Note on the e-text: this Renascence Editions text was transcribed by Risa Bear, November, 2003, from the Sommer facsimile of a British Museum copy of the Ponsonby edition of 1590. The text is in the public domain. Content unique to this presentation is copyright © 2003 The University of Oregon. For nonprofit and educational uses only.
THE SECOND BOOKE
OF THE COVNTESSE OFThe loue-complaintes l of Gynecia, 2 Zelmane, 3 and Ba-
silius. 4 Her, 5 and his wooing of Zelmane, and her
shifting of both, 6 to bemone her selfe.
N these pastorall pastimes a great number of dayes were sent to follow their flying predecessours, while the cup of poison (which was deepely tasted of this noble companie) had left no sinewe of theirs without mortally searching into it; yet neuer manifesting his venomous worke, till once, that the night (parting away angerly, that she could distill no more sleepe into the eies of louers) had no sooner giuen place to the breaking out of the morning light, and the Sunne bestowed his beames vpon the tops of the mountaines, but that the wofull Gynecia (to whom rest was no ease) had left her loathed lodging, and gotten her selfe into the solitary places those deserts were full of, going vp and downe with such vnquiet motions, as a grieued & hopeles mind is wont to bring forth. There appeered vnto the eies of her iudgement the euils she was like to run into, with ougly infamie waiting vpon them: she felt the terrou[r]s of her owne conscience: she was guilty of a long exercised vertue, which made this vice the fuller of deformitie. The vttermost of the good she could aspire vnto, was a mortall wound to her vexed spirits: and lastly no small part of her euils was, that she was wise to see her euils. In so much, that hauing a great while throwne her cou[n]tenaunce ghastly about her (as if she had called all the powers of the worlde to witnesse of her wretched estate) at length casting vp her watrie eyes to heauen, O Sunne (said she) whose vnspotted light directs the steps of mortall mankind, art thou not ashamed to impart the clearnesse of thy presence to such a dust-creeping worme as I am? O you heauens (which continually keepe the course allotted vnto you) can none of your influences preuaile so much vpon the miserable Gynecia, as to make her preserue a course so lo[n]g embraced by her? O deserts, deserts, how fit a guest am I for you, since my hart can people you with wild rauenous beastes, which in you are wanting? O Vertue, where doost thou hide thy selfe? or what hideous thing is this which doth eclips thee? or is it true that thou weart neuer but a vaine name, and no essentiall thing, which hast thus left thy professed seruant, when she had most need of thy louely presence? O imperfect proportio[n] of reason, which ca[n] too much forsee, & too little preuent. Alas, alas (said she) if there were but one hope for all my paines, or but one excuse for all my faultinesse. But wretch that I am, my torment is beyond all succour, & my euill deseruing doth exceed my euill fortune. For nothing els did my husband take this straunge resolutio[n] to liue so solitarily: for nothing els haue the winds deliuered this straunge guest to my country: for nothing els haue the destinies reserued my life to this time, but that only I (most wretched I) should become a plague to my selfe, and a shame to womankind. Yet if my desire (how vniust so euer it be) might take effect, though a thousand deaths folowed it, and euery death were followed with a thousand shames; yet should not my sepulcher receiue me without some contentment. But alas, though sure I am, that Zelmane is such as can answere my loue; yet as sure I am, that this disguising must needs come for some foretake[n] co[n]ceipt. And then, wretched Gynecia, where cast thou find any smal grou[n]d-plot for hope to dwel vpon? No, no, it is Philoclea his hart is set vpon: it is my daughter I haue borne to supplant me. But if it be so, the life I haue giuen thee (vngratefull Philoclea) I will sooner with these handes bereaue thee of, then my birth shall glory, she hath bereaued me of my desires. In shame there is no co[m]fort, but to be beyond all bounds of shame.
Hauing spoke[n] thus, she began to make a piteous war with hir faire haire, when she might heare (not far fro[m] her)
an extremely doleful voice, but so suppressed with a kind of whispering note, that she could not conceaue the wordes distinctly. But (as a lamentable tune is the sweetest musicke to a wofull mind) she drewe thether neere-away, in hope to find some co[m]panio[n] of her misery. And as she passed on, she was stopped with a nu[m]ber of trees, so thickly placed together, that she was afraid she should (with rushing thorow) stop the speach of the lamentable partie, which she was so desirous to vnderstand. And therefore setting her downe as softly as she could (for she was now in distaunce to heare) she might first perceaue a Lute excellently well played vpon, and then the same dolefull voice accompanying it with these verses.
IN vaine, mine Eyes, you labour to amende
With flowing teares your fault of hasty sight:
Since to my hart her shape you so did sends;
That her I see, though you did lose your light.
In vaine, my Hart, now you with sight are burnd,
With sighes you seeke to coole your hotte desire:
Since sighes (into mine inward fornace turnd)
For bellowes serue to kindle more the fire.
Reason, in vaine (now you haue lost my hart)
My head you seeke, as to your strongest forte:
Since there mine eyes haue played so false a parte,
That to your strength your foes haue sure resorte.
Then since in vaine I find were all my strife,
To this strange death I vainely yeeld my life.
The ending of the song serued but for a beginning of new plaints, as if the mind (oppressed with too heauy a burthe of cares) was faine to discharge it self of al sides, & as it were, paint out the hideousnes of the paine in al sortes of coulours. For the wofull person (as if the lute had euill ioined with the voice) threw it to the ground with such like words: Alas, poore Lute, how much art thou deceiu'd to think, that in my miseries thou couldst ease my woes, as in my careles times thou was wont to please my fancies? The time is changed, my Lute, the time is changed; and no more did my ioyfull minde then receiue euery thing to a ioyful consideration, then my carefull mind now makes ech thing tast like the bitter iuyce of care. The euill is inward, my Lute, the euill is inward; which all thou doost doth serue but to make me thinke more freely off, and the more I thinke, the more cause I finde of thinking, but lesse of hoping. And alas, what is then thy harmony, but the sweete meats of sorrow? The discord of my thoughts, my Lute, doth ill agree to the concord of thy strings; therefore be not ashamed to leaue thy master, since he is not afraide to forsake himselfe.
And thus much spoke[n] (in steed of a conclusion) was closed vp with so harty a groning, that Gynecia could not
refraine to shew her selfe, thinking such griefes could serue fitly for nothing, but her owne fortune. But as she came into the little Arbour of this sorrowfull musicke, her eyes met with the eyes of Zelmane, which was the party that thus had indited her selfe of miserie: so that either of them remained confused with a sodaine astonishment. Zelmane fearing, least shee had heard some part of those complaints, which shee had risen vp that morning of purpose, to breath out in secret to her selfe. But Gynecia a great while stoode still, with a kind of dull amasement, looking stedfastly vpon her: at length returning to some vse of her selfe, shee began to aske Zelmane, what cause carried her so early abroad? But as if the opening of her mouth to Zelmane, had opened some great flood-gate of sorrow (wherof her heart could not abide the viole[n]t issue) she sanke to the ground, with her hands ouer her face, crying vehemently, Zelmane helpe me, O Zelmane haue pittie on me. Zelmane ranne to her, maruelling what sodaine sicknesse had thus possessed her: and beginning to aske her the cause of her paine, and offring her seruice to be imployed by her: Gynecia opening her eyes wildly vpon her, pricked with the flames of loue, and the torments of her owne conscience: O Zelmane, Zelmane, (said she) doost thou offer me phisicke, which art my onely poyson? Or wilt thou doo me seruice, which hast alredie brought me into eternall slauerie? Zelmane then knowing well at what marke she shot, yet loth to enter into it; Most excellent Ladie (said she) you were best retire your selfe into your lodging, that you the better may passe this sodaine fitte. Retire my selfe? (said Gynecia) If I had retyred my selfe into my selfe, when thou to me (vnfortunate guest) earnest to draw me fro[m] my selfe; blessed had I beene, and no neede had I had of this counsaile. But now alas, I am forced to flie to thee for succour, whom I accuse of all my hurt; and make thee iudge of my cause, who art the onely author of my mischiefe. Zelmane the more astonished, the more she vnderstood her, Madam (said she) whereof do you accuse me, that I will not cleere my selfe? Or wherein may I steed you, that you may not command me? Alas, answered Gynecia, what shall I say more? Take pitty of me, O Zelmane, but not as Zelmane, and disguise not with me in words, as I know thou doost in apparell.
Zelmane was much troubled with that word, finding her selfe brought to this streight. But as shee was thinking what to
answere her; they might see olde Basilius passe harde by them, without euer seeing them: complayning likewise of loue verie freshly; and ending his complaint with this song, Loue hauing renewed both his inuention, and voyce.
LEt not old age disgrace my high desire,
O heauenly soule, in humaine shape conteind:
Old wood inflam'de, doth yeeld the brauest fire,
When yonger dooth in smoke his vertue spend.
Ne let white haires, which on my face doo grow,
Seeme to your eyes of a disgracefull hewe:
Since whitenesse doth present the sweetest show,
Which makes all eyes doo honour vnto you.
Old age is wise and full of constant truth;
Old age well stayed from raunging humor liues:
Old age hath knowne what euer was in youth:
Old age orecome, the greater honour giues.
And to old age since you your selfe aspire,
Let not old age disgrace my high desire.
Which being done, he looked verie curiously vpon himselfe, sometimes fetching a little skippe, as if he had said, his strength had not yet forsaken him. But Zelmane hauing in this time gotten leasure to thinke for an answere; looking vpon Gynecia, as if she thought she did her some wrong: Madam (said she) I am not acquainted with those words of disguising, neither is it the profession of an Amazon, neither are you a partie with whom it is to be vsed. If my seruice may please you, imploy it, so long as you do me no wrong in misiudgeing of me. Alas Zelmane (said Gynecia) I perceiue you know ful little, how percing the eyes are of a true louer. There is no one beame of those thoughts you haue planted in me, but is able discerne a greater cloud then you doo goe in. Seeke not to conceale your selfe further from me, nor force not the passion of loue into violent extremities. Nowe was Zelmane brought to an exigent, when the king, turning his eyes that way thorow the trees, perceiued his wife and mistres togither: so that framing the most louely countenance he could, he came straightway towards them; and at the first word (thanking his wife for hauing entertained Zelmane,) desired her she would now returne into the lodge, because hee had certaine matters of estate to impart to the Ladie Zelmane. The Queene (being nothing troubled with ielousie in that point) obeyed the kings commaundement; full of raging agonies, and determinatly bent, that as she would seeke all louing meanes to winne Zelmane, so she would stirre vp terrible tragedies, rather then faile of her entent. And so went she from them to the lodge-ward, with such a battaile in her thoughts, and so deadly an ouerthrow giuen to her best resolutions, that euen her bodie (where the fielde was fought) was oppressed withall: making a languishing sicknesse waite vpon the triumph of passion; which the more it preuailed in her, the more it made her ielousie watchfull, both ouer her daughter, and Zelmane; hauing euer one of them entrusted to her owne eyes.
But as soone as Basilius was ridde of his wiues presence, falling downe on his knees, O Lady (said he) which hast onely had the power to stirre vp againe those flames which had so long layn deade in me; see in me the power of your beautie; which can make old age come to aske counsaile of youth; and a Prince vnco[n]quered, to become a slaue to a stranger. And whe[n] you see that power of yours, loue that at lest in me, since it is yours, although of me you see nothing to be loued. Worthy Prince (answered Zelmane, taking him vp from his kneeling) both your manner, and your speech are so straunge vnto me, as I know not how to answere it better then with silence. If silence please you (said the king) it shal neuer displease me, since my heart is wholly pledged to obey you: otherwise if you would vouchsafe mine eares such happinesse, as to heare you, they shall conuay your words to such a mind, which is with the humblest degree of reuere [n]ce to receiue them. I disdaine not to speake to you (mightie Prince said Zelmane,) but I disdaine to speake to any matter which may bring my honor into question. And therewith, with a braue counterfeited scorne she departed from the king; leauing him not so sorie for his short answere, as proud in himself that he had broken the matter. And thus did the king (feeding his minde with those thoughts) passe great time in writing verses, & making more of himselfe, then he was wont to doo: that with a little helpe, he would haue growne into a prettie kind of dotage.
But Zelmane being ridde of this louing, but little-loued company, Alas (said she) poore Pyrocles, was there euer one,
but I, that had receiued wrong, and could blame no body? that hauing more then I desire, am still in want of that I would? Truly Loue, I must needes say thus much on thy behalfe; thou hast imployed my loue there, where all loue is deserued; and for recompence hast sent me more loue then euer I desired. But what wilt thou doo Pyrocles? which way canst thou finde to ridde thee of thy intricate troubles? To her whom I would be knowne to, I liue in darkenesse: and to her am reuealed, from whom I would be most secreat. What shift shall I finde against the diligent loue of Basilius? what shield against the violent passions of Gynecia? And if that be done, yet how am I the neerer to quench the fire that consumes me? Wel, well, sweete Philoclea, my whole confidence must be builded in thy diuine spirit, which cannot be ignorant of the cruell wound I haue receiued by you.
1 Dametas-his enstructing of Dorus. 2 Zelmanes discourse
to Dorus of her difficulties; 3 & his to her of his successe in
loue. 4 His loue-suits made to Mopsa, meant to Pamela:
with their answeres.
Vt as sicke folkes, when they are alone, thinke companie would relieue them, & yet hauing company do find it noysome; changing willingly outward obiects, when indeed the euill is inward: So poore Zelmane was no more weery of Basilius, then she was of her selfe, when Basilius was gone: and euer the more, the more she turned her eyes to become her owne iudges. Tyred wherewith, she longed to meete her friende Dorus; that vpon the shoulders of friendship she might lay the burthen of sorrow: and therefore went toward the other lodge: where among certaine Beeches she found Dorus, apparelled in flanen, with a goats skin cast vpon him, & a garland of Laurell mixt with Cypres leaues on his head, wayting on his master Dametas, who at that time was teching him how with his sheephooke to catch a wanton Lambe, & with the same to cast a litle clod at any one that strayed out of co[m]panie. And while Dorus was practising, one might see Dametas hold his hand vnder his girdle behind him, nodding from the wast vpwards, & swearing he neuer knew man go more aukewardly to worke: & that they might talke of booke-learning what they would; but for his part, he neuer saw more vnfeatlie fellowes, then great clearks were.
But Zelmanes comming saued Dorus from further chiding. And so she beginning to speake with him of the number of
his masters sheepe, and which Prouince of Arcadia bare the finest wooll, drewe him on to follow her in such countrie discourses, till (being out of Dametas hearing) with such vehemencie of passion, as though her harte would clime into her mouth, to take her tongues office, she declared vnto him, vpon what briers the roses of her affections grew: how time still seemed to forget her, bestowing no one houre of comfort vpon her; she remaining stil in one plight of ill fortune, sauing so much worse, as continuance of euill dooth in it selfe increase euill. Alas my Dorus (said she) thou seest how long and languishingly the weekes are paste ouer vs since our laste talking. And yet am I the same, miserable I, that I was: onely stronger in longing, and weaker in hoping. Then fell she to so pitifull a declaration of the insupportablenes of her desires, that Dorus eares (not able to shew what woundes that discourse gaue vnto them) procured his eyes with teares to giue testimonie, how much they suffered for her suffering: till passion (a most cumbersome guest to it selfe) made Zelmane (the sooner to shake it of) earnestly intreate Dorus, that he also (with like freedome of discourse) would bestow a Mappe of his little worlde, vpon her; that she might see, whether it were troubled with such vnhabitable climes of colde despaires, and hotte rages, as hers was. And so walking vnder a fewe Palme trees, (which being louing in their own nature, seemed to giue their shadow the willinglier, because they held discourse of loue) Dorus thus entred to the description of his fortune.
Alas (said he) deare Cosin, that it hath pleased the high powers to throwe vs to such an estate, as the onely entercourse
of our true friendshippe, must be a bartring of miseries. For my parte, I must confesse indeede, that from a huge darkenes of sorrowes, I am crept (I cannot say to a lightsomnes, but) to a certain dawning, or rather, peeping out of some possibilitie of comfort: But woe is me, so farre from the marke of my desires, that I rather thinke it such a light, as comes through a small hole to a dungeon, that the miserable caitife may the better remember the light, of which he is depriued: or like a scholler, who is onely come to that degree of knowledge, to finde him selfe vtterly ignorant.
But thus stands it with me: After that by your meanes I was exalted to serue in yonder blessed lodge, for a while I had, in the furnace of my agonies, this refreshing; that (because of the seruice I had done in killing of the Beare) it pleased the Princesse (in whom indeede statelines shines through courtesie) to let fall some gratious looke vpon me. Sometimes to see my exercises, sometimes to heare my songes. For my parte, my harte woulde not suffer me to omitte any occasion, whereby I might make the incomparable Pamela, see how much extraordinarie deuotion I bare to her seruice: and withall, straue to appeare more worthy in her sight; that small desert, ioyned to so great affection, might preuaile something in the wisest Ladie. But too well (alas) I founde, that a shepheards seruice was but considered of as from a shepheard, and the acceptation limitted to no further proportion, then of a good seruant. And when my countenance had once giuen notice, that there lay affection vnder it, I sawe straight, Maiesty (sitting in the throne of Beautie) draw foorth such a sworde of iust disdaine, that I remayned as a man thunder-striken; not daring, no not able, to beholde that power. Now, to make my estate knowen, seemed againe impossible, by reason of the suspitiousnes of Dametas, Miso, and my young Mistresse, Mopsa. For, Dametas (according to the constitution of a dull head) thinkes no better way to shewe him selfe wise, then by suspecting euery thing in his way. Which suspition Miso (for the hoggish shrewdnesse of her braine) and Mopsa (for a very vnlikely enuie she hath stumbled vpon, against the Princesses vnspeakeable beautie) were very gladde to execute. So that I (finding my seruice by this meanes lightlie regarded, my affection despised, and my selfe vnknowen) remayned no fuller of desire, then voyde of comfort how to come to my desire. Which (alas) if these trees could speak, they might well witnesse. For, many times haue I stoode here, bewailing my selfe vnto them: many times haue I, leaning to yonder Palme, admired the blessednes of it, that coulde beare Loue without sence of paine. Many times, when my masters cattle came hether to chewe their cudde, in this fresh place, I might see the young Bull testifie his loue. But how? with proud lookes, and ioyfulnes. O wretched mankind (said I then to my selfe) in whom witte (which should be the gouerner of his welfare) becomes the traitor to his blessednes. These beasts, like children to nature, inherite her blessings quietly; we, like bastards, are layd abroad, euen as foundlinges to be trayned vp by griefe and sorrow. Their mindes grudge not their bodies comfort, nor their sences are letted from enioying their obiects: we haue the impediments of honor, and the torments of conscience. Truely in such cogitatio[n]s haue I somtimes so long stood, that me thought my feete began to grow into the ground, with such a darkenes and heauines of minde, that I might easilie haue bene perswaded to haue resigned ouer my very essence. But Loue, (which one time layeth burthens, another time giueth wings) when I was at the lowest of my downward thoughts, pulled vp my harte to reme[m]ber, that nothing is atchieued before it be throughlie attempted; and that lying still doth neuer goe forward: and that therefore it was time, now or neuer, to sharpen my inuention, to pearce thorow the hardnes of this enterprise; neuer ceasing to assemble al my conceites, one after the other; how to manifest both my minde and estate. Till at last, I lighted and resolued on this way, which yet perchaunce you will think was a way rather to hide it.
I began to counterfeite the extremest loue towards Mopsa, that might be: and as for the loue, so liuely it was indeed
within me, (although to another subiect) that litle I needed to counterfait any notable demonstrations of it: and so making a contrariety the place of my memory, in her fowlnes I beheld Pamelas fayrenesse, still looking on Mopsa, but thinking on Pamela; as if I saw my Sunne shine in a puddled water: I cryed out of nothing but Mopsa: to Mopsa my attendance was directed: to Mopsa the best fruites I coulde gather were brought: to Mopsa it seemed still that mine eye conueyed my tongue. So that Mopsa was my saying; Mopsa was my singing; Mopsa, (that is onely suteable in laying a foule complexion vpon a filthy fauour, setting foorth both in sluttishnesse) she was the load-starre of my life, she the blessing of mine eyes, she the ouerthrowe of my desires, and yet the recompence of my ouer-throwe; she the sweetnesse of my harte, euen sweetning the death, which her sweetnesse drew vpon me. In summe, what soeuer I thought of Pamela, that I saide of Mopsa; whereby as I gatte my maisters good-will, who before spited me, fearing lest I should winne the Princesse fauour from him, so did the same make the Princesse be better content to allow me her presence: whether indeede it were, that a certaine sparke of noble indignation did rise in her, not to suffer such a baggage to winne away any thing of hers, how meanely soeuer she reputed of it; or rather (as I thinke) my words being so passionate; and shooting so quite contrarie from the markes of Mopsaes worthinesse, she perceiued well enough, whither they were directed: and therefore being so masked, she was contented, as a sporte of witte to attend them. Whereupon one day determining to find some means to tel (as of a third person) the tale of mine owne loue, and estate, finding Mopsa (like a Cuckoo by a Nightingale) alone with Pamela, I came in vnto them, and with a face (I am sure) full of clowdy fancies, tooke a harpe, and songe this songe.
SInce so mine eyes are subiect to your sight,
That in your sight they fixed haue my braine:
Since so my harte is filled with that light,
That onely light doth all my life maintaine;
Since in sweete you all goods so richly raigne,
That where you are no wished good can want;
Since so your liuing image liues in me,
That in my selfe your selfe true loue doth plant;
How can you him vnworthy then decree,
In whose chiefe parte your worthes implanted be?
The song being ended, which I had often broken of in the middest with grieuous sighes, which ouertooke euery verse I sange, I let fall my harpe fro[m] me; & casting my eie sometime vpon Mopsa, but setting my sight principally vpon Pamela, And is it the onely fortune most bewtiful Mopsa (said I) of wretched Dorus, that fortune should be measure of his mind? Am I onely he that because I am in miserie, more miserie must be laid vpon me? must that which should be cause of compassion, become an argument of cruelty against me? Alas excellent Mopsa, consider, that a vertuous Prince requires the life of his meanest subiect, and the heauenly Sunne disdaines not to giue light to the smallest worme. O Mopsa, Mopsa, if my hart could be as manifest to you, as it is vncomfortable to me, I doubt not the height of my thoughts should well counteruaile the lownesse of my qualitie. Who hath not heard of the greatnes of your estate? who seeth not, that your estate is much excelled with that sweet vniting of al beauties, which remaineth & dwelleth with you? who knowes not, that al these are but orname[n]ts of that diuine sparke within you, which being dese[n]ded from heauen could not els-where picke out so sweete a mansion? But if you will knowe what is the bande that ought to knit all these excellencies together, it is a kinde of mercyfulnesse to such a one, as is in his soule deuoted to those perfections. Mopsa (who already had had a certaine smackring towardes me) stood all this while with her hand sometimes before her face, but most com[m]only with a certaine speciall grace of her owne, wagging her lips, and grinning in steede of smiling: but all the wordes I could get of her, was, wringing her waste, and thrusting out her chinne, In faith you iest with me: you are a merry man indeede. But the euer-pleasing Pamela (that well found the Comedie would be marred, if she did not helpe Mopsa to her parte) was co[n]tent to vrge a little further of me. Maister Dorus (said the faire Pamela) me thinks you blame your fortune very wrongfully, since the fault is not in Fortune, but in you that cannot frame your selfe to your fortune: and as wrongfully do require Mopsa to so great a disparagement as to her Fathers seruaunt; since she is not worthy to be loued, that hath not some feeling of her owne worthines. I staied a good while after her words, in hope she would haue continued her speech (so great a delight I receaued in hearing her) but seeing her say no further, (with a quaking all ouer my body) I thus answered her. Ladie, most worthie of all dutie, how falles it out that you in whom all vertue shines, will take the patronage of fortune, the onely rebellious handmaide against vertue? Especially, since before your eyes, you haue a pittifull spectacle of her wickednesse, a forlorne creature, which must remaine not such as I am, but such as she makes me, since she must be the ballance of worthinesse or disparagement. Yet alas, if the condemned man (euen at his death) haue leaue to speake, let my mortall wound purchase thus much consideration; since the perfections are such in the partie I loue, as the feeling of them cannot come into any vnnoble hart; shall that harte, which doth not onely feele them, but hath all the working of his life placed in them, shall that hart I saie, lifted vp to such a height, be counted base? O let not an excellent spirit doo it selfe such wrong, as to thinke, where it is placed, imbraced, and loued; there can be any vnworthinesse, since the weakest mist is not easilier driuen away by the Sunne, then that is chased away with so high thoughts. I will not denie (answered the gratious Pamela) but that the loue you beare to Mopsa, hath brought you to the consideration of her vertues, and that consideration may haue made you the more vertuous, and so the more worthie: But euen that then (you must confesse) you haue receiued of her, and so are rather gratefully to thanke her, then to presse any further, till you bring something of your owne wherby to claime it. And truely Dorus, I must in Mopsaes behalfe say thus much to you, that if her beauties haue so ouertaken you, it becomes a true Loue to haue your harte more set vpon her good then your owne, and to beare a tenderer respect to her honour, then your satisfaction. Now by my hallidame, Madame (said Mopsa, throwing a great number of sheeps eyes vpon me) you haue euen touched mine owne minde to the quicke, forsooth. I (finding that the pollicie that I had vsed, had at lest wise procured thus much happinesse vnto me, as that I might euen in my Ladies presence, discouer the sore which had deepely festered within me, and that she could better conceaue my reasons applied to Mopsa, then she would haue vouchsafed them, whilest her selfe was a partie) thought good to pursue on my good beginning, using this fit occasion of Pameleas wit, and Mopsaes ignorance. Therfore with an humble pearcing eye, looking vpon Pamela, as if I had rather bene co[n]demned by her mouth, then highly exalted by the other, turning my selfe to Mopsa, but keeping mine eye where it was, faire Mopsa (said I) well doo I finde by the wise knitting together of your answere, that any disputatio[n] I can vse is asmuch too weake, as I vnworthy. I find my loue shalbe proued no loue, without I leue to loue, being too vnfit a vessell in who so high thoughts should be engraued. Yet since the Loue I beare you, hath so ioyned it self to the best part of my life, as the one can[n]ot depart, but that th'other will follow, before I seeke to obey you in making my last passage, let me know which is my vnworthines, either of mind, estate, or both? Mopsa was about to say, in neither; for her hart I thinke tu[m]bled with ouer much kindnesse, when Pamela with a more fauourable countenance the[n] before (finding how apt I was to fall into dispaire) told me, I might therein haue answered my selfe; for besides that it was graunted me, that the inward feeling of Mopsaes perfectio[n]s had greatly beautified my minde, there was none could denie, but that my minde and bodie deserued great allowance. But Dorus (sayd she) you must be so farre maister of your loue, as to consider, that since the iudgement of the world stands vpon matter of fortune, and that the sexe of womankind of all other is most bound to haue regardfull eie to mens iudgements, it is not for vs to play the philosophers, in seeking out your hidden vertues: since that, which in a wise prince would be cou[n]ted wisdome, in vs wil be taken for a light-grounded affectio[n]: so is not one thing, one, done by diuers persons. There is no man in a burning feuer feeles so great contentme[n]t in cold water greedily receiued (which assoone as the drinke ceaseth, the rage reneweth) as poore I found my soule refreshed with her sweetly pronouced words; & newly, & more viole[n]tly againe enflamed, assoone as she had closed vp her delightfull speach, with no lesse wel graced silence. But reme[m]bring in my self that aswell the Souldier dieth which standeth still, as he that giues the brauest onset: & seeing that to the making vp of my fortune, there wanted nothing so much as the making knowne of mine estate, with a face wel witnessing how deeply my soule was possessed, & with the most submissiue behauior, that a thralled hart could expresse, eue[n]as my words had bene too thicke for my mouth, at le[n]gth spake to this purpose. Alas, most worthy Princesse (said I) & do not then your owne sweet words sufficie[n]tly testifie, that there was neuer ma[n] could haue a iuster actio[n] against filthy fortune, the I, since all other things being granted me, her blindnesse is my onely let? O heauely God, I would either she had such eyes as were able to discerne my deserts, or I were blind not to see the daily cause of my misfortune. But yet (said I) most honoured Lady, if my miserable speeches haue not already cloied you, & that the verie presence of such a wretch become not hatefull in your eyes; let me reply thus much further against my mortall sentence, by telling you a storie, which happened in this same country long since (for woes make the shortest time seeme long) whereby you shall see that my estate is not so contemptible, but that a Prince hath bene content to take the like vpon him, and by that onely hath aspired to enioy a mightie Princesse. Pamela gratiously harkened, and I told my tale in this sort.
Dorus-his tale of his owne 1 education, 2 trauaile, 3 enamoring,
4 meta-morphosing, 5 sauing from sea, 6 and being Musido-
rus. 7 His octaue. 8 Pamelas and Mopsas answere to his suit.
9 His present to them; 10 and perplexitie in himselfe.
N the countrie of Thessalia, (alas why name I that accursed country, which brings forth nothing, but matters for tragedies? but name it I must) in Thessalia (I say) there was (well may I say, there was) a Prince (no, no Prince, who bondage wholly possessed; but yet accounted a Prince, and) named Musidorus. O Musidorus, Musidorus; but to what serue exclamations, where there are no eares to receiue the sounde? This Musidorus, being yet in the tendrest age, his worthy father paied to nature (with a violent death) her last dueties, leauing his childe to the faith of his friends, and the proofe of time: death gaue him not such pangs as the foresight-full care hee had of his silly successour. And yet if in his foresight he could haue seene so much, happie was that good Prince in his timely departure, which barred him from the knowledge of his sonnes miseries, which his knowledge could neither haue preuented, nor relieued. The young Musidorus (being thus, as for the first pledge of the destinies good will, depriued of his principall stay) was yet for some yeares after (as if the starres would breath themselues for a greater mischiefe) lulled vp in as much good luck, as the heed-full loue of his dolefull mother, and the florishing estate of his country could breed vnto him.
But when the time now came, that miserie seemed to be ripe for him, because he had age to know misery, I thinke
there was a conspiracy in all heauenly & earthly things, to frame fit occasion to leade him vnto it. His people (to whom all forraine matters in foretime were odious) beganne to wish in their beloued Prince, experience by trauaile: his deare mother (whose eyes were held open, onely with the ioy of looking vpon him) did now dispense with the comfort of her widowhead life, desiring the same her subiectes did, for the increase of her sonnes worthinesse. And here-to did Musidorus owne vertue (see how vertue can be a minister to mischiefe) sufficiently prouoke him: for indeed thus much I must say for him, although the likenesse of our mishaps makes me presume to patterne my selfe vnto him) that well-doing was at that time his scope, from which no faint pleasure could with-hold him. But the present occasion which did knit all this togither, was his vncle the king of Macedon; who hauing lately before gotte[n] such victories, as were beyond expectation, did at this time send both for the Prince his sonne (brought vp togither, to auoid the warres, with Musidorus) and for Musidorus himselfe, that his ioy might be the more full, hauing such partakers of it. But alas, to what a sea of miseries my plaintfull toong doth lead me; and thus out of breath, rather with that I thought, then that I said, I stayed my speech, till Pamela shewing by countenance that such was her pleasure, I thus continued it. These two young Princes to satisfie the king, tooke their way by sea, towards Thrace, whether they would needs go with a Nauie to succour him: he being at that time before Bizantium with a mighty Army beseeging it; where at that time his court was. But when the conspired heauens had gotten this Subiect of their wrath vpon so fit a place as the sea was, they streight began to breath out in boystrous windes some part of their malice against him; so that with the losse of all his Nauie, he onely with the Prince his cosin, were cast a land, farre off from the place whether their desires would haue guided them. O cruell winds in your vnconsiderate rages, why either beganne you this furie, or why did you not end it in his end? But your cruelty was such, as you would spare his life for many deathfull torments. To tel you what pittiful mishaps fell to the young Prince of Macedon his cosen, I should too much fill your eares with strange horrors; neither will I stay vpon those laborsome adue[n]tures, nor loathsome misaduentures, to which, & through which his fortune and courage conducted him; My speach hastneth it self to come to the ful-point of Musidorus his infortunes. For as we finde the most pestile[n]t diseases do gather into themselues al the infirmitie, with which the body before was annoyed; so did his last misery embrace in the extremitie of it self all his former mischiefes.
Arcadia, Arcadia was the place prepared to be the stage of his endlesse ouerthrow. Arcadia was, (alas well might I
say it is) the charmed circle, where all his spirits for euer should be enchaunted. For here (and no where els) did his infected eyes make his minde know, what power heauenly beauty hath to throw it downe to hellish agonies. Here, here did he see the Arcadian Kings eldest daughter, in whom he forthwith placed so all his hopes of ioy, and ioyfull parts of his heart, that he left in himselfe nothing, but a maze of longing, and a dungeon of sorrow. But alas what can saying make them beleeue, whom seeing cannot perswade? Those paines must be felt before they ca[n] be vnderstood; no outward vtterance can command a conceipt. Such was as then the state of the King, as it was no time by direct meanes to seeke her. And such was the state of his captiued wil, as he could delay no time of seeking her.
In this intangled case, he cloathed himselfe in a shepheards weede, that vnder the basenesse of that forme, he might at
lest haue free accesse to feed his eyes with that, which should at length eate vp his hart. In which doing, thus much without doubt he hath manifested, that this estate is not alwayes to be reiected, since vnder that vaile there may be hidden things to be esteemed. And if he might with taking on a shepherds look cast vp his eyes to the fairest Princesse Nature in that time created; the like, nay the same desire of mine need no more to be disdained, or held for disgracefull. But now alas mine eyes waxe dimme, my toong beginnes to falter, and my hart to want force to help, either with the feeling remembrance I haue, in what heape of miseries the caitife Prince lay at this time buried. Pardon therfore, most excellent Princesse, if I cut off the course of my dolorous tale, since if I be vnderstood, I haue said enough, for the defence of my basenesse; and for that which after might befall to that patterne of ill fortune, (the matters are monstrous for my capacitie) his hatefull destinies must best declare their owne workemanship.
Thus hauing deliuered my tale in this perplexed manner, to the end the Princesse might iudge that he ment himselfe, who
spake so feelingly; her aunswere was both strange, and in some respect comfortable. For would you thinke it? she hath heard heretofore of vs both, by meanes of the valiant prince Plangus, and particularly of our casting away: which she (following my owne stile) thus delicately brought foorth. You haue told (said she) Dorus, a prettie tale; but you are much deceiued in the latter end of it. For the prince Musidorus with his cosen Pyrocles did both perish vpon the coast of Laconia; as a noble gentleman, called Plangus (who was well acquainted with the historic) did assure my father. O how that speach of hers did poure ioyes in my hart? ô blessed name (thought I) of mine, since thou hast bene in that toong, and passed through those lips, though I can neuer hope to approch them. As for Pyrocles (said I) I will not denie it, but that he is perished: (which I said, least sooner suspition might arise of your being, then your selfe would haue it) and yet affirmed no lye vnto her, since I onely said, I would not deny it. But for Musidorus (said I) I perceiue indeed you haue neither heard or read the story of that vnhappy Prince; for this was the verie obiection, which that peerelesse Princesse did make vnto him, whe[n] he sought to appeare such as he was before her wisdome: and thus as I haue read it faire written in the certaintie of my knowledge he might answere her, that indeed the ship wherein he came, by a treason was perished, and therfore that Plangus might easily be deceaued: but that he himselfe was cast vpon the coast of Laconia, where he was taken vp by a couple of shepheards, who liued in those dayes famous; for that both louing one faire maide, they yet remained constant friends; one of whose songs not long since was song before you by the shepheard Lamon, and brought by them to a noble-mans house, neere Mantinea, whose sonne had a little before his mariage, bene taken prisoner, and by the helpe of this Prince, Musidorus (though naming himselfe by another name) was deliuered. Now these circumlocutions I did vse, because of the one side I knewe the Princesse would knowe well the parties I merit; and of the other, if I should haue named Strephon, Claius, Kalander, and Clitophon, perhappes it would haue rubd some coniecture into the heauie heade of Mistresse Mopsa.
And therfore (said I) most diuine Lady, he iustly was to argue against such suspitions; that the Prince might easily by those parties be satisfied, that vpon that wrack such a one was taken vp: and therefore that Plangus might well erre, who
knew not of anies taking vp againe: that he that was so preserued, brought good tokens to be one of the two, chiefe of that wracked companie: which two since Plangus knew to be Musidorus and Pyrocles, he must needes be one of them, although (as I said) vpon a foretaken vowe, he was otherwise at that time called. Besides, the Princesse must needes iudge, that no lesse then a Prince durst vndertake such an enterprise, which (though he might gette the fauour of the Princesse) he could neuer defend with lesse the[n] a Princes power, against the force of Arcadia. Lastly, (said he) for a certaine demonstration, he presumed to shew vnto the Princesse a marke he had on his face, as I might (said I) shew this of my neck to the rare Mopsa: and withall, shewed my necke to them both, where (as you know) there is a redde spotte, bearing figure (as they tell me) of a Lyons pawe, that she may ascertaine her selfe, that I am Menalcas brother. And so did he, beseeching her to send some one she might trust, into Thessalia, secretely to be aduertised, whether the age, the complexion, and particularly that notable signe, did not fully agree with this Prince Musidorus. Doo you not know further (saide she, with a setled countenance, not accusing any kind of inwarde motion) of that storie. Alas no, (said I) for euen here the Historiographer stopped, saying, The rest belonged to Astrologie. And therewith, thinking her silent imaginations began to worke vpon somewhat, to mollifie them (as the nature of Musick is to do) and withal, to shew what kind of shepheard I was, I took vp my Harpe, and sang these few verses.
MY sheepe are thoughts, which I both guide and serue:
Their pasture is faire hilles of fruitlesse Loue:
On barren sweetes they feede, and feeding sterue:
I waile their Iotte, but will not other proue.
My sheepehooke is wanne hope, which all vpholdes:
My weedes, Desire, cut out in endlesse foldes.
What wooll my sheepe shall beare, whiles thus they liue,
In you it is, you must the iudgement giue.
And then, partly to bring Mopsa againe to the matter (lest she should too much take heed to our discourses) but principally, if it were possible, to gather some comfort out of her answeares, I kneeled downe to the Princesse, and humblie besought her to moue Mopsa in my behalfe, that she would vnarme her hart of that steely resistace against the sweet blowes of Loue: that since all her parts were decked with some particular orname[n]t; her face with beautie, her head with wisdome, her eyes with maiestie, her countenance with gracefulnes, her lippes with louelines, her tongue with victorie; that she woulde make her hart the throne of pitie, being the most excellent rayment of the most excellent part.
Pamela, without shew either of fauour or disdaine, either of heeding or neglecling what I had said, turned her speech to Mopsa, and with such a voice and acttion, as might shewe she spake of a matter which little did concerne her, Take heede to your selfe (saide she) Mopsa, for your shepheard can speake well: but truely, if he doo fully prooue himselfe such as he saith, I mean, the honest shepheard Menalchas his brother, and heire, I know no reason why you shoulde thinke scorne of him. Mopsa though (in my conscience) she were euen then farre spent towards me, yet she answered her, that for all my queint speeches, she would keepe her honestie close inough: And that as for the highe way of matrimony, she would steppe neuer a foote further, till my maister her father had spoken the whole word him selfe, no she would not. But euer and anon turning her muzzell toward me, she threwe such a prospect vpon me, as might well haue giuen a surfet to any weake louers stomacke. But Lord what a foole am I, to mingle that driuels speeches among my noble thoughts? but because she was an Actor in this Tragedie, to geue you a ful knowledge, and to leaue nothing (that I can remember) vnrepeated.
Now the Princesse being about to withdrawe her selfe from vs, I tooke a iewell, made in the figure of a Crab-fish, which, because it lookes one way and goes another, I thought it did fitly patterne out my looking to Mopsa, but bending to Pamela: The word about it was, By force, not choice; and still kneeling, besought the Princesse that she would vouchsafe to giue it Mopsa, and with the blessednes of her hande to make acceptable vnto her that toye which I had founde, followinge of late an acquaintaunce of mine at the plowe. For (sayd I) as the earth was turned vp, the plow-share lighted vpon a great stone: we puld that vp, & so found both that, and some other prety thinges which we had deuided betwixt vs.
Mopsa was benummed with ioy when the Princesse gaue it her: but in the Princesse I could finde no apprehension of
what I either said or did, but with a calme carelesnesse letting each thing slide, iustly as we doo by their speeches, who neither in matter nor person doo any way belong vnto vs) which kind of colde temper, mixt with that lightning of her naturall maiestic, is of all others most terrible vnto me: for yet if I found she contemned me, I would desperatly labour both in fortune and vertue to ouercome it; if she onely misdoubted me, I were in heauen; for quickly I woulde bring sufficient assurance: lastly, if she hated me, yet I should know what passion to deale with; and either with infinitenes of desert I would take away the fewell from that fire; or if nothing would serue, then I would giue her my hart-bloud to quench it. But this cruell quietnes, neither retiring to mislike, nor proceeding to fauour; gratious, but gratious still after one maner; all her courtesies hauing this engrauen in them, that what is done, is for vertues sake, not for the parties; euer keeping her course like the Sun, who neither for our prayses, nor curses, will spare or stoppe his horses. This (I say) heauenlines of hers, (for how so euer my miserie is I cannot but so entitle it) is so impossible to reach vnto, that I almost begin to submitte my selfe to the tyrannic of despaire, not knowing any way of perswasio[n], where wisdome seemes to be vnsensible. I haue appeared to her eyes, like my selfe, by a deuice I vsed with my master, perswading him, that we two might put on a certaine rich apparrel I had prouided, and so practise some thing on horsback before Pamela, telling him, it was apparell I had gotten for playing well the part of a King in a Tragedie at Athens: my horse indeed was it I had left at Menalcas house, and Dametas got one by friendship out of the Princes stable. But how soeuer I show, I am no base bodie, all I doo is but to beate a rocke and get fome.
1 Basilius his hauking. 2 Gynecias hurte by Dametas ouer-
turning her coache. 3 Her ielousie ouer Zelmane. Philo-
cleas 4 loue-passions, 5 vowe of chastitie, 6 reuocation;
Vt as Dorus was about to tell further, Dametas (who came whistling, & counting vpon his fingers, how
many loade of hay his seuenteen fat oxen eat vp in a yeare) desired Zelmane from the King that she would come into the lodge, where they stayed for her. Alas (said Dorus, taking his leaue) the sum is this, that you may wel find you haue beate your sorrow against such a wall, which with the force of rebound may wel make your sorrow stro[n]ger. But Zelmane turning her speach to Dametas, I shall grow (said she) skilfull in country matters, if I haue often conference with your seruaunt. In sooth (answered Dametas with a gracelesse skorne) the Lad may proue wel enough, if he ouersoon thinke not too well of himselfe, and will beare away that he heareth of his elders. And therewith as they walked to the other lodge, to make Zelmane find she might haue spe[n]t her time better with him, he began with a wilde Methode to runne ouerall the art of husbandrie: especially imploying his tongue about well dunging of a fielde: while poore Zelmane yeelded her eares to those tedious strokes, not warding them so much as with any one answere, till they came to Basilius, and Gynecia, who atte[n]ded for her in a coach to carrie her abroad to see some sportes prepared for her. Basilius and Gynecia sitting in the one ende, placed her at the other, with her left side to Philoclea. Zelmane was moued in her minde, to haue kissed their feete for the fauour of so blessed a seate: for the narrownesse of the coach made them ioine from the foote to the shoulders very close together; the truer touch wherof though it were barred by their enuious apparell, yet as a perfect Magnes, though put in an iuorie boxe, will thorow the boxe send forth his imbraced vertue to a beloued needle; so this imparadised neighbourhood made Zelmanes soule cleaue vnto her, both thorow the iuory case of her body, and the apparell which did ouer-clowd it. All the bloud of Zelmanes body stirring in her, as wine will do when suger is hastely put into it, seeking to sucke the sweetnes of the beloued guest; her hart, like a lion new imprisoned, seeing him that restraines his libertie, before the grate; not panting, but striuing violently (if it had bene possible) to haue leapt into the lappe of Philoclea. But Dametas, euen then proceeding from being maister of a carte, to be doctor of a coach, not a little prowd in himselfe, that his whippe at that time guided the rule of Arcadia, draue the coach (the couer whereof was made with such ioints, that as they might (to auoid the weather) pull it vp close when they listed, so when they would they might put each ende downe, and remaine as discouered & open sighted as on horsebacke) till vpon the side of the forrest they had both greyhounds, spaniels, and hounds: whereof the first might seeme the Lords, the second the Gentlemen, and the last the Yeomen of dogges; a cast of Merlins there was besides, which flying of a gallant height ouer certaine bushes, would beate the birdes (that rose) downe vnto the bushes, as Faulcons will doo wilde-foule ouer a riuer. But the sporte which for that daie Basilius would principallie shewe to Zelmane, was the mountie at a Hearne, which getting vp on his wagling winges with paine, till he was come to some height, (as though the aire next to the earth were not fit for his great bodie to flie thorow) was now growen to diminish the sight of himself, & to giue example to great persons, that the higher they be, the lesse they should show: whe[n] a ierfaulcon was cast of after her, who streight spying where the pray was, fixing her eie with desire, & guiding her wing by her eie, vsed no more stre[n]gth then industry. For as a good builder to a hie tower will not make his stayre vpright, but winding almost the ful co[m]passe about, that the steepnes be the more vnsensible: so she, seing the towring of her pursued chase, went circkling, & co[m]passing about, rising so with the lesse sence of rising; & yet finding that way scantly serue the greedines of her hast, as an ambitious body wil go far out of the direct way, to win to a point of height which he desires; so would she (as it were) turne taile to the Heron, & flie quite out another way, but all was to returne in a higher pitche; which once gotten, she would either beate with cruell assaults the Heron, who now was driuen to the best defence of force, since flight would not serue; or els clasping with him, come downe together, to be parted by the ouerpartiall beholders.
Diuers of which flights Basilius shewing to Zelmane, thus was the richesse of the time spent, and the day deceassed before it was thought of, till night like a degenerating successour made his departure the better remembred. And therefore (so constrained) they willed Dametas to driue homeward, who (halfe sleeping, halfe musing about the mending of a vine-presse) guided the horses so ill, that the wheele comming ouer a great stub of a tree, it ouerturned the coach. Which though it fell violently vpon the side where Zelmane & Gynecia sat, yet for Zelmanes part, she would haue bene glad of the fall, which made her beare the sweete burthen of Philoclea, but that she feared she might receaue some hurt. But indeede neither she did, nor any of the rest, by reason they kept their armes and legs within the coach, sauing Gynecia, who with the onely bruze of the fall had her shoulder put out of ioinct; which though by one of the Faulkeners cunning, it was set well againe, yet with much paine was she brought to the lodge; and paine (fetching his ordinary companion, a feuer with him) draue her to entertaine them both in her bedde.
But neither was the feuer of such impatient heate, as the inwarde plague-sore of her affection, nor the paine halfe so noysome, as the iealousie she conceaued of her daughter Philoclea, lest this time of her sicknesse might giue apt occasion to Zelmane whom she misdoubted. Therefore she called Philoclea to her, and though it were late in the night, commaunded her in her eare to go to the other lodge, and send Miso to her, with whom she would speake, and she lie with her sister Pamela. The meane while Gynecia kepte Zelmane with her, because she would be sure, she should be out of the lodge, before she licenced Zelmane. Philoclea not skild in any thing better then obedience, went quietly downe; and the Moone then full (not thinking skorne to be a torche-bearer to such beautie) guided her steppes, whose motions bare a minde, which bare in it selfe farre more stirring motions. And alas (sweete Philoclea) how hath my penne till now forgot thy passions, since to thy memorie principally all this long matter is intended? pardon the slacknes to come to those woes, which hauing caused in others, thou didst feele in thy selfe.
