AURORA ISMENIA AND THE PRINCE: BY Don Juan Perez de Montalvan.  
ORONTA THE Cyprian Virgin: BY Sign r. Girolamo Preti.  
Tout vient a point qui peut attendre.  
Translated by Thomas Stanley Esq; The Second Edition, with Additions.  
London, Printed by W. Wilson for Humphrey Moseley at the Sign of the Prince's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1650.   

The Reader  
MAy be pleased to take Notice, That what he hath in his hand, was undertaken with no other Intention, then as an exercise of both Languages; That it now comes abroad in Obedience to private command, which could not be withstood; That the Licentiousness of the French Translation brings hither no assistance: But if he find the Names of Persons or Places differ from the Original, let him suppose it done for the better accommodation of the Scene.   



Upon AURORA.  
THis Transplantation of Sicilian Loves  
To the more pleasing shades Albion's Groves  
Though I admire, yet not the thing betrays  
My soul to so much wonder as the ways  
And manner of effecting; that thy youth  
Vntravailed there, should with such happy truth  
Unlock us this Iberian Cabinet,  
Whose Diamonds you in polished English set:  
Such as may teach the eyes of any Dame  
I'th' British Court to give and take a Flame.  
But here the greatest Miracle we see,  
That Spain for this hath travelled unto thee.  
W. H.   

LAnguage and Wit, which equally dispose  
Both light and life to Poetry and Prose,  
In this traduction as their Orb do shine,  
And make these Stories, like thyself, Divine.  
Aurora brighter than she was of late.  
The Prince in his misfortunes fortunate.  
Montalvan proud to see himself outdone,  
By a Reflection clearer than his Sun.  
W. F.   

TRanslations that should give light,  
Eclipse their Authors from our sight;  
But here like Crystals do convey  
The lustre of a foreign day:  
Which the enlightened world might see,  
Is owing to thy Charity,  
Who reinspir'st Aurora's cheek  
With such fresh Roses, that we seek  
Truth in th'original, which Spain  
To own must borrow back again.  
J. H.    


Upon ORONTA.  
FLames rescued fair Oronta from the power  
Of an insulting Thracian Conqueror.  
The Fame of which brave action Preti's Rhyme,  
Freed from the greater tyranny of Time:  
Yet in that freedom she less glories, then  
In being thus made Captive by thy Pen.  
E. S.   

Fare brighter now in thy Poetic fire  
Oronta seems then in her fatal Pyre;  
For there, her beauty lost, her virtue shines;  
But thy admired expression both combines;  
And Cyprus, whose best glories here are seen,  
Is prouder of her Virgin then her Queen.  
W. F.     

Aurora.  
DIonysius the Sicilian Tyrant had a daughter, for her Celestill beauty named Aurora, not more fair than unfortunate; & scarce had she completed the last years of her Infancy, when Heaven was pleased to let her know that she was beautiful by eclipsing her fortune. For Nature, as if she esteemed beauty a crime, & not her own image, doth for the most part punish it: The Mother of Aurora died; and Dionysius, although the loss of his wife gave him no real resentment, expressed in feigned tears how extremely he loved her; but within a few days discovered the hypocrisy of his grief, receiving in her place Arminda, an Italian Lady of quality, but not worthy of that Crown, because he had many years before kept her as a Mistress. She was of a lively spirit, witty and fair; but of a disposition so harsh, that she gained little upon the affections of the people, bearing such command over her husband's actions, that sh● permitted not any thing to pass in the Kingdom, without first consulting her pleasure; a care proper to su●h of small worth, as make ostentation of the power they enjoy, that by this means they may dissemble their low beginnings; but the success proves contrary, in regard the injured by murmur and complaints discover more than was imagined. Aurora, considering that to permit such excess were to lend wings to her pride, advised her not to rely with so much confidence on her father's affection, since it was not impossible that it might fail, & then would she fall lower for not having treasured the good will of his subjects: adding moreover that she should remember what she was formerly, that she might not vainly be transported with her new estate. These words so incensed Arminda, that from thenceforward she plotted Aurora's death; and to effect her desire made Dionysius believe that she was jealous, telling him he loved his daughter so passionately, for being the picture of the dead Original; since as the Phoenix leaves her ashes to perpetuate her succession, so affection useth to leave some living pledges to preserve its memory: and certainly, the neglect he sometimes expressed towards her, was occasioned by that dead love pictured in the beauty of Aurora. Arminda urged this so earnestly, that Dyonisius making impiety a Compliment, resigned his daughter's fault into her hands, allowing her in this cause to be both Judge & Party. Love the common excuse of all extravagace did not here acquit Dionysius; for a man is not obliged to despise the pledges of his blood for a woman that dissembles when she weeps, and weeps when she pleases. Arminda was satisfied, so that Aurora were in some remote place out of her sight; whereupon her Father commanded her to departed out of Sicily, choosing rather to live without a daughter, then displease a wife; such was the affection of a blinded Lover, the rashness of an unnatural Father. They conveiged the fair Princess to a little Island, seated betwiut (the two Promontories) Pelorus and Pachynum which seemed as a Garland of Flowers in the Tyrrhen Sea; it was done privately to avoid the mutiny of the people, who loved her for her beauty and her virtue: He ordered a select number of servants for her attendants, with forfiture of life to any who should discover that Aurora resided in that narrow Palace. The discreet Lady did with much wisdom bear her Father's unkindness, diverting her mind now with the music of the little wanton Birds, which hearing her name thought it ever morning, and sung continually: Now with the pleasant wind which sporting upon the smoothness of the Crystal sea did amorously disquiet it: now with reflecting on her own misfortunes, for the unhappy are often recreated with the same thing that afflicts them: Now with the Ladies that attended her, especially with Celia, who being of the same age and kindred well deserved her privacy; but when all failed, and nothing could delight her, she took an Instrument which in her hands might boast it was not dumb; and weeping sung thus:  

When will arrive the Day,  
Which must my life and sorrows terminate,  
That angry fortune may  
(The tyrant goddess of all humane state  
Her cruelty fulfilling)  
By one kind death thus make an end of killing.   

When shall my troubled years  
Be to a verdant grave of flowers restored?  
My injuries, my fears,  
Too little merited, too much deplored?  
When shall my just complaint  
From equal heaven receive a full restraint?   

Now I am thrown thus low,  
What more can be desired by cruel Fate;  
No hope my sad thoughts know,  
Of reinjoying their past happy state:  
Oh my afflicted mind!  
Death wouldst thou come, a welcome thou shalt find.   

With patience forlorn,  
I pass the Months, the years in solitude,  
The Evening and the Morn:  
In vain my hopes thus striving to delude,  
My tears I constant keep,  
And as I am Aurora, daily weep.   

When the Rebellious Sea,  
Armed with Snow, strives to subdue this Rock,  
It seems my misery,  
At once kindly to warn, and rudely mock:  
For so the Destinies  
My life each minute offer to surprise.   

Soon as the morn appears,  
And ushers in with dubious light the day,  
My real sorrow wears  
So true a shade of death, that I betray  
My reason to that dream,  
And (though awake) dead to myself do seem,   

All things within my view,  
All things that grow and thrive by Nature's care,  
My sorrows do renew:  
For by successive change they bettered are,  
But to me fortune still  
Is therefore constant, 'cause she first was ill.   

This Tree from January  
No livery but the hoary Frost receives,  
Yet May its dress doth vary,  
Proudly adorning it with painted leaves:  
Unto the fruitful plain,  
What August stole, April restores again.   

This Sea sometimes enraged,  
Swells up in Crystal mountains to the skies,  
Yet often is aswaged:  
But only I in constant miseries,  
Confined to endless grief,  
Expect no liberty, nor hope relief.   
Aurora closed this sweet Music with so many Sighs and Tears, that he must have had a soul truly insensible, that could hear her without Compassion. One evening as she entertained herself with the present prospect of the sea, she saw a man struggling with the waters, and breaking the waves, though he relied more on the mercy of a Plank, than the strength of his arms, endeavouring to recollect his fainting Spirit, till he might approach the shore for preservation of his life. Aurora moved with a noble pity, and tender fear to have him die before her eyes, commanded those few that attended her, to relieve him: who putting to sea in a little Skiffe, took him up and treated him most carefully; (for so Aurora had commanded them) besides the person and civility of Pausanias (for that was his name) moved them to respect and affection. Being recovered from his rough usage, (which had caused him to vomit much water) he shared amongst them some Jewels, which he had preserved from the sea in his late danger; telling them that he was nobly descended, and that until he saw his fortune amended, it was necessary for him to live concealed; and therefore desired the company to accept of his service, for that possibly hereafter it might not repent them of that favour. His gold and person had purchased the affection of those that heard him: they returned thanks for the compliment, promising to serve him to the utmost of their power. Pausanias' was glad, conceiving he might securely continue there, without being known; for that Island was little acquainted with other, than the watchful Guardians of that beauty, which so unjustly suffered▪ Going forth one night when the bright 〈◊〉 with her beams enlightened the Wood, he heard a voice that with a cheerful sweetness thus related its grief to the Birds and Waters:  

From th'early Dawne until the Sun retire,  
I to these woods and hills my grief exspire;  
My eyes with boundless Rivers overflow,  
Like troubled Fountains murmuring at my woe:  
Perpetual miseries I still deplore,  
As they are mine: but as immortal more.  
What is't by nature beauty's wealth to own,  
If to these woods confined I live alone:  
Or that my eyes have power to kill with love;  
If near me none but birds and beasts do move?  
Too cruel heaven that knowst my innocence,  
Or with my sorrows, or my life dispense.  
Thou to torment me dost forbid me die,  
For death is pleasing unto misery:  
Let those that happy are enjoy their breath,  
The wretched never live but in their death.  
To each dull hour that slides through lazy day,  
My griefs or memory of griefs I pay.  
Thus live I, only pleased with this relief,  
Death is the latest remedy of grief.  
For patience fails where th'injured soul sustains  
The rigour of unintermitted pains.   
Pausanius was astonished as well at the sweetness of the voice, as to hear it in so strange a place, wondering who it could be, whose soul so feelingly deplored its own misfortunes: and as well that he might not be ungrateful for the favour he received, (though he were ignorant from whom) as to try, if by this means he might come to know the divine owner of so sweet a harmony, to the suspense of the listening Nightingales he sung this song.  

Torment of absence and delay,  
That thus afflicts my memory,  
Why dost thou kill me every day,  
Yet will not give me leave to die?   

Why dost thou suffer me to live?  
All hope of life in life denying?  
Or to my patience tortures give,  
Never to die, yet ever dying?   

To fair Narcissa's brighter eyes,  
I was by love's instruction guided,  
A happiness, I long did prize,  
But now am from their light divided▪   

