, you are walking in your Chamber, either at St. Man●é, or at Paris, in a short Coat, and almost the same Equipage and Humour Scipio was in, when he gathered Cockle-shells on the Seashore with his Friend Laelius. At such a time as this, my Lord, if I had the Happiness to be in your Company, I would say every thing to you that came first into my Head, and display myself with all the Gaiety that Heaven has bestowed upon me. However, I would not presume to make so bold with you, till I had your permission for it, as the late Cardinal the Lion, upon ask, used to allow me; and as I take without ask of the Cardinal de Retz, when he reposes himself just by me upon a little yellow Couch, and we talk of something else besides Politics and Religion. I may boast, that with these two Eminences I have triumphed over that Formal Gravity that uses to accompany the Red Hat. Both of them formerly made me believe that they had a Kindness for me. After such Precedents, you may vouchsafe to afford me a little of your Love without any Shame, and by the extraordinary Care I took to deserve their Favour, you may judge with what Zeal I am resolved to devote myself to you. Your Lordship wishes me well for no other consideration, but because I am Unfortunate; and you have done more for me in Fifteen Days, than a great number of Noblemen even promised to do for me, ever since I have been condemned a perpetual Prisoner to my Chair. Within these twenty Years, there has scarce passed a Year over my head, but some of those Honourable Peers, who come to see in my Chamber just as People went formerly to see an Elephant, out of Curiosity, or who come to spend an Afternoon with me, when they are disappointed in their Visits, or have nothing else to do; there has scarce passed a Year over my head, I say since then, but some of these Pretenders to Generosity, and Friends in Masquerade, have made me most Magnificent Promises, and voluntarily offered to serve me, or any of my Friends without my ask: Whereas Mons. the Chief Precedent, whom I never had the Honour to see in all my life, sent me last Year a considerable Present by Abbé Menage, a little after I had Dedicated a Book to him; whereas you, who did not know whether I was in the World, have Honoured me with your Favours, and in a manner too more Obliging than the Favour itself. I presume, my Lord, I ought not any farther to explain to you what I desire of you, though you have laid an injunction upon me to do it: I ought indeed to receive whatever Kindnesses you think fit to confer upon me, with all imaginable Gratitude, but I have no Right to prescribe them to you, or to importune you for them. A Person of your Generosity needs not be instructed what he is to do. 'Tis enough for the Comfort of my Life hereafter, that you have been pleased to look down from the Eminent Station wherein you are placed, upon that wherein I am; and I done't at all doubt, after the obliging Letter you did me the Honour to write to me, and which I will carefully preserve, that I may justly apply to you, what a Celebrated Poet formerly said of his Benefactor,  Deus nobis haec otia fecit.  

LETTER XXXVI.  
To the same.  
My Lord,  
THough I had been as ill received by the Queen of Sweden, as my Reception has all along been otherwise, yet every time I ordered myself to be carried to the Lovure, to divert her Majesty, I was told that I should not be unwelcome if I now and then waited upon you, and paid my Respects to the Person, to whom I am more obliged than any Man living. I had long before this gratified my impatient Desire to see you, if my Health had not obliged me to go to take the Air within a League of Paris, where I hope to finish a Play, and the Conclusion of my Romance. In the mean time, my Lord, I beseech you to remember the Promise you made my Wife, concerning the Marquisate of her Cousin de Circe, and to permit Mons. Patriau to make a Report of it to you. I confess, 'tis a great Favour we ask you; but I think I have already told you, that you cannot grant small ones, and still I protest to you, that if I were not fully satisfied that this Estate, for which we entreat your definitive Sentence, is one of the most Seigneurial in France, I would not have presumed to speak to you about it, although all my Wife's Relations in Poictou have daily importuned me. But I will no longer trespass upon your Patience. I am,  
My Lord, Your most humble, etc.   

LETTER XXXVII.  
To Mons. Pelisson.  
Sir,  
YOU may read what my Patron writes to me before it comes to my hands. After all the good Offices you have done me with him, you may very well open the Letters he writes to me, and I have some reason methinks to complain of you, for not reading that of to day's date before I had it 'Tis full of the kindest Expressions that can be imagined; it has warmed my Gratitude to so high a Degree, and thrown me into so great a Confusion, that if he should write me many more Letters of the same strain, I believe that I, who ought to Love him more than any Man in the World, should at last go and Stab myself at his Feet, to express a Resentment so sincere as mine is. I have sent you this Letter, that you may confess with me, that nothing can be more obliging. Send it me back I beseech you, for I will lodge it amongst my most valuable Archives, as a Pledge of that Kindness, which the most Generous Man upon Earth has been pleased to express for me. Pray send me your Opinion, whether you think he was diverted with the Epigrams that I composed upon B—. Unless I am mistaken, two of them are pleasant enough.   

LETTER XXXVIII.  
To—  
Sir,  
'TIS almost impossible for one to be Obliging as you are, and not to be very often importuned. For my part, I am very sensible that I am troublesome to you, but Importunities may in some manner be allowed to Unfortunate Persons, in which number I am sorry to rank myself, and besides, you yourself must needs think me a strange, unconsidering Wretch, if I did not make some Advantage of the Honour of your Friendship, and the Kindness you have all along expressed for me. My Servant left yesterday at your House, a Memorial of my Affair with Mons. le Tardif, who to be sure would never refuse you a Matter of greater Importance, and to whom I will communicate, whenever he thinks fit, the Grounds upon which I build my Pretensions. I beseech you, Sir, to speak a word or two to him about it, and to give me leave to send somebody to him as from you to beg that of him, which you will find in the Memorial I have sent you. 'Tis one of my Friends at Dreux that give● me this Advice, and who has made me find my private Advantage in it, besides the Satisfaction of Serving him. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XXXIX.  
To—.  
Sir,  
'TIS a mighty Loss to me, that I am not so well known to you as you are to me: You would not then question, that I have all that due Sense of your Generosity which you can desire, and for the several Obligations I have to you, all the Gratitude that I can show or express. I was told to day by Mons. Tardif, what Measures you intent to take to serve me; and I have satisfied him how far all these obliging steps you make in my behalf are free from all suspicion of Interest, since I am the most useless, insignificant Wretch alive. I beseech you, Sir, to continue them, and to complete a Work, which could only be undertaken by one that has as large a Soul as yourself. If you will appoint any day for it, I'll take care to give due notice to Mons. Tardif. I am impatient to owe all my Ease in this World to you, not so much to see my Affairs soon established, as that I may have more right to say, that I am more indebted to you than any one, and I beg you to believe, that this will always be the highest Ambition of,  
Sir, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

