THE ILLUSTRIOUS SHEPHERDESS. Dedicated to the MARCHIONESS OF DORCHESTER. LONDON: Printed by J. C. for Nath. Brook, at the Angel in Cornhill, 1656. To the Right Honourable, THE MARCHIONESS OF DORCHESTER. MADAM, SInce if the beauty of Mandana, the Charming Modesty of Statyra, the Majesty of Mariam; (and, which is more than all these, since she hath had the honour to be presented by a person, as considerable in his title, as the exaltedness of his Mind and Spirit, to a Lady of resembling quality) the high attractions of Parthenissa: if all that hath been mentioned Great and Virtuous in all the Stories that have yet been written, were contracted into One, to make a resemblance of your divine Perfections, they would yet fall short to express them: I am induced to believe, That to present your Honour with this piece of imperfection, can be but the same presumption as to have interrupted your more important diversions with any thing of the most refined and accomplished that ever Courted Fame: it being the Prerogative of Greatness, to confer that value upon meaner things out of Favour, which even the greatest could not be capable to obtain by desert: Nor could this Design have confessed its deficiency by a nobler way, than by imploring so bright an influence: and those things which pretend to highest consummation, should they ground their Dignity upon their own Completeness, they would become as much unworthy your Condescension, as to obtain what they pretend to; they would stand in need of it, and thereby divest themselves of their most glorious Title, which is to admire, and wait upon excellencies greater than any themselves could show: for it were a gross stupidity, Admiration being the inseparable Concomitant of those infinite Glories and Beauties which shine in your Soul, and throw a Radiant Lustre round about you, if our Resentments should not be as High as the Cause is Noble that produceth them: Had you only derived those vast Applauds which are rendered you by all those with whom Virtue hath any Concernment, from your happy Relations, as being Wife to that Noble Lord, whose Grandezza's of Spirit are so many, and whose Learning shines in so immense a degree, that (not only among those of a resembling Extraction, but even among the Meaner sort of Men, who not being Considerable in themselves, may haply be incited to seek for Eminence by the Study and Profession of Arts) few have attained to that sublime Perfection; and next, as Daughter to that incomparable Lady, whose recent Actions (great as the Fame which eternally attends upon her Memory) not only transcend whatever hath been done of most Heroic, by the most famous of her Sex in all Ages, but even Romances themselves, whose Custom it is to describe Actions as boundless as Fancy can suggest, have not produced Examples more Illustrious among their most exalted Hero's; this were a Condition glorious enough to Cover you with more Palms than the world affords: And although there is no Consideration equally powerful with the height of those Actions, to transmit the Glory of them to Posterity; yet to decline the payment of the highest Attributes I could be capable of rendering unto the Monument of so much Worth and Glory, would be a Neglect as Criminal, as the Celebration of them a Duty. I shall not at present longer insist upon the Elogium's of those Illustrious Personages, although they are so just, that all tongues might ambition to dwell upon them; lest I might seem to make you redevable for those Honours, which are the rightful Effects of your own inherent Worth, unto those Excellencies which are owned by others. But Madam, There are in yourself advantages of so high a Nature, Virtues so bright and unaccessional, which make you own your Concernment in those glorious Relations, more to Merit than to Fortune; that the Passion I have to Adore them, is yet more powerful than what might render the confidence of this Address pardonable: Yet since I represented to myself how much your Actions are above Vulgar Applauds, the Apprehension of how unworthy a Title I had to the Honour of Rendering them, had almost subdued my Inclination to an absolute Declining of so great an Undertaking, had not a firm resolve rather to hazard the Committing of so considerable a Crime, than not to express the Adoration I have for Virtue, especially shining in so Illustrious a Mansion, made me reassume my first Intention: And I confess, the Author's Fame had not a small Ascendent upon me in this Election; Who, I believe, out of a fatal instinct that his Design would come to appear before a Judgement so Comprehensive, and so Penetrating a Wit, hath made his Hero to perform somewhat of so gallant, that in the narrow Limits to which he is confined, and his due regard to Likelihood and Possibility, a particular, of which there are few Romances which make any great Conscience; I see not how he could have performed more. And whether we look on Silvia, dressed in the innocencies and unconstrained handsomeness of a Pastoral Conversation, or considered in the more resplendent gentillesses of her true Condition; I am confident she will think herself more Fortunate in being held worthy of your Acceptance, than in the bare Satisfaction she could derive from either of these Conditions: Since in the former, there are no becomingnesses which are not in you so conspicuous, as if those happy ages were returned, wherein, to be a Princess and to be a Shepherdess, were the selfsame thing: and in the later, she is so darkened and exceeded by a more surpassing splendour, that the greatest Privilege she can aspire to, is to court the protection of a Greatness that so much outshines her. Nor can I think myself indifferently concerned in Silvia's Contentment, seeing the glory of presenting her is not to be equalled by any thing, but by the Humility and Devotion wherewith she is presented to so unspeakable a Felicity, By MADAM, Your Honour's most Humble, most Obedient, and most Faithful Servant, E. P. AN ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER. WHereas our Nation hath been so profusely entertained, and perhaps by this time in a manner Satiated by the fluency and luxuriance of the French Gallantry; it will not be amiss to give a taste of the Spanish Reserve and Gravity: And (since things of this nature are swelled to such an excess of voluminousness) to correct one extreme with another, by publishing an Adventure as concise as the rest are tedious. How they may relish abroad, I will not think myself obliged to any strict regard: it is enough for me to say, Montalvan was the Author; And that two others of the same original, Aurora, and The Prince, were long since thought worthy to be rendered by Mr. Stanley, a person of considerable Worth and Quality; whose Fame, if it be a stranger to any, it is only to such who are not much concerned in Learning or Ingenuity: and whatever advantages they may justly claim above these, I am not troubled to be outdone by a person as much beyond me in Merit, as in Fame. Whatever Peccadillo's may have Escaped in Printing, the Readers judgement may Correct; only I thought fit to give this Precaution, That in the First Page in stead of shares is to be read shines: And in Page 12 the Comma after Woman should have been after undaunted. The Illustrious Shepherdess. THE Heaven had newly diplayed its blue Canopy, besprinkled with innumerous flaming Gems; and that fair Star that leads up all the rest, and shares the glory of the Evening, was so profuse of her Rays, that it might well have been thought that either the Sun was not set, or else that another Sun had succeeded in his room, and night, to whom he had surrendered his place, as to his lawful Successor, reposed in the bosom of her beloved silence; when Albanius leaving his little Flock of Sheep to feast themselves upon the sprouting dainties of the Field, retired himself to Contemplate the misfortunes of his past life. For though he was now advanced in years, yet he still retained a Passion, which in the summer of his age had taken possession of his heart, having married a fair Shepherdess, with whom he lived in a fashion so tender and respectful, as is not to be expressed: (For Love, not always a Courtier, ofttimes vouchsafes the rustic Villages his presence) but he had not been Married above two years, before her death deprived him of the sole felicity of his life, leaving him the most disconsolate man on earth: he sat near to the brink of a clear Brook, which with its feet of silver, trampling upon the sands of gold, delighted to flow along so many banks of Roses, and conveyed the moisture of life to some certain little trees, that trusting to the swiftness of their growth, made full account (ere many Springs had flourished) to become the Giants of the Wood Here the good Shepherd diverted his mind with the thoughts of his former felicity, refreshing himself with those thoughts, the sweetness of the flowers, and the wanton purl of the crystal waves; when not far from the place where he sat, he heard a shrill voice, that with many sighs and sobs, often called upon Death; of which, not less sweet than mournful, the sportful Zephyrets were enamoured; and for the love of that sound, stood playing the longer with the trembling leaves. Albanius arose, having his Soul touched with a tender compassion: for he had not a breast where pity was denied to harbour, nor was his Soul so base as to give itself up to fear: he was of a generous spirit, though a Shepherd; and full of compassion, though the Inhabitant of a rural Cottage: Musing with himself what should be the matter, he directed his course along the margin of the Rivoler, toward the place from whence those doleful accents seemed first to pierce his ear and his heart. He drew near to a little Island, crowned about with trees so thick set together, that Day had in it but a small jurisdiction. Ent'ring into it, and wand'ring a while in that delightful darkness, he came to the place where there sat a Lady of a presence both lovely and majestic; who, with the pangs of Childbirth that had but just left her, was so dismayed, that she seemed to have forgot whether she lived or no: he drew nigh to her, and found her not otherwise accompanied, than with an infinite number of perplexities, & that little creature but newly delivered from its former habitation, which enjoyed no other shelter than what the green boughs afforded; taking up the babe in his arms, he cherished it, wrapped it in his warm Mantle, and defended it from the bleak violence of the night; then he applied himself to the Mother, who was half dead with anguish and amazement; awaked her out of her short death, offered his best assistance, endeavoured to comfort her with friendly and courteous language. The Lady took much notice of the Shepherds charitable usage, and looked upon his arrival as an accident ordained by Heaven for the redress of her miseries; and lifting herself up with much ado from that grassy Couch, she entreated him to accompany her to the place from whence she had been taken; who shown himself ready to serve her with all respect and civility: and she, to gratify his courtesy, refused not (as they went along the way, he having requested her name and quality) to satisfy his curiosity with the story of her misfortunes. I am (said she) a Woman that have the ill fortune to be accounted fair, since it ever happens, that the worst of chances do ever attend on beauty. I am born of noble Parents, yet to me immeasurably cruel: they resolved in the midst of my tender years, to devote me to a Cloistered life, consulting more my obedience than my inclination; saying, That Children ought to subject their Wills to their Parent's pleasure: a Maxim perhaps not altogether void of Reason, if it had been ordained by Fate, That all minds should consent together in one Election, and not be carried on to different designs. But experience informs, That the Will of Man naturally desires an absolute Sovereignty, to have her motions free and unrestrained: but I was under an Influence that threatened many crosses to my life; for though I could obtain of my affections, to be swayed sometimes against the current of my Nature; yet I could never so totally subdue them, as to make them become subservient in all things to my Parents intentions: nor did it avail me to say, That what they propossed agreed not with my disposition; affirming, that to allege this excuse, could not acquit me from disobedience to them; and that I offended God, by gainsaying those that advised me to be his Spouse; imputing this my adversenesse to their persuasions, to unchasteness; and resolved not to settle me in any condition agreeable to my own Fancy, since I could not content myself with one of their providing. In these discontents did I dream away the flower of my youth, without the least enjoyment of it. And certainly my Parents were to blame, for that they considered not that I was arrived to that maturity of years as was not flexible to all impressions. I had brought myself even to the point of despair, seeing these things fall out so crossly, at a time when I had yielded up my affection to a noble Cavalier; a man, that, for his worth, might well have deserved a Lady of the greatest fortune and extraction: the high esteem I had of him, made me uncapable to receive his Addresses with any great indifferency. My Lover was very reserved in his designs, prudent in all his actions, valiant without ostentation, affable and courteous to all, real and fervent in his Love toward me; nor was he less beloved of me again. His opportunities of seeing me were very frequent, his daily walks were under my window, whereby we came to the Speech of each other; and there passed not a night wherein he was not admitted into the house undiscovered by my Father or Mother: as our affections, so our meetings increased (What a hazard doth that Maid run, though never so circumspect, that venter's to see her lover often, much more to parley with him?) Being thus divided and wavering between the threats of my Parents, and the prayers of him I loved, I found a great conflict within me: this only comfort was left me, That he who was absolute master of my affections, had engaged himself to serve