Favours and gifts my suit obtained,  
But envious Fate would now destroy them;  
Which if to lose I only gained,  
What greater pain then to enjoy them?   
The same wonder which before seized Pausanias, surprised Aurora, knowing none of her servants were of such extraordinary parts, or could so sweetly complain of the insupportable torment of absence. Aurora inquisitive to know, and incited by the curiosity that is incident to women, was desirous to see the Orpheus of those Rocks: but the shadow of the trees, the distance of place, and above all, the regard of her quality which detained her, repressed this desire, so that she deferred it till some other time; and calling one of her attendants, demanded of him, if there dwelled any in that wood, besides those that came with her out of Sicily. The servant answered, she forgot him, whom not long since she commanded them to secure, seeing him in danger of his life. Aurora asked if he knew who he were? He replied, he knew no more than th●t he had said he was called Pausanias, concealing his quality and country, yet could assure her, that he seemed to be of noble Parentage, or at least his person and spirit deserved to be so. Aurora would not inquire further, lest her curiosity might breed some suspicion; and although it be true, that none can love what he never saw, or conversed with; yet Fame, Virtue, and Desert incite a desire to see whether that satisfy the eye, which had by the ear affected the soul. We will not say Aurora was in love, though her solitude might require it, her greatness would not consent to it: Yet she had a desire to know the man so well qualified.  
Pausanias' soon seconded this desire, for not enquiring the mystery enclosed in the Palace, he continued to frequent the place where he first heard her: and Aurora had the opportunity many evenings of seeing him pass by with such a grace as might endanger the liberty of one less restrained than she was: for the afflictions of love are not for those that have other misfortunes to resent. Pausanias could not behold the fair Aurora, the windows and lattices debarred him her sight, neither would he discover himself to those he conversed with; supposing, that since they kept their business so private, the secrecy much concerned them, and therefore he concealed what he desired: For it is a rule of discretion to know no more of any man than he is willing to communicate. Nevertheless, desisted not to prosecute his intentions, hoping he might find opportunity to see that sweet Siren. The morning often found him under her window, not knowing whom he courted, loving in ignorance; yet confident more than a private Lady was within those Walls. Before the Palace he used several pastimes and recreations, that he might thereby obtain a sight of the Goddess whose voice had enchanted his soul.  
Pausanias' had good success in all things, having been brought up in the exercise of arms, he hunted the wild Beasts of that wood so fortunately, that he made their deaths acknowledge him Master of their strength and fury. There was not any in the Palace but applauded his gallantry; only Aurora was perplexed at his perfections; for every day he increased her affection by new deserts. And although she liked all she saw in him, yet the inequality she conceived was betwixt them displeased her discretion, those that disparage themselves being unexcusable. Hereupon she advised, whether it were not expedient to have him killed; for when a mean person may occasion extraordinary mischief, his death is esteemed mercy: but she could not attempt it in earnest: For, to take away the life of those we love, because we love them, is no good reason in the state of affection; she would have him departed the Island, but immediately she repent: For it is hard to put that out of sight which is imprinted in the mind: In effect, seeing that to kill him were cruelty to Pausanias, to banish him tyranny to herself, she resolved to divert her sadness, passing her solitary hours with more delight; and that he might never know that it was she that loved him, she exchanged names with Celia, to whom she imparted the Plot, that she might assist her in pursuit of it, and with her name dissembling her quality, she resolved to give entertainment to this new affection, until she might know who he was that had won so much upon her heart.  
Aurora might safely have admitted to her greatness the affection of Pausanias, for he was sole heir, to the King of Macedonia; and being enamoured of the fame of Aurora's beauty, which verses and pencils had extolled, whilst other Princes by Ambassadors solicited her marriage, resolved that his fortune should rely upon his own diligence, and by going to Sicily to be both the Agent and the Lover: This desire made him put to sea, and forsake his own Country; such is the power of a noble resolution, so did the imagined beauty disquiet the Prince's mind, and attract his will and freedom, that he exposed his life to the peril of the waves, and his greatness to a mean lodging of Planks and Canvas, to see if truth were correspondent to same. But he was less fortunate than adventurous; for one evening the Sea being angry, or weary to sustain the weight of so high a Majesty in so little room begun to rage furiously, so that the valiant Prince's life was in danger; the heavens were darkened, and the Air so turbulent, that the company expected every minute, should end their lives, and without thought of saving themselves made him leap into the foaming Sea, fearing some worse event; and by embracing a plank, to use the most difficult means for his own safety: Thus passed he two days befriended by the weather, at length arrived so near the Island, that Aurora could relieve, and after love him so extremely as we see.  
She resolved at last to speak with him, but under the feigned name of Celia, which desire was increased by Pausanias; for one night he amorously sung these Verses upon the curiosity of his love.  

What wouldst thou have unquiet breast?  
What is it thus disturbs thy rest?  
Say not thou lov'st, it cannot be,  
Who never didst deserve or see.  
Love, where the mind outstrips the eye,  
Is only Curiosity.   

But thou wilt say, why dost pursue  
Thine own disquiet then? 'tis true;  
And though this only care express  
Of an imagined happiness,  
Desire to see doth ever prove  
A sure preparative to love.   

An object so divine I frame  
Within my breast, as doth inflame  
My captived mind: I love, subdue,  
Desire, oblige, hope, and pursue,   