To—.  
Sir,  
I Wish I were able to write a Letter to you that deserved to be shown to your Patron, and would make him give a second Order to Mons. Bruant. But is it possible for a Man to Write well, when he has not a Farthing to bless him? For my part, I was never so plaguily out with Fortune as I am at this present Writing. Out of Three Lotteries I could get nothing but Blanks, when Madam Scarron could get two silver Cups; but as they don't belong to my jurisdiction, they only make me envy her Good Luck, and rail at my own ill Destiny. Add to this, Bois-Robert and the Corneill●s. 
Whom your Patron so sage,  
The Maecenas o'th' Age,  
In Honour to Wit,  
He the best judge of it,  
So often invites  
To see him a Nights.  
This, under the Rose,  
Disturbs my Repose;  
As the famous Exploits of a Grecian Commander,  
Inferior in nothing to Great Alexander,  
Kept nightly awake  
An Athenian Rake.  
By my troth I can't tell  
In what Olymp'ad it fell,  
'Tis without it as well.  By this I find the Good Old Proverb, A Man's Face is his best Spokesman, to be one of the truest in the World. If I could go up and down like the rest of the two-legged Creation, it would save you at least twenty troublesome Letters a Week, and I would certainly make my Court in my own Person, as Deformed and Monstrous as it is. 
I have oft, on my word,  
Tried to visit your Lord,  
And to make my best show,  
Dressed and primed like a Beau.  
But the Plague on't lies here;  
When I'm put in my Chair,  
My Pains straight begin,  
Both without and within,  
To make their Attack,  
And maul me thwick thwack;  
Then I swagger and roar,  
Call Son of a Whore;  
Ha! jernie, morbleu,  
And swear like a jew,  
Or a Porter at Putskie,  
Or Beau at a Slut,  
Or a Coachman at Spark  
When bilked in the dark,  
Or Bully at Dun,  
Or Germane Dragoon,  
Or a Sharper at Play,  
Or a Seaman for Pay,  
Or a Rake for a Whore,  
Or a Priest for a Cure.  
But I've plagued you enough  
With this Tragical Stuff.  That which I have hinted to you here in Verse, the good People of Narquois de Bigot use to call being Visited by the Lord; and I have frequently heard some Priests and Monks Congratulate me, because the Good Lord Visited me oftener than any one else, and they seemed to envy me this Happiness, which I would have quitted to them with all my heart, as great a step to Salvation as they think it. In troth, I am at present so bad a Christian, that I can hardly return my Thanks for such Visits, and want several Rounds of the Ladder, before I can mount up to so perfect a Resignation of myself to the Will of Providence. In the mean time, I languish in expectation of what you have made me hope from Monsieur Bruant. I believe, as you send me word, that he is willing enough to oblige me, but I very much question, whether he will be able to do much for me. I am likewise of opinion, that he's puzzled enough in all Conscience to find Money for the beginning of the Campaign; but so small a Sum would suffice to Equip me for mine; and what I expect from him would so little contribute to make him easy, that he may soon put an end to all my Troubles without increasing his own. 'Tis your Interest, I must tell you, to prevail with him to do it, that you may deliver yourself from the Persecution of my Billets and Epistles. Now it comes into my Head, I was Yesterday put into bodily fear. Word was brought me, that Mons. Meraut, Master of the Accounts, must speak with me. I expected some terrible Business or other; but he only talked of the Repairs of his House, the Overflowing of the Seine, the Affair of Hedin, and above all, told me, I was a Happy Man to have so much Wit.  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LETTER XL.  
To—.  
Sir,  
I Am going to tell you a Story that concerns you, and which will divert you, unless I'm mistaken. About three days ago I happened to be without Money, an Accident that befalls me oftener than I could wish, so I sent my Servant to Mons. Richmond, of whom I Quarterly receive Four Hundred Livres, which the Sur-Intendant is pleased to allow me, and prayed him to advance me Ten Days Payment of the Quarter then running. There happened to be in the Room one Mr.— to whom I am an absolute Stranger, and who censured this as a great Fault in me, which however I believe I shall not correct in myself this pretty while yet. Seeing my Servant, says he to him, I don't know your Master, he knows no body but Mons. de Lorme, and never Dedicated or gave any of his Books to me; tell him that he shall not have a Penny of his Money till the end of the Month. You may see, Sir, how this cursed, plaguy Poverty draws Contempt upon a Man, and that although Queens and Princesses, and all the Persons of Quality in the Kingdom have had the Curiosity to see me, Honour me with their Visits, and Excuse me from returning them, a rude Whipster of a Fellow shall impudently insult me. You may likewise see, that although you are esteemed and loved by all the World, you are not able to escape the Malice of some Envious Brutes, who are vexed at your Reputation. But I will no longer make the Men of Business murmur, who wait you in your Antichamber, by amusing you to read a Letter of so little Importance. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, most obedient, and most Passionate Servant, Scarron.   

LETTER XLI.  
To—.  
Sir,  
I Now send you the two Letters I read to you yesterday, because I observed they did not displease you. In the mean time, I will order some more to be Copied out for you, and likewise a few Verses. At present I am wholly taken up with my Play, because I have my chief Subsistence from the Theatre. This Writing of Plays is a confounded Fatigue that does not turn to Account, when a Man spends a World of Time and Thought about them, and there is little or no Reputation to be got, when they are made in a hurry. All other things require Repose and Tranquillity. A Man can scarce enjoy either one or the other, when he is as ill in his Health as in his Affairs; and for myself, I make no scruple to own, that I find my Gaiety sensibly decay, since, like an unhappy Workman, I am forced to write Verses to get my Bread. I find myself too not a little perplexed in my Thoughts about the Attorney-general, for if I don't thank him as often as my Gratitude prompts me to do it, he will suspect I have none; and if I thank him as often as I am desirous to do it, I fear he will think I act wholly upon Interest. I know well enough, that he is too Generous to expect Compliments from those he obliges, and that his Judgement is too discerning not to know, that to give to such an useless Wretch as myself, is properly Charity; whereas, to oblige a Person who may requite us again in Specie, is not doing a Kindness, but downright Trafficking and Policy. In short, Sir, there is a certain Conduct I am to observe in this Affair, which I can only learn from yourself, who have known him so long. I did not think to write so gravely to you, but a Man cannot help sometimes having Clouds in his Brain, which must have time to disperse. Tell me the Name of your Friend, that I may certainly know to whom it is I am obliged. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, and most obedient Servant, Scarron.   