The sweete minded Philoclea was in their degree of well doing, to whom the not knowing of euill serueth for a ground of vertue, and hold their inward powers in better forme with an vnspotted simplicitie, then many, who rather cuningly seeke to know what goodnes is, then willingly take into themselues the following of it. But as that sweet & simple breath of heauenly goodnesse, is the easier to be altered, because it hath not passed through the worldlie wickednesse, nor feelingly found the euill, that euill caries with it; so now the Ladie Philoclea (whose eyes and senses had receaued nothing, but according as the naturall course of each thing required; which fro[m] the tender youth had obediently liued vnder her parents behests, without framing out of her own wil the fore-chosing of any thing) whe[n] now she came to appoint, wherin her iudgeme[n]t was to be practized, in knowing faultines by his first toke[n]s, she was like a yong faune, who coming in the wind of the hunters, doth not know whether it be a thing or no to be eschewed; whereof at this time she began to get a costly experience. For after that Zelmane had a while liued in the lodge with her, and that her onely being a noble straunger had bred a kind of heed-full attention; her coming to that lonely place (where she had no body but her parents) a willingnes of conuersatio[n]; her wit & behauiour, a liking & silent admiration; at length the excellency of her natural gifts, ioined with the extreme shewes she made of most deuout honouring Philoclea, (carying thus in one person the only two ba[n]ds of good will, louelines & louingnes) brought forth in her hart a yeelding to a most frie[n]dly affectio[n]; which when it had gotten so ful possession of the keies of her mind, that it would receaue no message fro[m] her senses, without that affection were the interpreter; the[n] streight grew an exceeding delight stil to be with her, with an vn-measurable liking of al that Zelmane did: maters being so turned in her, that where at first, liking her manners did breed good-wil, now good-wil became the chiefe cause of liking her manners: so that within a while Zelmane was not prized for her demeanure, but the demeanure was prized because it was Zelmanes. The followed that most natural effect of co[n]forming ones self to that, which she did like, and not onely wishing to be her selfe such an other in all thinges, but to ground an imitation vpon so much an esteemed authentic: so that the next degree was to marke all Zelmanes dooings, speeches, and fashions, and to take them into herselfe, as a patterne of worthy proceeding. Which when once it was enacted, not onely by the comminaltie of Passions, but agreed vnto by her most noble Thoughts, and that by Reason it self (not yet experienced in the issues of such matters) had granted his royall assent; then Friendship (a diligent officer) tooke care to see the statute thorowly obserued. Then grew on that not onely she did imitate the sobernes of her countenance, the gracefulnesse of her speech, but euen their particular gestures: so that as Zelmane did often eye her, she would often eye Zelmane; & as Zelmanes eyes would deliuer a submissiue, but vehement desire in their looke, she, though as yet she had not the desire in her, yet should her eyes answere in like pearcing kindnesse of a looke. Zelmane as much as Gynecias iealousie would suffer, desired to be neere Philoclea; Philoclea, as much as Gynecias iealousie would suffer, desired to be neere Zelmane. If Zelmane tooke her hand, and softly strained it, she also (thinking the knots of friendship ought to bee mutuall) would (with a sweete fastnes) shew she was loth to part from it. And if Zelmane sighed, she would sigh also; whe[n] Zelmane was sad, she deemed it wisdome, and therefore she would be sad too. Zelmanes la[n]guishing cou[n]tenace with crost armes, and sometimes cast-vp eyes, she thought to haue an excellent grace: and therefore she also willingly put on the same countenace: til at the last (poore soule, ere she were aware) she accepted not onely the band, but the seruice; not only the signe, but the passion signified. For whether it were, that her wit in co[n]tinuace did finde, that Zelmanes friendship was full of impatient desire, hauing more the[n] ordinarie limits, & therfore shee was content to second Zelmane, though her selfe knew not the limits; or that in truth, true-loue (well considered) haue an infectiue power. At last she fell in acquaintance with loues harbinger, wishing. First she would wish, that they two might liue all their liues togither, like two of Dianas Nimphes. But that wish, she thought not sufficient, because she knew, there would be more Nimphes besides them, who also would haue their part in Zelmane. The[n] would she wish, that she were her sister, that such a natural band might make her more speciall to her. But against that, she considered, that though being her sister, if she happened to be married, she should be robbed of her. Then growne bolder, she would wish either her selfe, or Zelmane a man, that there might succeed a blessed marriage betwixt them. But when that wish had once displaied his ensigne in her minde, then followed whole squadrons of longings, that so it might be, with a maine battaile of mislikings, and repynings against their creation, that so it was not. Then dreames by night beganne to bring more vnto her, then she durst wish by day, whereout making did make her know her selfe the better by the image of those fancies. But as some diseases when they are easie to be cured, they are hard to be knowne, but when they grow easie to be knowne, they are almost impossible to be cured: so the sweete Philoclea, while she might preuent it, she did not feele it, now she felt it, when it was past preuenting; like a riuer, no rampiers being built against it, till alreadie it haue ouerflowed. For now indeed, Loue puld of his maske, and shewed his face vnto her, and told her plainly, that shee was his prisoner. Then needed she no more paint her face with passions; for passions shone thorow her face; Then her rosie coulor was often encreased with extraordinarie blushing: and so another time, perfect whitenesse ascended to a degree of palenesse; now hot, then cold, desiring she knew not what, nor how, if she knew what. Then her minde (though too late) by the smart was brought to thinke of the disease, and her owne proofe taught her to know her mothers minde; which (as no error giues so strong assault, as that which comes armed in the authoritie of a parent, so) greatly fortified her desires, to see, that her mother had the like desires. And the more iealous her mother was, the more she thought the iewell precious, which was with so many lookes garded. But that preuailing so far, as to keepe the two louers from priuate conference, then began she to feele the sweetnesse of a louers solitarinesse, when freely with words and gestures, as if Zelmane were present, shee might giue passage to her thoughts, and so as it were utter out some smoke of those flames, wherewith else she was not only burned, but smothered. As this night, that going from the one lodge to the other by her mothers commandement, with dolefull gestures and vncertaine paces, shee did willingly accept the times offer, to be a while alone: so that going a little aside into the wood ; where manie times before she had delighted to walke, her eyes were saluted with a tuft of trees, so close set togither, as with the shade the moone gaue thorow it, it might breede a fearefull kinde of deuotion to looke vpon it. But true thoughts of loue banish all vaine fancie of superstition. Full well she did both remember and like the place; for there had she often with their shade beguiled Phœbus of looking vpon her: There had she enioyed her selfe often, while she was mistresse of her selfe, and had no other thoughts, but such as might arise out of quiet senses.
But the principall cause that inuited her remembrance, was a goodly white marble stone, that should seeme had bene dedicated in ancient time to the Silvan gods: which she finding there a fewe dayes before Zelmanes comming, had written these words vpon it, as a testimonie of her mind, against the suspition her captiuitie made her thinke she liued in. The writing was this.
YOu liuing powres enclosed in stately shrine
Of growing trees; you rurall Gods that wield
Your scepters here, if to your eares diuine
A voice may come, which troubled soule doth yeld:
This vowe receaue, this vowe ô Gods maintaine;
My virgin life no spotted thought shall staine.
Thou purest stone, whose purenesse doth present
My purest minde; whose temper hard doth showe
My tempred hart; by thee my promise sent
Vnto my selfe let after-liuers know.
No fancy mine, nor others wronge suspect
Make me, ô vertuous Shame, thy lawes neglect.
O Chastitie, the chiefe of heauenly lightes,
Which makst vs most immortall shape to weare,
Holde thou my hart, establish thou my sprights:
To onely thee my constant course I beare.
Till spotlesse soule vnto thy bosome flye,
Such life to leade, such death I vow to dye.
But now that her memorie serued as an accuser of her change, and that her own hand-writing was there, to beare
testimony against her fall; she went in among those few trees, so closed in the toppes togither, as they might seeme a little chappell: and there might she by the help of the moone-light perceiue the goodly stone, which serued as an altar in that wooddie deuotion. But neither the light was enough to reade the words, and the inke was alreadie foreworne, and in many places blotted: which as she perceaued, Alas (said she) faire Marble, which neuer receiuedst spot but by my writing, well do these blots become a blotted writer. But pardon her which did not dissemble then, although she haue chaunged since. Enioy, enioy the glorie of thy nature, which can so constantly beare the markes of my inconstancie. And herewith hiding her eyes with her soft hand, there came into her head certaine verses, which if she had had present commoditie, she would haue adioyned as a retractation to the other. They were to this effect.
MY words, in hope to blaze my stedfast minde,
This marble chase, as of like temper knowne:
But loe, my words defaste, my fancies blinde,
Blots to the stone, shame to my selfe I finde:
And witnesse am, how ill agree in one,
A womans hand with constant marble stone.
My words full weake, the marble full of might;
My words in store, the marble all alone;
My words blacke inke, the marble kindly white
My words vnseene, the marble still in sight,
May witnesse beare, how ill agree in one,
A womans hand, with constant marble stone.
But seeing she could not see meanes to ioyne as the this recantation to the former vow, (laying all her faire length vnder
one of the trees) for a while she did nothing but turne vp and downe, as if she had hoped to turne away the fancie that mastred her, and hid her face, as if she could haue hidden her selfe from her owne fancies. At length with a whispring note to her selfe; O me vnfortunate wretch (said she) what poysonous heates be these, which thus torment me? How hath the sight of this strange guest inuaded my soule? Alas, what entrance found this desire, or what strength had it thus to conquer me? Then, a cloud passing betweene her sight and the moone, O Diana (said she) I would either the cloud that now hides the light of my vertue would as easily passe away, as you will quickly ouercome this let; or els that you were for euer thus darkned, to serue for an excuse of my outragious folly. Then looking to the starres, which had perfitly as then beautified the cleere skie: My pare[n]ts (said she) haue told me, that in these faire heauenly bodies, there are great hidde[n] deities, which haue their working in the ebbing & flowing of our estates. If it be so, then (O you Stars) iudge rightly of me, & if I haue with wicked inte[n]t made my selfe a pray to fancie, or if by any idle lustes I framed my harte fit for such an impression, then let this plague dayly encrease in me, till my name bee made odious to womankind. But if extreame and vnresistable violence haue oppressed me, who will euer do any of you sacrifice (ô you Starres) if you do not succour me. No, no, you will not help me. No, no, you cannot helpe me: Sinne must be the mother, and shame the daughter of my affection. And yet are these but childish obiections (simple Philoclea) it is the impossibilitie that dooth torment me: for, vnlawfull desires are punished after the effect of enioying; but vnpossible desires are punished in the desire it selfe. O then, ô tenne times vnhappie that I am, since where in all other hope kindleth loue; in me despaire should be the bellowes of my affection: and of all despaires the most miserable, which is drawen from impossibilitie. The most couetous man longs not to get riches out of a grou[n]d which neuer can beare any thing; Why? because it is impossible. The most ambitious wight vexeth not his wittes to clime into heauen; Why? because it is impossible. Alas then, Loue, why doost thou in thy beautifull sampler sette such a worke for my Desire to take out, which is as much impossible? And yet alas, why doo I thus condemne my Fortune, before I heare what she can say for her selfe? What doo I, sillie wench, knowe what Loue hath prepared for me ? Doo I not see my mother, as well, at lest as furiouslie as my selfe, loue Zelmane? And should I be wiser then my mother? Either she sees a possibilitie in that which I think impossible, or els impossible loues neede not misbecome me. And doo I not see Zelmane (who doth not thinke a thought which is not first wayed by wisdome and vertue) doth not she vouchsafe to loue me with like ardour? I see it, her eyes depose it to be true; what then? and if she can loue poore me, shall I thinke scorne to loue such a woman as Zelmane? Away then all vaine examinations of why and how. Thou louest me, excellent Zelmane, and I loue thee: and with that, embrasing the very grounde whereon she lay, she said to her selfe (for euen to her selfe she was ashamed to speake it out in words) O my Zelmane, gouerne and direct me; for I am wholy giuen ouer vnto thee.
1 The bedfellow communication of Philoclea and Pamela. 2 Pamelas
narration of her shepheardes making loue, 3 of Dorus and
Dametas horsemanshippe, 4 of his hote pursuite, and her colde
acceptance. 5 His letter. 6 Her relenting, 7 and Philocleas
N this depth of muzes, and diuers sorts of discourses, would she haue rauingly remained, but that
Dametas and Miso (who were rounde about to seeke her, vnderstanding she was to come to their lodge that night) came hard by her; Dametas saying, That he would not deale in other bodies matters; but for his parte, he did not like that maides should once stirre out of their fathers houses, but if it were to milke a cow, or saue a chicken from a kites foote, or some such other matter of importance. And Miso swearing that if it were her daughter Mopsa, she woulde giue her a lesson for walking so late, that should make her keepe within dores for one fortnight. But their iangling made Philoclea rise, and pretending as though she had done it but to sport with them, went with them (after she had willed Miso to waite vpon her mother) to the lodge; where (being now accustomed by her parents discipline, as well as her sister, to serue her selfe) she went alone vp to Pamelas chamber: where meaning to delight her eies, and ioy her thoughts with the sweet conuersation of her beloued sister, she found her (though it were in the time that the wings of night doth blow sleep most willingly into mortall creatures) sitting in a chaire, lying backward, with her head almost ouer the back of it, & looking vpon a wax-ca[n]dle which burnt before her; in one hand holding a letter, in the other her hand-kerchiefe, which had lately dronk vp the teares of her eyes, leauing in steed of them, crimsen circles, like redde flakes in the element, when the weather is hottest. Which Philoclea finding (for her eyes had learned to know the badges of sorowes) she earnestlie intreated to knowe the cause thereof, that either she might comforte, or accompanie her dolefull humor. But Pamela, rather seeming sorie that she had perceiued so much, then willing to open any further, O my Pamela (said Philoclea) who are to me a sister in nature, a mother in counsell, a Princesse by the law of our cou[n]trey, and which name (me thinke) of all other is the dearest, a friend by my choice and your fauour, what meanes this banishing me from your counsels? Do you loue your sorrowe so well, as to grudge me part of it? Or doo you thinke I shall not loue a sadde Pamela, so well as a ioyfull? Or be my eares vnwoorthie, or my tongue suspected? What is it (my sister) that you should conceale from your sister, yea and seruant Philoclea? These wordes wanne no further of Pamela, but that telling her they might talke better as they lay together, they impouerished their cloathes to inriche their bed, which for that night might well scorne the shrine of Venus: and there cherishing one another with deare, though chaste embracements; with sweet, though cold kisses; it might seeme that Loue was come to play him there without darte; or that weerie of his owne fires, he was there to refreshe himselfe betweene their sweete-breathing lippes. But Philoclea earnestly againe intreated Pamela to open her griefe; who (drawing the curtain, that the candle might not complaine of her blushing) was ready to speake: but the breath almost formed into words, was againe stopt by her, and turned into sighes. But at last, I pray you (said she) sweete Philoclea, let vs talke of some other thing: & tell me whether you did euer see any thing so ameded as our Pastoral sports be, since that Dorus came hether? O Loue, how farre thou seest with blind eyes? Philoclea had straight found her, and therefore to draw out more, In deed (said she) I haue often wondred to my selfe how such excelle[n]cies could be in so meane a person; but belike Fortune was afraide to lay her treasures, where they should be staind with so many perfections: onely I marvaile how he can frame himselfe to hide so rare giftes vnder such a block as Dametas. Ah (said Pamela) if you knew the cause: but no more doo I neither; and to say the trueth: but Lord, how are we falne to talke of this fellow? and yet indeed if you were sometimes with me to marke him, while Dametas reades his rusticke lecture vnto him (how to feede his beastes before noone, where to shade them in the extreame heate, how to make the manger hansome for his oxen, when to vse the goade, & when the voice: giuing him rules of a heardma[n], though he prete[n]ded to make him a shepheard) to see all the while with what a grace (which seemes to set a crowne vpon his base estate) he can descend to those poore matters, certainly you would: but to what serues this? no doubt we were better sleepe then talke of these idle matters. Ah my Pamela (said Philoclea) I haue caught you, the constantnes of your wit was not wont to bring forth such disiointed speeches: you loue, dissemble no further. It is true (said Pamela) now you haue it; and with lesse adoo should, if my hart could haue thoght those words suteable for my mouth. But indeed (my Philoclea) take heed: for I thinke vertue itself is no armour of proofe against affection. Therfore learne by my example. Alas thought Philoclea to her selfe, your sheeres come to late to clip the birds wings that already is flowne away.
But then Pamela being once set in the streame of her Loue, went away a maine withall, telling her how his noble
qualities had drawne her liking towardes him; but yet euer waying his meanenes, & so held continually in due limits; till seeking many meanes to speake with her, & euer kept from it (as wel because she shund it, seing and disdaining his mind, as because of her iealous iaylours) he had at length vsed the finest pollicie that might be in counterfaiting loue to Mopsa, & saying to Mopsa what soeuer he would haue her know: and in how passionate manner he had told his owne tale in a third person, making poore Mopsa beleue, that it was a matter fallen out many ages before. And in the end, because you shal know my teares come not, neither of repe[n]tance nor misery, who thinke you, is my Dorus fallen out to be? euen the Prince Musidorus, famous ouer all Asia, for his heroical enterprises, of whom you remember how much good the straunger Plangus told my father; he not being drowned (as Plangus thought) though his cousin Pyrocles indeed perished. Ah my sister, if you had heard his words, or seene his gestures, when he made me know what, and to whom his loue was, you would haue matched in your selfe (those two rarely matched together) pittie and delight. Tell me deare sister (for the gods are my witnesses I desire to doo vertuously) can I without the detestable staine of vngratefulnesse abstaine from louing him, who (far exceeding the beautifulnesse of his shape with the beautifulnesse of his minde, and the greatnesse of his estate with the greatnesse of his actes) is content so to abase him selfe, as to become Dametas seruaunt for my sake? you will say, but how know I him to be Musidorus, since the handmaid of wisdome is slow belief? That co[n]sideratio[n] did not want in me, for the nature of desire it selfe is no easier to receiue beliefe, then it is hard to ground belief. For as desire is glad to embrace the first shew of comfort, so is desire desirous of perfect assuraunce: and that haue I had of him, not onely by necessary arguments to any of comon sense, but by sufficient demonstrations. Lastly he would haue me send to Thessalia: but truly I am not as now in mind to do my honorable Loue so much wrong, as so far to suspect him: yet poor soule knowes he no other, but that I doo both suspect, neglect, yea & detest him. For euery day he finds one way or other to set forth him selfe vnto me, but all are rewarded with like coldnesse of acceptation.
A few daies since, he & Dametas had furnished theselues very richly to run at the ring before me. O how mad a sight it
was to see Dametas, like rich Tissew furd with lambe skins? But ô how well it did with Dorus, to see with what a grace he presented him selfe before me on horseback, making maiestic wait vpon humblenes? how at the first, standing stil with his eies bent vpo[n] me, as though his motio[n]s were chained to my looke, he so staide till I caused Mopsa bid him doo something vpon his horse: which no sooner said, but (with a kinde rather of quick gesture, then shew of viole[n]ce) you might see him come towards me, beating the grou[n]d in so due time, as no daunce can obserue better measure. If you remember the ship we saw once, whe[n] the Sea went hie vpon the coast of Argos; so went the beast: But he (as if Ce[n]taurlike he had bene one peece with the horse) was no more moued, then one is with the going of his owne legges: and in effect so did he command him, as his owne limmes, for though he had both spurres and wande, they seemed rather markes of soueraintie, then instruments of punishment; his hand and legge (with most pleasing grace) comma[n]ding without threatning, & rather reme[m]bring then chastising, at lest if sometimes he did, it was so stolen, as neyther our eyes could discerne it, nor the horse with any chaunce did co[m]plaine of it, he euer going so iust with the horse, either foorth right, or turning, that it seemed as he borrowed the horses body, so he lent the horse his minde: in the turning one might perceiue the bridle-hand somthing gently stir, but indeed so gently, as it did rather distill vertue, then vse violence. Him self (which me thinkes is straunge) shewing at one instant both steadines & nimblenes; somtimes making him turne close to the grou[n]d, like a cat, when scratchingly she wheeles about after a mouse: sometimes with a little more rising before, now like a Rauen leaping from ridge to ridge, then like one of Dametas kiddes bound ouer the hillocks: and all so done, as neither the lustie kinde shewed any roughnesse, nor the easier any idlenesse: but still like a well obeyed maister, whose becke is enough for a discipline, euer concluding ech thing he did with his face to me-wards, as if thence came not onely the beginning, but ending of his motions. The sporte was to see Dametas, how he was tost from the sadle to the mane of the horse, and thence to the ground, giuing his gay apparell almost as foule an outside, as it had an inside. But as before he had euer said, he wanted but horse & apparell to be as braue a courtier as the best, so now brused with proofe, he proclaimed it a folly for a man of wisedome, to put himselfe vnder the tuition of a beast; so as Dorus was fayne alone to take the Ringe. Wherein truely at lest my womanish eyes could not discerne, but that taking his staffe from his thigh, the[n] descending it a little downe, the getting of it vp into the rest, the letting of the point fall, and taking the ring was but all one motion, at lest (if they were diuers motions) they did so stealingly slippe one into another, as the latter parte was euer in hande, before the eye could discerne the former was ended. Indeed Dametas found fault that he shewed no more strength in shaking of his staffe: but to my conceite the fine cleernes of bearing it was exceeding delightfull.
But how delightfull soeuer it was, my delight might well be in my soule, but it neuer went to looke out of the window to
doo him any comfort. But how much more I found reason to like him, the more I set all the strength of mind to suppresse it, or at lest to conceale it. Indeed I must confesse, as some Physitions haue tolde me, that when one is cold outwardly, he is not inwardly; so truly the colde ashes layed vpon my fire, did not take the nature of fire from it. Full often hath my brest swollen with keeping my sighes imprisoned; full often haue the teares, I draue backe from mine eyes, turned backe to drowne my harte. But alas what did that helpe poore Dorus? whose eyes (being his diligent intelligencers) coulde carrie vnto him no other newes, but discomfortable. I thinke no day past, but by some one inuention he would appeare vnto me to testifie his loue. One time he daunced the Matachine daunce in armour (O with what a gracefull dexteritie?) I thinke to make me see, that he had bene brought vp in such exercises: an other time he perswaded his maister (to make my time seeme shorter) in manner of a Dialogue, to play Priamus while he plaide Paris. Thinke (sweet Philoclea) what a Priamus we had: but truely, my Paris was a Paris, and more then a Paris: who while in a sauage apparell, with naked necke, armes, and legges, he made loue to Oenone, you might wel see by his chaunged countenance, and true teares, that he felte the parte he playde. Tell me (sweet Philoclea) did you euer see such a shepheard? tell me, did you euer heare of such a Prince? And then tell me, if a small or vnworthy assaulte haue conquered me. Truely I would hate my life, if I thought vanitie led me. But since my parents deale so cruelly with me, it is time for me to trust something to my owne iudgement. Yet hetherto haue my lookes bene as I told you, which continuing after many of these his fruitles trials, haue wrought such change in him, as I tell you true (with that worde she laid her hand vpon her quaking side) I doo not a little feare him. See what a letter this is (then drewe she the curtaine and tooke the letter from vnder the pillowe) which to daie (with an afflicted humblenesse) he deliuered me, pretending before Mopsa, that I should read it vnto her, to mollifie (forsooth) her iron stomacke; with that she read the letter containing thus much.
MOst blessed paper, which shalt kisse that had, where to al blessednes is in nature a serua[n]t, do not yet disdain to cary
with thee the woful words of a miser now despairing: neither be afraid to appeare before her, bearing the base title of the sender. For no sooner shal that diuine hande touch thee, but that thy basenesse shall be turned to most hie preferment. Therefore mourne boldly my Inke; for while she lookes vpo[n] you, your blacknes wil shine: crie out boldly my Lametatio[n]; for while she reads you, your cries wil be musicke. Say then (O happy messenger of a most vnhappy message) that the too soone borne, too late dying creature, which dares not speake, no not looke, no not scarcely thinke (as from his miserable selfe, vnto her heauenly highnesse) onely presumes to desire thee (in the time that her eyes and voice doo exalt thee) to say, and in this manner to say, not from him, O no, that were not fit, but of him. Thus much vnto her sacred iudgement: O you, the onely, the onely honour to women, to men the onely admiration, you that being armed by Loue, defie him that armed you, in this high estate wherein you haue placed me, yet let me remember him to whom I am bound for bringing me to your presence; and let me remember him, who (since he is yours, how meane so euer it be) it is reaso[n] you haue an account of him. The wretch (yet your wretch) though with languishing steppes runnes fast to his graue, and will you suffer a temple (how poorely-built soeuer, but yet a temple of your deitie) to be rased ? But he dyeth: it is most true, he dyeth; and he in whom you liue, to obey you, dieth. Whereof though he plaine, he doth not complaine: for it is a harme, but no wrong, which he hath receiued. He dyes, because in wofull language all his senses tell him, that such is your pleasure: for since you will not that he liue, alas, alas, what followeth, what followeth of the most ruined Dorus, but his ende? Ende then, euill destinyed Dorus, ende; and ende thou wofull letter, end; for it suffiseth her wisedome to know, that her heauenly will shalbe accomplished.
O my Philoclea, is hee a person to write these words? and are these words lightly to be regarded? But if you had
seene, when with trembling hand he had deliuered it, how hee went away, as if he had beene but the coffin that carried himselfe to his sepulcher. Two times I must confesse I was about to take curtesie into mine eyes; but both times the former resolution stopt the entrie of it: so that he departed without obtaining any further kindnesse. But he was no sooner out of the doore, but that I looked to the doore kindly; and truely the feare of him euer since hath put me into such perplexitie, as now you found me. Ah my Pamela (said Philoclea) leaue sorrow. The riuer of your teares will soone loose his fountaine; it is in your hand as well to stitch vp his life againe, as it was before to rent it. And so (though with self-grieued mind) she comforted her sister, till sleepe came to bath himselfe in Pamelaes faire weeping eyes.
Which when Philoclea found, wringing her hands, O me (said she) indeed the onely subiect of the destinies
displeasure, whose greatest fortunatenes is more vnfortunate, then my sisters greatest vnfortunatenesse. Alas shee weepes because she would be no sooner happy; I weepe because I can neuer be happie; her teares flow from pittie, mine from being too farre lower then the reach of pittie. Yet doo I not enuie thee, deare Pamela, I do not enuy thee: onely I could wish that being thy sister in nature, I were not so farre off a kin in fortune.
1 The Ladies vprising, 2 and interrogatories to Dorus con-
cerning Pyrocles and Euarchus. 3 His historiologie of E-
uarchus kingly excellencies, 4 his entry on a most corrupt
estate, 5 and reformation thereof by royall arts and actions.
6 His, and Dorilaus crosse-mariage to ech others sister, ha-
uing by ech a sonne; their mutuall defence, with Dorilaus
Vt the darkenesse of sorrow ouershadowing her mind, as the night did her eyes, they were both content to hide themselues vnder the wings of sleepe, till the next morning had almost lost his name, before the two sweet sleeping sisters awaked fro[m] dreames, which flattered them with more comfort, then their waking could, or would consent vnto. For then they were called vp by Miso; who hauing bene with Gynecia, had receiued commaundement to be continually with her daughters, and particularly not to let Zelmane and Philoclea haue any priuate co[n]ferece, but that she should be present to heare what passed. But Miso hauing now her authentic encreased, came with skowling eyes to deliuer a slauering good morrow to the two Ladies, telling them, it was a shame for them to marre their complexions, yea and conditions to, with long lying a bedde: & that, when she was of their age, she trowed, she would haue made a handkerchiefe by that time of the day. The two sweete Princes with a smiling silence answered her entertainement, and obeying her direction, couered their daintie beauties with the glad clothes. But as soone as Pamela was readie (& sooner she was then her sister) the agony of Dorus giuing a fit to her selfe, which the words of his letter (liuely imprinted in her minde) still remembred her of, she called to Mopsa, and willed her to fetch Dorus to speake with her: because (she said) she would take further iudgement of him, before she would moue Dametas to graunt her in mariage vnto him. Mopsa (as glad as of sweete-meate to goe of such an arrant) quickly returned with Dorus to Pamela, who entended both by speaking with him to giue some comfort to his passionate harte, and withall to heare some part of his life past; which although fame had alreadie deliuered vnto her, yet she desired in more particular certainties to haue it from so beloued an historian. Yet the sweetnesse of vertues disposition iealous, euen ouer it selfe, suffred her not to enter abruptlie into questions of Musidorus (whom she was halfe ashamed she did loue so well, and more then halfe sorie she could loue no better) but thought best first to make her talke arise of Pyrocles, and his vertuous father: which thus she did.
Dorus (said she) you told me the last day, that Plangus was deceaued in that he affirmed the Prince Musidorus was
drowned: but withall, you confessed his cosen Pyrocles perished; of whom certainly in that age there was a great losse, since (as I haue heard) he was a young Prince, of who[m] al me expected as much, as mans power could bring forth, & yet vertue promised for him, their expectation should not be deceaued. Most excellent Ladie (said Dorus) no expectatio[n] in others, nor hope in himself could aspire to a higher mark, the[n] to be thought worthy to be praised by your iudgement, & made worthy to be praised by your mouth. But most sure it is, that as his fame could by no meanes get so sweete & noble an aire to flie in, as in your breath, so could not you (leauing your selfe aside) finde in the world a fitter subiect of commendation; as noble, as a long succession of royall ancestors, famous, and famous of victories could make him: of shape most louely, and yet of mind more louely; valiant, curteous, wise, what should I say more? sweete Pyrocles, excellent Pyrocles, what can my words but wrong thy perfections, which I would to God in some small measure thou hadst bequethed to him that euer must haue thy vertues in admiration; that masked at least in them, I might haue found some more gratious acceptation? with that he imprisoned his looke for a while vpon Mopsa, who thereupon fell into a verie wide smiling. Truely (said Pamela) Dorus I like well your minde, that can raise it selfe out of so base a fortune, as yours is, to thinke of the imitating so excellent a Prince, as Pyrocles was. Who shootes at the mid-day Sunne, though he be sure he shall neuer hit the marke; yet as sure he is, he shall shoote higher, then who aymes but at a bush. But I pray you Dorus (said she) tell me (since I perceaue you are well acquainted with that storie) what Prince was that Euarchus father to Pyrocles, of whom so much fame goes, for his rightly royall vertues, or by what wayes he got that opinion. And then so descend to the causes of his sending first away from him, and then to him for that excellent sonne of his, with the discourse of his life and losse: and therein you may (if you list) say something of that same Musidorus his cosen, because, they going togither, the story of Pyrocles (which I onely desire) may be the better vnderstood.
Incomparable Lady (said he) your commandement doth not onely giue me the wil, but the power to obey you, such
influence hath your excellencie. And first, for that famous King Euarchus, he was (at this time you speake off) King of Macedon, a kingdome, which in elder time had such a soueraintie ouer all the prouinces of Greece, that eue[n]the particular kings therin did acknowledge (with more or lesse degrees of homage) some kind of fealty thereunto: as among the rest, euen this now most noble (and by you ennobled) kingdome of Arcadia. But he, whe[n] he came to his crowne, finding by his later ancestors either negligece, or misfortune, that in some ages many of those duties had bin intermitted, would neuer stirre vp old titles (how apparant soeuer) whereby the publike peace (with the losse of manie not guiltie soules) should be broken; but contenting himselfe to guide that shippe, wherein the heauens had placed him, shewed no lesse magnanimitie in daungerlesse despising, then others in daungerous affecting the multiplying of kingdomes: for the earth hath since borne enow bleeding witnesses, that it was no want of true courage. Who[m] as he was most wise to see what was best, and most iust in the perfourming what he saw, & temperate in abstaining from any thing any way contrary: so thinke I, no thought can imagine a greater harte to see and contemne daunger, where daunger would offer to make any wrongfull threatning vpon him. A Prince, that indeed especially measured his greatnesse by his goodnesse: and if for any thing he loued greatnesse, it was, because therein he might exercise his goodnes. A Prince of a goodly aspect, and the more goodly by a graue maiestie, wherewith his mind did decke his outward graces; strong of body, and so much the stronger, as he by a well disciplined exercise taught it both to do, and suffer. Of age, so as he was about fiftie yeares when his Nephew Musidorus tooke on such shepherdish apparell for the loue of the worlds paragon, as I now weare.
This King left Orphan both of father and mother, (whose father & grandfather likewise had dyed yong) he found his
estate, when he came to age (which allowed his authentic) so disioynted euen in the noblest & strongest lims of gouernmet, that the name of a King was growne eue[n]odious to the people, his autority hauing bin abused by those great Lords, & litle kings: who[m] in those betweene-times of raigning (by vniust fauouring those that were partially theirs, & oppressing them that woulde defende their libertie against them had brought in (by a more felt then seene maner of proceeding) the worst kind of Oligarchic; that is, whe[n] men are gouerned in deede by a fewe, and yet are not taught to know what those fewe be, to whom they should obey. For they hauing the power of kinges, but not the nature of kings, vsed the authority as men do their farms, of which they see within a yeere they shal goe out: making the Kinges sworde strike whom they hated, the Kings purse reward whom they loued: and (which is worst of all) making the Royall countenance serue to vndermine the Royall soueraintie. For the Subiectes could taste no sweeter fruites of hauing a King, then grieuous taxations to serue vaine purposes; Lawes made rather to finde faults, then to preuent faultes: the Court of a Prince rather deemed as a priuiledged place of vnbrideled licentiousnes, then as a biding of him, who as a father, should giue a fatherly example vnto his people. Hence grew a very dissolution of all estates, while the great men (by the nature of ambition neuer satisfied) grew factious among themselues: and the vnderlings, glad indeede to be vnderlings to them they hated lest, to preserue them from such they hated most. Men of vertue suppressed, lest their shining should discouer the others filthines; and at length vertue it selfe almost forgotten, when it had no hopefull end whereunto to be directed; olde men long nusled in corruption, scorning them that would seeke reformation; yong men very fault-finding, but very faultie: and so to new-fanglenes both of manners, apparrell, and each thing els, by the custome of selfe-guiltie euill, glad to change though oft for a worse; marchandise abused, and so townes decayed for want of iust and naturall libertie; offices, euen of iudging soules, solde; publique defences neglected; and in summe, (lest too long I trouble you) all awrie, and (which wried it to the most wrie course of all) witte abused, rather to faine reason why it should be amisse, then how it should be amended.
In this, and a much worse plight then it is fitte to trouble your excellent eares withal, did the King Euarchus finde his
estate, when he tooke vpon him the regiment: which by reason of the long streame of abuse, he was forced to establish by some euen extreme seueritie, not so much for the very faultes themselues, (which he rather sought to preuent then to punish) as for the faultie ones; who strong, euen in their faultes, scorned his youth, and coulde not learne to disgest, that the man which they so long had vsed to maske their owne appetites, should now be the reducer of them into order. But so soone as some fewe (but in deede notable) examples, had thundred a duetie into the subiects hartes, he soone shewed, no basenes of suspition, nor the basest basenes of enuie, could any whit rule such a Ruler. But then shined foorth indeede all loue among them, when an awfull feare, ingendred by iustice, did make that loue most louely; his first & principall care being to appeare vnto hi people, such as he would haue them be, & to be such as he appeared; making his life the example of his lawes, as it were, his actions arising out of his deedes. So that within small time, he wanne a singular loue in his people, and engraffed singular confidence. For how could they chuse but loue him, whom they found so truely to loue the[m]? He euen in reason disdayning, that they that haue charge of beastes, should loue their charge, and care for them; and that he that was to gouerne the most excellent creature, should not loue so noble a charge. And therefore, where most Princes (seduced by flatterie to builde vpon false grounds of gouernment) make themselues (as it were) another thing from the people; and so count it gaine what they can get from them: and (as if it were two counter-ballances, that their estate goes hiest when the people goes lowest) by a fallacie of argument thinking themselues most Kinges, when the subiect is most basely subiected: he contrariwise, vertuouslie and wisely acknowledging, that he with his people made all but one politike bodie, whereof him-selfe was the head; euen so cared for them, as he woulde for his owne limmes: neuer restrayning their liberty, without it stretched to licenciousncs, nor pulling from them their goods, which they found were not imployed to the purchase of a greater good: but in all his actions shewing a delight to their welfare, broght that to passe, that while by force he tooke nothing, by their loue he had all. In summe (peerelesse Princesse) I might as easily sette downe the whole Arte of gouernement, as to lay before your eyes the picture of his proceedings. But in such sorte he flourished in the sweete comforte of dooing much good, when by an action of leauing his Countrie, he was forced to bring foorth his vertue of magnanimitie, as before he had done of iustice.
He had onely one sister, a Ladie (lest I should too easilie fall to partiall prayses of her) of whom it may be iustly said,
that she was no vnfit bra[n]ch to the noble stock wherof she came. Her he had giuen in manage to Dorilaus, Prince of Thessalia, not so much to make a fre[n]dship, as to co[n]firm the fre[n]dship betwixt their posteritie, which betwene them, by the likenes of vertue, had been long before made: for certainly, Dorilaus could neede no amplifiers mouth for the highest point of praise. Who hath not heard (said Pamela) of the valia[n]t, wise, and iust Dorilaus, whose vnripe death doth yet (so many yeares since) draw teares fro[m] vertuous eyes? And indeede, my father is wont to speak of nothing with greater admiration, then of the notable friendshippe (a rare thing in Princes, more rare betwene Princes) that so holily was obserued to the last, of those two excellent men. But (said she) goe on I pray you. Dorilaus (said he) hauing maried his sister, had his manage in short time blest (for so are folke woont to say, how vnhappie soeuer the children after grow) with a sonne, whom they named Musidorus: of whom I must needes first speake before I come to Pyrocles; because as he was borne first, so vpon his occasion grew (as I may say accidentally) the others birth. For scarcely was Musidorus made partaker of this oft-blinding light, when there were found numbers of Southsayers, who affirmed strange & incredible things should be performed by that childe; whether the heauens at that time listed to play with ignorant mankind, or that flatterie be so presumptuous, as euen at times to borow the face of Diuinitie. But certainly, so did the boldnes of their affirmation accompanie the greatnes of what they did affirme (euen descending to particularities, what kingdomes he should ouercome) that the King of Phrygia (who ouer-superstitiously thought him selfe touched in the matter) sought by force to destroy the infant, to preuent his after-expectations: because a skilful man (hauing compared his natiuity with the child) so told him. Foolish ma[n], either vainly fearing what was not to be feared, or not considering, that if it were a worke of the superiour powers, the heauens at length are neuer children. But so he did, & by the aid of the Kings of Lydia and Crete (ioining together their armies) inuaded Thessalia, & brought Dorilaus to some behind-hand of fortune, when his faithfull friend & brother Euarchus came so mightily to his succour, that with some enterchanging changes of fortune, they begat of a iust war, the best child, peace. In which time Euarchus made a crosse mariage also with Dorilaus his sister, & shortly left her with child of the famous Pyrocles, driuen to returne to the defence of his owne countrie, which in his absence (helped with some of the ill contented nobilitie) the mighty King of Thrace, & his brother, King of Pannonia, had inuaded. The successe of those warres was too notable to be vnknowne to your eares, to which it seemes all worthy fame hath glory to come vnto. But there was Dorilaus (valiantly requiting his frie[n]ds helpe) in a great battaile depriued of his life, his obsequies being no more sole[m]nised by the teares of his partakers, the[n] the bloud of his enimies; with so pearcing a sorrow to the constant hart of Euarchus, that the newes of his sons birth could lighten his countenance with no shew of comfort, although al the comfort that might be in a child, truth it selfe in him forthwith deliuered. For what fortune onely southsayers foretold of Musidorus, that all men might see prognosticated in Pyrocles; both Heauens & Earth giuing toke[n]s of the comming forth of an Heroicall vertue. The senate house of the planets was at no time to set, for the decreeing of perfectio[n] in a man, as at that time all folkes skilful therin did acknowledge: onely loue was threatned, and promised to him, and so to his cousin, as both the tempest and hauen of their best yeares. But as death may haue preuented Pyrocles, so vnworthinesse must be the death to Musidorus.
1 The education of Pyrocles & Musidorus. 2 Their friend-
ship, 3 nauigation, 4 and first shipwracke. 5 The straunge
gratitude of two brothers to them, vpon their libera-
litie to those two brothers.
Vt the mother of Pyrocles (shortly after her childe-birth) dying, was cause that Euarchus recommended
the care of his only son to his sister; doing it the rather because the warre continued in cruell heat, betwixt him & those euil neighbours of his. In which meane time those young Princes (the only comforters of that vertuous widow) grewe on so, that Pyrocles taught admiration to the hardest conceats: Musidorus (per-chaunce because among his subiectes) exceedingly beloued: and by the good order of Euarchus (well perfourmed by his sister) they were so brought vp, that all the sparkes of vertue, which nature had kindled in the[m], were so blowne to giue forth their vttermost heate that iustly it may be affirmed, they enflamed the affections of all that knew the[m]. For almost before they could perfectly speake, they began to receaue co[n]ceits not vnworthy of the best speakers: excellent deuises being vsed, to make euen their sports profitable; images of battailes, & fortificatio[n]s being then deliuered to their memory, which after, their stronger iudgeme[n]ts might dispens, the delight of tales being co[n]uerted to the knowledge of al the stories of worthy Princes, both to moue them to do nobly, & teach them how to do nobly; the beautie of vertue still being set before their eyes, & that taught them with far more diligent care, then Gramatical rules, their bodies exercised in all abilities, both of doing and suffring, & their mindes acquainted by degrees with daungers; & in sum, all bent to the making vp of princely mindes: no seruile feare vsed towardes them, nor any other violent restraint, but stil as to Princes: so that a habite of commaunding was naturalized in them, and therefore the farther from Tyrannic: Nature hauing done so much for them in nothing, as that it made them Lords of truth, whereon all the other goods were builded.
Among which I nothing so much delight to recount, as the memorable friendship that grewe betwixt the two Princes,
such as made them more like then the likenesse of all other vertues, and made them more neer one to the other, then the neerenes of their bloud could aspire vnto; which I think grew the faster, and the faster was tied betweene them, by reason that Musidorus being elder by three or foure yeares, it was neither so great a difference in age as did take away the delight in societie, and yet by the difference there was taken away the occasion of childish contentions; till they had both past ouer the humour of such contentions. For Pyrocles bare reuere[n]ce ful of loue to Musidorus, & Musidorus had a delight full of loue in Pyrocles. Musidorus, what he had learned either for body or minde, would teach it to Pyrocles; and Pyrocles was so glad to learne of none, as of Musidorus: till Pyrocles, being come to sixtene yeares of age, he seemed so to ouerrun his age in growth, strength, and al things following it, that not Musidorus, no nor any man liuing (I thinke) could performe any action, either on horse, or foote, more strongly, or deliuer that strength more nimbly, or become the deliuery more gracefully, or employ al more vertuously. Which may well seeme wonderfull, but wonders are no wonders in a wonderfull subiect.
At which time vnderstanding that the King Euarchus, after so many yeares warre, and the conquest of all Pannonia,
and almost Thrace, had now brought the co[n]clusion of al to the siege of Bizantium (to the raising of which siege great forces were made) they would needs fall to the practise of those vertues, which they before learned. And therefore the mother of Musidorus nobly yeelding ouer her owne affects to her childrens good (for a mother she was in effect to the[m] both) the rather that they might helpe her beloued brother, they brake of all delayes; which Musidorus for his parte thought already had deuoured too much of his good time, but that he had once graunted a boone (before he knew what it was) to his deere friend Pyrocles; that he would neuer seeke the aduentures of armes, vntil he might go with him: which hauing fast bou[n]d his hart (a true slaue to faith) he had bid a tedious delay of following his owne humour for his friends sake, till now finding him able euery way to go thorow with that kinde of life, he was as desirous for his sake, as for his owne, to enter into it. So therefore preparing a nauie, that they might go like themselues, and not onely bring the comfort of their presence, but of their power to their deere parent Euarchus, they recommended themselues to the Sea, leauing the shore of Thessalia full of teares and vowes: and were receiued thereon with so smooth and smiling a face, as if Neptune had as then learned falsely to fawne on Princes. The winde was like a seruaunt, wayting behind them so iust, that they might fill the sailes as they listed; and the best saylers shewing themselues lesse couetous of his liberalitie, so tempered it, that they all kept together like a beautifull flocke, which so well could obey their maisters pipe: without sometimes, to delight the Princes eies, some two or three of them would striue, who could (either by the cunning of well spending the windes breath, or by the aduantageous building of their moouing houses) leaue their fellowes behind them in the honour of speed: while the two Princes had leasure to see the practise of that, which before they had learned by bookes: to consider the arte of catching the winde prisoner, to no other ende, but to runne away with it; to see how beautie, and vse can so well agree together, that of all the trinckets, where with they are attired, there is not one but serues to some necessary purpose. And (ô Lord) to see the admirable power & noble effects of Loue, whereby the seeming insensible Loadstone, with a secret beauty (holding the spirit of iron in it) can draw that hard-harted thing vnto it, and (like a vertuous mistresse) not onely make it bow it selfe, but with it make it aspire to so high a Loue, as of the heauenly Poles; and thereby to bring foorth the noblest deeds, that the children of the Earth can boast of. And so the Princes delighting their co[n]ceats with co[n]firming their knowledge, seing wherein the Sea-discipline differed from Land-seruice, they had for a day & almost a whole night, as pleasing entertainement, as the falsest hart could giue to him he meanes worst to.
But by that the next morning began a little to make a guilden shewe of a good meaning, there arose euen with the Sun, a
vaile of darke cloudes before his face, which shortly (like inck powred into water) had blacked ouer all the face of heauen; preparing (as it were) a mournefull stage for a Tragedie to be plaied on. For forthwith the windes began to speake lowder, and as in a tumultuous kingdome, to thinke themselves fittest instruments of commaundement; and blowing whole stormes of hayle and raine vpon them, they were sooner in daunger, then they coulde almost bethinke themselves of chaunge. For then the traiterous Sea began to swell in pride against the afflicted Nauie, vnder which (while the heauen fauoured them) it had layne so calmely, making mountaines of it selfe, ouer which the tossed and tottring ship shoulde clime, to be streight carried downe againe to a pit of hellish darkenesse; with such cruell blowes against the sides of the shippe (that which way soeuer it went, was still in his malice) that there was left neither power to stay, nor way to escape. And shortly had it so disseuered the louing companie, which the daie before had tarried together, that most of them neuer met againe, but were swallowed vp in his neuer-satisfied mouth. Some indeed (as since was knowne) after long wandring returned into Thessalia; other recouered Bizantium, and serued Euarchus in his warre. But in the ship wherein the Princes were (now left as much alone as proud Lords be when fortune fails them) though they employed all industrie to saue themselues, yet what they did was rather for dutie to nature, then hope to escape. So ougly a darkenesse, as if it would preuent the nights comming, vsurped the dayes right: which (accompanied sometimes with thunders, alwayes with horrible noyses of the chafing winds) made the masters and pilots so astonished, that they knew not how to direct, and if they knew they could scarcely (when they directed) heare their owne whistle. For the sea straue with the winds which should be lowder, & the shrouds of the ship with a ghastful noise to them that were in it, witnessed, that their ruine was the wager of the others contention, and the heauen roaring out thunders the more amazed them, as hauing those powers for enimies. Certainely there is no daunger carries with it more horror, then that which growes in those flowing kingdomes. For that dwelling place is vnnaturall to mankind, and then the terriblenesse of the continuall motion, the dissolutio[n] of the fare being from comfort, the eye and the eare hauing ougly images euer before it, doth still vex the minde, euen when it is best armed against it. But thus the day past (if that might be called a day) while the cunningest mariners were so conquered by the storme, as they thought it best with striking sailes to yeelde to be gouerned by it: the valiantest feeling inward dismayednesse, and yet the fearefullest ashamed fully to shew it, seeing that the Princes (who were to parte from the greatest fortunes) did in their countenances accuse no point of feare, but encouraging them to doo what might be done (putting their handes to euerie most painefull office) taught them at one instant to promise themselues the best, and yet not to despise the worst. But so were they carryed by the tyrannic of the winde, and the treason of the sea, all that night, which the elder it was, the more wayward it shewed it selfe towards them: till the next morning (knowne to be a morning better by the houre-glasse, then by the day cleerenesse) hauing runne fortune as blindly, as it selfe euer was painted, lest the conclusion should not aunswere to the rest of the play, they were driuen vpon a rocke: which hidden with those outragious waues, did, as it were, closely dissemble his cruel mind, till with an vnbeleeued violence (but to them that haue tried it) the shippe ranne vpon it; and seeming willinger to perish then to haue her course stayed, redoubled her blowes, till she had broken her selfe in peeces; and as it were tearing out her owne bowels to feede the seas greedinesse, left nothing within it but despaire of safetie, and expectation of a loathsome end. There was to be seene the diuerse manner of minds in distresse: some sate vpon the toppe of the poupe weeping and wailing, till the sea swallowed them; some one more able to abide death, then feare of death, cut his owne throate to preuent drowning; some prayed, and there wanted not of them which cursed, as if the heauens could not be more angrie then they were. But a monstrous crie begotten of manie roaring vowes, was able to infect with feare a minde that had not preuented it with the power of reason.
But the Princes vsing the passions of fearing euill, and desiring to escape, onely to serue the rule of vertue, not to
abandon ones selfe, lept to a ribbe of the shippe, which broken from his fellowes, rioted with more likelyhood to doo seruice, then any other limme of that ruinous bodie; vpon which there had gotten alreadie two brethren, well knowne seruants of theirs; and streight they foure were carryed out of sight, in that huge rising of the sea, from the rest of the shippe. But the peece they were on sinking by little and little vnder them, not able to support the weight of so manie, the brethren (the elder whereof was Leucippus, the younger Nelsus) shewed themselues right faithfull and gratefull seruants vnto them; gratefull (I say) for this cause: Those two gentlemen had bene taken prisoners in the great warre the king of Phrygia made vpon Thessalia, in the time of Musidorus his infancie; and hauing beene solde into another countrie (though peace fell after betweene these Realmes) could not be deliuered, because of their valor knowne, but for a farre greater summe, then either all their friends were able, or the Dowager willing to make, in respect of the great expences her selfe and people had bene put to in those warres; and so had they remained in prison about thirteene yeares, when the two young Princes (hearing speaches of their good deserts) found meanes both by selling all the iewels they had of great price, and by giuing vnder their hands great estates when they should come to be Kings (which promises their vertue promised for them should be kept) to get so much treasure as redeemed them from captiuitie. This remembred, and kindly remembred by these two brothers, perchance helped by a naturall duetie to their Princes blood, they willingly left holde of the boord, committing themselues to the seas rage, & euen when they went to dye, themselues praying for the Princes liues. It is true, that neither the paine nor daunger, so moued the Princes hartes as the tendernesse of that louing part, farre from glorie, hauing so few lookers on; farre from hope of reward, since themselues were sure to perish.
1 Pyrocles cast on the shore of Phrygia led prisoner to the
King. 3 That suspicious tyrant naturalized. His intent
to kill Pyrocles. 5 Musidorus--his escape from sea, and
offer to dye for his friend. 6 Their contention for death.
7 Preparation for Musidorus execution. 8 His straunge de-
liuerie by Pyrocles, 9 and a sodaine mutinie. 10 Their kil-
ling the bad King, 11 and creating a better.
Vt now of all the royal Nauie they had left but one peece of one ship, whereon they kept themselues in all trueth, hauing enterchaunged their cares, while either cared for other, ech comforting and councelling how to labour for the better, and to abide the worse. But so fell it out, that as they were carryed by the tide (which there seconded by the storme ran exceedingly swiftly) Musidorus seeing (as he thought) Pyrocles not well vpon the boord, as he would with his right hand haue helped him on better, he had no sooner vnfastned his hold, but that a waue forcibly spoiled his weaker hand of hold; and so for a time parted those friends, each crying to the other, but the noise of the sea drowned their farewell. But Pyrocles (then carelesse of death, if it had come by any meanes, but his owne) was shortly brought out of the seas furie to the lands comfort; when (in my conscience I know) that comfort was but bitter vnto him. And bitter indeed it fell out euen in it selfe to be vnto him.
For being cast on land much brused & beaten both with the seas hard farewell, and the shores rude welcome; and euen
almost deadly tired with the length of his vncomfortable labour, as he was walking vp to discouer some bodie, to whom he might goe for reliefe, there came straight running vnto him certaine, who (as it was after knowne) by appointment watched (with manie others) in diuerse places along the coast: who laide handes of him, and without either questioning with him, or shewing will to heare him, (like men fearefull to appeare curious) or which was worse hauing no regard to the hard plight he was in (being so wette and weake) they carried him some miles thence, to a house of a principall officer of that countrie. Who with no more ciuilitie (though with much more busines then those vnder-fellowes had shewed) beganne in captious manner to put interrogatories vnto him. To which he (vnused to such entertainment) did shortlie and plainely aunswere, what he was, and how he came thither.