Resign my liberty, bestow  
My soul on one I do not know.  
And thus can Master be of none,  
For I no longer am mine own.   
As soon as Pausanias had made an end, Aurora called to him and said, (though with some difficulty, by reason that the Balcon's were very high) that he might leave his curiosity, and profess love: For his addresses were not unacceptable. Pausanias' remained contented with this favour, since although he had never seen the bestower, yet at least his affections were not so ill placed as he before imagined; and seeing it was not possible to speak to her, he determined to write, transferring his thoughts to the Pen, which useth to be the discreetest tongue, expressing more than is felt. The Letter was short (though the subject did not require it) to leave her with the desire of receiving another: and thus it said:  
Madam,  
I May justly say you are obliged to favour me, having cost me infinite cares, without any recompense, although ever since the last night I have presumed to be more fortunate, and so am resolved to die rather importunate then bashful: for my birth is noble, and will not suffer me to fly from any attempt. That which I now desire, is to see you, if perhaps my love have merited it; and since heaven suffers itself to be loved, and you appear such, be like it in condition as in beauty: for if your beams inflame me, it is but justice I should know the sphere from whence they come.  
Pausanias' repaired thither as he used to do, and having first courted her with a Song, which he had composed that day, as well sung as penned, he showed her the Paper, saying it was a piece excellent for Music, and that he should be extreme glad to hear it set to the Gittrah. Aurora understood him, and was pleased with the deceit, because that which otherwise would have appeared lightness, now past for civility, (for there are some so discreet in what they demand that by encouraging the crime, they seem to excuse the fault) and throwing down a string of Pearl, Pausanias returned it more weighty than before: Aurora read the Paper, and in part to satisfy his expressions, desiring him to expect a while, commanded Celia to write, not that she could not herself, (for she was extremely accomplished in every thing) but for the danger might ensue, if her hand were known; and betwixt them both they framed this Answer:  
THat you may not when you return home to your Country accuse the Sicilian Ladies of ingratitude; since your desire is so reasonable, as the sight of a woman, I will perform what you require me; though then your eyes will contradict your fancy; for it is certain, that I am fairer in your opinion now, than I shall be afterward: I am called Celia, and attend a Lady of quality that lives in this Castle: She and I will be to morrow in this place, so that you may then see me; be of good courage, and thank me for being so soon quit of your love, if that can be love, which hath passed no further than imagination: I only entreat you to keep this indiscretion secret, and to tell me your name, estate, and quality, for it imports us both.  
Pausanias' kissed the Paper, and read it often: for a Lover is never satisfied at the first, & the day following went to see what he so much desired. Aurora had commanded her servants to retire to another quarter of the house, and being alone with Celia, caused her to attire herself richly, and she stood beside her. Pausanias' beholding, was exceedingly ravished, in regard his fancy had come short of the truth; for Celia, besides her slender shape, was of a pleasing beauty; but her lustre was eclipsed by Aurora's presence, whose eyes were spheres of light, her forehead a plain of Lilies, her hair the riches of Arabia; in her cheek Roses, her mouth Pearls, her neck of Alabaster, her breasts of Snow, and hands of polished Ivory; she was attired in green Tabey, wrought with gold, so that she appeared like a Diamond enchased in Emeralds, her Gown Skie-colour, laid with black Buttons and Loops: in a word, she was altogether divine, her perfections many, and her years few. Pausanias' was much astonished, yet fearful the Sea should see her, lest he should woo her for one of his watery Deities; and thanking his own perseverance, he determined to gain her that had got his soul, though at the expense of a long absence from his Country: for he found that the Picture of Aurora that he had seen was fare unequal to the divine Celia: he esteemed the time well employed that he had spent in adoring those Walls, since within them he had found so much more than expectation had promised.  
Whilst Pausanias enjoyed these favours passing the night with them, and the day with hopes, it happened that Dionysius sent for one of those that waited on Aurora, a●d threatened him, that if either through his or his fellows fault, it should be known where his daughter was, they should instantly die a shameful death. With this fear he returned to the rest, and gave them notice how much it concerned them that Pausanias would quit the Island, since he might easily at one time or other, as he walked in the wood, see the Princess, and occasion all their ruins: So easy is it, replied another, that I think he pretends, if he have not already effected it: for I have observed, that he looks up very intentively to those Balcones; and she hath enquired of me who he is; and if he persist, he must of necessity come to know her, and we to lose Dionysius favour. In effect, fear overcame them, and all agreeing that he should not continue there, they advertised him that it concerned his life to absent himself.  
Pausanias' wondered at their sudden resolution, and after many conjectures began to suspect that without doubt some one of them loved Celia, and would use that means to secure his jealousy or envy: and thereupon he determined to speak to them all, that he might satisfy him who conceived himself injured, and to beseech them again not to offer him so great a discourtesy, as to constrain him to departed the Island, until such time as he had news of his servants, whose lives perhaps the Sea had pardoned. He plainly perceived how difficult it was to reclaim them, seeing those that before so kindly entertained him, now behold him distastefully (for ill will is discovered by the eyes, countenance, and carriage) and one morning finding them altogether, he said to them:  
Gentlemen and friends, my birth is noble, and though I live where I am unknown to all but myself, I do not think any here can complain of my demeanour, for men of my parentage receive not benefits unthankfully, (ingratitude and nobleness differing as night and day) I came to this Island, or to say better, my fortune threw me here, not unhappily, since in it I have found both protection, and friends. Here I have lived a while, endeavouring to satisfy to my power, though not to my desire, the favours I have received from all: but it seems I have not sufficiently expressed myself; since when I think you most my friends, you threaten me with death unless I depart: I have enquired what might be the reason, but indeed can find none, unless some one of you being jealous, incites the rest to this violence: which if it be so, he ought to consider, that a man doth not offend, unless he know that he injures; for he who through ignorance or innocence solicits that whereunto another hath right, can only then be said to offend, when after he knows the truth he pursues his wish; and so to have surveyed this Castle, with a desire to see what it enclosed, or by curiosity to have obtained that fight can not disquiet any one; for before this present I knew not that it would give offence; and if I conceive aright, there is more than one Goddess inhabits there; so that none hath reason to complain of me, because I neither injured him out of malice, nor can he know to which I am inclined.  
Pausanias' thought by this to have appeased and satisfied them, but the event was contrary, for the knowledge of this secret being their greatest fear, they needed no other information to draw their swords, and assault his life. But before they could dispatch it, Aurora and her gentlewomen hearing the noise, saw the treacherous mischief they intended to a single stranger, and forgetting her greatness, (for love considers not quality, when that which is esteemed is in danger) sent to command them all to desist, and inform her of their quarrel; who coming before her, related what charge her Father had given them, adding, that Pausanias for certain either had already, or else meant to speak with one of the Ladies that attended her highness; which might give occasion to discover what Dionysius intended to keep so secret, that none but heaven and themselves should know, and therefore to excuse the danger that threatened them, it was necessary to take away his life.  
It would be (replied Aurora) impiety in me to consent to it, and treachery in you to effect it, because I am informed you have received courtesies from this Gentleman, & there is no reason you should take away his life, whom you yourselves confess to be of such estimable parts; especially for that which may be remedied without blood. I understand that Pausanias saw one night one of my women, whom either for the novelty, or opportunity he courted, and she (I think) heard him not unwillingly; For this reason it concerns me that he stay no longer in this Island; and since his absence is sufficient to secure you, I take that and your danger upon myself, for Pausanias is a gentleman, and can conceal what he hath seen.  
With these hopes they were satisfied, and Aurora remained in a thousand perplexityes: for she loved him so passionately, that there would be but little difference betwixt losing him and her own life. And indeed so powerful was his discourse and conversation, that although he had been less worthy of her beauty, yet to see and hear him would beget affection: And at last she became so resolute, that it would have grieved her to have been freed from her prison, if she should thereby be deprived of his pleasing conversation: for women, when they once fall in love, are sensible neither of pains or misfortunes which befall them in the company they affect: wherefore she considered by what means she might comply with her own affection, and her servants fear. To keep him there against all their wills were to hazard her honour, and to give her enemies an occasion of a more severe revenge. Having first advised with Celia, she writ a Letter, wherein she informed him of what had passed, entreating him affectionately to preserve his life, and to prepare for departure; two things in appearance contrary. When night was come, the fair Princess went forth to take leave of Pausanias, and delivering him the Letter, with a little Silver Cabinet wrapped in Taffeta, not having power to speak, she withdrew herself, to lament her ensuing misfortunes. Pausanias' also retired, through the suspicion of the late quarrel, and kissing the Signature, which said, Your Celia, he read it with much fear, on this manner.  
SIr, I have had much care for you this day; I saw you draw your Sword, and I assure you it troubled me: I think it was love, yet unfortunate, since it must die as soon as borne. We are both the cause of it, because I guess our affection hath been discovered. My birth is more noble than you imagine; and it concerns us both that you immediately absent yourself, that you lose not your life, nor I my reputation. (Believe me I am very sensible of it, for in a word, I love you, and must lose you. You may comfort yourself with this thought, that it was impossible I should ever have been yours, not for love to any other, but for my quality too transcendent. I send you here a thousand Crowns to serve you in your journey, with a knot of Diamonds and Emeralds, which I did sometimes wear at my breast, that in your Country you may remember it was mine, and its owner yours.  
Having read and deplored the rigorous sentence of his death, he resolved precisely to obey all that Aurora in it had commanded, and to let her know some part of his regret, he took the Pen, and returned this answer:  
I Should have esteemed it a happiness if to day I had received death by my enemies (since such they were) that I might not have expected it from your hands: Before the morning's light breaks forth, I will absent myself from yours, that you may say I knew how to love and to obey you: What I would not do for my own life, I will for your honour: I cannot express what I feel, because I writ perplexed, and can ascertain nothing; only I assure you my blood is so noble, that the King of Syracuse himself cannot say he is my better. I came out of my Country to marry in this Kingdom, & for your sake will return back. I give you infinite thanks for your Present, and will not excuse myself from repaying it hereafter. The knot I will keep as your favour; and since you have given me so much cause of grief, give me time to lament it, though I hope so to resent it, that when you least think of it, you will hear news of his death, who knew how to love you, but had not the happiness to deserve you.  
Aurora with much trembling made an end of reading the Letter, and not able to restrain her eyes, bathed it in tears. Celia came to her, and took out of her hand the occasion of her grief, but that little availed, for she took it not out of her breast; so that as she went through a long Gallery, she wrung her hands, beseeching heaven to increase her Father's rigour, and Arminda's hate, that they might contrive her death. She went to look towards the Sea, imagining that her lost lover was already embarked; and coming thither, so excessive were her tears and passionate expressions, that Celia fearing she might offer some violence to herself, amongst other reasons said thus to her.  
Is it possible Madam that a disproportioned affection should so extremely work upon you! I should not have believed this of your reserved discretion, if I had not seen it. I confess Pausanias deserves to be loved, but you know he is not a man equal to your condition, nor can in reason be yours; what proof have you of his descent, more than his own relation? which may well be doubted, for the meaner sort where they are not known, give large testimonies of their blood. Alas (replied Aurora) that uncertainty is my greatest trouble: If Pausanias be as noble as he hath intimated, perhaps I might have attempted something you would little have suspected from my reservedness; and I persuade myself it might yet well be done, were it but to free myself from imprisonment: And though I should marry into a stranger Country, I should not lose my right to the Kingdom after my Father; I believe his Subjects affect me so entirely, that if they knew I were here in prison, he would have little security either of his Kingdom or life. Tell me Celia, what can I hope for in this Castle but death? My Father is married, and in love: Arminda governs the Kingdom, and bears me so much ill will, that I many times eat my meat in fear, suspecting she hath sent something to kill me, though I shall now need no other poison then the absence of Pausanias. Oh Celia, you would oblige me, if you could contrive how I might speak with him, and be better informed of his quality, that I may not continue thus in suspense: If he be of mean Parentage, I will rather die by mine own hand, then admit a thought may stain my blood; and if to my happy fortune he should prove (as is not impossible) some Prince cast upon this Island by accident, be confident, I would hazard my life for my liberty, though in all things I should first take your advice, that I might not err through mine own opinion.  
Celila was attentive to what she said, and compassionating her tears, began to consider, if by any means she might come to the sight of Pausanias, without endangering his life; she had an acute and ready wit, but withal accompanied with so much discretion, that whatsoever she undertook succeeded happily. After much deliberation she concluded, that it was requisite (for fear of his enemies) not to see him for that time; but that he should continue some days in the thickets of that mountain, and then might come hither by night having notice given him by Libanius, (one in whom she reposed trust.)  
Thus fare, replied Aurora, you have well ordered it, but what means remains to speak with him? for to discourse from hence is very dangerous. If you will not hear me make an end, (replied the discreet Celia) neither can I let you know the desire I have to serve you, nor you yourself obtain your affection: I say, Madam, that Pausanias' coming to these Walls may get up, by our assistance, & the help of a Ladder, to this part of the house adjoining to your lodgings: so that I having the key of the outward door, you need not fear, and by the Balcones that look towards the Sea, may discourse with him till you are satisfied concerning his birth. Consider now, if you find within yourself love enough to embolden you for this contrivement: for my own part I assure you that I am ready to lose my life in your service.  
Aurora was by this much comforted, and embraced Celia a thousand times; who by Letter advertised Pausanias of her determination, she charged Libanius to deliver him the Letter, and attend him as a guide. Pausanias' had taken the road towards Sicily, to try if he might find in that way any of his lost servants. Libanius overtook him, and delivered the Letter and Message from Celia: Pausanias received it as one that saw his dead hopes revived, and having read it, & rewarded the welcome news, Libanius informed him of what he was to do. So passing through the wide wood, they came to a poor Shepherd's Cottage where Pausanius stayed, and Libanius returned to give his Lady notice of what had passed. He continued there four days, favoured and cherished by Aurora, who every day sent Libanus to visit him: and one night, as dark as the wish of any Lover could paint it, he came to the Palace, (or rather to the sphere of the Sun of that Island) and dismissed Libanius, (for a servant may not be witness to every thing) then upon a sign given, Celia and Aurora came forth, and letting down a Ladder of Cords, Pausanias in a moment got into the Balcone, and having kissed Aurora's hands as his Mistress, and Celia's as his Mistress' Lady, they led him through many rooms, so richly furnished with hang, chairs of State, and pictures, that it shown no less magnificence than what he had forsaken in Macedonia. And coming to a part that excelled the rest, as being furnished for strangers, Aurora told him, that he might abide there, intimating how requisite care and obedience were, and that to attempt the contrary, was to put his life in apparent danger. Then so fare replied Pausanias, I shall preserve it safe, having no will but your pleasure. Aurora gave him thanks, telling him, that because her Lady was present, she omitted many things which she reserved for more privacy; and taking her leave showed him the Balcone by which they might discourse.  
Pausanias' was well contented with his courteous entertainment, passing the greatest part of the day in contemplating that miracle of beauty; their mutual affection increased equally (for by conversation love outgrowes his infancy) and as one night they were both in dispute, whether loved more truly (a quarrel wherein it grieves none to be overcome) Aurora with some expressions of resentment, said thus:  
I have long desired my Pausanias, to know a truth, though, for fear of exposing myself to the hazard of dying, I have not demanded it; but that I may not remain ever in this suspense, I will boldly adventure my life: It concerns me no less than my honour and quiet to know who you are, that I may dispose of myself with some resolution, and hereof I require no other testimony, then to know it from your own mouth: for I have so great an opinion of you, and repose so much confidence in your worth, that I am sure you will not deceive me. My birth is noble, and so noble that no woman can boast higher blood: for this Lady on whom I wait (though my Mistress) in this hath no advantage of me, as, by the favour she showeth me, you may have gathered the inequality is not much. The reason why we dwell in this Castle, I will not now let you know; though, if your answer suit with my mind, you may: But in the mean time I conjure you by Myself, by the love you bear me, and by that you own me, to satisfy me in this request, which I assure you detains my soul in extraordinary affliction.  
Pausanias' obliged by Aurora's entreaties was ready to have discovered himself; but that he might with less difficulty be believed, he answered, that he was only Son to the Admiral of Macedonias a man so eminent and beloved of the people, and of Timenides his King, that he possessed the first place in his affection, and in the government of that Monarchy. Aurora remained not discontented, since the innequalitie, was not so great as might deface the pleasing hopes she had imprinted in her breast. Only Pausanias was angry at himself, being conscious that to deceive her who relied so confidently on him was a kind of treachery: yet this offence was not inexcusable, in regard it is scarce esteemed a fault to make use of a slight deceit to compass our desire. He succeeded so happily in his love, and so favoured by the divine eyes of Aurora, that though he were not naturally distrustful, yet was he fully persuaded of her affection; and not without reason, since the expressions he had from her of this truth confirmed him in that belief.  