me with an eternal constancy and fidelity. The frequency of his visits so confirmed our loves, that at length he won me to yield him that last of Favours, which neither his entreaties, nor the purity of his passion could ever obtain, till after a Solemn Contract between us, in the presence of two Friends, most faithful to our design. His Father was a Gentleman of Salamanca, (a noted City, the glory of Castille, and famous for being the fostermother of noble Sciences) who had designed to marry him to a Kinswoman of his. (Parents commonly count no Matches lawful, if they be not altogether managed and concluded by their Counsels.) My Friend, loath to displease his Father, seemed outwardly willing to entertain the motion; but for my sake, spun out the time with many doubts and delays. It happened about this time, that my Father being, for his eminent Learning and Deserts taken notice of by his Majesty, was advanced to a place at Court of greatest Honour and Profit: he glad of this unexpected preferment, and intending to make his best advantage of it for the bettering his Fortune, resolved upon removing to that place where his occasions required him present: mean while, the Marriage so earnestly desired and endeavoured between us, was disturbed by the arrival of my Spouse's Father, who came himself in person on purpose to hasten his Sons return to Salamanca, that they might treat about the Match between him and that Gentlewoman, concerning whom he had so often writ to him; by this means I was plunged into a most remediless ill plight: I durst not make my Case known to my Parents; who were of that austere Nature, and so not to be persuaded to yield to any of my desires, that they would sooner be brought to consent to the taking away of my life, than not to have me confined to a Religious Cell: And that which made my Condition the more insupportable, was, That I found in myself the evident Symptoms of being with Child. So deeply did I lay to heart these Crosses, that I sought occasions to bring my life to an end; and doubtless I should have done it, but that I considered, that with my own, the life of my Spouse was in danger, and that of my Infant in certainty to be lost: and it had been indeed a barbarous cruelty to have slain this innocent Creature whom as yet I have not seen, although it hath so lately cost me innumerous pangs. The preparations for our departure I knew not well how to resent; notwithstanding I bore it out with the cheerfullest face I could, and employed the deepest of my cunning to conceal my mischance: at length I feigned myself extremely ill, discovering the truth to the Physician, that by his help, my Fiction might be the more securely carried on; and thinking to conceal that by keeping my Bed, which I had no other way to keep undiscovered; for all this, my Father, that made no great matter of it, and judged by my countenance, That it was rather the state and delicacy of a great Dame tenderly brought up, than any real sickness that caused me to keep my Bed, forth with intended his voyage, without any regard to my being ill, giving me a very short space to prepare for the Journey: scarce had I time to dispatch a short Note to my Spouse; wherein, with more abundance of Grief than Reason, I set forth the sadness of my Condition, the heavy affliction of our being severed, and the fears and dangers that attended me: When, by that time it was midday, and I with much ado got ready, I was hurried with the rest out of the City; my Lover took silent leave of me at a distance, and accompanied me with his eyes as far as he could, endeavouring to make me understand the language they spoke: by the close of day we reached Pinto, a place not directly in the Road; but by reason of a piece of Land, which we there possess, we diverted thither. No sooner were the rest of our Family well settled in their first sleep, but I perceived myself surprised with great pains; which were the less terrible to me, because my Soul was at that time as it were buried in other huge afflictions: notwithstanding in a short space they increased in such sort, that I plainly knew them to be the certain forerunner of my approaching labour; so that leaving in the Bed a Servant-Maid, whom, having ever found most faithful to me, I had made acquainted with my Condition; I thus solitary, distracted, and careless, having no other company but my Sorrows to attend me, betook myself to this Wood, and this soft Bed of Flowers; which Heaven, no question, out of tenderness, lest my shame should be divulged, had made thus private; without hopes of Aid from any, save the shelter of this little tree; nor enjoying any other ease than my sighs: driven hither by this necessity, newly disburdened (as you see) of this poor Infant, and almost brought to the jaws of Death; here you have found me, being led hither by Providence, to be the Instrument of my relief, and to save two lives at once; and, which is more, to protect my Honour from all violation, by accompanying me to the place from whence I came, if that small strength which is yet left me, will permit me to go so far: or at least, if the force of these misfortunes shall prevail over my life, I shall have obtained this benefit, to end my days with an unblemished Reputation. Albanius heard these things, with the same seriousness she related them, and was sorrowfully affected with the sadness of these passages. The adversity and tears of so delicate a personage, were able to force pity from Rocks, and to make rigour itself not rigid. She craved his Name, and in what place he abided; and presented him with a Purse, enriched with a great number of Crowns; saying, That she would commit to his Education that little Creature, and that she would take care to give her Lover notice of this deliverance; and seriously enjoin him to recompense, to the utmost of his power, this great humanity of his to her and her Child. He promised to perform, with all sincerity, the trust committed to him; and having conducted her to a place not far distant from her dwelling, he took his leave, admiring at the strangeness of this event, and especially to see so undaunted a Woman, of such a soft and curious frame, and plunged in such distress: but what will not a generous Soul adventure, rather than suffer under a wounded Reputation? Returning home to his Cottage, he related to his Wife (for he was again Married, although the Idea of his first Wife's beauty could never be effaced from his memory) the whole story of this Adventure; who, for all this, would have been apt to have entertained jealous imaginations, if the Gold (than which, there is nothing more persuasive, and of greater Credit among men) which he brought along with him, had not satisfied those Scruples: and calling to mind, that a few days before, one of her nearest neighbours had, with ill successful labour, brought forth a Son, which no sooner had touched the threshold of this life, but was snatched into the other world to increase the number of the Angels; and thinking good to make use of this advantage, they requested her to Nurse up this Child; which she willingly accepted; esteeming the sweetness, and admirable features of it, to be such, as that the earth might boast of being enriched with such a Seraphim: So committing it to her care, they went to buy all things necessary for the accommodation and adornment of so dainty an Infant. While these things happened in the Village of Pinto, the Father of the Child having been debarred the sight of that beauty he so much adored, was returned to Salamanca; where being advertized by Letters, of this nights strange success, he wrote immediately to Albanius, recom mending to him, with such endearing expressions as would have moved a Spirit less tender than his to have observed his desires, the Care of his Daughter; sending him such a large testimony of his liberality for what he had already done, as might well declare the generosity of his mind, and the plentifulness of his estate. At length, some emergent occasions calling him away into Italy, he enjoined an intimate Friend, to be nigh in vigilance and care, to the bringing up of his Daughter; still giving so liberally, upon all occasions, that in a short space Albanius became very rich, and had where withal to live contentedly, and at ease. Silvia (for so the young disguised Shepherdess was called) grew up in beauty, as in years, every day adding to her perfection: no sooner had she attained to those years that made her capable of Marriage, but she was courted by the principal men of the Village, who with Amorous, though Rustic lays, ambitioned to be her Servants. She was so fair, that the Snow, which (if it had stayed in the middle Region, would have been accounted white) compared with her Skin, choir lost its reputation; her Hair was of a hue, only so remote from the Sun, and so near resembling the Earth, as, lest being all of Gold, it should have been snatched up to its own proper Sphere, and so have become a second Ariadne's Crown; her Eyes, though black, yet quick and vivacious, and so watchful over their own glances, that they were scarce permitted a lawful liberty; her Cheeks free from the least tincture of art, displayed such a purely mingled white and purple, that they could not, without disparagement, have been compared either to Ivory or Gilliflowers; her Mouth was like a little Wound, and her Lips animated Crystal, through whose transparency the blood discovered it's pure redness; her Hands, two white soft Lilies, but much whiter and softer than any the earth bears; or at least, they had been certainly taken for Snow, but that they were unmelted by the Sun: she was of a Disposition mild and complaisant, yet of so natural a courtly behaviour, that it might be wondered how in so low a condition she could bear so enlarged a Soul, she was much delighted with the gallantry of some Gentlemen that used to pass that way, and was much in their company, not out of any wanton desires, but out of confidence that well became her; and secretly betrayed the illustriousness of her birth. (So hard it is for those descended from a generous Lineage not to discover those virtuous inclinations that are Hereditary to them.) She was walking forth one Summer-night, to cool herself with the fresh Evening-gale, and to delight herself with the sweet smells of Flowers, which the officious Airs brought to her on their wings, to please her; when there happened to pass by a Gentleman of Madrid who was called Don Francisco Osorio, accompanied with many Friends and Servants; who cast his Eyes upon her; and though she was clad in mean attire, was strangely surprised at the unexpected sight of so surpassing a beauty, whereby she was fancied to him to be some rural Deity: forward he passed; and although he could have found in his heart a thousand times to have looked back upon her, yet he abstained, when he considered with himself that it would have been a disparagement to him, if he should be seen to be overcome with her beauty, who was the inhabitant of a poor Village: as if a Diamond were of the less price, for being inchas'd in Lead, or circled about with counterfeit Stones. His Reason at length assisting him to overcome the motions of his Will, he went on his Journey, and arrived at Aranjuez; where having dispatched the business he came about, with the greatest expedition that could be imagined, he so ordered his return to Madrid, as to stay a while by the way at Pinto; (for there is a man's Kingdom, where his Desire keeps Court;) his intent was to see Silvia, and to bring his companions to a sight of her, that they might be Judges whether he had not a sufficient pretence for his staying there: they informed themselves from a certain labouring-man (whom they had won to their Service with Gifts) that she was walking in a Garden, with some other Virgins her companions. It was about the time that the Sun obscured by a very dusky evening, was just taking his leave of the day, when they all going to see her, met her coming forth of the Garden; Don Osorio began to salute her with a respect greater than her seeming quality required: And taking advantage of the darkness of the night, he spoke some things as a prelude to the discovery of his Passion. Silvia, although well pleased that she was courted by a person of that quality and behaviour, was yet very slow to make any Answers, for fear she should be judged to discover something of lightness in them, or at least, want of wit: for where there is a disparity of conditions between persons, there cannot safely be an intimate familiarity; the soundest and honestest of their intentions being apt to be made the worst of, and discountenanced. At length, overcome with a Maidenly shamefacedness, she made more than ordinary haste to be gone, partly out of her own modest inclinations, partly that she might take away all occasions from her companions of insulting over her failings, that they might not think that she had less command over her Affections than they. Don osorio in the mean while was lief differently affected, contented that he had obtained the sight of her whom he adored; grieved to be so soon deprived of such a happiness: but considering with himself, that this disfavour might rather arise from the power of her bashfulness, than from any contempt of his person, he resolved to try whether he could, with less open testimonies of his Service, move her to be more sensible toward him; he went out in the depth of night, with certain musical Instruments, the choicest his love and curiosity could search out; and leaning to the Wall of Silvia's little habitation, he began three Canzonets; praising, among other things, the perfections of her Face; the great beauty of her Mouth, which was such, that it needed not the help of her Eye to subdue the heart of any man alive: which he sung in Consort with two other Musicians, his Servants: I. So looks the virgin-Rose, Which cherished by the genial South; Her crimson beauties doth disclose, As do the ruby-portals of her Mouth: Which when she doth unfold, Two bright transparent rows Of Pearly ye may behold; From between which a breath of amber flows. II. AMore than Tyrian purple doth o'erspread Her Lips, which softer are Than