But that no sooner knowne, with numbers of armed men to garde him (for mischiefe, not from mischiefe) he was sent to the Kings court, which as then was not aboue a dayes iourney off, with letters from that officer, containing his owne seruiceable diligence in discouering so great a personage; adding with all more then was true of his coniectures, because he would endeare his owne seruice.
This country whereon he fell was Phrygia, and it was to the King thereof to whom he was sent, a Prince of a
melancholy constitution both of bodie and mind; wickedly sad, euer musing of horrible matters; suspecting, or rather condemning all men of euill, because his minde had no eye to espie goodnesse: and therefore accusing Sycophantes, of all men did best sort to his nature; but therefore not seeming Sycophantes, because of no euill they said, they could bring any new or doubtfull thing vnto him, but such as alreadie he had bene apt to determine; so as they came but as proofes of his wisedome: fearefull and neuer secure; while the feare he had figured in his minde had any possibilitie of euent. A tode-like retyrednesse, and closenesse of minde; nature teaching the odiousnesse of poyson, and the daunger of odiousnesse. Yet while youth lasted in him, the exercises of that age, and his humour (not yet fullie discouered) made him something the more frequentable, and lesse daungerous. But after that yeares beganne to come on with some, though more seldome shewes of a bloudie nature, and that the prophecie of Musidorus destinie came to his eares (deliuered vnto him, and receiued of him with the hardest interpretation, as though his subiectes did delight in the hearing thereof.) Then gaue he himselfe indeede to the full currant of his disposition, espetially after the warre of Thessalia, wherein (though in trueth wrongly) he deemed, his vnsuccessings proceeded of their vnwillingnes to haue him prosper: and then thinking him selfe contemned, (knowing no countermine against contempt, but terror) began to let nothing passe which might beare the colour of a fault, without sharpe punishment: & when he wanted faults, excellencie grew a fault; and it was sufficient to make one guiltie, that he had power to be guiltie. And as there is no honor, to which impudent pouertie cannot make it selfe seruiceable, so were there enow of those desperate ambitious, who would builde their houses vpon others ruines, which after shoulde fall by like practises. So as seruitude came mainly vpon that poore people, whose deedes were not onely punished, but words corrected, and euen thoughts by some meane or other puld out of the[m]: while suspitio[n] bred the mind of crueltie, and the effectes of crueltie stirred a new cause of suspition. And in this plight (ful of watch-full fearefulnes) did the storme deliuer sweete Pyrocles to the stormie minde of that Tyrant, all men that did such wrong to so rare a stranger (whose countenaunce deserued both pitie and admiration) condemning theselues as much in their hearts, as they did brag in their forces.
But when this bloudy King knew what he was, and in what order he and his cosin Musidorus (so much of him feared)
were come out of Thessalia, assuredly thinking (because euer thinking the worst) that those forces were prouided against him; glad of the perishing (as he thought) of Musidorus, determined in publique sort to put Pyrocles to death. For hauing quite loste the way of noblenes, he straue to clime to the height of terriblenes; and thinking to make all men adread, to make such one an enemie, who would not spare, nor feare to kill so great a Prince; and lastly, hauing nothing in him why to make him his friend, thought, he woulde make him away, for being his enemie. The day was appointed, and all things appointed for that cruell blow, in so solemne an order, as if they would set foorth tyrany in most gorgeous decking. The Princely youth of inuincible valour, yet so vniustly subiected to such outragious wrong, carrying himselfe in all his demeanure so consta[n]tly, abiding extremitie, that one might see it was the cutting away of the greatest hope of the world, and destroying vertue in his sweetest grouth.
But so it fell out that his death was preuented by a rare example of friendshippe in Musidorus: who being almost
drowned, had bene taken vp by a Fisherman belonging to the kingdome of Pontus; and being there, and vnderstanding the full discourse (as Fame was very prodigall of so notable an accident) in what case Pyrocles was; learning withall, that his hate was farre more to him then to Pyrocles, he founde meanes to acquaint him selfe with a nobl-man of that Countrie, to whom largely discouering what he was, he found him a most fitte instrument to effectuate his desire. For this noble-man had bene one, who in many warres had serued Euarchus, and had bene so mind-striken by the beautie of vertue in that noble King, that (though not borne his Subiect) he euen profeste himselfe his seruaunt. His desire therefore to him was, to keepe Musidorus in a strong Castle of his, and then to make the King of Phrygia vnderstande, that if he would deliuer Pyrocles, Musidorus woulde willingly put him selfe into his handes: knowing well, that how thirstie so euer he was of Pyrocles bloud, he woulde rather drinke that of Musidorus. The Nobleman was loath to preserue one by the losse of another, but time vrging resolution: the importunitie of Musidorus (who shewed a minde not to ouer-liue Pyrocles) with the affection he bare to Euarchus, so preuayled, that he carried this strange offer of Musidorus, which by that Tyrant was greedelie accepted.
And so vpon securitie of both sides, they were enterchanged. Where I may not omitte that worke of friendshippe in
Pyrocles, who both in speache and cou[n]tenance to Musidorus, well shewed, that he thought himselfe iniured, and not releeued by him: asking him, what he had euer seene in him, why he could not beare the extremities of mortall accidentes as well as any man? and why he shoulde enuie him the glorie of suffering death for his friendes cause, and (as it were) robbe him of his owne possession? But in this notable contention, (where the conquest must be the conquerers destruction, and safetie the punishment of the conquered) Musidorus preuayled: because he was a more welcome prize to the vniuste King, that wisht none well, to them worse then others, and to him worste of all: and as chearefully going towardes, as Pyrocles went frowardly from-warde his death, he was deliuered to the King, who could not be inough sure of him, without he fed his owne eies vpon one, whom he had begon to feare, as soone as the other began to be.
Yet because he would in one acte, both make ostentation of his owne felicitie (into whose hands his most feared enemie
was fallen) and withal cut of such hopes from his suspected subiects (when they should knowe certainly he was dead) with much more skilful cruelty, and horrible solemnitie he caused each thing to be prepared for his triumph of tyrannic. And so the day being come, he was led foorth by many armed men (who often had beene the fortifiers of wickednes) to the place of execution: where comming with a mind comforted in that he had done such seruice to Pyrocles, this strange encounter he had.
The excelling Pyrocles was no sooner deliuered by the kings seruants to a place of liberty, then he bent his witte and courage, (and what would not they bring to passe?) how ether to deliuer Musidorus, or to perish with him. And (finding he could get in that countrie no forces sufficient by force to rescue him) to bring himselfe to die with him, (little hoping of better euent) he put himselfe in poore rayment, and by the helpe of some few crownes he tooke of that noble-man, (who full of sorrow, though not knowing the secrete of his intent, suffered him to goe in such order from him) he (euen he, born to the greatest expectation, and of the greatest bloud that any Prince might be) submitted himselfe to be seruant to the executioner that should put to death Musidorus: a farre notabler proofe of his friendship, considering the height of his minde, then any death could be. That bad officer not suspecting him, being araied fit for such an estate, & hauing his beautie hidden by many foule spots he artificially put vpon his face, gaue him leaue not onely to weare a sworde himselfe, but to beare his sworde prepared for the iustified murther. And so Pyrocles taking his time, when Musidorus was vpon the scaffold (separated somewhat from the rest, as allowed to say something) he stept vnto him, & putting the sworde into his hande not bound (a point of ciuility the officers vsed towards him, because they doubted no such enterprise) Musidorus (said he) die nobly. In truth, neuer ma[n] betweene ioy before knowledge what to be glad of, and feare after co[n]sidering his case, had such a confusion of thoughts, as I had, when I saw Pyrocles, so neare me. But with that Dorus blushed, and Pamela smiled: and Dorus the more blushed at her smiling, and she the more smiled at his blushing; because he had (with the remembraunce of that plight he was in) forgotten in speaking of him selfe to vse the third person. But Musidorus turned againe her thoughts from his cheekes to his tongue in this sorte: But (said he) when they were with swordes in handes, not turning backs one to the other (for there they knew was no place of defence) but making that a preseruation in not hoping to be preserued, and now acknowledging themselues subiect to death, meaning onely to do honour to their princely birth, they flew amongst the all (for all were enimies) & had quickly either with flight or death, left none vpon the scaffolde to annoy them. Wherein Pyrocles (the excellent Pyrocles) did such wonders beyond beliefe, as was hable to leade Musidorus to courage, though he had bene borne a coward. But indeed, iust rage & desperate vertue did such effects, that the popular sorte of the beholders began to be almost superstitiously amazed, as at effectes beyond mortall power. But the King with angry threatnings from-out a window (where he was not ashamed, the worlde should behold him a beholder) co[m]maunded his garde, and the rest of his souldiers to hasten their death. But many of them lost their bodies to loose their soules, when the Princes grew almost so weary, as they were ready to be conquered with conquering.
But as they were stil fighting with weake armes, and strong harts, it happened, that one of the souldiers (co[m]mauded
to go vp after his fellowes against the Princes) hauing receiued a light hurt, more woud[n]ed in his hart, went backe with as much diligence, as he came vp with modestie: which another of his fellowes seeing, to pike a thanke of the King, strake him vpon the face, reuiling him, that so accompanied, he would runne away from so fewe. But he (as many times it falls out) onely valiant, when he was angrie, in reuenge thrust him through: which with his death was streight reuenged by a brother of his: and that againe requited by a fellow of the others. There began to be a great tumult amongst the souldiers; which seene, and not vnderstood by the people (vsed to feares but not vsed to be bolde in them) some began to crie treason; and that voice streight multiplying it selfe, the King (O the cowardise of a guiltie conscience) before any man set vpon him, fled away. Where-with a bruit (either by arte of some well meaning men, or by such chaunce as such thinges often fall out by) ran from one to the other, that the King was slaine; wherwith certaine yong men of the brauest minds, cried with lowde voice, Libertie ; and encouraging the other Citizens to follow them, set vpon the garde, and souldiers as chiefe instruments of Tyrannie: and quickly, aided by the Princes, they had left none of them aliue, nor any other in the cittie, who they thought had in any sorte set his hand to the worke of their seruitude, and (God knowes) by the blindnesse of rage, killing many guiltles persons, either for affinity to the Tyrant, or enmitie to the tyrant-killers. But some of the wisest (seeing that a popular licence is indeede the many-headed tyranny) preuailed with the rest to make Musidorus their chiefe: choosing one of them (because Princes) to defende them, and him because elder and most hated of the Tyrant, and by him to be ruled: whom foorthwith they lifted vp, Fortune (I thinke) smiling at her worke therein, that a scaffold of execution should grow a scaffold of coronation.
But by and by there came newes of more certaine truth, that the King was not dead, but fled to a strong castle of his,
neere had, where he was gathering forces in all speed possible to suppresse this mutinie. But now they had run themselues too farre out of breath, to go backe againe the same career; and too well they knew the sharpnesse of his memorie to forget such an iniury; therefore learning vertue of necessitie, they continued resolute to obey Musidorus. Who seing what forces were in the citie, with them issued against the Tyrant, while they were in this heat; before practises might be vsed to disseuer them: & with them met the King, who likewise hoping little to preuaile by time, (knowing and finding his peoples hate) met him with little delay in the field: where him selfe was slaine by Musidorus, after he had seene his onely sonne (a Prince of great courage & beautie, but fostred in bloud by his naughty Father) slaine by the hand of Pyrocles. This victory obteined, with great, and truly not vndeserued honour to the two Princes, the whole estates of the country with one consent, gaue the crowne and all other markes of soueraigntie to Musidorus; desiring nothing more, then to liue vnder such a gouernment, as they promised theselues of him.
But he thinking it a greater greatnes to giue a kingdome, then get a kingdome; vnderstanding that there was left of the
bloud Roiall, & next to the successio[n], an aged Gentleman of approued goodnes (who had gotten nothing by his cousins power, but danger fro[m] him, and odiousnes for him) hauing past his time in modest secrecy, & asmuch from entermedling in matters of gouernment, as the greatnesse of his bloud would suffer him, did (after hauing receiued the full power to his owne hands) resigne all to the noble-ma[n]: but with such conditions, & cautions of the conditions, as might assure the people (with asmuch assurace as worldly matters beare) that not onely that gouernour, of whom indeed they looked for al good, but the nature of the gouernment, should be no way apt to decline to Tyrany.
1 The two brothers escape to the shore of Pontus. 2 Incostancy,
3 and enuie purtraied in the King & his Counsellor. 4 The
aduancement & ouerthrow by them of those two brothers.
5 The reuenge thereof by the two Princes. 6 The cruelties of
two reuengefull Gyants, and their death by the Princes,
7 Their honours, and their honourable mindes.
His dooing set foorth no lesse his magnifice[n]ce, then the other act did his magnanimitie: so that greatly
praysed of al, and iustly beloued of the newe King, who in all both wordes and behauiour protested him selfe their Tenaunt, or Liegeman, they were drawne thence to reuenge those two serua[n]ts of theirs, of whose memorable faith, I told you (most excelle[n]t Princesse) in willingly giuing themselues to be drowned for their sakes: but drowned indeed they were not, but gat with painefull swimming vpon a rocke: fro[m] whence (after being come as neere famishing, as before drowning) the weather breaking vp, they were brought to the maine lande of Pontus; the same cou[n]try vpon which Musidorus also was fallen, but not in so luckie a place.
For they were brought to the King of that country, a Tyrant also, not thorow suspition, greedines, or vnreue[n]gefulnes,
as he of Phrygia, but (as I may terme it) of a wanton crueltie: inconstant of his choise of friends, or rather neuer hauing a frie[n]d, but a playfellow; of whom when he was wearie, he could not otherwise rid himself, the[n] by killing the[m]: giuing somtimes prodigally, not because he loued them to whom he gaue, but because he lusted to giue: punishing, not so much for hate or anger, as because he felt not the smart of punishment: delighted to be flattered, at first for those vertues which were not in him, at length making his vices vertues worthy the flattering: with like iudgement glorying, when he had happened to do a thing well, as when he had performed some notable mischiefe.
He chau[n]ced at that time (for indeed long time none lasted with him) to haue next in vse about him, a ma[n] of the most enuious dispositio[n], that (I think) euer infected the aire with his breath: whose eies could not looke right vpon any happie ma[n], nor eares beare the burthen of any bodies praise: co[n]trary to the natures of al other plagues, plagued with others well being; making happines the ground of his vnhappinesse, & good newes the argume[n]t of his sorrow: in sum, a man whose fauour no man could winne, but by being miserable.
And so, because these two faithfull seruants of theirs came in miserable sorte to that Courte, he was apte inough at first to fauour them; and the King vnderstanding of their aduenture, (wherein they had shewed so constant a faith vnto their Lordes) suddainly falles to take a pride in making much of them, extolling them with infinite prayses, and praysing him selfe in his harte, in that he praysed them. And by and by were they made great courtiers, and in the way of minions, when advauncement (the most mortall offence to enuy) stirred vp their former friend, to ouerthrow his owne worke in them; taking occasion vpon the knowledge (newly come to the court) of the late King of Phrygia destroied by their two Lordes, who hauing bene a neere kinsman to this Prince of Pontus, by this enuious Coucellour, partly with suspition of practise, partly with glory of in-part reue[n]ging his cousins death, the King was suddainly turned, (and euery turne with him was a downe-fall) to locke them vp in prison, as seruaunts to his enimies, whom before he had neuer knowne, nor (til that time one of his own subiects had entertained and dealt for them) did euer take heed of. But now earnest in euery present humour, and making himselfe braue in his liking, he was content to giue them iust cause of offence, when they had power to make iust reuenge. Yet did the Princes send vnto him before they entred into war, desiring their seruants liberty. But he swelling in thier hu[m]blenes, (like a bubble swollen vp with a small breath, broken with a great) forgetting, or neuer knowing humanitie, caused their heads to be striken off, by the aduice of his enuious Councellor (who now hated them so much the more, as he foresaw the happines in hauing such, and so fortunate masters) and sent them with vnroyall reproches to Musidorus and Pyrocles, as if they had done traiterously, and not heroically in killing his tyrannicall Cosen.
But that iniurie went beyond al degree of reconcilement; so that they making forces in Phrygia (a kingdome wholy at
their commandement, by the loue of the people, and gratefulnesse of the King) they entred his country; and wholy conquering it (with such deeds as at lest Fame said were excellent) tooke the King; and by Musidorus commaundement (Pyrocles hart more enclined to pitie) he was slaine vpon the tombe of their two true Seruants; which they caused to be made for them with royall expences, and notable workmanship to preserue their deade liues. For his wicked Seruant he should haue felt the like, or worse, but that his harte brake euen to death with the beholding the honour done to the deade carcasses? There might Pyrocles quietly haue enioyed that crowne, by all the desire of that people, most of whom had reuolted vnto him: but he, finding a sister of the late Kings (a faire and well esteemed Ladie) looking for nothing more, then to be oppressed with her brothers ruines, gaue her in marriage to the noble man his fathers old friend, and endowed them with the crowne of that kingdome. And not content with those publike actions, of princely, and (as it were) gouerning vertue, they did (in that kingdome and some other neere about) diuers afts of particular trials, more famous, because more perilous. For in that time those regions were full both of cruell monsters, & monstrous men: all which in short time by priuate combats they deliuered the countries of.
Among the rest, two brothers of huge both greatnesse & force, therefore commonly called giants, who kept
the[m]selues in a castle seated vpon the top of a rocke, impregnable, because there was no comming vnto it, but by one narrow path, where one mans force was able to keepe downe an armie. These brothers had a while serued the King of Pontus, and in all his affaires (especially of war, wherunto they were onely apt) they had shewed, as vnco[n]quered courage, so a rude faithfulnes: being men indeed by nature apter to the faults of rage, then of deceipt; not greatly ambitious, more then to be well and vprightly dealt with; rather impatient of iniury, then delighted with more then ordinary curtesies; and in iniuries more sensible of smart or losse, then of reproch or disgrace. These men being of this nature (and certainely iewels to a wise man, considering what indeed wonders they were able to performe) yet were discarded by that vnworthy Prince, after many notable deserts, as not worthy the holding. Which was the more euident to them; because it sodainly fell from an excesse of fauor, which (many examples hauing taught them) neuer stopt his race till it came to an headlong ouerthrow: they full of rage, retyred themselues vnto this castle. Where thinking nothing iuster the[n] reuenge, nor more noble then the effects of anger, that (according to the nature) ful of inward brauery and fiercenes, scarcely in the glasse of Reason, thinking it self faire, but when it is terrible, they immediately gaue themselues to make all the countrie about them (subiect to that King) to smart for their Lords folly: not caring how innocent they were, but rather thinking the more innocent they were, the more it testified their spite, which they desired to manifest. And with vse of euill, growing more and more euill, they tooke delight in slaughter, and pleasing themselues in making others wracke the effect of their power: so that where in the time that they obeyed a master, their anger was a seruiceable power of the minde to doo publike good; so now vnbridled, and blinde iudge of it selfe, it made wickednesse violent, and praised it selfe in excellencie of mischiefe; almost to the ruine of the countrie, not greatly regarded by their carelesse and louelesse king. Till now these Princes finding them so fleshed in crueltie, as not to be reclaimed, secreatly vndertooke the matter alone: for accompanied they would not haue suffered them to haue mounted; and so those great fellowes scornefully receiuing them, as foolish birds falne into their net, it pleased the eternall iustice to make the suffer death by their hands: So as they were manifoldly acknowledged the sauers of that countrie.
It were the part of a verie idle Orator to set forth the numbers of wel-deuised honors done vnto them: But as high honor
is not onely gotten and borne by paine, and daunger, but must be nurst by the like, or els vanisheth as soone as it appeares to the world; so the naturall hunger thereof (which was in Pyrocles) suffered him not to account a resting seate of that, which euer either riseth, or falleth, but still to make one action beget another; whereby his doings might send his praise to others mouthes to rebound againe true contentment to his spirite. And therefore hauing well established those kingdomes, vnder good gouernours, and rid them by their valure of such giants and monsters, as before time armies were not able to subdue, they determined in vnknowne order to see more of the world, & to imploy those gifts esteemed rare in them, to the good of mankinde; and therefore would themselues (vnderstanding that the King Euarchus was passed all the cumber of his warres) goe priuately to seeke exercises of their vertue; thinking it not so worthy, to be brought to heroycall effects by fortune, or necessitie (like Ulysses and Aeneas) as by ones owne choice, and working. And so went they away from verie vnwilling people to leaue them, making time haste it selfe to be a circumstance of their honour, and one place witnesse to another of the truth of their doings. For scarcely were they out of the co[n]fines of Pontus, but that as they ridde alone armed, (for alone they went, one seruing the other) they mette an aduenture; which though not so notable for any great effect they perfourmed, yet worthy to be remembred for the vnused examples therein, as well of true natural goodnes, as of wretched vngratefulnesse.
1 The pitifull state, and storie of the Paph[la]gonian vnkinde
King, and his kind sonne, 2 first related by the son, 3 then by
the blind father. 4 The three Princes assaulted by Plexirtus
and his traine: 5 assisted by their King of Pontus and his
troupes. 6 Plexirtus succoured and saued by two brothers,
that vertuously loued a most vicious man. 7 Beseeged by the
new King, 8 he submitteth, & is pardoned. 9 The two Prin-
ces depart to aide the Queene of Lycia.
T was in the kingdome of Galacia, the season being (as in the depth of winter) very cold, and as then
sodainely growne to so extreame and foule a storme, that neuer any winter (I thinke) brought foorth a fowler child: so that the Princes were euen compelled by the haile, that the pride of the winde blew into their faces, to seeke some shrowding place within a certaine hollow rocke offering it vnto them, they made it their shield against the tempests furie. And so staying there, till the violence thereof was passed, they heard the speach of a couple, who not perceiuing them (being hidde within that rude canapy) helde a straunge and pitifull disputation which made them steppe out; yet in such sort, as they might see vnseene. There they perceaued an aged man, and a young, scarcely come to the age of a man, both poorely arayed, extreamely weather-beaten; the olde man blinde, the young man leading him: and yet through all those miseries, in both these seemed to appeare a kind of noblenesse, not sutable to that affliction. But the first words they heard, were these of the old man. Well Leonatus (said he) since I cannot perswade thee to lead me to that which should end my griefe, & thy trouble, let me now entreat thee to leaue me: feare not, my miserie cannot be greater then it is, & nothing doth become me but miserie; feare not the danger of my blind steps, I cannot fall worse then I am. And doo not I pray thee, doo not obstinately continue to infect thee with my wretchednes. But flie, flie from this region, onely worthy of me. Deare father (answered he) doo not take away from me the onely remnant of my happinesse: while I haue power to doo you seruice, I am not wholly miserable. Ah my sonne (said he, and with that he groned, as if sorrow straue to breake his harte,) how euill fits it me to haue such a sonne, and how much doth thy kindnesse vpbraide my wickednesse? These dolefull speeches, and some others to like purpose (well shewing they had not bene borne to the fortune they were in,) moued the Princes to goe out vnto them, and aske the younger what they were? Sirs (answered he, with a good grace, and made the more agreable by a certaine noble kinde of pitiousnes) I see well you are straungers, that know not our miserie so well here knowne, that no man dare know, but that we must be miserable. In deede our state is such, as though nothing is so needfull vnto vs as pittie, yet nothing is more daungerous vnto vs, then to make our selues so knowne as may stirre pittie. But your presence promiseth, that cruelty shall not ouer-runne hate. And if it did, in truth our state is soncke below the degree of feare.
This old man (whom I leade) was lately rightfull Prince of this countrie of Paphlagonia, by the hard-harted
vngratefulnes of a sonne of his, depriued, not onely of his kingdome (whereof no forraine forces were euer able to spoyle him) but of his sight, the riches which Nature grau[n]ts to the poorest creatures. Whereby, & by other his vnnaturall dealings, he hath bin driuen to such griefe, as euen now he would haue had me to haue led him to the toppe of this rocke, thece to cast himselfe headlong to death: and so would haue made me (who receiued my life of him) to be the worker of his destruction. But noble Gentlemen (said he) if either of you haue a father, and feele what duetifull affection is engraffed in a sonnes hart, let me intreate you to conuey this afflicted Prince to some place of rest & securitie. Amongst your worthie actes it shall be none of the least, that a King, of such might and fame, and so vniustly oppressed, is in any sort by you relieued.
But before they could make him answere, his father began to speake, Ah my sonne (said he) how euill an Historian are
you, that leaue out the chiefe knotte of all the discourse? my wickednes, my wickednes. And if thou doest it to spare my eares, (the onely sense nowe left me proper for knowledge) assure thy selfe thou dost mistake me. And I take witnesse of that Sunne which you see (with that he cast vp his blinde eyes, as if he would hunt for light,) and wish my selfe in worse case then I do wish my selfe, which is as euill as may be, if I speake vntruely; that nothing is so welcome to my thoughts, as the publishing of my shame. Therefore know you Gentlemen (to whom from my harte I wish that it may not proue ominous foretoke[n] of misfortune to haue mette with such a miser as I am) that whatsoeuer my sonne (ô God, that trueth binds me to reproch him with the name of my sonne) hath said, is true. But besides those truthes, this also is true, that hauing had in lawful manage, of a mother fitte to beare royall children, this sonne (such one as partly you see, and better shall knowe by my shorte declaration) and so enioyed the expectations in the world of him, till he was growe[n] to iustifie their expectations (so as I needed enuie no father for the chiefe comfort of mortalitie, to leaue an other ones-selfe after me) I was caried by a bastarde sonne of mine (if at least I be bounde to beleeue the words of that base woman my concubine, his mother) first to mislike, then to hate, lastly to destroy, to doo my best to destroy, this sonne (I thinke you thinke) vndeseruing destruction. What waies he vsed to bring me to it, if I should tell you, I should tediously trouble you with as much poysonous hypocrisie, desperate fraude, smoothe malice, hidden ambition, & smiling enuie, as in any liuing person could be harbored. But I list it not, no remembrance, (no, of naughtines) delights me, but mine own; & me thinks, the accusing his traines might in some manner excuse my fault, which certainly I loth to doo. But the conclusion is, that I gaue order to some seruants of mine, whom I thought as apte for such charities as my selfe, to leade him out into a forrest, & there to kill him.
But those theeues (better natured to my sonne then my selfe) spared his life, letting him goe, to learne to liue poorely: which he did, giuing himselfe to be a priuate souldier, in a countrie here by. But as he was redy to be greatly aduaunced for some noble peeces of seruice which he did, he hearde newes of me: who (dronke in my affection to that vnlawfull and vnnaturall sonne of mine) suffered my self so to be gouerned by him, that all fauors and punishments passed by him, all offices, and places of importance, distributed to his fauourites; so that ere I was aware, I had left my self nothing but the name of a King: which he shortly wearie of too, with many indignities (if any thing may be called an indignity, which was laid vpon me) threw me out of my seat, and put out my eies; and then (proud in his tyrannie) let me goe, nether imprisoning, nor killing me: but rather delighting to make me feele my miserie; miserie indeed, if euer there were any; full of wretchednes, fuller of disgrace, and fullest of guiltines. And as he came to the crowne by so vniust meanes, as vniustlie he kept it, by force of stranger souldiers in Cittadels, the nestes of tyranny, & murderers of libertie; disarming all his own countrimen, that no man durst shew himself a wel-willer of mine: to say the trueth (I think) few of the being so (considering my cruell follie to my good sonne, and foolish kindnes to my vnkinde bastard:) but if there were any who fell to pitie of so great a fall, and had yet any sparkes of vnstained duety lefte in them towardes me, yet durst they not shewe it, scarcely with giuing me almes at their doores; which yet was the onelie sustenaunce of my distressed life, no bodie daring to shewe so much charitie, as to lende me a hande to guide my darke steppes: Till this sonne of mine (God knowes, woorthie of a more vertuous, and more fortunate father) forgetting my abhominable wrongs, not recking danger, & neglecting the present good way he was in doing himselfe good, came hether to doo this kind office you see him performe towards me, to my vnspeakable griefe; not onely because his kindnes is a glasse eue[n]to my blind eyes, of my naughtines, but that aboue all griefes, it greeues me he should desperatly aduenture the losse of his soul-deseruing life for mine, that yet owe more to fortune for my deserts, as if he would cary mudde in a chest of christall. For well I know, he that now raigneth, how much soeuer (and with good reason) he despiseth me, of all men despised; yet he will not let slippe any aduantage to make away him, whose iust title (ennobled by courage and goodnes) may one day shake the seate of a neuer secure tyrannie. And for this cause I craued of him to leade me to the toppe of this rocke, indeede I must confesse, with meaning to free him from so Serpentine a companion as I am. But he finding what I purposed, onely therein since he was borne, shewed himselfe disobedient vnto me. And now Gentlemen, you haue the true storie, which I pray you publish to the world, that my mischieuous proceedinges may be the glorie of his filiall pietie, the onely reward now left for so great a merite. And if it may be, let me obtaine that of you, which my sonne denies me: for neuer was there more pity in sauing any, then in ending me; both because therein my agonies shall ende, and so shall you preserue this excellent young man, who els wilfully folowes his owne ruine.
The matter in it self lamentable, lamentably expressed by the old Prince (which needed not take to himselfe the
gestures of pitie, since his face could not put of the markes thereof) greatly moued the two Princes to compassion, which could not stay in such harts as theirs without seeking remedie. But by and by the occasion was presented: for Plexirtus (so was the bastard called) came thether with fortie horse, onely of purpose to murder this brother; of whose comming he had soone aduertisement, and thought no eyes of sufiicient credite in such a matter, but his owne; and therefore came him selfe to be actor, and spectator. And as soone as he came, not regarding the weake (as he thought) garde of but two men, commaunded some of his followers to set their handes to his, in the killing of Leonatus. But the young Prince (though not otherwise armed but with a sworde) how falsely soeuer he was dealt with by others, would not betray him selfe: but brauely drawing it out, made the death of the first that assaulted him, warne his fellowes to come more warily after him. But then Pyrocles and Musidorus were quickly become parties (so iust a defence deseruing as much as old friendship) and so did behaue them among that co[m]panie (more iniurious, then valiant) that many of them lost their liues for their wicked maister.
Yet perhaps had the number of them at last preuailed, if the King of Pontus (lately by them made so) had not come
vnlooked for to their succour. Who (hauing had a dreame which had fixt his imagination vehemently vpon some great daunger, presently to follow those two Princes whom he most deerely loued) was come in all hast, following as well as he could their tracke with a hundreth horses in that countrie, which he thought (considering who then raigned) a fit place inough to make the stage of any Tragedie.
But then the match had ben so ill made for Plexirtus, that his ill-led life, & worse gotten honour should haue tumbled together to destructio[n]; had there not come in Tydeus & Telenor, with fortie or fiftie in their suit, to the defence of Plexirtus. These two were brothers, of the noblest house of that country, brought vp fro[m] their infancie with Plexirtus: men of such prowesse, as not to know feare in themselues, and yet to teach it others that should deale with them: for they had often made their liues triumph ouer most terrible daungers; neuer dismayed, and euer fortunate; and truely no more setled in their valure, then disposed to goodnesse and iustice, if either they had lighted on a better friend, or could haue learned to make friendship a child, and not the father of vertue. But bringing vp (rather then choise) hauing first knit their minds vnto him, (indeed craftie inough, eyther to hide his faultes, or neuer to shew them, but when they might pay home) they willingly held out the course, rather to satisfie him, then al the world; and rather to be good friendes, then good men: so as though they did not like the euill he did, yet they liked him that did the euill; and though not councellors of the offence, yet protectors of the offender. Now they hauing heard of this sodaine going out, with so small a company, in a country full of euil-wishing minds toward him (though they knew not the cause) followed him; till they found him in such case as they were to venture their liues, or else he to loose his: which they did with such force of minde and bodie, that truly I may iustly say, Pyrocles & Musidorus had neuer till then found any, that could make them so well repeate their hardest lesson in the feates of armes. And briefly so they did, that if they ouercame not; yet were they not ouercome, but caried away that vngratefull maister of theirs to a place of securitie; howsoeuer the Princes laboured to the co[n]trary. But this matter being thus far begun, it became not the consta[n]cie of the Princes so to leaue it; but in all hast making forces both in Pontus and Phrygia, they had in fewe dayes, lefte him but only that one strong place where he was. For feare hauing bene the onely knot that had fastned his people vnto him, that once vntied by a greater force, they all scattered from him; like so many birdes, whose cage had bene broken.
In which season the blind King (hauing in the chief cittie of his Realme, set the crowne vpo[n] his sonne Leonatus head)
with many teares (both of ioy and sorrow) setting forth to the whole people, his owne fault & his sonnes vertue, after he had kist him, and forst his sonne to accept honour of him (as of his newe-become subiect) eue[n] in a moment died, as it should seeme: his hart broken with vnkindnes & affliction, stretched so farre beyond his limits with this excesse of co[m]fort, as it was able no longer to keep safe his roial spirits. But the new King (hauing no lesse louingly performed all duties to him dead, then aliue) pursued on the siege of his vnnatural brother, asmuch for the reuenge of his father, as for the establishing of his owne quiet. In which siege truly I cannot but acknowledge the prowesse of those two brothers, then whom the Princes neuer found in all their trauell two men of greater habilitie to performe, nor of habler skill for conduct.
But Plexirtus finding, that if nothing els, famin would at last bring him to destructio[n], thought better by hu[m]blenes to
creepe, where by pride he could not march. For certainely so had nature formed him, & the exercise of craft conformed him to all turnings of sleights, that though no ma[n] had lesse goodnes in his soule then he, no man could better find the places whence argume[n]ts might grow of goodnesse to another: though no man felt lesse pitie, no man could tel better how to stir pitie: no ma[n] more impude[n]t to deny, where proofes were not manifest; no man more ready to confesse with a repenting maner of aggrauating his owne euil, where denial would but make the fault fowler. Now he tooke this way, that hauing gotten a pasport for one (that pretended he would put Plexirtus aliue into his hads) to speak with the King his brother, he him selfe (though much against the minds of the valiant brothers, who rather wished to die in braue defence) with a rope about his necke, barefooted, came to offer himselfe to the discretion of Leonatus. Where what submission he vsed, how cunningly in making greater the faulte he made the faultines the lesse, how artificially he could set out the torments of his owne co[n]science, with the burdensome comber he had found of his ambitious desires, how finely seeming to desire nothing but death, as ashamed to liue, he begd life, in the refusing it, I am not cunning inough to be able to expresse: but so fell out of it, that though at first sight Leonatus saw him with no other eie, then as the murderer of his father; & anger already began to paint reuenge in many colours, ere long he had not only gotten pitie, but pardon, and if not an excuse of the fault past, yet an opinion of a future amedment: while the poore villaines (chiefe ministers of his wickednes, now betraied by the author therof,) were deliuered to many cruell sorts of death; he so handling it, that it rather seemed, he had rather come into the defence of an vnremediable mischiefe already co[m]mitted, then that they had done it at first by his consent.
In such sort the Princes left these reco[n]ciled brothers (Plexirtus in all his behauiour carying him in far lower degree of seruice, then the euer-noble nature of Leonatus would suffer him) & taking likewise their leaues of their good friend the King of Pontus (who returned to enioy their benefite, both of his wife and kingdome) they priuately went thence, hauing onely with them the two valiant brothers, who would needs acco[m]panie them, through diuers places; they foure dooing actes more daungerous, though lesse famous, because they were but priuat chiualries: till hearing of the faire and vertuous Queene Erona of Lycia, besieged by the puissant King of Armenia, they bent themselues to her succour, both because the weaker (& weaker as being a Ladie,) & partly because they heard the King of Armenia had in his company three of the most famous men liuing, for matters of armes, that were knowne to be in the worlde. Whereof one was the Prince Plangus, (whose name was sweetened by your breath, peerlesse Ladie, when the last daie it pleased you to mention him vnto me) the other two were two great Princes (though holding of him) Barzanes and Euardes, men of Giant-like both hugenes and force: in which two especially, the trust the King had of victorie, was reposed. And of them, those two brothers Tydeus and Telenor (sufficient iudges in warlike matters) spake so high commendations, that the two yong Princes had euen a youthfull longing to haue some triall of their vertue. And therefore as soone as they were entred into Lycia they ioyned the[m]selues with them that faithfully serued the poore Queene, at that time besieged: and ere long animated in such sort their almost ouerthrowne harts, that they went by force to relieue the towne, though they were depriued of a great part of their strength by the parting of the two brothers, who were sent for in all hast to returne to their old friend and maister, Plexirtus: who (willingly hoodwinking themselues from seeing his faultes, and binding themselues to beleeue what he said) often abused the vertue of courage to defend his fowle vice of iniustice. But now they were sent for to aduaunce a conquest he was about; while Pyrocles and Musidorus pursued the deliuerie of the Queene Erona.
1 Dorus his suite to Pamela interrupted by Mopsas waking.
2 The sisters going with Zelmane to wash themselues.
3 The pleasantnes of the riuer. 4 The pleasure Zelmane
had in seeing them, vttered 5 in speach, 6 and song. 7 She
led by a spaniel, to know, and hurte her noble riuall. 8 The
parting of that fraye.
Haue heard (said Pamela) that parte of the story of Plangus whe[n] he passed through this country:
therfore you may (if you list) passe ouer that warre of Eronaes quarrell, lest if you speake too much of warre matters, you should wake Mopsa, which might happily breed a great broile. He looked, and saw that Mopsa indeed sat swallowing of sleepe with ope mouth, making such a noise withal, as no bodie could lay the stealing of a nappe to her charge. Whereupon, willing to vse that occasion, he kneeled downe, and with humble-hartednesse, & harty earnestnes printed in his graces, Alas (said he) diuine Lady, who haue wrought such miracles in me, as to make a Prince (none of the basest) to thinke all principalities base, in respect of the sheephooke, which may hold him vp in your sight; vouchsafe now at last to heare in direct words my humble sute, while this drago[n] sleepes, that keepes the golden fruite. If in my desire I wish, or in my hopes aspire, or in my imagination faine to my selfe any thing which may be the lest spot to that heauenly vertue, which shines in all your doings; I pray the eternal powers, that the words I speak may be deadly poysons, while they are in my mouth, and that all my hopes, all my desires, all my imaginations, may onely worke their owne confusion. But if loue, loue of you, loue of your vertues, seeke onely that fauour of you, which becommeth that gratefulnes, which can[n]ot misbecome your excellencie, O doo not: He would haue said further, but Pamela calling aloud Mopsa, she sodainly start vp, staggering, and rubbing her eies, ran first out of the doore, and then backe to them, before she knew how she went out, or why she came in againe: till at length, being fully come to her little selfe, she asked Pamela, why she had called her. For nothing (said Pamela) but that you might heare some tales of your seruants telling: and therefore now (said she) Dorus go on.
But as he (who found no so good sacrifice, as obedience) was returning to the story of himselfe, Philoclea came in, &
by and by after her, Miso; so as for that time they were faine to let Dorus depart. But Pamela (delighted eue[n] to preserue in her memory, the words of so wel a beloued speaker) repeated the whole substance to her sister, till their sober dinner being come and gone, to recreate themselues something, (euen tyred with the noysomnes of Misos conuersation) they determyned to goe (while the heate of the day lasted) to bath themselues (such being the maner of the Arcadian nymphes often to doo) in the riuer of Ladon, and take with them a Lute, meaning to delight them vnder some shadow. But they could not stir, but that Miso with her daughter Mopsa was after them: and as it lay in their way to passe by the other lodge, Zelmane out of her window espied them, and so stale downe after them: which she might the better doo because that Gynecia was sicke, and Basilius (that day being his birth-day) according to his maner, was busie about his deuotions; and therefore she went after, hoping to finde some time to speake with Philoclea: but not a word could she beginne, but that Miso would be one of the audience; so that she was driuen to recommend thinking, speaking, and all, to her eyes, who diligently perfourmed her trust, till they came to the riuers side; which of all the riuers of Greece had the
price for excellent purenesse and sweetenesse, in so much as the verie bathing in it, was accou[n]ted exceeding healthfull. It ranne vpon so fine and delicate a ground, as one could not easely iudge, whether the Riuer did more wash the grauell, or the grauel did purifie the Riuer; the Riuer not running forth right, but almost continually winding, as if the lower streames would returne to their spring, or that the Riuer had a delight to play with it selfe. The banckes of either side seeming armes of the louing earth, that faine would embrace it; and the Riuer a wanton nymph which still would stirre from it: either side of the bancke being fringed with most beautifull trees, which resisted the sunnes dartes from ouermuch pearcing the naturall coldnes of the Riuer. There was the But among the rest a goodly Cypres, who bowing her faire head ouer the water, it seemed she looked into it, and dressed her greene lockes, by that running Riuer. There the Princesses determining to bath themselues, though it was so priuiledged a place, vpon paine of death, as no bodie durst presume to come thither, yet for the more surety, they looked round about, and could see nothing but a water spaniell, who came downe the riuer, shewing that he hunted for a duck, & with a snuffling grace, disdaining that his smelling force coulde not as well preuaile thorow the water, as thorow the aire; & therefore wayting with his eye, to see whether he could espie the duckes getting vp againe: but then a little below them failing of his purpose, he got out of the riuer, & shaking off the water (as great men do their friends, now he had no further cause to vse it) in-weeded himselfe so, as the Ladies lost the further marking his sportfulnesse: and inuiting Zelmane also to wash her selfe with them, and she excusing her selfe with hauing taken a late cold, they began by peece-meale to take away the eclipsing of their apparell.
Zelmane would haue put to her helping hand, but she was taken with such a quiuering, that she thought it more wisedome to leane her selfe to a tree and looke on, while Miso and Mopsa (like a couple of foreswat melters) were getting the pure siluer of their bodies out of the vre of their garments. But as the rayments went of to receaue kisses of the ground, Zelmane enuied the happinesse of all, but of the smocke was euen iealous, and when that was taken away too, and that Philoclea remained (for her Zelmane onely marked) like a Dyamond taken from out the rocke, or rather like the Sun getting from vnder a cloud, and shewing his naked beames to the full vew, then was the beautie too much for a patient sight, the delight too strong for a stayed conceipt: so that Zelmane could not choose but runne, to touch, embrace, and kisse her; But conscience made her come to her selfe, & leaue Philoclea, who blushing, and withall smiling, making shamefastnesse pleasant, and pleasure shamefast, tenderly moued her feete, vnwonted to feele the naked ground, till the touch of the cold water made a prettie kinde of shrugging come ouer her bodie, like the twinckling of the fairest among the fixed stars. But the Riuer it selfe gaue way vnto her, so that she was streight brest high; which was the deepest that there-about she could be: and when cold Ladon had once fully imbraced them, himselfe was no more so cold to those Ladies, but as if his cold complexion had bene heated with loue, so seemed he to play about euery part he could touch.
Ah sweete, now sweetest Ladon (said Zelmane) why dost thou not stay thy course to haue more full tast of thy
happines? But the reason is manifest, the vpper streames make such haste to haue their part of embracing, that the nether (though lothly) must needs giue place vnto them. O happie Ladon, within whom she is, vpon whom her beautie fals, thorow whom her eye perceth. O happie Ladon, which art now an vnperfect mirror of al perfection, canst thou euer forget the blessednes of this impression? if thou do, then let thy bed be turned from fine grauel, to weeds & mudde; if thou doo, let some vniust niggards make weres to spoile thy beauty; if thou do, let some greater riuer fal into thee, to take away the name of Ladon. Oh Ladon, happie Ladon, rather slide then run by her, lest thou shouldest make her legs slippe from her; and then, O happy Ladon, who would then cal thee, but the most cursed Ladon? But as the Ladies plaid them in the water, somtimes striking it with their hands, the water (making lines in his face) seemed to smile at such beating, and with twentie bubbles, not to be content to haue the picture of their face in large vpon him, but he would in ech of those bubbles set forth the miniature of them.
But Zelmane, whose sight was gaine-said by nothing but the transparent vaile of Ladon, (like a chamber where a
great fire is kept, though the fire be at one stay, yet with the continuance continually hath his heate encreased) had the coales of her affection so kindled with wonder, and blowne with delight, that nowe all her parts grudged, that her eyes should doo more homage, then they, to the Princesse of them. In somuch that taking vp the Lute, her wit began to be with a diuine furie inspired; her voice would in so beloued an occasion second her wit; her hands accorded the Lutes musicke to the voice; her panting hart daunced to the musicke; while I thinke her feete did beate the time; while her bodie was the roome where it should be celebrated ; her soule the Queene which shoulde be delighted. And so togither went the vtterance and the inuention, that one might iudge, it was Philocleas beautie which did speedily write it in her eyes; or the sense thereof, which did word by word endite it in her minde, whereto she (but as an organ) did onely lend vtterance. The song was to this purpose.
WHat toong can her perfections tell
In whose each part all pens may dwell?
Her haire fine threeds of finest gould
In curled knots mans thought to hold:
But that her fore-head sayes in me
A whiter beautie you may see.
Whiter indeed ; more white then snow,
Which on cold winters face doth grow.
That doth present those euen browes,
Whose equall line their angles bowes,
Like to the Moone when after chaunge
Her horned head abroad doth raunge:
And arches be to heauenly lids,
Whose winke ech bold attempt forbids.
For the blacke starres those Spheares containe,
The matchlesse paire, euen praise doth staine.
No lampe, whose light by Art is got,
No Sunne, which shines, and seeth not,
Can liken them without all peere,
Saue one as much as other cleere:
Which onely thus vnhappie be,
Because themselues they cannot see.
Her cheekes with kindly claret spred.
Aurora like new out of bed,
Or like the fresh Queene-apples side,
Blushing at sight of Phœbus pride.
Her nose, her chinne pure iuorie weares:
No purer then the pretie eares.
So that therein appeares some blood,
Like wine and milke that mingled stood
In whose Incirclets if ye gaze,
Your eyes may tread a Louers maze.
But with such turnes the voice to stray,
No talke vntaught can finde the way.
The tippe no iewell needes to weare:
The tippe is iewell of the eare.
But who those ruddie lippes can misse?
Which blessed still themselues doo kisse.
Rubies, Cherries, and Roses new,
In worth, in taste, in perfitte hewe:
Which neuer part but that they showe
Of pretious pearle the double rowe,
The second sweetly-fenced warde,
Pier heau'nly-dewed tongue to garde.
Whence neuer word in vaine did flowe.
Faire vnder these doth stately growe,
The handle of this pretious worke,
The neck, in which strange graces lurke.
Such be I thinke the sumptuous towers
Which skill dooth make in Princes bowers.
So good a say inuites the eye,
A little downward to espie,
The liuelie clusters of her brests,
Of Venus babe the wanton nests: Like
pomels round of Marble cleere:
Where azurde veines well mixt appeere.
With dearest tops of porphyrie.
Betwixt these two a way doth lie,
A way more worthie beauties fame,
Then that which beares the Milkie name.
This leades into the ioyous field,
Which onely still doth Lillies yeeld:
But Lillies such whose natiue smell
The Indian odours doth excell.
Waste it is calde, for it doth waste
Mens liues, vntill it be imbraste.
There may one see, and yet not see
Her ribbes in white all armed be.
More white then Neptunes fomie face,
When strugling rocks he would imbrace.
In those delights the wandring thought
Might of each side astray be brought,
But that her nauel doth vnite,
In curious circle, busie sight:
A daintie scale of virgin-waxe,
Where nothing but impression lackes.
Her bellie then gladde sight doth fill,
Iustly entitled Cupids hill.
A hill most fitte for such a master,
A spotlesse mine of Alablaster.
Like Alablaster faire and sleeke,
But soft and supple satten like.
In that sweete seate the Boy doth sport:
Loath, I must leaue his chiefe resort.
For such a vse the world hath gotten,
The best things still must be forgotten.
Yet neuer shall my song omitte
Thighes, for Ouids song more fitte;
Which flanked with two sugred flankes.
Lift vp their stately swelling bankes;
That Albion diues in whitenes passe:
With hanches smooth as looking glasse.
But bow all knees, now of her knees
My tongue doth tell what fancie sees.
The knottes of ioy, the gemmes of loue.
Whose motion makes all graces moue.
Whose bought incau'd doth yeeld such sight,
Like cunning Painter shadowing white.
The gartring place with child-like signe,
Shewes easie print in mettall fine.
But then againe the flesh doth rise
In her braue calues, like christall skies.
Whose Atlas is a smallest small,
More white then whitest bone of all.
Thereout steales out that round cleane foott
This noble Cedars pretious roote:
In shewe and sent pale violets,
Whose steppe on earth all beautie sets.
But back vnto her back, my Muse,
Where Ledas swanne his feathers mewes,
Along whose ridge such bones are met,
Like comfits round in marchpane set.
Her shoulders be like two white Doues,
Pearching within square royall rooues,
Which leaded are with siluer skinne,
Passing the hate-sport Ermelin.
And thence those armes deriued are;
The Phœnix wings are not so rare
For faultlesse length, and stainelesse hewe,
Ah woe is me, my woes renewe;
Now course doth leade me to her hand,
Of my first loue the fatall band.
Where whitenes dooth for euer sitte:
Nature her selfe enameld it.
For there with strange compact dooth lie
Warme snow, moyst pearle, softe iuorie.
There fall those Saphir-coloured brookes,
Which conduit-like with curious crookes,
Sweete Hands make in that sweete land.
As for the fingers of the hand.
The bludy shaftes of Cupids warre,
With amatists they headed are.
Thus hath each part his beauties part.
But how the Graces duo impart
To all her limmes a spetiall grace,
Becomming euery time and place.
Which doth euen beautie beautifie,
And most bewitch the wretched eye.
How all this is but a faire Inne
Of fairer guestes, which dwell within.
Of whose high praise, and praisefull blisse,
Goodnes the penne, heauen paper is.
The inke immortall fame dooth lends:
As I began, so must I ende.
No tongue can her perfections tell,
In whose each part all tongues may dwell.