XLII. A Character.  
SInce Drawing of Characters is so much in Fashion, I am resolved to attempt one: but having a just diffidence of my own Talon, I will choose a Subject so Fertile, that my Performance, although perhaps 'tis ill executed, shall nevertheless find Admirers enough. The Person whom I design to Paint, is a Man of Quality; Great by his Birth, since he is descended from the Blood of our Princes, but much greater still by his Merit. When but Thirty Years old, he was scarce thought sufficiently rewarded with one of the highest Posts at Court. He was made an Officer of the Crown, I don't mean one of those, who are only obliged to serve the King in a Pair of Silk Stockings, and glitter at a Court-Masquerade; but one of those who want but one Step higher to arrive at the Supreme Command of War, and whom our Kings may safely trust with the Defence of our Frontiers, and the Conduct of our Armies. But he is not as yet where he ought to be. If Fortune leaves him where he is, 'tis impossible for her to be more unjust, and if she should heap upon him all that 'tis in her power to give, I can't tell whether it would be all he deserves. He possesses, without contradiction, all those shining Qualities, that are required in what we commonly call a Hero or Demi-God. He was so to me ever since I had the Honour to know him, and will always be so to the rest of the World that have any discernment. The greatest Heroes of Antiquity were in no respect superior to him; and of all those that have wore the Sword (for there are People that wear it in all Professions) I know none that have so Gloriously employed theirs, as my Hero has done both in France and Flanders. In both these places, they take a pleasure to talk of his Victories, as they formerly did in Rome to relate that of Horatius over the Curiatij, and, if like that valiant Roman, he has been Praised for having always beaten his Enemy, he cannot, like him, be blamed for ever turning his Back. But if he possesses in a more eminent manner than any Man living, all the essential Ingredients that enter into the Composition of a Hero, he has no less his Mien. The Charms of his Person answer his other Qualities, and by them he has triumphed over the most formidable Beauties of the Court, as he has over the Bravest by his Valour; and his Victories in Love equal those of War. It's true, that he is accued for running incessantly after New Conquests; but the Ambition of a Conqueror scorns all Bounds, and he that can Vanquish with ease, can hardly forbear to make an Attack. He is somewhat above the common Size, but not too Tall; and by what we find his Shape at present, we may easily guests that it has been one of the Finest in the World. His Head comprehends all the good Sense we bestow upon Grey Hairs, without wearing their Livery, and from the agreeable Air it gives his Face, and from that it receives from it, there results a Noble Masculine Beauty, which, without having the Delicacy of that of the Women, has, notwithstanding, every thing that makes them be beloved. I would not in so particular a manner draw the Portrait of his Visage, nor of his entire Person, did I not fear to be reproached, for speaking only of his Advantages, and haying a design to omit the rest. Therefore, after I have said that he has fine Teeth, a Beauty that belongs to Men as well as Women, and without which, the most Accomplished may give disgust. I will own, that his Eyes, tho' lively and full of fire, are weak to see any thing at a distance, tho' they lose nothing of what they see near at hand, and that they are the sweetest in the World. Some Ladies impute to them the Inconstancy which they condemn in him, and complain of him for suffering himself to be conducted by such treacherous Guides, which make him run after every new Object, and are frequently apt to make him go astray. But is it not their fault? And the Crime they accuse him of, does it not proceed from their bad Example? And do they practise those Duties which they pretend he neglects? A Man may sometimes give his Eyes leave to look upon Objects that are unworthy of him, provided he does it only en passant, and as in my Character, I have hitherto only drawn that which he may have in common with others, yet w●at he possesses above the ordinary rank of Men, what he derives neither from his Birth and Fortune, but only from himself, is of a much greater Price, and more difficult to Paint. I mean his Soul, that was never shaken by any Accidents of Fortune, his Wit that equals the Tranquillity of his Soul, and his natural facility of expressing himself, that is, neither affected nor too studied. A Man may be sometimes allowed to be inconstant in Love, when he is, like him, the most constant Man in his Friendships. When I talked of the Beauty of his Shape, I forgot that of his Legs, at a time when our great Guns have concealed the Defects of many of our Ba●dy-leg'd Courtiers, and when those who pretend to set up for handsome Sparks, and are, in appearance, the best made, very often have none of the straitest.   

To—  
Paris, june 14th. 1657.  
Sir,  
I Am going to give you a convincing Proof, how much I am your Friend, by bringing you to the knowledge of Madam de Mongeron's Son, and by giving you an opportunity to oblige a Lady of her Merit in the Person of her Son, who really deserves, what for my sake you'll grant him, a room in your Friendship. You'll give me a Proof of your own, if you gratify me in this particular, and for this piece of Service to you and him, I expect abundance of Thanks from both of you, before the Campaign will be over. Among the other good Qualities that shine in this young Gentleman. I will acquaint you but with one, that perhaps he would conceal from you. He plays upon the Lute better than any Man of his Condition, and yet the time he has spent to acquire this Skill, has not done the least prejudice to his other Exercises, no more than it has hindered his Studies, and his Travelling into Spain, Germany and Italy. Tho' his Modesty, I know, will incline him to conceal his own Worth, yet a Person of your Judgement will soon discover what I tell you to be true, and much more, which we will talk of next Winter. In the mean time, Oh thou most Passionate of all Men, but the least punctual in every thing, except Friendship, I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

To—.  
Sir,  
YOu'll find me good for something, since I put an opportunity into your hands of obliging a very honest Gentleman. 'Tis Mr. R—. of whom I spoke to you t'other day. He is as much my Friend as I can for the heart of me desire him to be. By this I design to let you understand, that he has a great deal of Merit. For your own Reputation you ought not to suspect that I don't know you; I who know at first sight what you value, and who would buy your Friendship at the highest Price you can set upon it, were I able to Purchase it. Monsieur de Rosleau will let you know the rest. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