Aurora communicated to Celia all that had past; resolving at last to let Pausanias know the true causes of her imprisonment, that he might deliver her out of it, and convey her where she might be secure from her unkind father's severity; Yet would she concea●e this happiness a while, to make trial of his constancy, whereof she had no need to exact so many proofs; for he lived so contented only in loving her, that he scarcely employed any other desire, though sometimes he wished himself elsewhere, that he might enjoy a nearer conversation, yet with all respect to her honour. As he continued in this mind, it fortuned that Aurora, through some indispositions could not be seen for four days: Pausanias bearing with much impatience this absence (along one to so true a lover) resolved to see her; and though such boldness might violate the promise he had made, he supposed the occasion would excuse him, whereupon one night, forcing the lock, he came with as much fear as silence to the bed where Aurora lay, who had then yielded to a short slumber. He was astonished, not without cause, to behold the most perfect piece of Nature's Pencil; and setting down the light he carried upon a little silver Cupboard, began to contemplate that dead beauty, and living pattern of Divinity. Her hair was lose upon her shoulders, without more confinement than a green Ribbon; her right hand under her cheek, and her left carelessly upon the bed, which with a lover's timorousness he took and kissed. Aurora perceived that something did disquiet her, with her eyes half open, like the Sun when he wakens the day, saw a man at her bed side; and as soon as she knew it was Pausanias, warmed with a modest bashfulness, she changed the Lilies of her Cheeks to Roses: She asked him angrily, why he came thither; He answered to see her: I never thought (replied Aurora) you had valued me so low as to prefer your own pleasure before my entreaties, & your curiosity before my honour. I warned you, that to stir forth, concerned the reputation and life of us both; which since you have done, judge what I may justly think of you. You will say Love was the cause: Presumption deceives you; you know such testimonies better consist with the hazard of the man then of the woman. Reserve this freeness, or rather boldness, for women of meaner quality: rudeness is not pardonable with every one: and be assured, I am herewith so offended, that you cannot oblige me in all your life so much as you have with this one action displeased me. Return to your lodging, and despair not of liberty, if you esteem it an imprisonment to be thus locked up; to morrow I will speak to my Lady, that with her leave you may return from whence you came; so rash a man is unfit for high designs.  
Pausanias would gladly have replied to excuse himself, but Aurora would not suffer him, telling him of the danger she incurred, if he were discovered. Being thus forced to retire, he wished with grief he might expiate this enterprise with the loss of life. Aurora was not so much displeased as she seemed: Yet to let him know the respect due to her person, and to refine his affection, she thought it discretion not to see him for a few days.  
Mean while, the people (in Sicily) impatient of Aurora's absence (whom they extremely loved) began to murmur at her Father's cruelty, saying: what mercy can Subjects expect from him that tyrannises over his own blood? It proceeded so fare, that some with clamours, others with Arms, required the restitution of the Princess: The people's insolency affrighted Dionysius, so that to dismiss them, and to comply with the desires of his Subjects, Friends, and Kindred, he promised they should all suddenly see her: Hereupon he went out privately that night with Clearchus his Favourite, and arriving where Aurora was, excused his unkindness, and related the reason of his coming; he commanded that immediately she and her company should make ready, for they must with all speed go to Sicily.  
Aurora was so dismayed as might have given occasion of suspicion: Celia was struck dumb, and so sudden was their departure, that Aurora had not time to weep. Nevertheless, Celia ordered it so that she spoke with Pausanias, but with so much perplexity and fear, that she was hardly understood, in interrupted expressions she said thus:  
Now, Sir, the time is come, that you may go out of this prison, and enjoy the desire you have to see Sicily; there is a necessity that divides us. I believe the love I bear you will seek you out wheresoever you are: One to whom my fortune hath subjected me (more severe than his relation requires) enjoineth me to live absent from what I most esteem; the occasion is urgent, and he that commands powerful; so pardon me, and believe it lies not in my power to excuse it: a servant shall come hither, to bring you safe into Sicily, though not so soon as I could wish: more witnesses then ordinary see me. Heavens give you life to my desire.  
Sad and amazed was Pausanias at this accident; Sad, because Celia's words seemed to imply that he must lose her; and amazed, as being ignorant of the cause: he could not apprehend the meaning of what he had heard; sometimes imagining that he was sentenced to departed in punishment of his late boldness; sometimes that she meant to absent herself; and that which held him in greatest suspense, was the reflecting on her words, That one to whom by fortune she was subject, less merciful than his relation required, commanded her not to see him. A thing which she had ever concealed from him; but she referred the discovery of this truth to time, the undeceiving Glass. The day following passed, and neither Celia nor the maid appointed to attend him visiting him; the night came, when making his accustomed signal from the Balcone, he was answered by his own echo: then liftning at the doors, and perceiving that all things were in deep silence he suspected one of these two things, either some strange accident had happened, or Celia dwelled no longer in that place; having surpassed those doubts; he resolved not to suffer himself to languish, wherefore opening the first door with a Dagger, he went so fare till he came to the Chamber of his absent Mistress, where looking round about, and finding nothing but a dismal solitude, he began to think all was illusion and witchcraft; and therefore confidently expected his death: Yet being Master of no less valour than discretion, he drew his Sword, and went up and down the Castle to try if he could free himself out of those enchantments: at length coming into a Hall, which to his thinking was the last, he saw a small light, and a little further four men: Drawing near them he said, they must either suffer him to go out quietly, or prepare for Death; for he was so resolute, that their lives seemed but few to his indignation. They, amaized to see a man where the Sun (the great Lynx of Heaven) could hardly enter, to do their office, drew their timorous swords upon him: But he had endangered all their lives, if one of them, laying hold of a Halberd, had not held it to his breast. The valiant youth was moved; for fear his excusable where the multitude of enemies may assault on every side; Yet considering withal, that to render himself, were to run the hazard of being carried dishonourably to Sicily, he would rather undergo the danger, then preserve his life with the stain of Coward; He charged them to dispatch him, or else he would adventure to change fortunes with them. At these words they were all daunted, and through fear had not courage enough to strike. At last they agreed, not only to let him departed, but that one should accompany him past danger of the way; because that place was so encompassed with Mountains and woods, that they who were best acquainted with the Desert, often lost themselves.  
Pausanias' gave them thanks for the courtesy, though it rather proceeded from fear then good will; and taking leave of them, went forth into the wood, with one that held himself the most valiant among them: Before they parted, he entreated him to tell him who was owner of that Castle; and to oblige him the more, put into his hand a rich Diamond Ring; scarce had he received it, (though with many protestations that he needed not any reward to serve him) when he confessed that it was a house of Pleasure, where Dionysius used to divirt his mind from the cares which attend affairs of State; though it were long since he had resorted thither, by reason his fair daughter Aurora had dwelled there privately, whom last night (moved by the importunity of his Subjects) he carried back to Court. Had this Princess (said Pausanias) no Ladies that attended her? Yes, replied the timorus Flatterer, but there is only one, called Celia, who deserves her affection: For, besides that her beauty is as singular as her discretion, she is daughter to the Prince of Arsinda, one of the greatest and most eminent in all Sicily. Pa●sanias with this information was less afflicted: He dismissed the Man, determining to go concealed to Court, to see his dear, though absent, Celia.  
Let us leave Pausanias in this Mountain, whilst Aurora seeks means to advertise him of the suddenness of her departure, and Celia writing (as she used) a Letter in her name, gave it to Libanius, commanding him to go where he was, and to bring him thence unperceived if't were possible: It succeeded not as Aurora and Celia desired: For Clearchus a Favourite of the Kings, had long loved Celia, and she favoured him not only by her eyes and affection, but by the Pen, assuring him by many Letters, that none but he should ever possess her beauty. Neither was she mistaken, in her choice: for Clearchus in every respect was her equal, and had so high a place in the King's esteem, that he was never from his side. This love was kept so private, that none but herself and Heaven knew of it. Clearchus by chance ask Libanus whither he went, he freely told him, On a Message from Celia. Seeing a Letter in his hand he began to mistrust her constancy: for long absence occasions suspicion of injury. Disguising himself the best he could, he took Horse and went after him; but could not guess at the end of his journey, because he went directly towards the Sea. It was already night when he entered into a Fisherboat; Clearchus quitting his Horse, went over with him: when both were in the Wood, Clearchus bade him deliver what he had about him; Libanius supposing he was a Thief, drew forth the Crowns that Celia had given him, and laid them at his feet; then begun to strip himself, to show that he had nothing else about him. Clearchus finding the Letter, promised him his life, if he would tell for whom it was; and so wrought with him, that poor Libanus confessed all that he knew. Clearchus' confirmed in his suspicion, restored him his Crowns, doubled; kept the Paper, and charged him to return to Sicily.  
Clearchus remained solitary, grieving that he thought himself undeceived; and finding a poor Shepherd's Cottage hard by, hasted thither, where taking a firebrand in stead of a Torch, he drew out the paper, broke the Seal, and read what follows.  
I Have been very sensible of this absence; the rather because I am in such a condition, that I cannot communicate my resentment to you: My excuse is the truth, which you shall hereafter know more at large. If upon sight hereof you come to Court and discover yourself to his Majesty, I am confident his Nobleness will esteem of you according to your merit. That you may the less delay the performance of this request, I say no more, but that I am (as ever) Yours,  
CELIA.  
Nothing can express the passionate fury, or the Arguments wherewith this misapprehending Lover complained of Celia's ill usage, and the injustice towards his affection. He was about to go bacl, with intent to tear him in pieces who was the cause of this jealousy; but a compassionate Shepherd dissuaded him, entreating him to pass the rest of the night under that Shed: for to do otherwise would show indiscretion.  
Clearchus (though with small content) yielded, and laying himself down upon a fresh bed made of Flags and Hay, saw hard by him a man sleeping, who by his shape and person seemed of the best quality: demanding who he was, the Shepherd answered, that four hours since he came to their Cottage, and desired to rest under that Covert, to avoid the sharpness of the night. Pausanias (for it was he that slept so securely, having his greatest enemy beside him, and had been glad to find this poor Cottage where he might repose himself, wearied with Travel) awaking, perceived that he was not alone, but heard him that was by him, with sad complaints curse his Love, Jealousy, and Fortune.  
Pausanias' listening was troubled at what was said, but much more at the mention of Celia, a name that disquieted his soul. Observing him more diligently, he heard him thus discourse to himself:  
Is it possible (ungrateful Woman) thou canst find in thy heart to dispossess an affection of so many years and pains? Can not thy quality acquit thee of lightness? Oh Celia, how doth a deceitful promise misbecome one that professeth so much worth? Dost thou so injuriously requite so observant a Lover? I persuade myself the reason why thou enjoinest me to conceal my affection, was for fear of making thy Pausanias' jealous. But I vow never to return home, till he hath satisfied my jealousy: Ungrateful, I will begin my revenge in killing him whom thou lovest best; I will proclaim thy lightness: The World shall know, these six years that I have served thee, I have been in such favour with thee, that thou never usedst Pen but to assure me thou wert mine. Thou hast deceived thyself, false woman, deserting me for a stranger, that cousin's thee with profession of Nobility. What canst thou say to excuse they self, since this Letter under thine own hand speaks thy unworthiness, and my misfortunes?  
Pausanias' hearing this, was in such perplexity that he could not believe himself to be awake. Impatient that any man should profess himself favoured of Celia (to defend her reputation, and to chastise his foolish arrogance) he arose and told him, that the part of his sorrows which he had heard troubled him as much as himself; but if a sight of Pausanius would allay his anger, the last night he was with a Gentleman of the same name, and perhaps they might find him in the next Wood I shall not be so happy, said Clearchus, for I know my ill fortune when I desire a thing. Yes, I believe you may replied Pausanias. Then lighting a dry Olive branch he invited him to come after, prominng that within a few hours he would bring him to him.  
Thus went they forth together, and coming to the most intricate place of the Wood, Pausanias stuck the light upon a Tree, and drawing his sword, resolutely said to him:  
I am Pausanias, thy greatest enemy; I love Celia, and must enjoy her, though the King of Syracuse himself should oppose it. Since thou sayest that thou seekest me earnestly, make use of this sudden occasion which is offered thee. If thou refusest to draw thy sword because thou knowst me not, be assured, my quality is so noble, that whosoever thinks he hath any advantage of me, deceives himself. I have served Celia, if not with as much secrecy, yet with more affection: if she heretofore loved thee, and now forgets thee, complain of thy fortune, not her easiness; and since thou sayest the Letter which thou unjustly detainest was sent to me, give it me, for I will put it amongst others that I have of hers; if not, I'll force it from thee.  
Do not think (answered Clearchus) thy menaces move me: my heart is formed for higher erterprises, and e'er long thou wilt repent this foolish rashness. Yet that thou mayst know the cause why I sought thee so earnestly, and with what reason I complain of Celia, hear her falsehood, and thou wilt confess that I have not spoken very extravigantly of her. Celia and myself have these many years reciprocally exchanged a pure and secret affection; but she being necessitated to absent herself from me for some reasons, I was so unhappy that in that time she saw and loved thee: if she had neglected me for love of thee, I had less reason to complain; but she was so fare from neglect, that she never favoured me with larger expressions than now; and that thou mayst not think these calumnies, proceeding rather from jealousy then the truth of one that respects his honour, see whether it be fa●se or no: so drawing out of his breast many Letters and Papers, he cast them at his feet.  
Pausanias' read some of them; amongst others his own, and another which the same day she had written to Clearchus. A good while he took not his eye off from the Papers, it seeming to him impossible there should be in the world a woman so facile and so cunning: but at last being fully persuaded of her falsehood, he gathered together all the cozening Letters, and threw them into the fire, as if he could consume so many deceits at once. Thereupon Clearchus with his sword in hand bade him, if he were a Gentleman, prepare to defend himself: for it was not fitting it should be said in Sicily, that having had his enemy in the field he left him alive. Thou shalt not need to prevent me, answered Pausanias, for that was the only reason why I drew thee out into this wood: and so assaulting him furiously, the Combat began, without any apparent advantage on either side. Clearchus was the more weary, as being less dextrous in the exercise of Arms. Pausanias' avoiding a blow that he made, falsified another, and wounded him dangerously in the head. Clearchus having his face bathed in blood, lost not his courage, but inflamed with revenge, assaulted Pausanias so desperately, that he was forced to use all his skill to guard himself. The clashing of their swords disturbed the Shepherds that went whistling their Sheep together. They came in the instant, when the loss of blood abated strength, but not courage in Clearchus. They all ran in to him, seeing him the more necessitated, and carried him home to their Cottage, where with medicinal Herbs they entertained and cured him.  
The valiant Prince (no less astonished at the courage of Clearchus, then at the lightness of Celia) expected the approach of day, with intent to take shipping, and return to his Country. He went towards the Sea, and discoursing with himself on the various events of his fortune, saw a ship, which by its loss of tackling and sails, showed it had suffered the anger of inconstant Neptune. He observed the Arms it carried, and knowing they were his, drew nearer to satisfy himself: but this doubt lasted not long; for Leontius, Son to the Admiral of Macedonia, leaping a shore with his Company, knew him, and gave thanks to Heaven for the favour it had vouchsafed them in preserving his life.  
They related to him, how that after a long tempest and imminent death, it pleased Fortune to appease the Sea: But all of them bewailing their Prince's absence, resolved not to return to Macedonia without him, since he might possibly escape alive. Pausanias' gratified their noble resolution with favours and rewards. He caused them to repair their Ship, determining to go privately into Sicily; that they might not return unsatisfied to Macedonia; to see if the Beauty of Aurora pleased him; and to revenge himself on the inconstant Celia.  
With this resolution he went to Court; but his arrival could not be so private, but Dionysius had notice of it, and immediately gave him a visit, bestowing such extraordinary favours upon him, that words sufficed not to express his thankfulness. Dionysius carried him to see the Princess; knowing her beauty to be the chief motive of his coming thither.  
Pausanias' amazed when he perceived Celia, to whom he spoke, to be by all called Aurora, was ready to have accused Dionysius of imposture; but Leontius (who had been Ambassador before in Syracuse) assuring him it was Aurora, he was almost distracted; and not treating with Dionysius any further in that business, he resolved to return to Macedonia, since a woman engaged to another in love, was not fit to be his wife.  
Aurora's thoughts were very different from his, for perceiving her good fortune, that Pausanias was every way equal to her, she thought the time long till she had some means to accomplish her affection.  
Celia already was informed of the quarrel that had been betwixt Clearchus and the Prince. And as Aurora was once complaining of him, for not coming to solicit that which he so much desired, Celia told her, that the reason why he was so cool in his Love, was the deceit of her Letters, and thereupon recounted all that past, advertising her, that this mistake was as well cause of her losing Clearchus, for he was infected with the same jealousy; so that it concerned them both to discover the private devise her Love had made use of. Aurora excusing the Prince's indifferency, in regard it proceeded rather from his own honour then neglect of her, called Clearchus, and discovered to him the whole business, that he might not suspect any thing in prejudice of Celia's honour; she commanded him to go visit Pausanias from her, and to let him know the mistake that had detained him in jealousy.  
Clearchus now freed from all former suspicion, obeyed, and having kissed the Prince's hand, asked pardon for drawing his sword against him, though unknown. Pausanias' told him, he was engaged to love his valour, and to desire his friendship. I must requite this honour, answered Clearchus, with welcome news; and then related the occasion of Aurorah's living in the Castle; and how imagining he was below her greatness, she had dissembled her name, changing it for Celia, until she were fully informed of his condition; how to avoid the danger of having her Letters known, she caused Celia to write for her; how the reason of his going to find him in the Wood, was because he had for many years loved Celia, as he had gathered by his words, and seeing the Letter with her Seal he was confirmed in his jealousy, blaming the affection of guiltless Celia.  
The Prince was surprised with wonder and joy at this relation of Clearchus, and casting his Arms about his neck, in sign of love and delight, said, the news was so conformable to his wishes, that only time could express how highly he esteemed it. Then went he to treat with Dionysius concerning his love; who promised her to him, thereby requiting the compliment of having left his Country; neither was any more worthy of the Princess, and immediately they writ to Timenides the Prince's Father about their agreement.  
Pausanias' had now opportunity to visit her, and to expostulate the favourable deceit, whereby she had caused his jealousy. Their Espousals were solemnised with the greatest Pomp that Sicily ever beheld, jointly celebrating those of Clearchus and Celia, whose constancy merited a success no less fortunate. Within a few days they embarked for Macedonia, attended by all the magnificence of the Court.  
Timenides received them with the joy of a Father, who supposing his Son lost or dead, found him so much improved in all things; Then feeling himself burdened with years, and through infirmities unable to be the Atlas of that weight, he transferred the Crown to his Son's head: And that the pleasure of so true an affection might be complete, Heaven was pleased to bestow on their first year a Son. Pausanias and Aurora living and loving so unanimously that every day seemed the first of their marriage.   