But as Zelmane was com[m]ing to the latter end of her song, she might see the same water-spaniell which before had hu[n]ted, come and fetch away one of Philocleas gloues ; whose fine proportion, shewed well what a daintie guest was wont there to be lodged. It was a delight to Zelmane, to see that the dogge was therewith delighted, and so let him goe a little way withall, who quickly caried it out of sight among certaine trees and bushes, which were very close together. But by & by he came againe, & amongst the raiments (Miso and Mopsa being preparing sheets against their comming out) the dog lighted vpon a little booke of foure or fiue leaues of paper, & was bearing that away to. But then Zelmane (not knowing what importace it might be of) ran after the dog, who going streight to those bushes, she might see the dog deliuer it to a Gentleman who secretly lay there. But she hastily coming in, the Ge[n]tleman rose vp, & with a courteous (though sad) countenance presented himselfe vnto her. Zelmanes eies streight willed her mind to marke him: for she thought, in her life she had neuer seene a ma[n] of a more goodly presence, in whom strong making tooke not away delicacie, nor beautie fiercenesse: being indeed such a right manlike man, as Nature often erring, yet shewes she would faine make. But when she had a while (not without admiration) vewed him, she desired him to deliuer backe the gloue & paper, because they were the Ladie Philocleas; telling him withall, that she would not willingly let the[m] know of his close lying in that prohibited place, while they were bathing the[m]selues; because she knew they would be mortally offended withall. Faire Ladie (answered he) the worst of the complaint is already passed, since I feele of my fault in my self the punishme[n]t. But for these things I assure you, it was my dogs wanton boldnesse, not my presumption. With that he gaue her backe the paper: But for the gloue (said he) since it is my Ladie Philocleas, giue me leaue to keepe it, since my hart can[n]ot persuade it selfe to part from it. And I pray you tell the Lady (Lady indeed of all my desires) that owes it, that I will direct: my life to honour this gloue with seruing her. O villain (cried out Zelmane, madded with finding an vnlooked-for Riuall, and that he would make her a messenger) dispatch (said she) and deliuer it, or by the life of her that owes it, I wil make thy soul (though too base a price) pay for it. And with that drewe out her sworde, which (Amazon-like) she euer ware about her. The Gentlema[n] retired himself into an open place fro[m] among the bushes; & the drawing out his too, he offred to deliuer it vnto her, saying withall, God forbid I should vse my sworde against you, since (if I be not deceiued) you are the same famous Amazon, that both defended my Ladies iust title of beautie against the valiant Phalantus, & saued her life in killing the Lion: therfore I am rather to kisse your hands, with acknowledging my selfe bou[n]d to obey you. But this courtesie was worse then a bastonado to Zelmane: so that againe with ragefull eyes she bad him defend himselfe, for no lesse then his life should answere it. A hard case (said he) to teach my sworde that lesson, which hath euer vsed to turne it self to a shield in a Ladies presence. But Zelmane harkening to no more wordes, began with such wittie furie to pursue him with blowes & thrusts, that Nature & vertue commanded the Gentleman to looke to his safetie. Yet stil courtesie, that seemed incorporate in his hart,would not be perswaded by daunger to offer any offence, but only to stand vpon the best defensiue gard he could; somtimes going backe, being content in that respect to take on the figure of cowardise; sometime with strong and well-met wards; sometime cunning auoidings of his body; and sometimes faining some blowes, which himself puld backe before they needed to be withstood. And so with play did he a good while fight against the fight of Zelmane, who (more spited with that curtesie, that one that did nothing should be able to resist her) burned away with choller any motions, which might grow out of her owne sweet dispositio[n], determining to kill him if he fought no better; & so redoubling her blowes, draue the stranger to no other shift, then to warde, and go backe; at that time seeming the image of innocencie against violence. But at length he found, that both in publike and priuate respectes, who standes onely vpon defence, stands vpon no defence: For Zelmane seeming to strike at his head, and he going to warde it, withall stept backe as he was accustomed, she stopt her blow in the aire, and suddenly turning the point, ranne full at his breast; so as he was driuen with the pommell of his sworde (hauing no other weapon of defence) to beate it downe: but the thrust was so strong, that he could not so wholy beate it awaie, but that it met with his thigh, thorow which it ranne. But Zelmane retiring her sworde, and seeing his bloud, victorious anger was conquered by the before-conquered pittie; and hartily sorie, and euen ashamed with her selfe she was, considering how little he had done, who well she found could haue done more. In so much that she said, truly I am sorie for your hurt, but your selfe gaue the cause, both in refusing to deliuer the gloue, and yet not fighting as I knowe you could haue done. But (saide shee) because I perceaue you disdayne to fight with a woman, it may be before a yeare come about, you shall meete with a neere kinsman of mine, Pyrocles Prince of Macedon, and I giue you my worde, he for me shall maintaine this quarell against you. I would (answered Amphialus) I had many more such hurtes to meete and know that worthy Prince, whose vertue I loue & admire, though my good destiny hath not bene to see his person.
But as they were so speaking, the yong Ladies came, to who[m] Mopsa (curious in any thing, but her own good behauiour) hauing followed & seene Zelmane fighting, had cried, what she had seene, while they were drying themselues, & the water (with some drops) seemed to weepe, that it should parte from such bodies. But they carefull of Zelmane (assuring themselues that any Arcadian would beare reuerence to them) Pamela with a noble mind, and Philoclea with a louing (hastily hiding the beauties, whereof Nature was prowde, and they ashamed) they made quicke worke to come to saue Zelmane. But already they found them in talke, & Zelmane careful of his wound. But whe[n] they saw him they knew it was their cousin germain, the famous Amphialus; whom yet with a sweete-graced bitternes they blamed for breaking their fathers commaundement, especially while themselues were in such sort retired. But he craued pardon, protesting vnto them that he had onely bene to seeke solitary places, by an extreme melancholy that had a good while possest him, and guided to that place by his spaniell, where while the dog hunted in the riuer, he had withdrawne himselfe to pacifie with sleepe his ouer-watched eyes: till a dreame waked him, and made him see that whereof he had dreamed, & withall not obscurely signified that he felt the smart of his owne doings. But Philoclea (that was euen iealous of her self for Zelmane) would needs haue her gloue, and not without so mighty a loure as that face could yeeld. As for Zelmane when she knew, it was Amphialus, Lord Amphialus (said she) I haue lo[n]g desired to know you, heretofore I must confesse with more good will, but still with honoring your vertue, though I loue not your person: & at this time I pray you let vs take care of your wound, vpon co[n]dition you shal hereafter promise, that a more knightly combat shalbe performed betweene vs. Amphialus answered in honorable sort, but with such excusing himselfe, that more and more accused his loue to Philoclea, & prouoked more hate in Zelmane. But Mopsa had already called certaine shepheards not far of (who knew & wel obserued their limits) to come and helpe to carrie away Amphialus, whose wound suffered him not without daunger to straine it: and so he leauing himselfe with them, departed from them, faster bleeding in his hart, then at his wound: which bound vp by the sheetes, wherwith Philoclea had bene wrapped, made him thanke the wound, and blesse the sword for that fauour.
How Basilius found Plangus: 2 His lamentation. 3 Philoclea
entreated by Zelmane to relate the storie of Erona.
E being gone, the Ladies (with mery anger talking, in what naked simplicitie their cousin had seene the[m]
returned to the lodge-warde: yet thinking it too early (as long as they had any day) to breake of so pleasing a company, with going to performe a cu[m]bersome obedience, Zelmane inuited them to the little arbour, only reserued for her, which they willingly did: and there sitting, Pamela hauing a while made the lute in his la[n]guage, shew how glad it was to be touched by her fingers, Zelmane deliuered vp the paper, which Amphlalus had at first yeelded vnto her: and seeing written vpon the backside of it, the complaint of Plangus, remembring what Dorus had told her, and desiring to know how much Philoclea knew of her estate, she tooke occasion in the presenting of it, to aske whether it were any secret, or no. No truely (answered Philoclea) it is but euen an exercise of my fathers writing, vpon this occasion: He was one day (somwhile before your comming hether) walking abroade, hauing vs two with him, almost a mile hence; and crossing a hie way, which comes from the cittie of Megalopolis, he saw this Gentleman, whose name is there written, one of the proprest and best-graced men that euer I sawe, being of middle age, and of a meane stature. He lay as then vnder a tree, while his seruaunts were getting fresh post-horses for him. It might seeme he was tired with the extreme trauaile he had taken, and yet not so tyred, that he forced to take any rest; so hasty he was vpon his iourney: and withall so sorrowfull, that the very face thereof was painted in his face; which with pitifull motions, euen groanes, teares, and passionate talking to him selfe, moued my Father to fall in talke with him: who at first not knowing him, answered him in such a desperate phrase of griefe, that my Father afterward tooke a delight to set it downe in such forme as you see: which if you read, what you doubt of, my sister and I are hable to declare vnto you. Zelmane willingly opened the leaues, and read it, being written Dialogue-wise in this manner.
ALas how long this pilgrimage doth last ?
What greater ills haue now the heauens in store,
To couple comming harmes with sorrowes past?
Long since my voice is hoarce, and throte is sore,
With cries to skies, and curses to the ground,
But more I plaine, I feele my woes the more.
Ah where was first that cruell cunning found,
To frame of Earth a vessell of the minde,
Where it should be to selfe-destruclion bound?
What needed so high sprites such mansions blind?
Or wrapt in flesh what do they here obtaine,
But glorious name of wretched humaine-kind?
Balles to the starres, and thralles to Fortunes raigne;
Turnd from themselues, infecfed with their cage,
Where death is feard, and life is held with paine.
Like players pla'st to fill a filthy stage,
Where chaunge of thoughts one foole to other shewes.
And all but iests, saue onely sorrowes rage.
The child feeles that; the man that feeling knowes,
With cries first borne, the presage of his life,
Where wit but serues, to haue true tast of woes.
A Shop of shame, a Booke where blots be rife
This bodie is: this bodie so composed,
As in it selfe to nourish mortall strife.
So diuers be the Elements disposed
In this weake worke, that it can neuer be
Made vniforme to any state reposed.
Griefe onely makes his wretched state to see
(Euen like a toppe which nought but whipping moues)
This man, this talking beast, this walking tree.
Griefe is the stone which finest iudgement proues:
For who grieues not hath but a blockish braine,
Since cause of griefe no cause from life remoues.
How long wilt thou with monefull musicke staine
The cheerefull notes these pleasant places yeeld,
Where all good haps a perfect state maintaine?
Curst be good haps, and curst be they that build
Their hopes on haps, and do not make despaire
For all these certaine blowes the surest shield.
Shall I that saw Eronaes shining haire
Torne with her hands, and those same hands of snow
With losse of purest blood themselues to teare?
Shall I that saw those brests, where beauties flow,
Swelling with sighes, made pale with mindes disease,
And saw those eyes (those Sonnes} such shoures to shew,
Shall I, whose eares her mournefull words did seaze,
Her words in syrup laid of sweetest breath,
Relent those thoughts, which then did so displease?
No, no: Despaire my dayly lesson saith,
And saith, although I seeke my life to flie,
Plangus must liue to see Eronaes death.
Plangus must liue some helpe for her to trie
Though in despaire, so Loue enforceth me;
Plangus doth liue, and must Erona dye? Erona dye?
O heauen (if heauen there be)
Hath all thy whirling course so small effect?
Serue all thy starrie eyes this shame to see?
Let doltes in haste some altars faire erect
To those high powers, which idly sit aboue,
And vertue do in greatest need neglect.
O man, take heed, how thou the Gods do moue
To irefull wrath, which thou canst not resist.
Blasphemous words the speaker vaine do proue.
Alas while we are wrapt in foggie mist
Of our selfe-loue (so passions do deceaue)
We thinke they hurt, when most they do assist.
To harme vs wormes should that high iustice leaue
His nature? nay, himselfe? for so it is.
What glorie from our losse can he receaue?
But still our dazeled eyes their way do misse,
While that we do at his sweete scourge repine,
The kindly way to beate vs to our blisse.
If she must dye, then hath she past the line
Of lothsome dayes, whose losse how canst thou mone,
That doost so well their miseries define?
But such we are with inward tempest blowne
Of mindes quite contrarie in waues of will:
We mone that lost, which had we did bemone.
And shall shee dye? shall cruell fier spill
Those beames that set so many harts on fire?
Hath she not force euen death with loue to kill?
Nay euen cold Death enflamde with hot desire
Her to enioy, where ioy it selfe is thrall.
Will spoils the earth of his most rich attire.
Thus Death becomes a riuall to vs all,
And hopes with foule embracements her to get,
In whose decay vertues faire shrine must fall.
O Virtue weake, shall death his triumph set
Vpon thy spoiles, which neuer should lye waste?
Let Death first dye; be thou his worthy let.
By what eclipse shall that Sonne be defaste?
What myne hath erst throwne downe so faire a tower?
What sacriledge hath such a saint disgra'st?
The world the garden is, she is the flower
That sweetens all the place; she is the guest
Of rarest price, both heau'n and earth her bower.
And shall (ô me) all this in ashes rest ?
Alas, if you a Phœnix new will haue
Burnt by the Sunne, she first must build her nest.
But well you know, the gentle Sunne would saue
Such beames so like his owne, which might haue might
In him, the thoughts of Phëtons damme to graue.
Therefore, alas, you vse vile Vulcans spight,
Which nothing spares, to melt that Virgin-waxe
Which while it is, it is all Asias light.
O Mars, for what doth serue thy armed axe?
To let that wit-old beast consume in flame
Thy Venus child, whose beautie Venus lackes?
O Venus (if her praise no enuy frames,
In thy high rninde) get her thy husbands grace.
Sweete speaking oft a currish hart reclaimes.
O eyes of mine, where once she saw her face,
Her face which was more liuely in my hart;
O braine, where thought of her hath onely place ;
O hand, which toucht her hand when she did part;
O lippes, that kist her hand with my teares sprent;
O toonge, then dumbe, not daring tell my smart;
O soule, whose loue in her is onely spent,
What ere you see, thinke, touch, kisse, speake, or loue,
Let all for her, and vnto her be bent.
Thy wailing words do much my spirits moue,
They vttred are in such a feeling fashion,
That sorrowes worke against my will I proue.
Me-thinkes I am partaker of thy passion,
And in thy case do glasse mine owne debilitie:
Selfe-guiltie folke most prone to feele compassion.
Yet Reason saith, Reason should haue abilitie,
To hold these worldly things in such proportion,
As let them come or go with euen facilitie.
But our Desires tyrannicall extortion
Doth force vs there to set our chiefe delightfulnes,
Where but a baiting place is all our portion.
But still, although we faile of perfect rightfulnes,
Seeke we to tame the childish superfluities:
Let vs not winke though void of purest sightfulnes.
For what can breed more peeuish incongruities,
Then man to yeeld to female lamentations?
Let vs some grammar learne of more congruities.
If through mine eares pearce any consolation
By wise discourse, sweete tunes, or Poets fiction;
If ought I cease these hideous exclamations,
While that my soule, she, she liues in affliction;
Then let my life long time on earth maintained be,
To wretched me, the last worst malediction.
Can I, that know her sacred parts restrained be,
For any ioy, know fortunes vile displacing her,
In morall rules let raging woes contained be?
Can I forget, when they in prison placing her,
With swelling hart in spite and due disdainfulnes
She lay for dead, till I helpt with vnlasing her ?
Can I forget, from how much mourning plainfulnes
With Diamond in window-glasse she graued,
Erona dye, and end thy ougly painefulnes?
Can I forget in how straunge phrase she craued
That quickly they would her burne, drowne, or smother.
As if by death she onely might be saued?
Then let me eke forget one hand from other:
Let me forget that Plangus I am called:
Let me forget I am sonne to my mother,
But if my memory must thus be thralled
To that strange stroke which conquer'd all my senses,
Can thoughts still thinking so rest vnappalled?
Who still doth seeks against himselfe offences,
What pardon can auaile? or who employes him
To hurt himselfe, what shields can be defenses?
Woe to poore man: ech outward thing annoyes him
In diuers kinds; yet as he were not filled,
He heapes in inward griefe, which most destroyes him.
Thus is our thought with paine for thistles tilled:
Thus be our noblest parts dryed vp with sorrow:
Thus is our mind with too much minding spilled.
One day layes vp stuffe of griefe for the morrow:
And whose good haps do leaue him vnprouided,
Condoling cause of friendship he will borrow.
Betwixt the good and shade of good diuided,
We pittie deeme that which but weakenes is:
So are we from our high creation slided.
But Plangus lest I may your sicknesse misse
Or rubbing hurt the sore, I here doo end.
The asse did hurt when he did thinke to kisse.
When Zelmane had read it ouer, marueyling verie much of the speeche of Eronas death, and therefore desirous to
know further of it, but more desirous to heare Philoclea speake, Most excellent Ladie (said she) one may be little the wiser for reading the Dialogue, since it nether sets foorth what this Plangus is, nor what Erona is, nor what the cause should be which threatens her with death, and him with sorow: therefore I woulde humbly craue to vnderstand the particular discourse thereof: because (I must confesse) some thing in my trauaile I haue heard of this strange matter, which I would be glad to find by so sweet an authoritie confirmed. The trueth is (answered Philoclea) that after he knew my father to be Prince of this countrie, while he hoped to preuaile something with him in a great request he made vnto him, he was content to open fully vnto him the estate both of himselfe, and of that Ladie; which with my sisters help (said she) who remembers it better then I, I will declare vnto you: and first of Erona, (being the chiefe Subiect of this discourse) this storie (with more teares and exclamations then I liste to spende about it) he recounted.
Erona 1 irreligious gainst Loue, 2 must loue the base Anti-
philus, 3 is loued, pursued, and beleaguered by the great Ti-
ridates. 4 The two Greeke Princes ayde her. 5 They com-
batte with two Kings; Antiphilus with Plangus; they
conquerors, he prisoner. 6 Eronas hard-choice to redeeme
him. 7 Tiridates slaine, Antiphilus deliuered, Artaxia
chased by the two Princes, 8 and her hate to them.
F late there raigned a King in Lycia, who had for the blessing of his manage, this onely daughter of his,
Erona, a Princesse worthie for her beautie, as much praise, as beautie may be praise-worthy. This Princesse Erona, being 19. yeres of age, seeing the countrie of Lycia so much deuoted to Cupid, as that in euery place his naked pictures & images were superstitiously adored (ether moued theruto, by the esteeming that could be no Godhead, which could breed wickednes, or the shamefast consideration of such nakednes) procured so much of her father, as vtterly to pull downe, and deface all those statues and pictures. Which how terriblie he punished (for to that the Lycians impute it) quickly after appeared.
For she had not liued a yeare longer, when she was striken with most obstinate Loue, to a yong man but of mean
parentage, in her fathers court, named Antiphilus: so meane, as that he was but the sonne of her Nurse, & by that meanes (without other desert) became knowen of her. Now so euill could she conceale her fire, and so wilfully perseuered she in it, that her father offering her the manage of the great Tiridates, king of Armenia (who desired her more then the ioyes of heauen) she for Antiphilus sake refused it. Many wayes her father sought to withdrawe her from it; sometimes perswasions, sometimes threatnings; once hiding Antiphilus, & giuing her to vnderstand that he was fled the countrie: Lastly, making a solemne execution to be done of another, vnder the name of Antiphilus, whom he kept in prison. But nether she liked perswasions, nor feared threateninges, nor changed for absence: and when she thought him dead, she sought all meanes (as well by poyson as by knife) to send her soule, at least, to be maried in the eternall church with him. This so brake the tender fathers hart, that (leauing things as he found them) he shortly after died. Then foorthwith Erona (being seazed of the crowne, and arming her will with authentic) sought to aduance her affection to the holy title of matrimonie.
But before she could acco[m]plish all the sole[m]nities, she was ouertake[n] with a war the King Tiridates made vpon
her, only for her person; towards whom (for her ruine) Loue had kindled his cruel hart; indeed cruell & tyrannous: for (being far too stro[n]g in the field) he spared not man, woman, and child, but (as though there could be found no foile to set foorth the extremitie of his loue, but extremity of hatred) wrote (as it were) the sonets of his Loue, in the bloud, & tuned the[m] in the cries of her subiects; although his fair sister Artaxia (who would acco[m]pany him in the army) sought all meanes to appease his fury: till lastly, he besieged Erona in her best citie, vowing to winne her, or lose his life. And now had he brought her to the point ether of a wofull consent, or a ruinous deniall; whe[n] there came thether (following the course which vertue & Fortune led the[m]) two excellent you[n]g Princes, Pyrocles and Musidorus, the one Prince of Macedo[n] , the other of Thessalia: two princes, as Pla[n]gus said, (and he witnessed his saying with sighes & teares) the most accomplished both in body & mind, that the Sun euer lookt vpon. While Philoclea spake those words, O sweete wordes (thought Zelmane to her self) which are not onely a praise to me, but a praise to praise it selfe, which out of that mouth issueth.
[ ]These 2. princes (said Philoclea) aswel to help the weaker (especially being a Ladie) as to saue a Greeke people
from being ruined by such, whom we call and count Barbarous, gathering together such of the honestest Lycians, as woulde venture their liues to succour their Princesse: giuing order by a secreat message they sent into the Citie, that they should issue with all force at an appointed time; they set vpon Tiridates campe, with so well-guided a fiercenes, that being of both sides assaulted, he was like to be ouerthrowen: but that this Plangus (being Generall of Tiridates hors-men) especially ayded by the two mightie men, Euardes and Barzanes, rescued the foot-men, euen almost defeated: but yet could not barre the Princes (with their succoures both of men and victuall) to enter the Citie.
Which when Tiridates found would make the war long, (which length seemed to him worse then a languishing consumption) he made a challenge of three Princes in his retinue, against those two Princes and Antiphilus: and that thereupon the quarrell should be decided; with compact, that neither side should helpe his felow: but of whose side the more ouercame, with him the victorie should remaine. Antiphilus (though Erona chose rather to bide the brunt of warre, then venture him, yet) could not for shame refuse the offer, especially since the two strangers that had no interest in it, did willingly accept it: besides that, he sawe it like enough, that the people (werie of the miseries of war) would rather giue him vp, if they saw him shrinke, then for his sake venture their ruine: considering that the challengers were farre of greater worthinesse then him selfe. So it was agreed vpon; and against Pyrocles was Euardes, King of Bithinia; Barzanes of Hircania, against Musidorus, two men, that thought the world scarse able to resist them: & against Antiphilus he placed this same Plangus, being his own cousin germain, & sonne to the King of Iberia. Now so it fell out that Musidorus slewe Barzanes, & Pyrocles Euardes; which victory those Princes esteemed aboue all that euer they had: but of the other side Pla[n]gus tooke Antiphilus prisoner: vnder which colour (as if the matter had bene equal, though indeed it was not, the greater part being ouercome of his side) Tiridates continued his war: & to bring Erona to a co[m]pelled yeelding, sent her word, that he would the third morrow after, before the walles of the towne strike of Antiphilus head; without his suite in that space were graunted: adding withall (because he had heard of her desperate affectio[n]) that if in the meane time she did her selfe any hurt, what tortures could be deuised should be layed vpon Antiphilus.
Then lo if Cupid be a God, or that the tyranny of our own thoughts seeme as a God vnto vs. But whatsoeuer it was,
then it did set foorth the miserablenes of his effectes: she being drawne to two contraries by one cause. For the loue of him comaunded her to yeeld to no other: the loue of him comaunded him to preserue his life: which knot might well be cut, but vntied it could not be. So that Loue in her passions (like a right makebate) whispered to both sides arguments of quarrell. What (said he of the one side) doost thou loue Antiphilus, ô Erona, and shal Tiridates enioy thy bodie? with what eyes wilt thou looke vpon Antiphilus, when he shall know that another possesseth thee? But if thou wilt do it, canst thou do it? canst thou force thy hart? Thinke with thy selfe, if this man haue thee, thou shalt neuer haue more part of Antiphilus the[n] if he were dead. But thus much more, that the affectio[n] shalbe gnawing, & the remorse still present. Death perhaps will coole the rage of thy affection: where thus, thou shalt euer loue, and euer lacke. Thinke this beside, if thou marrie Tiridates, Antiphilus is so excellent a man, that long he cannot be from being in some high place maried: canst thou suffer that too? If an other kill him, he doth him the wrong: if thou abuse thy body, thou doost him the wrong. His death is a worke of nature, and either now, or at another time he shall die. But it shalbe thy worke, thy shamefull worke, which is in thy power to shun, to make him liue to see thy faith falsified, and his bed defiled. But when Loue had well kindled that parte of her thoughts, then went he to the other side. What (said he) O Erona, and is thy Loue of Antiphilus come to that point, as thou doost now make it a question, whether he shall die, or no ? O excellent affection, which for too much loue, will see his head of. Marke well the reasons of the other side, and thou shalt see, it is but loue of thy selfe which so disputeth. Thou canst not abide Tiridates: this is but loue of thy selfe: thou shalt be ashamed to looke vpo[n] him afterward; this is but feare of shame, & loue of thy selfe: thou shalt want him as much then; this is but loue of thy selfe: he shalbe married ; if he be well, why should that grieue thee, but for loue of thy selfe? No, no, pronounce these wordes if thou canst, let Antiphilus die. Then the images of each side stood before her vnderstanding; one time she thought she saw Antiphilus dying: an other time she thought Antiphilus saw her by Tiridates enioyed: twenty times calling for a seruaunt to carry message of yeelding, but before he came the minde was altered. She blusht when she considered the effect of granting, she was pale, whe[n] she reme[m]bred the fruits of denial. As for weeping, sighing, wringing her ha[n]ds, & tearing her haire, were indiffere[n]t of both sides. Easily she wold haue agreed to haue broken al disputatio[n]s with her owne death, but that the feare of Antiphilus furder torments staied her. At levgth, eue[n] the euening before the day apointed of his death, the determinatio[n] of yeelding preuailed, especially, growing vpo[n] a message of Antiphilus; who with all the coniuring termes he could deuise, besought her to saue his life, vpon any co[n]dition. But she had no sooner sent her messenger to Tiridates, but her mind changed, and she went to the two yong Princes, Pyrocles & Musidorus, & falling downe at their feet, desired the[m] to trie some way for her deliuerance; shewing her selfe resolued, not to ouer-liue Antiphilus, nor yet to yeeld to Tiridates.
They that knew not what she had done in priuate, prepared that night accordingly: & as sometimes it fals out, that what
is inco[n]stancy, seemes cu[n]ning; so did this cha[n]ge indeed stand in as good steed as a witty dissimulatio[n]. For it made the King as reckles, as them dilige[n]t: so that in the dead time of the night, the Princes issued out of the towne, with who[m] she would needs go, either to die her self, or reskew Antiphilus, hauing no armour, nor weapon, but affection. And I cannot tell you how, by what deuise (though Plangus at large described it) the conclusion was, the wonderfull valour of the two Princes so preuailed, that Antiphilus was succoured, and the King slaine. Plangus was then the chiefe man left in the campe; and therefore seeing no other remedie, co[n]ueied in safety into her country Artaxia, now Queene of Armenia; who with true lame[n]tations, made known to the world, that her new greatnes did no way co[m]fort her in respect of her brothers losse, who she studied all meanes possible to reuenge vpon euery one of the occasioners, hauing (as she thought) ouerthrowne her brother by a most abominable treason. In somuch, that being at home, she proclaimed great rewards to any priuate man, and her selfe in mariage to any Prince, that would destroy Pyrocles and Musidorus. But thus was Antiphilus redeemed, and (though against the consent of all her nobility) married to Erona; in which case the two Greeke Princes (being called away by an other aduenture) left them.
1 Philocleas narration broken of by Miso. 2 Her old-wiues
tale, 3 and ballad against Cupid. 4 Their drawing cuts
for tales. 5 Mopsas tale of the old cut: 6 cut of by the La-
dies to returne to their stories.
Vt now me thinkes as I haue read some Poets, who when I they inte[n]d to tell some horrible matter,
they bid men shun the hearing of it: so if I do not desire you to stop your eares fro[m] me, yet may I well desire a breathing time, before I am to tell the execrable treason of Antiphilus, that brought her to this misery; and withall wish you al, that fro[m] al mankind indeed you stop your eares. O most happy were we, if we did set our loues one vpon another. (And as she spake that worde, her cheekes in red letters writ more, then her tongue did speake.) And therefore since I haue named Plangus, I pray you sister (said she) helpe me with the rest, for I haue helde the stage long inough; and if it please you to make his fortune knowne, as I haue done Eronas, I will after take hart againe to go on with his falshood; & so betweene vs both, my Ladie Zelmane shall vnderstand both the cause and parties of this Lamentation. Nay I beshrow me then (said Miso) I wil none of that, I promise you, as lo[n]g as I haue the gouernme[n]t, I will first haue my tale, & the[n] my Lady Pamela, my Lady Zelmane, & my daughter Mopsa (for Mopsa was then returned fro[m] Amphialus) may draw cuts, & the shortest cut speake first. For I tell you, and this may be suffred, when you are married you wil haue first, and last word of your husbands. The Ladies laughed to see with what an eger earnestnesse she looked, hauing threatning not onely in her Ferret eies, but while she spake, her nose seeming to threaten her chin, & her shaking lims one to threaten another. But there was no remedy, they must obey: & Miso (sitting on the grou[n]d with her knees vp, & her hands vpon her knees) tuning her voice with many a quauering cough, thus discoursed vnto the[m]. I tel you true (said she) whatsoeuer you thinke of me, you will one day be as I am; & I, simple though I sit here, thought once my pennie as good siluer, as some of you do: and if my father
had not plaid the hasty foole (it is no lie I tell you) I might haue had an other-gaines husba[n]d, the[n] Dametas. But let that passe, God amend him: and yet I speake it not without good cause. You are ful of your tittle tattling of Cupid: here is Cupid, & there is Cupid. I will tell you now, what a good old woma[n] told me, what an old wise ma[n] told her, what a great learned clerke told him, and gaue it him in writing; and here I haue it in my praier booke. I pray you (said Philoclea) let vs see it, & read it. No hast but good (said Miso) you shal first know how I came by it. I was a young girle of a seuen and twenty yeare old, & I could not go thorow the streate of our village, but I might heare the young me[n] talke; O the pretie little eies of Miso; O the fine thin lips of Miso; O the goodly fat hands of Miso: besides, how well a certaine wrying I had of my necke, became me. Then the one would wincke with one eye, & the other cast daiseys at me: I must co[n]fesse, seing so many amorous, it made me set vp my peacocks tayle with the hiest. Which when this good old woma[n] perceiued (O the good wold woman, well may the bones rest of the good wold woma[n]) she cald me to her into her house. I remember full well it stood in the lane as you go to the Barbers shop, all the towne knew her, there was a great losse of her: she called me to her, and taking first a soppe of wine to comfort her hart (it was of the same wine that comes out of Candia, which we pay so deere for now a daies, and in that good worlde was very good cheape) she cald me to her; Minion said she, (indeed I was a pretie one in those daies though I say it) I see a nu[m]ber of lads that loue you; Wel (said she) I say no more: doo you know what Loue is? With that she broght me into a corner, where ther was painted a foule fie[n]d I trow: for he had a paire of hornes like a Bull, his feete clouen, as many eyes vpon his bodie, as my gray-mare hath dappels, & for all the world so placed. This mo[n]ster sat like a ha[n]gman vpo[n] a paire of gallowes, in his right hand he was painted holding a crowne of Laurell, in his left hand a purse of mony, & out of his mouth honge a lace of two faire pictures, of a ma[n] & a woma[n], & such a cou[n]tenance he shewed, as if he would perswade folks by those alureme[n]ts to come thither & be hanged. I, like a te[n]der harted wench, skriked out for feare of the diuell. Well (sayd she) this same is euen Loue: therefore do what thou list with all those fellowes, one after another; & it recks not much what they do to thee, so it be in secreat; but vpon my charge, neuer loue none of them. Why mother (said I) could such a thing come fro[m] the belly of the faire Fenus? for a few dayes before, our (priest betweene him & me) had tolde me the whole storie of Venus. Tush (said she) they are all deceaued: and therewith gaue me this Booke, which she said a great maker of ballets had giuen to an old painter, who for a litle pleasure, had bestowed both booke and picture of her. Reade there (said she) & thou shalt see that his mother was a cowe, and the false Argus his father. And so she gaue me this Booke, & there now you may reade it. With that the remembrance of the good old woman, made her make such a face to weepe, as if it were not sorrow, it was the carkasse of sorrow that appeared there. But while her teares came out, like raine falling vpon durtie furrowes, the latter end of her praier booke was read among these Ladies, which contained this.
POore Painters oft with silly Poets ioyne,
To fill the world with strange but vaine conceits:
One brings the stuiffe, the other stamps the coine,
Which breeds nought else but gloses of deceits.
Thus Painters Cupid paint, thus Poets do
A naked god, young blind, with arrowes two.
Is he a God, that euer flies the light?
Or naked he, disguis'd in all vntruth?
If he be blind, how hitteth he so right?
How is he young, that tamde old Phœbus youth?
But arrowes two, and tipt with gold or leade:
Some hurt accuse a third with horny head.
No, nothing so; an old false knaue he is
By Argus got on Io, then a cow:
What time for her Iuno her Ioue did misse,
And charge of her to Argus did allow.
Mercury kill'd his false sire for this act,
His damme a beast was pardon'd beastly fact.
With fathers death, and mothers guiltie shame,
With Ioues disdaine at such a riuals seed,
The wretch compelled a runnagate became,
And learn'd what ill a miser state doth breed,
To lye, faine, gloze, to steale, pry, and accuse,
Naught in himselfe ech other to abuse.
Yet beares he still his parents stately gifts,
A horned head, clouen foote, and thousand eyes,
Some gazing still, some winking wilye shiftes,
With long large eares where neuer rumour dyes.
His horned head doth seeme the heauen to spight:
His clouen foote doth neuer treade aright.
Thus halfe a man, with man he dayly haunts,
Cloth'd in the shape which soonest may deceaue:
Thus halfe a beast, ech beastly vice he plants,
In those weake harts that his aduice receaue.
He proules ech place stil in new colours deckt,
Sucking ones ill, another to infect.
To narrow brests he comes all wrapt in gaine:
To swelling harts he shines in honours fire:
To open eyes all beauties he doth raine;
Creeping to ech with flattering of desire.
But for that Loues desire most rules the eyes,
Therein his name, there his chiefe triumph lyes.
Millions of yeares this old driuell Cupid liues;
While still more wretch, more wicked he doth proue:
Till now at length that Ioue him office giues,
(At Iunos suite who much did Argus loue)
In this our world a hang-man for to be,
Of all those fooles that will haue all they see.
These Ladies made sport at the description and storie of Cupid. But Zelmane could scarce suffer those blasphemies
(as she tooke them) to be read, but humbly besought Pamela she would perfourme her sisters request of the other part of the storie. Noble Lady (answered she, beautifying her face with a sweete smiling, and the sweetnes of her smiling with the beautie of her face) since I am borne a Princes daughter, let me not giue example of disobedience. My gouernesse will haue vs draw cuts, and therefore I pray you let vs do so: and so perhaps it will light vpon you to entertaine this company with some storie of your owne; and it is reason our eares should be willinger to heare, as your tongue is abler to deliuer. I will thinke (answered Zelmane) excellent Princesse my tongue of some value, if it can procure your tongue thus much to fauour me. But Pamela pleasantly persisting to haue fortune their iudge, they set hands, and Mopsa (though at the first for squeamishnes going vp & downe, with her head like a boate in a storme) put to her golden gols among them, and blind Fortune (that saw not the coulor of them) gaue her the preheminence: and so being her time to speake (wiping her mouth, as there was good cause) she thus tumbled into her matter. In time past (sayd she) there was a
King, the mightiest man in all his country, that had by his wife, the fairest daughter that euer did eate pappe. Now this King did keepe a great house, that euery body might come and take their meat freely. So one day, as his daughter was sitting in her window, playing vpon a harpe, as sweete as any Rose; and combing her head with a combe all of precious stones, there came in a Knight into the court, vpo[n] a goodly horse, one haire of gold, & the other of siluer; and so the Knight casting vp his eyes to the window, did fall into such loue with her, that he grew not worth the bread he eate; till many a sorry day going ouer his head, with Dayly Diligence and Grisly Grones, he wan her affection, so that they agreed to run away togither. And so in May, when all true hartes reioyce, they stale out of the Castel, without staying so much as for their breakfast. Now forsooth, as they went togither, often all to kissing one another, the Knight told her, he was brought vp among the water Nymphes, who had so bewitched him, that if he were euer askt his name, he must presently vanish away: and therefore charged her vpon his blessing, that she neuer aske him what he was, nor whether he would. And so a great while she kept his commandement; til once, passing through a cruell wildernes, as darke as pitch; her mouth so watred, that she could not choose but aske him the question. And then, he making the greeuousest co[m]plaints that would haue melted a tree to haue heard them, vanisht quite away: & she lay down, casting forth as pitifull cries as any shrich-owle. But hauing laien so, (wet by the raine, and burnt by the Sun) fiue dayes, & fiue nights, she gat vp and went ouer many a high hil, & many a deepe riuer; till she came to an Aunts house of hers; and came, & cried to her for helpe: and she for pittie gaue her a Nut, and bad her neuer open her Nut, til she was come to the extremest misery that euer tongue could speake of. And so she went, & she went, & neuer rested the euening, wher she we[n]t in the morning; til she came to a second Aunt; and she gaue her another Nut.
Now good Mopsa (said the sweete Philoclea) I pray thee at my request keepe this tale, till my marriage day, & I
promise thee that the best gowne I weare that day shalbe thine. Mopsa was very glad of the bargaine, especially that it shuld grow a festiual Tale: so that Zelmane, who desired to finde the vttermost what these Ladies vnderstood touching her selfe, and hauing vnderstood the danger of Erona (of which before she had neuer heard) purposing with her selfe (as soone as this pursuit she now was in, was brought to any effect) to succour her, entreated againe, that she might know as well the story of Plangus, as of Erona. Philoclea referred it to her sisters perfecter reme[m]bra[n]ce, who with so sweet a voice, and so winning a grace, as in themselues were of most forcible eloquence to procure attention, in this maner to their earnest request soone condiscended.
1 Plangus-his parentage. 2 His trick of youth, 3 espied, 4 & tu-
rned ouer by, and to his old father. 5 An inueagling-womans
arts. 6 A guilty stepmothers diuellish practises against Plan-
gus. 7 Her ministers false informations. 8 Plangus perplexi-
ties. 9 His fathers ielousies. The Queenes complots 10 to feede
the ones suspicion, 11 & work the others ouerthrow. 12 Plan-
gus taken; 13 deliuered flieth: 14 is pursued with old hate, &
new treason. 15 Yet must he serue abroad, while a new heire
is made at home. 16 This story broken off by Basilius.
He father of this Prince Plangus as yet liues, and is King of Iberia: a man (if the iudgement of Plangus may be accepted) of no wicked nature, nor willingly doing euill, without himselfe mistake the euill, seeing it disguised vnder some forme of goodnesse. This Prince, being married at the first to a Princesse (who both from her auncesters, and in her selfe was worthy of him) by her had this son, Plangus. Not long after whose birth, the Queene (as though she had perfourmed the message for which she was sent into the world) returned again vnto her maker. The King (sealing vp al thoughts of loue vnder the image of her memorie) remained a widdower many yeares after recompencing the griefe of that disioyning from her, in conioyning in himselfe both a fatherly and a motherly care toward her onely child, Plangus. Who being growne to mans age, as our owne eies may iudge, could not but fertilly requite his fathers fatherly education.
This Prince (while yet the errors in his nature were excused: by the greenenes of his youth, which tooke all the fault vpon it selfe) loued a priuate mans wife of the principal Citie of that Kingdome, if that may be called loue, which he rather did take into himselfe willingly, then by which he was take[n] forcibly. It sufficeth, that the yong man perswaded himself he loued her: she being a woman beautiful enough, if it be possible, that the outside onely can iustly entitle a beauty. But finding such a chase as onely fledde to be caught, the young Prince broght his affectio[n] with her to that point, which ought to engraue remorse in her harte, & to paint shame vpon her face. And so possest he his desire without any interruption; he constantly fauouring her, and she thinking, that the enameling of a Princes name, might hide the spots of a broken wedlock. But as I haue seene one that was sick of a sleeping disease, could not be made wake, but with pinching of him: so out of his sinfull sleepe his minde (vnworthie so to be loste) was not to be cald to it selfe, but by a sharpe accident.
It fell out, that his many-times leauing of the court (in vndue times) began to be noted; and (as Princes eares be
manifolde) from one to another came vnto the King; who (carefull of his onely sonne) sought, and found by his spies (the necessarie euill seruauntes to a King) what it was, whereby he was from his better delights so diuerted.
Whereupon, the King (to giue his fault the greater blow), vsed such meanes, by disguising himselfe, that he found them (her husband being absent) in her house together: which he did, to make him the more feelingly ashamed of it. And that way he tooke, laying threatnings vpon her, and vpon him reproaches. But the poore young Prince (deceiued with that young opinion, that if it be euer lawfull to lie, it is for ones Louer,) employed all his witte to bring his father to a better opinion. And because he might bende him from that (as he counted it) crooked conceit of her, he wrested him, as much as he coulde possiblie, to the other side: not sticking with prodigall protestations to set foorth her chastitie; not denying his own attempts, but thereby the more extolling her vertue. His Sophistrie preuayled, his father beleeued; and so beleeued, that ere long (though he were alredy stept into the winter of his age) he founde himselfe warme in those desires, which were in his sonne farre more excusable. To be short, he gaue himselfe ouer vnto it; and (because he would auoide the odious comparison of a yong riuall) sent away his sonne with an armie, to the subduing of a Prouince lately rebelled against him, which he knewe could not be a lesse worke, the of three or foure yeares. Wherein he behaued him so worthilie, as euen to this country the fame therof came, long before his own coming: while yet his father had a speedier succes, but in a far vnnobler conquest. For while Plangus was away, the old man (growing onely in age & affectio[n]) folowed his suite with all meanes of vnhonest seruants, large promises, and each thing els that might help to counteruaile his owne vnlouelines.
And she (whose husband about that time died) forgetting the absent Plangus, or at lest not hoping of him to obtaine so
aspiring a purpose, lefte no arte vnused, which might keepe the line from breaking, wherat the fishe was alredy taken; not drawing him violently, but letting him play himself vpon the hooke, which he had greedely swalowed. For, accompanying her mourning with a dolefull countenaunce, yet neither forgetting hansomnes in her mourning garments, nor sweetenes in her dolefull countenance; her wordes were euer seasoned with sighes; and any fauour she shewed, bathed in teares, that affection might see cause of pity; and pity might perswade cause of affection. And being growen skilfull in his humors, she was no lesse skilfull in applying his humors: neuer suffering his feare to fall to a despaire, nor his hope to hasten to an assurance: she was content he should thinke that she loued him; and a certaine stolne looke should sometimes (as though it were against her will) bewray it: But if thereupon he grewe bolde, he straight was encountred with a maske of vertue. And that which seemeth most impossible vnto me, (for as neere as I can I repeate it as Plangus tolde it) she could not onely sigh when she would, as all can doo; & weep when she would, as (they say) some can doo; but (being most impudent in her hart) she could, when she would, teach her chekes blushing, and make shamefastnes the cloake of shamelesnes. In summe, to leaue out many particularities which he recited, she did not onely vse so the spurre, that his Desire ran on, but so the bit, that it ran on, eue[n] in such a careere as she would haue it; that within a while, the king, seeing with no other eyes but such as she gaue him, & thinking no other thoghts but such as she taught him; hauing at the first liberall measure of fauors then shortned of the[m], when most his Desire was inflamed; he saw no other way but mariage to satisfie his longing, and her mind (as he thought) louing, but chastly louing. So that by the time Plangus returned from being notably victorious of the Rebels, he fou[n]d his father, not only maried, but alredy a father of a sonne & a daughter by this woma[n]. Which though Pla[n]gus (as he had euery way iust cause) was grieued at; yet did his grief neuer bring forth ether co[n]temning of her, or repining at his father. But she (who besides she was growen a mother, and
a stepmother, did read in his eies her owne fault, and made his conscience her guiltines) thought still that his presence caried her condemnation: so much the more, as that she (vnchastly attempting his wo[n]ted fa[n]cies) fou[n]d (for the reuere[n]ce of his fathers bed) a bitter refusall: which breeding rather spite then shame in her, or if it were a shame, a shame not of the fault, but of the repulse, she did not onely (as hating him) thirst for a reuenge, but (as fearing harm from him) endeuoured to doo harme vnto him. Therefore did she trie the vttermost of her wicked wit, how to ouerthrow him in the foundation of his strength, which was, in the fauour of his father: which because she saw strong both in nature and desert, it required the more cu[n]ning [h]ow to vndermine it. And therfore (shunning the ordinary trade of hireling sycophants) she made her praises of him, to be accusations; and her advauncing him, to be his ruine. For first with words (neerer admiration then liking) she would extoll his excelle[n]cies, the goodlines of his shape, the power of his witte, the valiantnes of his courage, the fortunatenes of his successes: so as the father might finde in her a singular loue towardes him: nay, she shunned not to kindle some fewe sparkes of ielousie in him. Thus hauing gotten an opinion in his father, that she was farre from meaning mischiefe to the sonne, then fell she to praise him with no lesse vehemencie of affection, but with much more cunning of malice. For then she sets foorth the liberty of his mind, the high flying of his thoughts, the fitnesse in him to beare rule, the singular loue the Subiects bare him; that it was doubtfull, whether his wit were greater in winning their fauors, or his courage in employing their fauours: that he was not borne to liue a subiect-life, each action of his bearing in it Maiestie, such a Kingly entertainement, such a Kingly magnificence, such a Kingly harte for enterprises: especially re-membring those vertues, which in a successor are no more honoured by the subiects, then suspected of the Princes. Then would she by putting-of obiectio[n]s, bring in obiectio[n]s to her husbands head, alredy infected with suspitio[n]. Nay (would she say) I dare take it vpon my death, that he is no such sonne, as many of like might haue bene, who loued greatnes so well, as to build their greatnes vpon their fathers ruine. Indeed Ambition, like Loue, can abide no lingring, & euer urgeth on his own successes; hating nothing, but what may stop the[m]. But the Gods forbid, we should euer once dreame of any such thing in him, who perhaps might be content, that you & the world should know, what he can do: but the more power he hath to hurte, the more admirable is his praise, that he wil not hurt. Then euer remembring to strengthen the suspition of his estate with priuate ielousie of her loue, doing him excessiue honour when he was in presence, and repeating his pretie speaches and graces in his absence; besides, causing him to be imployed in all such dangerous matters, as ether he should perish in them, or if he preuailed, they should increase his glory: which she made a weapon to wou[n]d him, vntill she found that suspition began already to speake for it selfe, and that her husbands eares were growne hungry of rumours, and his eies prying into euery accident.
Then tooke she help to her of a seruant neere about her husband, whom she knew to be of a hasty ambitio[n], and
such a one, who wanting true sufficiencie to raise him, would make a ladder of any mischiefe. Him she vseth to deale more plainely in alleaging causes of iealousie, making him know the fittest times when her husband already was stirred that way. And so they two, with diuers wayes, nourished one humour, like Musitians, that singing diuers parts, make one musicke. He sometime with fearefull countenaunce would desire the King to looke to himselfe; for that all the court and Cittie were full of whisperings, and expectation of some suddaine change, vpon what ground himselfe knew not. Another time he would counsell the King to make much of his sonne, and holde his fauour, for that it was too late now to keepe him vnder. Now seeming to feare himselfe, because (he said) Plangus loued none of them that were great about his father. Lastly, breaking with him directly (making a sorrowful countenance, & an humble gesture beare false witnesse for his true meaning) that he fou[n]d, not only souldiery, but people weary of his gouernment, & al their affections bent vpon Plangus. Both he and the Queene concurring in strange dreames, & each thing else, that in a mind (already perplexed) might breed astonishment: so that within a while, all Plangus actions began to be translated into the language of suspition.
Which though Plangus fou[n]d, yet could he not auoid, euen co[n]traries being driuen to draw one yoke of argume[n]t:
if he were magnificat, he spent much with an aspiring intent: if he spared, he heaped much with an aspiring intent: if he spake curteously, he angled the peoples harts: if he were silent, he mused vpon some daungerous plot. In summe, if he could haue turned himself to as many formes as Proteus, euery forme should haue bene made tedious.
But so it fell out, that a meere trifle gaue the occasion of further proceeding. The King one morning, going to a vineyard that lay a long the hill where his castle stood, he saw a vine-labourer, that finding a bowe broken, tooke a branch of the same bowe for want of another thing, and tied it about the place broken. The King asking the fellow what he did, Marry (said he) I make the sonne binde the father. This word (finding the King alredy supersticious through suspitio[n]) amazed him streight, as a presage of his owne fortune: so that, returning, and breaking with his wife how much he misdoubted his estate, she made such gaine-saying answeres, as while they straue, straue to be ouercome. But euen while the doubtes most boiled, she thus nourished them.
She vnder-hand dealt with the principall me[n] of that cou[n]try, that at the great Parliame[n]t (which was then to be held) they should in the name of all the estates perswade the King (being now stept deeply into old age) to make Plangus, his associate in gouernme[n]t with him: assuring the[m], that not only she would ioine with them, but that the father himself would take it kindly; chargeing the[m] not to acquaint Plangus withal; for that perhaps it might be harmeful vnto him, if the King should find, that he wer a party. They (who thought they might do it, not only willingly, because they loued him, & truly, because such indeed was the minde of the people, but safely, because she who ruled the King was agreed therto) accomplished her cou[n]sell: she indeed keeping promise of vehement perswading the same: which the more she & they did, the more she knew her husba[n]d would fear, & hate the cause of his feare. Plangus fou[n]d this, & hu[m]bly protested against such desire, or wil to accept. But the more he protested, the more his father thought he disse[m]bled, accenting his integritie to be but a cu[n]ning face of falshood: and therfore delaying the desire of his subiects, attended some fit occasion to lay hands vpon his sonne: which his wife thus brought to passe.