To—.  
Sir,  
MY Wife has informed me, what obliging Designs you have proposed to serve us. These new Marks of your Generosity, have added nothing to the good Opinion I have had of you before. In that little time I had the Honour of seeing you, I was sufficiently convinced of what your Reputation long ago had given me the greatest Assurances; and I sincerely protest to you, that altho' the Expectations I have built to myself upon your Protection and Friendship, should be attended with no good Success, yet I shall only complain of my untoward Destiny, and extol your Generosity while I live. The World, I believe, does not take me for an ungrateful. Fellow, and I can give you no better Proof of it, than by desiring you to observe, that tho' I am the most useless insignificant Man alive, yet several Persons of Condition and Merit are my Friends, or at least pretend to be so. But I must ingeniously own to you, that among those who appear the most Zealous to serve me, not one has offered to do it at so critical a Juncture as yourself Your time, as precious as it is, is less bestowed upon yourself than others; and I am sensible, that I should make you lose too much of it, if I should here pretend to set down all that my Gratitude inspires me with. Till I have an opportunity to make you a Public Acknowledgement of it, be pleased to take up with this sincere Protestation I make you, of being, while I live,  
Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LET. XLIII.  
To—.  
Most Reverend Father,  
YOU send me word, that Father Vavasseur has Written a Treatise against the Burlesque Sti●e. 'Tis well done of him; I even envy him for so good a Design, and you will exceedingly oblige me, to let me have a sight of a Book, which deserves so well of the Public. If I were to write against any of the crying Sins of the Age, I would most certainly levelly my Pen at Burlesque Verse: and you have a very ill Opinion of me indeed, if you think I am angry with this worthy. Author for his Performance. Next to a stinking Breath, and to a dull Rogue that always affects to be Witty. I know no greater Plague in the World, than this execrable sort of Poetry: and since I am, in some measure, the occasion of its mighty spreading, I cannot take it ill of Father Vavasseur, if when his hand is in, he gives me a Lash or two. Those that told you I was angry with him, don't know me. For my part, I had not known at this very Minute, that he had written against these Infects of Parnassus, these Scoundrils of Helicon, if you had not given me notice of it. The Public aught to return him Thanks for this Noble Work, which I hope will effectually reform so enormous an Abuse; and you ought likewise to let me see him as soon as you can contri●● it, to make me amends for the Wrong you have done me, in believing me capable of being displeased at so Charitable a Design. I am Father Vavasseur's and your  
Most humble Servant Scarron.   

LET. XLIV.  
To—.  
Madam,  
ALtho' my Affair were wholly desperate, I should prefer it to the best Fortune in the World, since it has been the occasion of my receiving a Letter from you. 'Tis impossible for any thing to be written in a more obliging manner, and were I not a Gallant wholly dead to this wicked World● I could hardly forbear growing vain upon so great a Favour. Perhaps, Madam, you only thought to write me a civil Letter; you have gone much farther, and I must freely declare to you, that of the unhappiest of all Men, you have so 〈◊〉 reconciled me to my Fortune, that I look upon myself to be rather an Object of Envy than Pity. In short; the Satisfaction your Goodness has given me, employs all the Faculties of my Mind, and takes me up to that degree, that I don't know how to talk to you about my Affair with Mons. de la Nove Renart. But since you enjoin me to do it, and 'tis more reasonable I should obey you than follow my own Humour, I will tell you, Madam, that provided you'll signify to Mons. de la Nove Renart, that Madam Scarron and I are so happy to have some share in your Graces, 'tis impossible but my Affair must succeed in his hands, tho' he were as much against me, as I know him inclined to serve you.  
Madam, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LET. XLV.  
To—. Apr. 2.  
Sir,  
I Can't tell whether you are as effectually lost to your other Friends as you are to me. For my part, I see you no more than if you were already one of the Deans of the Angelic Choir, towards which place you are riding in Posthaste. However, I think you are not ill provided for in this Transitory World; and in my Opinion, Twelve Thousand Livres a Year in pure Benefices, and a Foolish Estate of Eight Hundred Thousand Livres more, may easily reconcile a Man to make a longer stay among us poor Mortals. Raillery apart, What is the reason I never see you? Is it because your Hours of Devotion take up all your time, or you are resolved to break off all Commerce with so great a Sinner as myself. This would be the true Action of a Pharisee, and you ought much rather to endeavour my Salvation, as a thing to be feared, and not leave me off, till you saw the young Saint of your own planting, sprout up and flourish.  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LET. XLVI.  
To Mons. de Segruis.  
Sir,  
HER Highness does me a great deal of Honour, to think that so worthless an Insect as I is still in the World, and you do me no little Honour on your side, to believe me capable of drawing a Character as it ought to be. Tho' I should be so vain, as to flatter myself upon this Article, and my desire to please you should give me that to Paint, yet the Portraits which her Highness has made, would wholly discourage me from attempting any thing of this nature. They are, as far as I am able to judge, the finest that were ever drawn; and our Wits would have reason to complain of this Princess, for robbing them of the Glory of Writing well, if she did not make them sufficient amends, by the Honour she does them to be of their Profession. A good Character is a much harder Performance than one would imagine. A Man ought to be very well acquainted with his Subject, before he presumes to describe it; but as far as I can see, we scarce know any thing well but ourselves, and some of our intimate Friends. Now I will appeal to you, whether a Man of Breeding can commend himself without a great deal of Vanity, and on the other hand, is he obliged to lay open his blind-side to others as he would to his Confessor? In like manner: Can a Man praise his Friends without tiring them, or expose their Defects without offending them? There are no less inconveniences in praising those Persons that are indifferent to us: For as a Portrait ought to be of a known Subjects and a Man has no other way of making himself known but by his Quality and Merit, we run the risk of Disobliging those whom we ought to Respect and Esteem, if we don't give them the Praises they deserve. We are taken for impertinent Fools, if we bestow false Commendations upon them, and let us manage the Panegyric as nicely as we can, yet nothing, in my Opinion, is more fulsome and tedious, either for him that receives it, or for him that gives it, or for those that hear it. Besides these general Reasons, which have made me take up a Resolution not to draw any Characters, I have some peculiar to myself, which I don't doubt but you'll allow. An unhappy Wretch as I am, that never stirs out of his Chamber, can have no Knowledge either of Men or Things, but by second hand from others; and you'll agree with me that this is a great disadvantage to a Painter, who ought to have his Imagi●tion full of a great number of Ideas, that are only to be had in Conversation and seeing the World. For my part, I find to my great Mortification, that a Man grows rusty at long-run in a Chamber, as well as in the Country; and I am no less satisfied, that he ought to have as great a stock of Wit and Judgements as the Princess has, to be able to draw a Character well, and to be of the same Quality with her, to be able to Praise and Blame without incurring Censure. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