The Prince.  
FRom the top of Caucasus, a Mountain in Armenia, descended a man, savage in appearance, though not in mind; clothed with several skins of wild Beasts, his limbs strong and swarthy, his face scorched with the Sun, his hair long; at his shoulder hung a Quiver of Arrows, at his left side a Woodknife, and in his hand he carried a young tree, which (being stripped of the boughs and leaves) was both his stay and defence; who sitting down upon a Carpet of sweet though ordinary Flowers, drew out of his breast a beautiful Picture, so lively in the obscure Tablet, that it seemed to have more soul than it received from the Pencil; and beholding it as intentively as if it had been the Original; much troubled he thus passionately discoursed to it:  
Oh dear, though absent Polixena! it is long since I enjoyed thy divine sight in another condition: but what assurance will not envy and fortune dissolve, where both conspire to prosecute? When I first caused Tebrandes to draw thy Picture in this Tablet, I little thought that this unequal shadow of thy beauty should ever have been my greatest comfort. Who would have said when in Albania I maintained a Tourney in a habit which thy fair hands had embroidered, that I should ever have seen myself in an estate so different, the inhabitant of a mountain, my arms naked, my feet covered only with the skin of a Bear, a Trunk of a tree my Sword, my lodging a Cave, and companions a pair of Lions? But the heavens know that neither to be so exposed to the injury of weather, that the Sun takes me for July, and the Snow for January; nor to be brought so low, that I am forced every day to kill some wild Beast to sustain me; nor to live in this dismal solitude, where I converse only with Flowers and Rivers; nor yet to consider the small hopes I have of better fortune, have power to make me sad; but only the fear that thou dost forget me: For amongst the troubles which an absent Lover suffers, none but this is able to torment him. It is now twelve years since for thy sake I first deserted Albania, and were myself dilated to an age should always thus preserve thee in my breast: but alas I fear thou dost not requite me: for women are said to place their eyes and wils only on what they see present; because what is passed is no longer enjoyed. Having so long disappeared can I doubt my death is not believed for certain? And some perhaps there are that affirm it, to comply with those that hate me. Yet if I live in thy memory, nothing else can afflict or trouble me. I often imagine, that as being but a woman, thou hast proved unconstant, and though thy love might continue the first year my absence, yet sure the second thou tookst comfort, and the third didst quite turn me out of thy breast. However, this world hath had some, whose constancy hath triumphed over the natural imbecelity of their Sex; and thou mayst be one of those. The dagger of Lucretia, the Coals of Portia and the Asps of Cleopatra testify, that Love is an unapprehensive of Death. Thy constancy (fair Polixena) would have had no such inconvenience; it would not have hazarded thy life.  
The tender-savage Lover would have proceeded in Discourse to the Picture, had he not been interrupted by a young Shepherdess, who passing by the skirts of a green Mountain (imagining she was heard of none but the Birds) as she went along sung thus:  
Menga, a Shepherdess, near these Brooks borne,  
(Wonder o'th' earth, and envy of the morn,)  
Sad and ashamed complaines of her hard fate;  
For beauty seldom proves more fortunate.  
Love whose soft chains she freely did dispense  
To all, at least ensnared her innocence.  
Anton, a Swain, that many other eyes  
Attracted, was to hers a sacrifice;  
Nor slights she his affection, though she fear  
Their envy who for him like passions bear.  
Teresa's love she knows to him inclined,  
A Nymph though fair, yet wanton as the wind:  
Favours and gifts she never yet withstood,  
Inconstancy deriving with her blood:  
All that she sees her boundless thoughts desire,  
For longing fancies greedy eyes require:  
Once Menga found her with Anton less coy  
Than she could wish, his but to rob her joy.  
Shame did suppress her anger, but her tears  
Did unrestrained betray her jealous fears.  
What have I done, false shepherdess she said,  
That thou shouldst all my happiness invade?  
Thou lov'st another, me hast dispossessed,  
Because stolen pleasures are to thee the best:  
I've seen thee many love, but true to none,  
Thou dost hereditary lightness own:  
Enjoy thine own, not my delights remove,  
Thou wrong'st thy beauty to molest my love.  
Thus Menga, who against Teresa cries,  
When she begun to love, left to be wise.  
Gesimenes (for so was this prodigy of fortune named) was much astonished to hear so sweet a voice in a wild wood unfrequented by any. He arose and called to her, bidding her not fear, for he was a man rational as others, though his habit expressed no● his condition. The timorous shepherdess, when she saw his savage appearance, giving herself for lost, fled from this counterfeit satire, till stayed by weariness, she fell at his feet, so affrighted and out of breath, that it pitied him he had overtaken her. When he beheld her divine beauty, he thanked Heaven that it had contracted its greatest perfections in a poor Shepherdess. Neither did this admiration proceed from a forgetfulness of his fair Polixena; but the reason which induced him to this liking, was her resemblance of the other; such as would confound a Painter in drawing them both: He took her in his arms and carried her to his poor Cave; where, having first recovered her senses with water, which he fetched in a Tortoise shell from the neighbouring Rock, he set before her Cakes and dried fruits; he assured her that she was not in danger; that his quality was more gentle than his appearance promised; that she might continue there in safety; and, that her beauty had kindled in his breast so just an affection, that though he had been savage indeed, he should not have been so to her: for at the first sight of her an inclination did secretly invade his soul, which obliged him not only to honour, but to engage his life for her. Therefore he entreated her by the great respect which, in so short a time, she had gained upon him, not to leave his company, but rather to help him to pass the tediousness of that solitude, then afflict his love by her absence, which he should infinitely resent.  
Truly, replied Ismenia, (so was the Shepherdess named) what you require is not only just, but due to that civility and protection you promised; besides, it concerns my own interest as well as yours: for I am fled hither to avoid a man, to whom my parents would have married me; one, they say, doth every way equal me; but, to say truth, though I was borne among the; Rocks, and am of a low parentage, yet have I a spirit and thoughts so high, that I am not in my own opinion inferior either the heir of Albania, or the King of Armenia. This morning I risen with intent to subdue that self-conceit, and love him in obedience to those that persuaded me; but finding I could not affect him, nor reclaim my stubborn will, I stole away and hid myself in this Mountain, choosing rather to be a prey to the wild beasts, then to one I could not without disdain behold: though many women are of opinion that conversation may produce affection; yet could not I expose myself to so apparent hazard, fearing the worst: For the danger is great which she incurs, who out of this confidence undervaluing her own liberty, marries one that she abhors. But because I find within myself (besides the thanks I own your courtesy and entertainment) something that moves me to love and respect you; for though you appear outwardly a son of these Rocks, yet your civil demeanour contradicts that appearance; I conjure you therefore by yourself to tell me who you are, and the reason of your living in this Desert; since we have agreed to dwell together, and I have given you an account of my fortune, it is fit you requite me with the like.  
This request (said Gesimenes) will much afflict me: the remembrance of miseries cannot be renewed without tears, though I use often to repeat mine to the heavens, to the fields, and to this little river; yet because in them you are my only comfort, and to satisfy in some manner for the favour you do me in dwelling (as you have promised) with me, I will relate my birth, condition, and misfortunes.  
I am natural son to Pharnazes, King of Albania, who dear loved Clorinda, a Lady whose eminence and merit made her hope to be his wife, & in that confidence resign herself into his arms; but not long after was by reason of state induced to marry Rodantha, who proved with child at the same time that Clorinda my mother went with me: I would to heaven I had never seen the light, (for he that is borne to be unfortunat, e gins not his life, but death.) So it happened that Pharnazes had in one day two sons, one by his wife, the other by his Mistress: and (though brothers) of a different fortune and quality, for Lucanders' Mother was the more noble: but who would think that Pharnazes loving my Mother so affectionately, nay she herself, forgetting the pains, and grief I had cost her, should hate me: It was sure the malignant influence of my Stars which arrived at that height, that I was constrained when I would obtain any thing of my Father, to have recourse to the Queen, who though she had a just reason to hate me, pitied and favoured me. Lucander and myself came to the state of youth; I, as being the less fortunate, was more beloved of the people; he of my Father, as heir to the Monarchy: Thus fare I cannot say I was very unhappy, for if he may justly be called so who is borne indiscreet, and lives hated Lucander was the less fortunate; but the original of all my afflictions was the fair Polixena, at the same time brought up at Court, daughter to the Prince Saga, one of great power, and near allied to the King, without whose advice he undertook nothing of weight: I would discourse more largely of her beauty and perfections, if my love would not make that seem passion, which heaven and myself know is but truth. I speak to a woman, and such hear with small delight the praises of others: She was the fairest in that Country, and from our tender years, we began to court her: I with less hope than Lucander, as one not borne a Prince: but Love both a child, and blind, often mistakes and stumbles. I did ill to say my birth was attended by no happy fortune, since Polixena fixed her eyes on me, and that so freely, that whatsoever I did she graced with esteem, whatsoever my brother attempted displeased her. At the public and solemn Exercises, her favourable eyes encouraged me, and made me successful, not without the envy of many Princes that adored her, especially of Lucander: truly I had the advantage of him in behaviour, discretion, and stature; yet few women would have considered those accidents, the qualities of the mind being in little esteem in the unfortunate. But Polixena either less ambitious, or more unhappy, inclined her affection to me so fare, that after a long time she gave me leave to obtain her embraces, which by a private way into her chamber I enjoyed: Lucander had treated with her Father about marriage, engaging himself still further in his fond affection; knowing I was his rival, he was the more earnest in his solicitation, being vexed to see Polixena prefer me, the illegitimate son, before him the heir to the Kingdom. Her Father (transported with his interest, and hope of seeing the Crown upon his Daughter's head) being displeased with my affection, looked not favourably on me, and chid Polixena, advising her to love Lucander; because from thence more good than she imagined might result. But this counsel was vain; her election was no longer free; much less when she perceived she was with child. This confirmation of our love increased my Obligation, and her danger: for this Disease being difficult to conceal, and her Father unwilling she should be mine, we had reason to fear the event: she dissembled the mishap so carefully, that not any of her servants suspected it. The perplexity wherein I remained was as of one that sees his Love in the power of enemies: If she would have sent me the child, she durst not; for Lucander had gained all or the most part of them to be of his party. Thus every moment did these fears disquiet us, till one night such extremity of pain wakened her, that she presently knew the reason, and putting on her  in haste, she went out at the back gate of the garden, (having before provided herself of the key for that occasion) with intent to retire to an house of an intimate friend of mine, whom we had made acquainted with our affairs: but she had scarce past two streets when she was so surprised that she could not stir a step further, turning aside into the Porch of the next house, was there delivered of a Daughter; and seeing two men pass by muffled in their Cloaks, she called to them, and delivered them the child, desiring them, because she was a woman and alone, that they would do her the favour to carry it to Gesimenes the King's son, who would give them a better reward than they imagined: Their Civility obliged them not to follow her; so she returned back to the Court, and within two hours was laid again in her bed, where complaining of a sudden indisposition, she was attended and served as one, whom all hoped ere long to see their Queen.  
But so unfortunate was my affection and Polixena's honour, that one of those to whom she had delivered the child was Lucander my brother and enemy; who devising with himself who the Mother of it might be, and seeing that Polixena fell sick that very night, begun to think it was she; her extraordinary affection to me, making any conjecture seem credible; the child's countenance confirmed this suspicion, which like a Copy could not deny the original: Wherefore to revenge his jealousy, and to punish my boldness, he resolved to tell my Father, and my Wives, (for so I must call her so long as I live) what had happened; first commanding one of his servants to cut the child in pieces, he sent it me in performance of the promise he had made the night before. As I was in the morning making myself ready, there came into my Chamber a Gentlewoman of great trust with Lucander, and a Page bearing in a Basin the body of the little child, so pierced with wounds, that the features of the face could hardly be discerned.  
Thou mayst imagine Ismenia how I received this Present: My heart was instantly congealed at the bold impiety of Lucander, I then foresaw my misfortune, and mixing a Father's tears with the yet warm blood, I bathed the mangled Limbs; dissembling my passion as well as I could, I went to see him, and asked him the reason of so strange a Present, which would have moved fear and pity in the most cruel breast. My treacherous brother, as if he had done me an extraordinary favour, related the sad accident, and told me his design to ruin me, and persecute the afflicted Polixena.  
It is not possible (replied I) he can be of noble blood that glories in such base attempts. There is no reason to embolden thee to injure my life and soul, but the lowness of my condition; if it were otherwise, I would make thee feel my anger; if my love displeased thee, and thou wert jealous, why dost thou not like a man rather kill me, than revenge thyself on a thing that had neither hands nor tongue to defend itself: But thou art so base a Coward, that thou fearest me, though of a despicable fortune: from henceforward thou shalt have more cause to do so: for I will surprise thy life when thou least suspectest it: But heaven I believe not using to remit the punishment of such wickedness to the next life, will prevent me in the revenge of that innocent blood. Lucander knew not what to answer to so just an accusation, but began to reproach my birth, saying, that his Mother notwithstanding was free from infamy. And as sons are most sensible of those injuries, though truths, that reflect on their Parents, I was so full of passion that the least occasion would have transported m●e beyond reason, and drawing my Sword I 〈◊〉 him before he could cry out for help or defend himself, and left him wounded, & weltering in his own blood; with this the Court was in a tumult, and the news coming to the King my Father's ear, he commanded that they should seize on me, and tear me in pieces; but escaping from the swords of those that pursued me, I took horse and fled into the covert of this mountain, till my enemies had lost sight of me. After two days I arrived at this solitary place, where, to defend myself from the sharpness of the night, I made use of the shelter of this Cave, and being overcome with weariness, I slept till the day following: So soon as the Sun enlightened this wood, awaking I saw a fierce Lion lying at my feet, who having found me asleep, either imagining I was dead, or complying with his native generosity, granted me my life (for there is even in the most savage Beasts, a kind of natural pity) and not only forbore to do me hurt, but by fawning, and other expressions of love, seemed to court me. Though the society were dangerous, my life being at all times in his power: I considered that my life was without doubt reserved, for some extraordinary end, since heaven had preserved it from so many chances. Having found more kindness in a Lion then in a Father or Brother I made much of him, which he requites with his usual bringing me in his mouth the prey that he hath killed, to sustain my life, esteeming me rather his companion then enemy. Within a year I was so much master of these Mountains, Cliffs, and beasts, that all obeyed me, like the first man, and for this reason would I not leave this place; in another I must meet my death: for the injuries that are done to the powerful cannot (but miraculously) escape unrevenged.  
Instead of a Palace I have here a secure, though poor dwelling; for a guard of soldiers two Lions to protect me: these Hives offer me honey; this river water; these mountains a shady Covert; and these Trees their wild fruits: The Beasts that I kill afford me clothing, the Sea fish, and the Woods venison: This is my life and story; so that if thou resolve to continue here, I promise to entertain thee with as much care, as if thou wert my dear wife, or poor daughter, whose face I never saw, though I once handled it. Thou shalt have a fresh and sweet bed made of Rushes, Flags, and Thyme; in Winter we will shelter ourselves in the Bowels of this Rock, and in summer thou shalt enjoy the pleasant West wind, underneath the shade of these Hazel Trees: my disposition is gentle, my birth such as thou hast heard, and from this minute I swear never to offend thy chastity so much as in a thought. We will spend the morning in praising heaven, that figuring itself in all its Creatures hath enriched a mean Shepherdess with such perfections. The Evenings we will visit this Grove from whence we will borrow Bows for fuel and light: The time that we save from sleep we will spend in relating our past misfortunes, and by this means I may beguile my love, imagining that Polixena dwells with me: for thou so nearly resemblest her, that Heaven seems to have made thy Beauty as a copy of hers.  
Here Gesimenes stopped (for the remembrance of his wife drew tears from his eyes) and Ismenia coming to him, comforted him, promising not to be a minute from his side; for besides that his person deserved it, a natural inclination induced her to esteem, and to give him as much respect as if he were her Father: so that to divert some part of his griefs, she took out of her Scrip an instrument, and sung thus:  
Narcissa passing through a pleasant Mead,  
To cool her thirst was to a River led:  
When she perceived the lazy stream had lost  
Its course, condensed to Crystal by the Frost;  
Which had perhaps enamoured of her sight,  
Begged of December chains to stop its flight;  
But the kind Sun did with his warmer beams,  
Dissolve the Ice into its native streams:  
And th' angry little Brook, denied by stay,  
Was enjoyed flying, wept, and went away.  
The company of Ismenia was an extraordinary comfort to Gesimenes, who recreated by her beauty and wit passed the hours of the day with less anxiety; loving each other with so true yet chaste affection as they never entertained one lose thought. Thus lived they both secure and contented, especially Ismenia, because she was not in love, nor acquainted with any cares that might disquiet her rest. But she could not long boast her liberty: for as one afternoon she beheld herself in that Crystal Rivulet, when the dying Sun was giving up his languishing light, she spied a young Gentleman who wearied in the pursuit of some wild beast, having left his horse, slept upon the Flowers, (leaning his cheek on his hand) to the sweet Music which the water made, playing with the blue pebbles. Having earnestly beheld him, (for his person was warlike, his apparel Majestic, & his form Divine;) she would have gone away, but could not; for love seizeth on free hearts, and like a flash of lightning suddenly scorches. In brief, Ismenia found her feet fettered, and her soul inclined to stay. Thus suffering herself to be vanquished by love, she softly approached him, and drawing the sword that hung in his Scarf, suddenly awaked him, bidding him receive it, and acknowledge that he owed his life to her, who could so easily have taken it. Perozes (for that was his name) starting up, and admiring Ismenias exquisite beauty, answered, that he could not thank her pity for not giving him death by the sword, if he must receive it from her eyes; that she expressed thus more cruelty than mercy, for asleep he should not have been sensible of the one, but it was impossible for him waking to escape the other. Her habit caused in him no less wonder than her beauty, wherefore he besought her by entreaties and promises to tell him the reason why she lived in that Mountain, enriched with perfections that might become a Palace; unless she were some new Diana, some divine Huntress, who disdaining to live amongst men, resolved to spend her time in that wilderness. Ismenia replied, that she came thither to accompany her Father, one of a noble birth, and excellent qaalities, though thrown down by fortune to a low estate, They were both as much entangled in love as if they had conversed together many years, each of them so delighted with the others company, that Ismenia had no power to retire up the Mountain to Gesimenes, nor Perozes to descend to the valley to seek his servants, whom that afternoon he had lost in the chase: but the discreet Shepherdnesse seeing the night threaten them, and being fare from home, thus spoke unto him:  
Sir, I would to heaven, as you have engaged my affection, so I had worth to deserve yours; yet if love be begotten by sympathy of blood, what I have seen in your suspense, your eyes and words, may at the least be good will: and that you may not think I participate of the rudeness of this place, I will sometimes descend to this seat, where you may see me, with this caution, that you offer me no injury: That would be both dishonourable and unsafe; For my Father will at my call come down, and to second him a Lion to tear you in pieces.  
It seems (answered Perozes) you do not know me, seeing with such unnecessary care you instruct me in a respect that I am obliged to keep for both our sakes: Yours, because I adore you, and he that loves cannot injure; my own, because my birth is noble, which it could not be, if I had a desire to tyrannize over women. When heaven hath clothed the night with Stars I will come hither with as much humility as love, and adore these Flowers, because you have trod on them, and this River because it hath been your glass.  
With this they took leave of each other. The affection of Ismenia daily increased so much that Gesimenes might easily have perceived it, if he had suspected there had been more men in the wood to converse with: nor was Perozes her debtor; for every hour of the day she was in his mind, and the nights he waited in the Mountain expecting her; though she could not come down so often as she would; for Gesimenes had chid her for coming home so late, little suspecting love to be the cause, but rather her eagerness of the chase.  
Upon a time she came thither unobserved by Gesimenes, and casting her eye aside found in a crimson Taffeta a Picture of a fair Lady wrapped up in Paper, which served for its case: this it seems Perozes had through negligence the night before let fall amongst the Jesmines: Ismenia perceiving the Inscription was directed to him, moved with the curiosity of a jealous woman, read it, and found it said thus:  
SIR,  
I Am now come to Albania, where I live privately, and have seen the Princess, whose beauty I here send you drawn in this Tablet, though it be so excellent, that these Colours do but injure it. May I know your pleasure that I may hasten my journey, and the contract of these happy Nuptials, whereby the wars that have long infested both Kingdoms may have an end.  
Ismenia would not proceed any further, nor indeed could she for jealousy and anger; a less discovery might have been sufficient to have killed her: she accused her malicious fortune, and much bewailed the loss of Perozes, apprehending so many inconveniences, that it seemed impossible he should ever be hers. First, his Birth, and the distance between them; next, he was to marry a Princess, enriched (as the Picture showed) with extraordinary beauty; but hearing some body come, she dissembled her grief, and perceived it was her Enemy, who (as he came along) sung thus:  