She caused that same minister of hers to go vnto Pla[n]gus, & (enabling his words with great shew of faith, &
endearing them with desire of secresie) to tell him, that he found his ruine conspired by his stepmother, with certain of the noble men of that cou[n]try, the King himselfe giuing his consent, and that few daies should passe, before the putting it in practize: with all discouering the very truth indeed, with what cunning his stepmother had proceeded. This agreing with Plangus his owne opinio[n], made him giue him the better credit: yet not so far, as to flie out of his country (according to the naughty fellowes persuasion) but to attend, and to see further. Wherupon the fellow (by the direction of his mistresse) told him one day, that the same night, about one of the clocke, the King had appointed to haue his wife, & those noble me[n] together, to deliberate of their manner of proceeding against Plangus: & therfore offered him, that if himselfe would agree, he would bring him into a place where he should heare all that passed; & so haue the more reason both to himselfe, and to the world, to seeke his safetie. The poore Pla[n]gus (being subiect to that only disaduantage of honest harts, credulitie) was perswaded by him: & arming himself (because of his late going) was closely conueied into the place appointed. In the meane time his stepmother making all her gestures cunningly counterfait a miserable afflictio[n], she lay almost groueling on the flower of her cha[m]ber, not suffering any body to comfort her; vntill they calling for her husband, and he held of with long enquiry, at length, she told him (euen almost crying out euery word) that she was wery of her life, since she was brought to that plunge, either to conceale her husba[n]ds murther, or accuse her sonne, who had euer bene more deare, then a sonne vnto her. Then with many interruptions and exclamations she told him, that her sonne Plangus (solliciting her in the old affection betweene them) had besought her to put her helping hand to the death of the King; assuring her, that though all the lawes in the world were against it, he would marrie her when he were King.
She had not fully said thus much, with many pitifull digressios, whe[n] in comes the same fellow, that brought Pla[n]gus:
& run[n]ing himself out of breath, fell at the Kings feet, beseeching him to saue himself, for that there was a man with sword drawen in the next roome. The King affrighted, we[n]t out, & called his gard, who entring the place, fou[n]d indeed Plangus with his sword in his hand, but not naked, but sta[n]ding suspiciously inough, to one already suspicious. The King (thinking he had put vp his sworde because of the noise) neuer tooke leasure to heare his answer, but made him prisoner, meaning the next morning to put him to death in the market place.
But the day had no sooner opened the eies & eares of his: friends & followers, but that there was a little army of them,
who came, and by force deliuered him; although nu[m]bers on the other side (abused with the fine framing of their report) tooke armes for the King. But Plangus, though he might haue vsed the force of his friends to reuenge his wrong, and get the crowne; yet the naturall loue of his father, and hate to make their suspition seeme iust, caused him rather to choose a volu[n]tarie exile, the[n] to make his fathers death the purchase of his life: & therefore went he to Tiridates, whose mother was his fathers sister, liuing in his Court eleuen or twelue yeares, euer hoping by his intercession, and his owne desert, to recouer his fathers grace. At the end of which time, the warre of Erona happened, which my sister with the cause thereof discoursed vnto you.
But his father had so deeply engraued the suspicion in his hart, that he thought his flight rather to proceed of a fearefull
guiltines, then of an humble faithfulnes; & therfore continued his hate, with such vehemencie, that he did euer hate his Nephew Tiridates, and afterwards his neece Artaxia, because in their Court he receiued countenance, leauing no meanes vnatte[m]pted of destroying his son; among other, employing that wicked seruant of his, who vndertooke to empoyson him. But his cu[n]ning disguised him not so well, but that the watchful serua[n]ts of Pla[n]gus did discouer him. Wherupo[n] the wretch was taken, & (before his wel-deserued execution) by torture forced to confesse the particularities of this, which in generall I haue told you.
Which co[n]fession autentically set downe (though Tiridates with solemne Embassage sent it to the King) wrought no
effect. For the King hauing put the reines of the gouernment into his wiues hande, neuer did so much as reade it; but sent it streight by her to be considered. So as they rather heaped more hatred vpon Plangus, for the death of their seruaunt. And now finding, that his absence, and their reportes had much diminished the wauering peoples affection towardes Plangus, with aduauncing fit persons for faction, and graunting great immunities to the commons, they preuailed so farre, as to cause the sonne of the second wife, called Palladius, to be proclaymed successour, and Plangus quite excluded: so that Plangus was driuen to continue his seruing Tiridates, as he did in the warre against Erona, and brought home Artaxia, as my sister tolde you; when Erona by the treason of Antiphilus, But at that word she stopped. For Basilius (not able longer to abide their absence) came sodainly among them, and with smiling countenance (telling Zelmane he was affraid she had stollen away his daughters) inuited them to follow the Sunnes counsel in going then to their lodging; for indeed the Sun was readie to set. They yeelded, Zelmane meaning some other time to vnderstand the storie of Antiphilus treason, and Eronas daunger, whose case she greatly tendred. But Miso had no sooner espied Basilius, but that as spitefully, as her rotten voice could vtter it, she set forth the sawcinesse of Amphialus. But Basilius onely attended what Zelmanes opinion was, who though she hated Amphialus, yet the nobilitie of her courage preuailed ouer it, and she desired he might be pardoned that youthfull error; considering the reputation he had, to be one of the best knights in the world; so as hereafter he gouerned himselfe, as one remembring his fault. Basilius giuing the infinite tearmes of praises to Zelmanes both valour in conquering, and pittifulnesse in pardoning, commanded no more words to be made of it, since such he thought was her pleasure.
1 The cumber of Zelmanes loue and louers. 2 Gynecias loue-
lamentations. 3 Zelmanes passions 4 & sonet. 5 Basilius-his
wooing, and Zelmanes answeres. 6 Philoclea feed attur-
ney to plead her fathers cause.
O brought he them vp to visite his wife, where betweene her, & him, the poore Zelmane receaued a
tedious entertainemet; oppressed with being loued, almost as much, as with louing. Basilius not so wise in couering his passion, could make his toong go almost no other pace, but to runne into those immoderate praises, which the foolish Louer thinkes short of his Mistres, though they reach farre beyond the heauens. But Gynecia (whome womanly modestie did more outwardly bridle) yet did oftentimes vse the aduantage of her sexe in kissing Zelmane, as she sate vpon her bedde-side by her; which was but still more and more sweete incense, to cast vpon the fire wherein her harte was sacrificed: Once Zelmane could not stirre, but that, (as if they had bene poppets, whose motion stoode onely vpon her pleasure) Basilius with seruiceable steppes, Gynecia with greedie eyes would follow her. Basilius mind Gynecia well knew, and could haue found in her hart to laugh at, if mirth could haue borne any proportion with her fortune. But all Gynecias actions were interpreted by Basilius, as proceeding from iealousie of his amorousnesse. Zelmane betwixt both (like the poore childe, whose father while he beates him, will make him beleeue it is for loue; or like the sicke man, to whom the Phisition sweares, the ill-tasting wallowish medicine he profers, is of a good taste) their loue was hatefull, their courtesie troublesome, their presence cause of her absence thence, where not onely her light, but her life consisted. Alas (thought she to her selfe) deare Dorus, what ods is there betweene thy destiny & mine? For thou hast to doo in thy pursuite but with shepherdish folkes, who trouble thee with a little enuious care, and affected diligence. But I (besides that I haue now Miso, the worst of thy diuels, let loose vpon me) am waited on by Princes, and watched by the two wakefull eyes of Loue and iealousie. Alas, incomparable Philoclea, thou euer seest me, but dost neuer see me as I am: thou hearest willingly all that I dare say, and I dare not say that which were most fit for thee to heare. Alas who euer but I was imprisoned in libertie, and banished being still present? To whom but me haue louers bene iailours, and honour a captiuitie?
But the night comming on with her silent steps vpon the[m], they parted ech from other (if at lest they could be parted,
of whom euery one did liue in another) and went about to flatter sleepe with their beds, that disdained to bestow it selfe liberally vpon such eies which by their will would euer be looking: and in lest measure vpon Gynecia, who (when Basilius after long tossing was gotten a sleepe, and the cheereful comfort of the lights remoued from her) kneeling vp in her bed, began with a soft voice, and swolne hart, to renue the curses of her birth; & the[n] in a maner embracing her bed; Ah chastest bed of mine (said she) which neuer heretofore couldst accuse me of one defiled thought, how canst thou now receaue this desastred changeling? Happie, happie be they onely which be not: and thy blessednes onely in this respect thou maist feele, that thou hast no feeling. With that she furiously tare off great part of her faire haire: Take here ô forgotten vertue (said she) this miserable sacrifice; while my soule was clothed with modestie, that was a comely ornament: now why should nature crowne that head, which is so wicked, as her onely despaire is, she cannot be enough wicked? More she would haue said, but that Basilius (awaked with the noise) tooke her in his armes, & bega[n] to co[m]fort her; the good-man thinking, it was all for a iealous loue of him: which humor if she would a litle haue maintained, perchance it might haue weakned his new conceaued fancies. But he finding her answeres wandring fro[m] the purpose, left her to her selfe (glad the next morning to take the adua[n]tage of a sleepe, which a little before day, ouerwatched with sorow, her teares had as it were sealed vp in her eyes) to haue the more conference with Zelmane, who baited on this fashion by these two louers, & euer kept from any meane to declare herselfe, found in her selfe a dayly encrease of her violent desires; like a riuer the more swelling, the more his current is stopped.
The chiefe recreation she could find in her anguish, was somtime to visite that place, where first she was so happy as to see the cause of her vnhap. There would she kisse the ground, and thanke the trees, blisse the aier, & do dutifull reuerence to euery thing that she thought did accompany her at their first meeting: then returne again to her inward thoughts; somtimes despaire darkning all her imaginations, sometimes the actiue passion of Loue cheering and cleering her inuention, how to vnbar that combersome hinderance of her two ill-matched louers. But this morning Basilius himself gaue her good occasion to go beyond them. For hauing combd and trickt himself more curiously, then any time fortie winters before, comming where Zelmane was, he found her giuen ouer to her musicall muses, to the great pleasure of the good old Basilius, who retired himselfe behinde a tree, while she with a most sweete voice did vtter these passionate verses.
LOued I am, and yet complaine of Loue:
As louing not, accused, in Loue I die.
When pittie most I craue, I cruell proue:
Still seeking Loue, loue found as much I flie.
Burnt in my selfe, I muse at others fire:
What I call wrong, I doo the same, and more:
Bard of my will, I haue beyond desire:
I waile for want, and yet am chokte with store.
This is thy worke, thou God for euer blinde:
Though thousands old, a Boy entitled still.
Thus children doo the silly birds they finde,
With stroking hurt, and too much cramming kill.
Yet thus much Loue, O Loue, I craue of thee:
Let me be lou'd, or els not loued be.
Basilius made no great haste from behind the tree, till he perceaued she had fully ended her musick. But then loth to
loose the pretious fruite of time, he presented himselfe vnto her, falling downe vpon both his knees, and holding vp his hands, as the old goueniesse of Danae is painted, when she sodainly saw the golde[n] shoure, O heauely woma[n], or earthly Goddesse (said he) let not my presence be odious vnto you, nor my humble suit seeme of small weight in your eares. Vouchsafe your eies to descend vpon this miserable old-ma[n], whose life hath hitherto bene maintained but to serue as an encrease of your beautiful triumphs. You only haue ouer throwne me, & in my bondage co[n]sists my glory. Suffer not your owne worke to be despised of you: but looke vpon him with pittie, whose life serues for your praise. Zelmane (keeping a cou[n]tena[n]ce ascanses she vnderstood him not) told him, It became her euil to suffer such excessiue reuerence of him, but that it worse became her to correct him, to whom she owed duetie: that the opinion she had of his wisedome was such, as made her esteeme greatly of his words; but that the words themselues sounded so, as she could not imagine what they might intend. Intend? (said Basilius, proud that that was brought in question) what may they intend, but a refreshing of my soule, and a swaging of my heat, and enioying those your excellencies, wherein my life is vpheld, and my death threatned? Zelmane lifting vp her face as if she had receaued a mortall iniurie of him, And is this the deuotion your ceremonies haue bene bent vnto? said she: Is it the disdaine of my estate, or the opinion of my lightnesse, that haue emboldned such base fancies towards me? enioying quoth you? now little ioy come to them that yeeld to such enioying. Poore Basilius was so appalled, that his legges bowed vnder him; his eyes lookt as though he would gladly hide himself; and his old blood going to his hart, a generall shaking all ouer his bodie possessed him. At length with a wanne mouth; he was about to giue a stammering answere, when it came into Zelmanes head by this deuise to make her profile of his folly; and therefore with a relented countenance, thus said vnto him. Your words (mightie Prince) were vnfit either for me to heare, or you to speake: but yet the large testimonie I see of your affection makes me willing to suppresse a great number of errors. Onely thus much I thinke good to say, that the same words in my Ladie Philocleas mouth, as from one woman to another (so as there were no other bodie by) might haue had a better grace; and perchance haue found a gentler receipt.
Basilius (whose senses by Desire were held open, and conceipt was by Loue quickned) heard scarcely halfe her
answere out, but that (as if speedie flight might saue his life) he turned away, and ran with all the speede his bodie would suffer him, towardes his daughter Philoclea: whom he found at that time duetifully watching by her mother, and Miso curiouslie watching her; hauing left Mopsa to doo the like seruice to Pamela. Basilius foorthwith calling Philoclea aside, (with all the coniuring words which Desire could endite, and authoritie vtter) besought her she would preserue his life, in who[m] her life was begonne; she would saue his graye haires from rebuke, and his aged mind from despaire; that if she were not cloyed with his companie, and that she thought not the earth ouer-burdened with him, she would coole his fierie griefe, which was to be done but by her breath. That in fine, whatsoeuer he was, he was nothing but what it pleased Zelmane; all the powers of his spirite depending of her: that if she continued cruell, he could no more sustaine his life, then the earth remaine fruitefull in the Sunnes continuall absence. He concluded, she should in one payment requite all his deserts: and that she needed not disdaine any seruice (though neuer so meane) which was warranted by the sacred name of a father. Philoclea more glad then euer she had knowen her selfe, that she might by this occasion, enioy the priuate conference of Zelmane, yet had so sweete a feeling of vertue in her minde, that she would not suffer a vile colour to be cast ouer her faire thoughts; but with humble grace answered her father: That there needed nether promise nor perswasion to her, to make her doo her vttermost for her fathers seruice. That for Zelmanes fauour, she would in all vertuous sort seeke it towards him: and that as she woulde not pearce further into his meaning, then himselfe should declare, so would she interprete all his doinges to be accomplished in goodnes: and therfore desired, (if otherwise it were) that he woulde not imparte it to her, who then should be forced to beginne (by true obedience) a shew of disobedience: rather perfourming his generall commandement, which had euer beene, to embrace vertue, then any new particular, sprong out of passion, and contrarie to the former. Basilius content to take that, since he could haue no more (thinking it a great point, if by her meanes, he could get but a more free accesse vnto Zelmane) allowed her reasons, & took her proffer tha[n]kfully, desiring onely a speedy returne of comfort. Philoclea was parting, and Miso streight behind her, like Alecto following Proserpina. But Basilius forced her to stay, though with much a doo, she being sharp-set vpon the fulfilling of a shrewde office, in ouer-looking Philoclea: and so said to Basilius, that she did as she was com[m]anded, and could not answere it to Gynecia, if she were any whitte from Philoclea: telling him true, that he did euill to take her charge from her. But Basilius, (swearing he would put out her eyes, if she stird a foote to trouble his daughter) gaue her a stoppe for that while.
1 Zelmanes teares, 2 and tearefull dittie. 3 Philoclea enters
conference with her. 4 She shues, and shewes her selfe Prince
Pyrocles. 5 Philoclea feares much, but loues more. 6 Their
conclusion, 7 with reentrie to their intermitted historio-
O away departed Philoclea, with a new field of fancies for her trauayling mind. For well she sawe, her father was growen her aduerse partie, and yet her fortune such, as she must fauour her Riuall; and the fortune of that fortune such, as neither that did hurt her, nor any contrarie meane helpe her.
But she walkt but a little on, before she saw Zelmane lying vpon a banke, with her face so bent ouer
Ladon, that (her teares falling into the water) one might haue thought, that she began meltingly to be metamorphosed to the vnder-running riuer. But by and by, with speech she made knowen, as well that she liued, as that she sorrowed. Faire streames (said she) that do vouchsafe in your cleerenes to represent vnto me my blubbered face, let the tribute-offer of my teares vnto you, procure your stay a while with me, that I may beginne yet at last, to finde some thing that pities me: and that all thinges of comfort and pleasure doo not flie away from me. But if the violence of your spring commaund you to haste away, to pay your dueties to your great prince, the Sea, yet carrie with you these fewe wordes, and let the vttermost ends of the world know them. A Loue more cleer then your selues, dedicated to a Loue (I feare) more cold then your selues, with the cleerenes layes a night of sorow vpon me; and with the coldenes en-flames a worlde of fire within me. With that she tooke a willowe stick, and wrote in a sandie banke these fewe verses.
OVer these brookes trusting to ease mine eyes,
(Mine eyes euen great in labour with their teares)
I layde my face; my face wherein there lyes
Clusters of clowdes, which no Sunne euer cleares.
In watry glasse my watrie eyes I see:
Sorrowes ill easde, where sorrowes painted be.
My thoughts imprisonde in my secreat woes,
With flamie breathes doo issue oft in sound:
The sound to this strange aier no sooner goes,
But that it dooth with Echoes force rebound.
And make me heare the plaints I would refraine:
Thus outward helps my inward griefes maintaine.
Now in this sande I would discharge my minde,
And cast from me part of my burdnous cares:
But in the sand my tales foretolde I finde,
And see therein how well the writer fares.
Since streame, aier, sand, mine eyes and eares conspire:
What hope to quench, where each thing blowes the fire?
And assoon as she had written them (a new swarme of thoughts stinging her mind) she was ready with her foot to giue
the new-borne letters both death and buriall. But Philoclea (to whom delight of hearing and seeing was before a stay from interrupting her) gaue her self to be seen vnto her, with such a lightning of Beauty vpo[n] Zelmane, that nether she could looke on, nor would looke of. At last Philoclea (hauing a little mused how to cut the threede euen, betweene her owne hopelesse affection, and her fathers vnbridled hope) with eyes, cheekes, and lippes, (whereof each sange their pane, to make vp the harmonic of bashulnesse) began to say, My Father to whom I owe my self, & therefore, When Zelmane (making a womanish habite to be the Armour of her boldnesse, giuing vp her life to the lippes of Philoclea, and taking it againe by the sweetenesse of those kisses) humbly besought her to keepe her speach for a while within the Paradise of her minde. For well she knew her fathers erra[n]d, who should soon receiue a sufficient answere. But now she demaunded leaue not to loose this long sought-for commoditie of time, to ease her harte thus farre, that if in her agonies her destinie was to be condemned by Philocleas mouth, at lest Philoclea might know, whom she had condemned. Philoclea easily yeelded to graunt her owne desire: and so making the greene banke the situation, and the riuer the prospect of the most beautiful buildings of Nature, Zelmane doubting how to beginne, though her thoughts already had runne to the ende, with a minde fearing the vnworthinesse of euery worde that should be presented to her eares, at length brought it forth in this manner.
Most beloued Ladie, the incomparable excellencies of your selfe, (waited-on by the greatnesse of your estate) and the
importaunce of the thing (whereon my life consisteth) doth require both many ceremonies before the beginning, and many circumstaunces in the vttering my speech, both bolde, and fearefull. But the small opportunitie of enuious occasion (by the malicious eie hateful Loue doth cast vpon me) and the extreme bent of my affection (which will eyther breake out in wordes, or breake my harte) compell me, not onely to embrace the smallest time, but to passe by respects due vnto you, in respect of your poore caitifes life, who is now, or neuer to be preserued. I doo therefore vowe vnto you, hereafter neuer more to omit all dutifull forme: doo you onely now vouchsafe to heare the matter of a minde most perplexed. If euer the sound of Loue haue come to your eares, or if euer you haue vnderstood, what force it hath had to conquere the strongest hartes, and change the most setled estates: receiue here an example of those straunge Tragedies; one, that in him selfe conteineth the particularities of all those misfortunes: and from hencefoorth beleeue that such a thing may be, since you shall see it is. You shall see (I say) a liuing image, and a present storie of what Loue can doo, when he is bent to ruine. But alas, whether goest thou my tongue? or how doth my harte consent to aduenture the reuealing his neerest touching secrete? But peace Feare, thou commest too late, when already the harme is taken. Therefore I say againe, O onely Princesse, attend here a miserable miracle of affection. Behold here before your eyes Pyrocles, Prince of Macedon, whome you onely haue brought to this game of Fortune, and vnused Metamorphosis: whome you onely haue made neglect his countrie, forget his Father, and lastly, forsake to be Pyrocles: the same Pyrocles, who (you heard) was betrayed by being put in a ship, which being burned, Pyrocles was drowned. O most true presage: for these traytors, my eyes, putting me in a shippe of Desire, which dayly burneth, those eyes (I say) which betraied me, will neuer leaue till they haue drowned me. But be not, be not, (most excellent Lady) you that Nature hath made to be the Load-starre of comfort, be not the Rocke of shipwracke: you whome vertue hath made the Princesse of felicitie, be not the minister of ruine: you, whom my choyse hath made the Goddesse of my safetie, O let not, let not, from you be powred vpon me destruction. Your faire face hath manie tokens in it of amazement at my wordes: thinke then what his amazement is, from whence they come: since no wordes can carry with them the life of the inward feeling. I desire, that my desire may be waied in the ballances of Honour, and let vertue hold them. For if the highest Loue in no base person may aspire to grace, then may I hope your beautie will not be without pittie. If otherwise you be (alas but let it neuer be so) resolued, yet shall not my death be comfortles, receiuing it by your sentence.
The ioy which wrought into Pygmalions mind, while he found his beloued image was softer, & warmer in his folded
armes, till at length it acco[m]plished his gladnes with a perfect womans shape (still beautified with the former perfections) was euen such, as by each degree of Zeltnanes wordes creepingly entred into Philoclea: till her pleasure was fully made vp with the manifesting of his being; which was such as in hope did ouer-come Hope. Yet Doubt would faine haue playd his parte in her minde, and cald in question, how she should be assured that Zelmane was Pyrocles. But Loue streight stood vp & deposed, that a lie could not come from the mouth of Zelmane. Besides, a certain sparke of honour, which rose in her well-disposed minde, made her feare to be alone with him, with whom alone she desired to be (with all the other co[n]tradictions growing in those minds, which nether absolutly clime the rocke of vertue, nor freely sinke into the sea of Vanitie) but that sparke soone gaue place, or at lest gaue no more light in her mind, then a ca[n]dle doth in the Sunnes presence. But euen sicke with a surfet of ioy, and fearefull of she knewe not what (as he that newly findes huge treasures, doubtes whether he sleepe or no; or like a fearfull Deere, which then lookes most about, when he comes to the best feede) with a shrugging kinde of tremor through all her principall partes, she gaue these affectionate wordes for answere. Alas, how painefull a thing it is to a deuided minde to make a wel-ioyned answere? how harde it is to bring inwarde shame to outward confession? and what handsomnes trow you can be obserued in that speeche, which is made one knowes not to whom? Shall I say ô Zelmane? Alas your wordes be against it. Shall I say Prince Pyrocles? wretch that I am, your shew is manifest against it. But this, this I may well say; If I had continued as I ought, Philoclea, you had either neuer bene, or euer bene Zelmane: you had either neuer attempted this change, set on with hope, or neuer discouered it, stopt with despaire. But I feare me, my behauiour ill gouerned, gaue you the first comfort: I feare me, my affection ill hid, hath giue you this last assurance: I feare indeed, the weakenesse of my gouernment before, made you thinke such a maske would be gratefull vnto me: & my weaker gouernment since, makes you to pull of the visar. What shall I doo then? shal I seeke far-fetched inuentions? shall I labour to lay marble coulours ouer my ruinous thoughts? or rather, though the purenes of my virgin-minde be stained, let me keepe the true simplicitie of my word. True it is, alas, too true it is, ô Zelmane (for so I loue to call thee, since in that name my loue first began, and in the shade of that name my loue shall best lie hidden,) that euen while so thou wert, (what eye bewitched me I know not) my passions were fitter to desire, then to be desired. Shall I say then, I am sory, or that my loue must be turned to hate, since thou art turned to Pyrocles? how may that wel be, since when thou wert Zelmane, the despaire thou mightest not be thus, did most torment me. Thou hast then the victorie: vse it with vertue. Thy vertue wan me; with vertue preserue me. Doost thou loue me? keepe me then still worthy to be beloued.
Then held she her tongue, and cast downe a self-accusing looke, finding, that in her selfe she had (as it were) shot out of
the bow of her affectio[n], a more quick opening of her minde, then she minded to haue done. But Pyrocles so caried vp with ioy, that he did not enuy the Gods felicitie, presented her with some iewels of right princely value, as some litle tokens of his loue, & qualitie: and withall shewed her letters from his father King Euarchus, vnto him, which euen in the Sea had amongst his iewels bene preserued. But little needed those proofes to one, who would haue fallen out with her selfe, rather then make any contrarie coniectures to Zelmanes speeches; so that with such imbracements, as it seemed their soules desired to meete, and their harts to kisse, as their mouthes did: which faine Pyrocles would haue sealed with the chiefe armes of his desire, but Philoclea commaunded the contrary; and yet they passed the promise of mariage.
And then at Philocleas entreaty, who was willing to purloine all occasions of remayning with Zelmane, she tolde her the storie of her life, from the time of their departing from Erona, for the rest she had already vnderstood of her sister. For (saide she) I haue vnderstood, how you first in the companie of your Noble cousin Musidorus parted from Thessalia, and of diuers aduentures, which with no more daunger then glory you passed through, till your comming to the succour of the Queene Erona; and the ende of that warre (you might perceiue by my selfe) I had vnderstood of the Prince Plangus. But what since was the course of your doings, vntil you came, after so many victories, to make a conquest of poore me, that I know not, the fame thereof hauing rather shewed it by pieces; then deliuered any full forme of it. Therefore, deere Pyrocles (for what can mine eares be so sweetly fed with as to heare you of you) be liberall vnto me of those things which haue made you indeede pretious to the worlde, and now doubt not to tell of your perils; for since I haue you here out of them, euen the remembraunce of them is pleasaunt. Pyrocles easily perceiued she was content with kindnesse, to put of occasion of further kindnesse; wherein Loue shewed himselfe a cowardly boy, that durst not attempt for feare of offending. But rather Loue prooued him selfe valiant, that durst with the sworde of reuerent dutie gaine-stand the force of so many enraged desires. But so it was, that though he knewe this discourse was to entertaine him from a more streight parley, yet he durst not but kisse his rod, and gladly make much of the entertainement which she allotted vnto him: and therefore with a desirous sigh chastning his brest for too much desiring, Sweete Princesse of my life (said he) what Trophees, what Triumph, what Monuments, what Histories may euer make my fame yeeld so sweete a Musicke to my eares, as that it pleaseth you to lend your minde to the knowledge of any thing touching Pyrocles, onely therefore of value, because he is your Pyrocles? And therefore grow I now so proud, as to thinke it worth the hearing, since you vouchsafe to giue it hearing. Therefore (onely height of my hope) vouchsafe to know, that after the death of Tiridates, and selling Erona in her gouernement; for setled we left her, howsoeuer since (as I perceiued by your speech the last day) the vngrateful treason of her ill-chosen husband ouerthrew her (a thing in trueth neuer till this time by me either heard, or suspected) for who could thinke without hauing such a minde as Antiphilus, that so great a beautie as Eronas (indeed excellent) could not haue held his affection? so great goodnes could not haue bound gratefulnesse? and so high aduancement could not haue satisfied his ambition? But therefore true it is, that wickednesse may well be compared to a bottomlesse pit, into which it is farre easier to keepe ones selfe from falling, then being fallen, to giue ones selfe any stay from falling infinitely. But for my Cosen, and me, vpon this cause we parted from Erona.
1 Anaxius surcuidrie; 2 and challenge to Pyrocles, accep-
ted. 3 The execution of Ladies done on a Light-of-loue.
4 Pyrocles-his intercession in the cause. 5 The lewd parts
of that light lecher. 6 His scoffing excuses. 7 Didos reuenge
on him stopped, 8 and his reuenge on her stayed by Pyro-
Vardes (the braue & mighty Prince, whom it was my fortune to kill in the co[m]bat for Erona) had three
Nephewes, sonnes to a sister of his; all three set among the foremost racks of Fame for great minds to atte[m]pt, and great force to perfourme what they did attempt; especially the eldest, by name Anaxius; to whom al men would willingly haue yeelded the height of praise, but that his nature was such, as to bestow it vpon himselfe, before any could giue it. For of so vnsupportable a pride he was, that where his deede might well stirre enuie, his demeanor did rather breed disdain. And if it be true that the Gyants euer made war against heauen, he had bene a fit ensigne-bearer for that company. For nothing seemed hard to him, though impossible; and nothing vniust, while his liking was his iustice. Now he in these wars had flatly refused his aid; because he could not brooke, that the worthy Prince Pla[n]gus was by his cosen Tiridates preferred before him. For allowing no other weights, but the sword & speare in iudging of desert, how-much he esteemed himselfe before Plangus in that, so much would he haue had his allowance in his seruice.
But now that he vnderstood that his vncle was slaine by me, I thinke rather scorne that any should kil his vncle, then
any kindnesse (an vnused guest to an arrogant soule) made him seeke his reuenge; I must confesse in manner gallant enough. For he sent a challenge to me to meete him at a place appointed, in the confines of the kingdome of Lycia; where he would proue vpon me, that I had by some trecherie ouercome his vncle, whom els many hundreds such as I, could not haue withstood. Youth & successe made me willing enough to accept any such bargaine; especially, because I had heard that your cosen Amphialus (who for some yeares hath vniuersally borne the name of the best Knight in the world) had diuers times fought with him, & neuer bene able to master him; but so had left him, that euery man thought Anaxius in that one vertue of curtesie far short of him, in al other his match; Anaxius stil deeming himselfe for his superiour. Therefore to him I would goe, and I would needs goe alone, because so I vnderstood for certaine, he was; and (I must confesse) desirous to do something without the company of the incomparable Prince Musidorus, because in my hart I acknowledge that I owed more to his presence, then to any thing in my self, whatsoeuer before I had done. For of him indeed (as of any worldly cause) I must grant, as receiued, what euer there is, or may be good in me. He taught me by word, and best by example, giuing me in him so liuely an Image of vertue, as ignorance could not cast such mist ouer mine eyes, as not to see, and to loue it, and all with such deare friendship and care, as (ô heauens) how ca[n] my life euer requite vnto him? which made me indeed find in my selfe such a kind of depending vpon him, as without him I found a weakenesse, and a mis-trustfulnes of my selfe, as one strayed from his best strength, when at any time I mist him. Which humour perceiuing to ouer-rule me, I straue against it; not that I was vnwilling to depend vpon him in iudgeme[n]t, but by weakenesse I would not; which though it held me to him, made me vnworthy of him. Therfore I desired his leaue, and obtained it: such confidence he had in me, preferring my reputation before his owne tendernesse; and so priuately went from him, he determining (as after I knew) in secreat maner, not to be far from the place, where we appointed to meete, to preuent any foule play that might be offered vnto me. Full loth was Erona to let vs depart from her, (as it were) forefeeling the harmes which after fell to her. But I, (ridde fully from those combers of kindnesse, and halfe a dayes iourney in my way toward Anaxius) met an aduenture, (though in it selfe of small importance) I will tell you at large, because by the occasion thereof I was brought to as great comber and danger, as lightly any might escape.
As I past through a Laund (ech side whereof was so bordred both with high tymber trees, and copses of farre more humble growth, that it might easily bring a solitarie minde to looke for no other companions then the wild burgesses of the forrest) I heard certaine cries, which comming by pawses to mine eares from within the wood of the right hand, made me well assured by the greatnesse of the crie, it was the voice of a man, though it were a verie vnmanlike voice, so to crie. But making mine eare my guide, I left not many trees behind me, before I saw at the bottome of one of them a gentleman bound (with many garters) hand & foot, so as well he might tomble and tosse, but neither runne nor resist he could. Vpo[n] him (like so many Eagles vpon an Oxe) were nine Gentle-women; truely such, as one might well enough say, they were hansome. Each of them helde bodkins in their handes, wherewith they continually pricked him, hauing bene before-hand vnarmed of any defence from the wast vpward, but onely of his shirte: so as the poore man wept and bled, cryed and prayed, while they sported themselues in his paine, and delighted in his prayers, as the arguments of their victorie.
I was moued to compassion, and so much the more that he straight cald to me for succour, desiring me at lest to kill him, to deliuer him from those tormenters. But before my-self could resolue, much lesse any other tell what I would resolue, there came in cholericke hast towards me about seue[n]or eight knights; the foremost of which willed me to get me away, and not to trouble the Ladies, while they were taking their due reuenge, but with so ouer-mastring a maner of pride, as truly my hart could not brooke it: & therfore (answering them, that how I would haue defended him from the Ladies I knew not, but from them I would) I began a combate first with him particularly, and after his death with the others (that had lesse good maners) ioyntly. But such was the end of it, that I kept the fielde with the death of some, and flight of others. In so much as the women (afraid, what angrie victorie would bring forth) ranne away; sauing onely one; who was so flesht in malice, that neither during, nor after the fight, she gaue any truce to her crueltie, but still vsed the little instrument of her great spight, to the well-witnest paine of the impatient patient: and was now about to put out his eies, which all this while were spared, because they should do him the discomfort of seeing who preuailed ouer him. When I came in, and after much ado, brought her to some conference, (for some time it was before she would harken, more before she would speake; & most, before she would in her speech leaue off" that remembrance of her bodkin) but at length whe[n] I puld off my head-peece, and humbly entreated her pardon, or knowledge why she was cruell; out of breath more with choller (which increased in his owne exercise) the[n] with the paine she tooke, much to this purpose she gaue her griefe vnto my knowledge. Gentleman (said she) much it is against my will to forbeare any time the executing of my iust reuege vpon this naughtie creature, a man in nothing, but in deceauing women; But because I see you are young, and like enough to haue the power (if you would haue the mind) to do much more mischiefe, then he, I am content vpon this bad subiect to reade a lecture to your vertue.
This man called Pamphilus, in birth I must confesse is noble (but what is that to him, if it shalbe a staine to his deade
auncestors to haue left such an off[s]pring?) in shape as you see not vncomely (indeed the fit maske of his disguised falshood) in conuersation wittily pleasant, and pleasantly gamesome; his eyes full of merie simplicitie, his words of hartie companablenesse; and such a one, whose head one would not think so stayed, as to thinke mischieuously: delighted in al such things, which by imparting their delight to others, makes the vser therof welcome; as, Musicke, Daunsing, Hunting, Feasting, Riding, & such like. And to conclude, such a one, as who can keepe him at armes ende, neede neuer wish a better co[m]panio[n]. But vnder these qualities lies such a poysonous addar as I will tell you. For by those gifts of Nature and Fortune (being in all places acceptable) he creepes, nay (to say truely) he flies so into the fauour of poore sillie women, that I would be too much ashamed to confesse, if I had not reuenge in my hande, as well as shame in my cheekes. For his hart being wholy delighted in deceiuing vs, we could neuer be warned, but rather, one bird caught, serued for a stale to bring in more. For the more he gat, the more still he shewed, that he (as it were) gaue away to his new mistresse, whe[n] he betrayed his promises to the former. The cunning of his flatterie, the readines of his teares, the infinitenes of his vowes, were but among the weakest threedes of his nette. But the stirring our owne passions, and by the entrance of them, to make himselfe Lord of our forces; there lay his Masters part of cunning, making vs now iealous, now enuious, now proud of what we had, desirous of more; now giuing one the triumph, to see him that was Prince of many, Subiect to her; now with an estranged looke, making her feare the losse of that minde, which indeede could neuer be had: neuer ceasing humblenes and diligence, till he had imbarked vs in some such disaduantage, as we could not return dry-shod; and then suddenly a tyrant, but a craftie tyrant. For so would he vse his imperiousnes, that we had a delightfull feare, and an awe which made vs loath to lose our hope. And, which is strangest (when sometimes with late repentance I thinke of it) I must confesse, euen in the greatest tempest of my iudgeme[n]t was I neuer driuen to think him excellent, and yet so could set my minde, both to gette and keepe him, as though therein had laien my felicitie: like them I haue seene play at the ball, growe extremely earnest, who shoulde haue the ball, and yet euery one knew it was but a ball. But in the end, the bitter sauce of the sport was, that we had ether our hartes broken with sorrow, or our estates spoyled with being at his direction, or our honours for euer lost, partly by our owne faults, but principally by his faultie vsing of our faults. For neuer was there man that could with more scornefull eyes beholde her, at whose feete he had lately laine, nor with a more vnmanlike brauerie vse his tongue to her disgrace, which lately had song Sonets of her praises: being so naturally inconstant, as I maruell his soule findes not some way to kill his bodie, whereto it had beene so long vnited. For so hath he dealt with vs (vnhappie fooles,) as we could neuer tell, whether he made greater haste after he once liked, to enioy, or after he once enioyed, to forsake. But making a glorie of his own shame, it delighted him to be challenged of vnkindnesse: it was a triumph vnto him to haue his mercie called for: and he thought the fresh colours of his beautie were painted in nothing so well, as in the ruines of his Louers: yet so farre had we engaged our selues, (vnfortunate soules) that we listed not complaine, since our complaintes could not but carrie the greatest accusation to our selues. But euerie of vs (each for her selfe,) laboured all meanes how to recouer him, while he rather daily sent vs companions of our deceipt, then euer returned in any sound and faithfull manner. Till at length he concluded all his wronges with betrothing himselfe to one (I must confesse) worthie to be liked, if any worthinesse might excuse so vnworthie a changeablenesse; leauing vs nothing but remorse for what was past, and despaire of what might followe. Then indeede, the common iniurie made vs all ioyne in friendshippe, who till that time, had employed our endeuours one against the other. For, we thought nothing was a more condemning of vs, then the iustifying of his loue to her by manage: then Despaire made Feare valiant, and Reuenge gaue Shame countenance: whereupon, we (that you saw here) deuised how to get him among vs alone: which he (suspecting no such matter of them, whom he had by often abuses he thought made tame to be still abused) easilie gaue us opportunitie to doo.
And a man may see, euen in this, how soone Rulers growe proude, and in their pride foolish: he came with such an
authoritie among us, as if the Planets had done inough for us, that by us once he had beene delighted. And when we began in courteous manner, one after the other, to lay his unkindnesse unto him, he seeing himselfe confronted by so many (like a resolute Orator,) went not to deniall, but to iustifie his cruell falshoode, and all with such iestes, and disdainfull passages, that if the iniurie could not be made greater, yet were our conceiptes made the apter to apprehende it.
Among other of his answeres (forsooth) I shall neuer forgette, how he woulde prooue it was no inconstancie to chaunge from one Loue to an other, but a great constancie; and contrarie, that which we call constancie, to be most changeable. For (said he) I euer loued my Delight, & delighted alwayes in what was Lovely: and where-soever I founde occasion to obtaine that, I constantly folowed it. But these constant fooles you speak of, though their Mistres grow by sicknes foule, or by fortune miserable, yet stil will loue her, and so committe the absurdest inconstancie that may be, in changing their loue from fairenes to foulenesse, and from louelines to his contrarie; like one not content to leaue a friend, but will streight giue ouer himself to his mortall enemie: where I (whom you call inconstant) am euer constant; to Beautie, in others; and Delight in my self. And so in this iollie scoffing brauerie he went over us all, saying, He left one, because she was over-waiwarde; another, because she was too soone woon; a third, because she was not merie inough; a fourth, because she was ouer-gamesome; the fifth, because she was growen with griefe subiect to sicknesse; the sixt, because she was so foolish, as to be ielous of him; the seuenth, because she had refused to carie a letter for him, to another that he loued; the eight, because she was not secrete; the ninth, because she was not liberall: but to me, who am named Dido, (and indeede have mette with a false Æneas) to me, I say, (ô the ungratefull villaine) he could finde no other fault to obiect, but that (perdie) he met with many fayrer.
But when he had thus plaide the carelesse Prince, we hauing those seruants of ours in readines, whom you lately so
manfully ouercame) laide holde of him; beginning at first but that trifling reuenge, in which you found vs busie; but meaning afterwardes to haue mangled him so, as should haue lost his credit for euer abusing more. But as you haue made my fellowes flie away, so for my part the greatnesse of his wrong ouershadowes in my iudgement the greatnesse of any daunger. For was it not inough for him, to haue deceiued me, & through the deceipt abused me, & after the abuse forsaken me, but that he must now, of al the company, & before all the company lay want of beautie to my charge? Many fairer? I trow eue[n]in your iudgeme[n]t, Sir, (if your eies do not beguile me) not many fairer; & I know (whosoeuer saies the co[n]trary) there are not many fairer. And of whom should I receiue this reproch, but of him, who hath best cause to know there are not many fairer? And therefore how soeuer my fellowes pardon his iniuries, for my parte I will euer remember, & remember to reuenge this scorne of al scornes. With that she to him afresh; & surely would haue put out his eies (who lay muet for shame, if he did not sometimes crie for feare) if I had not lept from my horse, & mingling force with intreaty, staied her furie.
But, while I was perswading her to meekenes, comes a number of his friends, to whom he forthwith cried, that they
should kill that woma[n], that had thus betraied and disgraced him. But then I was faine to forsake the ensigne; vnder which I had before serued, and to spend my uttermost force in the protecting of the Ladie; which so well preuailed for her, that in the ende there was a faithfull peace promised of all sides. And so I leauing her in a place of securitie (as she thought) went on my iourney towards Anaxius, for whom I was faine to stay two daies in the apointed place, he disdaining to waite for me, till he was sure I were there.
1The monomachie betweene Anaxius and Pyrocles; 2 ad-
iourned by Pyrocles to resuccour Dido. 3 The course of
Didos daunger. 4 The miserablenesse of her father. 5 His
carlish entertainement to Pyrocles; 6 and his treason a-
gainst him. 7 Pyrocles hard bestead. 8 succoured by Mu-
sidorus: 9 both saued by the King of Iberia. 10 The exe-
cution of the traitors, and death of Dido.
Did patientlie abide his angrie pleasure, till about that space of time he came (indeede, according to
promise) alone: and (that I may not say too little, because he is wont to say too much) like a man, whose courage was apt to clime ouer any daunger. soone as euer he came neere me, in fit distaunce for his purpose, he with much fury, (but with fury skilfully guided) ran vpon me; which I (in the best sort I could) resisted, hauing kept my selfe ready for him, because I had vnderstood, that he obserued but few complements in matters of armes, but such as a proud anger did indite vnto him. And so putting our horses into a full careere, we hit ech other vpon the head with our Launces: I think he felte my blowe; for my parte (I must confesse) I neuer receiued the like: but I thinke though my senses were astonished, my minde forced them to quicken themselues, because I had learned of him, how little fauour he is woont to show in any matter of aduantage. And indeede he was turned, and comming vpon me with his sworde drawne, both our staues hauing bene broken at that encounter. But I was so ready to answere him, that truely I know not who gaue the first blowe. But whosoeuer gaue the first, it was quickly seconded by the second. And indeed (excellentest Ladie) I must say truely, for a time it was well fought betweene vs; he vndoubtedly being of singular valour, (I would to God, it were not abased by his too much loftinesse) but as by the occasion of the combate, winning and loosing ground, we chaunged places, his horse happened to come vpon the point of the broken speare, which fallen to the ground chaunced to stand vpward; so as it lighting vpon his hart, the horse died. He driuen to dismount, threatned, if I did not the like, to doo as much for my horse, as Fortune had done for his. But whether for that, or because I would not be beholding to Fortune for any part of the victorie, I descended.
So began our foote-fight in such sort, that we were well entred to bloud of both sides, when there comes by, that
vnconstant Pamphilus, whom I had deliuered (easie to be knowne, for he was bare faced) with a dozen armed men after him; but before him he had Dido (that Ladie, who had most sharpely punished him) riding vpon a palfrey, he following her with most vnmanlike crueltie; beating her with wandes he had in his hande, she crying for sense of payne, or hope of succour: which was so pittifull a sight vnto me, that it mooued me to require Anaxius to deferre our combate, till an other day, and now to perfourme the duties of Knighthood in helping this distressed Ladie. But he that disdaines to obey any thing but his passion (which he cals his mind) bad me leaue of that thought; but when he had killed me, he would then (perhaps) go to her succour. But I well finding the fight would be long betweene vs (longing in my hart to deliuer the poore Dido) giuing him so great a blowe, as somewhat staied him, (to terme it a right) I flatly ran away from him toward my horse, who trotting after the co[m]panie, in mine armour I was put to some paine, but that vse made me nimble vnto it. But as I followed my horse, Anaxius followed me: but his prowde harte did so disdaine that exercise, that I had quickly ouer-run him, & ouertaken my horse; being (I must co[n]fesse) ashamed to see a number of country folks, who happened to passe thereby, who hallowed & howted after me as at the arrantest coward, that euer shewed his shoulders to his enemie. But when I had leapt on my horse (with such speedy agility, that they all cried, (see how feare giues him wings) I turned to Anaxius, & aloud promised him to returne thether again, as soone as I had relieued the iniuried Ladie. But he railing at me, with all the base wordes angry contempt could endite; I said no more, but, Anaxius, assure thy self, I nether feare thy force, nor thy opinion. And so vsing no weapon of a Knight as at that time, but my spurres, I ranne in my knowledge after Pamphilus, but in al their conceipts from Anaxius, which as far as I could heare, I might well heare testified with such laughters and games, that I was some few times moued to turne backe againe.
But the Ladies misery ouer-balanced my reputation so that after her I went, & with six houres hard riding (through so
wild places, as it was rather the cunning of my horse sometimes, then of my selfe, so rightly to hit the way) I ouergat the[m] a little before night, neere to an old il-fauoured castle, the place where I perceiued they meant to perfourme their vnknightly errand. For there they began to strip her of her clothes, when I came in among them, & running through the first with a lau[n]ce, the iustnesse of the cause so enhabled me against the rest (falsharted in their owne wrong doing) that I had, in as short time almost as I had bene fighting with only Anaxius, deliuered her from those iniurious wretches: most of whom carried newes to the other world, that amongst men secret wronges are not alwaies left vnpunished. As for Pamphilus, he hauing once seene, & (as it should seeme) remembred me, euen from the beginning began to be in the rereward, and before they had left fighting, he was too far of to giue them thanks for their paines. But when I had deliuered to the Ladie a ful libertie, both in effect, & in opinion, (for some time it was before she could assure her selfe she was out of their handes, who had layd so vehement apprehension of death vpon her) she then tolde me, how as she was returning toward her fathers, weakely accompanied (as too soone trusting to the falshood of reconcilement) Pamphilus had set vpon her, and killing those that were with her, carried her selfe by such force, and with such maner as I had seene, to this place, where he meant in cruell and shamefull manner to kill her, in the sight of her owne Father; to whom he had already sent worde of it, that out of his castle windowe (for this castle, she said, was his) he might haue the prospect of his onely childes destruction, if my comming, whom (she said) he feared (as soone as he knew me by the armour) had not warraunted her from that neere approching crueltie. I was glad I had done so good a deede for a Gentlewoman not vnhandsome, whome before I had in like sorte helped. But the night beginning to perswade some retiring place, the Gentlewoman, euen out of countenaunce before she began her speach, much after this manner inuited me to lodge that night with her father.
Sir (said she) how much I owe you, can be but abased by wordes, since the life I haue, I holde it now the second time
of you: and therefore neede not offer seruice vnto you, but onely to remember you, that I am your seruaunt: and I would, my being so, might any way yeeld any small contentment vnto you. Now onely I can but desire you to harbour your selfe this night in this castle; because the time requires it; and in truth this countrie is very daungerous for murthering theeues, to trust a sleeping life among them. And yet I must confesse, that as the loue I beare you makes me thus inuite you, so the same loue makes me ashamed to bring you to a place, where you shalbe so (not spoke by ceremonie but by truth) miserably entertained. With that she tolde me, that though she spake of her father (whom she named Chremes) she would hide no truth from me, which was in summe, that as he was of all that region the man of greatest possessions, and riches, so was he either by nature, or an euill receiued opinion, giuen to sparing, in so vnmeasurable a sorte, that he did not onely barre him selfe from the delightfull, but almost from the necessarie vse thereof; scarsely allowing him selfe fitte sustenaunce of life, rather then he would spende of those goods, for whose sake onely he seemed to ioye in life. Which extreame dealing (descending from himselfe vpon her) had driuen her to put her selfe with a great Lady of that countrie, by which occasion she had stumbled vpon such mischance, as were little for the honour either of her, or her familie. But so wise had he shewed himselfe therein, as while he found his daughter maintained without his cost, he was content to be deafe to any noise of infamie: which though it had wronged her much more then she deserued, yet she could not denie, but she was driuen thereby to receaue more then decent fauours. She concluded, that there at lest I should be free from iniuries, & should be assured to her-wards to abound as much in the true causes of welcomes, as I should want of the effects thereof.
I, who had acquainted my selfe to measure the delicacie of foode and rest, by hunger and wearinesse, at that time well
stored of both, did not abide long entreatie; but went with her to the Castle: which I found of good strength, hauing a great mote rounde about it; the worke of a noble Gentleman, of whose vnthriftie sonne he had bought it. The bridge drawne vp, where we were faine to crie a good while before we coulde haue answeare, and to dispute a good while before answeare would bee brought to acceptance. At length a willingnesse, rather then a ioy to receaue his daughter, whome hee had lately seene so neere death, and an opinion rather brought into his heade by course, because he heard himselfe called a father; rather then any kindnesse that hee found in his owne harte, made him take vs in; for my part by that time growne so wearie of such entertainement, that no regard of my selfe, but onely the importunitie of his daughter made me enter. Where I was met with this Chremes, a driueling old fellow, leane, shaking both of head and hands, alredie halfe earth, and yet then most greedie of Earth: who scarcely would giue me thankes for that I had done, for feare I suppose, that thankefulnesse might haue an introduction of reward. But with a hollow voice, giuing me a false welcome, I might perceaue in his eye to his daughter, that it was hard to say, whether the displeasure of her company did not ouer-way the pleasure of her owne comming. But on he brought me, into so bare a house, that it was the picture of miserable happinesse, and rich beggerie (serued onely by a company of rusticall villaines, full of sweate and dust, not one of them other, then a labourer) in summe (as he counted it) profitable drudgerie: and all preparations both for foode and lodging such, as would make one detest nigardnesse, it is so sluttish a vice. His talke nothing but of his pouertie, for feare belike lest I should haue proued a young borrower. In summe, such a man, as any enemy could not wish him worse, then to be himselfe. But there that night bidde I the burthen of being a tedious guest to a loathsome host; ouer-hearing him sometimes bitterly warne his daughter of bringing such costly mates vnder his roofe: which she grieuing at, desired much to know my name, I thinke partly of kindnesse to remember who had done some-thing for her, and partly because she assured her selfe I was such a one as would make euen his miser-minde contented, with what he had done. And accordingly she demaunded my name, and estate, with such earnestnesse, that I whom Loue had not as then so robbed me of my selfe, as to be another then I am, told her directly my name and condition: whereof she was no more gladde then her father, as I might well perceaue by some ill-fauoured cheerefulnesse, which then first began to wrinckle it selfe in his face.