the Swans Down, and smother far: The costly Juice that dwells In Oriental shells, To them looks pale, they are so purely red. Fair Cheeks, that look like blushing Roses placed In purest Ivory; Or Coral within Snow inchas'd: The glories of the Spring Grow pale, and languishing For Envy, so cutshined by them to be. III. SWeetly triumphing Eyes, That in two crystal Prisons do contain Death in a frowns disguise: How gladly would I die, to be by these eyes slain! Delightful cruelty Of those all-charming Eyes, That have on me, designed to try With what a pleasing Empire they can tyrannize. Silvia diligently listening to this Song, knew that it was sung by the Gentleman who had talked with her the night before; She was once about to have oped the Window, to testify her grateful resentment of his civility, and that it might appear her behaviour was not so rustic as her habit; but fearful, that if she should have been seen, it might have rendered her the object of some malicious tongue that would perhaps have taken that advantage of bringing her Honour in question, she held it fit to forbear. There were in Don Francisco those Excellencies, that she could not choose but be much taken with his comely proportion of Body, his courtesy, and his discreet carriage: besides the good opinion which his merit gained him in her heart, there superven'd a certain natural inclination, which sprung from the agreeableness of their humours: but being dejected at the consideration of her mean parentage, she could not persuade herself that his Applications were real; and therefore resolved to stifle in the birth this new-sprung Affection, which notwithstanding had already taken too deep an impression to be easily effaced. Don Osorio, on the other side, concluded himself disesteemed, because he thought she had slighted the Praises he had bestowed on her in his Serenade; not comprehending, that out of a prudent reservedness she had dissembled her true apprehensions: So that he returned to his Lodging in greater disquiet of mind than (one would have thought) the soundness of his Judgement would have permitted: he employed all the powers of his mind to fortify himself against her disdain, and to enable him to overcome the violence of his passion; but he strove against the stream: The likeliest way he had, was, to remove from that place, wherein to have tarried, would have been to have proclaimed himself her Lover; and to make that course, whereby he intended to manifest his Service, a means to disoblige her; for he could not but be sensible that the habit he appeared in at that time, would prove disadvantageous to him in his Addresses to Silvia, which thereby became liable to a strict observation in such an obscure Village. Once he had in his mind to return to Madrid; but to that, the force of love, and Silva's beauty, would by no means consent. In this languishing and desperate condition, for a while, remained the enamoured Osorio, restless in his mind, and tossed to and fro between many contrary imaginations: At last he advised with himself, (and resolved to put it to a trial) whether if he should disguise himself, and change his habit, he might not become more acceptable to her; supposing that it might be, perhaps, not so much the dislike of his person, as the supposed disparity of estate, that might make her backward to impart her Favours to him (for it is not safe to give way to the desiring of that, of which there is little hope of ever attaining to) but thought that if Silvia should behold him devested of his true quality, and clad in mean Country-attire, she might haply show less aversion to him, descending to be her equal, than she did before. In this Resolution he slept, being resolved to leave no way unattempted, to calm the inquietude of his thoughts. On the morrow, he called to him the Goodman of the house, to whom he disclosed the Love he had for Silvia, and the coldness wherewith she had hitherto treated him, in lieu of all the diligent tenders of his Service: And withal, revealed to him the design which he had pitched upon, for the subduing of her impassable heart; desiring him to add his best advice and assistance for the furtherance of this his purpose; for which he promised such a large reward, that he should be the better for it while he lived. This he urged so passionately, and with such tender sighs, that the Old-man, partly obliged with his promises, partly affected with the sorrowfulness of his condition, faithfully promised, that on his part there should be nothing omitted that might conduce to his advantage; and calling to remembrance a Son of his, who, when he left his Country, was scarce arrived to the Spring of his Age, of whom he had not heard any News, since his departure, till that very day: He told him, He would give out that his Son was newly arrived home, and that he might very opportunely make use of this pretence to bring his wished design to effect. Don Francisco exceedingly pleased, embraced the Old-man, and gave him a thousand thanks for his happy invention; and imparting to his Companions the intention of his disguise, he went for a while to Madrid, where fitting himself with for the purpose, very near, though of the plain Country-fashion, and changing his Name from Don Francisco to Cardenio; he returned one night to the house of his new Father, who, against his coming, had divulged throughout all the neighbourhood the return of his own long looked-for Son. All the Friends and Neighbours came to see him, and gave him a thousand welcomes home. Every one glad to see him so well improved, and become so brave a man through the Experience of his Travels. Cardenio began to be acquainted with the principal men of the place: he knowing well the bounds of Courtesy, and what gallantry the meanness of his disguise would give him leave to use; so behaved himself toward all, that he was envied of all, and yet attracted the goodwill of all. Thus lived he joyful and contented with the happy success of his Enterprise; and underwent with a great deal of willingness this homely kind of life; for he had every day happy opportunities offered of seeing Silvia: he served her warily, and with much zeal; taking advantage of his being newly come home, to visit her often; which gave occasion to some curious pryers into other men's actions, (with which sort of people all places abound) to say that Cardenio loved Silvia; that his love was betrayed by his very eyes, which could not dissemble; and his following her from place to place, as if he had been the shadow of her brightness. She well observed the notice that was taken, and therefore carried herself with the greater Caution; not that it was any new thing to her to be Courted, but because she thought there was not any, anong all the Country-Swains, more deserving her Favour, than Cardenio. She being of a most prompt and acute wit, could easily discern the Graces and Endowments of him that should be admitted to serve her; and having well considered the admirable Attraits of this her new Servant, she could not choose but think him worthy of her Love. (It is impossible that that thing should ever be absolutely displeasing, which hath once throughly pleased.) So that by little and little she remitted much of her natural severity; discovering her mind foe far, as it might plainly appear, That if she loved not, she at least was pleased with his Service; which came to the same pass: for whosoever gins to be pleased with any thing, takes no pleasure in despising it. She looks now upon Cardenio as on her equal; saw herself loved by him, and envied by many of the young Shepherdesses her Companions, who used in her presence ofttimes to load Cardenio with infinite praises; therefore she thought she should have been guilty of a grievous offence, should she have persecuted with disdain one that died for her. Many times would Silvia admit these considerations to her mind, in respect of many who had formerly served her. Seldom doth a Woman lay to heart the sufferings of others, until she have undergone the pangs of Love herself: now Silvia loves; and since she loves, obligeth Cardenio with many Favours. As she stood alone one night in her Chamber, revolving these things in her mind, and Contemplating the perfections of the feigned Shepherd; Her Old-father (for so Albanius had hitherto been reputed by her) being informed of the Addresses that many had made to her to obtain her Affection, especially Cardenio, whom he judged the same that he feigned himself to be; and fearing lest she should unadvisedly run into some misbeseeming action, or engage herself in a Match that would be inferior to the nobleness of her descent; He related to her the story of her Parents misfortunes, and the strange accidents of her Birth, which brought her into this condition; And showing her some of the Letters which he had received from her true Father, assured her, that she should be exalted, sooner than she imagined, to a far more splendid manner of living than at present she enjoyed; that it behoved her to bethink herself, and consider that the Actions of great persons are more strictly censured, than those of the meaner sort: And that since she was born with such great Endowments of Wit and Beauty, and above all, such virtuous and discreet inclinations, he besought her not to admit of any demeanour that might in the least wise dishonour the generous Blood of which she was sprung; nor to hearken unto the Solicitations of every foolish admirer of her, since none, thereabouts, could come near to deserve her. With notable attention did the discreet Maid hear the sage Counsel of Albanius, and the Secret of her Nativity; she gave full Credit to all that he had related, and promised not to swerve from his Advice; remaining not less troubled in her mind, than undeceived in her own esteem: the thoughts of Cardenio 's deserts, came often into her mind, and the inequality of their estates, which strictly commanded her to withhold all her former Favours from him; which her mind could not very easily consent unto: yet considering, That to love him was to displease Albanius, and slain the greatness of her Birth, she resolved with herself (although not without much regret) to forget that ever she had the least appearance of love toward him, and to expect that day wherein her Affections should meet with a subject agreeable to her quality. Cardenio, upon a calm evening, looking toward the Walls of Albanius his Palace, (for so of a Cottage the presence of Silvia had made it, in his esteem) he saw her come forth, directing her walk towards a green flourishing Meadow, to pass away with pleasure the tedious night, and to enjoy the benefit of those cool Airs that gave life to the sweet Flowers in that cheerful season. Cardenio following, surprised her unawares; but in such a manner, that he might be perceived to have done it rather out of design than chance: Notwithstanding, this disguized Diana kept on her pace toward the place intended; she seated herself in a little Garden of Common Flowers, which Nature, without the help of humane industry, had produced, assisted by a murmuring Rivulet that ran hard by; and seriously revolving in her mind that which Albanius had the night before related to her, not without much admiration at the strangeness of it; she began to bewail her mishap; for that no sooner had she almost yielded up her Affections to a Gentleman, whom for his Merits and his true Love to her, she could not choose but very much esteem, but she was taken off by an opinion of being far inferior to him in degree: and now that Cardenio being thought her equal, had so far succeeded in his Service toward her, as to be thought worthy of answerable Love and Respect, the late knowledge she had learned of her noble Descent, interposed as an obstacle to their happiness, and forbids them any farther progress. These thoughts drove her into such an ecstasy, and fixed Cardenio so deeply in her mind, that her outward sense had not leisure to take notice of him, though standing at a small distance from her: He on the other side perceiving the disturbance of her thoughts, was willing to reveal the Secrets of his heart some other way, than by directing his speech to her herself. So taking on him not to have seen her, and giving truce a while to his restless thoughts, he breathed forth this sweet amorous Sonnet. 1. HIther I come, delightful Groves, To spend my sighs, and make my moan; To whose still shades it best behoves To make my plaints and sorrows known: And the gentle Trees invite To pity my discons ' late plight. 2. 'Tis rigorous love that doth torment This disturbed heart of mine, But of a Creature so divine, That I ought not to repent To have loved, though unloved again; The sole Author of my pain. 3. Is bright Silvia, gentle Bowers, To your gloomy walks unknown? Who loves to spend the harmless hours Among silent Groves alone: And can with her presence bright, To the darkest shades give light. 4. Silvia hath about her, Charms, Nations able to subdue: And can conquer with those Arms More than mightiest Kings can do. But I that am her chiefest aim, Am destined to the greatest flame. 