As fair Ismenia forth did go,  
A Saphire sparkled in each eye,  
And on her cheek did Jesmines grow,  
Bathed in the Roses Purple dye.   

But when I nearer came t'have played  
Within the Sunshine of her light,  
She scorced me, in her beams betrayed  
Like sportive flies to loss of sight.   

What fear and reverence doth beget  
Th' approach unto so bright a flame,  
Which can extinguish with its heat,  
And makes both love and death the same!   
An injured woman is not sensible of any thing so much as of flattery from him that wrongs her; and Ismenia confident that Perozes love was counterfeit, took it more unkindly to be deceived, then unrequited; for disaffection may be natural, and out of our power, but dissimulation is not, being bred only in malicious breasts. That Perozes might not boast he had forsaken her first, though for the Princess of Albania, she went to him, and betwixt reason and jealousy said thus:  
Perozes, though you see me in this Mountain, so rudely attired, that my richest ornament is the spotted skin of a Tigress, yet you may well perceive, my soul hath more worth than my habit promiseth. You say you love me so infinitely, that though you are of the best blood in Armenia, yet you will hazard both life & fortune to be my Husband; and as this expression must not either by the Laws of Civility or affection be unacknowledged, I requited it with the like. But as those that love cannot dissemble, (for that's a crime) it grieves my affection to have hid a secret from you. It is impossible we should ever enjoy each other. Do not wonder that I undeceive you now, whereas I might as well have done it before. All women at first conceal their passions, unwilling to discover their imperfections to them they know not; for by open profession of love they might beget too slight an opinion of themselves; but when we find engagement we have a care to discover the truth to such Professors of affection, that they may see the danger they incur, either for avoidance or excuse. The sum of all is to let you know I am another's; he who I told you was my Father, is not so, but one whom misfortune hath banished Albania, and he has my promise to be his wife, though in truth he hath yet had no other assurance than my hand; therefore love me less, and contain yourself more: my descent is noble, and I must be his, having once professed it; for my Obligation cannot be discharged but by giving myself unto him, and he is of so excellent and gallant a mind that he (think it not passion) surpasseth you.  
Scarce had the jealous Ismenia ended, when without expecting an answer of satisfaction, she ran away into the more envious part of the Wilderness; Perozes being unacquainted with the place presently lost her, expressing so much passion as might have mollified a Rock, if it could have heard him; but all in vain; Ismenia would not run the hazard of relenting by hearing what he could say: for the tender disposition of women is persuaded to weep by seeing others do so: yet was she not without resentment; for, retiring to the remotest corner of the Cave she wept affectionate tears, and taking out the Letter that was directed to her lover, she kissed that name in the superscription which was engraved in her heart. Thus the two Lovers passed two days without meeting, not through Perozes neglect, but Ismenia's obstinacy, who saying late one evening at the border of the mountain to behold a tree, on whose bark both their names were engraven: What avails it (said she complaining to herself) that Peroses writeth himself mine on the trees, when the Princess of Albania may countermand it? what that he flatters me with such kind affection in this solitude, if at Court he adores a brighter beauty? she would have said more, had she not been interrupted by the Music of a sweet voice from amongst the Poplars: though she knew it was her ungrateful Lover, yet she was willing to dispense a little with her resolution, and hearken to this Song:  

Ismenia's eyes my soul divide,  
A fair yet hapless Sheperdesse,  
In whom rich Nature all her pride,  
And Fates their poverty express.   

To move the suit I fear to miss  
Her worth and my respect deny;  
For where even hope endangered is,  
Lovers in silence use to die.   