LET. XLVII.  
To the Duke of Elboeuf.  
I Know well enough what I own to one of your Grace's Dignity, and will never abuse it; but 'tis almost impossible for me to write to you without trembling, and to preserve my cheerful Temper, in a Letter which is to begin with a May it please your Grace, written in huge Gigantic Letters, and the rest following it at half a Yard distance at least. Be not displeased that I take this opportunity to send you a thousand Thanks for doing me the Honour to think of me now and then, for all the Pies you have presented me with, and particularly for the last which I just now received. We shall open it to Morrow with more Pomp and Solemnity than Lawyers do the Term: there will be the Messieurs de Vivonne, de Mata, d'Elbene, de Chastillon, and myself. We will drink your Health most magnificently, and the Honour of your Remembrance shall fully comfort me for the absence of Madam Scaron, whom Madam de Mont● cheurevil has carried away from me. I am mightily afraid lest that Debauched Lady should make the Wife of my Bosom take a fancy to Wine and Women, and perfectly spoil her before she sends me her home again. As for you, my Lord, let me advise you not to squander away all your Radical Moisture among the Nymphs of Picardy, but keep a little to comfort the poor Damsels of Paris, on questo. I am, of all your most humble and most obedient Servants, the most dutiful and most zealous,  
Scarron.   

LET. XLVIII.  
To Mons. de Villette. Nou. 12. 1659.  
Sir,  
I Was not in a condition to send you an Answer sooner, by reason of a great Defluxion in one of my Eyes. Since that time you have written to Madam Scarron, and likewise to Mons. de Nossac. Your two Letters are admirable in their kind, and deserve to be learned by heart. A Person of very good Sense, to whom you are no Stranger, told me when he read them, that he was confident you were in very good Health, and that your Affairs went well in the World, since you were able to write two such diverting Letters. As for me, if I did not know that you writ both of them with all the ease imaginable, I would say of your fine Compositions in Prose, wherein you carry the Prize, what the aforesaid Mons. d'Elbene said very pleasantly some time ago, of those People that are always aiming to speak witty things in Company: That in truth, a Man got a great deal of Credit by always speaking fine things, but that by straining to do so, he put himself to a great Expense, and that he had made it his observation, that such Gentlemen did not live long. May Heaven of its infinite Goodness still preserve you in this secundity of Wit, and indefatigability of Hand, and may I Fifty years hence be entertained with your happy Productions. But this only by the by.  
Madam Scarron is very unhappy that she has not a Coach and Six, and a fine Equipage, to go up and down where she pleases, when so great a Happiness is offered her, as that of being invited to Brovage by Mademoiselle de Manchini. Tyber's rich Present, and the Pride of France. I hope she'll make herself amends for so great a Loss, so soon as the Court returns to Paris, and that then she'll have the Honour of being known to that incomparable Roman Lady, and have some share in her Friendship. As for me, I would offer her my Incense (for you know that we Poets must always have some Divinity to bestow it upon) but I no less distrust the Merit of my Present, than I am persuaded, that no Person in the World deserves the richest Figures of our Poets better than she; and you know well enough that our Merchandise is slighted, when 'tis given before 'tis called for. Paris is as empty as your Brovage is full, tho' I am scarce sensible of it in my little Habitation here; for Company so crowds upon us, that I have ordered my Servants to tell all the Princes, Dukes, and Officers of the Crown that inquire for me daily, that I receive no Visits. This makes People very ambitious to be admitted into our little Society, and there is furious canvasing for it both in City and Court. I don't say this with a design to insinuate, that we at Paris pretend to enter into any competition with your Deities at Brovage, and with your other happy Persons, that enjoy such instructive Conversation there: But their true Element is Paris or the Court, and when upon their leaving Brovage, they leave you in your Primitive nothing where they found you, you will be no better nor worse than Country-Bumpkins, and mere Clowns. Adieu, my Hand aches with Writing.   

LET. XLIX.  
To the Count de Vivonne.  
Sir,  
I Have found the foul Copy of the Letter which I writ to you, and must needs own to you, I think it very foolish; but since you have a mind to see it, I send it you such as it is. 'Tis a wonderful satisfaction to me that you keep me still in your Remembrance; and indeed you do me but justice, for you are obliged in Conscience to think sometimes of a Man that esteems you so much as I do; and I beseech you to believe that your retirement at Roissy is not half so tiresome to yourself as me, who should hope sometimes to see you at my poor Quarters, if you were in Paris; I mean when you can find no body in the Ruedes Tournelles, or elsewhere, and you have nothing better to employ you. Our Neighbours should be the principal Subject of our Conversation, or, if you please, the Burden of the Song, and to relieve the Scene, we would sometimes tell merry bantering Stories, without which, I positively maintain, that all Conversation in a little time becomes insipid and languishing. Mons. d'Elbene and I, remember you frequently over our Wine, and I wish with all my Heart you were here to Pledge us. Monsieur, de Mata is in Xaintonge, and 'twould be well for me if he were in Paris; for than you would have less reason to fear being tired with impertinent Chat, when you would be so good natured as to make a short Visit to  
Your most humble Servant, Scarron.   

LET. L.  
To—. Sept. 5. 1●60.  
Sir,  
AT last my Affair is Signed, and I own all the Obligation of it to you. I wish I were Master of something better than Compliments, to testify my Acknowledgement to you, but they are at least valuable upon this score, that they are hearty and sincere; and I beg you to believe, that I would not publish to all the World that I am the greatest Admirer of Mons. de Guiche, and the most Zealous of his Servants, if I were not really so.  
Scarron.   