5. I die, Silvia, when I behold Those Eyes that set on fire my heart; Yet I (for love is uncontrol'd) Greedy and fond of my own smart, And Captive to my misery, Love to behold those stars, and die. So passionately was this sung by Cardenio, and so deep an impression took it, in the heart of Silvia, that she resolved with herself not to return home, until she had had some discourse with the Author of those melodious complaints. Cardenio came forward, and seemed to be surprised himself with the suddenness of meeting her in that place: she at first drew back, as intending to behave herself toward him in a more reserved manner than she had done before Albanius informed her of her true Condition; but she was shaken in her resolution, when she saw him represented to her more full of Charms at that time, than ever; and so much the more, by how much the less possibility she saw of enjoying him: however, unavoidably they being met, she enquired of him (although though she knew full well, that it was he himself, who had lately been the Orpheus of those Woods, and that this Song was directed to her, having heard her name more than once repeated in it, and could willingly have been contented to have heard it many times iterated in so sweetly-mournful a Song) whether it were he that had but even now so pathetically related to the Woods his amorous complaints? He answered, that it was; and that the sorrows which he sustained through the cruelty of her whom he served, had forced him to express himself in that manner: Upon which words, Silvia offered to be gone, fearing to hear that which might cause a more than ordinary Vermilion to rise in her Cheeks, and so entangle herself more deeply in that from which she sought to fly: Cardenio with little ado detained her, assuring her that if she would but be pleased to hear what he had at present to say, it should be the utmost limit of her Favour that he would aspire to; and having obtained her Consent, he began in this manner: Had I thought, Silvia, that my Love would have offended you, either as being a disparagement, or any other way distasteful to you; Heaven knows, I would sooner with my own hands have ended this wretched life, than not to have put an end to the occasion of your displeasure: but presuming upon the confidence of a passion the most pure and innocent in the world, I did imagine that the discovery of it could not be capable to offend you: yet hitherto I have only taken the boldness to discharge my breast of those restless thoughts that encumbered it, only by communicating them to the friendly secret of these Trees, who I was sure would not divulge aught committed to their trust: Here I stood, as you see, singing and bewailing (two things alike incident to those that Love) and I conjecture that I have been overheard by you; therefore since I am discovered, let it not, I beseech you, trouble you, but consider how easily you may sustain the tediousness of being beloved, since I can pass through the torment of loving. That you will love me, Silvia, is a thing I dare not require; but beg of you, that you will not take it amiss that you are loved by me: For alas! my love is of so small a value, that I have scarce courage enough to persuade myself that I love you: and I shall comfort myself with this consideration, That if my love shall want the satisfaction of your Returns, it may at least be thought the more perfect, by continuing fervent without the hopes of recompense. Silvia's heart, formerly hardened with disdain, is now melted into pity by the moving Speech of Cardenio: fain she would have been gone, but had not power to go; but assisted with the spirit of no ordinary Woman, she put on a gallant resolution, and parted, with this rigorous Answer, That he could have done no more, if he had plainly told her, That he hated her. No sooner was she gone, but she was ready to weep that she had left him; grieved that she must fly from him, whom, of all the world, she most affected; and sorry that she had not been kept ignorant of the nobleness of her Family. Ah Cardenio (said she, oftentimes looking back) how willingly would I pay thee back the respect thou bearest me, were it not for blemishing the greatness of my Birth! O that I could obtain of Heaven, to ennoble thee with a Condition equal to myself! how willingly should I then sacrifice unto thee a heart, that is now scarce my own? These Complaints had measured out a pretty distance of way from him, but with such regret, that she was like to have made so bold with her modesty, as to have returned back to hearten him whom she left so disconsolate, with the evidence of more present Love, though smaller hopes of Love for the future. Cardenio, on the other side, would not turn back after her, for fear of adding to her discontent, thinking she had been indeed throughly displeased: his prudence made him distrustful; and by how much the more he loved, by so much the more he feared; and by how much the more he feared, so much the more he blinded himself with the opinion of Silvia's disfavour: but that which aggravated his hard hap the more, was, to consider, That the disguising his quality, did no whit avail to the altering of her resolution; for when he appeared in his right shape, a true Gentleman, she was altogether averse: and now that he had put on the Habit of a Country-Swain, she was as much offended, although he could have been contented for her sake, to had led his life perpetually in that obscure Equipage; and would willingly have renounced the greatness of his Birth, that he might have enjoyed his adored Siluìa. But to comfort him a little in these disasters, he met with an object somewhat sympathising with his own Condition; for observing the Trees which grew thereabout, among the rest, he chanced to cast his Eye upon one, of so russet a hue, and so naked of Leaves, that it appeared among the other Trees like one in disgrace, and as if Winter, banished from all the world beside, had there taken up her habitation. Seeing therefore he had lighted upon so fit a Companion of his Afflictions, with whom to communicate his griefs, he regardless, sung his misfortunes in this manner. 1. Unhappy Tree, who in thy greener years, Hast stood the shaken of many a winter's rage; Now thou art free from either hopes or fears Of sadder Fates to come, or these t' assuage. 2. Thou mightst have been the glory of this place, Had not the rigour of untimely Fate Robbed thy fair Branches of their verdant grace, And thee reduced to this despised estate. 3. Thou hast outlived thy hopes, which are expired; I linger out, and languish in despair: Thy Joys are past, and therefore not desired; But I the present scoffs of Fortune bear. 4. How willingly in this calamity, Yield I to act myself the chiefest part! And yet I have a kind of fear to die; As loath to be removed from this sweet smart. 5. To thee, that season which on every thing Except thee, smiles, is cruel and unkind; To me that cruel fair, who is my spring, More rigid is than the bleak Scythian wind, Or Winter's rugged blasts: yet do not I Think strange, since to be cruel, is her property. In the midst of these harmonious complaints, the night stole on, and Silvia with steadfast attention stood all this while at her window, watching to see if Cardenio would appear; which he did not, till having retired himself to his Chamber, he had changed his Country-Habit, and instead thereof, put on the most rich and splendid Garment of all those he brought along with him, in reserence to whatever occasion might emerge: thus attired he came, when all others were buried in night and silence, toward the Mansion of his cruel Silvia; who, what with the extremity of the seasons heat, and the restlessness of her thoughts, could not prevail with sleep to take possession of her eyes, that so her mind might for a while have been diverted from those cares wherein it was involved. Cardenio drew near, resolving to try a second change, to see if the altering his Apparel for the better, would bring the like alteration to his Fortune. Silvia all this while was standing at her window; and seeing him on a sudden not to come forward, until he had by a sign signified his desire to speak; She straight consulted with her honour how she were best to demean herself toward his request with the safety of her modesty and civility: which that she might the more securely deliberate, she was about to have shut the Casement, but was prevented by Cardenio, who besought her not fear that a few words from him (her attention to which, would be but little loss of time) could have power to convert her from that obdurate rigour wherein she was resolved to persist: and without expecting her Answer, that he might not let slip the occasion which offered itself, he continued his Speech in this manner: I am (said he) fair Shepherdess, a Gentleman, who not leng since passing through this place, chanced to espy that excellent beauty of yours, which made you in my Opinion, scarce descend to be a mortal Woman. But I would I had been born without eyes, that I might have been excused from the sight of that beauty which hath rohed me of my repose, and the serenity of my life: my greatest unhappiness was, for that having once seen you, I was pressed with an eager desire of seeing you again; for what greater misfortune can there be, than by a fatal constraint to chain one's Affection to a person, who returns nothing but Coldness and Disdain? returning back to gaze on those Eyes which were the source of my Afflictions, I found out a means, with much ado, to come to your sight and speech; but I was entertained with such a frozen indifferency, that my despair was without bounds or respite; yet I endeavoured to suppress the impetuosity of my flames, by frequenting the delightful divertisements of the Court; and I had surely done it, had you been less fair, or that fairness less predominant over my soul: but finding it impossible, ever to forget the charms of those fatal looks which have enthralled my reason and my quiet with indissolvable fetters; I could not be at rest till I returned to the place where I lost my Liberty, intending to make trial whether I might not be so much the better accepted, by how much the more immediately, and with the greater observance I applied myself to your compassion; putting myself in hope, that if I did not find love, I should at least find a favourable respect toward the sincerity of so devoted a heart. And now I attend the doom that I must trust to, from your own mouth; and however it prove, whether contrary to what I exsect, or not, it will yet be pleasure to me, to be convinced that I was destined to become yours, although I have not merited to have the Honour to own you for mine. Silvia harkened the more attentively, to see if by the listening to the words of her seeming new Servant, she could forget Cardenio fancied in his old shape: But as it oft happeneth, that a Lover takes a special liking to the very actions of the person loved; so she calling to remembrance the manner of his garb as she fancied it in his other habit, would needs dislike the address he made in this; as if the alteration of his Attire, had changed the Fashion of his Voice or Action. 'Tis strange to see how humorous the passions of Lovers are: Cardenio is he, who the night before parleyed with her, and was inwardly favoured; and the selfsame Cardenio, but even now, a Supplieant at her Feet, and is rejected: then a Villager, and meanly clad; now a Gentleman, & having on such Apparel as well beseemed him that might presume to be her Servant. Who would have thought, that she should now dislike him, when she had neither his unworthiness, nor any other crime to object against him? Miraculous is the mystery of Love; wherein nothing, be it never so commendable, is liked in a person disfavoured; but in a loved object, all Errors are dispensed with. When he was plain Cardenio, the homely Weeds he went in, robbed him of his Gentility, and by consequence of her Favour: and now that his rich Attire discovered him a Gentleman, and one deserving her Affection; the cause of his was, that he seemed transformed from Cardenio to another man: and this seeming alteration in him, had a greater ascendent upon her mind, than one would have thought possible; so that in fine, making that the cause of her disgust, which ought to have been her chiefest satisfaction, she gave him this resolute Answer, That he need not trouble himself any further about her; for that, besides the disproportion of his Estate to hers, he was to consider the nature of the place; in which, being but a small Village, curiosity and slanderous tongues abounded; every action, though with never so much integrity done, would be liable to the grossest censure, and the effects of honest Love imputed to lasciviousness: but that which most of all debarred him of all hopes of enjoying her, was, that she had already parted with the right of disposing of her own affections, which she had long since engaged; and, that two several Loves ought not to harbour in one honest breast: therefore she desired him to pardon her; and that if he loved her so truly as he professed, he would show it by not coming again into those places where she used to be, lest is should be taken notice of, to the calling her Fame in question: and so bidding him farewel, she shut the Window. Cardenio remained so bitterly stung with this cruel Reply, that he began almost to wish, that he had received his doom sooner, that he might by this time have made an end of dying; thinking it more tolerable than his present state; wherein, having so long lingered out his life in false hopes, he was now to begin to die; he grieved, not only that she was so averse from loving him, but that the pawning of her affections to another, was the cause she treated him so rigorously; and, as if his rich Habit had been the sole cause of his Grievances, he tore it to pieces, resolving to do penance in Rags for his Offences, although committed through error: he cursed his evil Fortune, and wished earnestly to be disburdened of his wretched life, since in a manner he was already slain by the cruelty of Silvia, that he lived but to the sense of his Miseries, but was dead to all hopes: and seeing, that all the avenues to her pity were shut against him, that to all his Prayers she was a Rock, because she was uncivil and void of courtesy, not to be pleased with the most obsequious Services, because she took a pride in being ungrateful; with bravery of Apparel unmoved, as wanting courtly breeding; despising a homely garb, out of high-mindedness; denying her heart to him, whose faith & constancy gave him a just pretention to it, because she pretended that it was else where bestowed: He bethought himself, that jealousy hath ofttimes wrought miracles in the most wavering & obdurate minds, since a Woman is ever most apt to love being slighted, and to slight when she is loved; and took on a resolution, since his Truth and Simplicity so little availed, to betake himself to Subtlety, as his last Refuge; purposing to try if he could discover, who this fortunate Lover should be, that deserved to have the sole possession of Silvia's heart: to effect which, an opportunity was soon offered. There dwelled in the Neighbourhood a young Shepherdess of a sprightly