But the causes of their ioyes were farre different; for as the shepheard and the butcher both may looke vpon one sheepe
with pleasing conceipts, but the shepheard with minde to profile himselfe by preseruing, the butcher with killing him: So she reioyced to finde that mine owne benefits had tyed me to be her friend, who was a Prince of such greatnesse, and louingly reioyced: but his ioy grew, (as I to my danger after perceiued) by the occasion of the Queene Artaxias setting my head to sale, for hauing slaine her brother Tiridates; which being the summe of an hundreth thousand crownes (to whosoeuer brought me aliue into her hands) that old wretch, (who had ouer-liued all good nature) though he had lying idly by him much more then that, yet aboue all things louing money, for monies owne sake determined to betray me, so well deseruing of him, for to haue that which he was determined neuer to vse. And so knowing that the next morning I was resolued to go to the place where I had left Anaxius, he sett in all speed to a Captaine of a Garrison hard by; which though it belonged to the King of Iberia, (yet knowing the Captaines humor to delight so in riotous spending; as he cared not how he came by the meanes to maintaine it) doubted not, that to be halfe with him in the gaine, he would play his quarters part in the treason. And therefore that night agreeing of the fittest places where they might surprise me in the morning, the old caitiffe was growne so ceremonious, as he would needs accompanie me some myles in my way; a sufficient token to me, if Nature had made me apte to suspect; since a churles curtesie rathely comes but either for gaine, or falshood. But I suffered him to stumble into that point of good manner: to which purpose he came out with all his clownes, horst vpon such cart-iades, and so furnished, as in good faith I thought with my selfe, if that were thrift, I wisht none of my friends or subiectes euer to thriue. As for his daughter (the gentle Dido) she would also (but in my conscience with a farre better minde) prolong the time of farewell, as long as he.
So we went on togither: he so old in wickednes, that he could looke me in the face, and freely talke with me, whose life
he had alreadie contracted for: till comming into the falling of a way which ledde vs into a place, of each-side whereof men might easily keepe themselues vndiscouered, I was encompassed sodainly by a great troupe of enimies, both of horse and foote, who willed me to yeelde my selfe to the Queene Artaxia. But they coulde not haue vsed worse eloquence to haue perswaded my yeelding, then that; I knowing the little good will Artaxia bare me. And therefore making necessitie and iustice my best sword and shield, I vsed the other weapons I had as well as I could; I am sure to the little ease of a good number, who trusting to their number more then to their valure, and valewing money higher then equitie, felt, that guiltlesnesse is not alwayes with ease oppressed. As for Chremes, he withdrew himselfe, yet so guilding his wicked conceipts with his hope of gaine, that he was content to be a beholder, how I should be taken to make his pray.
But I was growne so wearie, that I supported my selfe more with anger then strength, when the most excellent
Musidorus came to my succour; who hauing followed my trace as well as he could, after he had found I had left the fight with Anaxius, came to the niggards Castell, where he found all burnd and spoiled by the countrie people, who bare mortall hatred to that couetous man, and now tooke the time, when the castell was left almost without garde, to come in, and leaue monuments of their malice therein: which Musidorus not staying either to further, or impeach, came vpon the spurre after me (because with one voice many told him, that if I were in his company, it was for no good meant vnto me) and in this extremitie found me. But when I saw that Cosen of mine, me thought my life was doubled, and where before I thought of a noble death, I now thought of a noble victorie. For who can feare that hath Musidorus by him? who, what he did there for me, how many he killed, not straunger for the number, then for the straunge blowes wherwith he sent them to a wel-deserued death, might well delight me to speake off, but I should so holde you too long in euery particular. But in trueth, there if euer, and euer, if euer any man, did Musidorus shew himselfe second to none in able valour.
Yet what the vnmeasurable excesse of their number woulde haue done in the ende I knowe not, but the triall thereof
was cutte off by the chaunceable comming thither of the King of Iberia, that same father of that worthy Plangus, whom it hath pleased you somtimes to mention: who, (not yeelding ouer to old age his country delights, especially of hauking) was at that time (following a Merline) brought to see this iniurie offred vnto vs: and hauing great numbers of Courtiers waiting vpon him, was straight known by the souldiers that assaulted vs, to be their King, and so most of them with-drew themselues.
He by his authoritie knowing of the Captaines owne constrained confession, what was the motiue of this mischieuous
practise; misliking much such viole[n]ce should be offred in his countrie to men of our ranke; but chiefely disdaining it should be done in respect of his Niece, whom (I must confesse wrongfully) he hated, because he interpreted that her brother and she had maintained his sonne Plangus against him, caused the Captaines head presently to be striken off, and the old bad Chremes to be hanged: though truely for my part, I earnestly laboured for his life, because I had eaten of his bread. But one thing was notable for a conclusion of his miserable life, that neither the death of his daughter, who (alas the poore Gentlewoman) was by chaunce slaine among his clownes, while she ouer-boldly for her weake sex sought to hold the[m] from me, nor yet his owne shamefull ende was so much in his mouth as he was ledde to execution, as the losse of his goods, and burning of his house: which often, with more laughter then teares of the hearers, he made pittifull exclamations vpon.
1 The two Princes passage to the Iberian Court. 2 Andro-
manas omniregencie. 3 Her parti-loue to them both. 4 Her
faire and foule meanes to inueigle them. 5 Palladius loue
to Zelmane. 6 Zelmanes loue to Pyrocles, and practise
with her Louer to release her beloued.
His iustice thus done, and we deliuered, the King indeede in royall sorte inuited vs to his Court, not farre
thence: in all points entertaining vs so, as truely I must euer acknowledge a beholdingnesse vnto him: although the streame of it fell out not to be so sweet as the spring. For after some dayes being there (curing our selues of such wounds as we had receiued, while I, causing diligent search to be made of Anaxius, could learne nothing, but that he was gone out of the countrie, boasting in euerie place, how he had made me run away) we were brought to receiue the fauour of acquainta[n]ce with this Queene Andromana, whom the Princesse Pamela did in so liuely colours describe the last day, as still me thinkes the figure therof possesseth mine eyes, confirmed by the knowledge my selfe had.
And therefore I shall neede the lesse to make you know what kinde of woman she was; but this onely, that first with the
rarenes of affection, and after with the very vse of directing, she had made her selfe so absolute a maister of her husbands minde, that a-while he would not, and after, he could not tell how to gouern, without being gouerned by her: but finding an ease in not vnderstanding, let loose his thoughtes wholly to pleasure, entrusting to her the entire conduct of all his royall affaires. A thing that may luckely fall out to him that hath the blessing, to match with some Heroicall minded Ladie. But in him it was nether guided by wisdome, nor followed by Fortune, but thereby was slipte insensiblie into such an estate, that he liued at her vndiscreete discretion: all his subiectes hauing by some yeares learned, so to hope for good, and feare of harm, onely fro[m] her, that it should haue neded a stronger vertue the[n] his, to haue vnwound so deeply an entred vice. So that either not striuing (because he was contented) or contented (because he would not striue) he scarcelie knewe what was done in his owne chamber, but as it pleased her Instrumentes to frame the relation.
Now we being brought knowen vnto her (the time that we spent in curing some very dangerous wounds) after once we were acquainted, (and acquainted we were sooner then our selues expected) she continuallie almost haunted vs, till (and it was not long a doing) we discouered a most violent bent of affection: and that so strangely, that we might well see, an euill minde in authoritie, dooth not onely folow the sway of the desires alreadie within it, but frames to it selfe new desires, not before thought of. For, with equall ardour she affected vs both: and so did her greatnes disdaine shamefastnes, that she was content to acknowledge it to both. For, (hauing many times torne the vaile of modestie) it seemed, for a laste delight, that she delighted in infamy: which often she had vsed to her husbands shame, filling all mens eares (but his) with reproch; while he (hoodwinkt with kindnes) lest of al me[n] knew who strake him. But her first degree was, by setting foorth her beauties, (truely in nature not to be misliked, but as much adua[n]ced to the eye, as abased to the iudgeme[n]t by arte) thereby to bring vs (as willingly-caught fishes) to bite at her baite. And thereto had she that scutchion of her desires supported by certain badly-dilige[n]t ministers, who ofte[n] cloyed our eares with her praises, & would needs teach vs a way of felicitie by seeking her fauor. But when she found, that we were as deaf to the[m], as dumb to her; then she listed no lo[n]ger stay in the suburbs of her foolish desires, but directly entred vpo[n] the[m]; making her self an impudent suter, authorizing her selfe very much with making vs see that all fauor & power in that realm, so depe[n]ded vpon her, that now (being in her hands) we were ether to keep, or lose our liberty, at her discretio[n]; which yet she so te[m]pred, as that we might rather suspect, the[n] she threate[n]. But whe[n] our wou[n]ds grew so, as that they gaue us leaue to trauell, & that she found we were purposed to vse all meanes we could to depart thence, she (with more & more importunatnes) craued that, which in all good maners was ether of vs to be desired, or not granted. Truely (most faire & euery way excelle[n]t Lady) you would haue wondred to haue seene, how before vs she would confes the contentio[n] in her own mind, between that louely (indeed most louely) brounes of Musidorus his face, & this colour of mine, which she (in the deceiuable stile of affection) would intitle beautifull: how her eyes wandered (like a glutton at a feast) from the one to the other; and how her wordes would beginne halfe of the sentence to Musidorus, & end the other half to Pyrocles: not ashamed (seeing the friend-shippe betweene vs) to desire either of vs to be a mediator to the other; as if we should haue played a request at Tennis betweene vs: and often wishing, that she might be the angle, where the lines of our friendshippe might meet; and be the knotte which might tie our hartes together. Which proceeding of hers I doo the more largely set before you (most deare Lady) that by the foyle therof, you may see the noblenes of my desire to you, & the warrantablenes of your fauour to me.
At that Philoclea smiled, with a little nod. But (saide Pyrocles) when she perceiued no hope by suite to preuaile, then
(perswaded by the rage of affection, and encouraged by daring to doo any thing) she founde meanes to haue vs accused to the King, as though we went about some practise to ouerthrowe him in his owne estate. Which, because of the straunge successes we had in the kingdomes of Phrigia, Pontus & Galatia) seemed not vnlikely to him, who (but skimming any thing that came before him) was disciplined to leaue the through-handling of all, to his gentle wife: who foorthwith caused vs to be put in prison, hauing (while we slept) depriued vs of our armour: a prison, indeede iniurious, because a prison, but els well testifying affection, because in all respectes as commodious, as a prison might be: and indeede so placed, as she might at all houres, (not seene by many, though she cared not much how many had seene her) come vnto vs. Then fell she to sause her desires with threatnings, so that we were in a great perplexitie, restrained to so vnworthie a bondage, and yet restrained by Loue, which (I cannot tell how) in noble mindes, by a certain duety, claimes an answering. And how much that loue might mooue vs, so much, and more that faultines of her mind remoued vs; her beautie being balanced by her shamelesnes. But that which did (as it were) tie vs in captiuitie, was, that to graunt, had ben wickedly iniurious to him, that saued our liues: and to accuse a Ladie that loued vs, of her loue vnto vs, we esteemed almost as dishonorable: & but by one of those waies we sawe no likelihood of going out of that place, where the words would be iniurious to your eares, which should expresse the manner of her suite: while yet many times earnestnes died her cheekes with the colour of shamefastnes; and wanton languishing borrowed of her eies the downe-cast looke of modestie. But we in the meane time far from louing her, and often assuring her, that we would not so recompence her husbandes sauing of our liues; to such a ridiculous degree of trusting her, she had brought him, that she caused him sende vs worde, that vpon our liues, we should doo whatsoeuer she commaunded vs: good man, not knowing any other, but that all her pleasures bent to the preseruation of his estate. But when that made vs rather pittie, then obey his folly, then fel she to seruile entreating vs, as though force could haue bene the schoole of Loue, or that an honest courage would not rather striue against, then yeelde to iniurie. All which yet could not make vs accuse her, though it made vs almost pine awaie for spight, to loose any of our time in so troublesome an idlenesse.
But while we were thus full of wearinesse of what was past, and doubt of what was to follow, Loue (that I thinke in the
course of my life hath a sporte sometimes to poison me with roses, sometimes to heale me with wormewood) brought forth a remedy vnto vs: which though it helped me out of that distres, alas the co[n]clusion was such, as I must euer while I liue, think it worse then a wracke, so to haue bene preserued. This King by this Queene had a sonne of tender age, but of great expectation, brought vp in the hope of themselues, & already acceptation of the inconstant people, as successour of his fathers crowne: whereof he was as worthy, considering his partes, as vnworthie, in respect of the wrong was therby done against the most worthy Plangus: whose great desertes now either forgotten, or vngratefully remembred, all men set their sayles with the fauourable winde, which blewe on the fortune of this young Prince, perchaunce not in their harts, but surely not in their mouths, now giuing Plangus (who some yeares before was their only cha[m]pion) the poore co[m]fort of calamitie, pittie. This youth therefore accounted Prince of that regiov, by name Palladius, did with vehement affection loue a young Ladie, brought vp in his fathers court, called Zelmane, daughter to that mischieuously vnhappie Prince Plexirtus (of whom already I haue, and sometimes must make, but neuer honorable mention) left there by her father, because of the intricate changeablenes of his estate; he by the motherside being halfe brother to this Queene Andromana, and therefore the willinger committing her to her care. But as Loue (alas) doth not alwaies reflect it selfe, so fel it out that this Zelmane, (though truely reason there was inough to loue Palladius) yet could not euer perswade her harte to yeelde thereunto: with that paine to Palladius, as they feele, that feele an vnloued loue. Yet louing indeede, and therefore constant, he vsed still the intercession of diligece and faith, euer hoping, because he would not put him selfe into that hell, to be hopelesse: vntill the time of our being come, and captiued there, brought foorth this ende, whiche truely deserues of me a further degree of sorrow then teares.
Such was therein my ill destinie, that this young Ladie Zelmane (like some vnwisely liberall, that more delight to giue
presentes, then pay debtes) she chose (alas for the pittie) rather to bestowe her loue (so much vndeserued, as not desired) vpon me, then to reco[m]pence him, whose loue (besides many other things) might seeme (euen in the court of Honour) iustly to claime it of her. But so it was (alas that so it was) whereby it came to passe, that (as nothing doth more naturally follow his cause, then care to preserue, and benefite doth follow vnfained affection) she felt with me, what I felte of my captiuitie, and streight laboured to redresse my paine, which was her paine: which she could do by no better meanes, then by using the helpe therein of Palladius: who (true Louer) considering what, and not why, in all her commaundements; and indeed she concealing from him her affection (which she intituled compassion,) immediatly obeyed to imploy his vttermost credite to relieue vs: which though as great, as a beloued son with a mother, faulty otherwise, but not hard-harted toward him, yet it could not preuaile to procure vs libertie. Wherefore he sought to haue that by practise, which he could not by praier. And so being allowed often to visit vs (for indeed our restraints were more, or lesse, according as the ague of her passion was either in the fit, or intermission) he vsed the opportunitie of a fit time thus to deliuer vs.
1 The cause of the Iberian yearely iustes. 2 Queene Helens
prayses. 3 The prize borne by her Knights, which Pal-
ladius and the Princes set them to reuerse.4 The inuen-
tions and actions of seuen tilters. 5 Palladius and the
Princes entry into the field, honour in it, and flight from
it. 6 Andromanas pursuite of them 7 to the death of
her sonne 8 and her selfe.
He time of the maryinge that Queene was euery year, by the extreame loue of her husband, & the
seruiceable loue of the Courtiers, made notable by some publike honours, which indeede (as it were) proclaymed to the worlde, how deare she was to the people. Among other, none was either more gratefull to the beholders, or more noble in it selfe, then iusts, both with sword and launce, mainteined for a seuen-night together: wherein that Nation dooth so excell, bothe for comelines and hablenes, that from neighbour-countries they ordinarily come, some to striue, some to learne, and some to behold.
This day it happened that diuers famous Knights came thither fro[m] the court of Helen, Queene of Corinth; a Ladie,
whom Fame at that time was so desirous to honor, that she borrowed all mens mouthes to ioyne with the sounde of her Trumpet. For as her beautie hath wonne the prize from all women, that stande in degree of comparison (for as for the two sisters of Arcadia, they are farre beyond all conceipt of comparison) so hath her gouernment bene such, as hath bene no lesse beautifull to mens iudgements, then her beautie to the eiesight. For being brought by right of birth, a woman, a yong woman, a faire woman, to gouerne a people, in nature mutinously prowde, and alwaies before so vsed to hard gouernours, as they knew not how to obey without the sworde were drawne. Yet could she for some yeares, so carry her selfe among them, that they found cause in the delicacie of her sex, of admiration, not of co[n]tempt: & which was notable, euen in the time that many countries were full of wars (which for old grudges to Corinth were thought still would conclude there) yet so ha[n]dled she the matter, that the threatens euer smarted in the threatners; she vsing so stra[n]ge, and yet so well-succeeding a temper, that she made her people by peace, warlike; her courtiers by sports, learned; her Ladies by Loue, chast. For by continuall martiall exercises without bloud, she made them perfect in that bloudy art. Her sportes were such as caried riches of Knowledge vpo[n] the streame of Delight: & such the behauiour both of her selfe, and her Ladies, as builded their chastitie, not vpon waywardnes, but by choice of worthines: So as it seemed, that court to haue bene the manage place of Loue and vertue, & that her selfe was a Diana apparelled in the garments of Venus. And this which Fame onely deliuered vnto me, (for yet I haue neuer seene her) I am the willinger to speake of to you, who (I knowe) knowe her better, being your neere neighbour, because you may see by her example (in her selfe wise, and of others beloued) that neither follie is the cause of vehement Loue, nor reproch the effect. For neuer (I thinke) was there any woman, that with more vnremoueable determinatio[n] gaue her selfe to the cou[n]cell of Loue, after she had once set before her mind the worthines of your cousin Amphialus; & yet is nether her wisedome doubted of, nor honour blemished. For (O God) what doth better become wisdome, then to discerne, what is worthy the louing? what more agreable to goodnes, then to loue it so discerned? and what to greatnesse of hart, then to be constant in it once loued? But at that time, that Loue of hers was not so publikely knowne, as the death of Philoxenus, and her search of Amphialus hath made it: but then seemed to haue such leasure to sende thither diuerse choyse Knights of her court, because they might bring her, at lest the knowledge, perchaunce the honour, of that Triumph.
Wherein so they behaued themselues as for three daies they caried the prize; which being come from so farre a place to
disgrace her seruaunts, Palladius (who himselfe had neuer vsed armes) persuaded the Queene Andromana to be content (for the honour sake of her court) to suffer vs two to haue our horse and armour, that he with vs might vndertake the recouerie of their lost honour: which she graunted; taking our oth to go no further then her sonne, and neuer to abandon him. Which she did not more for sauing him, then keeping vs: and yet not satisfied with our oth, appointed a band of horsemen to haue eye, that we should not go beyond appointed limits. We were willing to gratifie the young Prince, who (we saw) loued vs. And so the fourth day of that exercise, we came into the fielde: where (I remember) the manner was, that the forenoone they should run at tilt, one after the other: the afternoone in a broad field, in manner of a battell, till either the strangers, or that countrie Knights wan the field.
The first that ran was a braue Knight, whose deuise was to come in, all chayned with a Nymph leading him: his
Impresa was Against him came forth an Iberian whose manner of entring was, with bagpipes in steed of trumpets; a shepheards boy before him for a Page, and by him a dosen apparelled like shepherds for the fashion, though rich in stuffe, who caried his launces, which though strong to giue a launcely blow indeed, yet so were they couloured with hooks neere the mourn, that they pretily represe[n]ted shephooks. His own furniture was drest ouer with wooll, so enriched with iewels artificially placed, that one would haue thought it a manage betweene the lowest and the highest. His Impresa was a sheepe marked with pitch, with this word Spotted to be knowne. And because I may tell you out his conceipt (though that were not done, till the running for that time was ended) before the Ladies departed from the windowes, among them there was one (they say) that was the Star, wherby his course was only directed. The shepherds attending vpo[n] PHILISIDES went amo[n]g the, & sa[n]g an eclogue; one of the[m] answering another, while the other shepheards pulling out recorders (which possest the place of pipes) accorded their musick to the others voice. The Eclogue had great praise: I onely remember sixe verses, while hauing questioned one with the other, of their fellow-shepheards sodaine growing a man of armes, and the cause of his so doing, they thus said.
ME thought some staues he mist: if so, not much amisse:
For where he most would hit, he euer yet did misse.
One said he brake acrosse; full well it so might be:
For neuer was there man more crossely crost then he.
But most cryed, O well broke: O foole full gaily blest;
Where failing is a shame, and breaking is his best.
Thus I haue digrest, because his maner liked me wel: But when he began to run against Lelius, it had neere growne (though great loue had euer bene betwixt them) to a quarrell. For Philisides breaking his staues with great commendation, Lelius (who was knowne to be second to none in the perfection of that Art) ranne euer ouer his head, but so finely to the skilfull eyes, that one might well see, he shewed more knowledge in missing, then others did in hitting. For with so gallant a grace his staffe came swimming close ouer the crest of the Helmet, as if he would represent the kisse, and not the stroke of Mars. But Philisides was much moued with it, while he thought Lelius would shew a contempt of his youth: till Lelius (who therefore would satisfie him, because he was his friend) made him know, that to such bondage he was for so many courses tyed by her, whose disgraces to him were graced by her excellency, and whose iniuries he could neuer otherwise returne, then honours.
But so by Lelius willing-missing was the odds of the Iberian side, and continued so in the next by the excellent run[n]ing of a Knight, though fostred so by the Muses, as many times the verie rustick people left both their delights and profites to harken to his songs; yet could he so well perfourme all armed sports, as if he had neuer had any other pen, then a Launce in his hand. He came in like a wild man; but such a wildnes, as shewed his eye-sight had tamed him, full of withered leaues, which though they fell not, still threatned falling. His Impresa was, a mill-horse still bound to goe in one circle; with this word, Data fata sequutus. But after him the Corinthian Knights absolutely preuailed, especially a great noble man of Corinth; whose deuise was to come without any deuise, all in white like a new knight, as indeed he was; but so new, as his newnes shamed most of the others long exercise. Then another from whose tent I remember a birde was made flie, with such art to carry a written embassage among the Ladies, that one might say, If a liue bird, how so taught? if a dead bird, how so made? Then he, who hidden, man and horse in a great figure liuely representing the Phœnix: the fire tooke so artificially, as it consumed the birde, and left him to rise as it were, out of the ashes thereof. Against whom was the fine frosen Knight, frosen in despaire ; but his armor so naturally representing Ice, and all his furniture so liuely answering therto, as yet did I neuer see any thing that pleased me better.
But the delight of those pleasing sights haue carried me too farre in an vnnecessary discourse. Let it then suffice (most
excellent Ladie) that you know the Corinthians that morning in the exercise (as they had done the dayes before) had the better; Palladius neither suffring vs, nor himselfe to take in hand that partie till the afternoone; when we were to fight in troopes, not differing otherwise from earnest, but that the sharpenesse of the weapons was taken away. But in the triall Palladius (especially led by Musidorus, and somewhat aided by me) himselfe truely behauing himselfe nothing like a beginner, brought the honor to rest it selfe that night of the Iberian side: And the next day, both morning, and after-noone being kept by our party, He (that saw the time fitte for that deliuerie he intended) called vnto vs to follow him; which we both bound by oth, and willing by good-wil, obeyed: and so the gard not daring to interrupt vs (he commanding passage) we went after him vpon the spur to a little house in a forrest neere by: which he thought would be the fittest resting place, till we might go further from his mothers fury, whereat he was no lesse angry, & ashamed, then desirous to obay Zelmane.
But his mother (as I learned since) vnderstanding by the gard her sonnes conuaying vs away (forgetting her greatnes, &
resining modesty to more quiet thoughts) flew out from her place, and cried to be accompanied, for she her-selfe would follow vs. But what she did (being rather with vehemency of passion, then conduct of reason) made her stumble while she ran, & by her owne confusion hinder her owne desires. For so impatiently she commanded, as a good while no body knew what she com[m]anded; so as we had gotten so far the start, as to be alredy past the confines of her kingdome before she ouer-tooke vs: and ouertake vs she did in the kingdome of Bythinia, not regarding shame, or daunger of hauing entred into anothers dominions: but (hauing with her about a three score hors-men) streight commaunded to take vs aliue, and not to regard her sonnes threatening therein: which they attempted to do, first by speach, & then by force. But neither liking their eloquence, nor fearing their might, we esteemed few swordes in a iust defence, able to resist any vniust assaulters. And so Musidorus incredible valour (beating downe all lets) made both me, and Palladius, so good way, that we had little to doo to ouercome weake wrong.
And now had the victorie in effect without bloud, when Palladium (heated with the fight, and angrie with his mothers
fault) so pursued our assaylers, that one of them (who as I heard since had before our comming bene a speciall minion of Andromanas, and hated vs for hauing dispossest him of her hart) taking him to be one of vs, with a traiterous blow slew his you[n]g Prince: who falling downe before our eyes, whom he specially had deliuered, iudge (sweetest Lady) whether anger might not be called iustice in such a case: once, so it wroght in us, that many of his subiects bodies we left there dead, to wait on him more faithfully to the other world.
All this while disdaine, strengthened by the furie of a furious loue, made Andromana stay to the last of the combat: &
whe[n] she saw vs light down, to see what help we might do to the helplesse Palladius, she came run[n]ing madly vnto vs, then no lesse threatning, when she had no more power to hurt. But when she perceiued it was her onely sonne that lay hurt, and that his hurt was so deadly, as that alredy his life had loste the vse of the reasonable, and almost sensible part; then onely did misfortune lay his owne ouglinesse vpon his faulte, and make her see what she had done, and to what she was come: especiallie, finding in vs rather detestation then pittie (considering the losse of that young Prince) and resolution presently to depart, which stil she laboured to stay. But depriued of all comfort, with eyes full of death, she ranne to her sonnes dagger, and before we were aware of it (who else could haue stayed it) strake her selfe a mortall wound. But then her loue, though not her person, awaked pittie in vs, and I went to her, while Musidorus labored about Palladius. But the wound was past the cure of a better surgeon then my selfe, so as I could but receaue some few of her dying words; which were cursings of her ill set affection, and wishing vnto me many crosses & mischances in my loue, whe[n]soeuer I should loue, wherin I feare, and only feare that her prayer is from aboue granted. But the noise of this fight, & issue thereof being blazed by the country people to some noble-me[n] there-abouts, they came thither, and finding the wrong offered vs, let us go on our iourney, we hauing recommended those royal bodies vnto the[m] to be conueyed to the King of Iberia. With that Philoclea, seeing the teares stand in his eyes with remembrance of Palladius, but much more of that which therupon grew, she would needs drinke a kisse from those eyes, and he sucke another from her lippes; whereat she blushed, & yet kissed him againe to hide her blushing. Which had almost brought Pyrocles into another discourse, but that she with so sweete a rigor forbad him, that he durst not rebell, though he found it a great war to keepe that peace, but was faine to go on his storie: for so she absolutely badde him, and he durst not know how to disobey.
1 A new complaint of Pamphilus new change, 2 to a grace-
lesse curtisan. 3 Zelmane loues, and as a Page serues Py-
rocles. 4 The two Princes policie to reconcile two warring
brothers. 5 The vnbrotherly braue combat of Tydeus and
Telenor. 6 Plexirtus his viperine vnkindnes to the kind-
est Leonatus. 7 His conquest by the two brothers, 8 and
his dogtrick to destroy them by themselues. 9 The regreete
of the dying brothers.
O (said he) parting from that place before the Sunne had much abased himselfe of his greatest height, we
sawe sitting vpon the drie sandes (which yeelded at that time a verie hotte reflection) a faire Gentlewoman, whose gesture accused her of much sorow, & euery way shewed she cared not what paine she put her body to, since the better parte (her minde) was laide vnder so much agonie: and so was she dulled withall, that we could come so neare, as to heare her speeches, and yet she not perceiue the hearers of her lamentation. But wel we might vnderstand her at times, say, Thou doost kill me with thy vnkind falshood: and, It greeues me not to die, but it greeues me that thou art the murtherer: neither doth mine owne paine so much vexe me, as thy errour. For God knowes, it would not trouble me to be slaine for thee, but much it torme[n]ts me to be slain by thee. Thou art vntrue Pamphilus, thou art vntrue, and woe is me therefore. How oft didst thou sweare vnto me, that the Sun should loose his light, and the rocks runne vp and down like little kiddes, before thou wouldst falsifie thy faith to me? Sunne therefore put out thy shining, & rockes runne mad for sorrow, for Pamphilus is false. But alas, the Sun keepes his light, though thy faith be darkned; the rockes stand still, though thou change like the wethercocke. O foole that I am, that thought I coulde graspe water, and binde the winde. I might well haue knowe[n] thee by others, but I would not; & rather wished to learne poison by drinking it my selfe, while my loue helped thy wordes to deceiue me. Well, yet I would thou hadst made a better choise, when thou didst forsake thy vnfortunate Leucippe. But it is no matter, Baccha (thy new mistres) will reuenge my wrongs. But do not Baccha, let Pamphilus liue happie, though I die.
And much more to such like phrase she spake, but that I (who had occasion to know some-thing of that Pamphilus)
slept to comfort her: & though I could not doo that, yet I gotte thus much knowledge of her, that this being the same Leucippe, to whom the vnconstante Pa[m]philus had betrothed himselfe, which had moued the other Ladies to such indignation as I tolde you: nether her woorthinesse (which in truthe was great) nor his owne suffering for her (which is woont to endeare affection) could fetter his ficklenes, but that before his mariage-day appointed, he had taken to wife that Baccha, of whom she complayned; one, that in diuers places I had heard before blazed, as the most impudentlie vnchaste woman of all Asia; and withall, of such an imperiousnes therein, that she would not stick to employ them (whom she made vnhappie with her fauour) to draw more companions of their follie: in the multitude of whom she did no lesse glorie, then a Captaine would doo, of being followed by braue souldiers: waiwardly proud; and therefore bold, because extreamely faultie: and yet hauing no good thing to redeeme both these, and other vnlouely parts, but a little beautie, disgraced with wandring eyes, and vnwaied speeches; yet had Pamphilus (for her) left Leucippe, and withall, left his faith: Leucippe, of whom one looke (in a cleere iudgement) would haue bene more acceptable, then all her kindenesses so prodigallie bestowed. For myselfe, the remembrance of his crueltie to Dido, ioyned to this, stirred me to seeke some reuenge vpon him, but that I thought, it shoulde be a gayne to him to lose his life, being so matched: and therefore (leauing him to be punished by his owne election) we conueyed Leucippe to a house thereby, dedicated to vestall Nunnes, where she resolued to spende all her yeares (which her youth promised shoulde be many) in bewayling the wrong, and yet praying for the wrong-dooer.
But the next morning, we (hauing striuen with the Sunnes earlines) were scarcely beyond the prospect of the high turrets
of that building, when there ouertoke vs a young Gentleman, for so he seemed to vs, but indeede (sweete Ladie) it was the faire Zelmane, Plexirtus daughter; whom vnconsulting affection (vnfortunately borne to me-wards) had made borrowe so much of her naturall modestie, as to leaue her more-decent rayments, and taking occasion of Andromanas tumultuous pursuing vs, had apparrelled her selfe like a Page, with a pittifull crueltie cutting of her golden haire, leauing nothing, but the short curles, to couer that noble head, but that she ware vpon it a faire head-peece, a shielde at her back, and a launce in her hand, els disarmed. Her apparrell of white, wrought vpon with broken knots, her horse, faire & lustie, which she rid so, as might shew a fearefull boldnes, daring to doo that, which she knew that she knew not how to doo: and the sweetnes of her countenance did giue such a grace to what she did, that it did make hansome the vnhansomnes, and make the eye force the minde to beleeue, that there was a praise in that vnskilfulnesse. But she straight approached me, and with fewe words (which borowed the help of her countenance to make themselues vnderstood) she desired me to accept her in my seruice; telling me, she was a noble-mans sonne of Iberia, her name Daiphantus, who hauing seene what I had done in that court, had stolne from her father, to follow me. I enquired the particularities of the maner of Andromanas following me, which by her I vnderstood, she hiding nothing (but her sexe) from me. And still me thought I had seen that face, but the great alteration of her fortune, made her far distant from my memorie: but liking very well the yong Gentleman, (such I tooke her to be) admitted this Daiphantus about me: who well shewed, there is no seruice like his, that serues because he loues. For, though borne of Princes bloud, brought vp with tenderest education, vnapt to seruice (because a woman) & full of thoughts (because in a strange estate;) yet Loue enioyned such diligence, that no apprentise, no, no bondslaue could euer be by feare more readie at all commaundementes, then that yong Princesse was. How often (alas) did her eyes say vnto me, that they loued? and yet, I (not looking for such a matter) had not my conceipt open, to vnderstand them. How ofte would she come creeping to me, betweene gladnes to be neere me, & feare to offend me? Truly I remember, that then I marvailing, to see her receiue my comandements with sighes, and yet do them with cheere-fulnes: sometimes answering me in such riddles, as I then thought childish in experie[n]ce: but since returning to my reme[m]brance, they haue come more neere vnto my knowledge: & pardon me (onely deare Lady) that I vse many words: for her affection to me deserues of me an affectionate speach.
In such sort did she serue me in that kingdom of Bythinia, for two moneths space. In which time we brought to good
end, a cruell warre long maintained betweene the King of Bythinia and his brother. For my excellent cousin, and I (diuiding our selues to either side) found meanes (after some triall we had made of our selues) to get such credite with them, as we brought them to as great peace betweene the[m]selues, as loue towards vs, for hauing made the peace. Which done, we intended to returne through the Kingdome of Galatia, towarde Thrace, to ease the care of our father and mother, who (we were sure) first with the shipwracke; and then with the other daungers we dayly past, should haue litle rest in their thoughts, till they saw vs.
But we were not entred into that Kingdome, whe[n] by the noise of a great fight, we were guided to a pleasaunt valey,
which like one of those Circusses, which in great cities somewhere doth giue a pleasant spectacle of run[n]ing horses; so of either side stretching it selfe in a narrow length was it hemd in by wooddy hilles; as if indeed Nature had meant therein to make a place for beholders. And there we behelde one of the cruellest fights betweene two Knights, that euer hath adorned the martial storie. So as I must co[n]fesse, a while we stood wondring, another while delighted with the rare brauery therof; till seing such streames of bloud, as threatned a drowning of life, we galloped towarde them to part them. But we were preuented by a dosen armed Knights, or rather villains, who using this time of their extreame feeblenesse, all together set vpon them. But common daunger brake of particular discorde, so that (though with a dying weakenes) with a liuely courage they resisted, and by our help draue away, or slue those murdering attempters: among whom we hapt to take aliue the principall. But going to disarme those two excellent Knights, we found with no lesse wonder to vs, then astonishment to themselues, that they were the two valiaunt, and indeede famous Brothers, Tydeus and Telenor; whose aduenture (as afterwarde we made that vngratious wretch confesse) had thus fallen out.
After the noble Prince Leonatus had by his fathers death succeeded in the kingdome of Galatia, he (forgetting all
former iniuries) had receiued that naughtie Plexirtus into a streight degree of fauour, his goodnesse being as apt to be deceiued, as the others crafte was to deceiue. Till by plaine proofe finding, that the vngratefull man went about to poyson him, yet would not suffer his kindnesse to be ouercome, not by iustice it selfe: but calling him to him, vsed wordes to this purpose. Plexirtus (said he) this wickednesse is founde by thee. No good deedes of mine haue bene able to keepe it downe in thee. All men counsell me to take away thy life, likely to bring foorth nothing, but as daungerous, as wicked effects. But I cannot finde it in my harte, remembring what fathers sonne thou arte. But since it is the violence of ambition, which perchaunce puls thee from thine owne iudgement, I will see, whether the satisfying that, may quiet the ill working of thy spirites. Not farre hence is the great cittie of Trebisonde; which, with the territorie about it, aunciently pertained vnto this crowne, now vniustly possessed, and as vniustly abused by those, who haue neither title to holde it, nor vertue to vse it. To the conquest of that for thy selfe I will lende thee force, and giue thee my right. Go therfore, and with lesse vnnaturalnesse glut thy ambition there; and that done, if it be possible, learne vertue.
Plexirtus, mingling forsworne excuses with false-meant promises, gladly embraced the offer: and hastilie sending backe for those two Brothers (who at that time were with vs succouring the gratious Queen Erona) by their vertue chiefly (if not onely) obteyned the conquest of that goodly dominion. Which indeede done by them, gaue them such an authentic, that though he raigned, they in effect ruled, most men honouring them, because they onely deserued honour; and many, thinking therein to please Plexirtus, considering how much he was bound vnto them: while they likewise (with a certaine sincere boldenesse of selfe-warranting friendship) accepted all openly and plainely, thinking nothing should euer by Plexirtus be thought too much in them, since all they were, was his.
But he (who by the rules of his own mind, could co[n]strue no other end of me[n]s doings, but self seking) sode[n]ly
feared what they could doo; and as sodainely suspected, what they would doo, and as sodainely hated them, as hauing both might, and minde to doo. But dreading their power, standing so strongly in their owne valour, & others affection, he durst not take open way against them; and as harde it was to take a secrete, they being so continually followed by the best, & euery way hablest of that region: and therfore vsed this diuelish sleight (which I wil tel you) not doubting (most wicked man) to turne their owne friedship toward him to their owne destruction. He, (knowing that they wel knew, there was no friendship betweene him and the new King of Pontus, neuer since he succoured Leonatus and vs, to his ouerthrow) gaue them to vnderstand that of late there had passed secrete defiance betweene them, to meete priuately at a place apointed. Which though not so fit a thing for men of their greatnes, yet was his honour so engaged, as he could not go backe. Yet faining to find himself weake by some counterfait infirmitie, the day drawing neere, he requested each of them to go in his stead; making either of the sweare, to keep the matter secret, euer ech fro[m] other, deliuering the selfe same particularities to both, but that he told Tydeus, the King would meet him in a blew armour; & Telenor, that it was a black armour: & with wicked subtiltie (as if it had bene so apointed) caused Tydeus to take a black armour, & Telenor a blew; appointing them waies how to go, so as he knew they should not meet, til they came to the place appointed, where each had promised to keep silence, lest the King should discouer it was not Plexirtus: and there in await had he laied these murtherers, that who ouerliued the other, should by them be dispatched: he not daring trust more then those, with that enterprise, and yet thinking them too few, till themselues by themselues were weakened.
This we learned chiefly, by the chiefe of those way-beaters, after the death of those worthie brothers, whose loue was
no lesse, then their valour: but well we might finde much thereof by their pitifull lamentation, when they knew their mismeeting, and saw each other (in despite of the Surgerie we could doo vnto them) striuing who should runne fastest to the goale of death: each bewailing the other, and more dying in the other, then in himselfe: cursing their owne hands for doing, and their breastes for not sooner suffering: detesting their vnfortunately-spent time in hauing serued so vngrateful a Tyraunt: and accusing their folly in hauing beleeued, he could faithfully loue, who did not loue faithfulnes: wishing vs to take heed, how we placed our good wil vpon any other ground, then proofe of vertue: since length of acquaintance, mutuall secrecies, nor height of benefits could binde a sauage harte ; no man being good to other, that is not good in himself. Then (while any hope was) beseeching vs to leaue the cure of him that besought, and onely looke to the other. But when they found by themselues, and vs, no possibilitie, they desired to be ioined; and so embracing and crauing that pardon each of other, which they denied to themselues, they gaue vs a most sorrowfull spectacle of their death; leauing fewe in the world behind them, their matches in any thing, if they had soone inough knowne the ground and limits of friendship. But with wofull hartes, we caused those bodies to be conueyed to the nexte towne of Bythinia, where we learning thus much (as I haue tolde you) caused the wicked Historian to co[n]clude his history, with his owne well-deserued death.
1 Zelmanes griefe for Plexirtus fault. 2 Otaues, and his
Gyants warre on Pontus. 3 Plexirtus endaungered,
needes helpe of the dead brothers. 4 Zelmane thought-
sicke, vnmaskes her selfe. 5 Her dying teares 6 and last
requestes. 7 Musidorus to Pontus, Pyrocles hardly
partes to saue Plexirtus. 8 The sourse and course of his
deaths-doome, 9 stayed by Pyrocles. 10 The combat of
Pontus well ended. 11 The Asian Princes meeting, to
honour the two Greekes.
Vt then (I must tell you) I found such wofull countenances; in Daiphantus, that I could not but much
marvaile (finding them continew beyond the first assault of pittie) how the cause of strangers (for further I did not conceiue) could so deepely pearce. But the truth indeed is, that partly with the shame & sorrow she tooke of her fathers faultinesse, partly with the feare, that the hate I co[n]ceiued against him, would vtterly disgrace her in my opinion, whensoeuer I should know her, so vehemently perplexed her, that her fayre colour decaied; and dayly, and hastily grew into the very extreme working of sorowfulnesse: which oft I sought to learne, & helpe. But she, as fearefull as louing, still concealed it; and so decaying still more and more, in the excellencie of her fairenesse, but that whatsoeuer weakenesse took away, pitie seemed to adde: yet still she forced her selfe to waite on me, with such care and diligence, as might well shew had bene taught in no other schoole, but Loue.
While we returning againe to embarke our selues for Greece, vnderstood that the mighty Otaues (brother to Barzanes
slaine by Musidorus, in the battaile of the six Princes) had entred vpo[n] the kingdome of Pontus, partly vpon the pretences he had to the crowne, but principally, because he would reuenge vpon him (whom he knew we loued) the losse of his brother: thincking (as indeede he had cause) that wheresoeuer we were, hearing of his extremitie, we would come to relieue him; in spite whereof he doubted not to preuaile, not onely vpon the confidence of his owne vertue and power, but especially because he had in his co[m]pany two mighty Giants, sonnes to a couple whom we slue in the same realme: they hauing bene absent at their fathers death, and now returned, willingly entered into his seruice, hating (more then he) both vs, and that King of Pontus. We therefore withall speede went thetherwarde, but by the way this fell out, which whensoeuer I remember without sorrow, I must forget withall, all humanitie.
Poore Daiphantus fell extreme sick, yet would needs conquere the delicacie of her constitution, and force her selfe to
waite on me: till one day going towarde Pontus, we met one, who in great hast went seeking for Tydeus & Telenor, whose death as yet was not knowne vnto the messenger; who (being their seruaunt and knowing how deerely they loued Plexirtus) brought them word, how since their departing, Plexirtus was in pre[se]nt daunger of a cruel death, if by the valiantnesse of one of the best Knightes of the world, he were not reskewed: we enquired no further of the matter (being glad he should now to his losse finde what an vnprofitable treason it had bene vnto him, to dismember himselfe of two such friendes) and so let the messenger part, not sticking to make him know his masters destruction, by the falshood of Plexirtus.
But the griefe of that (finding a bodie alreadie brought to the last degree of weakenesse) so ouerwhelmed the little
remnant of the spirits left in Daiphantus, that she fell sodainely into deadly soundings; neuer comming to her selfe, but that withall she returned to make most pittifull lamentations; most straunge vnto vs, because we were farre from ghessing the ground thereof. But finding her sicknesse such, as beganne to print death in her eyes, we made al hast possible to conuey her to the next towne: but before we could lay her on a bed, both we, & she might find in herselfe, that the harbinger of ouer-hastie death, had prepared his lodging in that daintie body, which she vndoubtedly feeling, with a weake chearefulnes, shewed co[m]fort therin; and then desiring vs both to come neere her, & that no bodie els might be present; with pale, and yet (euen in palenes) louely lippes, Now or neuer, and neuer indeed, but now it is time for me (said she) to speake: and I thanke death which gaue me leaue to discouer that, the suppressing whereof perchance hath bene the sharpest spur, that hath hasted my race to this end. Know then my Lords, and especially you my Lord and master, Pyrocles that your page Daiphantus is the vnfortunat Zelmane, who for your sake caused my (as vnfortunate) louer, and cosen, Palladius, to leaue his fathers court, and co[n]sequently, both him & my Aunt his mother, to loose their liues. For your sake my selfe haue become, of a Princesse a Page: and for your sake haue put off the apparell of a woman, & (if you iudge not more mercifully) modestie. We were amazed at her speach, and the[n] had (as it were) new eyes giue vs to perceue that which before had bene a present stra[n]ger to our minds. For indeed, we forthwith knew it to be the face of Zelmane, who before we had knowen in the court of Iberia. And sorrow and pittie laying her paine vpon me, I comforted her the best I could by the tendernes of good-will, pretending indeed better hope then I had of her recouery.
But she that had inward ambassadors from the tyra[n]t that should shortly oppresse her. No, my deere master (said
she) I neither hope nor desire to liue. I know you would neuer haue loued me (& with that she wept) nor, alas, had it bene reason you should, considering manie wayes my vnworthines. It sufficeth me that the strange course I haue take[n], shall to your remembrance, witnesse my loue: and yet this breaking of my harte, before I would discouer my paine, will make you (I hope) think I was not altogether vnmodest. Thinke of me so, deare Master, and that thought shal be my life: and with that, languishingly looking vpon me; And I pray you (said she) euen by these dying eies of mine (which are onely sorrie to dye, because they shall lose your sight) and by these pouled lockes of mine (which while they were long, were the ornament of my sex, now in their short curles, the testimonie of my seruitude) and by the seruice I haue done you (which God knowes hath beene full of loue) thinke of me after my death with kindnes, though ye cannot with loue. And whensoeuer ye shall make any other Ladie happie with your placed affectio[n], if you tell her my folly, I pray you speake of it, not with scorne, but with pitie. I assure you (deare Princesse of my life, for how could it be otherwise?) her words and her manners, with the liuely consideration of her loue, so pearced me, that I, though I had diuerse griefes before, yet me thought I neuer felt till then, how much sorow enfeebleth all resolution. For I coulde not chuse, but yeeld to the weakenes of abundant weeping; in trueth with such griefe, that I could willingly at that time haue chaunged liues with her.
But when she saw my teares, O God (said she) howe largely am I recompenced for my losses? why then (said shee) I
may take boldnesse to make some requests vnto you. I besought her to doo, vowing the performance, though my life were the price therof. She shewed great ioy: The first (said she) is this, that you will pardon my father the displeasure you haue iustly conceiued against him, and for this once succour, him out of the daunger wherin he is: I hope he will amende: and I pray you, whensoeuer you remember him to be the faultie Plexirtus, remember withall that he is Zelmanes father. The second is, that when you come into Greece, you will take vnto your selfe this name (though vnlucky) of Daiphantus, and vouchsafe to be called by it: for so shal I be sure, you shall haue cause to remember me: and let it please your noble cousin to be called Palladius, that I doo that right to that poore Prince, that his name may yet liue vpon the earth in so excellent a person: and so betwene you, I trust sometimes your vnluckie page shall be (perhaps with a sigh) mencioned. Lstly, let me be buried here obscurely, not suffering my friends to knowe my fortune, till (when you are safely returned to your own countrie) you cause my bones to be conueied thither, and laid (I beseech you) in some place, where your selfe vouchsafe sometimes to resort. Alas, small petitions for such a suter; which yet she so earnestly craued, that I was faine to sweare the accomplishment. And then kissing me, & often desiring me not to condemne her of lightnesse, in mine armes she deliuered her pure soule to the purest place: leauing me as full of agonie, as kindnes, pitie, and sorow could make an honest harte. For I must confesse for true, that if my starres had not wholy reserued me for you, there els perhaps I might haue loued, & (which had bene most strange) begun my loue after death: whereof let it be the lesse marvaile, because somwhat shee did resemble you: though as farre short of your perfectio[n], as her selfe dying, was of her flourishing: yet somthing there was, which (when I saw a picture of yours) brought againe her figure into my reme[m]brance, and made my harte as apte to receiue the wounde, as the power of your beauty with vnresistable force to pearce.
But we in wofull (& yet priuat) manner burying her, performed her commandement: & then enquiring of her fathers
estate, certainly learned that he was presentlie to be succoured, or by death to passe the neede of succour. Therfore we determined to diuide our selues; I, according to my vowe, to helpe him, and Musidorus toward the King of Pontus, who stood in no lesse need then immediate succour, and euen readie to depart one from the other, there came a messenger from him, who after some enquirie found vs, giuing vs to vnderstand, that he trusting vpon vs two, had apointed the combat betweene him & vs, against Otaues, and the two Gyants. Now the day was so accorded, as it was impossible for me both to succour Plexirtus, & be there, where my honour was not onely gaged so far, but (by the straunge working of vniust fortune) I was to leaue the[m] standing by Musidorus, whom better then my selfe I loued, to go saue him whom for iust causes I hated. But my promise giuen, & giuen to Zelmane, & to Zelmane dying, preuailed more with me, then my friendship to Musidorus: though certainely I may affirme, nothing had so great rule in my thoughts as that. But my promise caried me the easier, because Musidorus himselfe would not suffer me to breake it. And so with heauy mindes (more careful each of others successe, the[n] of our owne) we parted; I towarde the place, where I vnderstood Plexirtus was prisoner to an auncient Knight, absolutely gouerning a goodly Castle, with a large territory about it, whereof he acknowledged no other soueraigne, but himselfe: whose hate to Plexirtus, grew for a kinsman of his, who he malitiously had murdered, because in the time that he raigned in Galatia, he fou[n]d him apt to practise for the restoring of his vertuous brother Leonatus. This old Knight, still thirsting for reuenge, vsed (as the way to it) a pollicie, which this occasion I will tell you, prepared for him. Plexirtus in his youth had maried Zelmanes mother, who dying of that only child-birth, he a widdower, and not yet a King, haunted the Court of Armenia; where (as he was comming to winne fauour) he obteined great good liking of Artaxia, which he pursued, till (being called home by his father) he falsly got his fathers king-dome; and then neglected his former loue: till throwen out of that (by our meanes) before he was deeply rooted in it, and by and by again placed in Trebisonde, vnderstanding that Artaxia by her brothers death was become Queen of Armenia, he was hotter then euer, in that pursuit, which being vnderstood by this olde Knight, he forged such a letter, as might be written from Artaxia, entreating his present (but very priuie) repaire thether, giuing him faithfull promise of presente mariage: a thing farre from her thought, hauing faithfully, and publiquely protested, that she would neuer marrie any, but some such Prince who woulde giue sure proofe, that by his meanes we were destroyed. But he (no more wittie to frame, then blinde to iudge hopes) bitte hastely at the baite, and in priuate maner poasted toward her, but by the way he was met by this Knight, far better accompanied, who quickly laid holde of him, & condemned him to death, cruell inough, if any thing may be both cruell and iust. For he caused him to be kept in a miserable prison, till a day appointed, at which time he would deliuer him to be deuoured by a monstrous beast, of most vgly shape, armed like a Rhinoceros, as strong as an Elephant, as fierce as a Lion, as nimble as a Leopard, and as cruell as a Tigre; whom he hauing kept in a strong place, from the first youth of it, now thought no fitter match, then such a beastly monster with a monstrous Tyrant: proclaiming yet withall, that if any so well loued him, as to venture their liues against this beast, for him, if they ouercame, he should be saued: not caring how many they were (such confidence he had in the monsters strength) but especially hoping to entrappe therby the great courages of Tydeus and Telenor, whom he no lesse hated, because they had bene principall instruments of the others power.