LET. LI.  
To the Marquis de Villarceaux.  
Sir,  
I Am extremely obliged to you for refreshing me, when I walked this Morning, with the agreeable Vision of the two Angels of your own making. 'Tis certain you had an excellent Model by you when you made them, and that you must know something more of those happy Being's than the rest of Mankind. Accident and Chance never use to produce any thing so perfect as they are, especially in things of this Nature, where a Man must run it off hand in spite of his Teeth, and where he must finish all at a stroke, or else give over. My Friend Roisleau said very pleasantly upon this occasion, that you ought to do nothing else but get Children. To return now to yours, I confess they are admirable, and as every thing has its value, the greatest is, in my opinion the Eldest of the two; whether it be because he is more advanced than his Brother, who likewise will have his Admirers stand up for him in his turn: or because my inclination leads me that way and fixes me there, for which I can assign no reason. In short, both of them are very worthy of their Father, and since you would have me tell you by their Physiognomy what their Fortunes are like to prove; they will commit a world of Ravages upon People of both Sexes. It will not be long before the Eldest will begin to push on his Conquests, and perhaps will make an Attempt upon some of yours● May Heaven in Mercy avert such a Misfortune from your Family, which may sow Division between two Brothers, and make Father and Son two irreconcilable Rivals. There happened to be in my Room when they came thither, three or four Gentlemen of very good Judgement and Sense, who agreed, that both of them were Excellent, but were of my opinion, that the Elder was the better of the two, and have given me their Votes for him. In truth, I believe that one may justly say of him, 
His Shape is Divine, and so is his Face,  
So in ●hort is all about him:  
And if his Soul with his Body keeps pace,  
What Mortal alive can rout him?    

LET. LII.  
To—.  
I Am infinitely obliged to you for your Civility, and for offering to do me good Offices with the Queen. Ever since I have been in Disgrace, I never durst write to her Majesty, to complain of my ill Fortune, and make my Innocence appear. The Vexation it gave me, did not allow me the least Intermission, till such time as you gave me to understand, that her Majesty● had asked for some of my Plays; which makes me flatter myself that she still remembers such a Wretch as I was once in the World. During the Troubles of the Regency, my unfortunate Reputation made every thing that was printed at Paris, whether Good or Bad, to pass under my Name. This Abuse still continues, notwithstanding all the Pains I have taken to undeceive the World. Some insolent Libels against his Eminence were fathered upon me, and the Reason perhaps was, because another Gentleman of the Purple, who was of the contrary Faction to his Eminence, was pleased to honour me with his Friendship, tho' I was both known and loved by him from my Youth, long before his Reputation began to sink at Court. But suppose I had been so ungrateful, and so thoughtless, as to be wanting in my Respect to her Majesty and his Eminance● May not a sincere Repentance hope to find that from them, which it expects from Heaven? I am not so vain to ask to be admitted again into her Majesty's good Graces, which the unhappiness of the Time, rather than any Crime of my own, made me lose. I would only beseech her to drop her Indignation against an unhappy Wretch, who has not long to live. This would be worthy of the Generosity of her Soul, and if this great Happiness should arrive to me, through your Mediation and good Offices, I should be more obliged to you than any Man living. I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

To that pair of worthy Gentlemen, and my dearly beloved Friends, Menage, and Sarrazin, or Sarrazin, and Menage.  
Gentlemen and dear Friends,  
TO Dedicate the same Book to two Persons, is to kill two Birds with one Stone. I cannot tell whether I have any pretence to go upon this Proverb, being a Cripple in my Hands and Feet, and perhaps this is introducing a Novelty in Dedications, which my Brother Poets will never forgive me. But for my part, I never stood upon writing correctly in my Life. 'Tis true, I might very well have saved myself the Trouble of this preliminary Epistle, having trepassed in this kind too much already, and having Business enough upon my Hands, if I have Constancy enough to finish my Virgil Travestied. The Book I Dedicate to you, contains a thousand Verses, so there is just five hundred a piece for each of you. I must confess you deserve ten times more, for which reason I designed to have tacked a small Romance to them, which I began some time ago, by the same token that it promised fine things at its first setting out. But by some cursed Misfortune, or my own Fault, I could not for the Heart of me hinder my poor Hero from being sentenced to be hanged: And this hanging came in so naturally, so prettily, and all that, that I could not change it into any other Adventure, without spoiling the Conclusion of my Romance, and sinning against the Light of my own Conscience.  
The Deuce on't, instead of expatiating upon your Praises, after the laudable Custom of most Dedications, I have rambled so far from my Subject, that I don't know how I shall be able to find my way home again. But not too much of the Deuce on't neither. Better late than never; and besides, 'tis in my Power to make my Epistle as long or as short as I please. Stand fair then, gentlemans, I am going to— commend you as hard as I can drive. But Oh my cruel Destinies! Where shall I begin? Or indeed where shall I not begin; for as 
When Phillis to a Garden goes  
To pluck a Lily or a Rose  
In order to regale her Nose:  
The great Variety she meets  
Distracts her in her Choice of Sweets.  
Even so your Praises come so quick,  
And crowd and justle in so thick,  
That, may I be for ever cursed  
If I know which to mention first.  Well, I never was so damnably puzzled in all my Life, that's certain. You are the two finest Gentlemen of the Long Robe and Short Cloak; you are as much Masters of the foreign Language as the Natives themselves. You know all the Elegancies of your own to perfection. You are not to be matched either in Verse or Prose; in short, you are more quicksighted than all the Critics in the Universe put together. One of you has an admirable hand at Dancing, Singing, and playing upon Instruments, 
And tickles a Lyre  
With a Fist so divine,  
That all He●●ers combine  
His skill to admire.  As for Shooting, Vaulting, jumping through a Hoop, Wrestling, etc. I will say nothing, though I would not for a thousand Pounds take my Corporal Oath that you know nothing of those Matters. But as for Conversation, all the World must truckle to you: People point at you as you walk in the Streets. You are well humoured and well made, and gracious, and courteous, and jovial, and liberal; nay, you are valiant, and amorous, if it were put home to you, although your Professions excuse you from the former; and as for the second, I make no question but that in your youthful Days, 
When your Pulses beat high,  
And called you to toy,  
You were not so stupid  
As to quarrel with Cupid.  In short, you are truly Virtuous, and that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 eminent a Degree, that when any one has a Mind to be thought so, he cries, I am just come from Menage, I am going to see Sarrazin. Menage and Sarrazin just now parted with me. And even I, who talk to you, when either of you, or both together come to see me, cannot forbear to acquaint all the World with it; nay, sometimes I tell it the same Man twice or thrice, which I must own to you, shows a great deal of Vanity on my side. But don't I make you blush? For I know you are as modest as the Morning, you are Gentlemen that will easily blush, and I love and respect you exceedingly for it. Come, come, don't disquiet yourselves, I will bring no Scarlet into your Faces. In short, I will persecute you no longer. Although 
A Theme so fruitful does inspire  
The dullest Beast with generous F●re:  
Undone by Plenty, lost in Store,  
I know not when I should give over.   
The next Book I do myself the Honour to dedicate to you, (for if I am long above Ground I shall trouble you with another Dedication) I hope you'll own my Style is much altered for the better, by reading some of our modern Epistle-mongers, whom I dare not name, for fear of plucking an old House upon my Head. So good Night to you Gentlemen. I am with all my Soul,  
My dear Friends, Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