air, gentily educated, rich, and not of the meanest Quality; she having observed the compleatness of Cardenio, was many times so large in the Character of his worth, that it being reported to him, gave him sufficient assurance, that it would have been no very hard matter for him to have obtained her Love: so that Cardenio began not obscurely to declare himself her Lover. She, proud to be courted by him, counted herself happy in being thought worthy of his observance. In his Letters he pretended much Love; but because it was feigned, he managed his Expressions warily; and her Answers, though somewhat cunningly and coily framed, were yet courteous, and far from giving him any denial. Silvia in the mean time, who had been so severe to herself, as to banish from herself that person whom she held so dear, purchased with the price of her health, the loss of that which she esteemed more than her health; so really did she love, so really did she feign not to love; and was strangely divided within herself, between this one, yet divided, passion; consulting whether it were best to adhere to her real Love, or to turn her feigned hatred into real. When she looked upon herself as Noble, she could not endure to think of staining her Honour with the mixture of an ignoble Blood: when she looked upon Cardenio as greatly meriting, she thought it impossible to draw out her poor Pilgrimage of Life without him. In this plight, remained the unfortunately fair Silvia, wavering in her mind between not daring to love him, and not having the heart to resolve to slight him; when suddenly, the unwelcome fame of her Lovers changed Affection arrived to her Ears; which struck such an amazement into her heart, being careless of any other felicity than the enjoyment of Cardenio, (though but in imagination) that her life had like to have forsaken her, at the same instant that her jealousy possessed her: one while she intended to punish his neglect, by changing her love into hatred; but was not able to put in practice her design: for Love, although it be not easily produced without the consent of our wills; yet being once sprung up in the heart, and grown to maturity, it lieth not in our wills to remove it: another while, by coming where he might see her, to bring him to see his error; but that she durst not, lest he professing love to another, her reputation might have suffered by it: in fine, she held it best to conceal, as much as she could, those torments, which the violence of her jealousy made her endure; although it would have been a great ease to her mind to have discovered them; whereas to keep them smothered in her breast, added much to the extremity of her anguish. One evening, a cool fresh gale of wind invited her to walk forth into the Fields; and the rather, as being desirous to breath forth her grievances to those quiet solitudes, and to communicate her sad thoughts to the pitiful Birds; wishing they were endued with articulate voice, that they might relate to Cardenio what she suffered; when casting her eyes toward the skirts of a little Hill which served as a stately Crown to the bordering Plain, she saw three men most injuriously set against the Life of one Person; who notwithstanding gallantly defended himself; and recollecting all his Courage together, he made a shift, what with the puissance of his blows, and what with the advantage of place which he gained, and the skill wherewith he managed his Weapon, to keep off that approaching Fate wherewith the dangerousness of that assault threatened him: and to befriend him with her shades, the night came on so fast, that, partly having the darkness of their fact represented before them through the horror of the night's darkness; partly being sore wounded by the valour of their Adversary, they fled away, leaving him as they thought dead, or with small hopes of Life. Silvia came nigh, and saw clasped in the Arms of a fair Shepherdess, this undaunted Combatant; who weltering in his own Blood, gave to understand by the ghastliness of his look, that he wanted but little of yielding himself up to death. Silvia being about to have demanded of them the reason of this tragical accident; first observing the Maid, well perceived, that it was her Corrival, and the Author of her Jealousies; and afterward, looking intently upon the wounded man, knew him to be her false Lover, her revolted Cardenio: so grievous was the sight unto her, so deeply did it strike her heart, that she could almost have wished that his Soul would quite forsake its unfaithful Mansion, both that she might be free from the pain of her tormenting Jealousy; and that he might cease to be, since he ceased to be constant; but leaving it to the will of Heaven, she suppressed her distemper as well as she could, and condescended to ask the enemy of her quiet, what was the cause of that tragical mischance? Who Answered with a troubled mind, and weeping, That Cardenio, whom she passionately loved above all men, standing by her under the shade of those Trees, had been assaulted by a man more fortunate in Riches than well descended, who repining at the good success of his love, being perhaps himself a Corrival, thought it a shame to suffer one that was a mere stranger in that country, to go so much beyond him in the opinion of all men, and to be an obstacle to him in the course of his Love; therefore he sought all opportunities to work his mischief; and this night he found a means to put in practice his cursed treachery: for seeing us walk forth to take the Air, he followed privately, accompanied with two others, chosen for such a villainous intent; and when we least dreamed of any such superchery attending us, they all Three set upon him in that cruel manner; and, though I interposed myself, to shield him from the fury of their Blows, have left his life in that danger, wherein ye see it. Silvia dissembling her ill resentment of the injury done her, (although her heart was ready to burst with sorrow and vexation) advised the disconsolate Maid, That it was necessary to have recourse forthwith to Justice, to accuse the Authors of that villainy, and to demand satisfaction for so insufferable a wrong, and to take some course for the dressing of his Wounds; remaining there in the mean while herself alone, and yet accompanied with a thousand sad thoughts: on the one side, her jealous rage instigated her to wish his death, without whom she could not live: on the other side, her love and compassion moved her to pity his sufferings; her love prevailing more to make her heart tender, than her rage to harden it. Cardenio listing up his eyes, beheld Silvia not far off; and seeing himself free from the embraces of her, for whose sake he had undergone this bloody Adventure, began to thank the cruelty of his Enemies, thinking that Silvia was invited thither by pity; having forgotten, at least in that moment of time, her natural severity: but when he remembered himself, that his Apostasy was known to her, how secret soever she kept it, he then prayed that his wounds might prove so mortal, as to cause his speedy deliverance from his loathed Life, and all those Calamities that attended it: but seeing, that that great effusion of blood from a wound in his head only, his other parts being protected by a stiff Leather Jerkin, which he wore under his disgune, availed not to free him from his miserable Life so soon as he desired, he vowed to be avenged on those Assassinates for leaving him alive; imputing it to their malicious intentions to procure his dying by degrees, that so he might linger out his Life in that tormenting disquiet of mind, which arose from his being discovered to Silvia; who, after she was satisfied, that those Vermilion streams gushed only from the wound in his head; and, that that was not so dangerous neither, as was imagined (although had it been less, such was her Love and pity to him, it would deeply have pierced her heart) she wiped off with her hand some of the congealed Blood that stuck upon his Face; and binding up that part of the head from whence the Blood issued, with a linen cloth, questioned him concerning this Adventure; telling him, She admired how having so fair a Creature by his side, he could possibly receive any harm, were the opposition never so great; and, that if she had seen her Lover in the like danger, she would have so bestirred herself, that his Enemies should either have left him without hurt, or first tried upon her the goodness of their Swords; which if they had sheathed in her breast, she should have esteemed it rather a Favour than an Injury, since she would have been freed thereby from becoming a spectator of her Lover's harm. It was to Cardenio a thing both strange and unexpected, that Silvia should be sensible of his suffering; & made him a little revive his languishing hopes, as knowing that Compassion is oft the Harbinger of Love; and, that there is no Love so sure, as that which springs from pity and to confirm the Truth of his Persuasion, he repeated to her the same Story, which she so lately received from the mouth of the amorous Shepherdess; although it is otherwise resented by Silvia, being the second time told, than it was at first; the force of jealousy being most impetuous, when it is first conceived; and her Spirit was somewhat the more pacified, after he had so solemnly protested, That he was not in love with the fair Shepherdess whom she saw, nor had made her any other requital of the Affection she conceived toward him, than by general demonstrations of Civility. For should he have professed to love her, it might perhaps have proved as much to his disadvantage, as it redounded to his Credit that he was beloved by her; it happening, that although many Women by how much the more they are disdained, themore earnestly they love; yet others quite contrary, the more they are slighted, the colder they grow in their Affections. Silvia preceiving, that if she should not now at length disclose her mind to Cardenio, it might urge him to go on in his new love; she thought it best to make use of the time, while there was no Company to disturb her; forcing herself to a feigned laughter, (for had tears been needful, it had been needless to feign) she began in this manner: I swear to you, Cardenio, I cannot but be moved to Laughter, as oft as I consider how strangely the Opinions of Men do vary and contradict themselves, in a short space; and, that being naturally unfixed in your resolutions, & born with unconstant minds, ye can have the face to be always accusing our Sex of that inconstancy which is proper to yourselves only, haply some women may justly have been charged with inconstancy; but still there hath been found on your parts a sufficient cause to incite them to it: so that this defect ariseth not from their own instability, but the provocations of Men. What blame can she be obnoxious to, who, either injured in the point of Honour, or by whatever miscarriage else offended, toward a false Pretender of Service, should strive to forget all Respect intended to such a Man? How finely had I been served, had I, out of a fond credulity presently submitted to your feigned Adoration? Or suppose some over-sensible Lady, overcome by the prevalency of her Love, and the extreme importunity of her Lovers Tears, admits him to the highest place of her esteem; and he having obtained what he so earnestly sought for, makes himself absolute Master of her Heart, till satisfied with the easy fruition of her Favours, he grow weary of them, and fall in love with the next Beauty he meets; and, which is worse, never desists, till by making his perfidious deal apparent to her, he kills her with the sense of her own unhappiness: I would fain know, Cardenio; may not this Woman be held excused, if she prove inconstant to him? It seems we are obliged to suffer all vexations whatsoever at your hands, and not so much as offer to be revenged for them; and yourselves not bound to be touched with the least shame for those injuries you do us: you think the advantage of Wit, which you arrogate to yourselves above our Sex, was given you on purpose to delude us; and our less Prudence belike is allowed us, only that we may be wise enough to bear with your failings: if not, tell me, I conjure you, by that Respect which you once seemed to owe me, and by the Beauty of that Maid that loves you so entirely, and could so easily consent to sit, and look on, while you were in such danger of being slain; How could you so easily forget those passionate pretensions, which you offered to me with so much zeal and devotion? Did you not call to mind, how a few days since, I saw you pitifully complaining, and recounting to the woods, whether your real passions, or your forgeries, I know not? And afterwards, did you not with great aggravation of your griefs, urge how much you had endured for my sake; and, that the Torments and restless Agitations of your Spirit, were all the effects of my unkindness? Moreover, did you not make serious Protestations to me, That should your life out-dure many Ages, it would never be within your power to desist from loving me? How happens it, if this be true, (as you are conscious to yourself it is, and these very Trees can witness it) That I found you even now encircled in the Arms of a new Mistress, whose love you may highly prise, since it hath been valued at the dear rate of so much blood. Tell me, Cardenio, upon these terms, what confidence is to be reposed in Men that profess never so much Love and Fidelity? Or, what could you have done more, if after the highest demonstratitions I could have given you of my Love, you had been forsaken of me? Must you make such haste to discover to me the falseness of your Faith, even before you had received the least assurance of a favourable reception from me? are you so soon tired with those Supplications which you so lately vowed should never have an end? Perhaps you suppossest yourself at Court, where between to request, and to grant, there is little or no interval, unless it be sometimes the want of opportunity: or it may be you did imagine me to be some Woman light of behaviour; expecting, that I should have rendered myself up to your first deceits, (for I know not under what other title