I dare say, if Zelmane had knowen what daunger I should haue passed, she would rather haue let her father perishe,
then me to haue bidden that aduenture. But my word was past, and truely, the hardnes of the enterprise, was not so much a bitte, as a spurre vnto me; knowing well, that the iorney of high honor lies not in plaine wayes. Therefore, going thether, and taking sufficient securitie, that Plexirtus should be deliuered if I were victorious, I vndertooke the combatte: and (to make shorte, excellent Ladie, and not trouble your eares with recounting a terrible matter) so was my weakenes blessed from aboue, that without dangerous wounds I slewe that monster, which hundreds durste not attempt: to so great admiration of many (who from a safe place might looke on) that there was order giuen, to haue the fight, both by sculpture and picture, celebrated in most parts of Asia. And the olde nobleman so well liked me, that he loued me; onely bewayling, my vertue had beene imployed to saue a worse monster then I killed: whom yet (according to faith giuen) he deliuered, and accompanied me to the kingdome of Pontus, whether I would needes in all speede go, to see whether it were possible for me (if perchance the day had bene delaied) to come to the combat. But that (before I came) had bene thus finished.
The vertuous Leonatus vnderstanding two so good friends of his were to be in that danger, would perforce be one him selfe: where he did valiantly, and so did the King of Pontus. But the truthe is, that both they being sore hurt, the incomparable Musldorus finished the combat by the death of both the Giants, and the taking of Otaues prisoner. To whom as he gaue his life, so he gotte a noble friend: for so he gaue his worde to be, and he is well knowen to thinke him selfe greater in being subiect to that, then in the greatnes of his principalitie.
But thither (vnderstanding of our being there) flocked great multitudes of many great persons, and euen of Princes;
especially those, whom we had made beholding vnto vs: as, the Kings of Phrygia, Bythinia, with those two hurte, of Pontus and Galatia, and Otaues the prisoner, by Musidorus set free; and thither came Plexirtus of Trebisonde, and Antiphilus, then King of Lycia; with as many mo great Princes, drawen ether by our reputation, or by willingnes to acknowledge them selues obliged vnto vs, for what we had done for the others. So as in those partes of the world, I thinke, in many hundreds of yeares, there was not seene so royall an assemblie: where nothing was let passe to doo vs the highest honors, which such persons (who might commaund both purses and inuentions) could perfourme. All from all sides bringing vnto vs right royall presents (which we to auoide both vnkindnes, and im-portunitie, liberally receiued,) & not content therewith, would needes accept, as from vs, their crownes, and acknowledge to hold them of vs: with many other excessiue honors, which would not suffer the measure of this short leisure to describe vnto you.
1 The causes and prouisions of the Princes embarking for Ar-
cadia, 2 Plexirtus his treason against them disclosed by
one, 3 attempted by another of his ministers. 4 Sedition and
slaughter in the shippe about it. 5 Their shipwrack by fire.
6 Pyrocles fight with the Captaine, and escape from sea.
7 The amarous concluding the olde, and beginning a newe
storie, both broken of by Miso.
Vt wee quickely aweary thereof, hasted to Greece-ward, led thither partly with the desire of our parents, but hastened principally, because I vnderstoode that Anaxius with open mouth of defamation had gone thither to seeke mee, and was nowe come to Peloponnesus where from Court to Court he made enquyrie of me, doing yet himselfe so noble deedes, as might hap to aucthorize an ill opinion of me. We therefore suffred but short delayes, desiring to take this countrey in our way, so renowmed ouer the worlde, that no Prince coulde pretend height, nor begger lownesse, to barre him from the sound thereof: renowmed indeede, not so much for the ancient prayses attributed thereunto, as for the hauing in it Argalus and Amphialus (two knights of such rare prowes, as we desired especially to know) and yet by farre, not so much for that, as without suffering of comparison for the beautie of you and your sister, which makes all indifferent iudges, that speake thereof, account this countrie as a temple of deities. But these causes indeed mouing vs to come by this land, we embarked our selues in the next porte, whether all those Princes (sauing Antiphilus) who returned, as he pretended, not able to tarry long from Erona) conueied vs. And there found we a ship most royally furnished by Plexirtus, who made all thinges so proper (as well for our defence, as ease) that all the other Princes greatly commended him for it: who (seeming a quite altered man) had nothing but repe[n]tance in his eies, friendship in his gesture, & vertue in his mouth: so that we who had promised the sweete Zelmane to pardon him, now not onely forgaue, but began to fauour; perswading our selues with a youthfull credulitie, that perchance things were not so euil as we tooke them, & as it were desiring our owne memorie, that it might be so. But so were we licensed from those Princes, truly not without teares, especially of the vertuous Leonatus, who with the king of Po[n]tus, would haue come with vs, but that we (in respect of the ones young wife, & both their new settled kingdomes) would not suffer it. Then would they haue sent whole fleets to guard vs: but we, that desired to passe secretely into Greece, made them leaue that motion, when they found that more ships, then one, would be displeasing vnto us. But so co[m]mitting our selues to the vncertaine discretio[n] of the wind, we (then determining as soone as we came to Greece, to take the names of Daiphantus and Palladius, as well for our owne promise to Zelmane, as because we desired to come vnknowne into Greece) left the Asian shore full of Princely persons, who euen vpon their knees, recommended our safeties to the deuotion of their chiefe desires: among whom none had bene so officious (though I dare affirme, all quite contrarie to his vnfaithfulncs) as Plexirtus.
So hauing sailed almost two daies, looking for nothing but when we might looke vpon the land, a graue man (whom we
had seene of great trust with Plexirtus, and was sent as our principall guide) came vnto us, and with a certaine kinde manner, mixt with shame, and repentaunce, began to tell vs, that he had taken such a loue vnto vs (considering our youth and fame) that though he were a seruaunt, and a seruaunt of such trust about Plexirtus, as that he had committed vnto him euen those secretes of his hart, which abhorde all other knowledge; yet he rather chose to reueale at this time a most pernitious counsell, then by concealing it bring to ruin those, whom he could not choose but honour. So went he on, and tolde vs, that Plexirtus (in hope thereby to haue Artaxia, endowed with the great Kingdome of Armenia, to his wife) had giuen him order, when we were neere Greece, to frnde some opportunitie to murder vs, bidding him to take vs a sleepe, because he had seene what we could do waking. Now sirs (said he) I would rather a thousand times loose my life, then haue my remembrance (while I liued) poysoned with such a mischiefe: and therefore if it were onely I, that knewe herein the Kings order, then should my disobedience be a warrant of your safetie. But to one more (said he) namely the Captaine of the shippe, Plexirtus hath opened so much touching the effect of murdering you, though I think, laying the cause rather vpon old grudge, then his hope of Artaxia. And my selfe, (before the consideration of your excellencies had drawne loue and pittie into minde) imparted it to such, as I thought fittest for such a mischiefe. Therefore, I wishe you to stand vpon your garde, assuring you, that what I can doo for your safetie, you shall see (if it come to the pushe) by me perfourmed. We thanked him, as the matter indeed deserued, and from that time would no more disarme our selues, nor the one sleepe without his friendes eyes waked for him: so that it delaied the going forwarde of their bad enterprize, while they thought it rather chaunce, then prouidence, which made vs so behaue our selues.
But when we came within halfe a daies sayling of the shore, soone they saw it was speedily, or not at all to be done.
Then (and I remember it was about the first watch in the night) came the Captaine and whispered the Councellour in the eare: But he (as it should seem) disswading him from it, the Captaine (who had bene a pyrate from his youth, and often blouded in it) with a lowde voice sware, that if Plexirtus bad him, he would not sticke to kill God him selfe. And therewith cald his mates, and in the Kings name willed them to take vs, aliue or dead; encouraging the with the spoile of vs, which he said, (& indeed was true) would yeeld many exceeding rich iewels. But the Councellour (according to his promise) commanded them they should not com[m]it such a villany, protesting that he would sta[n]d betweene them and the Kings anger therein. Wherewith the Captaine enraged: Nay (said he) the we must begin with this traitor him selfe: and therewith gaue him a sore blow vpon the head, who honestly did the best he could to reuenge himselfe.
But then we knew it time rather to encounter, then waite for mischiefe. And so against the Captaine we went, who
straight was enuironned with most parte of the Souldiers and Mariners. And yet the truth is, there were some, whom either the authoritie of the councellour, doubt of the Kings minde, or liking of vs, made draw their swords of our side: so that quickly it grew a most confused fight. For the narrownesse of the place, the darkenesse of the time, and the vncertainty in such a tumult how to know frie[n]ds from foes, made the rage of swordes rather guide, then be guided by their maisters. For my cousin and me, truly I thinke we neuer perfourmed lesse in any place, doing no other hurte, then the defence of our selues, and succouring them who came for it, draue vs to: for not discerning perfectlie, who were for, or against vs, we thought it lesse euill to spare a foe, then spoyle a friend. But from the hiest to the lowest parte of the shippe there was no place lefte, without cries of murdring, and murdred persons. The Captaine I hapt a while to fight withall, but was driuen to parte with him, by hearing the crie of the Councellour, who receiued a mortall wounde, mistaken of one of his owne side. Some of the wiser would call to parley, & wish peace, but while the wordes of peace were in their mouthes, some of their auditours gaue them death for their hire. So that no man almost could conceiue hope of liuing, but being lefte aliue: and therefore euery one was willing to make him selfe roome, by dispatching almost any other: so that the great number in the ship was reduced to exceeding few, when of those few the most part weary of those troubles leapt into the boate, which was fast to the ship: but while they that were first, were cutting of the rope that tied it, others came leaping in, so disorderly, that they drowned both the boate, and themselues.
But while euen in that little remnant (like the children of Cadmus) we continued still to slay one an other, a fire, which
(whether by the desperate malice of some, or intention to separate, or accidentally while all things were cast vp and downe) it should seeme had taken a good while before, but neuer heeded of us, (who onely thought to preserue, or reuenge) now violently burst out in many places, and began to maister the principall partes of the ship. Then necessitie made vs see, that, a common enimy sets at one a ciuill warre: for that little all we were (as if we had bene waged by one man to quench a fire) streight went to resist that furious enimie by all art and labour: but it was too late, for already it did embrace and deuoure from the sterne, to the wast of the ship: so as labouring in vaine, we were driuen to get vp to the prowe of the ship, by the worke of nature seeking to preserue life, as long as we could: while truely it was a straunge and ougly sight, to see so huge a fire, as it quickly grew to be, in the Sea, and in the night, as if it had come to light vs to death. And by and by it had burned off the maste, which all this while had prowdly borne the sayle (the winde, as might seeme, delighted to carrie fire and bloud in his mouth) but now it fell ouer boord, and the fire growing neerer vs, it was not onely terrible in respect of what we were to attend, but insupportable through the heat of it.
So that we were constrained to bide it no longer, but disarming and stripping our selues, and laying our selues vpon
such things, as we thought might help our swimming to the lande (too far for our owne strength to beare vs) my cousin and I threw our selues into the Sea. But I had swomme a very little way, when I felt (by reason of a wound I had) that I should not be able to bide the trauaile, and therefore seeing the maste (whose tackling had bene burnt of) flote cleare from the ship, I swamme vnto it, and getting on it, I found mine owne sworde, which by chaunce, when I threw it away (caught by a peece of canuas) had honge to the maste. I was glad, because I loued it well; but gladder, when I saw at the other end, the Captaine of the ship, and of all this mischiefe; who hauing a long pike, belike had borne him selfe vp with that, till he had set him selfe upon the mast. But when I perceiued him, Villaine (said I) doost thou thinke to ouerliue so many honest men, whom thy falsehood hath brought to destruction? with that bestriding the mast, I gat by little and little towards him, after such a manner as boies are wont (if euer you saw that sport) when they ride the wild mare. And he perceiuing my intention, like a fellow that had much more courage then honestie, set him selfe to resist. But I had in short space gotten within him, and (giuing him a sound blowe) sent him to feede fishes. But there my selfe remainde, vntill by pyrates I was taken vp, and among them againe taken prisoner, and brought into Laconia.
But what (said Philoclea) became of your cousin Musidorus? Lost said Pyrocles. Ah my Pyrocles, said Philoclea, I
am glad I haue take[n] you. I perceiue you louers do not alwaies say truely: as though I know not your cousin Dorus, the sheepeheard? Life of my desires (saide Pyrocles) what is mine, euen to my soule is yours: but the secret of my friend is not mine. But if you know so much, then I may truely say, he is lost, since he is no more his owne. But I perceiue, your noble sister & you are great friends, and well doth it become you so to be. But go forward deare Pyrocles, I lo[n]g to heare out till your meeting me: for there to me-warde is the best part of your storie. Ah sweet Philoclea (said Pyrocles) do you thinke I can thinke so precious leysure as this well spent in talking. Are your eyes a fit booke (thinke you) to reade a tale vpon? Is my loue quiet inough to be an historian? Deare Princesse, be gracious vnto me. And then he faine would haue remembred to haue forgot himselfe. But she, with a sweetly disobeying grace, desired that her desire (once for euer) might serue, that no spotte might disgrace that loue which shortly she hoped shold be to the world warrantable. Faine he would not haue heard, til she threatned anger. And then the poore louer durst not, because he durst not. Nay I pray thee, deare Pyrocles (said she) let me haue my story. Sweet Princesse (said he) giue my thoughts a litle respite: and if it please you, since this time must so be spoiled, yet it shall suffer the lesse harme, if you vouchsafe to bestow your voice, and let me know, how the good Queene Erona was betraied into such da[n]ger, and why Plangus sought me. For in deede, I should pitie greatly any mischance fallen to that Princesse. I will, said Philoclea smiling, so you giue me your worde, your handes shall be quiet auditours. They shal, said he, because subiect. Then began she to speake, but with so prettie and delightfull a maiestic, when she set her countenaunce to tell the matter, that Pyrocles could not chuse but rebell so far, as to kisse her. She would haue puld her head away, and speake, but while she spake he kist, and it seemed he fedde vpon her wordes: but shee gate away. Howe will you haue your discourse (said she) without you let my lips alone? He yeelded and tooke her hand. On this (said he) will I reuenge my wrong: and so began to make much of that hand, when her tale, & his delight were interrupted by Miso: who taking her time, while Basilius backe was turned, came vnto them: and told Philoclea, she deserued she knewe what, for leauing her mother, being euill at ease, to keepe companie with straungers. But Philoclea telling her, that she was there by her fathers commandemet, she went away muttering, that though her back, and her shoulders, and her necke were broken, yet as long as her tongue would wagge, it should do her errand to her mother.
1 Gynecias diuining dreame. 2 Her passionate ielousie in acti-
ons, 3 speach, and 4 song described. 5 Her troubling Phi-
loclea and Zelmane, 6 The rebels troubling her. 7 Re-
bels resisted by Zelmane. 8 Zelmane assisted by Do-
rus. 9 Dorus and Zelmanes fiue memorable strokes.
O went vp Miso to Gynecia, who was at that time miserably vexed with this manner of dreame. It
seemed vnto her to be in a place full of thornes, which so molested her, as she could neither abide standing still, nor treade safely going forward. In this case she thought Zelmane, being vpon a faire hill, delightfull to the eye, and easie in apparance, called her thither: whither with much anguish being come, Zelmane was vanished, and she found nothing but a dead bodie like vnto her husband, which seeming at the first with a strange smell to infect her, as she was redie likewise within a while to die, the dead bodie, she thought, tooke her in his armes, and said, Gynecia, leaue all; for here is thy onely rest.
With that she awaked, crying very loud, Zelmane, Zelmane. But remembring her selfe, and seeing Basilius by, (her
guiltie conscience more suspecting, then being suspected) she turned her call, and called for Philoclea. Miso forthwith like a valiant shrew, (looking at Basilius, as though she would speake though she died for it) tolde Gynecia, that her daughter had bene a whole houre togither in secrete talke with Zelmane: And (sayes she) for my part I coulde not be heard (your daughters are brought vp in such awe) though I tolde her of your pleasure sufficiently. Gynecia, as if she had heard her last doome pronounced agaynst her, with a side-looke and chaunged countenance, O my Lorde (said she) what meane you to suffer these yong folkes together? Basllius (that aymed nothing at the marke of her suspition) smilingly tooke her in his armes, sweete wife (said he) I thanke you for your care of your childe: but they must be youthes of other mettall, then Zelmane, that can endaunger her. O but; cryed Gynecia, and therewith she stayed: for then indeede she did suffer a right conflict, betwixt the force of loue, and rage of iealousie. Manie times was she about to satisfie the spite of her minde, and tell Basilius, how she knewe Zelmane to be farre otherwise then the outwarde appearance. But those many times were all put backe, by the manifolde obiections of her vehement loue. Faine she would haue barde her daughters happe, but loth she was to cut off her owne hope. But now, as if her life had bene set vppon a wager of quicke rysing, as weake as she was, she gat vp; though Basilius, (with a kindnesse flowing onely from the fountaine of vnkindnesse, being in deede desirous to winne his daughter as much time as might be) was loth to suffer it, swearing he sawe sickenesse in her face, and therefore was loath she should aduenture the ayre.
But the great and wretched Ladie Gynecia, possessed with; those deuils of Loue and iealousie, did rid herselfe from
her tedious husbande: and taking no body with her, going toward the[m]; O iealousie (said she) the phrensie of wise folkes, the well-wishing spite, and vnkinde carefulnesse, the selfe-punishment for others faults, and selfe-miserie in others happinesse, the cousin of enuie, daughter of loue, & mother of hate, how couldest thou so quietly get thee a seate in the vnquiet hart of Gynecia, Gynecia (said she sighing) thought wise, and once vertuous? Alas it is thy breeders power which plantes thee there: it is the flaming agonie of affection, that works the chilling accesse of thy feuer, in such sort, that nature giues place; the growing of my daughter seemes the decay of my selfe; the blessings of a mother turne to the curses of a co[m]petitor; and the faire face of Philoclea, appeares more horrible in my sight, then the image of death. Then remembred she this song, which she thought tooke a right measure of her present mind.
WIth two strange fires of equall heate possest,
The one of Loue, the other iealousie,
Both still do worke, in neither finds I rest:
For both, alas, their strengthes together tie:
The one aloft doth holde, the other hie.
Loue wakes the iealous eye least thence it moues:
The iealous eye, the more it lookes, it loues.
These fires increase: in these I dayly burne:
They feede on me, and with my wings do flie:
My louely ioyes to dolefull ashes turne:
Their flames mount vp, my powers prostrate lie:
They liue in force, I quite consumed die.
One wonder yet farre passeth my conceate:
The fuell small: how be the fires so great?
But her vnleasured thoughtes ran not ouer the ten first wordes; but going with a pace, not so much too fast for her
bodie, as slowe for her minde, she found them together, who after Misos departure, had left their tale, and determined what to say to Basilius. But full abashed was poore Philoclea, (whose conscience nowe began to knowe cause of blushing) for first salutation, receyuing an eye from her mother, full of the same disdainefull scorne, which Pallas shewed to poore Arachne, that durst contende with her for the prize of well weauing: yet did the force of loue so much rule her, that though for Zelmanes sake she did detest her, yet for Zelmanes sake she vsed no harder words to her, then to bid her go home, and accompany her solitarie father.
Then began she to display to Zelmane the storehouse of her deadly desires, when sodainly the confused rumor of a
mutinous multitude gaue iust occasion to Zclrnane to breake of any such conference, (for well she found, they were not friendly voices they heard) and to retire with as much diligence as conueniently they could, towards the lodge. Yet before they could winne the lodge by twentie paces, they were ouertaken by an vnruly sort of clownes, and other rebels, which like a violent floud, were caried, they themselues knewe not whether. But assoone as they came within perfect discerning these Ladies, like enraged beastes, without respect of their estates, or pitie of their sexe, they began to runne against them, as right villaines, thinking abilitie to doo hurt, to be a great aduancement: yet so many as they were, so many almost were their mindes, all knitte together onely in madnes. Some cried, Take; some, Kill; some, Saue: but euen they that cried saue, ran for companie with them that meant to kill. Euerie one commaunded, none obeyed, he only seemed chief Captain, that was most ragefull.
Zelmane (whose vertuous courage was euer awake) drew out her sword, which vpon those il-armed churls giuing as
many wounds as blowes, & as many deathes almost as wounds (lightning courage, and thundering smart vpon them) kept them at a bay, while the two Ladies got theselues into the lodge: out of the which, Basilius (hauing put on an armour long vntried) came to proue his authoritie among his subiects, or at lest, to aduenture his life with his deare mistresse, to who[m] he brought a shield, while the Ladies tremblingly attended the issue of this dangerous aduenture. But Zelmane made them perceiue the ods betweene an Eagle and a Kight, with such a nimble stayednes, and such an assured nimblenes, that while one was running backe for feare, his fellow had her sword in his guts.
And by and by was both her harte and helpe well encreased by the comming of Dorus, who hauing been making of
hurdles for his masters sheepe, hearde the horrible cries of this madde multitude; and hauing streight represented before the eies of his carefull loue, the perill wherein the soule of his soule might be, he went to Pamelas lodge, but found her in a caue hard by, with Mopsa and Dametas, who at that time would not haue opened the entrie to his father. And therfore leauing them there (as in a place safe, both for being strong, and vnknowen) he ranne as the noise guyded him. But when he saw his friend in such danger among them, anger and contempt (asking no counsell but of courage) made him roome among them, with no other weapon but his sheephooke, and with that ouerthrowing one of the villaines, took away a two-hand sword from him, and withall, helpt him from euer being ashamed of losing it. Then lifting vp his braue head, and flashing terror into their faces, he made armes & legs goe complaine to the earth, how euill their masters had kept them. Yet the multitude still growing, and the verie killing wearying them (fearing, lest in long fight they should be conquered with coquering) they drew back toward the lodge; but drew back in such sort, that still their terror went forwarder like a valiant mastiffe, whom when his master pulles backe by the taile from the beare (with whom he hath alreadie interchanged a hatefull imbracement) though his pace be backwarde, his gesture is foreward, his teeth and eyes threatening more in the retiring, then they did in the aduancing: so guided they themselues homeward, neuer stepping steppe backward, but that they proued themselues masters of the ground where they stept.
Yet among the rebels there was a dapper fellowe, a tayler by occupation, who fetching his courage onelie from their
going back, began to bow his knees, & very fencer-like to draw neere to Zelmane. But as he came within her distace, turning his swerd very nicely about his crown, Basilius, with a side blow, strake of his nose. He (being a suiter to a seimsters daughter, and therfore not a little grieued for such a disgrace) stouped downe, because he had hard, that if it were fresh put to, it would cleaue on againe. But as his hand was on the grounde to bring his nose to his head, Zelmane with a blow, sent his head to his nose. That saw a butcher, a butcherlie chuffe indeed (who that day was sworn brother to him in a cup of wine) & lifted vp a great leauer, calling Zelmane all the vile names of a butcherly eloquence. But she (letting slippe the blowe of the leauer) hitte him so surely on the side of his face, that she lefte nothing but the nether iawe, where the tongue still wagged, as willing to say more, if his masters reme[m]brance had serued. O (said a miller that was halfe dronke) see the lucke of a good fellow, and with that word, ran with a pitch-forke at Dorus: but the nimblenes of the wine caried his head so fast, that it made it ouer-runne his feet, so that he fell withall, iust betwene the legs of Dorus: who setting his foote on his neck (though he offered two milche kine, and foure fatte hogs for his life) thrust his sword quite through, from one eare to the other which toke it very vnkindlie, to feele such newes before they heard of them, in stead of hearing, to be put to such feeling. But Dorus (leauing the miller to vomit his soul out in wine and bloud) with his two-hand sword strake of another quite by the waste, who the night before had dreamed he was growen a couple, and (interpreting it he should be maried) had bragd of his dreame that morning among his neighbors. But that blow astonished quite a poore painter, who stood by with a pike in his handes. This painter was to counterfette the skirmishing betwene the Centaures and Lapithes, and had bene very desirous to see some notable wounds, to be able the more liuely to expresse them; and this morning (being caried by the streame of this companie) the foolish felow was euen delighted to see the effect of blowes. But this last, (hapning neere him) so amazed him, that he stood still, while Dorus (with a turne of his sword) strake of both his hands. And so the painter returned, well skilled in wounds, but with neuer a hand to performe his skill.
1 Zelmanes confident attempt to appease the mutinie. 2 A
bone of diuision cast by her, 3 and caught by them. 4 Her
pacificatorie oration. 5 The acceptation and issue of it.
N this manner they recouered the lodge, and gaue the rebels a face of wood of the out-side. But they
then (though no more furious, yet more couragious when they saw no resister) went about with pickaxe to the wall, and fire to the gate, to gette themselues entrance. Then did the two Ladies mixe feare with loue, especially Philoclea, who euer caught hold of Zelmane, so (by the follie of loue) hindering the help which she desired. But Zelmane seeing no way of defence, nor time to deliberate (the number of those villaines still encreasing, and their madnesse still encreasing with their number) thought it onely the meanes to goe beyond their expectation with an vnused boldenesse, and with danger to auoide danger: and therfore opened againe the gate, and (Dorus and Basilius standing redie for her defence) she issued againe among them. The blowes she had dealt before (though all in generall were hastie) made each of them in particular take breath, before they brought them sodainly ouer-neere her, so that she had time to gette vp to the iudgement-seate of the Prince, which (according to the guise of that countrie) was before the gate. There she paused a while, making signe with her hand vnto them, & withall, speaking aloud, that she had something to say vnto them, that would please them. But she was answered a while with nothing but shouts and cries; and some beginning to throw stones at her, not daring to approach her. But at length, a young farmer (who might do most among the countrie sort, and was caught in a little affeclton towardes Zelmane) hoping by this kindenesse to haue some good of her, desired them, if they were honest men, to heare the woman speake. Fie fellowes, fie, (said he) what will all the maides in our towne say, if so many tall men shall be afraide to heare a faire wench? I sweare vnto you by no little ones, I had rather giue my teeme of oxen, then we should shewe our selues so vnciuill wights. Besides, I tell you true, I haue heard it of old men counted wisdome, to heare much, & say little. His sententious speech so preuailed, that the most parte began to listen. Then she, with such efficacie of gracefulnes, & such a quiet magnanimitie represented in her face in this vttermost perill, as the more the barbarous people looked, the more it fixed their looks vpon her, in this sorte began vnto them.
It is no small comfort vnto me (said she) hauing to speake something vnto you for your owne behoofs, to find that I
haue to deale with such a people, who shew indeed in theselues the right nature of valure, which as it leaues no violence vnattempted, while the choller is nourished with resistance; so when the subiect of their wrath, doth of it self vnloked-for offer it self into their hands, it makes the at lest take a pause before they determine cruelty. Now then first (before I come to the principall matter) haue I to say vnto you; that your Prince Basilius himselfe in person is within this Lodge, & was one of the three, who a few of you went about to fight withall: (& this she said, not doubting but they knew it well inough; but because she would haue them imagine, that the Prince might think that they did not know it) by him am I sent vnto you, as fro[m] a Prince to his well approoued subiects, nay as from a father to beloued children, to know what it is that hath bred iust quarrell among you, or who they be that haue any way wro[n]ged you? what it is with which you are displeased, or of which you are desirous? This he requires: and indeed (for he knowes your faithfulnes) he commaunds you presently to set downe, & to choose among your selues some one, who may relate your griefes or demaundes vnto him.
This (being more then they hoped for from their Prince) asswaged well their furie, & many of them consented
(especially the young farmer helping on, who meant to make one of the demau[n]ds that he might haue Zelmane for his wife) but when they began to talke of their grieues, neuer Bees made such a co[n]fused Miming: the towne dwellers demanding putting downe of imposts: the country felowes laying out of co[n]mons: some would haue the Prince keepe his Court in one place, some in another. Al cried out to haue new coucellors: but when they should think of any new, they liked the[m] as well as any other, that they could reme[m]ber, especially they would haue the treasure so looked vnto, as that he should neuer neede to take any more subsidies. At length they fel to direct contrarieties. For the Artisans, they would haue corne & wine set at a lower price, and bound to be kept so stil: the plowmen, vine-laborers, & farmers would none of that. The cou[n]trimen demaunded that euery man might be free in the chief townes: that could not the Burgesses like of. The peasa[n]ts would haue the Gentleme[n] destroied, the Citizens (especially such as Cookes, Barbers, & those other that liued most on Gentlemen) would but haue them refourmed. And of ech side were like diuisions, one neighbourhood beginning to find fault with another. But no confusion was greater then of particular mens likings and dislikings: one dispraising such a one, who another praised, & demanding such a one to be punished, whom the other would haue exalted. No lesse ado was there about choosing him, who should be their spokes-man. The finer sort of Burgesses, as Marchants Prentises, & Clothworkers, because of their riches, disdaining the baser occupations, & they because of their number as much disdaining them: all they scorning the countrimens ignoraunce, & the countrymen suspecting as much their cu[n]ning: So that Zelmane (finding that their vnited rage was now growne, not only to a diuiding, but to a crossing one of another, & that the mislike growne among theselues did wel allay the heat against her) made toke[n]s againe vnto the[m] (as though she tooke great care of their wel doing, and were afraid of their falling out) that she would speake vnto the[m]. They now growne iealous one of another (the stay hauing inge[n]dred diuisio[n], & diuisio[n] hauing manifested their weaknes) were willing inough to heare, the most part striuing to show themselues willinger then their fellowes: which Zelmane (by the acquaintaunce she had had with such kinde of humors) soone perceiuing, with an angerles brauery, & an vnabashed mildnes, in this manner spake vnto them.
An vnused thing it is, & I think not heretofore seene, ô Arcadians, that a woma[n] should giue publike cou[n]sel to
men, a stra[n]ger to the cou[n]try people, & that lastly in such a presence by a priuate person, the regall throne should be possessed. But the straungenes of your action makes that vsed for vertue, which your violent necessitie imposeth. For certainely, a woman may well speake to such men, who haue forgotte al manlike gouernment: a straunger may with reason instruct such subiects, that neglect due points of subiection: and is it marvaile this place is entred into by another, since your owne Prince (after thirtie yeares gouernment) dare not shew his face vnto his faithfull people? Heare therfore ô Arcadians, & be ashamed: against who hath this rage bene stirred? whether haue bene bent these ma[n]full weapons of yours? In this quiet harmles lodge are harbourd no Argians your ancient enimies, nor Laconians your now feared neighbours. Here be nether hard landlords, nor biting vsurers. Here lodge none, but such as either you haue great cause to loue, or no cause to hate: here being none, besides your Prince, Princesse, and their children, but my self. Is it I then, ô Arcadians, against whom your anger is armed? Am I the marke of your veheme[n]t quarrell ? if it be so, that innocencie shall not be a stop for furie; if it be so, that the law of hospitalitie (so long & holily obserued among you) may not defend a straunger fled to your armes for succour: if in fine it be so, that so many valiaunt mens courages can be enflamed to the mischiefe of one silly woman; I refuse not to make my life a sacrifice to your wrath. Exercise in me your indignatio[n], so it go no further, I am content to pay the great fauours I haue receiued amog you, with my life, not ill deseruing I present it here vnto you, ô Arcadians, if that may satisfie you; rather the[n] you (called ouer the world the wise and quiet Arcadians) should be so vaine, as to attempt that alone, which all the rest of your countrie wil abhor; the[n] you should shew your selues so vngratefull, as to forget the fruite of so many yeares peaceable gouernment; or so vnnaturall, as not to haue with the holy name of your naturall Prince, any furie ouer-maistred. For such a hellish madnes (I know) did neuer enter into your harts, as to attept any thing against his person; which no successor, though neuer so hatefull, wil euer leaue (for his owne sake) vnreuenged. Neither can your wonted valour be turned to such a basenes, as in stead of a Prince, deliuered vnto you by so many roiall ancestors, to take the tyrannous yoke of your fellow subiect, in whom the innate meanes will bring forth rauenous couetousnes, and the newnes of his estate, suspectfull cruelty. Imagine, what could your enimies more wish vnto you, then to see your owne estate with your owne handes vndermined? O what would your fore-fathers say, if they liued at this time, & saw their ofspring defacing such an excellent principalitie, which they with so much labour & bloud so wisely haue establisht? Do you thinke them fooles, that saw you should not enioy your vines, your cattell, no not your wiues & children, without gouernment; and that there could be no gouernment without a Magistrate, and no Magistrate without obedience, and no obediece where euery one vpon his owne priuate passion, may interprete the doings of the rulers? Let your wits make your present exa[m]ple to you. What sweetnes (in good faith) find you in your present condition? what choise of choise finde you, if you had lost Basilius! vnder whose ensigne would you go, if your enimies should inuade you? If you cannot agree vpon one to speake for you, how wil you agree vpo[n] one to fight for you? But with this feare of I cannot tel what, one is troubled, and with that passed wrong another is grieued. And I pray you did the Sunne euer bring you a fruitfull haruest, but that it was more hote then pleasant? Haue any of you childre[n], that be not sometimes cumbersome? Haue any of you fathers, that be not sometime weerish? What, shall we curse the Sonne, hate our children, or disobey our fathers? But what need I vse these wordes, since I see in your countenances (now vertuously settled) nothing els but loue and dutie to him, by whom for your only sakes the gouernme[n]t is embraced. For al what is done, he doth not only pardon you, but thanke you; iudging the action by the minds, & not the minds by the action. Your grieues, and desires, whatsoeuer, & whensoeuer you list, he wil consider of, and to his consideration it is reason you should refer them. So then, to co[n]clude; the vncertainty of his estate made you take armes; now you see him well, with the same loue lay them downe. If now you end (as I know you will) he will make no other account of this matter, but as of a vehement, I must co[n]fesse ouer-vehement affection: the only continuaunce might proue a wickednes. But it is not so, I see very wel, you bega[n] with zeale, & wil end with reuere[n]ce.
The action Zelmane vsed, being beautified by nature and apparelled with skill, her gestures beyng such, that as her
wordes did paint out her minde, so they serued as a shadow, to make the picture more liuely and sensible, with the sweete cleernesse of her voice, rising & falling kindly as the nature of the worde, and efficacie of the matter required, altogether in such admirable person, whose incomparable valour they had well felte, whose beautie did pearce through the thicke dulnes of their senses, gaue such a way vnto her speach through the rugged wildernesse of their imaginations, who (besides they were striken in admiration of her, as of more then a humane creature) were coold with taking breath, and had learned doubts out of leasure, that in steed of roaring cries, there was now heard nothing, but a co[n]fused muttring, whether her saying were to be followed, betwixt feare to pursue, & lothnesse to leaue: most of them could haue bene co[n]tent, it had neuer bene begun, but how to end it (each afraid of his companion,) they knew not, finding it far easier to tie then to loose knots. But Zelmane thinking it no euil way in such mutinies, to giue the mutinous some occasio[n] of such seruice, as they might thinke (in their own iudgement) would counteruaile their trespasse, withal, to take the more assured possession of their mindes, which she feared might begin to wauer, Loiall Arcadians (said she) now do I offer vnto you the manifesting of your duties: all those that haue taken armes for the Princes safetie, let the[m] turne their backs to the gate, with their weapons bent against such as would hurt his sacred person. O weak trust of the many-headed multitude, whom inconstancie onely doth guide to well doing: who can set confidence there, where company takes away shame, and ech may lay the fault of his fellow? So said a craftie felow among them, named Clinias, to himselfe, when he saw the worde no sooner out of Zelmanes mouth, but that there were some shouts of ioy, with, God saue Basilius, and diuers of them with much iollity growne to be his guard, that but litle before met to be his murderers.
1 A verball craftie coward purtrayed in Clinias. 2 His first
raising, and with the first, relenting in this mutinie, 3 pu-
nished by the farmer. 4 The vprore reenforced, & weak-
ned by themselues. 5 Clinias-his Sinon-like narration
of this dru[n]ken rebellions original. 6 The kings order in it.
His Clinias in his youth had bene a scholler so farre, as to learne rather wordes then maners, and of
words rather plentie then order; and oft had vsed to be an actor in Tragedies, where he had learned, besides a slidingnesse of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame his face to beare the figure of them: long vsed to the eyes and eares of men, and to recken no fault, but shamefastnesse; in nature, a most notable Coward, and yet more strangely then rarely venturous in priuie practises.
This fellowe was become of neere trust to Cecropia, Amphialus-his mother, so that he was priuy to al the mischieuous deuises, wherewith she went about to ruine Basilius, and his children, for the aduauncing of her sonne: and though his education had made him full of tongue, yet his loue to be doing, taught him in any euill to be secret; and had by his mistresse bene vsed (euer since the strange retiring of Basilius) to whisper rumors into the peoples eares: and this time (finding great aptnes in the multitude) was one of the chiefe that set them in the uprore (though quite without the co[n]sent of Amphialus, who would not for all the Kingdoms of the world so haue adue[n]tured the life of Philoclea.) But now perceiuing the flood of their furie began to ebbe, he thought it policie to take the first of the tide, so that no ma[n] cried lowder then he, vpon Basilius. And som of the lustiest rebels not yet agreeing to the rest, he caused two or three of his mates that were at his comandement to lift him vp, & then as if he had had a prologue to vtter, he began with a nice grauitie to demand audience. But few attending what he said, with vehement gesture, as if he would teare the stars from the skies, he fell to crying out so lowde, that not onely Zelmane, but Basilius might heare him. O vnhappie men, more madde then the Giants that would haue plucked Iupiter out of heauen, how long shal this rage continue? why do you not all throw downe your weapons, and submit your selues to our good Prince, our good Basilius, the Pelops of wisdom, & Minos of all good gouernme[n]t? when will you begin to beleue me, and other honest and faithfull subiects, that haue done all we could to stop your furie?
The farmer that loued Zelmane could abide him no longer. For as at the first he was willing to speake of co[n]ditions,
hoping to haue gotten great souerainties, & among the rest Zelmane: so now perceiuing, that the people, once any thing downe the hill from their furie, would neuer stop till they came to the bottom of absolute yeelding, and so that he should be nearer feares of punishment, then hopes of such aduancement, he was one of them that stood most against the agreement: and to begin withall, disdaining this fellow should play the preacher, who had bin one of the chiefest make-bates, strake him a great wound vpon the face with his sword. The cowardly wretch fell down, crying for succour, & (scrambling through the legs of them that were about him) gat to the throne, where Zelmane tooke him, and comforted him, bleeding for that was past, and quaking for feare of more.
But as soone as that blow was giuen (as if Æolus had broke open the doore to let all his winds out) no hand was idle,
ech one killing him that was next, for feare he should do as much to him. For being diuided in minds & not diuided in co[m]panies, they that would yeeld to Basilius were intermingled with the[m] that would not yeeld. These men thinking their ruine stood vpo[n] it; those men to get fauor of their Prince, conuerted their vngracious motion into their owne bowels, & by a true iudgement grew their owne punishers. None was sooner killed the[n] those that had bene leaders in the disobedience: who by being so, had taught them, that they did leade disobediece to the same leaders. And many times it fel out that they killed them that were of their owne faction, anger whetting, and doubt hastening their fingers. But then came downe Zelmane; and Basilius with Dorus issued, and somtimes seeking to draw together those of their party, somtimes laying indifferently among them, made such hauocke (amo[n]g the rest Zelmane striking the farmer to the hart with her sworde, as before she had done with her eyes) that in a while all they of the contrary side were put to flight, and fled to certaine woods vpon the frontiers; where feeding coldly, and drinking onely water, they were disciplined for their dronken riots; many of them being slaine in that chase, about a score onely escaping. But when these late rebels, nowe souldiers, were returned from the chase, Basilius calling them togither, partly for policy sake, but principally because Zelmane before had spoken it (which was to him more the a diuine ordinance) he pronounced their generall pardon, willing them to returne to their houses, and therafter be more circuspect in their proceedings: which they did most of them with share-marks of their folly. But imagining Clinias to be one of the chiefe that had bred this good alteration, he gaue him particular thanks, and withall willed him to make him know, how this frenzie had entred into the people.
Clinias purposing indeede to tell him the trueth of al, sauing what did touch himself, or Cecropia, first, dipping his hand
in the blood of his wou[n]d, Now by this blood (said he) which is more deare to me, then al the rest that is in my body, since it is spent for your safety: this to[n]gue (perchance vnfortunate, but neuer false) shall not now begin to lie vnto my Prince, of me most beloued. Then stretching out his hand, and making vehement countenaces the vshers to his speches, in such maner of tearms recounted this accident. Yesterday (said he) being your birth-day, in the goodly greene two mile hence before the city of Enispus, to do honour to the day, were a four or fiue thousand people (of all conditions, as I thinke) gathered together, spending al the day in dancings and other exercises: and when night came, vnder tents and bowes making great cheare, and meaning to obserue a wassaling watch all that night for your sake. Bacchus (the learned say) was begot with thunder: I think, that made him euer since so full of stur & debate. Bacchus indeed it was which souded the first trupet to this rude alarum. For that barbarous opinion being generally among them, to thinke with vice to do honor, & with actiuitie in beastlines to shew abunda[n]ce of loue, made most of the[m] seeke to she[w] the depth of their affectio[n] in the depth of their draught. But being once wel chafed with wine (hauing spent al the night, & some peece of the morning in such reuelling) & imboldned by your absented maner of liuing, there was no matter their eares had euer heard of that grew not to be a subiect of their winie conference. I speake it by proofe: for I take witnes of the gods (who neuer leaue periuries vnpunished) that I ofte cried out against their impudency, & (whe[n] that would not serue) stopt mine eares, because I wold not be partaker of their blasphemies, till with buffets they forced me to haue mine eares & eies defiled. Publike affairs were mingled with priuate grudges, neither was any man thought of wit, that did not pretende some cause of mislike. Rayling was counted the fruite of freedome, and saying nothing had his vttermoste prayse in ignoraunce. At the length, your sacred person (alas why did I liue to heare it? alas how do I breath to vtter it? But your comandement doth not onely enioine obedience, but giue me force: your sacred person (I say) fell to be their table-talke: a proud word swelling in their stomacks, & disdainfull reproches against so great a greatnes, hauing put on the shew of greatnes in their little mindes: till at length the very vn-brideled vse of words hauing increased fire in their mindes (which God knowes thought their knowledge notable, because they had at all no knowledge to codemne their own want of knowledge) they descended (O neuer to be forgotten presumption) to a direct mislike of your liuing from among them. Whereupon it were tedious to remember their far-fetched constructions. But the summe was, you disdained them: and what were the pompes of your estate, if their armes mainteyned you not? Who woulde call you a Prince, if you had not a people? When certaine of them of wretched estates, and worse mindes (whose fortunes, change could not impaire) began to say, that your gouernment was to be looked into; how the great treasures (you had leuied amog the[m]) had bene spent; why none but great men & gentlemen could be admitted into counsel, that the com[m]ons (forsooth) were to plain headed to say their opinio[n]s: but yet their blood & sweat must maintain all. Who could tell whether you were not betraied in this place, where you liued? nay whether you did liue or no? Therefore that it was time to come & see; and if you were here, to know (if Arcadia were growne lothsome in your sight) why you did not ridde your selfe of the trouble? There would not want those that would take so faire a cumber in good part. Since the Countrie was theirs, and the gouernement an adherent to the countrie, why should they not consider of the one, as well as inhabite the other? Nay rather (said they) let vs beginne that, which all Arcadia will followe. Let vs deliuer our Prince from daunger of practises, and our selues from want of a Prince. Let vs doo that, which all the rest thinke. Let it be said, that we onely are not astonished with vaine titles, which haue their force but in our force. Lastly, to haue saide & heard so much, was as da[n]gerous, as to haue atte[m]pted: & to atte[m]pt they had the name of glorious liberty with them. These words being spoke (like a furious storme) presently caried away their wel inclined braines. What I, and some other of the honester sort could do, was no more, then if with a puffe of breath, one should goe about to make a saile goe against a mightie winde: or, with one hand, stay the ruine of a mightie wall. So generall grewe this madnes among them, there needed no drumme, where each man cried, each spake to other that spake as fast to him, and the disagreeing sounde of so many voices, was the chiefe token of their vnmeete agreement. Thus was their banquette turned to a battaile, their winie mirthes to bloudie rages, and the happie prayers for your life, to monstrous threatning of your estate; the solemnizing your birth-day, tended to haue been the cause of your funerals. But as a dronken rage hath (besides his wickednes) that follie, that the more it seekes to hurt, the lesse it considers how to be able to hurt: they neuer weyed how to arme theselues, but tooke vp euery thing for a weapon, that furie offered to their handes. Many swordes, pikes, and billes there were: others tooke pitchforkes and rakes, conuerting husbandrie to souldierie: some caught hold of spittes (thinges seruiceable for life) to be the instruments of death. And there was some such one, who held the same pot wherein he drank to your health, to vse it (as he could) to your mischiefe. Thus armed, thus gouerned, forcing the vnwilling, and hartening the willing, adding furie to furie, and encreasing rage with running, they came headlong towarde this lodge: no man (I dare say) resolued in his own hart, what was the uttermost he would doo when he came hether. But as mischief is of such nature, that it cannot stand but with strengthning one euill by an other, and so multiplie in it selfe, till it come to the highest, and then fall with his owne weight: so to their mindes (once passed the bounds of obedience) more and more wickednes opened it selfe, so that they who first pretended to preserue you, then to reforme you, (I speak it in my conscience, and with a bleeding hart) now thought no safetie for them, without murdering you. So as if the Gods (who preserue you for the preseruation of Arcadia) had not shewed their miraculous power, and that they had not vsed for instruments, both your owne valour (not fit to be spoken of by so meane a mouth as mine) and some (I must confesse) honest minds, (who alas why should I mention, since what we did, reached not the hundred part of our duetie?) our hands (I tremble to think of it) had destroyed all that, for which we haue cause to reioyce that we are Arcadians.
With that the fellow did wring his hands, & wrang out teares: so as Basilius, that was not the sharpest pearcer into
masked minds, toke a good liking to him; & so much the more as he had tickled him with praise in the hearing of his mistres. And therfore pitying his wou[n]d, willed him to get him home, and looke well vnto it, & make the best search he could, to know if there were any further depth in this matter, for which he should be well rewarded. But before he went away, certain of the shepheards being come (for that day was appointed for their pastorals) he sent one of them to Philanax, and an other to other principal noble-men, and cities there abouts, to make through-inquirie of this vprore, and withall, to place such garrisons in all the townes & villages neere vnto him, that he might thereafter keep his solitary lodge in more security, vpo[n] the making of a fire, or ringing of a bell, hauing them in a redines for him.
1 The praises of Zelmanes act. 2 Dametas his caroll for sa-
uing himself, and his charge. 3 Basilius his conference with
Philanax of the Oracle (the ground of all this storie.) 4 His
wrong-construfiion of it. 5 His hymne to Apollo. 6 His cour-
ting turnde ouer to tale-telling.
His, Clinias (hauing his eare one way when his eye was an other) had perceiued; & therefore hasted
away, with mind to tell Cecropia that she was to take some speedie resolution, or els it were daunger those examinations would both discouer, & ruine her: and so went his way, leauing that little companie with embracements, and praising of Zelmanes excellent proceeding, to shew, that no decking sets foorth any thing so much, as affection. For as, while she stoode at the discretion of those indiscreete rebelles, euerie angrie countenance any of them made, seemed a knife layde vpon their owne throates; so vnspeakable was now their ioy, that they saw (besides her safetie & their owne) the same wrought, and safely wrought by her meanes, in whom they had placed all their delightes. What examples Greece could euer alledge of witte and fortitude, were set in the ranke of trifles, being compared to this action.
But as they were in the midst of those vnfained ceremonies, a Gitterne, ill-played on, accompanied with a hoarce
voice (who seemed to sing maugre the Muses, and to be merie in spite of Fortune) made them looke the way of the ill-noysed song. The song was this.
A Hatefull cure with hate to heale:
A blooddy helpe with blood to saue:
A foolish thing with fooles to deale:
Let him be bold that bobs will haue.
But who by meanes of wisdome hie
Hath saud his charge? it is euen I.
Let other deck their pride with skarres,
And of their wounds make braue lame showes:
First let them die, then passe the starres,
When rotten Fame will tell their blowes.
But eye from blade, and eare from crie:
Who hath sau'd all? it is euen I.
They had soone found it was Dametas, who came with no lesse lifted vp countenance, then if he had passed ouer the bellies of all his enemies: so wise a point he thought he had perfourmed, in vsing the naturall strength of a caue. But neuer was it his dooing to come so soone thence, till the coast were more assuredly cleare: for it was a rule with him, that after a
great storme there euer fell a fewe droppes before it be fully finished. But Pamela (who had now experienced how much care doth sollicite a Louers hart) vsed this occasion of going to her parents and sister, indeed aswel for that cause, as being vnquiet, till her eye might be assured, how her shepheard had gone through the daunger. But Basilius with the sight of Pamela (of whom almost his head otherwise occupied, had left the wonted remembrance) was sodainly striken into a deuout kind of admiration, remembring the oracle, which (according to the fauning humour of false hope) he interpreted now his owne to his owne best, and with the willing blindnesse of affection (because his minde ran wholly vpon Zelmane) he thought the Gods in their oracles did principally minde her.