To Monsieur Morreau, one of the King's most Honourable Privy-Council.  
SIR,  
THE Reason why I presume to Dedicate this Book to you, is because you advised me to publish it; and the Reason likewise why I enlarge upon your Praises, is, because Epistles Dedicatory are only calculated for the Meridian of Panegyric. Among your other excellent Qualities that recommend you to the World, nothing belongs in a more peculiar manner to you, than your happy Judgement in the Choice of your Friends. None can boast that Honourable Title, but Men of Worth and Honour; and to acquire such a Character, 'tis enough for a Man to be often seen in your Company, or to be able to prove by Witnesses or otherwise, that he is honoured with your Friendship. I have not so little a regard to my Reputation, but that I am very proud to take this Opportunity to let the World know that you are pleased to love me. But that I may not be censured for commending myself too much, I am content that the World should likewise know, that I am only one of your Friends, by way of courtesy, (if I may be allowed so to express myself) who is inferior to all the rest in Merit, but not in the Esteem and Respect he will eternally preserve for you, who is,  
Your most humble, etc. Scarron.   

To that most Courteous and Complaisant Quadrupede, the Lady Guillemette, my Sister's little Greyhound Bitch.  
My Lady Guillemette,  
I Am an Author, God help me, if a Man may be said to deserve that Title, whose Name has appeared more than once in a Term-Catalogue, and at the Fag-end of a Gazette, among strayed Horses, and now and then, dear Madam, among some of your Ladyship's strayed Relations. 'Tis true, I came very cheap by this Title, and am sensible that the little I have laid out upon it gives me in Justice no higher a Rank than that of a Verse-Wright, or a turner of Burlesque-Rhimes. Having made this modest Acknowledgement, I am confident that you will never lay the Sin of Vanity to my Charge, and that you'll hardly imagine (if the Proverb, which says, No Man is a Prophet in his own Country, holds good in you Dogs) that a Man whom you see every Day in Paris, where he was born, whose Head always hangs on one side, and who never budges out of his Chair; in fine, one that was cast in a different Mould from the rest of Mankind, has Courage enough to set up for a Modern Author. By Apollo, Guillemette, nothing can be more true; and by the same Apollo I swear to you, without any Equivocation or Reserve, that I have no wicked Design upon the Bays. For my part, I am so far from setting up for a Wit, that I freely and frankly give the World leave to call my Works Rhapsodicks, or tailor's Cushions, or what they please; because, to my great Comfort, abundance of Modern Plays, and other Productions of our Second-Rate Wits, deserve no better a Name; which I value little more than I do a last Year's Almanac, wherein we may see, as well as in those Plays, the Death of some great Man, a Statesman discarded, Phillis hanged in her Garters, and such like noble Catastrophes of the Theatre.  
Now these noble Productions would from their very Infancy be employed to wrap up Butter and Tobacco, to line Trunks and Bandboxes, or make Paper Kites, if no Country-Chapmen came to Paris; or if they did not, make a shift to go off under the Protection of some admirable Plays, and some diverting Romances, that every their Authors, and so often raise a Civil War among our Booksellers. When we set no great value upon a thing, we use to say, that 'tis scarce good enough to be thrown to the Dogs. As your Merit and Beauty secure you from the scandal of this Proverb, which was never intended for Dogs of your eminent Quality, so I only cited it to convince the World, what an humble Opinion I have of my own Compositions; and altho', Madam, you are neither better nor worse than a Brute, yet I rather chose to dedicate them to your Ladyship, than to any of our topping Noblemen, whom I should certainly disoblige by such a Presumption. For I must tell you, Guillemette, that an Author with a Book in his Hand, is more formidable to one of these Worthy Peers; and the very sight of him terrifies them as much, as a whole Covey of Creditors at their Leveè: Not but that we have some generous Lords still left us, Heaven be praised for't; but most of our Modern Authors are such Idolaters of Money, that they would much sooner Dedicate their Works to a Man, from whom they expect a round Sum of Guineas, tho' they don't care if he were hanged the Hour after, than one whom they love and esteem. These fordid Imitators of Virgil and Horace, that adore a Lord merely for his Title make no scruple to dub him a Maecenas at first dash, and ascribe to him Virtues he was never Master of, and all to wheedle him out of a little Money, if he has any One would almost swear, that these Prodigal Sons of Apollo had a wicked Design to squander away the whole Growth of Helicon in one Dedication: they bestow Immortality upon the highest bidder, and will furbish ye up a Demi God at a Minute's Warning, for a Suit of clothes and a long Periwig. In short, these mercenary Scribblers plunder the illustrious Dead of former Ages, to trick up some living Scoundril of Quality with their Merit; which execrable Flattery Men of Sense despise, as they ought to do the grossest Affront. 'Tis some Consolation to the few righteous and honest Friends of the Muses, that these fawning Slaves are often bilked in their Expectations, and that People have more Guts in their Brains than to part with their Money for a few nauseous Compliments. Even our Noblemen have found out the Trick to give them nothing, and yet give them no Occasion to complain of them. Some will cry to them, The God of Verse protect and bless you in all your Undertake. Another will treat them with as much Ceremony as they would a Foreign Ambassador, and wait upon them down to the very Street; that is to say, see them fairly out of their House. Some again pay them in the currant Coin of 〈◊〉 giving them Incense back again for Incense, and Flattery for Flattery; but the Devil of a Lord of 'em all will invite them to Dinner, and this is enough to make a poor Author hang himself in his Garret. For this hungry Wre●ch, that flattered himself in the Morning, that he should cram his Belly with my Lord's Kickshaws and Ragoos, or thought to treat himself most nicely at an Eating-House, at the Expense of his Magnificent Patron, is forced to return Home to his Quarters poorer than he went out, with being at the Charge of binding his Dedication, Book in Vellum or Turkey-Leather. Then he exclaims, as hard as he can drive, at the horrid Ingratitude of the Age, or at the starving Planet he was born under, according as he his more of the Poet or Orator in him. I forgot to tell you, Right worshipful Guillemette, that our Authors, are sometimes paid by way of Exchange, in the very same Commodity they brought with them, and receive no other Reward for all the fine Compliments they pass upon their Patron, than an Epistle for an