Thus the desire I entertain,  
Neither shuns love, nor suit prefers;  
For though she to be mine disdain,  
I'm blessed enough in being hers.   
Ismenia perceiving by the words and voice it was Perozes, sought to hid herself in the bushes, that she might avoid sight and speech with him; not that she was averse from it, but she would not give occasion to awake that love which slumbered in absence; but the rushing of the leaves betrayed her: Perozes told her, She had no reason (unless she had with her habit changed he humanity) to fly from one who had not lost her through any offence of his own: But since he was so unfortunat, that he could not be hers, he entreated her to inform herself by that Paper of his extreme passion, that she might at least know how much she was indebted to him: so taking leave of her, he left in her hand these Verses, which she imprinted as she read them in her soul.  
Divinest Siren, cruel fair;  
Cause of my life, and my despair;  
Grief that descends to words is weak;  
But mine is full and cannot speak:  
For how can Fate more cruel be,  
Then to grant life, denying thee?  
Yet I in death hope to adore  
Those joys without which life is poor:  
My reason's banished by my pain;  
Who can lose thee, and it retain?  
How soon was my calm soul dejected,  
And ruin suffered ere expected!  
But since that bliss which once was mine,  
Thou to another wilt resign.  
Be happy in thy choice; whilst I  
In unregarded ashes lie  
Be happy in him; 'tis unfit  
To wish thee joy and hinder it.  
Then finish what thou hast begun,  
Increase my grief, and kill me soon.  
And when I'm dead let pity move thee,  
But to remember I did love thee.  
Ismenia relenting would have read them often, had she not been hindered by Gesimenes, who coming to seek her, and glad to have found her, entreated her to divert his continual Melancholy with a Song; whereupon, more to obey him then please herself, (dissembling her grief) she sung thus:  

Why doth that fool unjustly love accuse,  
Who through his own fear did occasion lose?  
To miss an offered happiness must be,  
Or want of love, or too much modesty:  
Thy scorn Lysarda I have justly won,  
Who wanted light when I embraced the Sun.   