your words should pass) or if you have not entertained altogether so sinister a conceit of me, could you have found in your heart, (if, as it is possible I might, (although it hath happened otherwise) being surprised with the charms of your person or mind, I had offered myself up a Victim to your impostures) to charge me with any blame, had I sought to right myself for this injury, in publishing you to the world a perfidious, unthankful, and disloyal Man? Be assured, Cardenio, that to offer any indignities to Ladies of honour and esteem, is unsafe; for as they are always deeply affected with the sense of received injuries, so they are apt to retaliate them, with a severity void of pity or moderation: as for me, (since through the conduct of my good fortune, I have evaded the snares of your false pretensions, through which I might have suffered many inconveniences, and which perhaps might have beguiled the credulity of many an innocent Maid) I shall advise you to consider, since you take yourself to be so discreet, that it behoved you to have less confidence in your merits, and not to conceive you self arrived to that perfection, as to be able to subdue the affections of every woman you have to deal with: there are many defects in you, which you yourself know not of, because you look upon yourself only through the mirror of your own Fancy. She ended her Discourse with an action that signified much disdain; but yet so gracefully she did it, that Cardenio was infinitely charmed with that which extremely troubled him: yet his heart was somewhat lightened, to see that Silvia, although she had not declared her love to him, (for the sharpness of her expressions forbidden him to hope a thing so much tending to his content and happiness) yet had condescended to so large an expostulation with him; and the better to satisfy her of his untainted fidelity towards her, and to let her understand, that she had been the only Author of his inconstancy, he made her this Reply: Upon what ground it is, Silvia, that you so confidently aver an Universal fickleness & ingratitude to be in all men, I know not, unless because I seem to you to be such a one, you thence infer that all men are so. but Heaven knows, you maintain an Argument, very difficult to be proved. There are many things to be Disputed, ere your Opinion will gain belief. It is true, I was seen by you making my Complaints, and relating my Grievances to these Woods; and how well am I repaid for being so observant, even to a kind of deifying of you, I have now to my sorrow understood: but that ever I had a thought to relinquish or forget my first Love, so firmly devoted to you; I must both needs deny it, nor is it a thing likely to have been, whatever your suspicions may suggest into your mind; and I shall be very unhappy, until you shall become sensible how much this confidence hath hitherto deceived you: and I would to Heaven, fair Silvia, since both to you it seems so indifferent, and to me it would have been a means whereby the restless intranquillities of my mind might have been somewhat allayed, that what you imagined had been true. You tell me, You are very glad, (and seem to applaud your own Prudence in it) that you consented neither to Credit nor to Love me, since you now perceive how ill requited you should have been; and that you would have had just cause to repent you of your Favours. Ah injurious Woman! what just cause can you have to traduce the sincerity of my Love in such sort as you do? Grant that I am inconstant, ought you not in charity to judge that I do it for the best, lest in case your inclination be placed elsewhere, you should be offended with my solicitations? I know, Silvia, that you love; I know that the pains of an amorous passion sit heavy on your heart, and that from a very good Authority; for there be who heard it from your own mouth. Seems it then, so great a crime in me, to seek to allay the violence of my flames, and trifle away the tediousness of time by the diversion of a counterfeit Love? Since I am denied the satisfaction of your real Love, I cannot comprehend, how you should be taken with such a qualm of pity, for a little Wound in my Head, having in the mean while the Heart to bring my Life into danger, with a thousand more mortal Wounds. Was it not enough, Silvia, that I loved you without being requited? Was it not enough, that I was rejected by you? but that your Cruelty must needs mock me with an imputation of inconstancy; yourself in the mean time continuing inflexible to a Passion the most pure and constant that any heart could be capable of: consider with yourself, how gloriously you have done, by compelling me to languish out my sorrowful minutes in a despair, which nothing but my Death can terminate. Seeing therefore, it imports so little with you, whether I love you or no, suffer me to try, if by being able to forget you, I can triumph over my own Memory. Silvia very diligently (though somewhat disturbed at what he said) harkened to Cardenio's words; and going about to vindicate herself from that inhumanity, which her severe Behaviour toward him had caused in him to apprehend in her, she was interrupted by a sudden refort of people thither, who hearing of that unhappy Accident, came to inform themselves of the certainty of it: drawing near, and viewing the Wound, they were glad when they saw it was not mortal (nothing so much retarding his Recovery, as the want of Blood) and returned back to the Village with him, where his mishap was universally bewailed; so well his complaisant & civil demeanour had made him beloved among them: nor could the Jealousy and Envy of a few, who had neither regard to Pity, Reason, or Civility, be able to remove that good Esteem, so generally conceived of him. His Weakness forced him to keep his Bed for some few days in which time, he was carefully and tenderly looked to by Silvia; and apprehended with much Joy and Pleasure, the many Favours which she conferred upon him; for which, to show himself thankful, and confirm them the more sure unto him, he did that which he knew would be acceptable to her. He wrote unto the Country-Maid, through whose means his Love had been for a while withdrawn from Silvia, telling her, That for his part, he was in that place rather a Stranger than a Native; that although it were the place where his Infant-yeers were spent, yet long absence had made him to become a Stranger; and that it was not convenient for him to do any thing that might disoblige those with whom he was to lead the remainder of his Life; for that, as he came thither only to see his Friends, so he intended not there to continue. In fine, with these and the like pretences he disengaged himself from her; giving her clearly to understand, that he meant no longer to apply himself to her in the way of love. Silvia received much joy and satisfaction from this resolution of Cardenio; and sent by a Maid of the House in whom she reposed trust, to tell him, That as soon as he found himself in a condition to come abroad, she desired to see him, having many things to impart to him, which perhaps he would not be unwilling to be made acquainted with. Cardenio counted every Hour an Age, earnestly expecting that happy Day, wherein he should have the opportunity to discover his mind freely to her, and to prevail with her not to hold him in suspense any longer. Silvia on the other side prayed hearty for his amendment; being fully resolved, at their next meeting, to treat him less disdainfully and more obligingly than heretofore; for that now the Love of him had so absolute an empire in her heart, that she resolved with herself, in case her Parents should oppose her choice, as thinking it a match too much beneath her, utterly to relinquish the Wealth and Grandeur of her own condition, and to live with him, though in the most obscure equipage: since no advancement or worldly interest had so powerful a consideration with her, as her love of Cardenio. One night among the rest, while the good old man, Albanius, having heard of the correspondency between her and Cardenio, was beginning to reprove her, as if she had not sufficiently given credit to what he had made known to her concerning her Quality; there came to the door a man, who inquired for Albanius, saying, That a Gentleman without desired to speak with him. Albanius went down; Silvia in the mean time musing with herself about the resolution she had taken in the behalf of Cardenio: as he was going towards the Gate, to see who enquired for him, there met him a Lady of a handsome proportion, and gentile presence, whom more by signs than her words, he understood to be the Mother of Silvia; who plainly appearing to have inherited her Beauty, it was no difficult matter for him who had seen Silvia, to discern this Lady to be her Mother: as she was expressing her great Obligements to him by a thousand civil Compliments, came in her Husband, who greatly desiring to see his Daughter, spent not the time in many Ceremonies, but entreated him forthwith to bring him to the place where she was. So they all went up stayrs together, where they found Silvia alone, and startled at their sudden surprising of her: after that with many expressions of tenderness and affections on both sides, and after they had solemnised with a great deal of Joy and Contentment, (and not without some Admiration) their being so happily met together, and so unexpectedly; and testified with infinite thanks, and large promises, their great obligations to Albanio, for his eminent Humanity and Faithfulness: the mother of Silvia related to him the most remarkable things that had befallen her since she parted from him; telling him, that after she was returned to her friends, there happened a disaster, which, for some years' space, deprived her of the satisfaction of her husband's society otherwise then by the mediation of Letters: for he having killed a Gentleman in Salamanca, one of the most principal of that place, was forced to retire himself to a remote place, where he might be out of the reach of Justice, until such time as his Majesty should be pleased to grant him a Pardon: the time of his banishment being expired, he returned home to his Country and Friends, where he lived in great honour and esteem, wanting neither riches, nor any other contentment, but the society of her, without whom all other comforts were but distasteful; therefore, making known his resolution to his friends, he came with all speed to Granada, to see if my parents, having by this time remitted any thing of their rigorous humours, would at length consent that I should be married to him; but found nothing abated of their wont severity. We seeing them still so obstinately bend, resolved to steal away privately, one night, out of Granada, and to betake ourselves to Madrid, where we might undisturbed live together; and to call here by the way, to take our daughter along with us. Albanio, though he was somewhat unwilling to part with her, esteeming her, for the many virtuous qualities she possessed, as dearly, as if she had been his own daughter; yet seeing that there was no remeary, he told them, That whenever they pleased, he was ready to resign up his interest in her to them. They answered, that in regard the longer they stayed there, the greater their danger would be, in case her Parents, missing her, should send after them, to bring them back; it would be necessary to make as little delay as might be, and therefore desired that Silvia might be ready to take her journey with them the next morning by break of day. This unexpected news of the necessity of her so sudden departure, affected Silvia in such sort, as that she wished Heaven had been so to her, as that she might have been born to no other condition than that wherein she had lived all this while; since the advancement of her Fortune tended to no less a prejudice to her, than the depriving her of him whom she loved above all the world; constraining them to live so far apart, that her eyes should henceforth be debarred the dearest object of their sight. She laboured all that in her lay, to get repealed the rigorous sentence which was determined of her; sometimes persuading their abode there, sometimes framing an excuse that she might be left behind: but it little availed her; for her father and mother were induced to persist in their determination, both by fear and love: fear, lest if they should be pursued, their stay there might cause them to be taken; love, which suffered them not to leave her behind, for whom they had so tender an affection. So that, with a kind of unwilling consent, she at last submitted to the pleasure of her parents: and when the very time of parting came, she, all drowned in tears, and with a heart overwhelmed in grief, took her leave of Albanio; entreating him, in the presence of that maid she relied so much in, and made the confident of all her counsels, That out of the respect he always bore her, he would certify Cardenio of the unexpected occasion of her sudden departure from thence, without so much as bidding him Farewell. Albanio, although seriously taking upon him the trust of this Injunction, and conjured by all the ties of Friendship, besides his solemn promise, which in truth was made, only to content her, and dismiss her with the greater consolation and serenity of mind; yet when he considered, that to perform this message, was a thing, however pleasing to her humour, yet conducing to her disparagement; he judged it a friendly part in him to omit it. Silvia, (though accompanied with so near Relations) while she was upon her Journey toward Madrid, you may imagine in a most dejected posture, her eyes overshadowed with a melancholy so obscure, as nothing but the sadness of her mind could equal; each step she went, she thought upon him who was the Soul of her Thoughts; and as oft as she looked back, persuaded herself she saw him who was far enough off from her real sight: but when her second Thoughts, like a true friend, dealt really with her, and undeceived her Fancy, she began to be angry with her first Imagination, for deluding her with false appearances. In this juncture of time, was the mind of Cardenio agitated with a thousand disquiet Thoughts, when he