Epistle, or a Sonnet for a Sonnet: Our Persons of Quality pretend they learned this Piece of Conduct of the Emperor Augustus; but this is a Trick that is not to be played Twice with People, who are so sharp as our Authors generally are. I have therefore presumed to dedicate my Book to your Ladyship for the abovementioned Reasons, or perhaps for others that I have no mind to let you know. I already fancy with myself, that I see you grawing the Strings of my Book, ●umbling it about, and tearing it in a Thousand Frolicksome Postures, which please me infinitely more, than the cold Reception of a Supercilious Lord, that won't so much as thank me for the Present I make him, because he thinks I have the Impudence to expect another from him. Accursed be that Poet, say I, tho' he was never so much a Master of his Profession, who first prostituted the Productions of his Brain to this infamous 〈◊〉 and baited his Dedications with Flattery, to make the Court-●udgeons swallow them the easier! Ever since our Authors have set up the noble Trade of begging in Prose and Verse, an Epistle Dedicatory has been looked upon to be a sort of a Challenge; and if Maecenas is not able to put by the Thrust, he reckons the Man that brings it to be no better than a Pickpocket, of Highwayman, that bids him deliver. Tho' an Author presents his Trash to his Patron with a smiling Countenance, yet the other looks as musty as a breaking Merchant when a thundering Bill is drawn upon him; nay, some of them have been observed to look as pale as a Ghost, at the very sight of a Book that promised them nothing less than Immortality. Well, those wicked Dedicators of Books are most impudent Rascals, to haunt those Noble Lords, even in their Chambers, and put them in bodily Fear, as they do. They should consider, that these cringing Epistles, which ask where nothing i● due, are really as much to be dreaded as an Execution upon Coach and Six: so that for my part, I don't at all wonder if 'tis not so much Pleasure to see his Genealogy derived in a direct Line from Hector or Sarpedon, as 'tis a Mortification to him to part with his Guineas, to buy the Author a new Drugget-Suit. However, I must needs own, that 'tis wisely done of our Authors, not to walk the Streets in all those Trappings, wherein we find them at the Frontispiece of their Books. For tell me, dear Guillemette, would not your Ladyship fall a barking most inordinately, should you see a Man with one Shoulder bare, and t'other wrapped up in humble Drugget, and a Crown of Laurel upon his Head. Yet 'tis neither the fear of Dogs, nor the hollowing of Children that makes them decline this Equipage, for they are only afraid of the surly Fellow at the Nobleman's Gate. Did they not take this Course, the Porter would know them, who hates such as break in upon his own Trade, and beg as he does, especially at this time of Day, when one would think our Authors had bound themselves by an Oath, never to set Foot within an House that does not belong to a Man of Quality. There is nothing else hardly to be seen in the Palaces of our great Men, but a Showl of half-starved Creditors in one Corner of the Hall, and half a Dozen Mendicant Rhimers in the other; so that considering how the Affairs goat present, I am afraid that we shall shortly see as many of them in our Hospitals, unless the Times mend, as would be sufficient to set up a complete Academy: For alas! the World is not so favourable to them as it has been formerly. I have known the time when there was not a P●●t in the whole Kingdom, that did not hope to make his Fortune by the Muses, as well as the Abb● des Portes, and Bois-Robert, and several more of the Poetical Fraternity had done before him, who were advanced to Bishoprics and Abbeys, and the Lord knows what, for their fine Writings. With a Pension of Six hundred Livres a Year they made a shift to wear good clothes on their ●●cks, and powder themselves as extravagantly as the nicest 〈◊〉 of them all; for which, dear Guillemette, I must highly commend them, for their Fancy was so warm and all that, that it made their Heads sweat most excessively. Some of them had Silver Spurs, and some kept a pad Nag, with all its Accoutrements, to keep the Dirt from their Boots. But at this present writing, both the ●uskin and the Gambadoes are alike Dirty, and some of our Poets have abdicated Parnassus for good and all, while others have fallen in with the Players and Booksellers. Whether it be, that Necessity is the Mother of Invention, or, that Invention is an essential part of a Poet, some of our high flown Writers were for making Friends in the Treasury, and applied themselves to those worthy Gentlemen, that part with their Money as easily as they get it. I make no question but that these Poetical Merchants were so profuse, as to bestow all manner of Virtues, nay even the Military ones too, when their Hands were in, on these liberal Publicans, and at least derived their Pedigree from him that was Privy-Purse to Clodion the Hairy; or, because he was a Pagan by Religion, from the Nephew of King Clovis' First Almoner. But these Politics, as I have been informed, only succeeded with those, whose Works had been always received with Universal Applause, while other poor Rogues, that were such Fools as to imitate them, only got a good Dinner among these Sons of Mammon, for their Pains, and perhaps a Surfeit afterwards for eating too greedily. There needs no more Wit than what your Ladyship is Mistress of, I mean than what belongs to a Dog, to tell me that I have practised what I condemn in others. 'Tis true indeed, dear Guillemette, that I made bold to Dedicate a Play to a Person of great Merit and Quality; but 'tis as true, that I had the Honour to be acquainted long before that with Mons. le Baillif de Sovuray, and always respected him, both because he deserves it, and because he is my particular Friend. 'Tis my Misfortune that I am one of those unlucky Men who are easily forgotten. when they are not seen. And if our most incomparable Queen is still pleased to continue me the Pension, which the Marshal de Schomberg's Lady procured for me, 'tis not because I have now and then been so happy as to divert her with my Poetry; but because I am the most miserable Wretch alive, and afflicted with a cruel Distemper, which will not terminate but with my Life, no more than a confounded Lawsuit, on which my little All depends. This of itself is sufficient, without being possessed with the Devil of Love, to hinder a Man from sleeping, unless he took his Hat full of Opium before he went to Bed. But 'tis impossible for my good Humour to maintain its Ground much longer against these melancholy Thoughts, that drop so unseasonably from my Pen, and now begin to seize me. Thus, dear Guillemette, being weary of sitting with you so long, I must even conclude my Dedication abruptly, without puzzling my Brains to present you with some notable Compliment at parting, and remain in the common Form,  
Dear Bitch, Your Four-leged Ladyship's, &c. Scarron.  
FINIS.