But as he was deepely thinking of the matter, one of the shepheards tolde him, that Philanax was already come with a
hundred horse in his company. For hauing by chaunce rid not farre of the little desert, he had heard of this vprore, and so was come vpon the spurre (gathering a company of Gentlemen as fast as he could) to the succour of his Master. Basilius was glad of it; but (not willing to haue him, nor any other of the Noble men, see his Mistresse) he himselfe went out of the Lodge, and so giuing order vnto him of placing garrisons, and examining these matters; and Philanax with humble earnestnesse beginning to entreate him to leaue of his solitarie course (which already had bene so daungerous vnto him) Well (said Basilius) it may be ere long I wil codiscend vnto your desire. In the meane time, take you the best order you can to keepe me safe in my solitarinesse. But, (said he) doo you remember, how earnestly you wrote vnto me, that I should not be moued by that Oracles authoritie, which brought me to this resolution? Full well Sir (answered Philanax) for though it pleased you not as then to let me knowe, what the Oracles words were, yet all Oracles holding (in my conceipt) one degree of reputatio[n], it suffised me to know, it was but an Oracle, which led you fro[m] your owne course. Well (said Basilius) I will now tell you the wordes; which before I thought not good to doo; because when al the euents fall out (as some already haue done) I may charge you with your incredulitie. So he repeated them in this sorte.
THy elder care shall from thy carefull face
By princely meane be stolne, and yet not lost.
Thy yonger shall with Natures blisse embrace
An vncouth loue, which Nature hateth most.
Both they themselues vnto such two shall wed,
Who at thy beer, as at a barre, shall plead;
Why thee (a liuing man) they had made dead.
In thy owne seate a forraine state shall sit.
And ere that all these blowes thy head doo hit,
Thou, with thy wife, adultry shall commit.
For you forsoth (said he) when I told you, that some super-naturall cause sent me strange visio[n]s, which being co[n]firmed with presagious chaunces, I had gone to Delphos, & there receiued this answere: you replied to me, that the onely super-naturall causes were the humors of my body, which bred such melancholy dreames; and that both they framed a mind full of conceipts, apt to make presages of things, which in the[m]selues were meerly chaungeable: & with all as I say, you reme[m]ber what you wrot vnto me, touching authoritie of the Oracle: but now I haue some notable triall of the truth therof, which herafter I wil more largly com[m]unicate vnto you. Only now, know that the thing I most feared is alredy performed; I mean that a forraine state should possesse my throne. For that hath ben done by Zelmane, but not as I feared, to my ruine, but to my preseruatio[n]. But whe[n] he had once named Zelmane, that name was as good as a pully, to make the clocke of his praises run on in such sort, that (Philanax found) was more exquisite then the only admiration of vertue breedeth: which his faithful hart inwardly repining at, made him shrinke away as soone as he could, to go about the other matters of importance, which Basilius had enioyned vnto him.
Basilius returned into the Lodge, thus by him selfe construing the oracle, that in that he said, his elder care should by
Princely meane be stolne away from him, and yet not lost, it was now perfourmed, since Zelmane had as it were robd from him the care of his first begotten childe, yet was it not lost, since in his harte the ground of it remained. That his younger should with Natures blisse embrace the loue of Zelmane, because he had so commaunded her for his sake to doo; yet shoulde it be with as much hate of Nature, for being so hatefull an opposite to the iealousie hee thought her mother had of him. The sitting in his seate he deemed by her already perfourmed: but that which most co[m]forted him, was his interpretation of the adulterie, which he thought he should commit with Zelmane, whom afterwards he should haue to his wife. The point of his daughters marriage, because it threatned his death withall, he determined to preuent, with keeping them vnmaried while he liued. But hauing as he thought, gotten thus much vnderstanding of the Oracle, he determined for three daies after to perfourme certaine rites to Apollo: and euen then began with his wife and daughters to singe this Hymne, by them yearely vsed.
APollo great, whose beames the greater world do light,
And in our little world do cleare our inward sight,
Which euer shine, though hid from earth by earthly shade,
Whose lights do euer liue, but in our darkenesse fade;
Thou God, whose youth was deckt with spoiles of Pythos skin:
(So humble knowledge can throw downe the snakish kinne)
Latonas sonne, whose birth in paine and trauaile long
Doth teach, to learne the good what trauailes do belong:
In trauaile of our life (a short but tedious space)
While brickie houreglas runnes, guide thou our panting pace:
Giue vs foresightfull mindes: giue vs minds to obaye
What foresight tels; our thoughts vpon thy knowledge staye.
Let so our fruites grow vp, that nature be maintainde:
But so our hartes keepe downe, with vice they be not stainde.
Let this assured holde our iudgements ouertake,
That nothing winnes the heauen, but what doth earth forsake.
Assone as he had ended his deuotion (all the priuiledged shepheards being now come) knowing well inough he might lay
all his care vpon Philanax, he was willing to sweeten the fast of this passed tumult, with some rurall pastimes. For which while the shepheards prepared themselues in their best maner, Basilius tooke his daughter Philoclea aside, and with such hast, as if his eares hunted for wordes, desired to know how she had found Zelmane. She humbly answered him, according to the agreement betwixt them, that thus much for her sake Zelmane was content to descend from her former resolutio[n], as to heare him, whesoeuer he would speake; & further then that (she said) as Zelmane had not graunted, so she nether did, nor euer would desire. Basilius kist her with more then fatherly thanks, and straight (like a hard-kept warde new come to his lands) would faine haue vsed the benefite of that graunt, in laying his sicknes before his onely physition. But Zelmane (that had not yet fully determined with her selfe, how to beare her selfe toward him) made him in a few words vnderstand, that the time in respect of the co[m]panie was vnfit for such a parley, & therfore to keep his braines the busier, letting him vnderstand what she had learned of his daughters, touching Eronas distresse (whom in her trauaile she had knowne, and bene greatly beholding to) she desired him to finish the rest, for so far as Pla[n]gus had told him; Because she said (& she said truly) she was full of care for that Ladie, whose desart (onely except an ouer-base choise) was nothing agreable to misfortune. Basilius glad that she would commaund him any thing, but more glad, that in excusing the vnfitnesse of that time, she argued an intention to graunt a fitter, obeyed her in this manner.
1 Antiphilus his base-borne pride borne high by flatterie.
2 His vnkinde hating the louing Erona, and fond lo-
uing of hating Artaxia. 3 Artaxias trap to take them
both. 4 The mans weakenesse; and the womans strength
in bearing captiuitie. 5 Plangus loue to her, employed
by her to saue Antiphilus, 6 who againe betraies him-
selfe and them. 7 His execution by women. 8 Plangus
hardy attempts to saue Erona, 9 The conditions of her
death. 10 Her sorrow for Antiphilus, 11 and Plangus
trauaile for her: with his crosses, and course therein.
Adame (said he) it is very true, that since yeares enhabled me to iudge what is, or is not to be pitied, I neuer saw anything that more moued me to iustifie a veheme[n]t compassion in my self, then the estate of that Prince, whom strong against al his owne afflictions (which yet were great, as I perceaue you haue heard) yet true and noble loue had so pulled downe, as to lie vnder sorrow for another. In so much as I could not temper my long idle pen in that subiect, which I perceiue you haue seene. But then to leaue that vnrepeated, which I finde my daughters haue told you, It may please you to vndersta[n]d, since it pleaseth you to demau[n]d, that Antiphilus being crowned, & so left by the famous Princes Musidorus & Pyrocles (led the[n]ce by the challenge of Anaxius, who is now in these prouinces of Greece, making a dishonorable enquirie after that excellent prince Pyrocles alreadie perished) Antiphilus (I say) being crowned, and deliuered from the presence of those two, whose vertues (while they were present, good schoolmasters) suppressed his vanities, he had not stre[n]gth of mind enough in him to make long delay, of discouering what maner of man he was. But streight like one caried vp to so hie a place, that he looseth the discerning of the ground ouer which he is; so was his mind lifted so far beyo[n]d the leuell of his owne discourse, that remembring only that himselfe was in the high seate of a King, he coulde not perceiue that he was a king of reasonable creatures, who would quickly scorne follies, and repine at iniuries. But imagining no so true propertie of souereigntie, as to do what he listed, and to list whatsoeuer pleased his fansie, he quickly made his kingdome a Teniscourt, where his subiects should be the balles; not in truth cruelly, but licenciously abusing them, presuming so far vpon himselfe, that what he did was liked of euery bodie: nay, that his disgraces were fauours, and all because he was a King. For in Nature not able to conceyue the bonds of great matters (suddenly borne into an vnknovvne Ocean of absolute power) he was swayed withall (he knewe not howe) as euerie winde of passions puffed him. Whereto nothing helped him better, then that poysonous sugar of flatterie: which some vsed, out of the innate basenesse of their hart, straight like dogges fawning vppon the greatest; others secretely hating him, and disdayning his great rising so suddenly, so vndeseruedly (finding his humour) bent their exalting him only to his ouerthrow; like the bird that caries the shell-fish high, to breake him the easier with his fall. But his minde (being an apt matter to receiue what forme their amplifying speeches woulde lay vpon it) daunced so prettie a musicke to their false measure, that he thought himselfe the wysest, the woorthyest, and best beloued, that euer gaue honour to a royall tytle. And being but obscurely borne, he had found out vnblushing pedegrees, that made him not onely of the blood royall, but true heyre, vniustly dispossest by Eronas auncestours. And like the foolish birde, that when it so hides the heade that it sees not it selfe, thinkes no bodie else sees it: so did he imagine, that no bodie knew his basenesse, while he himselfe turned his eyes from it.
Then vainenesse (a meager friend to gratefulnesse) brought him so to despise Erona, as of whom he had receiued no
benefit, that within halfe a yeeres manage he began to pretend barrennesse: and making first an vnlawfull law of hauing mo wiues then one, he still keeping Erona, vnder-ha[n]d, by message sought Artaxia, who no lesse hating him, then louing (as vnluckie a choise) the naughtie King Plexirtus, yet to bring to passe what he purposed, was content to train him into false hopes, till alreadie his imagination had crowned him King of Armenia, & had made that, but the foundation of more, and more monarchies; as if fortune had only gotte eies to cherish him. In which time a great assembly of most part of al the Princes of Asia being to do honour to the neuer sufficiently praised Pyrocles & Musidorus, he would be one not to acknowledge his obligation (which was as great as any of the others,) but looking to haue bene yong master among those great estates, as he was amog his abusing vnderlings. But so many valorous Princes, in-deed farre neerer to disdaine him then otherwise, he was quickly (as standing vpon no true ground, inwardly) out of countenance with himselfe, till his seldom-co[m]fortlesse flatterers (perswading him, it was enuie & feare of his expected greatnes) made him hast away fro[m] that company, & without further delay appointed the meeting with Artaxia; so incredibly blinded with the ouer-bright shining of his roialty, that he could thinke such a Queene could be content to be ioined-patent with an other to haue such an husband. Poore Erona to all this obeied, either vehemecy of affection making her stoop to so ouerbase a seruitude, or astonished with an vnlooked-for fortune, dull to any behoofeful resolutio[n], or (as many times it falles out euen in great harts when they can accuse none but the[m]selues) desperatly bent to maintaine it. For so went she on in that way of her loue, that (poore Lady) to be beyond all other examples of ill-set affection, she was brought to write to Artaxia, that she was content, for the publike good, to be a second wife, and yeeld the first place to her: nay to extoll him, and euen woo Artaxia for him.
But Artaxia (mortally hating them both for her brothers sake) was content to hide her hate, til she had time to shewe
it: and pretending that all her grudge was against the two paragons of vertue, Musidorus & Pyrocles, euen met them halfe way in excusing her brothers murder, as not being principall actors; and of the other-side, driuen to what they did by the euer-pardonable necessitie: and so well handled the matter, as, though she promised nothing, yet Antiphilus promised himselfe all that she woulde haue him thinke. And so a solemne enter-view was appointed. But (as the Poets say) Hymen had not there his saffron-coloured cote. For Artaxia laying men secretly (and easily they might be secret, since Antiphilus thought she ouerran him in loue) when he came euen readie to embrace her, shewing rather a countenaunce of accepting then offering, they came forth, and (hauing much aduauntage both in number, valure, and fore-preparation) put all his companie to the sword; but such as could flie away. As for Antiphilus she caused him and Erona both to be put in irons, hasting backe toward her brothers tombe, vpo[n] which she ment to sacrifice them; making the loue of her brother stand betwene her and all other motions of grace, from which by nature she was alienated.
But great diuersitie in them two quickely discouered it selfe for the bearing of that affliction. For Antiphilus that had no
greatnesse but outwarde, that taken away, was readie to fall faster then calamitie could thrust him; with fruitlesse begging (where reason might well assure him his death was resolued) and weake bemoning his fortune, to giue his enemies a most pleasing musique, with manie promises, and protestations, to as little purpose, as from a little minde. But Erona sadde in-deede, yet like one rather vsed, then new fallen to sadnesse (as who had the ioyes of her hart alreadie broken) seemed rather to welcome then to shunne that ende of miserie, speaking little, but what she spake was for Antiphilus, remembring his guiltlesnesse, being at that time prisoner to Tiridates, when the valiant princes slue him: to the disgrace of men, shewing that there are women more wise to iudge what is to be expected, and more constant to beare it when it is happened.
But her witte endeared by her youth, her affliction by her birth, and her sadnesse by her beautie, made this noble prince
Plangus, who (neuer almost from his cousin Artaxia) was nowe present at Eronaes taking, to perceyue the shape of louelinesse more perfectly in wo, then in ioyfulnesse (as in a picture which receiues greater life by the darkenesse of shadowes, then by more glittering colours) and seeing to like; and liking to loue; and louing straight to feele the most incident effects of loue, to serue and preserue. So borne by the hastie tide of short leysure, he did hastily deliuer together his affection, and affectionate care. But she (as if he had spoken of a small matter, when he mencioned her life, to which she had not leisure to attend) desired him if he loued her, to shew it, in finding some way to saue Antiphilus. For her, she found the world but a wearisom stage vnto her, where she played a part against her will: and therefore besought him, not to cast his loue in so vnfruitfull a place, as could not loue it selfe: but for a testimonie of constancie, and a sutablenes to his word, to do so much comfort to her minde, as that for her sake Antiphilus were saued. He tolde me how much he argued against her tendering him, who had so vngratefully betraied her, and foolishly cast away himselfe. But perceiuing she did not only bend her very goodwits to speake for him against her-selfe, but when such a cause could be allied to no reaso[n], yet loue would needs make it-self a cause, & barre her rather fro[m] hearing, then yeeld that she should yeeld to such arguments: he likewise in who[m] the power of Loue (as they say of spirits) was subiect to the loue in her, with griefe co[n]sented, & (though backwardly) was dilige[n]t to labor the help of Antiphilus: a man whom he not onely hated, as a traitour to Erona, but enuied as a possessor of Erona. Yet Loue sware, his hart, in spite of his hart, should make him become a seruant to his riuall. And so did he, seeking all the meanes of perswading Artaxia, which the authority of so neere, and so vertuous a kinsma[n] would giue vnto him. But she to whom the eloquence of hatred had giuen reuenge the face of delight, reiected all such motions; but rather the more closely imprisoning them in her chiefe citie, where she kept them with intention at the birth-day of Tiridates (which was very nere) to execute Antiphilus, & at the day of his death (which was about halfe a yeere after) to vse the same rigor towar[d]s Erona. Plangus much grieued (because much louing) attempted the humors of the Lycians, to see, whether they would come in with forces to succor their Princesse. But there the next inheritor to the crowne (with the true play that is vsed in the game of kingdo[m]s) had no sooner his mistres in captiuity, but he had vsurped her place, & making her odious to her people, because of the vnfit electio[n] she had made, had so left no hope there: but which is worse, had sent to Artaxia, perswading the iusticing her, because that vniustice might giue his title the name of iustice. Wa[n]ting that way, Plangus practised with some deere friends of his, to saue Antiphilus out of prison, whose day because it was much neerer then Eronaes, & that he wel found, she had twisted her life vpo[n] the same threed with his, he determined first to get him out of prison: & to that end hauing prepared al matters as wel as in such case he could, where Artaxia had set many of Tiridates old seruants to haue well-marking eyes, he co[n]ferred with Antiphilus, as (by the auffhoritie he had) he found meanes to do; & agreed with him of the time and maner, how he should by the death of some of his iaylors escape.
But all being well ordered, and Plangus willinglie putting himselfe into the greatest danger, Antiphilus (who, like a
bladder, sweld redie to breake, while it was full of the winde of prosperitie, that being out, was so abiected, as apt to be trode on by euery bodie) when it came to the point, that with some hazard, he might be in apparant likelihoode to auoide the uttermost harm, his harte fainted, and (weake foole, neither hoping, nor fearing as he should) gat a conceite, that with bewraying his practise, he might obtaine pardon: and therefore, euen a little before Plangus should haue come vnto him, opened the whole practise to him that had the charge, with vnpittyed teares idly protesting, he had rather die by Artaxias commaundement, then against her will escape: yet begging life vpon any the hardest, and wretchedest conditions that she woulde lay vpon him. His keeper prouided accordingly, so that when Plangus came, he was like, himself to haue bene entrapped: but that finding (with a luckie in-sight) that it was discouered, he retired; and (calling his friendes about him) stood vpon his guard, as he had good cause. For, Artaxia (accounting him most vngrateful considering that her brother and she, had not onely preserued him against the malice of his father, but euer vsed him much liker his birth, then his fortune) sent forces to apprehend him. But he among the martiall men had gotten so great loue, that he could not onely keepe himself from the malice, but worke in their mindes a compassion of Eronas aduersitie.
But for the succour of Antiphilus he could gette no bodie to ioyne with him, the contempt of him hauing not bene able to qualifie the hatred; so that Artaxia might easilie vpon him perfourme her will; which was (at humble suite of all the women of that citie) to deliuer him to their censure, who mortally hating him for hauing made a lawe of Polygamie, after many tortures, forste him to throwe himselfe from a high Pyramis, which was built ouer Tiridates tombe, and so to end his fallse-harted life, which had planted no strong thought in him, but that he could be vnkinde.
But Plangus well perceiuing that Artaxia staied onely for the appointed day, that the faire Eronas bodie, (consumed to
ashes) should make a notorious testimonie, how deepely her brothers death was engrauen in her brest, he assembled good numbers of friendes, who[m] his vertue (though a stranger) had tied vnto him, by force to giue her libertie. Contrariwise, Artaxia, to whom Anger gaue more courage then her sexe did feare, vsed her regall authoritie (the most she could) to suppresse that sedition, and haue her will: which (she thought) is the most princely thing that may be. But Plangus, who indeede (as all men witnes) is one of the best captains (both for policie and valour) that are trained in the schoole of Mars, in a conflict ouerthrew Artaxias power, though of far greater number: and there toke prisoner a base sonne of her brothers, whom she deerly affected, & then sent her word that he should run the same race of fortune (whatsoeuer it was) that Erona did: & happy was that threatning for her; for els Artaxia had hastened the day of her death, in respecte of those tumults.
But now (some principal noble-me[n] of that countrie interposing the[m]selues) it was agreed, that all persons els fullie
pardoned, and all prisoners (except Erona) deliuered, she should be put into the hands of a principall nobleman, who had a castle of great strength, vpon oath, that if by the day two yeare fro[m] Tiridates death, Pyrocles and Musidorus did not in person combat, & ouercome two knights, who she appointed to maintain her quarrell against Erona and them, of hauing by treason destroyed her brother, that the[n] Erona should be that same day burned to ashes: but if they came, and had the victorie, she should be deliuered; but vpon no occasion, neither freed, nor executed, till that day. And hereto of both sides, all toke solemne oath, and so the peace was concluded; they of Plangus partie forcing him to agree, though he himselfe the sooner condiscended, knowing the courtesie of those two excellent Princes, not to refuse so noble a quarrell, and their power such, as two more (like the other two) were not able to resist. But Artaxia was more, and vpon better ground, pleased with this action; for she had euen newly receiued newes fro[m] Plexirtus, that vpon the sea he had caused them both to perish, and therefore she held her selfe sure of the match.
But poore Plangus knew not so much, and therefore seeing his partie (as most times it falles out in like case) hungry of
conditions of peace, accepted them; & then obteined leaue of the Lord, that indifferently kept her, to visite Erona, whom he founde full of desperate sorowe, not suffering, neither his vnwoorthinesse, nor his wronges, nor his death (which is the naturall conclusion of all worldly acts) either to couer with forgetfulnes, or diminish with consideration, the affection she had borne him: but euen glorying in affliction, and shunning all comforte, she seemed to haue no delight, but in making her selfe the picture of miserie. So that when Plangus came to her, she fell in deadlie traunces, as if in him she had seene the death of Antiphilus, because he had not succoured him: and yet (her vertue striuing) she did at one time acknowledge her selfe bound, and professe her selfe iniured; in steede of allowing the conclusion they had made, or writing to the Princes (as he wisht her to doo) crauing nothing but some speedie death to followe, her (in spite of iust hate) beloued Antiphilus.
So that Plangus hauing nothing but a rauisht kisse from her hande at their parting, went away towarde Greece,
whether-ward he vnderstoode the Princes were embarked. But by the way it was his fortune to intercept letters, written by Artaxia to Plexirtus: wherein she signified her accepting him to her husband, whom she had euer fauoured, so much the rather, as he had perfourmed the conditions of her mariage, in bringing to their deserued end, her greatest enemies: withall, thanking the sea, in such tearmes, as he might well perceiue, it was by some treason wrought in Plexirtus shippe. whereupon (to make more diligent search) he tooke shippe himselfe, and came into Laconia, enquiring, and by his enquirie finding, that such a shippe was indeede with fight, and fire, perished, none (almost) escaping. But for Pyrocles and Musidorus, it was assuredly determined that they were cast away: for the name of such Princes (especially in Greece) would quickly els haue bene a large witnesse to the contrarie. Full of griefe with that, for the losse of such, who left the world poor of perfection: but more sorie for Eronas sake, who now by them could not be relieued. A new aduertisement from Armenia ouertooke him, which multiplied the force of his anguish. It was a message from the Nobleman who had Erona in ward, giuing him to vndersta[n]d, that since his departure, Artaxia (using the benefite of time) had besieged him in his castell, demaunding present deliuery of her, whom yet for his faith giuen, he would not, before the day appointed, if possibly he could resist, which he foresaw, lo[n]g he should not do for want of victuall, which he had not so wisely prouided, because he trusted vpon the generall oth taken for two yeares space: & therfore willed him to make hast to his succour, & come with no small forces; for all they that were of his side in Armenia, were consumed, & Artaxia had encreased her might by mariage of Plexirtus, who now crowned King there, stickt not to glory in the murder of Pyrocles and Musidorus, as hauing iust cause thereto, in respecl of the deaths of his sister Andramana, her sonne his nephew, and his own daughter Zelmane, all whose losse he vniustly charged them withal, & now openly stickt not to co[n]fesse, what a reuenge his wit had brought forth. Plangus much astonished herewith, bethought himselfe what to doo. For to returne to Armenia was vaine, since his friends there were vtterly ouerthrowne. The[n] thought he of going to his father; but he had already (euen since the death of his stepmother, & brother) attempted the recouering his fauour, & all in vaine. For they, that had before ioined with Andromana to do him the wrong, thought now no life for the[m] if he returned, & therfore kept him stil (with new forged suspicions) odious to his father. So that Plangus reseruing that for a worke of longer time, then the sauing of Erona could beare, determined to go to the mighty and good King Euarchus: who lately hauing (to his eternall fame) fully, not onely conquered his enimies, but established good gouernment in their countries, he hoped he might haue present succour of him, both for the iustnes of the cause, & reuenge of his childrens death, by so hainous a treason murthered. Therefore with diligence he went to him; & by the way (passing through my country) it was my hap to find him, the most ouerthrowne ma[n] with griefe, that euer I hope to see againe. For stil it seemed he had Erona at a stake before his eies; such an apprehension he had taken of her daunger; which in despite of all the comfort I could giue him, he poured out in such lamentations, that I was moued not to let him passe, till he had made full declaration, which by peeces my daughters & I haue deliuered vnto you. Fayne he would haue had succour of my selfe, but the course of my life being otherwise bent, I onely accompanied him with some that might safely guide him to the great Euarchus: for my parte hauing had some of his speeches so feelingly in my memory, that at an idle time (as I tolde you) I set them downe Dialogue-wise, in such manner as you haue seene. And thus, excellent Ladie, I haue obeyed you in this storie; wherein if it well please you to consider, what is the straunge power of Loue, and what is due to his authoritie, you shall exercise therein the true noblenesse of your iudgement, and doo the more right to the vnfortunate Historian. Zelmane (sighing for Eronaes sake, yet inwardly comforted in that she assured her selfe, Euarchus would not spare to take in hande the iust deliuering of her, ioyned with the iust reuenge of his childrens losse) hauing now what she desired of Basilius, to auoide his further discourses of affection, encouraged the shepheards to begin, whom she saw all ready for them.
The second Eclogues.
He rude tumulte of the Enispians gaue occasion to the honest shepheards to beginne their pastorals this day with a dauce, which they called the skirmish betwixt Reason and Passion. For seuen shepheards (which were named the Reasonable shepheards) ioined theselues; foure of them making a square, and the other two going a litle wide of either side, like winges for the maine battell; and the seuenth man for-most, like the forlorne hope to begin the skirmish. In like order came out the seuen appassionated shepheards; all keeping the pase of their foote by their voice, and sundry consorted instrume[n]ts they held in their armes. And first, the formost of Reasonable side began to sing.
R. Thou Rebell vile, come, to thy master yelde.
And the other that met with him answered.
P. No, Tyrant, no: mine, mine shall be the fields.
Reason. Can Reason then a Tyraunt counted be?
Passion. If Reason will, that Passions be not free.
R. But Reason will, that Reason gouerns most.
P. And Passion will, that Passion rule the rost.
R. Your will is will; but Reason reason is.
P. Will hath his will, when Reasons will doth misse.
R. Whom Passion leades vnto his death is bent.
P. And let him die, so that he die content.
R. By nature you to Reason faith haue sworne,
P. Not so, but fellowlike together borne.
R. Who Passion doth ensue, liues in annoy.
P. Who Passion doth forsake, liues void of ioy.
R. Passion is blinde, and treades an vnknowne trace.
P. Reason hath eyes to see his owne ill case.
Then as they approched neerer, the two of Reasons
sides, as if they shot at the other, thus sange.
R. Dare Passions then abide in Reasons light?
P. And is not Reason dimde with Passions might?
R. O foolish thing, which glory doth destroye.
P. O glorious title of a foolish toye.
R. Weakenes you are, dare you with our strength fight?
P. Because our weaknes weakeneth all your might.
R. O sacred Reason, helpe our vertuous toiles.
P. O Passion, passe on feeble Reasons spoiles.
R. We with ourselues abide a dally strife.
P. We gladly vse the sweetnes of our life.
R. But yet our strife sure peace in end doth breede.
P. We now haue peace, your peace we doo not neede.
Then did the two square battailes meete, & in steed
of fighting embrace one another, singing thus.
R. We are too strong: but Reason seekes no blood.
P. Who be too weake, do feigne they be too good.
R. Though we cannot orecome, our cause is iust.
P. Let vs orecome, and let vs be vniust.
R. Yet Passion, yeeld at length to Reasons stroke.
P. What shall we winne by taking Reasons yoke?
R. The ioyes you haue shall be made permanent.
P. But so we shall with griefe learne to repent.
R. Repent indeed, tut that shall be your blisse.
P. How know we that, since present ioyes we misse?
R. You know it not: of Reason therefore know it.
P. No Reason yet had euer skill to show it.
R. P. Then let vs both to heauenly rules giue place,
Which Passions skill, and Reason do deface.
THen embraced they one another, and came to the King, who framed his praises of the[m] according to Zelmanes liking; whose vnrestrained parts, the minde & eie, had their free course to the delicate Philoclea, whose looke was not short in well requiting it, although she knew it was a hatefull sight to her iealous mother. But Dicus (that had in this time taken a great liking of Dorus for the good partes he found aboue his age in him) had a delight to taste the fruites of his wit, though in a subiect which he him selfe most of all other despised: and so entred to speach with him in the manner of this following Eclogue.
DOrus, tell me, where is thy wonted motion
To make these woods resounde thy lamentation?
Thy sainte is dead, or dead is thy deuotion.
For who doth holde his loue in estimation,
To witnes, that he thinkes his thoughts delicious,
Thinks to make ech thing badge of his sweet passion.
But what doth make thee Dicus so suspicious
Of my due faith, which needs must be immutable?
Who others vertue doubt, themselues are vicious.
Not so; although my mettall were most mutable,
Her beames haue wrought therin most faire impression:
To such a force some chaunge were nothing sutable.
The harte well set doth neuer shunne confession:
If noble be thy bandes, make them notorious:
Silence doth seeme the maske of base oppression.
Who glories in his loue, doth make Loue glorious:
But who doth feare, or bideth muet wilfully,
Showes, guilty harte doth deeme his state opprobrious.
Thou then, that framste both words & voice most skilfully.
Yeeld to our eares a sweet and sound relation,
If Loue tooke thee by force, or caught thee guilefully.
If Sunnie beames shame heauenly habitation;
If three-leau'd grasse seeme to the sheepe vnsauorie,
Then base and sower is Loues most high vocation.
Or if sheepes cries can helpe the Sunnes owne brauerie,
Then may I hope, my pipe may haue abilitie,
To helpe her praise, who decks me in her slauerie.
No, no: no wordes ennoble selfe-nobilitie.
As for your doubts; her voice was it deceaued me,
Her eye the force beyond all possibilitie.
Thy words well voiced, well gra'ste had almost heaued me
Quite from my selfe to loue Loues contemplation;
Till of these thoughts thy sodaine ende bereaued me.
Goe on therefore, and tell vs, by what fashion
In thy owne proofe he gets so straunge possession,
And how possest he strengthens his inuasion?
Sight is his roote, in thought is his progression,
His childhood woonder, prenticeship attention,
His youth delight, his age the soules oppression:
Doubte is his sleepe, he waketh in inuention;
Fancie his foode, his clothing is of carefulnes;
Beautie his boote, his play louers dissention:
His eyes are curious search, but vailde with warefulnesse:
His wings desire oft dipt with desperation:
Largesse his hands could neuer skill of sparefulnesse.
But how he doth by might, or by persuasion
To conquere, and his conquest how to ratifie,
Experience doubts, and schooles holde disputation.
But so thy sheepe may thy good wishes satisfie
With large increase, and wooll of fine perfection,
So she thy loue, her eyes thy eyes may gratifie,
As thou wilt giue our soules a deare refection,
By telling how she was, how now she framed is
To helpe, or hurt in thee her owne infection.
Blest be the name, wherewith my mistres named is:
Whose wounds are salues, whose yokes please more then pleasure doth:
Her staines are beames; vertue the fault she blamed is.
The hart, eye, eare here onely find his treasure doth:
All numbring artes her endlesse graces number not:
Time, place, life, wit scarcely her rare gifts measure doth.
Is she in rage? so is the Sunne in sommer hot,
Yet haruest brings. Doth she alas absent herselfe?
The Sunne is hid; his kindly shadows cumber not.
But when to giue some grace she doth content herselfe,
O then it shines; then are the heau'ns distributed,
And Venus seemes, to make vp her, she spent herselfe.
Thus then (I say) my mischiefes haue contributed
A greater good by her diuine reflection;
My harmes to me, my blisse to her attributed,
Thus she is framde: her eyes are my direction;
Her loue my life; her anger my destruction.
Lastly what so she is, that's my protection.
Thy safetie sure is wrapped in destruction:
For that construction thine owne wordes do beare.
A man to feare a womans moodie eye,
Makes Reason lie a slaue to seruile Sense.
A weake defence where weakenesse is thy force:
So is remorse in follie dearely bought.
If I had thought to heare blasphemous wordes,
My brest to swords, my soule to hell haue solde
I rather would, then thus mine eares defile
With words so vile, which viler breath doth breed.
O beards take heed; for I a woolfe haue found;
Who hunting round the strongest for to kill,
His breast doth fill with earth of others, ioyes,
And laden so puts downe, puld downe destroyes.
O sheepheards boyes, eschue these tongues of venome,
Which do enuenome both the soule and senses.
Our best defenses are to flie these adders.
O tongues like ladders made to clime dishonour,
Who iudge that honour, which hath scope to slander.
Dorus you wander farre in great reproches
So loue encroches on your charmed reason,
But it is season for to end our singing.
Such anger bringing: as for me, my fancie
In sicke-mans frenzie rather takes compassion,
Then rage for rage: rather my wish I send to thee,
Thou soone may haue some helpe, or change of passion.
She oft her lookes, the starres her fauour bend to thee:
Fortune store, Nature health, Loue grant perswasion.
A quiet mind none but thy selfe can lend to thee,
Thus I commend to thee all our former loue,
Well do I proue, errour lies oft in zeale,
Yet it is seale, though errour, of true hart.
Nought could impart such heates to friendly mind.
But for to find thy words did her disgrace,
Whose onely face the little heauen is,
Which who doth misse his eyes are but delusions,
Barred from their chiefest obiect of delightfulnesse,
Throwne on this earth the Chaos of confusions.
As for thy wish to my enraged spitefulnesse,
The louely blowne with rare reward, my prayer is
Thou mayest loue her that I may see thy sightfulnesse.
The quiet mind (whereof my selfe empairer is,
As thou doest thinke) should most of all disquiet me
Without her loue, then any mind who fairer is.
Her onely cure from surfet-woes can diet me:
She holdes the ballance of my contentation:
Her cleared eyes, nought els, in stormes can quiet me.
Nay rather then my ease discontentation
Should breed to her, let me for aye deiected be
From any ioy, which might her griefe occasion.
With so sweete plagues my happie harmes infected be:
Paine willes me die, yet will of death I mortifie:
For though life irkes, in life my loues protected be.
Thus for ech change my changelesse hart I fortifie.
VVHen they had ended to the good pleasing of the assistants, especially of Zelmane, who neuer forgat to giue due com[m]edations to her friend Dorus, the more to aduance him in his pursute (although therein he had brought his matters to a more wished conclusion then yet she knew of) out starte a iolly yonker, his name was Nico, whose tongue had borne a very itching silence all this while. And hauing spied one Pas, a mate of his, as mad as himselfe (both indeed lads to clime any tree in the world) he bestowed this maner of salutation vpon him, and was with like reuerence requited.
Nico. Dorus. [Pas]
ANd are you there old Pas? in troth I euer thought,
Among vs all we should find out some thing of nought.
And I am here the same, so mote I thriue and thee,
Despairde in all this flocke to find a knaue, but thee.
Ah now I see, why thou art in thy selfe so blind:
Thy gray-hood hides the thing, that thou despairst to find.
My gray-hood is mine owne, all be it be but gray,
Not like the scrippe thou stol'ste, while Dorcas sleeping lay.
Mine was the scrippe: but thou, that seeming raid with loue,
Didst snatch from Cosmas hand her greeny wroughte gloue.
Ah foole; so Courtiers do. But who did liuely skippe,
When for a treene-dish stolne, thy father did thee whippe?
In deed the witch thy dam her crouch from shoulder spred
pilfring Lalus lambe, with crouch to blesse thy head.
My voice the lambe did winne, Menalcas was our iudge:
Of singing match was made, whence he with shame did trudge
Couldst thou make Lalus flie? so nightingales auoide
When with the kawing crowes their musicke is annoide.
Nay like to nightingales the other birds giue eare:
My pipe and song made him both pipe and song forsweare.
I thinke it well: such voice would make one musicke hate:
But if I had bene there, th'adst met another mate.
Another sure as is a gander from a goose:
But still when thou dost sing, me thinkes a colt is loose.
Well aimed by my hat: for as thou sangst last day;
The neighbours all did crie, alas what asse doth bray?
But here is Dicus old; let him then speake the woord,
To whether with best cause the Nymphes faire flowers affoord.
Content: but I will lay a wager hereunto,
That profit may ensue to him that best can do.
I haue (and long shall haue) a white great nimble cat,
A king vpon a mouse, a strong foe to the rat,
Fine eares, long taile he hath, with Lions curbed clawe,
Which oft he lifteth vp, and stayes his lifted pawe,
Deepe musing to himselfe, which after-mewing showest
Till with lickt beard, his eye of fire espie his foes.
If thou (alas poore if) do winne, then winne thou this,
And if I better sing, let me thy Cosma kisse.
Kisse her? now mayst thou kisse. I haue a better match;
A prettie curre it is; his name iwis is Catch,
No eare nor taile he hath, least they should him disgrace,
A ruddie haire his cote, with fine long spectled face:
He neuer musing standes, but with himselfe will play
Leaping at euery flie, and angrie with a flea:
He eft would kill a mouse, but he disdaines to fight,
And makes our home good sport with dauncing bolt vpright.
This is my pawne; the price let Dicus iudgement show:
Such oddes I willing lay; for him and you I know.
Sing then my lads, but sing with better vaine then yet,
Or else who singeth worst my skill will hardly hit.
Who doubts but Pas fine pipe againe will bring
The auncient prayse to Arcad shepheards skill?
Pan is not dead, since Pas beginnes to sing.
Who euermore will loue Apollos quill.
Since Nico doth to sing so widely gape?
Nico his place farre better furnish will.
Was not this he, who did for Syrinx scape
Raging in woes teach pastors first to plaine?
Do you not heare his voice, and see his shape?
This is not he that failed her to gaine,
Which made a Bay, made Bay a holy tree:
But this is one that doth his musicke staine.
O Faunes, O Fairies all, and do you see,
And suffer such a wrong? a wrong I trowe,
That Nico must with Pas compared be?
O Nymphes, I tell you newes, for Pas you knowe:
While I was warbling out your woonted praise,
Nico would needes with Pas his bagpipe blowe.
If neuer I did faile your holy-dayes,
With daunces, carols, or with barlybreake:
Let Pas now know, how Nico makes the layes
If each day hath bene holy for your sake,
Vnto my pipe, O Nimphes, helpe now my pipe,
For Pas well knowes what layes can Nico make.
Alas how oft I looke on cherries ripe,
Me thinkes I see the lippes my Leuca hath,
And wanting her, my weeping eyes I wipe.
Alas, when I in spring meete roses rathe,
And thinke from Cosmas sweet red lips I liue,
I leaue mine eyes vnwipte my cheekes to bathe.
As I of late, neer bushes vsde my siue,
I spied a thrush where she did make her nest,
That will I take, and to my Leuca giue.
But long haue I a sparrow gailie drest,
As white as milke, and camming to the call,
To put it with my hand in Cosmas brest.
I oft doo sue, and Leuca saith, I shall,
But when I did come neere with heate and hope,
She ranne away, and threw at me a ball.
Cosma once said, she left the wicket ope,
For me to come, and so she did: I came,
But in the place found nothing but a rope.
When Leuca dooth appeare, the Sunne for shame
Dooth hide himselfe: for to himselfe he sayes,
If Leuca liue, she darken will my fame.
When Cosma doth come forth, the Sun displaies
His vtmost light: for well his witte doth know,
Cosmas faire beames emblemish much his rates.
Leuca to me did yester-morning shows
In perfect light, which could not me deceaue,
Her naked legge, more white then whitest snowe.
But yesternight by light I did receaue
From Cosmas eyes, which full in darkenes shine,
I sawe her arme, where purest Lillies cleaue.
She once starke nak'd did bathe a little time;
But still (me thought) with beauties from her fell,
She did the waters wash, and make more fine.
She once, to coole her selfe, stood in a well,
But euer since that well is well besought,
And for Rose-water sould of rarest smell.
To riuers banke, being on walking brought,
She bad me spie her babie in the brooke,
Alas (said I) this babe dooth nurce my thought.
As in a glasse I held she once did looke,
I said, my hands well paide her for mine eyes,
Since in my hands selfe goodly sight she tooke.
O if I had a ladder for the skies,
I would climbe vp, and bring a prettie starre,
To weare vpon her neck, that open lies.
O if I had Apollos golden carre,
I would come downe, and yeeld to her my place,
That (shining now) she then might shine more farre.
Nothing (O Leuca) shall thy fame deface,
While shepheards tunes be heard, or rimes be read,
Or while that shepheards loue a louely face.
Thy name (O Cosma) shall with praise be spread,
As farre as any shepheards piping be:
As farre as Loue possesseth any head.
Thy monument is layd in many a tree,
With name engrau'd: so though thy bodie die,
The after-folkes shall wonder still at thee.
So oft these woods haue heard me Cosma crie,
That after death, to heau'n in woods resound,
With Echoes help, shall Cosma, Cosma flie.
Peace, peace good Pas, thou weeriest euen the ground
With sluttish song: I pray thee learne to blea,
For good thou mayst yet prooue in sheepish sound.
My father hath at home a prettie Iay,
Goe winne of him (for chattering) praise or shame:
For so yet of a conquest speake thou may.
Tell me (and be my Pan) the monsters name,
That hath foure legs, and with two onely goes,
That hath foure eyes, and onely two can frame.
Tell me (and Phœbus be) what monster growes
With so strong liues, that bodie cannot rest
In ease, vntill that bodie life forgoes.
Enough, enough: so ill hath done the best,
That since the hauing them to neither's due,
Let cat and dog fight which shall haue both you.
SOme speech there streight grew among the hearers, what they should meane by the riddles of the two monsters. But Zelmane, whose harte better delighted in wailefull ditties, as more according to her fortune, she desired Lamon, he would againe repeate some other lamentation of the still-absent Strephon and Klaius. Basilius (as soone as he vnderstood Zelmanes pleasure) commaunded Lamon vpon paine of his life (as though euery thing were a matter of life and death, that pertained to his mistresse seruice) immediately to sing it: who with great cunning, varying his voice according to the diuersitie of the persons, began this Dizaine, answered in that kinde of verse, which is called the Crowne.
I Ioye in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes:
Despise delight, and tyrde with thought of ease
I turne my minde to all formes of annoyes,
And with the chaunge of them my fancie please.
I studie that which may me most displease,
And in despite of that displeasures might,
Embrace that most, that most my soule destroyes.
Blinded with beanies, fell darkenes is my sight:
Dale on my ruine feedes, with sucking smarte,
I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte,
I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte,
And loth this time, calld life, nay thinke, that life
Nature to me for torment did emparte;
Thinke, my horde haps haue blunted deaths sharpe knife,
Not sparing me, in whom his workes be rife:
And thinking this, thinke Nature, Life, and Death
Place Sorrowes triumph on my conquered brest:
Whereto I yeeld, and seeke none other breath,
But from the sent of some infectious graue:
Nor of my fortune ought, but mischieue craue.
Nor of my fortune ought but mischiefe craue,
And seeke to nourish that, which now contaynes
All what I am: if I my selfe will saue,
Then must I saue, what in me chiefly raignes,
Which is the hatefull web of Sorowes paines.
Sorow then cherish me, for I am sorowe:
No being now, but sorowe I can haue:
Then decke me as thine owne; thy helpe I bar owe,
Since thou my riches arte, and that thou haste
Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste.
Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste
Is that huge storme, which powres it selfe on me:
Hailestones of teares, of sighes a monstrous blast,
Thunders of cries; lightnings my wilde lookes be,
The darkened heau'n my soule which nought can see;
The flying sprites which trees by rootes vp teare
Be those despaires, which haue my hopes quite wast.
The diffrence is; all folkes those stormes forbeare:
But I cannot; who then my selfe should flie
So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doo lie.
So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doo lie;
Both cause, effect, beginning, and the ende
Are all in me: what helpe then can I trie?
My ship, my selfe; whose course to loue doth bende,
Sore beaten doth her mast of Comforte spende:
Her cable, Reason, breakes from anchor,
Hope: Fancie, her tackling, torne away doth flie:
Ruine, the winde, hath blowne her from her scope:
Brused with waues of Cares, but broken is
On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse.
On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse
I long doo plowe with plough of deepe Desire:
The seed Fast-meaning is, no truth to misse:
I harowe it with Thoughts, which all conspire
Fauour to make my chiefe and onely hire.
But, woe is me, the yeare is gone about,
And now I faine would reape, I reape but this,
Hate fully growne, Absence new sprongen out.
So that I see, although my sight empaire,
Vaine is their paine, who labour in Despaire.
Vaine is their paine, who labour in Despaire.
For so did I, when with my angle, Will,
I sought to catch the fish Torpedo faire.
Eu'n then Despaire did Hope already kill:
Yet Fancie would perforce employ his skill,
And this hath got; the catcher now is caught,
Lamde with the angle, which it selfe did teare,
And vnto death, quite drownde in Dolours, brought
To death, as then disguisde in her faire face.
Thus, thus I had, alas, my losse in chase.
Thus, thus I had, alas, my losse in chase,
When first that crowned Basiliske I knewe,
Whose footesteps I with hisses oft did trace,
Till by such hap, as I must euer rewe,
Mine eyes did light vpon her shining hewe,
And hers on me, astonisht with that sight.
Since then my harte did loose his wonted place,
Infected so with her sweet poysons might,
That, leauing me for dead, to her it went:
But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent.
But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent,
Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me.
Yet liuing still in her, while her beames lent
Such vitall sparke, that her mine eyes might see.
But now those liuing lights absented be,
Full dead before, I now to dust should fall,
But that eternall paines my soule should hent,
And keepe it still within this body thrall:
That thus I must, while in this death I dwell,
In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell.
In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell
Alas I doo; from which to finde release,
I would the earth, I would the heauens fell.
But vaine it is to thinke these paines should cease.
Where life is death, and death cannot breed peace.
O faire, ô onely faire, from thee, alas,
These foule, most foule, distresses to me fell;
Since thou from me (ô me) ô Sunne didst passe.
Therefore esteeming all good blessings toyes
I ioy in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes.
I ioye in griefe, and doo detest all ioyes.
And now an ende, (ô Claius) now an ende
For euen the hearbes our mournefull musique stroyes,
And from our burning breath the trees doo bende.
SO wel did Lamons voice expresse the passio[n]s of those shepheards, that all the Princely beholders were striken in a silent co[n]sideration of them; indeed euery one making, that he heard of another the bala[n]ce of his own troubles. And Basilius perceiuing such melancholique musique best consorted to the humor of his mistresse, entreated againe the young melancholy shepheard, that he would emparte some part of the sorow his cou[n]tenaunce so well witnessed vnto them. Which he in parte to satisfie, began an Eclogue betwixt himself and the Echo: framing his voice in those deserte places, as what words he would haue the Echo replie, vnto those he would singe higher then the rest, and so kindly framed a disputation betwixt himselfe and it. Which with these Hexameters in the following order he uttered.
FAire rocks, goodly riuers, sweet woods, when shall I see peace?
Peace? who debars me my tongue? who is it that comes me so nie?
O I doo know what guest I doo meete: it is Echo.
Well mett Echo; aproch, and tell me thy will too.
Echo, what doo I get yielding my sprite to my grieues?
What medicine may I finde for a paine that drawes me to death?
O poisonous medicine: what worse to me can be then it?
In what state was I then, when I tooke this deadly disease?
And what maner a minde, which had to that humor a vaine?
Hath not reason enough vehemence the desire to reproue?
Oft proue I: but what salue, when Reason seeks to be gone?
O what is it? what is it, that may be a salue to my loue?
What doo louers seeke for, long seeking for to enioye?
What be the ioyes, for which t'enioye they went to the paines?
Then to an earnest loue what doth best victorie lende?
Ende? but I can neuer ende: Loue will not giue me the leaue.
How be the mindes disposde, that cannot taste the Physicke?
Yet say againe th'aduice for th'ils that I tolde thee.
Doth th'infected wretch of his ill th'extremitie know?
But if he know not his harmes, what guids hath he whilst he be blind?
What blinde guides can he haue that leades to a fancie?
Can fancies wante eyes? or he fall that steppeth aloft?
What causes first made these torments on me to light?
Can then a cause be so light, that forceth a man to goe die?
Yet tell, what light thing I had in me to drawe me to die?
Eie-sight made me to yeeld: but what first pearst to my eyes?
Eyes hurters? eyes hurte? but what from them to me falls?
But when I first did fall, what brought most fall to my harte?
Arte? what can be that arte, which thou doost meane by thy speach?
What be the fruites of speaking arte, what growes by the wordes?
O much more then wordes: those wordes serued more me to blesse.
O when shall I be knowne, where most to be known I doo long?
Long be thy woes for such bad newes: how recks she my thoughts?
Then, then what doo I gayne, since vnt' her will I doo winde?
Winde, tempests, and stormes: yet in ende what giues she desire?
Silly rewarde; yet aboue women hath she a title.
What great name may I giue to so heau'nly a woman?
Woe, but seems to me ioye, that agrees to my thought so.
Thinke so: for of my desired blisse it is onely the course.
Curst be thy selfe for cursing that, which leades me to ioyes.
What be the sweete creatures where lowly demaundes be not harde?
Harde to be gott, but got constant, to be helde very steeles.
How be they helde vnkinde? speake, for th' hast narrowly pry'de.
How can pride come there since springs of beautie be thence?
Horrible is this blasphemie vnto the most holie.
Thou li'st, false Echo; their mindes, as vertue, be iuste.
Mockst thou those Diamonds, which onely be matcht by the Godds?
Odds ? what an odds is there, since them to the heauens I preferre?
Tell yet againe, how name ye the goodly made euill?
Deuill? in hell where such Deuill is, to that hell I doo goe.
I will too.
I told th[ee].
I thought so.
AFter this well placed Echo, the other shepheards were offring themselues to haue continued the sports: But the night had so quietly spent most part of her selfe, that the King for that time licensed them: & so bringing Zelmane to her lodging, who would much rather haue done the same for Philoclea, of all sides they went to counterfait a sleep in their beds, for a true one their agonies could not afoord them. Yet there lay they (for so might they be most solitarie) for the foode of their thoughts, till it was neere noone the next day. After which Basilius was to continue his Apollo deuotions, and the other to meditate vpon their priuate desires.
The end of the second Booke.
Go on to Booke III.