O look into my heart, thou wilt see there,  
'Twas admiration only caused my fear:  
Respect curbed my affection; let me die,  
(displeasing thee) by thy enflaming eye:  
Such death will make thy cruelty confess,  
I never wanted love, though happiness.   
When Ismenia had ended her Song, it being late, they retired homewards; and as they were going up the Hill, by a Lane fenced on either side with Willows and white Poplars, they heard a great sound as of something that fell from an high; Ismenia was amazed, and Gesimenes laid hold of his Bow, thinking it might be some wild beast; they searched all about, but could not find the cause; at last they perceived a Bark (●o they were not far from the Sea) near the Shore; it was covered over, and had neither Helm nor Mariner to guide it; Gesimenes and Ismenia fastened it to Land, and were desirous to know what was in it; scarce were the Sails and Coverture taken off, when such astonishment seized them, that for a good space they did nothing but look on each other: within it was a man bathed in blood, and by his sid a beautiful Lady, living, yet so dismayed, that she wanted little of the dead body which lay beside her: They were both afflicted at so sad a spectacle, especially Gesimenes, who intentively beholding the Lady, fancied, he saw in her the face and person of his absent Wife. He gave the dead body burial in the Sea, since there was no means to restore his life: he took the Lady in his arms, and carried her to the homely Palace of his Cave, where he entertained her with such care, that in a short time he had good hope of her life.  
When she had recovered so much strength as to open her eyes, and found on either side of her a man and woman: At first she was afraid of them, though their behaviour and hospitality had expressed more piety than her severe father and kindred: She wondered much that Gesimenes so constantly fixed his eyes upon her; and hearing Ismenia sometimes call him by his name, she said to him. Two things hold me in this suspense, you may do me a favour to instruct me in them: Is it true that you are called Gesimenes? Why since I opened my eyes have you so steadfastly beheld me, often sighing, and sometimes weeping? you may ask the same of me, because when I first heard your name, it struck me to the soul; For I loved a Gentleman of the same name, at the expense of so many afflictions, that this hazard of my life was the least; and should I say, that this Gesimenes (whom I call Husband) was son to the King of Albania, truth would not accuse me.  
Gesimenes was so transported with joy, that he could scarce express his mind. If (said he) I am the unfortunate Son of Pharnazes, and thy Husband; if thou art Polixena, and my eyes deceive me not, how can I behold thee without an ecstasy of content? how can my heart but break with the apprehension of the misfortunes thou hast suffered for my sake? Polixena, I am Gesimenes; and will be thine, till heaven deprive me of this life, which I esteem now I enjoy thy sight and embraces. Henceforward I shall desire life, which I thought I should never have done: for during the time I have dwelled among these Rocks, the rising Sun never found me not suing to heaven to be eased of it; for life is not a pleasure, but a torment to the unfortunate.  
Words are not full enough to express the content of these two Lovers; for language is too narrow to  great passions; so that with their eyes and souls they congratulated their strange and happy meeting. The beauty of Ismenia and Gesimenes care of her, might well have given Polixena cause of jealousy; yet when she was informed of the occasion which brought her to live with him, she esteemed her with as much affection as if she had been her own daughter. Thus being all three equally contented, Gesimenes desired her to instruct them in the afflictions she suffered during his absence: for the relation of past miseries in prosperity doth deiight more than disconsolate: wherefore to comply with their request, she said:  
So many, my dear Gesimenes, have been the troubles that oppressed me in your absence, and so continual, that 'tis impossible I should either then have resented them, or now relate them fully. I was left as your surety, to satisfy the hurt you did Lucander; who seeing he could not revenge himself on you, resolved to do it on your other self, divulging my weakness, and giving it out that I was delivered in his arms: My Father instead of punishing the infamous cruelty he used to the innocent Infant, forgetting the relation it had to his blood, encouraged him, and commanded I should be shut up in a Tower, where for a long time I neither saw the face of the Sun, or of any humane creature; until at last the King your Father moved with pity, permitted one that had been brought up in my Father's house to visit me, for they reposed trust in him. With him I recreated the tedious hours of my imprisonment, relating to him my misfortunes. One day he telling me that you were for certain in a Village near Albania, I earnestly begged of him to afford me some private means of writing to you, which he did: Then did I sign the death of us both; For I writ a Letter, wherein I informed you of my sad condition, and of the great affection of the people to you, who continually pitied you as much as they wished Lucanders' death, for being possessed of the Crown, he oppressed them with tyrannical injuries. I advised you to make use of the protection of some other Prince, by whose aid you might compass your revenge; In the mean time, that I would (if it were needful) poison the Prince, that the Subjects seeing him dead, and hearing you were alive, might be necessitated to seek after you, lawfully to possess the Kingdom after the decease of Pharnazes. These, and other things of importance did I write in that unhappy Letter, to ease my heart, and redress your miseries; but there is no success where Fate opposeth; so unfortunate were Arnestes and I, that as he went from my chamber to seek you out, he met Lucander, who questioned him concerning me; whereupon he was so confounded, that your Brother began to suspect something, and causing him to be apprehended and searched, found this Letter, by which he confessed more than he knew: this put the Court into a tumult. My Father (who would be singular in Loyalty, though at the expense of my life) executed on me the greatest cruelty the world ever saw. He gave order for a Bark, so closed that the air had no passage; into which, having killed poor Arnestes with many wounds, he shut him dead, and me alive, to the intent that I might with the horror miserably end my life. Then setting the Bark a drift, he committed us to the mercy of the waves, pitied of as many as beheld us. Thus we floated until heaven (moved with my prayers and tears) was pleased to cast me on this shore, where your care hath brought me once more into the light, and restored that happiness which from my infancy I desired, though it hath cost me so dear.  
Ismenia and Gesimenes congratulated Polixena's good fortune; for though it were Eclipsed with troubles and discontents, yet the event being happy it cannot be called adverse. Thus lived Gesimenes with his wife more contented than if he had been Lord of the whole world, enjoying her beauty and company without fear or interruption, endearing to himself that blessing which heaven after so many years of affliction had reserved for him. Ismenia and Perozes past the time with less delight, complaining each of the others affection; she as thinking he was contracted to another, and he as having the same opinion of her: But Ismenia weary of concealing her jealousy, was unwilling that Perozes should accuse her of inconstancy, when she had just cause to condemn him: wherefore she found him out amongst the Laurels and Jesmines, and shown him the Pictnre and Letter: She told him, That the reason why she had belied her own affection and constancy, was not that she loved any else, but that she was of opinion he was another's; that those two witnesses would prove it & that he could not wonder at her cruelty, since his falsehood and ill requital deserved it.  
I confess (fair Ismenia) replied Perozes, that before I saw you, I treated of a marriage with the Princess of Albania; but I assure you, after I beheld your divine beauty, and believed that I had obtained some place in your affection, I altered my resolution (though to the discontent of my Father and his Subjects, who earnestly desire the accomplishment of that match, to put an end to the wars between the two kingdoms) To comply with your affection, I engage my faith never to marry as long as I live, unless with you; nor shall you be, (if the stories say true) the first Queen that was bred up amongst Woods and Rocks; but be sure that he, whom you call your Father, be so indeed; for if you deceive me, and he prove a Lover, I will so revenge myself on both, that my love shall wonder at my severity.  
Ismenia was so well satisfied and pleased with Perozes promise, that to confirm what she had said, she placed him so, that he might see Gesimenes in his Wife's arms; and as Lovers seldom conceal any thing from one another, notwithstanding she had told him that he was her Father, she related to him their true story; to which Perozes harkened with much content, seeing how nobly his beloved Ismenia was descended if Gesimenes and Polixena were her Parents, for than she was Niece to the King of Albania, a good reason to excuse his unadvised love, since he married, though not the Princess, yet one of her blood. With these joyful hopes Perozes took his leave, but Ismenia was troubled when she considered that she had done ill to feign herself the daughter of Gesimenes, knowing how easy it was to disprove it: for though her affection and resemblance made it probable, yet she was conscious that their births were extremely different.  
Perozes, devoting himself wholly to the affection of Ismenia, and resolving to marry her, refused the match with the Princess of Albania, and sent to give Pharnazes notice he was already married, who was sensible of this affront, believing that this neglect was in contempt of his alliance; and without expecting either Letters or Ambassadors, with his Son Lucander he raised a great Army, binding themselves by a solemn Oath not to return to Albania, till they had either taken or slain Perozes.  
On the other side Perozes was not negligent; for having notice of the intention of Pharnazes, he desired of his Father a Commission for that War, and levied sufficient forces to resist the proud Albanians. Mean while, visiting Ismenia, he desired her to persuade her Father Gesimenes (who was a great Soldier) to command his Army; as well to protect the cause which was his own, being his daughters, as to revenge himself upon Lucander, who now came insolently with Pharnazes; besides the Albanians might hereby know he was alive, and had power to oppose them. Ismenia was much perplexed to foresee her imposture would be soon discovered; but committing all to time and fortune, she determined to speak to Gesimenes, and thereupon informed him of the Prince's affection, the occasion of the War, and the opportunity which heaven hath offered him to return from that miserable kind of life to his first estate.  
Gesimenes disliked not the means which Ismenia in Perozes name offered for obtaining the desired end of his affairs. He was willing to serve him; but not thereby to injure his father: a relation (though he were ungrateful) not to be dispensed with. His hope was to be the instrument of peace, and of the death of his treacherous brother, upon whose death he might return to Albania and enjoy the Crown. Ismenia told him, that it would be requisite for some time to acknowledge her for his daughter. Gesimenes replied, that he should not only for a time, but as long as he lived esteem her so: For the love he bore her, and the resemblance she had to Polixena was such, that if her Parentage had not been very mean, it would easily have been credited. Ismenia brought him to Perozes, the two Princes conversed together with great expressions of affection. Perozes wondered to behold him so altered and different from what he had known him before; and enquiring after Polixena, he entreated him to bring her along that she might bear his sister company. They were honourably received by the Nobility and commons of that Kingdom, with respect due to persons of such eminence. The King conferred the General's Staff on Gesimenes, who changing his Habit, appeared so graceful and majestic, that they could hardly persuade themselves he was the same whom the day before they had seen in that wild shape: so much do ornaments add to exterior Beauty.  
By this time the proud Albanians were come so near, that the mountains resounded with the echo of their Warlike instruments: At night Gesimenes went out in his old habit, to espy in the Camp with what force his father came; he was so well acquainted with that place that he feared not to lose himself, and wearing so strange a habit it was improbable they should suspect him. One night as he went down from his Cave to the bottom of the Hill, with intent to return to the Court, he heard some not fare off consulting privately together; withdrawing himself behind a tuft of Oaks and Pines, he beheld from them thence a young man in Armour, whom all the rest seemed to respect and honour as their Master; Gesimenes by reason of the darkness of the night could not discern who he was, but he gathered that from his words, which sufficiently troubled him, for he was speaking to them to this effect:  
Though here are but a few that hear me, yet I may well say here is the greatest part of the Nobility of Albania; for there is not any one can equal Lucander, or stand in competition with you. I am as you know, the King's only son: for though I lately had a Brother, I believe either the Sea or Land by this time hath hid him in its Bowels; or if he were alive, yet being a Bastard, he could not oppose me the lawful Heir; nor hath he the right I have. My Father is old, and useth both you and me too harshly. Indeed I am sorry he hath lived thus long: It troubles me to be a Subject, being now fit for government, which so long as he lives I cannot enjoy. I have at other times advised with you about this business. The cause that moved me now to call you together is an opportunity of effecting this design, which offers itself unto you. My Father is so industriously careful in this War, that though his years dissuade him, he often goeth forth alone to view both his own Camp and the enemies. This night I espied him; and if I mistake not, he is now coming along that Path, so that if you please now to follow me, we may this very instant assault and kill him; and we will tear his garments, that it may be thought the wild Beasts of these mountains were his Murderers. The Soldiers then being destitute of a King, must of necessity transfer the Crown on me; of which when I am possessed, and the Sceptre in my hand, I will by degrees destroy all that favoured Gesimenes. You shall not be my Subjects but my friends, my companions, on whose Shoulders I will lay the weight and care of the whole Kingdom.  
The Piety of Ges●menes could scarce believe the villainy which Lucander intended against him to whom he owed his being: but giving thanks to heaven for the favourable opportunity of preserving his Father's life, he went that way by which Lucander said he was to pass. He had not gone fare when he found him completely armed, going about to inform himself of the state of the Camp, who seeing him drew his sword, thinking he was a wild man, & assaulted him to kill him: But Gesimenies in token of peace throwing down the young Tree which he had in his hand, told him that he might see he was a man as himself, that he came to advise him, not to go that way, because his son with some of his Subjects, who it seems would be advantaged by his death, lay in wait to kill him.  
If thou dost think, said Pharnazes, by this deceit to injure me, know thou art mistaken, for at my call twenty thousand men that I have in the field will come forth, against whom neither thy swiftness nor strength can avail thee; besides I am able to defend myself not only against thee (who art a poor conquest) but against as many wild Beasts as this Desert nourishes.  
That you may be assured, (replied Gesimenes) I neither deceive, nor desire to injure you, go down by this little hill, & you will see to whose trust you commit yourself: be confident I would not suffer you to pass any further, or consent you should put yourself into so imminent danger, were I not certain my own strength could sufficiently, defend you: Believe yourself secure in my faith, for I love you more than you imagine, though not out of obligation, for you have used me with severity, of which some other occasion shall inform you, if my unfortunate stars permit.  
Pharnazes was amazed at this Speech, and was the sooner inclined to credit it, when he called to mind the ill disposition of Lucander, and some others that he conversed with: he was unwilliug to return to his Tent before he had satisfied himself; wherefore he descended the bottom of the Hill, and Gesimenes after him, earnestly desiring the Traitors would sally forth, that he might have an occasion to oblige his Father, and be revenged for all the injuries had been done him. Lucander, so soon as Pharnazes came near, gave notice to the rest and assaulted him, crying, Kill the Tyrant of Albania. Pharnazes called to Gesimenes to perform the promise, and protect his life. He needed not much entreaty, for as soon as he saw the ambush appear, he came up to him, and so laid about him on every side with the young Oak, that he dispersed them, and if any opposed him, he paid for his boldness, by measuring his length upon the ground. Lucander adventured, for the de●ence of one blow to trust to his Buckler, thinking to get in with his sword; but with such fury did Gesimenes let fall upon his enemy, that he felled him to the ground: The assistant Conspirators affrighted at his fall, left him and ran away: Pharnazes leading away Lucander, sent him to prison, but concealed the cause, fearing the soldiers might mutiny: Then being alone with Gesimenes, entreated him to let him know who he was to whom he owed life. Gesimenes yet unwilling to be known, answered, he was the son of that mountain; but the reason which obliged him to his defence with such earnestness was the intimate friendship he once had with one called Gesimenes, who professed himself his unfortunate Son.  
Alas, said Pharnazes, drowning his face in tears, had he lived, this Traitor Lucander durst not have attempted so impious a Treason. He not only lives (answered Gesimenes) but ere many days pass, I shall be able to let you see him, as obedient still, as you had never used him unkindly. Then believe if me, (replied Pharnazes) that very instant will I set the Crown of Albania upon his head; the Kingdom will not be sorry for it: though they think he be not heir while Lucander lives, yet there is more in this then they know. You are his friend, and will rejoice at his happiness: that therefore you may seek him with greater diligence, be attentive and and hear what a low condition his Fate decreed him, even before he was borne. Gesimenes with wonder observed what his Father said, and giving him time to wipe away the tears of his affliction, heard him proceed in this manner:  
Know that in my youth I loved a Lady, with so unreasonable an affection, that I forgot both Heaven and myself for her: This blind passion arrived at such a height, that the Queen and she, being at once both with child, and delivered of two Sons both in one day, to make a transcendent expression of my love to her, I caused the children to be changed, unknown to any except heaven, and one who was my Favourite. By this means Lucander, the son of my Mistress (suppozed the Queens) was esteemed heir of the Kingdom, and I had a better pretence for my affection. Gesimenes, who was indeed my lawful Son, had Clorinda (the Lady I most esteemed) assigned for his mother. The whole Kingdom wondered I should hate Gesimenes, the son of her I adored; and esteem Lucander whose mother I hated I will not relate how cruelly I used Gesimenes, i● cannot but grieve you to hear it, if you love him: my disaffection proceeded so fare, as to banish him Albania: If he be alive (as we had news of his death) he hath lived many years miserably abroad in strange Countries. But the nature of man is unconstant, the love I bear Clorinda vanished, and my undeceived understanding, perceived its error; then began I so much to dislike Lucander, that I intended to have discovered his Birth; but I forbore, considering the Crown would be without an heir, seeing Gesimenes was wanting. But since Lucander proves so ungrateful, as by treason to deprive me of life and Sceptre, & you assure me Gesimenes lives; if you perform your promise in bringing him, you shall see him King of Albania, that he may have his own, and you in part be paid the debt is owing you for my life: His happiness cannot but reflect on you who are so much his friend.  
Gesimenes was not able to contain his joy, but falling down at his Father's feet discovered himself, saying he was Gesimenes, and that he was well content with the miseries Fortune had inflicted on him, since he had been banished from his sight; Now she had bestowed on him the happiness to rescue his grey hairs. Pharnazes transported with such joy to see him alive, as the strangeness of the accident required, embraced him most affectionately, and told him that he should go along with him, for on the morrow his Commanders should kiss his hand, and his presence would animate the Soldiers, for they all loved him extremely, and knowing his valour would undertake the war, with the greater resolution. In this Gesimenes could not obey, excusing himself with the acknowledgement of many favours received from Perozes, of whose Forces he was General, yet that he had taken Arms against his Father, was not to offend him (as he had shown) but to be a means of peace between both Kingdoms. Gesimenes at parting enquired of him for his Wife Polixena; he much troubled, desired him not to speak of her; for it would afflict his heart to remember the cruelty which her Father and Lucander had used in her death.  
Let it not grieve you so much, said Gesimenes, For she is living; and although it may seem impossible, I have long enjoyed her company in this Desert, for Heaven doth favour innocence, and protect those Lives which Power and Fortune do unjustly persecute.  
Hereupon Gesimenes departed joyfully: And Pharnazes was no less glad for having found his son, and with him his own life, which had that night been lost, had it not been preserved by Gesimenes. Then communicating this strange event to his Counsel, he determined to treat with the King of Armenia, and Prince Perezes' concerning Peace, and the former Marriage. The evening following a place of meeting was appointed for the two Kings. The first thing they did was the proclaiming of Gesimenes King of Albania, and the same day Polixena was confirmed his Wife; the King and Queen of Armenia offering themselves to give her at the Temple. Perozes told Pharnazes that the reason why he rejected the propounded Marriage with the Princess, was because he was already married to Ismenia, who was Niece to him, and Daughter to Gesimenes and Polixena. Hereupon, they both to inform him of the truth, replied that they had no further knowledge of her, then that she had been brought up some years in their company; that the business was now of such consequence, that it would be unjust to deceive him; and though they had reason to love Ismenia as well as if she were their Daughter, yet in truth she was but of poor and mean Parentage.  
This struck Perozes, as if he had heard the sentence of his death, but it troubled him more, when he understood Ismenia could not be found; for seeing a necessity that her deceit must be discovered, and that she must lose Perozes, shame would not suffer her to appear; so she retired into the woods, flying from him she loved, and intending to end her life in that solitude. The Nuptials were deferred till they might have news of the lost Ismenia; for the married couple were so discontented at her absence that their resentment gave occasion to many to suspect she was indeed their Daughter, and that they denied it only because they were unwilling to give her to Perozes: The truth was, they loved her so extremely, that if Gesimenes had not known Ismenias Parents might have contradicted it, he would have owned her. Perozes in great passion offered a great sum of money to any that should bring news of her. Gesimenes calling to mind that she had often told him the place where she was borne, instantly dispatched Messengers to inform themselves with all diligence of her Parents, and to see whether she were not returned to them: After enquiry they found them, and upon examination they confessed, That Ismenia was not their Daughter, thought they had professed her such almost ever since she was borne; that a Gentleman of Albania named Artaspes one night brought her to their house, to be borough up by them, charging them upon forfeit of their lives, not to reveal the secret to any; that three years ago having a desire to match her with a Kinsman of theirs, on the day intended for marriage she stole away, since which time they could never know whether she were alive or dead.  
This increased the admiration of all; seeing Artaspes had brought her thither, they supposed she must be his: He being at that time in Albania, they sent for him to declare what he knew concerning Ismenia: Being come he desired a little privacy with Gesimenes, and thus spoke unto him.  
What I shall affirm of her that you call Ismenia, concerns none so much as yourself to know; not to keep you in suspense; Prince Lucander and myself, walking late one night in the City, as we were returning to the Palace, a woman with her Face vailed called to us, and addressing herself to Lucander, he asked her, (being well nigh dead) if she would go along with him, or that he should do her any service I would beseech you (answered the Lady, delivering a Child into his arms) to carry this infant to Gesimenes, who will easily know from whence it comes: and (believe me) we may both be able to requite this favour: so giving it to Lucander, (whom if she had known she would sooner have given it to a Lion) she went away, desiring us not to follow her, because it concerned both her life and honour: We both stood amazed, devising who this Lady might be; for knowing how entirely you did love Polixena, we could not persuade ourselves, that you should have any other affection, and Polixena living so carefully watched, we as little suspected it could be she. In the end we carried the child to my house, & he gave me order to deliver it to a Nurse; the next day he under stood Polixenas sudden sickness, & viewing the child's countenance, was fully persuaded it was hers and yours. The rage of his jealousy was incited by cruelty, and relying on his power he commanded me to bring it that he might kill it, and perform the promise he had made to send it you; when I understood this unjust intent, I was as much perplexed as if the Child had been mine own, so divine was the beauty of it. I was (to say truth) afraid: if I obeyed him not I lost his favour, (for Princes for one displeasure forget the services of our whole life) and to obey him was contrary to my piety: at last I resolved to bring it to him, not to displease him; but as I was going to this bloody Sacrifice heaven seemed to applaud my compassion, offering me an opportunity to save it: for understanding that a servant of mine had a child borne two days before, newly dead, I took it; and wounding the innocent breast, besmeared it with the congealed blood, and carried it to Lucander, who thinking it had been that which caused his jealousy, commended my cruelty, and perfected his furious revenge on it, tearing in pieces the poor Infant, and thus was it sent to you, the more to afflict you, that the grief of seeing it might kill you: Hereupon ensued the misfortunes that you know; when night was come I departed privately from Albania, and in a private place enquired for a Nurse with whom I left the Child, telling her it was requisite, that it should not be known that I brought it to her, and giving her two hundred Crowns, I took my leave of her; since which time, lest Lucander might come to know it, I never saw her but twice; This is all I know concerning Ismenia.  
Gesimenes amazed to hear these things, doubted whether the prodigy of his own story and Ismenia's life were a Dream, or true: for according to the Relation of Artaspes she was his Daughter: And her face had been sufficient to prove it, if there had been no other testimony. He fling his Arms about Artaspes neck, and promised him such requital, that he should not repent his courtesy. He presently related all to Pharnazes, Perozes, and Polixena, and as great was the joy of all, as their grief that Ismenia was missing. They went to seek her, Gesimenes as her Father, Perozes as her Husband: Gesimenes went to the Hill where he had formerly lived with her, & at the side of a Wood, he saw a man lying a long upon the grass: coming near, and ask what he did there, he answered, he was a poor Soldier, that hearing a Proclamation, promising ten thousand Crowns to him that should find Ismenia, out of a desire to better his Fortune he went to seek her, and was not out of hope to find her, because he had the same day seen a woman on the top of the mountain, clothed with skins of wild beasts, whom he suspected to be Ismenia; for as soon as she heard that name, she made away so fast, that it was impossible for him to overtake her.  
Gesimenes rewarded the Soldier for his information, and both ascending the mountain, they rested not until they came to a Spring dressed up with Rushes and Flags, where under a Cypress Tree they found her asleep. Gesimenes related to his Daughter her happy birth; at which she rejoiced more for being worthy of Perozes, then for being daughter to the Prince of Albania. Returning to Court, she accknowledged those for her Parents whom she ever loved, as if she had known them to be so. And her Marriage with Perozes was immediately Celebrated with much Solemnity.  
FINIS.