perceived, after his being recovered, and well able to walk abroad, Silvia so regardless of the Meeting, which she herself had appointed, to talk with him, as she sent him word, about many things that concerned him, which by this time was more than expired; he had not long remained in this suspense, when it was murmured abroad, That she was missing in her Father's house, (for so was Albanio reputed) and that she was privately gone away with one who had lately professed love unto her: so usual a thing it is with the vulgar, to report things otherwise than they really are, both by perverting the truth itself, and by adding a hundred Fictions of their own unto it. Cardenio yet considered, That to have lent too easy a belief to the rash surmises of the multitude, had been unworthy the Favours he received from Silvia; and that to conclude ill of any Woman from a slight information only, was to accuse her in point of Honour, and to show but a slender Opinion of her Virtue: but when he saw that what was lately but whispered abroad, was now become the general and loud talk of people; and had informed himself for a certain, That she was not at Albanio's house; he than gave in his Suffrage to the common voice of Fame; suspecting, that her appointing to meet him, at such a certain time, was no other than a mere colour, that she might have all that entire to herself, for the more close carriage of her dark design, in contriving a safe slight with the secret possessor of her beauty: he was restless in every place, complained to Heaven, called upon death, railed, not only against Silvia, but the whole Race of Womenkind; It happening frequently in suchlike passions, that the whole Sex bears both the blame and the curse of one Woman's miscarriage. Ah (said he, transported with fury) cruel Murderers, pitiless to those that love ye, kind to those that hate ye; who would not desire to live from among you, to be free from your insolences and deceits? I have always in my mind those words of Marcus Aurelius, where having occasion to speak of your exorbitancies, he breaks out into this exclamation: O Women! as oft as I call to remembrance that I had my being from you, I am out of conceit with life; and when I bethink me that I live among you, I long for death. Aurelius spoke discreetly, and like a Philosopher, and one that had experience; suffering at that time by the ingratitude of Faustina. Ye say that we are inconstant, and I believe it; not that we out of any voluntary choice of our own, are culpable herein; but it is conferred upon us by you, by reason of that infection we draw from you before we come into the world: Ye are always making Complaints, yet we always the offended party: as there is a hidden power in your eyes, which forceth men to pity; so your tears can always force credit to your dissimulations: when ye speak of all men in general, ye bespatter our Fames with some ignominious imputation; when of one man singly, he is sure to be flattered or traduced. Ah Silvia! inconstant and unchaste Silvia! did not I hear you one night so bitterly inveigh against all those that had any ignoble or unworthy intentions, that I was compelled to think Lucretia revived, or that another Penelope was come to live in the world? But I know too well, that this was spoken by you, only to gain a plausible esteem among men: for as it is incident to most, however vicious they be, to desire to be thought virtuous; so especially to Women, be they never so wavering, the opinion of Constancy is not unpleasing; they loving to be praised for that very good quality wherein they are most defective. But indeed it cannot be imagined, that you should recede from those qualities which are inherent to your Sex; yet with what confidence could you, so unconstant yourself, accuse me of fickleness, laying a kind of Obligation upon me to believe that no Woman was ever Criminally false? and indeed, who would have thought that your Love had not been very firm and secure to me, that had but seen, how much ado you had to forbear weeping through the force of your jealousy; if it were jealousy, and not much rather Envy? perhaps it grieved you to see me apply myself to another, not so much because you loved me, as because you could not endure that I should disesteem you. Oh ingrateful! how ill am I repaid for those tender Observances wherewith I have so often cast myself at your feet! For your sake did I abandon my Country, my Friends, the garb wherein I lived: For your sake did I confine myself to this solitary place; and degrading myself of the Honours of Court, that I might be advanced in your esteem, I condescended to live with you in a quality equal to what yours represented, and assumed the Habit of a Country-Swain: Methinks these Caresses were worthy to have been acknowledged, if not recompensed. But, Fool that I am, to require the mindfulness of Benefits, from a breast so utterly uncapable of being generous. Thus did the misdeeming Cardenio, complain him of the conceived falseness of his adored Silvia. But, had the truth been known, he had little reason; for she loved him with that zeal and fidelity, that there passed not a moment wherein he was not passionately remembered of her: She on the other side thinking herself forgotten of Cardenio (for mistakes are ever strongest at a distance) feared lest he was grown remiss and cool in that Love which he both pretended to her, and her Favours deserved from him. Albanio using often to go to Madrid, she one time demanded of him, Whether he had made Cardenio acquainted with her being there, and with those things she spoke to him at her departure? He, to stop the Current of her Affections toward him, Answered, that Yes: and that he had wearied himself with often ask, Whether he would come to see her? But that he, his thoughts being confounded in the labyrinth of a new Love, had scarce leisure to afford him an Answer. Silvia gave too facile a credit to Albanio's untruths; and being much prejudiced against Cardenio, she for his Crime, took sharp revenge of her own fair eyes, putting them to a vast expense of tears. This happened about that time when the Parents of Silvia were preparing to Celebrate their Nuptials; and she having changed her Shepherdess' state for the gaiety of a splendid Court, the lustre of her natural Beauty, was heightened with all the advantages that Art and Glory could add unto it; and had already subdued to her chains such Captives as might have tempted the constancy of any Lady less virtuous than herself. Cardenio having in vain long expected the performance of Silvia's Agreement, he resented with so much rage's her unfaithful breach of that performance, that he had not patience to expect any longer; so that accusing love for prompting him to such extravagancies, he quit his Shepherd's crook, and returned back to Madrid, to shine again in his own proper sphere of Gentilless and Gallantry. Not long after his return, chancing to walk out into a Meadow one evening, accompanied with one Gentleman only, his Friend, one that loved to quarrel in the night, and keep house in the daytime, they saw coming toward them a Lady, who, both by her being alone, and by the distraction of her walking, gave them to suspect, that some discontent or other disquieted her mind. She had upon her head a Lion-coloured silken Veil, which cast so great an umbrage over her, that it could not be discerned who she was; but the Skirt of her Gown overlayed with a costly imbroydery, induced them to think that she was a Lady, if not of highest rank, yet at least of no mean degree: & coming toward her, they assured her, That if ought lay in them wherein they could serve her, she might command it. That you would both of you be pleased (answered the Lady) to follow me, I entreat, not command: It concerns me (said she) to be avenged in the highest measure upon a man who hath offered so notorious a disgrace, that it is enough to make me the subject of the World's laughter; nor can I be at quiet, till this injury be rated at the price of his blood. They led her between them, and walked several rounds about the Meadow; but could not find the Man they looked for. As they were returning homewards, a Coach which stayed at the Monastery of Espiritu sancto, wherein there were four Gentlemen, and four Musicians singing very loud in parts, caused them to stay their course; and that they might the more commodiously hear the Music, they seated themselves upon the steps of the Church. After the Music had ceased, and the Coachman had driven as far as the Fountains of St. Jeronimo, one of the Gallants within, chancing to spy the Lady, bid him, Stay his Coach; and alighting, made toward the Lady, to see who she was: Cardenio swelling with anger, withheld him from seeing her, saying, That such a kind of rudeness was not allowed of at Court. I esteem myself (answered the Gentleman) not so illbred, nor so little a Courtier, as to have need of your advice how to behave myself; but Love, especially backed with Jealousy, stands not upon nice punctilloes. The Lady in your company (said he) is mine; and though taking some distaste at me, she seem to forsake me, yet I claim her as my own. All that I am to take notice of, (replied Cardenio) is, That she is at this time in my power, and cast herself upon my protection; therefore it concerns me to defend her from the violence of whoever shall pretend any right unto her. Thus there passed many Replies from one side to the other; and the Gallants within the Coach somewhat the more confident, because of their greater number, were not sparing in their taunts and jeers. Cardenio and his Friend disdained to put up such sharp affronts; and thinking it surer with Swords than words to decide the Controversy, began to draw upon them. Of the two that Cardenio had to deal with, one, after a short dispute, fell down at his feet, crying out that he was slain. No sooner was it perceived that he was dispatched, but all the rest of them fled away, cautious of the danger that might ensue, if the Law of Duel should be infringed; which was, that as soon as any one man fell, the rest should desist from farther violence, and retreat: Cardenio, only that he might not render himself suspected, made no extraordinary haste away; but leaving that street where the Quarrel was managed, took sanctuary in the next house he saw open; desiring the Favour of those within, That he might there rest himself secure from the malice of some that sought his mischief. A Servant of the house, who had been an eyewitness how valiantly he behaved himself in the Combat, led him to an innermost Chamber, (at one end of which, there was a Door which oped into the Room where his Master and Mistress used to be) where he might remain concealed from the search of Justice, in case he were pursued. Leaving him there, and promising to afford him all the assistance he could, he locked the Chamber-door upon him, and went forth to see if he could gather, by learning out how the Report went of it about the Town, what this issue of the Fray was likely to prove; that according as he heard of it, he might the better know how to advise him for his safety. Meanwhile Cardenio, left all alone and pensive, in an unknown obscure place, had leisure to contemplate upon his adverse Fortune, and the mischances that every moment attended him; but more especially, he reflected upon the many troubles and inconveniencies which Silvia's unfaithfulness had cost him: and being about to counsel himself to forget the love that was so fruitless, and had been so prejudicial to him; he heard from the next room the delicate sound of a Woman's shrill Complaints, which interstoped with many a heavy sigh and groan, argued her the subject of some unspeakable grief: His curiosity to know what it was, gave a breathing place to his own sad thoughts, and made him deeply attentive to what she said. Ay me (said she) what hath this poor beauty of mine (if it be such as may deserve that name) profited me? or rather, how much hath it not injured me, by betraying my heart to him that is so ungrateful, and treats me with so little respect? To what end have I so long gloriously resisted his powerful entreaties & inveiglements, when in the end I could not forbear surrendering myself to him who hath so ill requited me? What hath it availed me to dissemble all this while the ardency of my love to him, since at length I am come off with the shame of yielding myself so quickly, and love without the recompense of bring loved again. Oh Cardenio! who would have thought, That that Woman who dispraised thee more justly than she herself imagined, should so easily yield herself a prey to thy false allurements? to persuade, thou art very Eloquent; but how to show Gratitude. altogether inexpert; thy Words speak thee Noble, thy Deeds act a Clown. Cardenio, to hear his name mentioned in a strange place, was much amazed: yet he imagined that haply some other bearing his Name, though not his Fortune, might have been the occasion of this complaint. By this time the Servant was returned, assuring him, that he was now at liberty to go where he pleased: Justice being satisfied with the imprisonment of one of the Adversaries. Cardenio gratifying the man with the expressions of real Thanks for what he had done, and the reward of some Crowns; demanded the Name of him he served? The Servant told him. It was a Gentleman that came hither to be Married to a Lady, whom since he first loved, there are many years now past, as appears by that sweet Pledge which they have brought along with them; a fair Daughter, born in the infancy of their Love, not above three leagues from Court, who till now, hath in a mean Village always lived obscure, and under the notion of a plain Country-Shepherdesse, until such time as her Parents might with safety own her. These things Cardenio hear, as it were transported out of himself with wonder, to observe the strange Story of Silvia's Fortune; and turning to the Servant, he said, Without doubt, this is the same Lady that I heard so tenderly complaining to herself but even now. IT is most likely to be her, (the Servant replied:) for ever since she came to the City, she bathe been noted for her excessive sadness; eft breaking forth into such violent passions of grief, that it is by most conceived, her melancholy ariseth from some strong affection left behind her, which yet aetains her heart at Pinto: and although she created a belief in most, that her perplexity was for the absence of those shepherdesses, her companions, whom her long conversation with them, had very much endeared to her affection; yet I, for my part, have some ground to think otherwise, because many times I have heard her bitterly complaining of one whom she calls Cardenio: therefore I presume it is not her love only of her absent companions, that occasions this melancholy. It was a Task sufficient for Cardenio, to suppress that excessive Joy he conceived, hearing those happy tidings: but discreetly concealing it, he entreated the man that he would, if it were possible, bear this Message from him to the Lady, That a Gentleman who was an intimate Friend to Cardenio, humbly desired her she would be pleased to give way that he might see her, and present her with a Letter from him. The Servant, though at first somewhat cautious to attempt the carrying of that Message to his Lady; yet obliged by Cardenio's Gifts, and knowing that whatever strangeness she might dissemble at first, she would quickly be persuaded to come to the speech of her Lover, went confidently to Silvia, (who was now called Donna Violanta) and delivered his Errand to her. Silvia was a little amazed; and the Conflict between her Love and Honour, bred some Demurs: but incited by the unresistable force of Love, she resolved to venture; and causing the door to be oped, she came into the Chamber to him. Great was the Astonishment on both sides, when they beheld one another in habits so different from those wherein they were seen of one another last: you would have thought they had felt the power of Medusa's head, and were become Marble with admiring. Silvia was inwardly overjoyed, that she had in her presence him whom she had given over for lost: but his changed apparel would scarce permit her to give credit to her own eyes. Cardenio, on the other side, seeing her so differently attired, could not tell what to think of it. As for Silvia, she imagined, that without doubt, Cardenio having learned the certainty of her quality, lest his supposed disparity should cause her to forgo her love, had assumed to himself this Gentile garb; and so began largely to insist how vain a thing it was to be taken with outward appearances; saying, that to go in obscure or splendid Apparel, availed little, either to the confirming or infringing of a well-grounded affection: and she did not so much a mean habit, as she prized a rich mind; neither was a Rural courtship so unpleasing to her, as a Courtly and Civil deportment was pleasing: nor did she think it a shame for her to confess, that she would sooner choose to love that man who was but of an obscure quality, and constant, than the most accomplished Gallant, and perfidious. And thinking to take revenge on him for his forgetfulness, she continued her discourse somewhat sharply, saying, That since his meanness not so much dishonoured her, as his unfaithfulness offended her, she was not so greatly incensed toward him for being inferior to her in condition, as because she saw him not correspondent to her in firmness and sincerity of affection: however, in this, she comforted herself, That she hoped she should be able rather to endure and conceal her afflictions, nay even to die, than to suffer herself any more to be inclinable to his false pretensions; the experience of whose Ingratitude, might be a sufficient warning to her. More she had said, would her passion have given her leave: but what she left unspoken, her eyes spoke for her: for the violence of her sorrow, not able to be contained within her breast, burst forth in tears. Cardenio was put to a strange nonplus, hearing the undeserved complaints which Silvia made of his surmised neglect; whenas, from the very day that she first forsook Pinto, he neither had received any message from her, nor could he come to know, by means of Albanio, where her abode was. Wherefore he made her this Answer: That as to the Ingratitude and Unworthiness she alleged against him, such was his innocence, that it was needless for him to make any excuse; and that he so far preferred her contentment before his own, that if she had designed to bestow her Love upon some one more deserving, he would rather yield to the hazarding his life, by seeing her in the power of some other man, whom her affection might have made choice of, than seek to enjoy her himself, as long as his happiness should be inconsistent with her repose: yet, that she might be undeceived in the opinion she had both of his condition, and his want of loyalty toward her; he told her, That whereas he had all this while gone under the name of Cardenio, and the form of a Country-villager, he was both of a quality Nobler than what he had hitherto professed, and his right name was Don Osorio; and that (to make the credit of what he alleged the more indisputable, it was sufficient to say, he was allied unto the House of Lemos; and that it was he who passing one time thorough Pinto, and espying her, became a captive to her beauty; and impatient till he had obtained the opportunity of an address unto her, came one night into her company, though through the night's obscurity, he was scarce able to discern her: but that afterwards, to gain frequent opportunities of seeing her, and to have time to make his passion known, by the most zealous services he could be capable of rendering to her, he had put on that same Country-disguise, in which he so oft appeared to her: and that however she was pleased to inveigh against his neglect of her, he had ever remained a Rock in that sincerity he first professed; and at that very time when it was rumoured abroad that she was missing from Albanio's house, he was exceedingly perplexed about it, seeing all men whisper and entertain odd conceits about it: but when neither from Albanio, nor any one else, he could receive the certainty of what was the occasion of her departure, nor whither she was removed; he thought it needless to stay any longer here, and so returned back to Court; and walking forth one evening with a friend, he chanced to be engaged in a Quarrel, in which one of the adversaries fell; and that he fleeing from the severity of Justice, was by his good Genius happily directed to this house, where hearing his name repeated among many sighs and complaints, he came to be informed of the whole Story of her proceed; and, that he remained absolutely devoted to her command, resolving not to dispose of himself in any way that should not submit to her concernments, or afford him the opportunities of having the honour to serve her: and that she might the better satisfy herself of the reality of his affection, he prayed her to consider that he had not altogetherdeclined the acting of what might in some sort pretend to her esteem; having devested himself of his own Quality for her sake, whom he absolutely concluded to be his inferior: whereas she on the other side, since the late change of her Fortune, had out of the same consideration, sought to retract her long-professed Love. To which she answered, That notwithstanding the Reverend old Man, who in her esteem had ever had the place of a Father, had long since revealed to her whose child she was, & withal strictly admonished her, that having regard to her Modesty and Honour, she should not entertain any one beneath her in degree; yet that she remained constant and unmoved in that Affection, which took beginning in her, from that night forward, wherein he having obtained an opportunity of addressing himself to her, made so large professions of his Love. And that he might see how much the reality of her Love prevailed above the thought of her Quality, she gave him a Letter to read which she had written at Pinto, thinking to have left it behind her, to be sent him by Albanio, as a testimony of her constancy: the Letter Cardenio read, it being to this effect. Violanta to Cardenio. If with the change of my Habit and Fortune, I had changed that Love which I have so long borne you, I might seem to have done that which the respect of Blood and greatness obliged me to; but so far am I from the least thought of forsaking you, that I was never more firmly than now, resolved to be wholly yours: he that gives you this, will give you an account of my condition, and the reason of my departure. Rest happy, and assured, that though at present the distance between our qualities be as great as that which separates ourselves, my Love shall make you Noble, and render you worthy of my Nuptials. Violanta. Cardenio had no longer what to doubt, nor Silvia what to fear: that night he kept in the same Lodging, Silvia's care not permitting him, for fear of whatsoever danger might befall him, to stir out of the House. The next morning she went to her Father and Mother, acquainted them with the whole proceed of their loves, and all the circumstances that had happened: they making it their own case, having so fresh in Memory the powerful effects of Love in themselves; wisely considering, That to cross a Woman in her desires, is to drive her into remediless inconveniences; her Father also knowing Cardenio to be a man highly esteemed of in Court, for his great Quality and his complete Virtues, they gave their free consent that they should be married. About the same time, it fortuned that their Parents also came from Granada to Madrid; who when they saw, that their Daughter matched to so noble a Gentleman, and the Fruits of their lawful Loves appearing in so beautiful a Pledge, whom, not without great admiration they beheld, they were so far from continuing their former averseness, knowing it in vain to repine against that which Heaven hath decreed should come to pass, that they changed their displeasure into content, their anger into gladness. Cardenio enjoyed his beloved Silvia: and the strangeness of their Love's adventure, being published through the Court, their Nuptials were solemnised with a great deal of Joy; all Men applauding the happiness of Cardenio, and the Divine Beauty of Silvia, now a principal Lady of the Court, who was lately a mean Shepherdess of Pinto. FINIS. Reader, These Books following are Printed by Nath. Brook, and are to be sold at his shop at the Angel in Cornhill. Time's Treasury or Academy for the Gentry, for their accomplishment in Arguments of discourse, habit, fashion: summed up all in a Character of Honour. By Ri. Brathwait, Esq That excellent piece of Physiognomy and Chiromancy, Metoposcopy, the Symmetrical Proportion and Signal Moles of the Body; the subject of Dreams: to which is added, The Art of Memory. By Ri. Sanders. Fol. Magic Astrology vindicated, by H. Warren. Fons Lacrymarum: or, a Fountain of Tears, with an Elegy upon Sir Charles Lucus, By J. Quarles. 8. A Treatise of Contentation, fit for these sad and troublesome times. By jos Hall, late B. of Exon and Norwich. Mirror of Compliments, sitted for Ladies, Gentlewomen, Scholars, and Strangers; with forms of speaking and writing of Letters most in fashion: with witty Poems, and a Table expounding hard English words. Divinity no Enemy to Astrology: A Sermon for the Society of Astrologers for the year 1653. By Dr. Thomas Swadlin. Select Thoughts: or, Choice Helps For a pious Spirit, beholding the Excellency of her Lord Jesus. By J. Hall, B. of Norwich. A new piece. The Holy Order, or Fraternity of Mourners in Zion. To which is added Songs in the Night: or, Cheerfulness under Affliction. By Jos. Hall, Bishop of Norwich. A new piece. The Art of Memory: a cure for a weak Memory, useful for all persons, from the Gown to the Clown. A new piece. That complete piece called the Exact Surveyor of Land, showing how to plot all manner of Grounds, and to reduce and divide the same. Also Irish measure, reduced to English statute-measure; useful for all that either sell or purchase. By I. E. Milk for Children: or, A plain and easy Method of teaching to Read and to Writ, with brief Rules for Schoolmasters to instruct their Scholars in, and Masters to instruct their Families in, by Dr. Thomas. Culpepers' Physical and Chyrurgical Remains, of his own admired Experience, never published before now by his Wife, being his last Legacies. Culpepers Semiotica: or, his Astrological Judgement of Diseases, much enlarged, from the Decumbiture of the sick, which way to find out the Cause, Change, and End of the Diseases. Also whether the sick be likely to live or die: With the signs of life and death by the body of the sick party, according to the Judgement of Hipporcates. With a Treatise of Urines, by N. Culpeper. Cornelius Agrippa his fourth Book of Occult Philosophy, of Geomancy: Magical Elements of Peter de Abano, the nature of Spirits, made English by R. Turner. Pulpit Sparks, being set forms of Prayers used before Sermon, by Dr. Jeremiah Taylor, Dr. Gillingham, Dr. Hewit, and many other Eminent Divines. The Queen's Closet opened. Incomparable secrets in Physic, Chirurgery; preserving, candying, and cooking, as they were presented to the Queen: transcribed from the true Copies of her Majesties own receipt-Books by W. M. one of her late Servants. The Conveyancers' Light, or the Complete Clerk and Scrivener's Guide, being an Exact draught of all Precedents and Assurances now in use, as they were penned and perfected by divers Learned Judges, eminent Lawyers, and great Conveyancers, both ancient and modern; whereunto is added a Coneordance from K. Rich. 3. to this present. Wit's Interpreter, the English Parnassus, or a sure Guide to those admirable Accomplishments, that complete our English Gentry in the most acceptable qualifications of Discouse or Writing: Also the whole Mystery of those pleasing Witchcrafts of Eloquence and Love are made easy, in the Art of Reasoning, Theatre of Courtship, Labyrinth of Fancies, Lovesongs, Drollery; The perfect Inditer of Letters, A lamode, by I. C. The Floating Island, a Tragicomedy acted before the King, by the Students of Christ-Church. by Dr. Strond. Wit and Drollery: with other Jovial Poems. Paracelsus of Occult Philosophy, or his Secrets of Nature.